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urhoneycombwitch · 4 months ago

Text

howdy, honey!

part I

older!cowboy!Eddie x honey!reader

foreword: idk what this is. other than the start of a new series I may or may not have time for lmao. just… love the idea of honey!Reader and wanted to show the origins of cowboy!Eddie into their life <3 honey!Reader is a bit of an abrasive spitfire but I heart complicated women and Eddie is the right amount of gruff to put up w/ that bratty ass <3 I’m sorry if any truck stuff is wrong I swear I researched a bit but dear god I am not a car girly plz forgive me

cw: Appalachian no magic AU, cowboy!Eddie, older!Eddie, age gap (Eddie is at least 40, R implied as younger), R is on the run from a Troubled Past ™, R has breasts (non-sexual mention) and a tattoo (no skin tone/color mentioned), smut planned for following chapters, as always +18 mdni!

wc: 5.3k

The last thing you want to hear behind you approaches: a vehicle slowing down, tires crunching to crawl at your walking pace in the gravel ditch of the road.

Maybe it’s just a concerned citizen. You soothe yourself internally, even as your guard surges up to take stock of the environment, to calculate the quickest route to safety.

To your left- a rusting red pickup, its unknown driver, the flat expanse of tarmac and heat lines rising blearily for miles on end.

To your right, just a sprint away- the line of a lush, thick forest, unfamiliar birds calling amidst the Appalachian wilderness.

Then, an even worse sound of the truck's window being rolled down.

“Not interested, pal,” you call out, in a tone you hope is commanding. “My thumb ain’t out. Keep driving.”

“I just-” it’s a man’s voice, because of course it is, who else would stop in the middle of an abandoned road to harass a young thing like you- “It’s about a hundred degrees out. Hotter than a two-buck pistol and you’re hiking in it.”

“Mind your damn business.” You don’t know this guy’s angle, but you don’t really care- if there’s anything you’ve learned from the past two weeks on the road, it’s Don’t trust strange men and keep your wits.

Heart thumping an unsteady rhythm, you swallow the fear and hike your duffle bag higher onto your aching shoulder, resolute, even as the guy sighs. As if he has the right to sound weary. “Darlin’. I don’t wanna see you die of dehydration, is all. Got some water in the back, ‘least let me offload some onto you.”

The offer is tempting enough to still your steps- your canteen is empty, ran out about an hour after being filled at the last town’s hostel. Constant thirst has been an unfortunate side effect of this journey; so far it seems you've been the only one desperate enough to actually be outside in this unrelenting heat.

The man must take your pause for acceptance because he rolls to a stop just ahead of you, brake lights giving one quick flash before the engine cuts out. Both boots hit pavement at the same time, revealing a tall, lanky figure in dark denim and a cut-off tee.

As he rounds to the trailer bed, you notice a smattering of tattoos- bats flying up one arm, a lariat and a floral piece on the other, some sort of mythological creature sitting over his heart (only spotted as he bends to unhook his truck bed’s latch, shirt shifting forward to reveal a pale expanse of skin beneath).

He’s a confusing, delightful mix of punk and cowboy- jeans just a touch too tight for working, silver hoops lining the shell of his right ear. You’d probably get a better sense of his age if his hair wasn’t hiding in a bun too shadowy to see properly, nestled under the brim of his black cowboy hat.

Eyes dark as bittersweet chocolate but kind and calm turn towards you, observing silently with crossed arms in the ditch a yard away. He closes the gap, wiping his palm on the black bandanna lining his pocket before stretching an appeasing hand towards you. “Waterin’ time.”

A laugh would signal comfortability, and you prefer to keep your cards as close to your own chest as possible, so you smother the noise, turn it into a disapproving twist of your mouth before taking his proffered hand.

He’s stronger than he looks, pulling you up to the road with an easy flex of his forearm; his other hand automatically fits to your low back to steady you as your pack shifts with the climb, but he drops all points of contact as soon as you’re stabilized.

There’s a thunk from the nearby truck, the sound of something dull hitting into the metal. On instinct, your hand snaps to the butterfly knife tucked into the front of your bra band, hidden by the extra padding but close enough to whip out at a moment's notice.

A dog sits eager and obedient in the truck bed, black and leggy and long-snouted- some type of Shepherd, if you had to guess. His long feathered tail hits the wheel with each enthusiastic wag, oversized ears perked forward.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Adrenaline leaves you feeling sticky and strung-out, even more than the heat. Between your breasts, the knife sits waiting, metal cool to the touch and reassuring through the fabric of your tanktop. You hope it just looks like you scare easily, hand over your heart with nerves and jumpiness instead of trained defense mode- cards to chest, and all that.

Safer for you, to be underestimated. Always harder to see a hit coming from someone unexpected.

This time, though, you aren’t fixing to hit. The back of your hand, like some gravitational force, draws you to the mouth of the truck bed.

A slash of pink tongue splits the all-black dog’s mouth when he licks you, thumping tailbeat picking up speed.

The man who owns both truck and dog leans a hip against the wheel, watching as you smooth your palm over the silky head of his companion. “Name’s Goblin.”

“So, your parents were hippies, I gather?” A joke slips out before you can catch and wrestle it back to be the most unassuming version of yourself.

The man laughs- full and rich, crow’s feet bursting like sunbeams, dimples springing into his cheeks- the action knocks a decade off his face.

You’re transfixed, unable to look away, Goblin nudging your hand for more pets while you memorize the way this stranger looks, laughing on the side of the road in the middle of goddamn nowhere.

“The dog is Goblin,” the man says, humor twitching at the corners of his plush lips. He takes off his hat to rest against his chest, chocolate eyes still twinkling. “I’m Eddie.”

In the truck bed next to Goblin, there’s a bulky case laying sideways, a handle on one end for carrying. It’s the last push you need, apparently, as the logic part of your mind speaks with finality: Ted Bundy never played guitar.

So you give Eddie your name. Your real one. You haven’t used it in weeks, opting for anonymity and the comfort of a pseudonym at the seedy spots you’ve been staying.

As soon as you say it, something loosens in your chest, flutters free into the bright blue sky as Eddie repeats it like something precious- like he’s known you for ages.

“Well.” As if a matter has been settled, Eddie puts his hat back on (you weren’t quite done memorizing the long pattern of his curls, shot through with grey, pulled taut against his skull to settle in a bun at the nape of his neck). “More’n welcome to take the water and send me packin’, but now that we all know each other’s names, how about a lift to town?”

Eddie scratches Goblin behind the ear, absentminded as he adds, “Could even sit in the back, ‘f you wanted. That way you could just jump on out if you think I’m tryna pull something.”

Your shoulder suddenly aches with the weight of your duffel; you let the straps slide to the crook of your elbow, then set it next to Goblin who seems happy for something new to sniff.

Unfortunately for Eddie, you’re starting to like him, which means the filter for your sarcasm and teasing has completely eroded. “Ri-ight. Like I’m gonna just sit in the back of your truck when you could floor it and fling me over the side like a ragdoll.”

Those big, doey eyes of Eddie’s roll skyward. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only on days that end in Y.”

“All right.” There’s something in his tone that makes your spine straighten- not from fear, just… something else that you’re trying hard not to analyze right now. “So sit in the damn front and put a seatbelt on, since you’re so worried ‘bout my driving.”

Eddie shuts the pickup’s gate and mutters all the way to the driver’s side door, some comparison being drawn between you and one of his cows that gets herself stuck in the fenceline, refusing sesnsible help.

The air in the cab is stale and still, warmth from the cracked leather seats soaking into the back of your shorts and bare thighs as you get in and buckle up. You’re suddenly aware of how desperately you need a shower, being in an enclosed space and next to someone with (presumably) a working sense of smell, but luckily Eddie’s already rolling down the windows.

“Air’s broke,” he says by way of apology, waving in the general direction of the AC vents before reaching to open the sliding rear window.

Something cold and wet presses against your ear- Goblin, saying hello. By the time your giggle is over, the grumble of the engine has kicked on, and the dog has found a headrest in the form of your pack, his tongue lolling into the fabric with rhythmic panting.

“Radio?” You ask, already reaching to twist at the knob on the dash- a crackle of static, and then, bliss. Johnny Cash croons from the speakers.

In trying to keep your delight casual, you slip up, telling Eddie as he straightens out the wheel to pick up speed- “God, I haven’t heard music this good in months, not since-”

Fortunately, whatever system in your brain still holding on to good sense chops the sentence in half. To cover, you clear your throat, cross your arms, and keep your eyes fixed forward when you change the subject. “So, you play guitar?”

If Eddie notices your lapse he doesn’t comment on it, picking up conversation with an easy charm. “Nah. That’s just a cover for if Sheriff Hop gets me for speedin’. That case is filled with coke and guns and all sorts’a contraband.”

You fix the side of his head with a glare, and even without seeing it full-on Eddie sputters a chuckle and admits, “Fine. I play guitar, sometimes.”

While Eddie’s eyes stay on on the road ahead, you let your own gaze linger on his face in profile: the slope of his nose, the freckles that scatter across the apple of his cheeks and neck, the tail end of another tattoo winding up his collarbone.

Eddie catches you staring, this time, jolt like an electric shock coursing through your whole body when you lock eyes for a moment, before he flicks back to the road. “Looks like you got some ink, yourself.”

He must be doing his best to remain respectful, because he doesn’t ask what the J stands for, even as your other hand jumps instinctually to cover the breadth of your wrist, hiding the little inked letter from view. “Yeah. I get one every time I kill a man. In remembrance.”

Amusement twitches at the corner of Eddie’s mouth when he asks, “Yeah? Only one so far? Would’a thought you’d be racking up your letters by now. Fierce as you are.”

“Well, we’re in public. I can’t very well take off my shirt to show you all the rest.”

This earns you another laugh, and even with the wind whipping through the cab, it fills every inch of the space. Rattles into you like a thunderstorm, knocks dust off some deep part of you kept dormant ‘til now.

You like that he called you that. Fierce. You’re loath to admit it, but you also like the pet names. Most boys are condescending or double-edged with their diminutives, but when Eddie calls you darlin’ with that Southern drawl, it feels… endearing.

Equal parts terrifyingly disarming and captivatingly charming. That’s how you’d categorize Eddie, so far, though you’re not sure what to file away about his arms- stretched out at ten and two on the Ford’s big wheel, soft white underbelly of his forearms fading into a natural freckled tan, smattering of dark hair over both.

For now, you file it under Trouble and focus on the upcoming road sign.

It looks like someone stripped a big tree and cut out a thick middle piece just to drive it at a slant into the ground. The hand-carved words appear to have been painted over many times, discolored and weathered, obscuring some of the letters.

WELC ME TO C LINE

”It’s a nice town, Celine,” Eddie says conversationally as the sign gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. “Small, but good community. Lots of farming folks, like me, some strays and stragglers, like you.”

Johnny Cash gives way to an unfamiliar folksy number; you drink in the ramshackle buildings that make up the heart of the town. It’s reminiscent of old cowboy movies you grew up watching with your brothers- flat roofs, red brick, clapboard. A hitching post outside of a General Store, a group of kids tearing around on bikes in the empty lot of the movie theater.

All that’s missing is a lone tumbleweed flipping lazily end over end across the road.

Eddie pulls his truck parallel with a stretch of curb outside a long building, another handmade sign that reads Celine Public Library. He leaves the engine running but shifts the gear to park, pointing to the phone booth just beyond your window.

“Phone’s just there, if you got someone to call. Figure’d here’s as good a place as any, if you wanna part ways now.”

Oh, right. Eddie offered you a ride to town, and he made good on it. Now is the part where you get out, collect your duffel, and wave while pretending to make a phone call until his truck has disappeared.

But you don’t. There’s lively guitar plucking over the speakers, twining with the purr of the engine. Eddie’s hands flex and unflex on the wheel, horseshoe tattoo on the first segment of his middle finger rippling with the movement like he’s working up the courage to say something,

You’d better not stick around to hear it. Fighting the thing that’s sticking you to the seat, you reach for the door handle. “Well, thanks, Eddie. ‘Preciate the lift.”

Your fingers are just grazing the handle when Eddie speaks again. “Wait-”

Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t-

His eyes are just as beautiful as before, when he’d laughed- and now they’re on you, longing and hopeful and a little unsure as he speaks, gaining speed as if from nerves- “I’ve got a spare room. Spare shack, technically- it’s not much, but I used to live in there real comfortably ‘til my uncle moved and I got the house. Please come stay, at least for the night. Please?”

With a hand still on the door to your other, safer option, you pause; though the main emotion that washes through you is one of relief and gratitude, you sink your teeth into the little flare of irritation, pulling it up to the surface like one last play. “I don’t want charity.”

”Do I look like the church-goin’ type?” A bright flash of Eddie’s teeth as he grins (he knows he’s got you, goddammit). “And the shack door locks from the inside. Deadbolt. In case you’re worried about… I’m not askin’ anything from you. Just- please.”

Your hand drops from the door, falls limply into your lap as you breathe out. “And you’re not in some… weird, cowpoke-Satanic cult where you’re gonna use me as human sacrifice?”

“What part of deadbolt do you not get,” Eddie retorts, pleased, hand at the gear shift. “And my cult only meets on the full moon, so. You’ve got a few weeks of safety, at least.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up out of you, and the smile that Eddie fixes you with would’ve knocked you sideways had you been standing.

You’re both relishing in the moment too deeply to notice the bicycles approaching from behind; Goblin gives an excited yip, front paws planted on the lip of the truck, wagging up a storm as the group squeals to a halt, surrounding you and Eddie on all sides.

One of the kids, a boy with a curly mop of hair who looks on the young end of 15, slams a hand down on Eddie’s open window. “Hey!”

Eddie is the one to nearly jump out of his skin this time, hand flying to the top of his hat and cursing. “Fuck. Christ, Henderson. Whaddya want?”

“Do you require our assistance at the market this weekend?” The kid speaks in a funny, oddly formal tone as Eddie sighs and sets his hat on the seat between the two of you.

“Unfortunately so.”

“C’mon, Eddie, don’t be like that.” The boy is practically leaning through the window at this point with eagerness, one foot on the ground to keep his bike from tipping. You smother a giggle at the way Eddie’s jaw ticks. “School’s out, we’re bored as hell, and-”

He stops mid sentence when he spies you in the passenger seat, eyebrows jumping up to the curls covering his forehead. “And who might this be?”

“None of your damn business,” Eddie grits out, but you ignore the all-bark-no-bite tone to stretch across and offer your hand in introduction.

“I’m Dustin,” the boy says, in answer to your own name, and rapid-fire points at the various figures loitering around the truck, naming his friends too quickly for you to store them long-term. “Now, Edward, about our payment…”

There’s a girl with red braids near your window, the only one not on a bike. When you give her a friendly smile, she glowers and plants a sneakered foot on her skateboard, rocking it aimlessly up and down the asphalt.

In the back, Goblin is basking in the attention of the rest of the group; another boy with a close-cropped Afro rubs the dog’s head lovingly, while a girl with serious brown eyes and shoulder-length curls (Eddie’s relative, maybe?) makes tentative strokes down Goblin’s side.

There are two other kids- boys, you think- near the back of the trailer, but their backs are to the group, close as two people can be while still on their own bikes. Dustin’s conversation floats back into your comprehension- he’s making a valiant attempt at twisting Eddie’s arm where ‘payment’ is concerned.

Untwistable, Eddie shakes his head. A few strands of hair have come loose from his bun, curling around his jaw with the overdramatic move he makes to throw the gear shift into drive. “All right, enough, ya scoundrel. Round up your crew and go be a pain in someone else’s ass.”

Unperturbed, Dustin straightens, grasping his bike’s handlebars with one hand and wrapping a tight fist around the metal of the truck’s side mirror.

This seems to be some sort of signal, because the rest of the group latches on like some choreographed play- hands, one from each kid, coming up to grip at any free space left on the truck, shoulders hunching forward as if preparing to be shot forth like a rubber band.

“Damn kids,” Eddie grumbles, but you can hear the fondness in his voice as he lifts his foot from the brake.

The truck lurches forward, and with it, the extra wheels; Goblin’s revved-up barking joins the excited chatter and whooping of the kids hanging on, a joyous cacophony of sound as you all head further down the empty street together.

Eddie picks up speed; there’s a twinge of fear as you watch the speedometer tick up to 10- and then he honks, once, and in perfect synchronicity all the kids let go. Some of them pedal furiously to keep up the momentum, others- like the girl on the skateboard- take advantage of the added speed to simply coast.

Soon enough, their cheerful waves and laughter recede into the distance along with the rest of the town as Eddie keeps his boot on the gas.

The heat in town was dizzying, so you’re relieved when the road dips and bends into the comfort of shade- courtesy of the wild forest flanking either side.

It’s about a ten minute drive to Munson Farms, and on the way, Eddie tells you all about it. You learn that his Uncle Wayne raised him, taught him how to work and live off the land- when Wayne retired and moved a few miles down the road, Eddie took over.

“Not really a lucrative venture, farming,” he says, trees passing in a blur as he navigates the road curves with ease. “But the end of summer Town Fair pays well, ‘specially for sheep penning demonstrations. Got a couple of dairy cows, chickens that won’t stop laying- between that ‘n Wayne’s orchards, we got more than enough to get us through the winter months.

And then there’s the hives-”

“Bees?” Unable to help the interruption, your head whips in his direction, interest piqued.

“Yup. Got about six hives right now in the southern pasture. Don’t know much about ‘em, truthfully- got a friend named Chrissy, comes once a week or so to make sure they stay maintained. I mostly just help come harvesting time, and try to stay out of her way for the rest.”

There are about a thousand other questions you want to ask- what kind of bees? Are they near your garden plot to promote pollination? Any bears in the area?- but you tamp down your excitement, settling on a neutral, “Cool,” before looking out the window again.

The sign for Munson Farms is handmade, too, but upkept much better than the one in town- it swings gently in the breeze on metal links as Eddie turns down the adjoining dirt road. About a quarter mile in, you start to see signs of life- fence lines running through the trees and the shush of a nearby water source- and then, a house.

It’s small, probably no more than a bed, bath, and kitchen inside. There’s a red brick chimney separating the straight lines of the blue-painted wood planks, ivy crawling up one side to frame the eastern-facing window.

On the covered porch, a big, long-haired white dog lifts its head at the sound of the truck pulling in. Goblin gives a greeting bark, practically tripping over his oversized paws to launch out of the truck even as Eddie gripes at him to “Be careful, dammit!”

As you follow Eddie out of the truck and to the porch, the white dog shambles over on a stiff back leg, ignoring the playful jumping and licking Goblin gives in favor of coming up to sniff you.

“This is Rosie,” Eddie says, patting her greying muzzle with a gentleness that twists something in your stomach. “She’s near older than me, was a great livestock guardian ‘til her age caught up. Been trying to train up Goblin to take her place but between you ‘n me I think his head might be full of rocks.”

As if he’s aware of the insult, Goblin gives an indignant yip and paws at Eddie’s knee; he gets laughed off by the two of you, zipping away with a deep sense of importance into the nearby forest while Rosie shambles back to her cozy porch spot.

It smells incredible, here, surrounded by so many trees- you take a deep breath, inhaling the rich pines, the verdant underbrush. Just past the house, there’s a fenced-in area with various plants spilling out of raised garden beds. You can almost smell the summer strawberries and crisp veggies.

On the other side of the fence is a plastic-sheeted greenhouse, LED lights inside making the whole thing glow artificial purple. Eddie catches you staring, then gives a wink, laying one long finger to the side of his nose. “Don’t go tellin’ the Sheriff on me and I’ll give you a joint for your troubles.”

“Deal.” Wasn’t a hard sell at all- at the rate this is going, you’re dying to get high with this man.

Eddie grabs your pack out of the truck bed and leads you across the dirt road, pointing out the fence lines in the distance, and a barn that you can just make out through a gap in the trees.

“Sheep, cows, horses, all that way. This way-” his hand rests between your shoulder blades, steering you towards a boot-worn path, “-is the guest shack. Beehives’ll be just down the hill from where you’re stayin’.”

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at you- “I’ll take you to see ‘em tomorrow. Promise. I just don’t want you goin’ by yourself and getting stung to death, y’hear?”

Not for the first time today, you wish, desperately, to tell him things you shouldn’t. I was actually an apprentice beekeeper for a year, I know my way around a hive. Studied entomology and agriculture in college before I lost myself in the worst mistake of my life. You know that pesky little J I’ve got on my wrist…?

But if you start talking, you won’t stop. And besides, you’re not planning to stay here long enough for your secrets to matter.

So instead, you press your lips into a line, looking solemn, nodding in agreement until he’s satisfied and continues on.

The dirt path leads right to the shack, and Eddie opens the door to let you in. It’s about the size of a studio apartment- wood stove and sink next to the bathroom door, twin bed draped with a thick quilt budged up under the single window. Small, but homey and clean.

As you take it in, spinning in a slow circle, Eddie sets your duffel next to the bed and runs a hand over the top of his head, haloed frizz of his hair springing back into place. “Ain’t much, I know- usually just host the town rascals; they bring their sleeping bags and fight over who gets the mattress. But the sheets are washed, and-”

“Eddie.” You stop his rambling with a hand to his arm. “Seriously, it’s great. Better than great. I was probably gonna end up sleeping on the streets tonight, and you saved me from that. So… thank you. I mean it.”

The vulnerability in your own voice catches you off guard, but you decide to lean in to it. Eddie’s been nice for no reason- or, rather, because he seems to be a kind person- and you want to make sure he hears how grateful you are for a place to stay.

He’s staring down at your hand on his bare arm, eyes clouded with something you can’t parse out; you draw your hand back, which prompts him to speak- “Shit, darlin’. It’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You can stay as long as you like.”

“It’s not nothing,” you insist, arms crossing over your chest, rocking back on your heels. There’s a sudden swell of panic rising like bile in your throat; this morning, you were hell-bent on leaving, and now, you think it’ll kill you not to stay.

“Listen-” Eddie’s eyes snap up at the urgency in your voice, but you manage to push through- “I know I didn’t tell you much, about where I came from, or what I did to end up…”

On my own. The words stick in your throat, tears pricking threateningly at the corners of your vision. “...out here. But I grew up on a farm. I’m used to working livestock, riding horses- I can be helpful. Can earn my keep over the weekend, at least, doing whatever you need-”

Eddie interrupts with a shake of his head, your stomach plummeting until he says, “Got enough farmhands as it is, honey. Don’t need you getting your pretty hands dirty.”

“There has to be something. I can’t cook worth a damn, but I can clean-”

“Hey.” Eddie’s tone of voice slips into a low, soothing register, like you’re a spooked animal caught in a trap. He steps closer, and when you don’t flinch, he settles his big hands on the tops of your shoulders. “Shh. It’s okay. Like I said earlier- I’m not expecting nothin’ from you. Okay?”

There’s gotta be some sort of magical effect happening, an old Celtic carving under the floorboards, maybe a witch's spell braided in with the dried herbs hanging on the far wall. You’ve never felt so looked at before, like you’ve swam beyond your depth and Eddie’s hands are a life raft.

His eyes flit around your face, taking in the expressions you’re surely flickering through before he says, quietly- “If you want, how ‘bout you stay ‘til the end of summer. Help out where you can, and come Fair time, I’ll deal you in on the profits.”

You open your mouth to argue, and smooth as butter, his right hand slips up your shoulder, tattooed fingers wrapping firm around the back of your neck, thumb tapping the pulse point under your jaw, insistent- “This way, you’ll have cash enough in your pocket to go anywhere you want. It’s a good deal and you damn well better take it.”

You wonder if he can feel the jackrabbit pulse of your heartbeat under his thumb. When you nod, he gives a dimpled smile, satisfied. “Good. Now I’ll let you settle in and get washed up for supper. Come on over to the main house when you’re ready.”

Before the door shuts behind him, Eddie adds, “And don’t get too excited. I ain’t much of a cook, neither.”

After his footsteps have retreated down the path, you collapse onto the mattress, springs squeaking. You flip to stare up at the ceiling, running your fingertips over the ghost of his touch branded against your neck, almost nauseous from elation.

A whole summer. On Eddie’s farm. With Eddie.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, you get up to unpack your duffel, then fold your meager clothes supply neatly into the top drawer of an old oak dresser in the corner, still room enough for your canteen.

The last thing in your bag is a twine-wrapped leather pouch. Your butterfly knife makes quick work of the knots, and then, the last of your most precious things in the world are laid out on the bed.

A certificate of completion from Indiana U’s Beekeeping Department, folded and creased but still valid, signed by your last field mentor.

A driver’s license with your old address, square photo of a younger and more hopeful you smiling back.

And lastly, an engagement ring. Gold, with a teardrop-shaped diamond center and sparkling accent stones trailing up either side of the band.

It twinkles when you hold it up to the evening sunbeam streaming through the window; reflective pinpricks of light scatter and dance across the quilt.

In quick succession, you slide everything back into the pouch, securing it with the drawstring before burying it inside the hidden pocket of your bag.

Then, you shove the duffel under the bed until it hits the wall, and turn away to wash up for dinner.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #cowboy!eddie #cowboy!eddie x honey!reader #cowboy!eddie x reader

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 8 months ago

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In my head Nat became a successful indie rockstar after being rescued from the Wilderness and is now still very much ALIVE and has a very Mick Jagger sort of vibe to her and I REFUSE to acknowledge any other fate for her. Dead? NO. She’s wearing a muscle tee, chainsmoking with a bunch of hot women, and shredding on electric guitar somewhere.

#yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets au #yj #nat scatorccio

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shiyorin · 6 months ago

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I was quite surprised when someone sent me a warhammer request on marshmallow, but here we go.

#Modern au. You are a designer who oftens works from home.

#Just a normal morning with primarchs

#Menu: Imperial Secundus

#I promise it only has romcom

Lion El’Jonson

Lion's eyes fluttered open. The alarm blared, jarring him from a dreamless sleep. He groggily fumbled along the nightstand, groping in vain until his palm struck the clock itself, knocking it to the floor. Finally, blessed silence.

He rolled over with a grunt, hugging the blanket tighter and started to drift back under. But a relentless pounding on his door shattered the tranquil haze.

"Lion!! Wake up!! You told me to wake you up early today!" came your insistent voice from the door.

Ugh, did he say that? Of course, he must have, you never would have disturbed his rest otherwise. Lion pulled the covers over his head, letting out a petulant growl. He'd finally gotten some leave time, intended to sleep it away after months of grueling deployments. But apparently obligation called once more.

There was an important PR ceremony today, some ribbons and handshakes to help soothe the civvie politicians. A necessary, but not how he wished to spend his brief repose. For a treacherous moment, the stubborn soldier considered ignoring your wake-up call.

But no. You would only escalate your reminders, and he cringed at the thought of what inventive method you might employ next time. Best to acquiesce... for now.

Lion threw off the sheets with a resigned sigh and swung his feet to the floor. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he padded into the bathroom, glaring at the haggard reflection in the mirror. His beard had grown considerably during his absence, an unruly rug framing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheeks.

He grabbed his trimmer and set to taming the wilderness, meticulously shaping it back into a crisp military cut. Freshly groomed, he tugs on the crisp dress uniform laid out the prior evening. Drab olive tones that do nothing for tired but befit the solemn occasion.

One last lingering look in the mirror confirms his stone-faced professionalism. No one would ever suspect the churning sea of doubts and regrets that dwell behind those cold eyes.

With a resigned sigh, he steps out into the living room. Immediately he's greeted by an unexpectedly enticing sight, you lounging on the sofa in minimal loungewear.

You were sprawled on one end of the sofa, some oversize tee and cotton shorts clinging to your languid form. A tablet danced in your delicate fingers, your face a mask of fierce concentration for whatever design you worked on. Lion couldn't help his treacherous eyes from tracing your curves, taking in expanse of naked legs on a sumptuous display.

On impulse, he crept closer behind your perch, locking onto that elegant neck arching so invitingly. He bent low, baring his teeth ever so slightly as a humid breath rolled across your flesh...

"What are you doing?!"

You flinched bodily, whipping around with wide eyes. Lion recoiled slightly, caught like a schoolboy playing mischief. But your shocked expression melted into an exasperated look as he feigned innocence with lofty indifference.

"Nothing."

Lion cleared his throat.

"You know, you could go outside once in a while. A little sun might be beneficial."

You shot him an icy scowl over the edge of your screen before shrugging elaborately. "I get plenty of Vitamin D, thank you."

He snorted inwardly at the subtle double entendre. Of course you did. Drawing near with an exaggerated sigh, Lion jerked his chin down in clear expectation. You dutifully rose without comment and began smartly knotting his tie, making a few last tidy adjustments before stepping back to appraise your work.

Your bright eyes raked over his crisply-attired form, sparkling with unreadable thoughts before giving a slight nod of approval. "Very handsome. I'm sure they will like it."

"If only..." Lion muttered "I'll be counting the hours until I get cut loose from these."

His gaze subconsciously drifted to the framed awards and photos lining the shelves, stark reminders of his true calling, a life of struggle and valor amidst the echoing guns. And here, he felt like a caged beast, bored, aimless and shackled.

"Speaking of eating..." He turned back to you "What say we go out for a nice steak dinner tonight? I should be done with this whole circus by mid afternoon."

You cocked one shapely eyebrow, unmistakably intrigued. "A prime rib does sound tempting... and you're paying of course?"

"Better than tofu and kale, right?" Lion's eyes crinkled at the corners, indulging his rare playful side. "We could even get a nice bottle of Cabernet to go with it."

You said with a smirk "Wait... Is this a date, sir?"

A delicate flush colored his cheeks for just a moment as he turned away dismissively. "Well, I'd say it's just dinner."

You chuckled "Alright sir, it's time to go.."

He shot you an incredulous look as you give him a wink.

"As if you're one to lecture anyone on getting out more..." He muttered under his breath once the door clicked shut.

But a smile played across his lips as he grabbed his keys and cover, already counting down the hours himself.

Sanguinius

Sanguinius slowly peels open his eyes as the first rays of dawn filter through the bedroom window.

Despite being a morning person in theory, his body protests at the early hour, muscles tight and eyelids heavy from a restless sleep. He drags himself out of the tangled sheets, padding wearily to the bathroom.

The hot shower does little to shake the lingering weariness. It clings to him like cobwebs as he towels off and slips into a plush silk robe, a small indulgence. He catches a glimpse of himself in the foggy mirror, pausing for a beat. His chiseled features and athletic physique betray no hint of the pain that gnaws at his insides lately.

Pushing those nagging thoughts aside for now, Sanguinius drifts out to the kitchen. He uncorks a deep Cabernet Sauvignon decanter to pour himself a generous glassful. Not exactly the most typical breakfast beverage, but he's long past caring about societal conventions.

When he turns to join you at the dinette table, he's greeted by the sight of his disheveled roommate cradle-hugging a steaming coffee mug. You're barely awake yourself, straggles of hair framing your bleary eyes. Despite your almost comical morning disarray, you're still the most gorgeous thing Sanguinius has ever seen.

Instinctively he opens his arms for an embrace, a silent good morning routine. You merely stare at him through slitted lids before downing the last of your coffee. Then, with neither word nor warning, you thrust the empty cup into his hands and turn to go.

Sanguinius is left bemused for only a heartbeat before chuckling softly. He rinses the mug out, refilling it with the last of the coffee and offering the fresh cup which you accept with a grateful nod. You vanish into the living room, curled up on the sofa mere moments later. Your bright LED monitor casts a blue glow across those striking, angular features, already immersed in rendering textures for another character model no doubt.

Padding over, Sanguinius gingerly retrieves his portfolio from beside the armchair. He sinks back into the plush cushions, leafing through page after page of Renaissance and Baroque masterpieces. Yet he can't seem to focus on the brushwork or chiaroscuro artistry today.

He finds his gaze drifting from the pages time and again, stealing glances at the beauty, studying the delicate shape of your lips, the color of your eyes, the effortless fluidity with which your graceful fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Don't stare at your phone and eat at the same time," He chides warmly as you start scrolling through work emails with one hand. "You'll choke."

"Fair point, from the man sipping wine at 7 AM."

You arches one shapely eyebrow but doesn't deign to reply further. Sanguinius drains his own goblet and rises to clean up. He takes his time, puttering about the loft tidying this and straightening that, all while keeping you in his sights through stolen glimpses.

Once finished with his little chores, he finds himself drifting over to your place without even thinking about it. You don't seem to notice or mind as he leans over the back of the sofa, studying your latest creation in-progress.

"Impressive," Sanguinius murmurs, genuinely awestruck by the master-level craftsmanship. "Truly remarkable."

You pause for a beat, gracing him with the faintest of smiles before turning back to the grindstone, lost in your creative zone once again. He remains looming over you for a long moment, close enough to catch the faint scent of your hair's jasmine essence and feel the soft warmth of your body heat.

Then, finally, Sanguinius straightens up with a heavy, wistful sigh. He pads across to collect his folio and jacket from the armchair.

"Well then, I should get going. I've got a gallery walk-through this afternoon for the new exhibition."

On impulse he leans down, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight embrace from behind. You stiffens for the briefest heartbeat before your body seems to melt and settle into him. He nuzzles his nose into your fragrant tresses for one fleeting, delicious breath.

"I'll see you this evening."

*****

Sanguinius sighs heavily, doing his best to focus on the massive abstract canvases arrayed before him. But despite the confrontational slashes of color and impassioned brush strokes, his mind keeps wandering.

Wandering to thoughts of your legs and hair as wild and as unkempt as the paintings themselves. To the smirking cupid's bow of full lips perpetually pursed in sardonic amusement at his romanticized notions.

A shiver runs down Sanguinius' spine as he recalls their very first encounter in vivid detail...

Perhaps today he might finally dare to put brush to canvas, crafting the masterpiece that's been swirling in his mind for months now.

It may very well be the only art that truly matters in this life.

Roboute Guilliman

The pre-dawn stillness hung heavy over the apartment as Roboute Guilliman stirred awake. His body clock was precisely punctual, never requiring an alarm. But it had become a morning ritual nonetheless.

Rolling over, he lay motionless in the darkness, his soft breathing was the only sound. Exactly four minutes before the jarring beep of the alarm was due, Guilliman's hand shot out and silenced it.

With a quiet sigh, the politician slipped from the bedsheets, feet touching down soundlessly on the carpet. As the sheets were tucked with crisp military corners, he pulled the curtain across the bedroom before retreating.

Down the hallway, he rapped his knuckles firmly on your bedroom door in passing. Just a simple courtesy to avoid catching you if you happened to be awake and roaming.

A low grumbling seeped out from behind the door. Apparently his roommate was still very much entombed in slumber at this hour.

He shook his head with a sigh as he made for the apartment's main living area. You could easily sleep till noon if permitted. But you needed to get on a decent schedule, your deadline for that game company's new character model was rapidly approaching.

Guilliman shrugged into his robe and settled into his daily routine. First a pot of strong coffee set to brew while he goes out to the lobby for the morning paper. The brisk chill of the morning air roused his senses fully.

As the newscasters on the television in the living room prattled about yesterday's legislative victories and this morning's planned protests, Guilliman flipped through the paper's headlines. A frown creased his brow as his eyes scanned snippets:

*...divisive new social policies expected to be blocked yet again as party ties remain locked in stalemate...*

*...public trust in elected officials is at all time low amidst deluge of corruption scandals...*

He shook his head with a weary sigh. The political realities of governance had proven far more vexing than any military campaign ever faced back in his service days. Compromise and incremental change seemed the agonizing order of the day, no matter how dire the situation.

The timer's shrill beep indicated the coffee was ready. Muscle memory took over as Guilliman retrieved the carafe, split the hot brew into two mugs, then poured in the respective milk and sugars to each's preferred taste.

Almost on cue, a sleep-tousled you shuffled into the dining room with a jaw-cracking yawn. Your silk robe hung open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the matching negligee beneath.

"Mmmmmorning..." you mumbled groggily, bare feet padding across the linoleum.

Guilliman turned at the exact moment you wrapped your lithe arms around his midsection from behind with a contented sigh. Your cheek nuzzled against the flat planes of his back as he stiffened self-consciously.

"What's for breakfast, hmm?" Your voice was blissfully sleepy, still thick with half-dreams and warmth.

Clearing his throat, Guilliman gestured to the set table with a prim nod. "Belgian waffles and seasonal fresh fruit compote, as requested. With the coffee you prefer."

Your answering hum of delight vibrated through his robe pleasantly. "Love you."

Guilliman felt his face grow warm as you giggled, returning to slather the unappetizing bread-slab with sugary condiments. Best to ignore such needling - especially when you have a point. He couldn't help but spoil you.

… Besides, how many other politicians were roomies with a character model designer? He couldn't be too harsh.

Before he could react further, you released your lingering embrace and flopped bonelessly into your seat. Guilliman blinked, momentarily flushed, before joining you at their customary places across the small table.

They ate in a relaxed quiet broken only by the newscasters' prattling drone. Guilliman couldn't help noticing the elegant,delicate way your lips pursed around each forkful...

A loud slam from their neighbor's door shattered the reverie, making them both jump slightly. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head. "Honestly, can people not control themselves for five minutes..."

You reached over to give his clenched fist a reassuring squeeze. "Any luck with the proposed housing reforms? I saw it was on the docket again this week..."

Swallowing hard, he mustered a tight smile. "Well, progress remains...incremental." His eyes flicked to the mobs of irate citizens wielding placards and crude banners on television screens. "The special interests dig their heels in deeper every time."

"Just give it time." Your tone was soothing even through your usual wry inflection. You sipped your coffee thoughtfully, ruby lips leaving a perfect imprint on the porcelain mug. "They're going to feel awfully silly someday for not listening to you."

"I certainly hope--"

Guilliman glanced down at the time on his portable cogitator, eyes widening. "Blast! I'd best get moving if I'm on time for the morning session."

He rose swiftly, tucking in his chair and gathering the dishes in one practiced movement as you watched with bemused detachment. Within moments he was already depositing the load in the sonic dishwasher, suit cuffs neatly buttoned.

At the door, he hesitated with one hand on the knob. Glancing back, Guilliman called over his shoulder, "I may be late this evening. There are deliberations scheduled on--"

"I know, I know." You waved him off with a little smile, one foot tucked under your thigh as you sipped your coffee. "More stuffy old men yelling and accomplishing nothing, as usual."

Lips pursing tightly, Guilliman simply grunted before slipping out into the corridor. Your teasing was affectionate but still stung just a bit.

Carefully straightening the crisp lapels of his suit, Guilliman cleared his throat. "Do try and not bury yourself in laptop too deeply today, yes? Your health is as important as any project deadline."

You waved an airy hand, taking an uncouth slurp of your coffee. "Yeah yeah, mom, I know the drill. Now get going before you're late for all your super important senatorial meetings."

Pausing at the door for one final longing look at that adorably disheveled figure, Guilliman repressed a smile. He truly was a lucky man, even if his roommate could be his pain at times.

As the oaken portal swung closed and his strides carried him off to another long, grueling day of civic responsibilities, the statesman couldn't help but look forward to returning home this evening.

#shiyorin's writer #wh40crack #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #romantic stuff in 40k #modern au #Marshmallow QA

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lovedrunkheadcanons · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

RATED M (SMUT)

Contains: Satoru x submissive virgin, Satoru x fem oc, married couple, wife receiving.

Warnings: smut, groping, fingering, dirty talk, oral, raw sex, consummation, blood, first time, crying, screaming, fluff, cute couple shit, love confessions, all the usual fixings.

For the next few days Hannah was patient. She did not jump at the first opportunity, choosing to set her plan in motion when Makoto was away visiting family. The housekeeper would be gone a week, leaving her and Satoru alone in the house. Just the two of them. No one else.

The clock on her dresser struck six o’clock. They had just eaten dinner - leftovers from last night - and allotted themselves some free time before bed. Hannah made all the necessary preparations; bathed, brushed her teeth, shaved her legs. She wanted this evening to be perfect. Perfect for him.

Now cleaned and freshened up, she walked into her closet where her wedding attire hung and lifted the first notch off her ikō, mindful not to let the rest of the rack topple over as there was little else keeping it together. She tilted the notch to one side. The uchikake slid out with ease and tumbled to the floor. The October sun had already set. Only a small paper lantern burned in the closet, capturing the silver threads and lilac wisteria in its light. The little wife gathered the precious garment in her arms and prayed for guidance.

She would wait another hour, but no more.

The hour had passed. Hannah stood outside his bedroom in the hallway. She was accustomed to them sleeping in her room, but that was about to change.

Mustering the courage, her knuckles rapped twice on his door.

“Satoru?” she squeaked.

Nothing at first.

Then the sound of shuffling footsteps.

The door slid open.

Satoru popped out, wearing matching grey sweatpants and tee, readers poised on the bridge of his nose. He must’ve been in the middle of reading something. His mouth stretched into a yawn.

“Hey you, I was just about to head over. Ready for bed?”

Hannah did not answer and looked down at the floor, blushing like mad. “N-not exactly.”

The confusion was apparent on his face. He didn’t understand. It was late. Why wasn’t she ready for bedtime? But it didn’t take long for him to realize what she was wearing. Or rather, what she wasn’t wearing. His Six Eyes saw right through the wedding kimono like crystal clear water.

Oh.

Feeling there was no time to waste, Hannah started to unloop the kimono, freeing the double knots she so expertly tied and untied a million times from poor nerves. Her hands shook feverishly. But just as the second tie came undone, she felt callused fingertips covet her own, halting their ministrations. She looked up to see pools of turquoise blue boring into her.

“We don’t have to do this, Hannah?” One hand moved to cradle the small of her back, holding her close. “There’s no rush.”

Hannah felt the urge to cry, but tried suppressing it. “Oh, I think we’ve danced around the subject long enough.” She smiled despite the emotion threatening to spill over. “Because you see, my darling, I’ve been a fool. A bloody, stupid fool.”

“A fool?” He stepped in to gingerly cup her face. “What makes you say that?”

The tears came freely. Hannah stared directly into his eyes; hazel colliding with blue, and did not mince words, voice carrying a shred of vulnerability.

“I love you, Gojō Satoru,” she said. “I was a fool not to see it sooner, but I’m willing to make it up to you. If you’ll have me.”

The Six Eyes wilder pressed a thumb to her lips, holding her into silence. Like the striking of a match, the smoldering of a flame, something awakened in his eyes she could not pinpoint, a light that could not be extinguished. Saying nothing, he wiped away her tears and lowered his hands to the drawstring of her kimono, whispering in an almost childlike voice. “May I?”

Obedient, Hannah let her hands fall to her sides as he tugged the knot, unraveling the uchikake he had gifted her from its silken chrysalis.

The wedding kimono dropped to the floor.

Hannah stood before him, naked as the day she was born. Like a sculptor assessing his fine handiwork, Satoru gave himself a moment of pause, eyes sloping over her breasts, nipples puckering from the sudden chill, nice and pink, the ones he’d been lusting after since he first saw her singing in the bath. His hands lifted to cup the supple mounds for himself, but not before he glanced to his wife for silent permission. Hannah gave a singular nod and gasped as one warm palm slipped underneath, gently bouncing the flesh up and down repeatedly, circling the pink bud with a calloused thumb. She was the perfect size, not too big, not too small. Exactly how he liked it, and his training regimen had worked wonders; His wife wasn’t a scrawny twig anymore. There was meat on them bones.

A beating pulse began throbbing between his legs the more he weighed her, stared at her. “Holy shit, Hannah, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to…,” he lost his train of thought, coveting her other breast. “So beautiful.”

His fingers were positively electric, sending prickles down her spine, massaging both breasts in a manner she hadn’t considered. Whenever she happened to touch herself running a rag in the wash or dressing into a bra such touches elicited no effect, but the fact these were his hands made all the difference. She liked it. It felt good.

It felt right.

Finishing his assessment, Satoru relinquished his hold. Callused hands sought hers and gently pulled her towards his bed, turquoise blue eyes filled with insatiable desire. He sat her down along the edge and backed away.

He lifted his shirt.

Loosened the drawstring of his sweatpants.

Hooked the elastic of his boxers.

And as he removed the last article of clothing, Hannah turned to look away, retaining those last vestiges of innocence, but Satoru denied her.

“Hannah.” He said it softly like a reprimand. “Look at me.”

She drew a shaky breath and slowly inclined her head, forcing herself to see.

Her lips parted.

Hannah had studied the male anatomy in biology books, seen Michelangelo's David up close during a pilgrimage to Florence, but Satoru standing before her in all his glory stole her breath away. He was truly a sight. A living monument of corded muscle and chiseled abs and years of discipline combined with blood, sweat, and tears. Everything about him was a masterpiece. From the definition of his arms to the carved ridge of his v, prompting her gaze to wander to their joined axis.

Her eyes widened.

He’s big, she noted. Bigger than the average male, already red and very erect, muscles relaxing so blood could pour into the corpora and harden the spongy tissue inside. Hannah knew at this stage his heart rate had elevated significantly nor could he feel the sticky precum oozing out his penis. His balls had swelled to twice their normal size, brewing millions of tiny sperm preparing to travel through the ejaculatory duct, whereby they would mix with seminal fluids from the prostate and exit out his urethra in search of an egg during climax. (That was the clinical side of it, anyway). Where things got tricky depended on what followed afterwards because —

“We can’t use condoms,” she blurted, clasping her mouth, swallowing as she watched a dribble of precum drip to the floor.

If Satoru’s cock wasn’t throbbing so badly like a stallion cooped in a barn full of mares, he would've voiced his opposition. It’s not that they “can’t” use condoms. No, no, no. It’s that they “wouldn’t.”

Vaguely curious on what to expect, Satoru had skimmed the Church’s stance on marriage and sex, Pope John Paul II’s Theology of the Body, and why most forms of contraception were frowned upon, excluding NFP. While he saw the logic, he vehemently opposed the conclusions. Contraception and birth control had lifted millions out of poverty, gave women the freedom to work and make their own choices. To think otherwise was outdated as it was regressive. Perhaps a small, minute part of him believed Hannah would rebel against her religious views, but alas. They were going oh naturale whether he liked it or not, and if she fell pregnant, so be it. He was in no position to argue.

Satoru steadied himself.

“I’m gonna open you up first, alright?”

Hannah gave a nervous nod. “O-Okay.”

“If you want me to stop for any reason, let me know.”

She nodded again.

Satoru cradled her chin, eyes serious. “I mean it, Hannah,” he said, smoothing her cheeks with his thumbs. “I can get a little carried away sometimes. If there’s anything I do wrong, tell me.”

She held his steady gaze and folded her hands over his. “I trust you.”

Satoru pressed his forehead to hers and splayed his hand over her stomach. She shivered as he gently pushed her down on the bed, taking ownership of her hips, and settling himself between her thighs.

At once, his touch went from languid to worshipful, breath hovering over her chest like warm vapor, encouraging the shy nipple to respond accordingly and relax. With lustful ardor, his mouth overtook it, sucking and pulling on the pink bud, while using his left hand to fondle the other breast. She could feel his hardness rub against her stomach, hearing him moan in pleasure. Hannah was beyond starstruck. Never had she experienced anything like this before. The swirling of his tongue combined with his thumb tracing around her nipple had her pressing her head to the mattress.

In time, his hand gravitated towards the warm cove of her thighs, slowly prying the legs open more to untangle the dark web of curls, gently combing the hair. Hannah felt the need to hide her face, embarrassed that he wanted to touch her there; the one area she hadn’t shaved. A dark chuckle roiled from him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he teased, wringing the curls. “You know how much I like playing with your hair,” his hand started to dip further inwards, “Unless…there’s something else you think I should play with.” A violent shudder became her as his fingers teetered closer and closer to the tender swell underneath. “Let’s have a feel, shall we?”

Before she could think, two of Satoru’s fingers slipped inside, curling ever so slightly to imitate what he was about to do with a different body part. Hannah shut her eyes, struggling to find breath as Satoru toyed and teased and smarted. He added a third finger and soon Hannah could feel his entire hand caressing her arousal, thumb and pinkie stroking the folds in slow, deliberate circles, while his three remaining fingers plunged in and out of her continually, pleasuring her as best he could till the flesh grew achingly sensitive. Hannah let out a pitiful whimper, rocking her hips to match his “come hither” rhythm in the hopes it would help alleviate the budding tension collecting at her navel.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. Small trembles ran through her as he went deeper, her little moaning pants mingling with the slick sounds of him stroking for her most sensitive spot.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he purred, feeling her clamp tighter and tighter around his fingers. He dipped his head in the crook of her neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin just below her ear. “Don’t fight it now…Ah, you’re going to cum any second…Yes, I can feel you cumming…my Hannah…my Hannah…my Hannah...”

An all consuming heat suddenly surged through Hannah’s body; her head, her breasts, her stomach, pooling down between her hips until she felt her entrance hold and release around his fingers like a heartbeat. A rush of moisture came to the forefront, coating the invasive digits in fresh wetness. After digging a little more, Satoru withdrew the soiled fingers and eagerly brought them to his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled, cock panging for her in earnest. He welcomed the flood of endorphins to invade his brain and he licked each finger dry. Her very first orgasm was his for the taking, and it smelled and tasted better than anything he could’ve imagined. He wanted, no, needed more.

A feral look possessed him. Satoru knelt at the foot of the bed and propped her legs over his shoulders, leaving them to dangle like streamers, and before Hannah realized what was going on, his craven tongue was gliding along the wet folds of her pussy, licking the rims clean and stroking his way to the juicy center as though savoring a melted treat. Overwhelmed, Hannah’s soft whimpers turned to moans. “Satoru,” she called out and tried clamping her legs together when she started orgasming a second time. His wicked tongue plunged deeper. “Satoru!!” she cried louder, but Satoru had spread her hips wide apart, listening to his name being repeated over and over again as she came inside his mouth. So many wonderful, delicious sounds, envisioning her flushed cheeks, parted lips, and heavy-lidded eyes lashes. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to wring as many orgasms out of her like this as humanly possible.

Below, his cock was screaming for release. Satoru groped the hardened juncture below in an effort to appease it, stroking once, twice, feeling very tempted to throw in the towel and go all in. It ached like a motherfucker, but he had to pull away.

Although, he underestimated Hannah’s pleasure in this. Not wanting it to end, her hands clamored for his mouth to return, but Satoru quickly seized them. “No, sweetheart, no.” He kissed her knuckles. “If I keep doing that, I won’t last much longer.”

Her next words were dangerous.

“Then don’t,” she whimpered, practically begging. “I don’t want you to last.”

He tucked a trestle of auburn behind her ear. “Are you sure, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” came her delirious response. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Regaining his balance, Satoru lifted her hips and properly angled himself.

Thanks to their warm-up, he slid inside her without much resistance, cock warm and heavy, stretching the virgin skin to accommodate its larger girth, yet the sensation was so intense and unyielding Hannah clenched without giving it a second thought. No, this was nothing like his fingers, nor his tongue. She felt her privates were on fire, as though his hardness was made of fiberglass, penetrating deeper and deeper until her walls thinned out and split open. Something tore. She smelled blood.

“Satoru,” she cried, gritting her teeth as tears watered her eyes. “It’s…Oh, God.”

“Breathe, Hannah,” he panted the deeper he went. “I broke your hymen. You’re alright, just breathe for me, sweetheart.”

“It hurts.”

“I know, baby, but breathing helps. Breathe, Hannah.” He watched her choke on an inhale and release a long, staggered breath. “Good girl, just like that.” She didn’t tell him to stop, so he pushed in a little more, her wet pussy squeezing around him. Fuck, she was tight. By far the tightest he’d ever had and the feeling was indescribable, her walls hugging him in all the right places, hitting the bulbous gland at the tip of his penis at just the right — Oh yeah. That’s the spot. This was Satoru’s first time with a virgin and in a daze he almost forgot himself, swearing never to use condoms again. Nuh-uh, nope, not when she felt like this. Not when she made him feel bigger, fuller even.

Meanwhile, Hannah clutched onto him for dear life, nails digging into his shoulder blades like mountain hooks. “Move,” she begged the deeper he went. “Satoru, please move.”

“Give me a minute, baby,” he huffed, voice velvet soft. “I’m almost there,” and with one final nudge his penis went as far as it would go, kissing the entrance of her womb.

Hannah grabbed a fistful of sheets, her throat so clenched she could barely form the words, “Satoru…please.”

Knowing she was having a rough go, Satoru eased his hips and did a little shimmy, making the intrusion more bearable. Hannah’s breathing steadied. He reached up and cupped her teary-eyed face, wanting one final look at her before they took the plunge. Although, in many ways they already had. His knees quivered from restraint.

“I’ll start slow,” he hushed, stroking her burning cheeks lovingly.

Hannah managed another nod and hooked her arms around his neck.

“You ready?”

“Hmhm,” she grimaced.

And so it began.

As promised, he set a maddeningly slow pace for her at first, gently tilting to a new spot each time he entered, allowing his cock to explore every inch of her sex with undiluted pleasure. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he praised between thrusts. “Aah, so good.” Tears flowed freely down Hannah’s cheeks with every torturous roll of his hips, every sharp gasp, every languid moan and sweet encouragement pouring out his mouth; fiberglass, heat, fire. She felt she would melt. It was too much.

Somewhere amidst their rigor, she managed to recapture his lips in a needy kiss, holding down her muffled cries and wrapped her legs around his torso, smooshing their bellies together. It helped. The pain eased a little the more he gyrated. She forgot the stench of blood. Panting for breath, Hannah broke from the kiss and pressed her head to the mattress as his large calloused hands resumed fondling her now very sore and tender breasts, giving her focus to the sound of their bodies slapping hard against each other, growing louder and faster the more they went at it.

She felt the muscles hook around her navel once more. The peaks of her nipples tightened and her core began pounding harder than ever before. A thousand tiny dots obscured her vision, along with a faint ringing developing in her ears. Her mouth went slack. Sensing she was close, Satoru grunted and took the opportunity to lower his hand, using his thumb and index to stroke the wings of her clit, causing the edges of her vision to turn stark-white. Then he rammed upwards as far as he could and somewhere in the back of her mind Hannah knew she was belting his name, screaming it loud for all to hear, but she didn’t care and neither did he. Their bodies were functioning on autopilot, grinding aggressively back and forth in fine, strobic movements. Lost to both pain and pleasure.

Their lovemaking reached its acme when a resounding groan, deep and guttural, coursed through Satoru’s throat like a low keening. Hannah felt his groin expand within her, the surmounting pressure bringing him past the point of no return, fully opening him up. There was no stopping it now. Faster and faster he bucked, spinal reflexes working full throttle, and within seconds Hannah felt something warm and sticky gush between her thighs. She heard a noticeable squelch as six months worth of abstinence and desperate longing came channeling out in heavy intervals; one, two, three, four…her insides were like liquid. Meanwhile, Satoru closed his eyes and snapped back his head, moaning loudly with every newfound release. Hannah’s own eyes lulled as yet a new orgasm engulfed her senses, his warm seed spilling into her like rainwater to the parched ground. Their fingers found each other, weaving into place. So this was what it was like when a man came inside you, she thought. It was the most incredible she felt in ages, if not, ever. Her toes and fingers tingled. Was she floating?

It was over as soon as it began. Satoru needed a good minute to expel himself, humping a few extra times to make sure he had finished, wanting her to have every last drop. He raised his head to catch his breath, ignoring how sensitive his genitals felt inside her.

Caught in a state of bliss, turquoise blue and moss brown stared into each other for a blissful moment, both disoriented. Satoru watched new tears stream down his wife’s cheeks as she began to sob, overcome with joy and euphoria. They’d done it. They’d really done it. The amber glow of the lights made her skin look radiant. She was his sun, his obsession, his hana. They’re would be no one else.

He wiped away her happy tears and sought her hand, wedding rings glistening from an oath fulfilled, skin-warmed and gold.

“Daisuki, Satoru,” he heard her sigh contentedly in the lantern glow.

Having yet to pull out, he hunched himself over so their foreheads could touch. “Not as much as I love you,” he replied in English and sealed her lips in a final kiss, cradling her in his arms as he positioned their bodies to lay beside each other on the bed, still conjoined.

If only they could remain like that forever. Never to be parted.

His wife.

Her husband.

One flesh.

At long last.

Chapter Contents

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