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fairyysoup · 1 year

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western nights

♫︎ western nights - ethel cain ♫︎

pairing(s): eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: You're on a road trip to nowhere. Eddie wants to get the hell out of dodge. It's a match made in heaven- if only it were, actually, heaven.

words: 13k

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), exhibitionism, light choking, spitting, eddie is 24, reader's age unspecified (over 21), illegal activities, theft, smoking, alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, bonnie & clyde type dynamic, mechanic!eddie, eddie's trying hard to be a good boy he's just got issues, pining, perv!reader, some slight dubcon/somno for a sec if you squint, there was only one bed, graphic depictions of violence, a drunk guy being nasty to both eddie and reader, bar fight, blood, arguments, angst, hurt/comfort, panic attacks, an overall janky relationship here, inspired by the song western nights by ethel cain

a/n: *slaps fic* this bad boy can be written with so many cold medicines in my head <3 ethel cain if you see this do NOT interact i have done zero justice to your song and also completely disregarded some key aspects of the themes of it lol this is loosely based at best

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

He’s never looked more beautiful on his Harley in the parking lot, breaking into the ATMs, sleeping naked when it gets too hot…

You’ve become something of a connoisseur of gas station coffee.

You know which chains have the best. Love’s always has the best and freshest, with the most options of flavors. Pilot is usually a crapshoot, depending on what area of the country you’re in. Occasionally, if you can find it, Bodega doesn’t disappoint. And the worst, by far, is always Shell. Shell coffee, you think, must come directly from the sewers of whatever backwater town you’re trundling through.

You’re somewhere in Indiana, you guess, judging by the state-shaped keychains on the rotating rack next to the cash register. You grab a state map from a magazine stand and toss it in with the rest of your purchase. You were lucky to have found a Love’s so you could finally afford yourself some proper dark roast coffee; all the watered down arabica stuff you’ve been getting since Cleveland has only been making your head ache.

“What’s the quickest way to Indianapolis?” You ask the dead-eyed attendant ringing you up, a 20-something year old guy with bags under his eyes and bad skin.

He chews his licorice like a camel chews straw, staring up at you blankly. “I dunno. Never been.”

You look from him, to the map, and back. “Cool. What town is this?”

“Hawkins.” His bored-by-you attitude is overwhelming.

“Thanks so much for the help.” You afford the attendant a tight smile as you grab your bag of snacks and head out. It’s going to be a long night.

The air outside is stifling, summer heat hanging in the muggy air like a fog. The humidity makes your hair stick uncomfortably to the back of your neck as you peel off your old green hunting jacket and tie it around your waist. You’ve parked your van under the fluorescent-lit gas pump overhang, providing the proper lighting for you to spread the map of Indiana across the hood and bend over it, using your full coffee as a paperweight. You rip open the singular Slim-Jim you could afford for dinner, and pore over it.

There’s commotion across the parking lot, which stirs you from your rumination over the map. You glance up; there are two guys loitering by a telephone booth in one corner of the lot, sharing a cigarette. Teenagers who have nowhere else to be on a Friday night, you suppose. Five yards away from them, a third crouches in front of a badly vandalized ATM, the cause of the commotion. He seems to be hacking at the wiring with a pocket knife.

You ignore it. So far, on this trip, you’ve seen far worse than a guy stealing petty cash from a gas station ATM. Tracing your fingers across the paper, it looks like if you take state route 13 to I-69, you’ll be in Indianapolis by midnight. Shouldn’t be too difficult, as long as you can find the 13, and then you can find a place to crash in the city.

Grabbing an old highlighter from your pocket, you mark your route in bright pink. The guy from the ATM seems to have gotten what he wanted, moving quickly across the parking lot with his head held high, like he has every right to be there. He approaches a motorcycle parked on the opposite side of the pump from you, and begins feeding dollar bills into the machine.

“Hey, do you know how to get to the 13 from here?” You can’t see much more than his leather-clad shoulder and hip jutting out from around the pump, the front tire of his Harley sticking out from behind his leg.

There’s a pause, and then his head pops out from around the pump. A curtain of unruly dark hair frames a long neck, big doe-like eyes and flushed lips pouting at you in confusion. It makes you freeze. “Sorry?”

“I, uh-” What were you trying to do? Get on the right course. Right. Of course. “State- uh- state route 13? I’m trying to get to, um, Indianapolis?” You cringe at your own stuttering, nails digging into the paper before you.

The man stares at you for a long time, dark eyes framed by thick, curling lashes sizing you up slowly. Then, he rounds the pump. “The highway’s just down the road- keep going west and you won’t miss it.”

“Great, thanks.” You grab up your coffee and the map, crunching it between your tense fingers. He hasn’t moved, still leaning against the gas pump, arms crossed, staring at you. It makes you nervous, in more ways than one.

“You won’t get far in that heap, though.”

You pause. Your knees threaten to wobble under you as you look up at him. Your hand is on the door, you could simply ignore him and get in, but something in his gaze makes you stop. Is that… genuine concern? Or is he just putting on a show for you?

“What do you mean?” The heat of the coffee burns through the paper cup and torches your fingers.

“Well, your fender’s bashed in and, I dunno if you noticed, but you have a crack in your windshield,” he gestures at the long crack running horizontally across the glass, just above where your line of sight usually is. “Probably got a lot more shit wrong with it, too, I could hear you coming a mile up the road. Junkyard find?”

“Something like that.” More like, sat in your parents’ garage for so long that you took a chance on the fucked up radiator and bailed. “She’s good, though. She’ll get me another 80 miles, easy.”

“Are you only going 80 miles?” The guy questions, “Or are you going way past that and only doing the 80 miles tonight?”

If he wasn’t so pretty, with a note of flirtation in his voice, you’d be hesitant as hell to tell him. “The second one.”

ATM guy sucks on his teeth, rocking back on heels that creak with the movement. Rubber soled work boots flash at you from beneath torn blue denim. “Dunno if I should let you go alone, then. You might bust your carburetor halfway there and be stranded.”

That puts alarm sirens in your head. You’d back away if your car wasn’t situated between the two of you. “Thanks, but, uh… I think I can handle myself.”

The teasing smile drops off his face quickly, replaced by a look of subtle desperation. “No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not- I’m not saying you can’t handle yourself. Obviously. Or you wouldn’t be trucking along by yourself through Nowheresville, Indiana,” he chuckles. “I just, ah… let me level with you?”

Your face screws up, but you lean your hip against the fender nearest you- the one that isn’t fucked up. What is it with this guy?

“I’m trying to jump ship. Anywhere’s better than here, but I really want to get to the west coast. I don’t know where you’re headed, but I’ve got my sights on San Francisco. And, uh, I have experience fixing cars, working in a garage,” he confesses. “But I don’t have a ride of my own- this isn’t even my bike, really. So, if you’re heading to the city, and you could use someone to make sure your car doesn’t kick it going over 75, I’m your man. Besides,” he bats his pretty lashes at you, his fingers fiddling with the end of his long hair as he brandishes a wad of ATM-stolen cash, “I have gas money.”

“You want to hitch a ride with me?”

“If you’re okay with it. Otherwise, I bid you fair and safe travels.” He bows dramatically, throwing his hand in the direction of the highway you’d asked about. “But if you ask me, I think you’d be doing both of us a favor in the long run if you let me come with. Just for insurance, y’know.”

“Insurance?” You parrot incredulously.

“Yeah,” he grins. He has dimples, a wide smile that stretches across his face and makes him even prettier than you can stand to look at directly. “Just insurance. No other reason.”

“Mhm,” you grunt, going over the positives and negatives in your head.

Positives- your car is a piece of shit and you’re sure he’s right, you’re working on borrowed time and you’re less than halfway to your desired destination. Plus, he’s unfairly nice to look at.

Negatives- you don’t know shit for fuck about him, other than the fact that he’s apparently trying to leave town and makes a hobby of breaking into ATMs. And, hell, even Ted Bundy was supposed to be charming and cute, at first. This guy could be a crazy ax murderer, could be a rapist, could be a junkie who’ll steal your car and leave you stranded, could be, could be-

“MUNSON!”

“Fuck.” ATM guy glances over his shoulder, then ducks quickly around the side of the gas pump as the station attendant comes storming out of the store. He crouches, pressing his hands to the glass window of the passenger’s side and peers through the cab at you on the other side with pleading eyes. “Can you get me a couple miles down the road, at least?”

“What about your bike?”

“Not my bike,” he tells you for a second time. “My buddy’ll pick it up when he hears about this, please.”

The station attendant is making his way across the parking lot now, looking miffed. It’s clearly the most energy he’s put into anything today, but he isn’t moving very fast.

You’ve made worse decisions in your life. You sigh. “Shit. Get in.”

“Thank you, thank you.” He pops open the passengers door as you slide into the driver’s seat, tossing the crumpled up map in the back. You guess you’ve found a GPS, for the time being.

“Does my insurance have a name?” you ask as you peel out of the gas station. The attendant hovers by the pump you’d been occupying, looking lamely at the abandoned motorcycle in your rearview.

“Eddie,” ATM guy says. A ring-clad hand lifts between you, hovering over the gear shift and waiting for your own to settle into it for a shake, “Eddie Munson.”

You eye his outstretched hand, your stomach doing flips, but you’re unsure if it’s because of him or the very situation he’s just put you in. You lift your hand and bat his with your knuckles, a half-hearted acknowledgement without the formality. “Pleasure doing business with you, Eddie.”

Eddie coughs, shifting up in his seat to peer behind you at the station. “Fuckin’ Keith. You can just drop me off at the next exit, it’s no biggie.”

“Hm? I thought you were coming with me to Indianapolis, hot stuff.”

Eddie whips his head around to look at you. “Seriously? You don’t- you don’t have to, I know it’s a big ask-”

“You want me to change my mind?”

“Not particularly.” He sinks down in his seat again. “Guess I figured you think I’m more of a liability than anything.”

“I do, but I need all that cash you swiped from the ATM,” you hum with a snarky grin on your face.

Eddie chuckles, wringing his hands in his lap. His knuckles tighten and relax beneath heavy steel rings. “Yeah, better I do it than you, huh?” There’s an awkward pause, and then he blurts, “Do you have any road music in this thing?”

You reach forward and hit the volume button for the stereo. You’d been halfway through Danzig’s self titled album- Mother kicks in with the chorus. In the darkness, you don’t see the way Eddie’s eyes sparkle with adoration as he looks at you.

“I think you and I are gonna get along great, sweetheart.”

You ignore how your thighs press in on themselves while you sip your coffee, and you turn onto highway 13, headed for Indianapolis.

When you step out of the bathroom in the motel room in Indianapolis, you find Eddie hunched over by the window, wearing nothing but a pair of blue plaid boxers. The chain on his wrist jingles as he smacks at the A/C unit beneath the drawn curtains.

“Everything okay?” You ask, pretty much knowing what the answer is. Your hair drips water down your back, but you can still feel the muggy summer heat in the room practically smothering your pores.

“Damn Motel 6 A/C,” he grumbles as he gives it one last smack on the side, to no avail. “The unit’s broken, there’s gonna be no cool air in the room.”

“That’s okay, we can crack a window.”

“In this part of the city?” Eddie scoffs, looking over at you. “Believe me, princess, I applaud your optimism- I would have just driven away from me there at the gas station, given the chance. But if we crack that window, we’re gonna get fucking robbed, first thing. Believe me.”

“I believe you,” you huff, clutching the itchy motel towel to your wet skin. Usually you would just pull on a tank and a pair of panties and call it a night, but there’s no such luck for you here. You have a backpack full of old, dirty clothes, and no clean underwear to speak of- you’ve been washing them in public bathroom sinks since Columbus. “Well, I’m just gonna sleep naked, then. You do what you’ve gotta do.”

“What- you’re gonna- what?” Eddie blathers, sitting back on his heels. You stare at him for a second- he’s a vision of flushed skin and a cloud of brunette hair cascading over his shoulders. Knobbly knees stick up at awkward angles, hairy thighs disappear into the hem of his boxers drawn tight across his skin. Your eyes glance over the ominous bulge in the crotch of them, not willing to think about those parts of a man you barely know. “You really think- I mean- is that wise?”

“Are you gonna get frisky with me, Eddie?” You ask with a teasing voice. You’d learned enough about him on the way to the city- 24 years old, no prospects, big dreams, ran a D&D club in high school, worked in a garage to help pay the bills- that you’re fairly certain he’s a good enough guy to keep his hands to himself. You just enjoy watching his big eyes go rounder at the insinuation.

“No, of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Eddie looks mortified. He backtracks, “Unless- unless you wanted me to, I mean-”

“Don’t overanalyze it,” you tell him mildly, turning your back to him to rifle through your bag. “We’re both adults, it’s hot, there’s one bed and we’re both paying for it. Something tells me you’ve done worse things than lay next to someone without clothes on.”

Eddie blows a long breath out of pursed lips, not moving from his seat on the floor. He doesn’t deny your accusation, just mutters, “You put so much faith in me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You drop the wet towel on the floor and round the bed to turn down the sheets. Eddie’s eyes trail you; you can feel them burning into your skin, lit by the dim yellow light on the bedside table. It takes a moment for him to finally move, a single trembling hand reaching up to swipe a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the table.

“You gonna sit there on the floor all night?” You muse as you lay back on the bed. It’s too fucking hot. The dampness from the shower hasn’t dried, but now it’s simply growing with the rate your body is perspiring. Your hair and skin stick to the white sheets, which feel pasty each time you move.

“Just getting my bearings,” Eddie says, his voice tight and hollow. “You smoke?”

“Not especially, but I won’t stop you.”

The smell of tobacco hangs in the heavy air more potently than you expected. The humidity dampens the vapor, making it sting your nose and leech into your mouth, even though you’re not the one directly breathing it. It strikes you as devastatingly intimate- the thought that you might be breathing the smoke that’s already touched his lungs.

“Do you mind if I strip down, too?” Eddie asks after a long time of deliberating as he smoked. “Not that- I mean, I don’t have any pajamas, so…”

“Do what you need to do, honey,” you murmur, repeating what you’d told him before. “We can find a laundromat in the morning. Maybe get you a change of clothes somewhere.”

“Right.” He doesn’t say much after that, but you listen to him rustling around, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray and flicking off the bedside light.

He straightens up, silhouette looming in the blue-dark from the curtained window. You watch from the corner of your eye while his backlit form hooks its thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, and drops them.

He clambers onto the bed beside you, careful not to bump any part of you. You refuse to look at him, scanning the asbestos popcorn on the ceiling above you with an overabundance of scrutiny, willing yourself to focus on anything but Eddie’s beautiful body, especially what he has below the belt. It’s a bad idea, no go. You don’t want to see it, don’t even want to think about it- what it looks like, how big it is, how it curves, what kind of hair surrounds it, if any-

You’re thinking about it.

And you told him not to overanalyze it. To be calm about it. What a fucking joke.

“You know, I’m not as easy as I might seem,” you blurt out suddenly, unaware of why you even do. You mostly come off sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself of it.

Eddie’s head rustles against the pillow as he glances at you in the dark. “I don’t think you are.”

“Okay. Just- just making sure,” you stutter out. “All evidence to the contrary, and all.”

“I’m not expecting to get lucky with you,” he tells you honestly, a little flatly, like he’s afraid of any inflection in his voice betraying him. “You know, beyond the ride west.”

“Right.”

You both regress into silence. You think you’ve both said your piece on the matter. You might not trust Eddie, not entirely, but you at least know he’s not gonna try anything stupid if you let yourself fall asleep. You actually think that he’s asleep after so many minutes, until he opens his mouth again.

“It’s really fucking hot, isn’t it?” He croaks. His hands twitch by his sides, feet jammed under the downturned covers, but everything else bare to the open room, like you. His pinkie brushes yours, and he nearly smacks himself jerking his hand back toward his stomach.

“Yeah, it’s not… it’s not good.” You blink into the darkness. “Sorry, you must be regretting coming with me all this way.”

“Nah, not a chance.” He brushes it off, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “I’ve been itching to get out of there since I graduated. Feel kinda bad that I didn’t leave a note for my uncle, but it’s not the first time I’ve bailed on him. I can always call him from a pay phone. Kinda wish I had my guitar, though.”

“You play guitar?” you ask dazedly. You don’t have a hard time imagining it, now that you think about it. He has that rocker look about him, the kind that could grace magazines and be on posters on teenage girls’ walls, if he played his cards right. If he got his lucky break.

“Yeah. Pretty good, too, I guess.” He sighs. There’s a wistfulness in it, like he’s reminiscing on something from his past. “It’s okay. I can pick up another one once I get to California. Dropped a mint on the one I had back home, but I guess Wayne can always pawn it. Maybe get himself a nicer place.”

You chuckle. “And you think I’m the optimist here.”

“I never said it was a bad thing,” Eddie scoffs, then deepens his voice quite suddenly. “Two optimists, both alike in dignity-”

A burst of laughter bubbles from your chest, making Eddie grin as you gesture at your bodies. “Or lack, thereof.”

“In fair Indianapolis, where we lay our scene.” He ends his recitation giggling, the flimsy bed frame jolting with the shaking of his chest. “Radiant Juliet, you never did tell me where your chariot is taking me.”

“I’m not sure, really,” you admit, mellowing your laughter into a quiet giggle. “I just wanted to leave home. I was suffocating there, I needed to get out. See what’s out there for me, if anything.”

“And have you seen much?”

“Not much,” you tell him quietly. “Mostly truck stops and shitty roadside attractions. But we’re in the midwest, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.” He lays his hand back down on the mattress beside you.

You turn your body towards him, damp sheets clinging to your skin as you move. “California might not be such a bad idea.”

Eddie turns his head and glances at you, dark eyes finding you in the dim moonlight. “No? I’ll have to fix your car, then.”

“You do that, and I’ll make sure to get you where you’re going,” you whisper.

“Deal.” His eyes linger on your face, just inches away from his on the pillow. Flickering in the moonlight, two voids that hold all the stars in the night sky seem to take you in like you’re more beautiful than they could ever be.

This time, when your fingers brush, he doesn’t jerk away. This time, you don’t avert your eyes when you look down at his cock, but you sure do regret it when you don’t reach out to touch it.

He’s so pretty. You want to.

I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue, starting fights at the bar across the street like you do…

Your underwear and his come out of the dryer wrapped around each other. You spend a minute disentangling them, a small heap of clothes in a rolling laundry basket in front of you. The closest laundromat to the Motel 6 had been a five minute drive down the street.

You’d woken up with your head on his chest, your arm draped across his bare stomach, despite how you’d fallen asleep barely touching him. As if your unconscious body had known more about your wants than you. His hand had been tangled in your hair, palm cradling your cheek and a bit of your neck, like his own unconscious wanted to keep you against him, too.

The morning had been easy- the easiest it’s been since you hit the road. Eddie seems to have given you a sense of purpose you didn’t have before, driving around aimlessly, only stopping for fast food every once in a while when you remembered to eat something other than beef jerky and coffee. Once you had extracted yourself from his grip, you’d gone to buy him clothes from the resale store next to the motel. It wasn’t hard to find a plain black shirt and jeans, but used underwear was something you didn’t want to mess with. You’d brought it back to the motel, along with some food from the Waffle House across the way, and you ate cross legged on the bed while he showered and put on his new-ish clothes.

But now, you can’t stop feeling his hand cradling your head. His hot, sweaty skin against your arm. Your fingernails raking lightly through the trail of hair on his stomach, dragging through his pubic hair, your knuckles just barely brushing up the side of his length- thick, uncut, and so so pretty. Then, stopping nervously when you’d gotten too bold, fingers skimming over sensitive skin too close to his groin, and he’d twitched in his sleep.

You want him. You don’t even know him, and you want him so badly you can feel it even now, an aching blush between your legs turning into a dull throb when you so much as think about him.

You toss all the freshly washed clothes into a plastic bag that you’d grabbed by the door to the laundromat, and haul it out to your van. He’d told you to meet him at the bar across the street when you were done, since he needed to make a few calls on their payphone- he’d even given you his weathered denim vest before he left.

“For insurance,” he winked. “Uh, don’t wash it, though… I stitched it by hand, it’ll fall apart.”

You don’t put it in with the clean clothes. It smells like smoke and alcohol and him, the edges frayed and yellowing a bit. You hold it in your lap for a second, plucking at the stringy bits around the arm holes. Maybe you can convince him to let you soak it in a sink somewhere, hand washed and dried carefully over a working A/C unit, wherever you can find one. You don’t know when he last washed the damn thing, if ever.

When you pull into the parking lot of the dive bar, and you clutch the denim vest in your hand as you step out of your van, something sharp prods your thumb. You hiss, slamming the car door shut and examining what it was. The sharp point of a pin on the vest- which reads Motörhead- had come loose and pricked your skin, which now threatens to ooze blood all over the aged denim.

“Fuck,” you murmur, bringing your thumb to your mouth as you lock the car. You struggle with the vest while you walk towards the door to the dive, trying to resituate the pin so it doesn’t go missing.

You find him loitering beside a billiards table, pool stick in hand, a cigarette in his mouth. When he sees you walk in, his eyes light up, and he nearly drops the stick prancing over to you.

“Told ya I’d still be here- hey, you okay?” His grin turns very readily into a frown when he sees you sucking your thumb like a child.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” you mutter clumsily, “your pin just nicked me s’all.”

“Oh, shit,” he curses, reaching for your hand. “Lemme see- no, let me see.” He forces your hand open when you try to close it, and scrutinizes the little pin prick as if it’s the worst battle wound he’s ever seen. “Should’a checked to make sure all the pins were right, this happens all the time. I’m so sorry, baby, my fault.”

Baby. Your brain tries to process it. He called you baby.

He’s also kissing your thumb, cradling your hand with excessive care. He’s tasting your blood, sucking a little on the pin prick like you had been, so your skin is wet with a mix of his and your spit. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of the way he touches you. Fleeting as his touches have been, anyways. You melt a little under his gaze as his round eyes blink up at you innocently.

“S’okay,” you tell him with a wobbly smile. “Did you make your calls?”

He looks at you softly, a reserved smile on his face. “I did. Wayne’s miffed, but he’ll live. Told him I’d send him a postcard.”

You giggle at that, thinking you’d sign it along with him. Sorry for stealing away your nephew; it will happen again. “Good. Buy me a drink, handsome?”

Eddie beams at you, and his dimples crease his cheeks as he turns to the bartender. There’s a sweet, boyish manner in the way he puffs out his chest and orders you a drink, his arm circling your waist as he moves you smoothly toward the bar. As soon as a whisky sour has been placed in front of you, he turns and squeezes your arm.

“Hey, I gotta finish this game,” he nods at the pool table he’d been stationed at. “I got some money on it. Y’okay with hanging out for a minute?”

“Sure,” you chirp, sipping your drink. “Wipe the floor with ‘em for me?”

“It’s in the bag,” he whispers at you conspiratorially. You push his vest at him, imagining he wants to take his insurance back now that you know he’s not taking off on you, but he shakes his head. “No, you wear it. It’ll look good on you.”

His eyes light up when you shrug the vest over your worn out white t-shirt. As you lift your drink, and he turns back to his game, you think you’d do anything to keep him looking at you like that.

Eddie wins. You don’t know how much he bet on the game, but there seems to be hurt feelings when he collects the money that had been placed on the table. You’ve never been much of a gambler, and he hadn’t struck you as one- but what do you know? He certainly bet on you getting him out of Hawkins, and you certainly took a chance on him.

You don’t think much of it. It’s late afternoon- the sun’s going down, and you figure you’d better get going, but Eddie wraps his arms around you and says, “Dance with me.” And you do.

The jukebox in the corner only plays country classics. Patsy Cline croons over the speakers, taking you back to a time in your far off childhood. Eddie sways with you to the music, and even though there’s barely any rhythm to his dancing, you find yourself falling into it with him. Your head on his shoulder, his curly hair tickling the side of your face. His breath on your neck, cool on your heated skin.

That is, until a hand wraps around Eddie’s shoulder and jerks him away from you. A man with blond hair, clearly a few too many drinks in, snarls at him, “That game was bullshit and you know it.”

Eddie blinks at him. “If by ‘bullshit’ you mean I beat you, then sure.”

“You di’int beat me, you cheated,” the man sneers. “I want my money back.”

“Yeah, no.” Eddie claps the man on the shoulder, trying to push him away. “I won the game, I get the money. That’s how gambling works.”

You step back when the man’s beady eyes fall on you, peering at him over Eddie’s shoulder. “What’re you lookin’ at?”

“You leave her out of this, buddy,” Eddie growls dangerously, still forcing the man back with one strong hand on his shoulder. He’s trying to put himself between you and the man, you know. Still, you feel the need to fist your hand in the back of Eddie’s shirt and pull him away.

“I ain’t your buddy. Whatcha lookin’ at, bitch?” The man reaches out and yanks roughly on your arm, making you yelp in alarm.

And that’s when Eddie’s fist connects with the man’s jaw.

There’s a sickening crack. In the chaos, it somehow occurs to you that Eddie’s wearing all those chunky rings. You wonder if they could be considered a deadly weapon, in the same vein as brass knuckles.

It takes you a second to get through the initial shock, finding it hard to focus on who’s doing what. Eddie and the man have barrelled through a couple of tables, knocking over chairs. Eddie has the man pinned to the edge of the pool table, a flurry of fists moving from all sides.

“You don’t touch my girl!” Eddie shouts at the man. “You don’t fuckin’ touch my girl!”

His girl.

They tumble to the floor. The man curses and spits blood at him from a cut lip. A strong fist hits the side of Eddie’s face once, twice-

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” The words are shouted by the bartender, finally intervening, pulling the blond man off of Eddie. As the bartender restrains the unruly man, a second pulls an equally enraged Eddie away from him, separating the two.

By the time you collect a bruised and bloodied Eddie into your arms, you’ve already tuned out the rest of the ruckus going on around you. Someone suggests that you should leave, but the words only barely register. You’re already pulling Eddie out the door and to the car.

You don’t even remember if you closed the tab.

Trouble’s always gonna find you, baby, but so will I. Crying only because I’m happy, hold me across every state line…

You don’t know when you started crying. Maybe it was around the time that Eddie fell unconscious.

Tears burn in your eyes like you’ve poured gasoline in them, but no matter how badly it stings you just keep sniffling and driving, tearing down the interstate away from Indianapolis, toward St. Louis. You hopped on I-70 as quickly as you could, and from there you’ve been lost in a world of your own.

He’d almost look peaceful, if it wasn’t for the blood on his jaw and the nasty shiner on his cheekbone. You keep telling yourself it’s not bad enough for him to need to be taken to a hospital. You can’t afford to go to a hospital, and even if you could, you’d have to explain how he got in this condition. It’s a recipe for jail time. You know that. You know.

You just want to keep him safe, that’s all.

He hadn’t instigated the fight, not really. He’d just swung first. He was just defending you.

His girl.

When it gets to be too much, you pull over. Headlights gleam bright and then pass by in the dark with a whoosh of air. You think you must have crossed over into Illinois by now, or you’re getting close to it. The traffic has lightened considerably.

You rest your head against the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, but the tears keep coming in streams. A while ago, you had a mattress in the back of this van. That was before it started having problems, and it sat in your family’s garage for a year and a half. You should have put a mattress in it when you took off, but you weren’t thinking that far ahead. You were having a breakdown, something like you’re having now, only worse. It was a manic, get-away-or-die-there kind of breakdown.

Breathe in. You’re not gonna die. Breathe out. He’s breathing.

Once Eddie cracks his eyes open, he flexes his jaw with a groan. You can tell he’s confused by the inquisitive noise he makes, but when he looks at you, all that disappears in a heartbeat.

“Hey, what’re you- oh, god. Sweetheart, don’t cry.”

As if that doesn’t make you want to cry harder. His hand lands tentatively on your shoulder, stiff fingered but light in touch. He shuffles closer to you, pulling you against him to sob into his secondhand shirt.

It’s pathetic, you’re sure of it. You feel pathetic, twisting the cheap cotton of his shirt in your hands and saturating it with tears, as he shushes you and soothes a hand over your hair.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his aching lips to your scalp in an attempt to calm you down. “We’ll be okay. I’m right here. What can I do?”

For some reason, the question makes you mad. “You don’t fucking fight,” you sob at him, the anger in your voice making him freeze. “You don’t- you don’t get into fights. I can deal with a lot of shit, Eddie Munson, but I can’t deal with that.”

“Okay, honey. Okay.”

“No fighting.”

“No fighting,” he repeats affirmatively, petting your head. Then he adds, “No gambling.”

“No bars.”

“Well-”

“No bars.”

“All right,” Eddie resigns, resting his chin on top of your head. Once you’ve stopped crying, from what he can feel, he tells you softly, “I’m not… I’m not like that, you know. I want you to know. I don’t fight, not usually.”

“You did.”

“I did,” he agrees. “I just don’t like… I didn’t like him touching you. Disrespecting you like that- did he hurt you?”

“No,” you lie. The guy had yanked your arm a little too hard, your wrist still smarting a bit. Nothing near what Eddie had taken. “He hurt you, though.”

“I’ve had worse, trust me.” His tone is ominous, like you don’t really want to know the heavy details of it. “I’m not a fighter. Used to be if I saw danger, I’d just turn tail and run. I usually just take shit on the chin. But I never had anything to fight for before, really.”

You sniffle loudly, grossly. “I don’t want you to fight for me.”

“I’m gonna protect you, sweetheart. No matter what,” he insists. “Long as we’re together, I’m gonna do everything I can to protect you. Okay?”

Long as we’re together. Like you’re a couple, like you didn’t just meet by chance at a gas station a little more than 24 hours ago. Like you’re in love.

His girl.

“My dad’s in prison,” Eddie blurts out, raking a shaky hand through your hair. “He, uh… he was a fighter. And a thief. And a gambler. And a liar. He tried his best to make me be like him, but I don’t- I don’t wanna be like him.” Eddie sighs, a sad sound that rips through your already bleeding heart. “I thought maybe getting out of Hawkins would set me straight. Finally give me a chance to make something better of myself, prove I’m not like my old man. I tried, but after high school I got in some trouble, and Wayne had to sell my old van to pay for my bail. Now I’m here, and… Guess you just take yourself wherever you go, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree. Your fingers curve against his hip, squeezing the skin there. “So we have to try to change ourselves in the meantime, while we get where we’re going.”

Eddie breathes in, and it sounds an awful lot like a sniffle.

“Eddie. Are you crying?”

“No.” He is.

You lift your head with a wet, coughing chuckle at his futile attempt to hide it. You look up at him, your fingers tucking a lock of unruly, dark hair behind his ear. He’s staring back at you with glassy eyes, the tip of his nose gone red with the tears he’s holding back. He just barely flinches when your knuckles brush the bruise on his cheekbone.

“Hey, handsome,” you coo at him softly, your touch featherlight on his skin. He blinks, a tear dropping from his lashes. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay.” His lip wobbles. “Let me hold you a little longer, first?”

“Of course, Eddie.” You fall into his grasping hands, yanking you to him like a child searching for the comfort of his favorite teddy bear. You’d let him hold you as long as he liked.

You wash his face in a dirty rest area just west of Terre Haute. In the middle of the night, no one is around to tell you not to, so you follow him into the men’s room and take your time wiping the blood from his jaw and his hands. You gingerly apply a bandage from your car’s console to his bruised cheek, while he sits in the front seat and brackets your hips with his knees.

He gazes up at you like a man seeing God.

The neighbors beat on the walls, while I'm face first in the bed. Show me how much I mean to you while I’m lying in these sheets undressed…

You sleep in the rest area that night, in the back of your van. No mattress, just your backs to the hard floor of the cab. With no A/C again, you shuck your clothes and spread a single white blanket over your bodies, more for modesty’s sake than anything else. Even though it’s unlikely that a cop is going to run you down in the middle of nowhere, you’d rather not get cited for public indecency.

He holds you all night long, his arms around you and his chest against your back giving you peace, but he doesn’t touch you in any of the ways that you desperately want him to.

It takes the better part of a day to drive to St. Louis. Eddie swallows a couple tylenol for his face with his truck stop coffee and eggs, smiling softly at you from across a bright yellow plywood table in a cafeteria. From the look on his face, you doubt that he regrets the fight that gave him his wounds.

By the time your old van rattles up to another Motel 6 at the outskirts of the city, Eddie’s shaking his head. “The car’s not gonna take much more than this. I need to give it a good look, maybe borrow a tool kit and give it a tune up.”

“Whatever you say, magic man,” you muse at him. “Let’s just sleep in a real bed tonight, huh?”

His head tilted back, he looks at you sideways with a lopsided smile. You can tell his face is still hurting, but he puts on a brave face and bats his eyelashes at you. “Sounds good to me, princess.”

His touch lingers on you more, now, than it did yesterday. His fingers grazing your forearm as you open the glass door to the motel office, his hand hovering over your lower back as you sign for the room. His arm slung over your shoulder as he follows you down to the room, twirling the key around his finger.

“You think the A/C will work this time?” He asks you lightheartedly as he turns the key in the lock.

“Only one way to find out,” you return with the same warmth in your voice. If you from two days ago could hear yourself, and that ooey-gooey note of lovesickness in your voice, your past self might keel over and die. When did this happen?

You drop your bag of clothes on the bench by the bathroom door. Eddie bangs around the A/C unit a bit, until something starts whirring, and he makes a gleeful noise.

“It’s aliiiiive!” He announces dramatically, emulating Dr. Frankenstein. You giggle as he leaps toward you, practically throwing you onto the bed in excitement. “We have cool air. We can actually wear clothes to bed tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, not even trying to hide your disappointment at the thought. The best part of your last two mornings has been waking up to his naked body beside yours, warm and soft and littered with tattoos that you just can’t stop looking at.

You mean, I won’t get to wake up to your skin on mine tomorrow? I won’t be able to pretend like I’m not staring at your dick and imagining all the things I want to do to it? How will I be able to admire you for my own perverted gain?

You don’t even realize that you’re stroking your fingers across his bruised cheek until he leans into your touch. Then you take inventory of your current position- your back to the mattress, his body hovering over you, half covering you. Caging you in with his arms. His long hair creates a veil around your faces.

When he blinks his eyes open at you, you can tell where his mind is before he opens his mouth. “Did we have our first fight yesterday?”

You frown, a puff of air exiting your nose. “No, I think I’d call it laying ground rules.”

“Ground rules,” Eddie nods, his sore cheek rubbing against your hand. You’re starting to wonder if he likes the pain, since he won’t stop pushing into it. “I’m not great at remembering rules. What were they, again?”

“No fighting.”

“Right, and no gambling.”

“No bars.”

He squints. “Is that one still up for negotiation, or…?” He trails off, giggling as you smack your hand lightly against his shoulder. “Kidding! I’m kidding. No bars. Got it.”

“And that was it,” you tell him sweetly. “Unless there was another one you wanted to add?”

He stares at you for a long moment, his fingers twirling in the hair right beside your ear as he gets lost in thought. Say what you’re thinking, your mind practically screams at him. Please, god, say what we’re both thinking…

Eddie licks his lips and finally says, “No sleeping with clothes on?”

Gotcha. A creeping smile stretches your face, trying to play coy even when your heart’s beating a mile a minute. Eddie’s eyebrows raise at you, waiting for an answer.

“I’m not easy, Eddie.”

“I know,” he tells you, mirroring your smile. “I don’t expect to get lucky with you.”

“I know,” you hum. Your hand drifts up the side of his torso, a more firm and languorous touch than you’d previously been brave enough to give him. “But do you want to?”

Eddie shudders, and it’s the first honest to god evidence you have that you turn him on as much as he does you. The realization feels rapturous.

“God, yes.”

He kisses you then, open-mouthed and passionate, his hand cupping your jaw to keep you where he wants you. Your nails scratch up his back with a loud tearing sound against his shirt, and he chuckles as you frantically clutch at him with all your strength.

“I know, pretty girl,” he murmurs, pecking your lips briefly before descending to bite at your jaw. “You’ve been wanting this since that first night. Feelin’ me up in the morning, like I wouldn’t notice…”

“I didn’t wanna wake you,” you hiccup as his hand cups the crotch of your jeans, rocking the meat of his palm firmly where you’re dying for friction. “Oh, ffffuck Eddie, m’sorry…”

“And here you were, thinking I was the pervert,” he grunts. “‘Least I can keep my hands to myself, hm?”

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry,” you babble at him, hands shaking as they grip onto his shoulders. Now that the aching throb between your legs is back, and he’s finally giving it attention, you can’t seem to come up with a more coherent sentence. Your face grows hot, but not at the fact that you’d been caught in your lechery- just because he turns you on more than you can think to admit.

“Don’t be sorry, sweet thing,” Eddie whispers. His dark eyes are lined up with yours, the curtain of his hair shielding them from reflecting any of the light from the desk lamp- it’s just you and the starry voids of space, locked in your own little world. He rubs his hand back and forth with practiced pressure against the front of your jeans, your hips kicking up against him. “I want you to touch me. Want you to do whatever you want with me, baby.”

“Whatever I want?” Your fingers dragging up his lower back, under his shirt to feel the heat of his skin.

“Anything,” he insists, kissing you again. Wet and sloppy, teeth clacking as you grind up into his palm. Your thick denim jeans are about the most abominable things that have ever existed.

You feel like your head’s on sideways with how pent up you already are. “I want you to fuck me Eddie- jesus chr- can we do that? Right now? Please?”

Eddie laughs. A happy, whole-hearted, almost disbelieving laugh. “Thought I was gonna be the one begging you, after all this…” His breath hitches, the touch of his hand leaving you so that he can push himself back. “Lemme get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

You nod quickly, earning a pleased hum from him. The way he undresses you is touched by reverence; his fingers slow as they drag the cotton of your shirt over your head, grazing your skin all the way. His lips dancing across your collarbone as he undoes the front of your stupid fucking jeans. You just want them off, done with and laying in a pile to be forgotten about by the motel room door, but Eddie has other plans.

“Slow.” He grabs your hip to stop your wiggling, fingers curled around the back of the waistband of them as he pulls the denim down your thighs. “We’ve got all night, baby. I’m not leaving. Not going anywhere.”

“I want you,” you insist desperately, sounding like a broken record. Your distress is evident on your face, in the way you clench your thighs together to hide the obnoxious wet spot growing on your cotton panties. You wonder if he’d felt it when he was touching you over your jeans, if the heat and dampness had soaked through the denim as well. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“You have me, sweetheart,” Eddie ensures. “Don’t… I don’t want you to worry about it. M’gonna make sure there are no worries in that pretty head.”

He yanks his t-shirt off, the one you’d bought him from the resale store. A cloud of frizzy, dark hair obscures his pretty face for half a second, the shirt landing on the floor somewhere off to the side, and then Eddie’s eyes find you again, grinning at you widely with pointed teeth.

You grab for him, your fingers looping around the chain that hangs from his neck. Tugging him down, you press a gentle kiss to his lips. Then to his sore jaw, where a tiny scab has formed on the right side of his chin. Then to his bruised cheek, where he flutters his eyes shut and groans softly at the brush of your lips.

“My boy,” you whisper to him, and you don’t even know if he understands the significance of it to you. His girl. Your boy.

Eddie smiles against your skin. He peppers kisses everywhere he can reach, down onto your chest, dragging his sharp teeth every once in a while just to hear you keen. You’re certain you’ve ruined your underwear now, feeling the wetness grow cool against your skin.

What a fucking concept. Cool air.

Eddie seems to have the same thought as you, as he slips his fingers beneath the white cotton and peels them down your legs. Strings of your arousal stick to the wet fabric, dropping off in thick tendrils onto the sheets below you as he groans lowly.

“Fuck,” Eddie curses, shaking his head in chastisement as he settles between your legs at the end of the bed. He tsks, “Just look at you, poor thing. Should’a said something to me, can’t have you going around like this.”

You shiver as he trails his mouth up the inside of your thigh. His day-old stubble scrapes your sensitive skin, making you break out in a cold sweat. “M’not- I didn’t want you to think-”

“That you’re easy?” He coos with a condescending smile. “No, honey. I know, you’re a good girl.” He nips at the widest part of your thigh, plush flesh indenting with the imprint of his teeth. “But I’m no good. You should know that, better than anyone. No good for you.”

Eddie’s tongue burns and soothes at the same time, leaving your brain a scrambled mess on the mattress beneath you. He gathers all of your collected arousal into his mouth, groaning like he’s been desperate to taste it all this time. “Been dreaming of this since I saw you, pretty girl.”

Pulling your leg over his bare shoulder, he all but crushes you against his face, his sturdy hands wrapped around your hips to hold you still. Your back arched, your hips fully off the bed as he lifts your lower half into the air.

You choke out the first part of his name, your hands fisting in the comforter next to your head. There’s a twist of pleasure deep in your core that makes you whine far louder than necessary, a waterfall of words spilling from you before you can stop them, “Oh shit- Ed- I don’t- s’too good-”

“Too good?” Eddie snickers, eyes bright as he watches you from between your thighs. “Nothing's too good for you.”

Then he spits onto your already soaked and swollen pussy. You sob, positively crying from the feeling of it, drenched and dripping along your sensitive flesh. Eddie spreads the wetness around with his tongue, and your cunt clamps down hard at the lewd squelch of it, the mortifying slurp of his lips closing down and sucking on your labia.

“Oh fuck, what the fuck-” you whimper high to the ceiling, mouth hanging open in shock.

You could have been doing this for days. He could have fucked you like this the first night, when you lay next to him, naked in the dark. Your body aches at the thought of being deprived of this longer than necessary.

“That’s it, baby, just stay still. Let me ruin you, huh?” Eddie murmurs, letting your thigh rest heavy on his shoulder so that he can move one hand, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit in front of his face. He watches your cunt glisten and throb for him, listening to your desperate sobs echo through the otherwise silent room, and whispers, “Shit. Like my own little fuckin’ pornstar, sweetheart.”

Normally, you wouldn’t exactly take that as a compliment- but with the way he says it, with his voice thick and dark like that, and with the way the hot, slick velvet of his tongue dips into your channel and shoots electricity along your skin, you figure he must have meant it like one.

He goes slow, thrusting into you gently, taking his time to get familiar between your legs. Still, it doesn’t stop you from positively shrieking toward the ceiling when he licks you from hole to clit, the entire expanse of his tongue sweeping along nerve endings that are charged like live wires.

Eddie chuckles, hot breath spilling out over your feverish skin, and he pauses there. Lets you feel the warm press of his flattened tongue before he just barely rubs it back and forth, back and forth-

“Eddie-!?” You gasp, an erotically loud moan spilling out of your mouth right before you come all over his. You crumble, your hips threatening to buck out of his steady grip as searing euphoria rips through you. He scrambles, ringed fingers locking tight enough on your waist to bruise, keeping you against him as you thrash wildly.

He keeps you like that for a long time, purring into your spasming pussy while an array of unhinged noises pour from your body- your mouth, your hands tearing at the sheets and at your head, your cunt and all its wet filth drenching Eddie’s bruised face.

If it hurts him, he doesn’t let on. He just keeps going, and going.

Until something pounds against the wall behind your head. You hiccup, your dazed, post-orgasm brain unable to comprehend where the sound is coming from. That wasn’t- couldn’t have been me…

“Pretty sounds,” Eddie giggles as he finally pulls his mouth away from you. “Guess the neighbors agree.”

“Oh, god.” Your hands cover your face, hot and sticky with sweat. Your eyes feel heavy, fuck-drunk, your heart still pounding in your chest from the adrenaline of the orgasm Eddie gave you. You feel embarrassed, like you ought to be going over to apologize to whatever sorry person happens to be sharing a wall with you, now.

Eddie has other plans. “Think we should give the audience a good show, huh?”

It’s merely a suggestion- you know that you could always find a way to quiet yourself, stuff your mouth with cotton and stifle your moans- but the implication of it makes your toes curl. Your breath rattles in your chest when you inhale. “You… you want everyone in the building to hear you fucking me?”

Eddie crowds you on the bed, your legs still slung over his shoulders so that you’re bent nearly in half. He’s still too fucking clothed for your liking- his leather belt digs into the back of your thighs as he presses a sloppy kiss to your dry lips. “I want everyone here to know you’re mine, sweetheart.”

Your hands cradle his face, pulling him in for a deeper kiss as he slowly lowers your legs from his shoulders. Your over extended legs flop down onto the mattress, and you whine into his mouth as he massages his tongue with yours.

“I’m yours, Eddie,” you moan against his damp skin. “Oh god, I want it- want everyone to know.”

You take the initiative, with one last kiss turning in his grip. His hand slips, catching himself from toppling off the bed as you scoot onto your stomach, your knees planting on the mattress so that you can wiggle your hips up at him.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, smoothing a gentle palm over your ass before he kisses your lower back. He pauses, drawing soft kisses up your spine until his breath sweeps your shoulder blade. “You’re so beautiful. How’d I get so fucking lucky?”

A quiet keen is the only answer you give him, shoving your hips backward to get him to just fucking touch you, but he pulls away too quickly. There’s the clink of a belt buckle, a zipper being pulled, and you tense, your hand closing into a fist around the pillow at the head of the bed. Following the rustle of clothes, you hear the crinkle of a condom wrapper- you hadn’t even realized he had one. It didn’t even occur to you, in your dizzying need to fuck him, like some loveblind idiot.

You almost berate yourself for it, but then you feel his cock press against your entrance, and all those thoughts die away. He rolls his hips, and every single muscle in you tightens.

Eddie chokes on air as pleasure positively tears through you. Your eyes roll back, your mouth wide open and threatening to drool onto the pillow you’ve been shoved face-first into.

“F-fuck, you’re so big.” It’s the only thing you can choke out around moans. He splits you so wide, dragging through your slick walls that are still so sensitive from your first orgasm.

“Holy shi- oh my god-” he gasps behind you. “M’so sorry- I can’t- Feels so fucking good-”

You groan, unable to form words to adequately answer him. All you can manage to do is jam your hips backward in an attempt to get him deeper, as far as he can fucking go inside you. Your body blazes, everything coming up smelling of sex and sweat as you wail hopelessly into the pillow.

Eddie snarls, a deep and dangerous noise in the back of his throat as he draws his hips back and presses into you again. There’s no time for you to adjust, each thrust a little more forceful than the last. His cock hits sharp heaven deep inside you, punching loud and guttural moans from you each time his hips impact your ass.

“That’s a good girl- so ffffucking wet, goddamnit,” Eddie praises you through clenched teeth, ringed fingers and bruised knuckles wrapping loosely around your neck to lift your head from the pillow. “Let them hear all those pretty noises for me, baby.”

“Eddie…” You hiccup, your voice kicked up into a shrill whine. You swallow against the press of his fingers on your throat, holding your jaw into the air so there’s no place for your sounds to go but to the wall and through it.

Above your head, the banging on the wall starts back up. Eddie drops your chin and slams his hand on top of the headboard, gripping tightly at plywood that threatens to hit the wall as he ruts into you. Your face hits the pillow again, but your sobbing moans still come out loud and disruptive as Eddie speeds up his hips in retaliation.

“Doing so good f’me. Feel me, princess? So fucking deep,” Eddie groans. His cock licks up a sweet heat inside of you, and you know you’re going to come. He curses lowly, his hips pistoning into yours hard enough that you have to smack your hand into the headboard to keep from knocking into it. “Taking me so well. So perfect- s’like you were made for me, I know it, I just fucking know it…”

Eddie’s arm wraps around your waist from behind, and he hauls your back into his sweat-slick chest. You almost feel weightless, for a moment, before you’re settled back into his lap, your thighs bracketing his as he kneels beneath you, clutching you against him.

A gasp tears from your mouth with a loud, “Shit!” His cock hits a different spot inside you, bursting color behind your closed eyelids as you throw your head back against his shoulder.

Eddie’s breath fans across your neck, sweat-damp hair tickling the side of your face. His hand greedily palms at your breasts, bouncing you in his lap as his tongue traces a wet line along your shoulder.

“Just know you were made for me,” Eddie repeats quietly in your ear, his breath feeling like flames on your neck. “That’s why you found me, baby. You were meant to be mine, my girl.”

His girl.

“Yours, Eddie,” you blubber, reaching back to dig a fist into his hair as his hands squeeze your breasts. “M’all yours.”

“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs, his voice saccharine and velvety. He moans in your ear when your cunt clenches down, a threatening throb at the outskirts of your orgasm. “Say it again.”

A whimper, high and needy in your throat. “I’m yours. Your girl- oh, f-fuck, Eddie- I’m gonna-”

“That’s right. My good girl. Only easy when it comes to me, right?”

Eddie’s hand drags purposefully down, fingernails dragging just through your pubic hair, just barely grazing where you want him- just like you did to him, that first morning. The realization makes you seize up, all tense from head to toe.

“What’s it like, when I do it to you? You like it?” He whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You suck in a sharp breath, a hiss through your teeth as you nod. His laugh is barely a ghost of a breath on your skin. “Yeah. I did, too.”

Eddie’s voice in your ear says, “Come for me,” and not even a fraction of you would deny him that.

His finger drags slowly your clit, calloused skin catching on the swollen bud, and you come. Your body slumps against him, and you’re so grateful for his arms around you to hold you through it. You’d swear he was splitting you in half with the sounds coming from your mouth. Your head tilted back on his shoulder, every breath is punctuated by a hoarse cry that breaks in your throat. Your hand clamps around his arm, which is still cradling you close to his chest as his own moans ring in your ear, his hips driving up into you as your cunt pulses around his cock. You know that he comes when his teeth wrap around the muscle of your shoulder and bite down.

Silence settles over your sweaty bodies, but thunderous banging is still furiously happening on the other side of the wall. You hear voices, words too muffled by the drywall to be intelligible, but they still sound angry.

Eddie won’t let you go, not yet. He’s clutching you, his mouth still wrapped around your shoulder, even though his teeth aren’t biting anymore. You pet his forearm, and lean forward just enough to knock lightly on the wall.

“We’re done!” Your voice cracks with the effort it takes to call out to the people on the other side.

“Fantastic show, my love. I think we deserve five stars.” Eddie laughs, nuzzling his face into your neck as he finally releases your shoulder from the trappings of his jaw. “I think I’m corrupting you, sweetheart.”

You hum, still petting his arm. “I think you already have, teddy.”

Eddie freezes, his grip on your waist tightening just a little. “No one’s called me that since I was a kid.”

“What, teddy?” He nods. Your fingernails drag dully down his arm, tracing over a tattoo of a swarm of bats, which breaks out in goosebumps under your touch. “Is that… Can I call you that?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “Yeah, you can- you can call me teddy.”

It’s quiet after that. He rocks you in his arms until you kiss his knuckles and lift yourself gingerly from his lap, earning a pacified grunt from him as his softened cock slides out of you. You watch him as he ties off the condom and tosses it in the wastebasket a few feet away, then flops backward onto the bed so that his head hits the pillows.

You chuckle, sliding forward to run your hands along his stomach. “Honey, you still have your pants on.”

He hadn’t taken them completely off, only pushed them down far enough to free his cock and have at you. What’s more, he still has his boots on, too- big, black motorcycle things that nearly hang off the end of the bed.

Eddie grunts dismissively. “C’n deal with it in the morning.”

“No sleeping with clothes on.”

He huffs petulantly, but the scowl he tries to give you turns into a lovesick grin pretty quick. He tucks his hand behind his head in mock-nonchalance. “Hey, pretty lady. You come here often?”

“Once or twice, so far.” You grin at him as he laughs, rolling your eyes as you move down the bed to finish undressing him. You untie his boots and let them fall with his jeans and boxers onto the floor at the end of the bed, glancing up at him once you’re finished.

His eyes are closed. You don’t think he’s sleeping yet, but he’s flushed, covered in sweat. He’s still so much of an enigma to you, but you adore him. You’re enamored with him.

You crawl slowly up the length of his body, feline-like in your movements. You appraise his tattoos, smoothing your hands over them as you go. You lean down and press featherlight kisses across his beautiful, bruised face.

Eddie cracks his eyes open at you with an inquisitive smirk, just barely puckering his lips to kiss you back when you land one on them. “Feeling me up again, sweetheart?”

You hum, kissing his chest. “You’re hot.” It’s the only explanation you afford him. And once he’s shut his eyes again, you carefully move down his body, peppering kisses across his naked torso.

“What’re you-?” He twitches when you drag your tongue over his cock, still wet and salty with his cum. He groans as you slowly lift it, suckling on the head gently. “Oh… Sweetheart, m’not… I don’t think I can-”

“I’m just cleaning you up, teddy,” you tell him gently. “S’okay. You can go to sleep.”

He hums tiredly, his hand lifting to run through your hair, stroking tenderly against the back of your head. “My girl just can’t keep her hands off, huh?”

“Not a chance,” you tell him, giving him another slow lick. “You’re just too fucking pretty, Eds.”

“And you’re too fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie only really falls asleep after he comes again.

I’m never gonna leave you, baby, even if you lose what’s left of your mind…

A few days later, the car breaks down in Colorado Springs.

It had been acting up for a while, of course. Even though you enjoyed watching Eddie when he was bent over the open hood, bare arms sweaty and streaked with grease in the afternoon heat, you knew it ultimately wasn’t going to end well.

Each time Eddie tinkered with it, more and more concerning things came to light. “One of your cylinders misfired,” he said one time, shaking his head. He’d insisted on driving it from that point on. Another, “The fucking spark plug has gone out. We have to get a new one.” That was $75 you didn’t have to spare.

You guess the car had just fucking had it when you got to Colorado. You went to start it up at a truck stop, and the whole thing just sputtered and coughed at you, and then you didn’t have an engine anymore.

After Eddie paced around and cursed about it for a couple minutes, you both crawled into the back of the van and locked the door. And now you sit cross-legged across from each other, with everything of value that you have to your name in a little pile in front of you.

When you left home, you’d saved up a couple thousand to live off of until you got somewhere you felt comfortable working and living in. Since then, you’ve squandered it on food and motels and gas, never staying put and now rambling along with Eddie.

From the ATM, Eddie had stolen around two thousand dollars. He’s in the same boat as you, now looking at only a couple hundred in between the two of you. Hardly enough to afford a hotel room or bus fare for the both of you. Certainly not enough to get you a new car, or even rent one.

He scrubs his hands down his face, dirty fingernails pressing into his skin. “You should take it.”

“What?” You squint at him.

“There’s enough here for bus fare for you, at least,” Eddie murmurs, his fingers poking at the pile and scooting it toward you. “Getcha where you want to go. Get a nice job at a tourist shop in Vegas or Santa Monica or something.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Eddie?” you snap. You swat his hand away from the pile, looking affronted. “I’m not taking the money, so cut it out. We’ll figure something else out.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he’s already made up his mind. “We had a deal. I fix your car, you take me with you. And I didn’t fix your car.”

“Yeah, but that was before…” you trail off, scrutinizing his expression. He won’t meet your gaze. He won’t look at you.

Eddie’s mouth opens and closes like he’s a fish out of water. Then, he says bitingly, “Before we fucked?”

You can feel all the emotion drain from your face, leaving you a blank, hollow screen with dead eyes just staring at him. It’s your best defense against bursting into tears at the very tone of his voice.

When he glances at you, you can tell that he wants to take it back immediately. His teeth worry his bottom lip, ripping at chapped shreds of skin. “Don’t do me any favors, sweetheart.”

“It’s not a fucking favor- I thought we were doing this together.”

Eddie talks over you. “You don’t need to keep dragging me around with you, okay? You’re off the hook.”

“Eddie, you’re being mean,” you croak at him. Not exactly the quick, biting wit that you can usually whip out- he’s shocked you.

He drops his eyes, his hands squeezing his knees. “Yeeeah,” he grumbles, his fingers tapping sporadically against his denim jeans. “Well, I told you, I’m no good for you. You didn’t listen.”

You told me that while your tongue was in my pussy. The words are balanced on the edge of your teeth, but they won’t fall out. Your hands itch to reach out for him, grab his chin and force him to look at you, somehow.

Instead, they snatch up the little bit of cash from your side of the pile in between you. You crumple it in your hand and shove the wad into your jacket pocket before you grab the strap of your weather-beaten backpack full of the last things you have to your name, and kick open the back door of the van.

It’s summer, but it’s windy in Colorado. It must be something about the mountains, you guess, and it being early morning. Condensation hangs in the air, making the air both heavy and cool as you breathe. Funny- if you slept naked, you’d probably have to curl up into each other for warmth, for a change.

You’re either vibrating from rage or from the abnormal chill in the air. Standing on the street corner with the gas station sign lit up in neon behind you, you kick the crosswalk pole with your dirty converse. You’re still arguing with him, in your head. We were in this together, motherfucker. I told you, I’m your girl. I put all my eggs in your basket. Whatever fucking martyr complex this is, you can shove it right up your stupid-

“I know.” Eddie’s tattooed arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his chest, his face buried in your hair as he whispers urgently into it. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

So, you weren’t arguing with him in your head. You were actually yelling everything you were thinking, and he chased you as you stormed off. Seems about par for the course.

“Fuck you, Eddie, did it even mean anything to you?” you blather at him, your voice thick with impending tears. “‘Cause it meant something to me.”

“Course it did,” he rasps at you, his arms squeezing you to him so tight that you’re running out of air to breathe. “I didn’t- I was being shitty. I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave.”

“Then don’t push me away.” The tears collect in your lashes, finally dripping down your cheeks. You turn in his arms and whack your hand flat against his chest. “Don’t treat me like some slut, don’t- I didn’t sleep with you just because I wanted you to fix my fucking car, you jerk.”

“I don’t think that,” Eddie insists quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “C’mon, now.”

“You said-”

“I know what I said,” he cuts you off. “And I didn’t mean it. I have a bad habit of throwing away the good things in my life, ‘cause… ‘cause of that martyr complex, you said-” He jams his tongue against the roof of his mouth when you hiccup, staring up at him with a wobbly lip. “Don’t let me throw you away. You’re the best thing I’ve ever had, ‘n I don’t wanna lose you just because I’m an idiot.”

You sigh, your head falling neatly into the crook of his neck like it’s meant to be there. He’s too quiet, holding you against him at the street corner. Eddie breathes in deep and kisses the side of your head longingly.

“I can get us a car.”

You lift your head to look at him. He wears a disappointed expression. “But we don’t have any money.”

“It won’t take money,” Eddie mumbles as he strokes your back. “I, uh… I didn’t want to end up like my old man, but…” he shrugs, his eyes cast away from you. He chuckles sadly. “Nothin’ I can do about that, now, I guess. I mean, look how you met me.”

Oh. You can infer what he means by the far-off look on his face, like he’s resigned himself to his fate. You lift your hands to cradle his face; the bruise on his cheekbone has faded to yellow, the scab on his chin almost healed. He’s never looked more beautiful to you.

“You’re a good man, Eddie,” you tell him sternly.

Eddie’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be too sure of that. You might change your mind.”

‘Cause you know I’ll be right there beside you, riding through all these western nights…

The sedan isn’t exactly flashy, or new. It’s a tin can on wheels that’ll crumble into bits if you so much as side-swipe a trash can. You keep a lookout as Eddie jimmies an unwound wire coat hanger between the glass window and the door, and a second later the door is unlocked.

You’re unnervingly calm. How did you get to be so calm about all this? Stealing money, driving getaway cars, stealing other cars when those ones don’t work. Suddenly an accomplice to whatever illegal shit has to happen for you to get where you’re going.

What’s worse, you think, is how badly the sight of him hotwiring the car turns you on. It’s practically horrifying the way your skin crawls and your core burns as you watch his hands fiddle with the wires beneath the console, so quick that your mind can barely process it. You’re not sure if the adrenaline in your veins is from looking to see if anyone’s coming, or if it’s because you want to jump his bones.

"I swear to you," he's saying as he swipes at frayed wires, "I swear, when we get to San Francisco, I'll never- I'm gonna get an honest, real fuckin' job, I'm not gonna do anything to hurt yo-"

The car starts, and you leap into the front seat without giving it any more thought. “Eddie?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He looks up at you, his brows tilted up expectantly. He’s still tucking wires back under the dashboard, preparing to take off once he gets the door shut.

“I slept with you because I’m falling in love with you.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide as moons, glittering in the light of a fluorescent floodlight at the corner of the dark parking lot.

“You don’t have to love me back,” you tell him honestly. “I just wanted you to know. I’m with you. And I’m not gonna leave.”

You don’t know if he loves you back- not yet, anyways. He doesn’t say it to you. But he kisses you like he does.

I'll be screaming your name past the gas stations, trailing down the interstate. Please don’t love how I need you, and know that one day, you and I could be okay.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #roses*

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yamujiburo · 7 months

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If in thep ast, they ever dubbed anything with Jessie's mom, what localized name do you think they would of gave her? My guess would be Bonnie of Bonnie and Clyde or maybe Billie from Billy the Kid to keep to the theme they had going on in the 90s.

Calamity Jane (or just Jane) FOR SURE. She even had a daughter named Jesse I believe!

#ask yam

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wekiaam · 9 months

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Okay guys I want to make a Halloween themed Newsies piece so I was wondering how the characters would get dressed up today, here's a few options for couple costumes:

This just makes so much sense to me you have an orphan guy with a red and blue color scheme with a job at a newspaper (and a possibly secret identity) with a red haired reporter girlfriend... you get it

Jack as Jack and Katherine as Sally, again a beloved red haired character 👀

Other custome ideas I had for these two specifically:

- Bonnie and Clyde

- Troy and Gabriella

- Mario and Peach

- Zack Efron and Zendaya in the Greatest Showman (if you know you know)

OK let me know which one is the best option!!

Also bonus <3

I don't think I have to explain this one

#newsies #newsies broadway #newsies fanart #broadway #fanart #jack kelly #2dsies #livesies #davey jacobs #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #jatherine #javid

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forthechubbies · 8 months

Text

Roadkill°{Rated X} Drabble ->Series

Criminal!Woosan x Victim!Chubby Reader

W! MOMMY KINK!, MILF! Reader,Strong Language, Sexual themed , mentions of prostitution, Alcohol, and pissed off San yummy 😋...Wooyoung is a mean drunk by the way.

"I said take a left, dumbass!!!"

It is often mentioned that nobody can bear the burden of a guilty conscience. However, have you ever considered what happens when someone or a group of people shamelessly disregard feelings of regret, remorse, and the basic principles of humanity?

Instead, they prioritize their own selfish desires for greed, wealth, and personal gratification, even if it means hurting others.

"ITS HARD TO FUCKIN HEAR OVER THESE SIRENS"

The individuals are the Korean bonnie & clyde; Jung Woo-young; the man driving the getaway van and Choi San the man poorly reading directions. Not much is known about these menances besides them being nothing but a handful of trouble.

Cutting through a rural region facilitated the pair's escape. The guys puffed, drawing in as much breath as possible before bursting into nervous laughter between the duo.

“Oh, sh*t, that was close. Lucky us, huh?" remarked Wooyoung.

San sat in despair and rolled his eyes, saying, "Drive the fucking car.." He had had enough of his beloved for the day.

.....

The stillness between the lovers was uncomfortable following today's somewhat botched theft. San was the one who broke the stillness. "I'll be back," he said casually over his shoulder as he crossed over the motel entrance. Wooyoung huffed, hot on San's trail. "Where are you going?" he inquired, without shoes in the crisp autumn air.

"For a walk." San said, plainly

Instead of confronting San's emotions based on his actions, Wooyoung answered, "Okay." Wooyoung steps furiously into the van before speeding away into the night..l

San didn't bother giving him a moment's glimpse.

What the hell is this place?! Wooyoung was driving through this dump of a town, venting his frustration. He was cruising down the deserted streets when he stumbled upon a crappy gas station. "Just in time," he muttered to himself as he pulled up to the pump. But of course, the tank was empty. "Fuck!" Wooyoung screamed as he punched the steering wheel in anger.

....

In the depths of despair, San painfully acknowledged the vast gap of time without his foolish lover. Anxiety consumed him as futile calls left him restless. Where could that ass be?

By the roadside, the van sat motionless, as if devoid of any purpose. Within its confines, a wooyoung, heavily intoxicated, slumped over carelessly, encircled by a sea of discarded beer bottles. His supposedly peaceful slumber was abruptly shattered by the obnoxious blaring of his cell phone...again

Wooyoung bellowed furiously through the speaker. "Ugh, What..what- Ah! Shit!.... Quit goddamn yelling in my fucking ear!.. ... How the fuck am I supposed to know where the hell I am?! I just woke the fuck up!.....wah! I'm not some damn drunk-asshole! You've been a colossal asswipe all day.. I fucking saved your sorry ass and all you gave a shit about is the dead bitch on the pavement...... He. would have..fucking killed you!... You dumbass."

San's mind was filled with a disturbing idea - were they heartless murderers or courageous outlaws? The reality was horrifying. They were criminals, but taking a life was an entirely new level of wickedness. However, San couldn't ignore the fact that they were not entirely innocent either. The truth was staggering and left San in a state of shock.

During their incarceration, whispers circulated about his involvement in sinister dealings that involved the disappearance of both guards and fellow inmates. But he was not acting alone, driven by a primal instinct to survive.

However, Wooyoung was a different breed altogether. His thirst for blood was almost demonic, a rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins like a sweet poison.

He reveled in it, relishing the taste of fear and the power it gave him. It was as if he had made a deal with the devil himself, and now he was paying the price in flesh and bone.

San's point was clear: Wooyoung possessed the power to decide the fate of that man, whether to merciless slaughter him or spare his wretched existence.

The man, feeble and defenseless, posed no immediate danger. Yet, in a twisted display of sadistic pleasure, Wooyoung coldly pressed the barrel of his gun against the man's vulnerable skull, relishing in the anticipation of the impending explosion. And then, with a resounding bang, the man's life was abruptly extinguished, his blood mingling with the already crimson-stained surroundings.

In a state of intoxication, Wooyoung seized control of the wheel.

Tragically, lost in his drunken haze, he dared to shut his eyes for what seemed like a mere moment. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced through the air, jolting him awake... Shit. He hastily pulled over, compelled to investigate, only to be confronted with a shocking sight - a lifeless woman sprawled before him.

He gnashed his teeth, the very last thing he wanted was the hassle of concealing a dead body. Wooyoung's gaze crept up your limbs until it met your face...Shit, she's bleeding a bit but she'll live...I must have scared her out of her wits and she passed out. The longer Wooyoung stared, the more he discerned your profession.

At first, The school girl uniform puzzled him but there's no way in hell, Parents would allow their daughter out the door the way your dressed.

He audaciously dropped to his knees in the grass beside your form, your name tag proudly displaying "Yn" with a heart-shaped flourish. "Bunny Lounge..." he uttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A humorless chuckle escaped his lips as he continued, "My dear, you are far too beautiful to be a whor-"

His intentions abruptly shifted towards your forsaken purse, mere inches away from your body. A wicked smirk danced upon his lips as he scoffed, relishing in the sinister thrill of his impending actions.

"Just hold on a minute, Sweetheart," He sneered.

With a savage force, Wooyoung tore through the contents of your purse, his hands ravaging through the remnants of your personal belongings. And then, amidst the chaos, he stumbled upon a collection of cherished family photographs, capturing the essence of your existence alongside your innocent baby twin sons.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, electrifying his twisted mind. "You... you're a mother..."

A wave of sorrow washed over him as memories from his troubled childhood resurfaced. He was raised by a single mother who tirelessly struggled to provide for him, doing whatever it took to ensure there was food on the table.

He sensually pressed his ear against your heaving bosom, captivated by the rhythmic melody of your steady heartbeat... Wooyoung wasn't the cuddlyist person in the world but he found instant relief being against your skin.

San was teetering on the edge of madness, his mind consumed by fury, when his spouse burst through the door, guzzling down yet another bottle of the delectable soju. "Daddy's finally graced us with his presence," San sneered.

Woo-young's freakin' good-looking mug was all shiny, like he'd been doused in oil or somethin'. "Sannie-ah!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" San exploded, launching himself at Wooyoung and forcefully slamming him against the door. "It's fucking 3am. Where the hell were you?"

"I... I killed an angel," Wooyoung whispered, a sinister giggle escaping his lips as he leaned in close to San's ear. "She's so soft n' sweet...like you." His tongue grazed San's stud earrings. "So I had to keep her-..I had no choice.."

San brushed off Wooyoung's words, tossing him aside like a rag doll as he stormed out of the motel room. But as he took a few steps away, doubt began to creep into his mind. Could it be possible that his drunken lover was actually telling the truth?

As he crept towards the van's rear, his heart pounded with fear. San's hands trembled as he reached for the cold metal handles of the doors. With a deep breath, he pulled them open, and his breath caught in his throat. In the center of the mattress lay a woman.No angel. your dirty body was bound and gagged, your blouse ripped open to reveal a lacy bra. The sight was enough to make San's blood run cold. He knew he had stumbled upon something truly terrifying.

San held his breath slamming the doors shut before rushing to confront the murderer. Wooyoung flinched at the sound of the door. " You look pissed." He chuckled. "Did you see my piece of heaven? Beautiful. Right?!"

Meanwhile, in the cold. As you slowly regained awareness, your foot landed on a glass bottle, knocking it against others. Bringing you up to speed on the issue.

Your heart races as you feel the panic set in. The pressure is crushing you, and you can't even sit up because of the damn rope tying you down. You look around frantically, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Are you outside? In a shed? No, it's a van. Your mind races as you try to figure out how to escape this nightmare.

"You're nothing but a filthy prostitute." A man's voice was the last thing you heard before you fully lost consciousness.

As your captors' voices grew louder, the chilling realization hit you like a ton of bricks - would you ever lay eyes on your beloved boys again? Tears threatened to spill, but you had no time for weakness.

Upon opening the doors, The men found you conscious and confused you stared at them as if their aliens. "Oh shit, She's alive." Wooyoung slurred, "See, Sannie, you hit me for nothing." He happily crawled into the van climbing up your body as you struggled. "Easy, mommy, you don't want to hurt your-"

San aggressively punished his lover upside the head. "Ya! The fuck is wrong with you?! This isn't us." He snatched his lover against the wall of the van with a Slam.

Wooyoung groaned, enjoying the feeling of being manhandled. " We're criminals, Dickhead, bad stuff is what we done." He couldn't take his eyes off your exposed legs. "We should reap the benefits. Don't you think, Sannie?"

San snatched Wooyoung's jaw forcing him to look at him. "There's a fine line between Criminals and monsters and that " He uses his head to movement towards your shaken figure. "Is going overboard!"

San had clearly had enough for the night, but Wooyoung wasn't going to let him get away with it. In a drunken rage, he snapped back, defending himself with all the aggression he could muster.

"Sleep in the damn van!" San barked at Wooyoung, not bothering to look back. "Fucking animal " He hoisted himself onto the bed, forcefully wrapping the rope that restrained your wrists around his neck, and effortlessly lifted you up.

As you observed the furious Wooyoung venting his frustration on the van, you instinctively leaned closer to San, finding some solace in his comforting presence.

..to be continued ♡

#ateez imagines #yandere ateez #woosan x chubby reader #ateez woosan #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x chubby reader #choi san x chubby reader #choi san x reader #ateez au

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venus-haze · 1 year

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Girls on Film (Mickey Altieri x Reader)

Summary: As a film studies major at Windsor College, your junior year is proving to be an eventful one as the eponymous Ghostface begins targeting fellow students, some who you consider friends. You try to focus on your classes, mainly the short film project you’re working on with Mickey Altieri, who your professor inexplicably paired you up with despite the two of you having almost polar opposite views on the medium.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. You’re also into gross out movies because I wanted a strong contrast to Mickey’s “blame the movies” thing and also irony…as you’ll see. This is an extremely dark fic, so look at the warnings before deciding whether to read this. Also, you know and I know that Mickey didn’t kill Randy, but in the context of the fic, the reader-character doesn’t know that. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: One-sided rivalry (Mickey hates your guts). Discussions of “gross” movies and themes. Descriptions of violence. Major character deaths. Sexually explicit content which involves non/dubcon, knifeplay, bloodplay, sadism (slight masochism). Do not interact if you are under 18.

Film Theory went from okay to off the walls when Mickey Altieri decided to make the argument that movies could be responsible for people’s actions. Using the brutal murders at the early Stab screening in town as an example was in poor taste when it had just happened the night before. It wasn’t even that you disliked Mickey, having met him in your Introduction to Film History course. He was pretty funny, and the two of you had a lot of the same classes together, moved in the same social circles.

He’d expressed similar views before, but never so egregiously. You couldn’t believe a fellow film student would have such a regressive view of cinema. It was asinine to even entertain the idea, but you couldn’t let the conversation go on without giving your two-cents to your peers.

“CiCi’s right. That exact thinking is what led to the Hays Code.”

“Bonnie and Clyde was one of the first post-Code movies to make it big. It showed there’s profit in glorifying crime and violence,” Mickey said. “The decade after it came out was the golden age of serial killers.”

“Oh sure, I watched one too many John Waters movies, and now I’m having sex in confession booths,” you said, earning snickers from your classmates.

“Thank you,” Randy said. “I don’t think anyone was eating dog shit after watching Pink Flamingos.”

“Maybe Ghostface got the idea for the phone calls from Serial Mom,” one of your classmates quipped.

“Kathleen Turner’s character in that was inspired by serial killers. She read true crime books and collected paraphernalia,” Mickey argued.

“I’ll do you one better and raise you John Waters himself,” you said. “The guy has a morbid fascination with the Manson Family to the point where he incorporates references to them in almost all of his movies. He hasn’t committed any mass murders.”

“No, he just makes movies that make people wanna puke,” another classmate said.

Mickey opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted by Sidney and Hallie rushing to the classroom door, looking for Randy. Unable to keep the class’s attention after that, your professor dismissed everyone.

CiCi made her way over to you, giving you an exasperated look. “Reagan-era politics have really poisoned some of these people’s critical thinking skills.”

“Tell me about it,” you agreed.

CiCi had been in a lot of the same classes as you your freshman year, and the two of you became fast friends over your similar taste in movies and distaste for closed-minded people. She was a big Lee Grant fan, wanting to make candid documentaries about tough social issues too.

You had some time to kill before your next class, so the two of you made your way to one of the empty picnic tables outside and continued the discussion, which had quickly turned into mutual ranting. Her point about the Slumber Party Massacre movies being directed by women was cut short when you realized you’d have to book it across campus to make it to Film Production II in time.

It was one of the higher level courses for film students who were looking to make feature films rather than focus on screenwriting or making documentaries. Among the prerequisites for Film Production II were Screenwriting I and II. In theory, everyone in the class would have two or three short film scripts ready to be adapted for an advanced Film Studies class. Few films were ever solo projects, so you weren’t surprised when your professor told everyone on the first day of class to prepare to be partnered up for the project, which would count for most of the course’s grade.

When you walked into the classroom, your professor handed you a slip of paper with two names on it. Yours and–of course. You almost had to laugh at the irony. Mickey. His attitude toward you could be unpredictable. Some days would be fine, and others it was like the two of you were about to bite each other’s heads off.

Speak of the devil. You watched his reaction to the slip of paper when he walked in. Unreadable, even when his attention turned to you.

“Is Sidney okay?” you asked when Mickey sat next to you.

“As okay as anyone can be in this situation. That cop from Woodsboro’s here—Dewey, he’s keeping an eye on her.”

“That’s good.”

“So, let’s get started on this thing I guess. Any ideas?”

“Okay cool. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and my strongest script is ‘The Tongue Remembers’.”

He scoffed. “The one about the cannibal girl who gets lobotomized?”

“Well, we could take the easy route and make a porno,” you snapped. “Not that it’d be very long.”

“Knowing you it’d be snuff.”

“Whatever. We’ll do one of yours, but I get to do casting and set design.”

“Easy enough, ‘Stakeout’ has four characters,” he said, digging through his backpack for a copy of the script.

You flipped through the script, scanning the first few pages to jog your memory. An action-comedy about a group of criminals who knew that they were being staked-out by undercover cops, unaware that one was within their midst. Mickey’s comedy writing was fast-paced and genuinely funny. You’d told him so in your peer review of his script in Screenwriting II. The reviews were anonymous, but the effort was still there.

Most of the reviews for ‘The Tongue Remembers’ were positive, with criticisms of some minor plot points that helped you make the whole script stronger in the long run. The review you appreciated most tore the damn thing apart, but gave detailed explanations for the suggestions given, all of which were so good you almost wanted to seek out who the source was. A handful of people didn’t care for your script at all, objecting to the plot altogether. You quietly suspected Mickey was one of them.

You tried to shake the tension that had settled over you and Mickey following the exchange just a few moments prior. At least it’d be good experience for dealing with inevitable assholes as you worked your way up in the film industry. It was tough to make it without connections, and even tougher for women.

By the end of class, the two of you agreed to meet in the library the next day and start planning casting and a general production schedule. Mickey had more editing experience than you did, but you wanted to sit in on the process after initial production of the short film was over. He begrudgingly agreed, and you left the classroom for the dining hall in a sour mood.

When you walked into the crowded dining hall for dinner, you spotted Randy and rushed over to join him. More often than you’d like, he’d have to be the mediator when you and Mickey would really get into it. At least he seemed to find it amusing.

“Hey, is everything alright?” you asked.

He handed you a plate that already had two slices of pizza on it and grabbed one for himself. “Besides the whole ‘Ghostface is back and people are being murdered’ thing? Can’t complain. How about you? Get your partner for Production II yet?”

“Yeah. Mickey.”

Randy laughed. “Nice. I’m sure that won’t be a disaster.”

“I don’t want it to be! I even said we could do one of his scripts.”

“Which one?”

“That action-comedy he wrote, ‘Stakeout’,” you said as the two of you sat at an empty table. “It’s a good script. He’s a great comedy writer. I’m just pissed he wouldn’t even consider ‘The Tongue Remembers’.”

Randy nodded in acknowledgement. “I liked that one. You did a good job of making the cannibals sympathetic. Strong ending too. I’m not so sure it’d go over well at Windsor’s student film fest. Lotta weak stomachs.”

“Last year’s winner was a fucking romcom.”

“So you give the cannibal a love interest. Go a little further than Texas Chainsaw 2.”

“I’m not trying to win awards. I wanna make art.”

“You gotta sell out before you can make art. That’s the industry, kid,” he said, patting your shoulder sympathetically. “Are you gonna be at the Delta Zeta whatever party tonight?”

“Delta Lambda Zeta? I don’t think so,” you said. “I gotta find people to be in this movie.”

It turned out to be one of the best decisions you could have made, because you ended up with a list of people interested in a role in ‘Stakeout’. More pressing, however, was the news that Ghostface had made an appearance at the party, after killing CiCi in the Omega Beta Zeta house. Your stomach dropped at the news. Just a few hours before her death you’d been talking to her. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t connected to anyone from the original Woodsboro killings, the students who were killed at the Stab premiere hadn’t been either.

In a small college like Windsor, news traveled fast, and by the time you finished eating breakfast, you’d heard that Sidney, Randy, Hallie, Derek, and Mickey had all spent the night at the police station following the attack.

You didn’t want to ask Randy if you were a suspect. Your film taste alone would put you at the top of the list by default. As much as you understood the reasoning considering the last Ghostface duo’s obsession with horror movies, it didn’t mean everyone who watched them would be inclined to commit murder, despite what Mickey thought. Besides, who would your accomplice even be? Derek or Hallie would be too obvious. Gale Weathers was cutthroat, but not in the literal sense. Randy or Dewey would be a devastating twist if the goal was to mess with Sidney that much more. You felt bad. This type of thing was fun in the movies. You couldn’t imagine it being your life.

Making your way to the library, you weren’t sure whether or not Mickey would actually show up after spending all night in a police station, but it didn’t hurt to go anyway and get other work done.

To your surprise, he sat down across from you a few minutes after you’d agreed to meet. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, dark circles under his eyes.

“Jesus have you even slept? We can do this another day.”

“Spare me your concern.”

“Look, I don’t want this project to be miserable for either of us,” you said. “Between Film Theory and Production, I was kind of being a bitch yesterday.”

“It was really that porno comment that hit me deep. I’m no two-pump chump,” he said with a smile.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry,” you laughed. “Oh, I have some people interested in three of the four roles for ‘Stakeout’.”

“Already?”

“I wanted to make it up to you.”

He was silent for a moment, placing a hand on your arm and squeezing gently. “I’m sorry about CiCi. I know she was your friend.”

“Thanks,” you whispered, trying to keep it together. The last thing you wanted was to break down in the middle of the library.

The two of you planned to do a test shoot in one of the theater’s empty practice auditoriums over the weekend. The main stage was being used for the theater department’s annual play, but Mickey pointed out that ‘Stakeout’ mostly took place in one room anyway. You went ahead and booked the auditorium on the library computer for about three hours, just to give enough time to work out any kinks and not worry about being interrupted.

While Mickey was going to spend the following couple of days getting props together and making any last minute changes to the script, you would finalize the cast since he approved of your choices, surprisingly. At least, you were going to, until Randy ended up dead not long after CiCi.

You spent a day locked in your dorm room, partially out of paranoia and also in the depression of losing two of your close friends within days of each other. It was getting serious. Randy had survived Woodsboro. If he wasn’t off limits to Ghostface, no one was.

By Saturday, you’d debated bailing on Mickey and not bothering to show up for the test shoot. You decided against it. Moping wouldn’t do you any good.

He looked shocked to see you when you walked into the auditorium. You felt bad your progress on casting stalled. His friend had died too, but he had his shit together enough to bring a box of props and the camera.

“Are you sure you’re good to shoot today?” Mickey asked from behind the camera, set a few feet from the stage.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, your voice cracking a bit. “Really, it’s all good.”

“We don’t have to–”

You shook your head. “Let’s do this.”

“Alright,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “You mind locking the door?”

“Okay.” You walked back to the door, locking it. “I got two of the leads for ‘Stakeout’ down, Frank and Alex. I know Frank wasn’t our first choice, but Greg backed out.”

“No problem–shit, I forgot something in the props box over there,” he said, adjusting the settings on the camera. “Could you get it while I finish setting this up? You can’t miss it.”

“Sure,” you said, making your way over to the cardboard box Mickey had brought with him. It took a lot to rattle you, but as soon as you looked in the box, your skin crawled. The Ghostface mask stared back at you, eyes empty black holes. The same ones your friends saw before they died. “Mickey? This better be some kind of stupid joke.”

You turned around to find him less than a foot behind you. Camera set to record. Knife in his hand. Dangerous gleam in his eye as he took a step toward you.

“Last minute change—unprofessional, I know—but I decided to go in a different direction for our short film,” he said, a sadistic grin spread across his face. “You’re gonna be the star. Too bad you won’t be able to see it.”

Just as you began to scream, he put his hand over your mouth, holding the knife to your throat. “Don’t be a diva on me now. You just say what I tell you, okay?”

You nodded frantically, vision blurred by the tears that flowed freely from your eyes. In your desperation, you accidentally nicked your own skin against the knife, whimpering at the small cut you’d self-induced. Mickey snickered, his gaze shifting from you to the camera lens.

He moved his hand from your mouth, though his thumb rested on your lower lip. Slowly, he pushed it between your lips. Fuck this. Fuck him. You bit down until you tasted copper, earning a sloppy slash across your chest that made you cry out in pain, releasing his thumb.

He looked at his hand in disbelief and then at you, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re gonna fight back, huh? You wanna play that game?” he said, an unnerving laugh escaping his lips.

Feeling bold, you spit his own blood in his face. In his moment of distraction you grabbed the knife, managing to pull it from his hand. You stumbled back, holding out the knife with a shaky hand.

Despite you having the weapon, he still seemed smug, amusement in his eyes as he lunged toward you. You wildly swung the knife, cutting his abdomen as you crashed to the ground. He climbed on you, grabbing at your flailing arms as you tried to keep him away with the threat of being cut again.

“I’ll kill you! Fucking bastard!” you screamed. “You killed my fucking friends!”

“Do it!” he taunted. “C’mon, I wanna see you try.”

In your struggle to stab him, you lost your grip on the knife, and it slid across the stage. The both of you froze. You used this moment to push him off of you, scrambling to retrieve it. He threw a punch to your back. The wind knocked out of you, violent coughs clawing their way out of your lungs. He took the opportunity to stand up as you lay on the ground in pain.

Still, with the adrenaline pumping through your veins, you grabbed for the knife, hissing as your fingers wrapped around the blade and cut deep into your skin. It didn’t matter. You had to do the most with it while you had it in your grasp.

You held the knife up in a weak defense as he kicked your stomach. When he moved to kick you again, you slashed his leg, pulling the blade from his flesh and watching as blood quickly stained his pants.

The wild look in his eye intensified, and he dropped down, his hips straddling yours. You could feel his hard cock press against your core as he shifted. And he said you got off to fucked up shit.

With one hand, he applied pressure to your throat as the other held down the arm you were holding the knife with. You released your grip on the knife as black spots clouded your vision. You could vaguely hear it fall to the ground when his hand released your throat, and you sucked in a much-needed breath. He picked up the weapon, a triumphant grin on his face. You were fucked.

He sat up, lazily dragging the knife down from your chest to your hips. “You probably should’ve killed me.”

“You think I wasn’t trying?” you wheezed.

“You put up a good fight. I’ll give you that.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

“And you don’t? I saw the thrill in your eyes every time you raised this at me.”

“It’s self-defense!”

“You tell yourself that, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss you, only for him to stop to whisper, “Try something, and I swear to god I’ll knock your teeth out.”

You were having trouble breathing. He probably crushed part of your trachea. At least you put up a good fight. You lay still as he kissed you, not making an effort to kiss him back until he pressed the blade against your throat. Even then, you let him take the lead, your lips passively responding to his as he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth. He wasn’t a bad kisser. Shame he was a serial killer. It took everything in you not to bite down on it like you had his thumb. You didn’t have the energy to fight back. Knew he wasn’t bluffing about your teeth either.

He pulled away from you, a string of bloody saliva hanging from your lips that he swiped with his injured thumb. Bringing the digit to his mouth, he licked it. You grimaced at the sight.

“C’mon, babe, I thought you were into this kinda thing,” he teased.

“That’s all pretend. It’s not real,” you argued softly.

You gasped as he cut through your top and bra, digging the blade into your abdomen. He traced the tip of the knife around your breasts, watching in amusement as you began to cry. The cool air in the room and metal brushing your nipples made them hard. He used his free hand to pinch and pull at one, eliciting pained whines from you. Your teary gaze was fixed on the knife, though.

“Why don’t you give me a big smile for the camera and tell me how bad you want me to fuck you?”

“Screw you!” you shouted hoarsely.

He scoffed, pulling the knife away from your breasts and holding the blunt side between his teeth as he unzipped your jeans. You squeezed your eyes shut as he pulled the denim down your limp legs, leaving you in only your panties. His index and middle finger pressed against the cotton, rubbing a bit at the wet spot in the fabric.

A pleased noise came from his throat. “So you are into this kinda thing.”

He snapped the elastic waistband against your hips. You moaned. Your eyes shot open, face heating up in embarrassment.

The knife was back in his hand, though the gleam of the blade lowered, down, down, until you felt it pressed against your inner thigh. He dragged the blade across your sensitive skin until the only thing between it and your pussy was the thin fabric of your panties. You felt like your heart was going to explode from your chest.

“Stop. Mickey, please don’t—oh my god—“ you babbled. “Please—Mickey, I’m sorry—“

“You gonna do what I say?”

“Please fuck me, Mickey. I want you to fuck me so bad.”

“That’s better, baby,” he cooed mockingly.

You heaved a sob of relief as you felt him pull the knife from your panties. Closing your eyes again, you reckoned your impending doom with yourself, trying to ignore the sound of his zipper. The rustling of fabric. The air on your bare pussy.

“Time for the real show.”

Mickey played with your clit while he leaned down to kiss you again, devouring your involuntary moans with a triumphant smugness.

“The rest of them were messy and painful, just like in the movies,” he said softly, confusing you for a moment before you realized he was talking about his other victims. “I didn’t hate them, though, so I’ll blame this one on violent porn.”

“Mickey, I won’t tell anyone,” you tried. “This can be our secret. I—I like it, really.”

He groaned, pushing his hard cock between your folds. A pained cry escaped your lips as his length filled you. He hardly gave you any time to get used to him inside you as he began thrusting at a brutal pace.

“Keep going,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“You feel so good, Mickey. Your cock is so—fuck—I don’t want anyone else.” You struggled to get words out, your brain overrun by the pain and pleasure that competed to cloud your senses.

“You’re not getting anyone else.”

Your eyes drifted to the knife in his hand as he pounded into you, nervous about what he was going to do with it next.

“Look at me, baby,” he ordered.

Your fearful gaze snapped to his, cruel and unforgiving. He kept rubbing circles on your clit, so fast it was almost too painful. That’s what he wanted, though. For you to hurt. Made him feel better, get off quicker if you hurt. It was almost too easy for him, the way your body betrayed you so quickly, wet with slick so he hardly had to do a thing before claiming your cunt.

Your pussy squeezed his cock, a silent encouragement with each thrust against your will. His breathing was heavy, sweat dripping from his forehead, yet he showed no signs of letting up on you. Bleeding, aching, you weren’t sure how much longer you could take the abuse.

“I want you to ruin me, Mickey.” You meant it. If this was how you were going to meet your end, it might as well be as brutal as the dark scenarios your mind sometimes wandered to after watching a particularly bloody film. Maybe he was right. Maybe the movies were to blame. “Fucking wreck me.”

He shuddered, his thrusts getting sloppy. “Fuck–Jesus fucking–”

His grip around the knife handle tightened as he came, knuckles white as he stabbed it into the floor, mere inches away from your face. You jolted, fear and adrenaline sending you over the edge. Your orgasm wracked through your body, muscles tensing, the sensation pulsing through your wounds, making them feel like they were on fire.

You nearly blacked out, but you held on long enough to feel him bottom out inside you. His head hung over yours as he caught his breath. Tilting your head up a bit, you kissed him. Softer, more intimate, hopefully enough to throw him off.

You reached for the knife next to you, but he pulled it out of the floor before you could.

“Nice try,” he said, breaking the kiss.

He stood up and walked away. For a moment, you thought he was going to just leave you there. You weren’t so lucky. He returned with Ghostface regalia in hand, looking down at your bloody body beneath him with a grin.

Mickey brought the voice modifier to his mouth. “Now, who wants to die for art?”

#mickey altieri x reader #ghostface x reader #slasher x reader #ghostface #mickey altieri #scream 2 #scream #slasher fandom #slasher community #scream franchise #scream movies

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naisaspalace · 3 months

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Personal Nakshatras observations series: MULA NAKSHATRA part 1

2/27

nakshatra characteristics:

Translation: The root Symbol: A tied bunch of roots or elephant goad yoni: A male dog Presiding Deity: Kali or/and Niritti. Ruling Planet: Ketu Ruling Deity of the Planet: Ganesha Body parts: Feet & Left side of trunk. Nature: Rakshasa (demon) Mode: Active Number 19 Gender: Neuter or male (depending on the source) Dosha: Vata Guna: Tamasic Element: Air Disposition: Sharp and dreadful Bird: Red Vulture. Trimurti: Brahma/Creation. Direction: North Motivation/Goal: Kama. Downward Facing.

"The root star, origin star, foundation star"

Power to ruin, destroy, scatter things.

small overview of the nakshatra:

So Mula is the nakshatra that is opposite ardra and naturally, it's going to deal with opposite themes or at least is going to deal with the same matter but using another tactic

this time mula instead of simply cutting the problem right away now we are going to see an individual who will find the truth by digging into it.. digging into the roots to find the source of the problem.

mula its the "matured" state of ketu contrary to ardra which is the infant or initial manifestation of rahu

mula can be just as chaotic as ardra or even worse because this time there's not head only the body, ketu, and the challenge now it is to cut off only the part of the root that is sick or bringing problems.

this time instead of cutting the problem straight away we will go on a journey to see what happens when you decide to go after to eliminate the root of the problem and its consequences.

i also highly recommend that you check my previous post, that i will link on the end of this post, to be able to get a better understanding of the matter.

Pop culture mula representations:

Singers

Gerard Way (depression, singer and songwriter, fame, and art)

Gerard Way is a famous 00s punk rock vocalist of a band called My Chemical Romance. he has mula moon with mercury Bharani conjucted ketu Ashwini and just by looking at his placements we can already see that he has huge ketu energy on his chart.

He is a Taurus rising with mercury-ketu on his 12th, exalted rx venus on his 11th with the sun. The 12th house is the house of liberation, salvation, losses, and things that are hidden from us and the 11th is the house of earned gains and social networking.

(i use astroseek to see the carts so i believe that might be some differences although i don't think his nakshatras change regardless)

I am going to discuss the lyrics of his albums that, according to him, are very personal.

his second band album was launched in 2004 and it is called "Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge"

okay lets just start by looking at the cover because i just found out that i was inspired by "bonnie and clydes kiss" and i just checked and clyde, just like Gerard, he have exalted venus (but gerard have retrograde venus and its at revati and clydes is at purva bdp),and they have their lagnas on the same nakshatra the difference is that g's is at taurus mrigashira and clydes at gemini

meaning that sad mula emo boy took inspiration on a couple of murders to make his band's debut album and to be even more coincidental is the fact that he have strong synastry with the man meaning that

"In the drawing, you can see a small white heart on the male character's forehead. It is the only spot on his bleeding forehead, as it represents the couple's bulletproof love."

and on this album there's a music dedicated to his dead grandmother, called Helena.

I will not elaborate further on this album because the focus of my analysis will be on the second album of the band, but this first observation is here to show that Gerard's way of dealing with his pain, alongside drug use, was to write songs.

my main focus will be in the bands second album, where through the lyrics, we can see his mother's issues, his fear of abandonment, and more of his personality.

the third band's album is called "the black parade" and the band recorded this album in a haunted abandoned house where the members lived for a while only to be able to record the album. The members spent 2 months inside a haunted mansion isolated and said to have experienced supernatural stuff.

It is a rock opera and concept album centered on a dying man with cancer known as "The Patient". The album tells the story of his apparent death, experiences in the afterlife, and subsequent reflections on his life.

in short, the man died and saw his life in the form of a parade, hence it was called the black parade, it was a place where he reflected on his life choices after arriving at the afterlife.

now lets go over the album songs in a quick overview to see the story (the tracks are listed according to the order.)

"The Black Parade" focuses on the journey of a man known as "The Patient", diagnosed with cancer, as he reflects on his life and impending death. The album begins with "The End", where The Patient prepares for his funeral without expecting much mourning. In "Dead", he faces the reality of his imminent death and regrets not living his life fully. In "This Is How I Disappear", he realizes he will be forgotten and faces the consequences of his actions. "The Sharpest Lives" explores his toxic behavior and substance abuse after his lover leaves him. In Welcome to the Black Parade, The Patient recalls his father's advice to help others. In I Don't Love You, he breaks up out of self-hatred. House of Wolves sees him mocking fake faith. Cancer shows his fear of being remembered at his worst. Mama reflects on a mother's love despite her son's actions. The Patient learns that his family's love remains, like the mother's in the story. The Patient in "Sleep" faces internal turmoil and regrets, viewing himself as a monster unworthy of sympathy. Memories of his heinous acts torment him in death. The theme of disconnection from society, as portrayed by teenagers, reflects his warped perspective. "Disenchanted" portrays his wasted life and fear of death. In "Famous Last Words," The Patient finds hope for a second chance at life with his lover after facing his fear of death.

(I got this explanation from Reddit. tumblr didn't allow me to post the full explanation so please go to the post and read for yourself to see the detailed version.) (the explanation will use the detailed version of the track story explanation.)

in my personal opinion, Gerard was just as personal on this opera as he was on the song about his grandmother. This time we got to see mula's form of trying to fix the problems that disturb an individual's mind.

the lyrics feel way to personal, especially knowing that mulas tend to have mother issues, as we can see on the track mama where the dying man is begging for his mother for help and he feels desperate and looking for love and care, following the "welcome to the black parade" track where the man is remembering the words of his father and that to me portrays his rising ruler, Revati venus rx at 11th conjuncted his sun, the internal feeling of wanting to save people and to do good for others

In The Sharpest Lives, he says "he promises that if he has her back he will give up all of his addictions, as her light would be so bright in his world that the sun would be ashamed", the nodes are eclipsing the sun(Rahu the artificial sun) and the moon (ketu artificial moon), here I believe he meant that by facing her without the drug addiction he would be have no choice but to actually face his shadows because he uses the drugs to run from reality to run from his head demons.

he have rahu libra ruled by his rising lord, venus 11th that is conjuncted with his sun, libra = relationships, rahu fake or artificial, the artificial sun is ruled by exalted venus and pieces also deals with addictions, maybe the sun that he mentioned is the artificial sun, the one who would be ashamed, as his soul and venus are together.

everyone wonders what happens at the afterlife and no wonder he wrote this opera..... and by last the fact that he wonders through the whole album if he wasted his life away and desires to have his lost love back, again coming back to venus and union of two souls.

by he i was talking about gerard, who i truly believe mirrored himself on this punk opera as a way to express his mental tortures and transform into art. in the end the dying man and Gerard can be the same they sound the same.

differently from ardra, mula expresses his soul pains in a way more artistic to be able to find out what is wrong with him why does he feel so much pain in his life and regardless of gerard knowing or not those pains were put in his life as a test to achieve his soul liberation, something that I believe years later he find peace.

gerard said on a interview on 2022 :

-“The triumph of the human spirit over darkness was something that was kind of built into the DNA of the band from the beginning,” he explained. “The self-actualization, the triumph of the spirit and things like that, getting through really hard things. “There’s darkness in the world. And I think overcoming that darkness, that darkness externally and internally, is a beautiful thing. It’s a challenging thing, but it is beautiful if you can do that if you can kind of triumph over that. So that’s a theme that’s definitely in ‘Black Parade’, the song, and it’s in my work.”"

Billie Eilish (singer, famous star)

Billie is a famous pop singer that has mula sun-mercury-ketu 11th, 12th shravana moon, jupiter ardra rx - rahu mrigashira 5th, with lagnaand mars at purva bdp aquarius ruled by 4th rohini saturn rx.

where we got two famous singers with big saturn (gerard have cancer saturn i forgot to mention) ketu and Jupiter Energy that they channel to create their arts, but this time is billies brother who writes for her or co-writers with her (depending on the source you use).

finneas (her brother) have jupiter rx capricorn, leo stellium (mercury, venus and rahu) , mrigashira gemini moon and saturn pisces.

billies moon conjuncts her brothers jupiter and his moon conjunct her Jupiter-rahu and his ketu conjunct her first house lagna and mars so i truly believe that they are very close to each other and can understand each others internal mental battles to me they channel together, funny because one of the symbols of gemini is the twins.

also his sun conjuncts her saturn which should bring discipline to their work.

this time we got to see how mula operates under the umbrella of rahu, mula stellium ruled by jupiter ardra. In other words, we are going to see how, through an intellectual lens, Billie channels her inner mental torture and expresses her unique yet common emo mindset to make a career out of her pains.

she have her 10th ruler at 1st, 10th jyeshta venus ruled mars aquarius, this explains why shes very famous and why we are able to see her channelized expression of herself. 10th planets are what is exposed to the world, our reputation.

the 10th house is oposite the 4th, where the fourth house is the most private house of our chart and her chart ruler is at 4th, Rohini Saturn. Wealth is what, usually a rohini wants but its ruled by a jyeshta very public venus, venus does not like to be that public (exposed) and definitely had a hard life, two things that a rohini doesn't like at all.

just like Gerad, Billie displays mommy issues within her artwork, alongside her social difficulty, ketu = detached and is with sun-mercury meaning having a harder time with her mind.

her debut album called "When We Fall Asleep Where Do We Go" was inspired, in part, by lucid dreaming and night terrors. again two common nodal themes. According to her, night terrors and lucid dream is what happens when you fall asleep.

the album talks about hopes and fears surronding drug addiction, heartbreak, mental health, and suicide.

even tho the themes are and can be very personal billie said that she and her brother like to write as if they were someone else, meaning that she often likes to separates herself from the artwork this mimics the relation with herself, the 5th house is the natural house of the sun, the ego, and its located at the 11th, the house of social gains.

so this time, the idea of being a separate persona makes way more sense to her instead of gerads, because she really feels detached from all of these matters, mercury 11th with ketu.

yet she have 4th saturn and its said to be the worst house for saturn, i truly believe that they (the siblings) channel their bad mental experiences that they had as a child to write her music because her 12th moon is ruled by 4th saturn, and a Capricorn moon is also said to experience mental anxiety and problems.

this time she might actually feel separated from the art but the art, once again, truly mimics the inside of our hearts.

so as we can see in order to heal, these two mulas use their pain and transform into art and by doing this they liberate their heads from the pain and eventually, even if takes long they find some kind of peace.

in 2021, billie launched her album called "Happier Than Ever" and this time the inspiration was the covid 19.

this time billie was more, just like the rest of the world, isolated and said that the album creation felt very natural and she also mentioned that was able to feel more confident on her work.

she further adds that self-reflection was the biggest muse behind the record and she mentioned that wrote the track "male fantasy" by herself which helped her realized some unprocessed feelings she previously had.

and just like gerald, with the help of isolation came the biggest form of inspiration.

END OF PART 1.

hi thank you so much for reading until the end i hope you enjoyed and were able to learn something ;).

please feel free to request any suggestion of themes you would like me to talk about and share you personal feedback :))

contact info.

ardra nakshatra p1 analysis.

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pagannatural · 2 months

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2.12 Night Shifter

-Although Dean is impersonating an FBI officer when the jewelry counter girl asks him what it’s like, his answer is a truthful description of his life: “it’s dangerous, and the secrets we gotta keep…but mostly it’s lonely.” This wouldn’t be anything wincest except that he looks guiltily over at Sam twice while getting her number. The theme of loneliness between them and the brothers’ yearning for closeness from each other has come up several times this season, most obviously from Sam needing Dean to open up to him. But Dean is feeling it too. Sam was hanging off of him drunk last episode and Dean walked away from him so it makes sense that he’s trying to get someone else in his bed, and clearly thinking about Sam while he does it.

-Sam lies to Ronald. In the past he’s been the one who wants to tell civs the truth, while Dean lies. Dean’s instincts appear to be right here, and Sam’s sour impression with Ronald becomes an obstacle moving forward in this episode. It serves to highlight that Sam is still just not as experienced at this. They’re both really good with people and have high interpersonal intelligence, just in different ways.

-Dean feels “naked” without weapons. He’s been living in fear since he was four so that makes sense but it’s so bleak.

-Dean takes control of the situation with Ronald and Sam looks scared for him, then miserable when he’s locked in the vault and separated from Dean.

One of the bank employees asks “who is that man?” and Sam says “he’s my brother” as if that answers her question even a little bit. She wistfully says he’s brave and Sam looks even more miserable. He’s so sick of women fawning over his brother.

-a second scene of this woman fawning over Dean at Sam! I could watch this all day. Sam becomes increasingly perturbed with each passing moment. Listening to someone wax on about the person you’re secretly and wretchedly in love with but can’t have is terrible but especially when it’s someone who doesn’t even know them. He looks like he’s holding back on an emotion. Sam could just be irritated by the way Dean is overshadowing him, but I would expect him to respond by rolling his eyes or looking irritated rather than conflicted and sad.

Sam looks up to Dean. He doesn’t admit it until later on in the series, but Dean is his hero. His hero and guardian and brother and the only one who can kill him.

-Sam bumps his shoulder against Dean’s on his way out of the bank vault. He didn’t need to do that, there was space. People like to accidentally touch their crushes. And right in front of the fawning woman, like a cat rubbing its cheeks against its human’s legs to mark him.

-Sam points out that Dean is wanted by the police and is visibly upset. I love that Sam is the one panicking about this. Dean is too but he’s trying to be brave and save face for Sam.

-oh this is where they walk up to each other like they’re going to kiss. They’re making eye contact as they get really close and Sam kind of half circles Dean, looking into his eyes. It has the same vibes as the scene from Silver Linings Playbook where the love interest is teaching the main character a dance and instructs him on how to walk to her like he’s in love with her. You can see Dean moving his lips telling Sam he knows who the shifter is, but no sound, making this moment feel even more private

-the way Hendrickson says “there’s a monster in the bank” and then it cuts to Sam gives me chills

-Hendrickson mentioning that Sam is “the bonnie to your Clyde” makes Dean smirk. Sam is his wife. “That part’s true”. They could’ve said the butch cassidy to your Sundance or something but they went with a romantic couple and had Dean smile like aw yeah, that’s us, like he’s still so happy to have his baby back with him on the road.

-“they’re dangerous, smart, and expertly trained” god they really ARE. This show really earns their reputation.

-Dean is mid-action bringing a knife down on what he thinks is the shifter when Sam says in a near-whisper “Dean waitwaitwait”and Dean pauses to look over his shoulder. He’ll do anything Sam says. Sam’s gentle protest is more important than killing the shifter.

-Sam fights the swat team duo and wins. They escape and drive away knowing that they’re fucked and being hunted by the FBI. Their ascension from petty criminals to most wanted outlaws is so good because they are dangerous and fucked up and doomed and yet they’re together. I also love that Sam solved Dean’s problem by getting the uniforms and gear off of the two SWAT guys. He’s protective of Dean.

#samdean #wincest #supernatural #spn 2x12 #supernatural meta #sam and dean

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jujitto · 3 months

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⠀ㅤᓭི༏ᓯྀㅤ ㅤㅤ𓂂⠀ Bonnie & Clyde ! — jung wooyoung « 𝟤.𝟤𝗄 »

★ ! 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 · we don't need money to feel good cause you're the ridе or die, the rest of my lifе. don’t need a party to feel high. We're like the modern version of bonnie and clyde.

★ ! 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 · criminal!wooyoung x criminal!reader

★ ! 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 · angst, fluff, bonnie & clyde au!

★ ! 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 · robbery, murder, suggestive hints toward intimate themes.

In the flickering neon red light, you could barely see him. But you could make out the smell of his cologne. A hint of something exotic, like cardamom and cedar. The smell filled the room, and you took it in deeply, letting it permeate your soul. You'd missed that smell.

"You're late," you say to him as he steps through the mist into the center of the room. The neon lights cast a red hue across his face and body, and reflected in his eyes.

"I am never late. I arrive exactly when I mean to," he replies, flashing a smirk. "Well, you are later than I would have liked," you say, blowing out the smoke of your cigarette into his face.

"Yes, but the night is still young," you roll your eyes at his statement as you stand, putting out the cigarette. You walk around him in a slow circle, assessing his body and form, stopping in front of him and looking him directly in the eye, "I guess the night is still young."

His hands reach out and wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you against his body. "I missed you," he tells you before bringing his lips to your neck. You tilt your head back, allowing him access. "Did you?"

"Yes, you know I did," his lips trail up your neck to your jawline. His hands slide down your body, coming to rest on your ass.

"And what exactly did you miss?" you ask him, placing your hand on his cheek. He stops his kissing and stares into your eyes, "You, the smell of your hair, the feel of your skin against mine, the sound of your voice, and the way you say my name."

“You mean like this? Wooyoung, Woo-yung-ah," you say, dragging out the syllables. He groans and leans in, kissing you deeply. Your lips are soft and supple against his. He pulls away from the kiss, his lips inches away from yours. You close the gap between them, kissing him again. He lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the bed and places you gently down on it.

"I missed the feeling of you," he says, his hand resting on your hip. "Did you?"

"Mmmm-hmmm." He kisses you again, more deeply, his hand trailing up your stomach, to the edge of your dress. His fingers dance along the hem before slipping underneath the fabric. You grab his hand as you pull away. “Not so fast," you say with a smirk. "I've waited all day for this. For you."

"And now you must wait a little longer," you say, caressing his lower lip with your thumb as he rolls his eyes, kissing the inside of your wrists softly. "Tease," you chuckle. "You love it," he smirks, kissing your hands as he looks into your eyes. "I love you."

"I know." You look at each other for a moment, both smiling. You've known each other for years. You've been friends/secret lovers for years. But this, this was something else. “We have something to do first, remember?” He rolls his eyes. "Right. Business."

"Business," you say, walking to the table you were sitting at earlier. You sit down, cross your legs, and light up another cigarette. "So, what have you got for me?" He asks, taking the seat across from you.

"The layout of the place," you say, sliding him a piece of paper. "You've already been there?" He smirks and nods. "I have."

"And what do we have waiting for us there?"

"Three guards, all armed," you say, sliding him a photo you took. He hums, assessing the photo. "With?" You slide him another photo of the guard, holding what looks to be a pistol. "Pistols. Two .45's and a 9mm. Standard issue."

"And how will we deal with these guards?" You smirk, sitting back in your chair as you blow smoke from your cigarette. "How would you like us to?"

"Take them out as quietly as possible."

"And why would I want to do that?" You ask him, a mischievous grin on your face. "Because we need to keep things quiet, and not draw any attention." He hums and taps his nails on the table. "And why would I want to keep things quiet and not draw any attention? You know I'm all for the thrills and chase,” you say, standing up. He smirks.

"I know. I'm just asking." You walk over to him, placing your cigarette between his lips. He takes a drag before passing it back. You smile and take the cigarette, putting it out in the ashtray.

"So what do I have in it for me if I keep things quiet and not draw any attention?" He smiles a wicked smile. "Whatever you desire." You bite your lip, staring at him. "Oh, I like the sound of that. But I'm not sure you'll be able to live up to it." He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Hmmmm. Maybe. I'll think about it." You turn and start to walk away. He reaches out, grabs your arm, and spins you around, kissing you passionately. You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pull away slightly, your noses touching. "Well, I guess that'll do for now."

"For now." He replies, kissing you again. You kiss him back, before pulling away, "You know, you're not half bad." "Not half bad? What kind of review is that?" He says, pretending to be offended. “A good one. An honest one.”

"Oh really, only good, not great?" You chuckle, shaking your head as you trail your fingers across his jaw. "Mmmm... maybe, depends on how tomorrow goes." He raises a brow playfully. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." You say, winking at him. "Fine. Tomorrow." He says, releasing you from his grip. You smile, running your hands over his shoulders, and fixing his jacket. "Now, go get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't call me that." You say, pushing him playfully. "Alright, alright." He says, chuckling, walking to the door. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Until tomorrow." You say, watching him leave. "Tomorrow." The door closed behind him, and you walked to the bed, falling onto it. You had a lot to prepare for tomorrow and not a lot of time.

By the time you pulled up to the building the next day, the sun had already begun setting over the horizon. The biggest heist was just about to begin.

"Ready?" He asked you. You smiled and nodded, pulling out your weapons.

"Always." You said with a wink, getting out of the car and making your way over to the front door. With a smirk, you kicked the door open and started firing.

It didn't take long before the first two guards were dead. You made your way deeper into the building and were just about to make your move when you felt the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of your head.

“Two-timer, huh?" you say, turning around slowly, your hands raised. You smile as you come face to face with the third guard. "I'd prefer, 'loyal to the job.'"

"Loyalty is such a funny word especially when you say you’d help us with our plans," you say, tilting your head to examine him. Three things you notice: the twitching of his eye, his unsteady hand, and the way his mouth turns into a grimace.

"Plans change," he says, barely keeping eye contact with you. "Mine didn't," you say, smirking at him as you take a few steps back before popping one in his head.

You hear the sound of the bullet ricochet off the wall. The man falls to the floor, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. You walk over to the fallen man, taking his gun from his limp hand.

“Backstabbing asshole,” you say, fixing your lipstick in the glossy reflection of his blood. You stand before continuing the job you're there for. You walk through the halls of the bank, stopping at the door at the end. You kick it open, a wicked smile on your face.

"You're late," Wooyoung says, looking at you.

"I'm always early, you're just punctual. Plus had to take out a rat. You wouldn’t want us to get caught, would you?" you say, smiling, your makeup still looking good regardless of the blood splatter on your cheek.

"Of course not," he says, standing up, walking over to you. He looks down at the blood splatter on your cheek, reaching out, he wipes it off with his thumb.

"Thank you," you say, looking into his eyes. "No problem," he replies, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. You smile and nod, pulling away.

"We've got work to do," you say, walking past him into the vault. You make your way to the main depository, stopping in front of the huge safe. "Alright, let's see what we've got here."

"What do you think? Should we blow it?" Wooyoung asks, examining the lock. "I don't know. Seems like a waste of good explosives," you say, tapping your nail on the metal.

"How about this? We pick the lock, then rig the explosives, so that if anyone comes after us, we can blow it," you suggest. He nods, "I like it."

"I thought you might," he says, kneeling in front of the safe. He pulls a set of tools from his jacket pocket and begins working on the lock. You watch him as he works, his hands moving quickly and efficiently.

You can't help but admire his skills. He's always been good with his hands. Even when he wasn’t picking locks, his hands were good with other things too.

"You're staring," he says, not even looking at you. "Am not," you say, leaning against the wall beside him. "Are too."

"Well, are you going to crack this safe or are we going to keep bickering like a married couple?" you ask as he chuckles. "Patience is a virtue, my dear," he says, not missing a beat.

"You know I've never been the patient type."

"Oh, I know," he says, a smile on his lips. You sit in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the clicking of the lock and the occasional humming from you.

Finally, the door opens, and the contents are revealed. "Wow," you say, stepping into the safe. There are stacks of money, gold bars, and jewels. It's enough to set you up for life.

"I knew there was a reason I was keeping you around."

"And here I thought it was because you liked me," he says, putting away his tools. You smirk and turn to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, "There's that too."

"Is that right?"

"It is." You lean in and kiss him deeply. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. The kiss is passionate, full of desire and longing. When you finally pull away, you're both breathless. "You're good at that."

"You're not so bad yourself," he says, a smile on his lips. You chuckle, patting his cheek. “Let’s get these explosives set up and the money out of here before the cops show up.”

"Aye, aye, Captain," he says, mock saluting you. You roll your eyes and shake your head, "Let's just get this done."

"Aye, aye." They set up the explosives, rigging them to blow if anyone tries to come after them. Once the explosives are set, they start loading the cash and valuables into their getaway vehicle. As they load the final bag into the back, the sirens get louder and louder.

"That's our cue," Wooyoung says, getting into the car. You get in and close the door. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"Aye, aye, Captain," he says, speeding away from the bank. The sound of sirens fills the air, and you know you're in for a wild ride.

The police are in hot pursuit of them. Their sirens wailing, the red and blue lights flashing. The car careens around corners, swerving through traffic. The cops are gaining on them, and it's not looking good.

"Hold on tight," Wooyoung says, pressing his foot down on the accelerator. The car picks up speed, but the cops are still on their tail.

"They're not going to stop, are they?" you chuckle, shaking your head. “Nope,” you say as you lean out the window firing off shots at the cops.

"They're not," he says, pushing the car even faster. The sound of the sirens is getting closer and closer. "We've got to lose them."

"I'm working on it," he grunts. "Work faster." He takes a sharp turn down a side street, the tires squealing. The car fishtails, but he manages to regain control.

"I've always liked a challenge," you say, reloading your gun. "Good, because this is about to get even more interesting," he says, a smile on his lips. "Oh yeah? How so?"

"We're going to jump the bridge," he says, his eyes glinting mischievously. Your eyes widen as you look at him, noticing the smirk on his lips.

"Jump the bridge? Are you kidding me?" you exclaim, staring at him. He just laughs and continues speeding down the road. The sound of the sirens is still blaring, and the cops are close behind.

"Crazy? Maybe. But we're gonna make it. Just hold on tight and trust me," he says. You let out a chuckle, rolling your eyes. "If we die, I'm going to haunt your ass."

"Deal," he says, speeding up, the car roaring as he pushes it to its limits.

The sound of the engine and the wind in your hair is exhilarating. You can't believe you're doing this, but you know if there's anyone who can get you out of this alive, it's Wooyoung.

They reach the bridge, the car careening towards the edge. You feel your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Wooyoung floors the gas pedal, and the car launches off the bridge, flying through the air.

"WOOYOUNG!" you scream as you plummet towards the water below. The sound of your heart pounding is deafening, and you can barely hear anything else. The air rushes by you, and you feel weightless, suspended in time and space. It's an incredible feeling.

"Told you we'd make it," Wooyoung says with a smirk. "Shut up and drive." You race down the highway, leaving the cops in the dust.

"This is why I keep you around. Because you're crazy just like me,” you say, looking out the window to see the cops didn't follow you over the bridge.

"And here I thought it was because of my stunning personality and dashing good looks," he says with a wink.

"Keep dreaming, sweetheart," you say, playfully shoving him. "So what's the plan now? We're not heading back to the hideout, are we?"

"Nope. We're going somewhere a little more...private."

"Oh yeah? And where might that be?"

"It's a surprise," he says with a grin. "I love surprises."

"I know you do."

You continue driving until you arrive at a secluded lake house. It's beautiful and peaceful, and the perfect place to relax after a successful heist.

"Welcome to our temporary home," he says, getting out of the car. "This is perfect," you say, looking around. The view is incredible, and the house is secluded enough to allow you to relax and enjoy each other's company without worry.

"Only the best for my girl," he says, kissing your forehead. "And only the best for you." You spend the rest of the night celebrating your success. You drink and dance and make love under the stars.

You wake up surrounded by money and rose petals. Him lying beside you asleep. You chuckle as you reach out to grab a stack of bills, counting them.

"You're not thinking of leaving me, are you?" He asks sleepily.

"Why would I ever leave someone who keeps me this rich and happy," you say with a chuckle, kissing him softly. "Good. Because I'd hate to have to hunt you down," he says, smiling as he kisses you again.

"You couldn't hunt me down if you tried."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe." He pulls you closer, his lips trailing along your neck. "Don't think you can seduce your way out of this one," you say, sighing as he kisses your neck. "Is it working?"

"Maybe." You chuckle softly. The sun is rising over the lake, bathing everything in a soft golden light. You're wrapped up in each other's arms, your bodies tangled together. It's a perfect moment.

"So, what's next?" You ask, playing with the rose petals. "Whatever we want. The world is our oyster," he says which has you rolling your eyes playfully. "You always say that."

"And it's always true." You lay there, watching the sunrise and enjoying each other's company. You don't have a care in the world.

You are living your life, the way you want to. You are young, and you are reckless, and very much in love. Nothing can stop you.

"I love you, you know that?" He says kissing you as you chuckle, running your fingers through his hair. “I know. I love you too."

"Good. Now come here." He says, pulling you on top of him, the money and rose petals falling onto the floor.

The morning sun shines brightly through the windows, bathing everything in a warm glow. You make love, and laugh, and revel in the joy of being alive. Nothing can stop you.

Not the law, not society, not even death.

You're invincible, and you're going to live your life the way you want to, damn the consequences.

NEWS REPORT: Still at large are the notorious criminal lovers, Jung Wooyoung and Y/n Y/l/n. These two are believed to be responsible for the recent string of high-profile bank robberies. Authorities are urging the public to contact the police if they have any information about the couple's whereabouts. The news broadcast ended as the picture of the two lovers, standing outside the bank flashed on the screen alongside their mugshots.

"Look at us. We're famous." You say with a chuckle as you turn to face him. "Yeah, they sure are painting us as the villains." He says as you roll your eyes. "Well, we are criminals."

"True. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me neither." You say, kissing him deeply. "Now, where were we?"

"Right about here." He says, kissing you again. You spend the rest of the day basking in each other's company, planning your next heist.

You knew nothing could stop you. Except for maybe the Feds. And even then, you'll go down fighting. For you are the wild ones, and you'll never stop being wild. Because nothing can stop the modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.

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