#With my hand on your grease gun | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wokelander · 2 months

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THE FIRST TASTE !

ft. re2r!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v sex, canon typical gore/violence, zombies, non-con, dub-con, leon gets held at gun point, slight age gap, leon is infected but not fully a zombie yet

note. awful attempt at breaking through writers block I hate this so bad the reader changes personality like 8 times and the smut is dry.. feedback n rbs always appreciated um again sorry ab the monotony.. um the beginning part is meant to be like a flashback but idk! also this might be gender neutral reader? I haven’t gone back and checked but I put fem just in case 😭

You’re thirty years old and a virgin. This is important for two reasons.

It’s the end of the fucking world.

The only man left in the world, that you know of, is succumbing to a zombie virus.

“Leon S. Kennedy!” He had said, stuck his hand out for you to shake - didn’t get the hint until you reached over to physically lower it for him.

“Yeah, okay, I don’t need your life story—Can you back off a little, rookie?” You had asked, and he frowned, something that looked out of place on a face like his.

For a moment, you thought that you never wanted to see him sad again.

“I told you my name,” Leon pointed out, it was nothing more than genuine confusion, but his perfect teeth irked you.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

He stuck to you, less like glue and more like grease on a kitchen backsplash. He grew on you in all the wrong ways. Like leg hair.

So you told him to back off, that you weren’t a team, and this stubborn little shit refused. You didn’t like his boyband haircut

“I don’t need a guide dog.” You shouldered Leon out of the way when his body eclipsed the entrance into the kennels. “Or a guard dog.”

You didn’t like the way his uniform fit so well. It took you years to grow into yours, to not look like you were playing dress up in your father’s closet.

Ultimately, he shot the dogs in the head, you didn’t have the heart or the stomach.

You told him their names.

Duke was a month short of his first birthday, Toffee was his mom. Alice wasn’t fit to be a police dog; she wouldn’t hurt a fly.

He said that he always wanted a dog, a bloodhound to be specific, but his mother was never fond of them and he loved her too much to go against her wishes.

You said that it was better off he never got one. “‘Cause look where you are now, rookie.”

He agreed and soldiered on.

The flickering sewer bulbs cast a halo on the crown of his head, twilight glow shifting shadows over his face. You had to take a breather, back thumping against the wall, a film of mucousy slime coating your uniform.

“Are you okay, Sarge?” Leon sloshed towards you in the water, and then his eyes went wider than humanly possible, white-knuckling his torch, the beam of light trembling as he struggled to shine it on a fixed point.

“Rookie, are you okay?” You edged towards him, caution lining your every move, a hand placed on your holster.

You heard it before you saw it.

The wet and somewhat primal sound of lifeless hunger.

You were trembling too much to grasp your gun, so you crushed its skull under your boot like a snail shell.

It left a blackened tooth in his calf, you pluck it out and it skims the water like a pebble.

You don’t care for him past his face.

You don’t.

You really, honestly, seriously couldn’t give a damn about the rookie. If you weren’t such a good fucking person you’d leave him here to rot with the rest of Raccoon City.

“Shit, Leon, we need to get you out of here.” You support him to the best of your abilities, he grasps at your shoulder - he’s as heavy as he looks.

“You remembered my name.” Leon’s smile is all shiny teeth, you count every last one, and then you start to pray under your breath. “Are you religious, Sarge?”

“No, I’m fucking scared, rookie.” You can’t help the nervous laughter that racks through you like a shudder, it splits you down the middle.

“So why are you praying?” Is he dead fucking serious right now?

“Because I’m scared—Jesus, Leon, this isn’t the time for fucking questions.” Your boots are soaked in sludge, nothing but trench foot is on the horizon as you force him up that ladder and back onto the streets.

His bite mark oozes something nasty, something old and new and borrowed and blue.

Jesus Christ, is it pulsing? That thing has a heartbeat.

You feel sick, tearing your sleeve to craft a bandage as you kneel down to wrap his wound up. The blood soaks through, he smells sick. Hot like he wasn’t before. Hot like humans aren’t meant to be, like the last spark in a furnace before it goes out.

“But if it means nothing to you then it won’t help.”

“It’s just… It doesn’t matter right now, okay? We can talk about that some other time.” There won’t be any other time. He’s going to die here and you won’t know what to do. You still say it to him like a promise.

You retrace your steps no matter how much he insists for you to go on without him.

Get out of here—Go find Ada, please. Claire, I met a girl named Claire, she might still be out there, Sarge, please go.

But he doesn’t understand that his hope is misplaced. You were never trying to find your way out of this place, you were going to find a nice hole to crawl into and die. You were looking for a good wall to splatter your brains on. You don’t care about who did this, who started this, you don’t want to find Ada.

Ignorance is bliss and you live by that.

You didn’t join the force to save people - you joined the force because it was the only place that had an opening.

Fuck, you’re a fucking virgin.

You’re going to die a virgin.

And the thing is, you were at peace with your virginity, your pussy is past its sell-by date, you were cool with that.

Then you had this stupid fucking thought that maybe you could get out of here and fuck the rookie silly—It’s the end of the world, he’d have no choice but you.

Now he’s gone and ruined it all.

Leon S. Kennedy with his watery blue eyes and fuck-me moles and doll lips and stupid fucking chin. He’s like Clark Kent, but you’re definitely not Lois Lane.

“I’m only—“

“Please, stop talking,” you cut in before Leon has the chance to say something stupid and endearing to make him all the more lovable and missable and fuckable.

He’s cycling through his grief. That’s the thing about Leon, he’s on autopilot, for a split second he’s mad and then he’s sad and then he’s back to where he was. It’s like he deliberately chooses not to think about things until he absolutely must.

The faraway gurgling groans of undead officers befallen by some cinematic illness and the buzz of the light bulbs give the main hall a liminal quality. You set him down on the seat where Marvin’s laptop is, congealed blood crusts over the keyboard.

He lays dead a few feet away, his head blown off by a gun you find is affectionately named Matilda. The rookie is a movie buff - you pegged him as a sports fan, but you misjudged him. He’s like the lead in a fucking rom-com, they always have to be a little sentimental, have some weird quirk that makes them seem down to earth.

“Sarge.”

“Leon.” You squeeze his shoulder, begging him to be quiet, to let you think, to just give you a split second. “Fuck, we need to get it off before it spreads.”

“No way,” Leon huffs out a laugh, it rattles in his chest, ricocheting off his ribs like a bullet.

“Yes, Leon, it’s literally the only fucking thing I can think of right now—“

He takes your hand in his clammy one, the pink is gone from his cheeks. “You need to go on without me.”

No, no, no.

This isn’t fair. It’s not meant to happen like this. You’re supposed to get your happy ending and ride off into the sunset for once in your miserable fucking life. You’re meant to find a safe house or an evacuee camp and fuck the shit out of him in one of those flimsy tents where everyone can see your silhouettes, where everyone can hear you and they know what’s going on, but it’ll be hush-hush by the morning.

“Don’t say that, Leon, if I find something—Maybe from, shit, I don’t know, from the STARS office, we could hack it off—“

Leon cups your cheeks, you feel his breath on your face, he smells of the sewers and something worse. You blink at his pallid face, the feverish gleam of sweat in the yellow lights, cloudy eyes—Holy shit, he still looks good enough to eat.

In a matter of minutes, he might think the same of you.

“You can make it out of here if you follow Ada, she wouldn’t let you down like that, I don’t want you to stay here and, and die here, Sarge, I really like you—You’re so cool, you’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be actually.” Leon takes a shaky breath, you look for comfort in the lines of his palms - his life line is broken.

“Rookie… You don’t seriously think she meant it, do you?” You pretend he didn’t say all those things, it’ll only make what you’re about to do to him harder.

“Of course she did, she has no reason to lie to us, to me.” Whether he’s blinded by her ass or he’s just plain stupid, you don’t know.

“You’re so… You’re too nice, Leon.” Part of you aches for him, he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. The blackened underbelly of the RPD, your shitty chief and his knack for girls that don’t ever look legal.

Maybe this is for the best.

“I’m not—You need to find her, she can get you out of here.” He’s not taking no for an answer. He never has, he stuck to you like a shadow and now look where he is.

“She was dressed like fucking Inspector Gadget, rookie, are you kidding? I’m—“ A chill runs up your spine, you shudder visibly when you press your gun to his forehead. His skin is sagging. You could wear the bags beneath his eyes on your arms, you could stretch his skin like spandex. “I promise I’ll be quick, Leon.”

Leon takes Matilda from his holster and offers her up, you cock her and take aim.

“Oh, Leon.” You almost feel bad. Almost. “I’m sorry.” For what happened to you, for what’s about to happen to you.

“It’s not your fault,” Leon says softly, his eyes are more grey than blue. Gunmetal grey.

Your plan is stupid. Whether you shoot or not - Leon is dying. There’s no need for him to fear a bullet—Christ, the bullet is better off, he might as well beg for you to kill him.

“Take off your shirt, rookie.” You tap Matilda against his temple, her muzzle is a cold warning or a feint.

“What?” He blinks at you, wondering if that’s really what you asked of him. “Sarge, I don’t think I…”

“Take off your shirt, rookie,” you repeat in a trembling voice.

“What has that got to do with this?” He’s making that face again, tilting his head to the side like he’s a dog, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep that fogs his head.

“God, Leon, you need to stop doing that, y’know?” Your jaw is offset, back teeth pressed together in a show of agitation. He plucks at your last nerve.

“Doing what?”

“Asking questions!” The metal is growing warm in your sweaty hand. He’s exhausting. Being handsome must go hand in hand with stupidity. “You ask too many fucking questions!”

“Because I'm confused, Sarge!”

“What is so confusing about that, rookie?” You ask him, brows knit together, “I’m asking you to take off your fucking shirt, if you can’t follow that I don’t know how you’d last a day on my team!”

That seems to shut him up. Leon hesitates and then he pulls the riot vest over his head, it drops to the floor with a dull thud.

“Good… Good boy.” You sound like you’re praising a dog, nothing like those raunchy older ladies in pornos. “Now the, like, all the accessories.”

Leon’s face twists in confusion.

“The fucking hip pouches and belt rookie.” You wave the gun around like a conducting baton. “Then your shirt, your actual shirt, not the fucking vest, the shirt, okay? Understood?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he says shortly.

“Don’t get snippy with me, rookie.” You’re good at the bossy old bitch voice though. The belt drops to the ground and the pouches follow, a few bullets clatter on the marble.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, I thought you were…” Leon shakes his head, as if the thought of you doing this to him is too much to bear. His movements are erratic, he can’t undo his buttons and one of his fingernails peels off in the process. He doesn’t notice until you point it out.

It won’t stop you.

Look at you, following in the footsteps of your good ol’ chief. He’d be proud of you, forcing a man ten years younger than you into sex. You’re lucky you’re not especially pretty, you didn’t have to suck his jacked up dick to get a place on the force.

“Stand up, rookie.”

He stands, swaying from side to side as he tries to focus on your face.

You place a hand on his chest, he’s clammy like a dead fish, sweat beading his forehead, there’s a spidery vein running along his forearm. Leon’s softer than you thought, his body gives way to your touch, dimpling beneath your fingertips when you grasp at his pec and squeeze.

“Sarge—“

“Shut up, rookie.” You’re breathing harder than he is. Holy shit, this is like real. You’re touching him for real.

“It hurts, Sarge, I’m sorry.”

“I’m being gentle,” you tell him, curious hand groping at his other pec, thumbing over his hard nipple.

“I know, but it hurts, I don’t know why.” Probably because he is turning into a monster beyond your scope of understanding. Probably because his skin is going to rot off his bones.

“Hey, don’t cry, rookie.” You ease up your hold on his pec.

“I’m not crying,” Leon says, he stares at you, unflinching.

“It’s okay to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” he hisses.

“Are you annoyed at me or something, rookie?” You shift from one foot to the other, like you just asked him on a date and you’re waiting for him to say no.

Leon looks at you like you’re crazy, the words settling in his eyes now wide with disbelief.

Bad question. You would be pretty annoyed if some ugly dude held you at gunpoint mid zombie transformation and forced you to strip.

You wouldn’t mind if it was a cute guy though. You bet he wouldn’t mind if it was Ada.

“Okay, rookie, the pants now.” You point your gun at his dick. “Ah, ah, the boxers too.”

His silence is more terrifying than anything, it’s not much of a defeated silence, it’s quiet loathing and the weight of betrayal.

“Look, I’m sorry, rookie,” you say in the voice of someone who isn’t sorry at all. But that’s just your voice, you just sound a little bitchy, honest to god, you’re sorry as hell. “You’d get it if you were me.”

“I thought you were cool,” Leon says quietly, looking down at his wet socks or his soft dick. You can’t tell.

Cool.

God, that’s such a juvenile word. Cool is what you wanted to be in middle school. Cool is what you wanted to be all throughout high school, and now a whopping twelve years later you’re getting validation from the guy you’re about to rape.

In the middle of a zombie fucking apocalypse, might you add.

“I think you’re cool too, rookie.” You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it swells and persists. “I think you’re really fucking hot actually, rookie, I kind of...”

Your voice falls away.

I hated you for it at first, but then I really started to like you, and now you’re dying and I don’t know what else to do.

Leon’s frown is more of a pout. He’s so young. There’s no wrinkles on his forehead, but he has a smattering of freckles on his cheeks, they give a somewhat healthy appearance despite the greying of his face.

“Sit down, rookie.”

He pulls a face and then sits, crossing his arms over his chest. His dick hasn’t fallen off yet, you’re glad about that. Leon’s body still being in one piece is simply an added bonus.

You make quick work of your water-soaked trousers, and your underwear follows, doing your best to toe out of them in your heavy boots.

You might be wet, or you might be sweating, or is this sewer slime? Whatever it is, pussy juice or not, it’ll do as lube.

That dick of his is soft. Embarrassingly so. You’re naked, shouldn’t that be enough to get Leon going? Or are you seriously that undesirable?

Your weight on his lap makes him groan, you pretend not to hear it, blaming it on the virus making him weaker. You’re not that heavy. You’re not. He’s just trying to make you paranoid.

“Oh, wait, wait, wait!” You stand back up and relief floods his face. Rude. Fumbling, you take the pair of handcuffs from your belt. If you can’t use them to get laid or while getting laid, then what use are they? The former has certainly never happened, so you’re going to make the latter come true.

Leon doesn’t say a word while you secure his hands behind his back, his cheeks puff out, an expression you notice he makes when he’s in pain. The metal of the cuff erodes his melting wrists, it splinters his bones.

Now you don’t need to worry about him getting ahold of the gun, you place it on the side, lining his soft dick up with your slick pussy and feeding it into you like a straw. It’s very unsexy. The tip is velvety and the shaft is rubbery like a toy. His dick is mottled purple in the way dicks shouldn’t, you bet it was pink before. The same pink as his nipples and the tip of his nose.

You don’t feel anything.

It’s not special and there’s no sparks and all his dick does is make you feel a little less empty. So you roll your hips forward and he jolts, dick perking up and hardening inside of you. Against his will.

Leon refuses to look at you, he finds a fixture on the ceiling and stares at it while you find the right pace, lifting up off his cock, the head pops out wetly and then you sink down on it again, bottoming out with a squelch.

You brace a hand on his chest, the other between your thighs, a few fingers rubbing firm circles into your clit as you fuck him so hard you’re sure his cock is ready to fall off.

You would take it with you, keep it inside of you maybe.

“Leon…” Your lips ghost his when you whisper out his name, shuddering with the force of your orgasm, it starts in your tingling toes, warmth lapping at your ankles and then it washes over your body like a gentle wave.

His eyes are shut. He’s unmoving.

You think he might be dead, but then Leon’s dick twitches to love inside of your clenching cunt, and you feel him throb as the leaky slit dribbles a generous helping of cum.

Not the worst feeling in the world, you could get used to it, but there’s no time for that.

“I’m sorry, rookie,” you tell him again, panting as you shimmy back into your pants, “I’m sorry, I seriously am, I just need you to understand that I’m not… You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

Spit bubbles spill from the corners of his cracked lips, Leon uses his arm to wipe them away. “I know I didn’t do anything wrong,” he mumbles.

“Okay… Well, I’m glad you know that.” You take Matilda and you point her at Leon’s head for real this time, it’s not an empty threat. “I like you a lot, rookie, I think you’re really cute.”

He smiles, albeit sadly, and you know he’ll never be the same again. But, you’re putting him out of his misery - Leon won’t need to go through anything at all ever again.

The gun clatters onto the floor as you’re lifted off your feet and into the air. It’s a man whose physical enormity is unimaginable to you. There’s no fixed point at which you can stare to look away from a face with all the colour wrung from it. His silence is more imposing than his size. Your bones crack in his grip, he squeezes the life force out of you and then he drops you on the ground.

The thudding of his footsteps fades, and you’re left to writhe on the ground, face to face with Marvin’s outstretched fingers.

You don’t hear Leon’s gun go off, but you do hear him cry, it’s out of frustration more than anything. The gun is by his feet, but he��s bound, forced to sit there and wait until he rots.

Dark spots appear at the edges of your vision.

It’s an hour later when you regain consciousness, something gnaws at your ankle. The pain that tears through you when you make the move to roll over is searing, your muscles spasm, but you push on. Breath coming out in ragged gasps as you push yourself up on your elbows.

At your feet, a grotesque perversion of Leon eats into you. Milky white eyes and hair fraying, falling from his scalp in gory clumps.

You’re going to lay here and he is going to eat you whole.

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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randomshyperson · 6 months

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Five Times Carol Danvers Kisses You

Summary: The five times Carol Danvers kisses you until you two finally get together.

Warnings: Mentions but nothing explicit, a lot of fluff, mutual pining (and typical angst of trope), best friends to lovers, pre-canon-compliant (takes place before Carol is taken), kissing, happy(ish) ending. | Words: 4.836k

A/N-> As mentioned on this blog before, I absolutely love the dynamics of "Five Times Something" and after watching The Marvels I became obsessed with Carol Danvers, and here I am with something about my beloved blondie. It's short and sweet, and I didn't want to write anything too angsty but you can get hints of what's to come from the canon (Dr.Lawson being a Kree in disguise and what will happen to Carol). But the fic doesn't address this directly and ends up with a happy scene. Let's all live in denial.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

One.

“This is not a place to raise a child” was the justification your father used when he left. Funny enough, he didn't take the child, you, away from all the high-tech military weapons that he described as inadequate for a child to grow up around.

His lost, it what your mother said, an easy smile on her lips while she offered you a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. She still had some grease on her jacket and a lot of dust on her hair but she looked beautiful. That was just how things were for Wendy Lawson.

And because she was the best mom anyone could ask for, or at least that was what you would perceive it with your limited references of healthy families. She was the best because she would let you sit around while she worked for the Shield, casually teaching you advanced engineering like it was the same homework you had from secondary school.

That was the only life you knew: Afternoons of trying to stay out of the way of Shield Agents and their big weapons until you were old enough to have a gun yourself.

But before that time came, some of them worried you weren't having a decent childhood. Away from guns at least.

You don't know which of the Agents suggested to Doctor Lawson the kart track, but you wish you could thank them. Your mother, as the busy cientist she always has been, was not available to be around all of the evenings you wished to spend there but she trusted your independence to use the bus after school. Besides, you had the impression that there were always Shield Agents keeping an eye on you no matter where you went.

Só for three whole years, that old place was your favorite. You would run out from the classroom with the first ring of the bell to get to the kart track as fast as you could, and for all those three years, you were also the best runner there.

Of course, it cost you some bloody noose and bruised hands. Especially with sore losers little boys who were very unpleased to be second placed by some random girl. There were also the parents, who would whisper not very lowly on how absurd it was to let an unsupervised little girl in such a violent activity.

As luck would have it, someday you were no longer the only little girl around.

The Danvers were local, and you always thought there were only three of them. The grumpy father and the loud and popular sons. But one day, the one with the warmest smile, the youngest son brought someone with him.

His little sister's name was Carol. She had her blonde hair tied down and she looked ready to punch anyone who gave her a hard time. All the Danvers kind looked the same to be fair. Blonde, strong and angry.

Unlike her brother and their free pass to do as they please, Carol was constantly reprimanded by her father. Even there, in front of the whole crowd and runners, he would scream and pinch her ear, adding to the fury that shone behind Carol's little blue eyes.

The other children would whisper just like their parents but growing up with spies and secret agents gave you this second nature to sneak in and out of places without being noticed. You weren't supposed to hear some of the adults whispering how Mr.Danvers drank more than he should or how his older son was leaving next summer for the army with a purple eye he didn't get in the training. You weren't supposed to but you did.

So the next time Carol crashed a car with one of the other runners, you messed up your perfect record to help her.

Her dad screamed again, as usual. But he left, muttering she could find her way home since she was so clever and Carol had those thick tears in her eyes that made them bluer, so you were helping her before you could give a second thought to it.

She didn't mind that you took her hand and brought her to the administration lobby. She's more interested in knowing how the hell you knew how to get there in the first place.

When you told her you grew up with spies she laughed thinking you were joking. You decided to tell her more stories in the hope it would distract her from the pain of the cuts she got in her legs from the crash.

It worked.

Carol had colorful patches on both her knees when you two sneaked out of there to the bus stop. You could take her home if she wished because you knew a lot about public transport but Carol smiled and said she could do it alone; Her dad was often not around and with soldiers brothers, she knew a lot about doing things by herself.

Yet, she appreciates the gesture and the thought. Her bus should be here in 25 minutes so you sit next to her and let your healthy knee brush her bruised one.

“My name is Carol Danvers by the way.”

You have to chuckle at her line.

“I know who you are, Danvers.” You retort with an easy smile. She looks up with curiosity. You chuckle again. “You know your name is on the scoreboard, right?”

She laughs, almost shyly. You don't know that yet but Carol is not the best at making friends. Especially girlfriends because apparently, every girl hated how not 60s girly behavior she acted on as much as any boy.

You didn't mind. If anything, it kinda made you like her more.

“You didn't have to do that back there you know?” She starts over, fingers tugging at the bandaid you put above her knee. “Lose the race to check on me.”

You shrug, eyes on the road. “No worries. There'll be other races. Besides, you're the only real competition I get there. If you're not participating, what's the fun in winning?”

Carol's cheeks grow a little hotter, but you're both too young to know it has nothing to do with the sun above your heads. You offer her a smile and she gets up to signal to the bus.

But before she leaves, she turns to you again.

It's quicker than her crash that morning, the thank you little peck on your right cheek but is as meaningful as losing a three-year Invictus status on a track race for someone.

Carol nearly flees the scene once she catches the first glimpse of surprise in your expression. You were caught off guard, that's all. But all you can do is laugh to yourself as you watch her run to her bus.

Tomorrow, when you are back here, you'll find Carol so you can share your lunch with her. Today, you would walk home with no clue why the spot she kissed was tingling.

-&-

Two.

Shield Academy is not the army.

It is, as the name suggests, an academic program for the gifted-minded. It's a place where a child who grew up surrounded by the brightest minds on the planet can get it easily.

Well, of course, there's a lot of studying and tiring exams that you wouldn't describe as easy but when taking everything into consideration, the only place a brainy - or huge nerd as Carol would call it - could end up was there.

So while you had big dark blue sweaters with the Shield logo on them, Carol had worn out public school uniforms.

But she was doing okay. In fact, if anyone asked you, even though you were the nerd one in that friendship, for you, Carol was quite brilliant. She had a quick mind and such a strong, well, everything. She was as clever as she was kind. She was passionate about anything she cared for and she was easily your favorite person.

The kart track gave space for the public library and the green plains behind Shield Academia as you two grew up. Carol would take her bike from across town and spend the whole day after school in those green yards with you. Often, she had a football with her while you had a book.

And while you tried to escape your Shield colleagues, Carol would find her spot at your side. She would watch those training agents and wish to be like them, while both of you knew she would follow her brothers to the military when the time came.

But for now, you're sixteen. And Carol has been your best friend for almost 6 years now. You're not sure if friends have anniversaries or if it's something reserved for dating, and since you're not gonna ask any of the agents around, especially not Doctor Lawson, you just assume is okay to get Carol a gift.

She had been wishing for a walkman for so long - she had three already, all broke down during some of her naughty antics, from jumping into the reservation without remembering to take them off her backpack to get into a fight with older kids who thrown her stuff just for the fun of it. So yes, she had those before and she loved music but somehow she always ended up breaking them so you thought maybe because you were the one gifting it, she would be more careful.

You were right of course, but that's hardly the point.

Carol started to act strange after the gift. Even days later, during movie night at her house, she got quiet, which is definitely not a Carol Danvers kind of attitude, so you started to wonder if the present was a good idea at all.

That of course, until Carol clarified the whole thing.

“I got you something too. For, hum, the anniversary thing.”

You pinched her ribs, the nearly shy behavior was such an odd thing to testify that was actually terrifying you. Carol has been your best friend for way too long for that or anything to be awkward between you two.

But then again, adolescence makes everything weird.

You don't open the gift very graciously. Because you were in the middle of movie night, of course, hands full of popcorn butter and Carol was being weird and suspect that you just wanted to put an end to it.

You chuckle at her worn-out team jacket there.

“So your gift to me is your jacket?” You asked with a confused frown, watching your friend struggle with her words the next moments.

“No, I mean yes. But not, just that.” She starts and it's quite the scene. Carol Danvers not being able to talk when that's all she does. “It's my favorite jacket. I… really like it.”

“Do you want it back then?” You suggest with a confused laugh but Carol shakes her head immediately, her cheeks rosy.

“God, no, that’s not…” she takes a deep breath. “I like the jacket, a lot, but not as much as I like you. So I thought, maybe if I can give you something that I really like, it will mean…”

“Oh, I get it.” You say with a smile, holding the jacket against your chest as Carol switches the weight in her foot. “Thank you, blondie. But you don't have to give me your favorite stuff to show me you like me. You don't have to give me anything at all really. Perhaps, all you have to do is say it and I'll believe you.”

Carol nods, shallowing dryly, and without missing a beat, she repeats her words from before: “I really like you.” It's nearly a whisper, and the way she struggles to hold your gaze tells you everything you need to know.

You smile, aware of the warmth spreading in your cheeks and ears.

“I really like you too, Carol.” You tell her and with no hush, you put her jacket on. The blonde in front of you takes a shaky breath once the jacket is properly around your body. You're distracted with the new outfit to take notice of the new dark shine her eyes hold. “Gotta admit it, Danvers, I could totally worm the athletic style. I mean, I look super cool don't I?”

But your question goes unanswered. Carol moves forward, her hands grab the collar of the gifted jacket and just like the first time, she kisses you quicker than you can manage to process.

Her lips are dry against yours because she's nervous. Trembling and terrified. You pull away, and Carol has her eyes closed tightly, breathing unevenly.

You take a deep breath and lick your lips to moisten them a little and the second kiss is much better.

There's this soft noise she makes when you move your mouth but the second you feel her tongue on your lower lip, there's noise around you two.

As if getting electrocuted, Carol jumps away just in time for her evidently drunk father to stumble inside the garage.

Carol is not eight anymore, but she's the only one left in that house. Her older brother taught her five different ways to break someone's noose, but Carol still shakes like the leaves if her father is around with his harsh words and angry looks.

This time, however, he takes a long glance at you both. The guilty looks, accelerated breathing, and he just laughs.

The only thing he says is a slur that makes Carol flinch. Then he turns his back and climbs the stairs to his bedroom, passing out in the hallway before he can make it through.

“Carol, I-” You try but she forces a smile and nods at the door.

“Please go.” She asks. “I have to take him to bed and you don't have to stay.”

“But-”

“Please.”

You leave. And Carol doesn't bring up that night for the next two years.

-&-

Three.

Graduation means Army. More specifically, the Air Force because of course Carol Danvers wants to fly away from everything and everyone.

“Not everyone.” She frowns when you tell her that. Then she smiles, legs brushing yours at the back of her truck. “I would love to have you up there with me.”

You chuckle, giving her shoulder a little bump with your own.

“Sorry Blondie, you know I hate planes.” You joke but the shine in her eyes is deeper now.

“What about spaceships?” She insists it.

You sigh into the night, pensive for a second.

“Well, Mom would probably love it if I ever suggest anything that involves flying.” You say, breaking into a chuckle as your hand moves to the leg you have bent in that position, which allows you to trace your fingers toward your ankle. “Of course, anything other than my secret little Pegasus.”

Carol gives a compliance smile at the mention of the secret tattoo you got on her seventeenth birthday but continues to watch you in silence.

The stars are shining bright above you two, and the parked truck gives as much privacy as one could get in that neighborhood. If you and Carol weren't girls, people would make conclusions.

Perhaps they’ll do it anyway.

“What would I even do up there, Danvers?” You ask her because Carol is so passionate about flying that you're starting to wonder if she is able to see a whole different world up there that you can't.

This time, her hand finds you before her lips. She brings her fingers to yours resting on the truck and locks them. She gets closer and closer and gives you all the time in the world to push her back.

But she's Carol, and she's beautiful and she's your best friend. Why wouldn't you want to kiss her?

There's tongue this time. Hesitant at first then curious, until finally hungry. Of course, Carol Danvers is a good kisser, this asshole.

You break apart, to complain with a husky tone that is unfair but Carol only chuckles before kissing you again. And again. Until somehow you end with your back against her truck, painting into her mouth.

And Carol is seventeen years old and she's a huge virgin like you who really wants this to change tonight. Not just that, of course, but she's still a teen and that's exactly what she chooses to say in order to make this less life-changing than it is.

Because sleeping together as a way of ending high school without the V Card has a completely different meaning than sleeping together because you really want to ruin a friendship.

You swallow at her suggestion, aware that the heat in your veins doesn't cover for the way your heart just broke inside your chest.

But you smile and tell Carol you love her, making sure it sounds platonic. Just to hurt her just as much.

It works, but she kisses you anyway.

-&-

Four.

Maria Rambeau is the most incredible person you have ever met. She's clever and fun and kindhearted. It's so easy to love her and it comes so naturally, that you can't really blame Carol.

You also have no right to be jealous, you tell yourself.

After all, Carol asked more than once for you to at least consider following her to the Air Force. You both had military families, so it made sense for her that you both ended up following the same path.

You were not entirely excluded from that, of course. But unlike Carol with her soldier training, you had medical classes. And while she and Maria learned to shoot people, you learned to heal them.

That of course until the third year, when Carol's training moved to space crafting and yours moved to biological charts. The Pegasus was not the only military project available for you, and being home was good but every time you caught a glimpse of the empty fields near the station, you remember afternoons with Carol and the lack of her ache a hell lot inside your chest.

But visiting her at the base and then at a local bar was a bittersweet occasion.

Because time went by and Carol made a new friend. A lovely and brilliant and apparently less confused woman new best friend. Maria who made her laugh and blush and was such a great company that you couldn't hate her no matter how much the jealousy burned inside your veins.

Somehow, no matter how many dove eyes Carol threw at Maria, she didn't catch them. Immune to her charm entirely. You kinda wished she would teach you that.

The last free week you had was spent visiting Carol and ending up in a bar. But Maria's night was continuing with a good-looking soldier somewheres else, so yours and Carol's would continue with cheap drinks.

It was probably common sense, not to mix alcohol with feelings but you and Carol clearly skipped that class.

You ended up pressed behind the bar's wall in a messy attempt of drunken make-out with your former best friend.

Carol tasted like beer and the army's year changed her. Even drunk, she knew her way around a woman's body now and you had to force your stupid brain to stop wondering about who she had been practicing with. Perhaps Maria was not immune to her charm as you thought she was.

Just as things were getting out of hand, that is, it was probably against some army rules to have sex behind one bar in the military area, Carol pulled away.

She looked so good like that, with messy hair and flushing cheeks, her lips swollen due to the whole thing.

But her eyes were so sad. And you couldn't push the alcohol and the lust away to have clear thoughts on that.

“We can't do this again.” She declares with a seriousness that makes you swallow hard. “I can't.”

She stumbles away and you nearly slip down the hall on your shaky legs. Carol is looking for her car keys but she will definitely fall asleep on the seat.

To be fair, you kinda wished that night would end in her car seat, just in very different scenarios.

“Why not, Danvers?” You manage to question once the anger pushes a little of the alcohol away. Carol sighs tiredly. “Why?” You almost scream and she stops in her tracks, turning to give you a hurt look.

“I can't do this again, okay?” She retorts and she's drunk but she's so hurt. You can see it in her eyes and it kills you to think it is something you have done it. “I don't have the strength in me to get over you again”.

Your world freezes for a whole second. Your mouth is bitter suddenly.

“O-over me?” You repeat her words, confusion mixing with the pain you feel growing in your chest. “When… When were you under me?”

The question is the best of what your drunk brain can come up with but it's enough for Carol to understand.

She lets out a sad chuckle. “C'mon, Lawson. How could you not know? Everyone did. Even my dad, especially my dad.” She corrects herself then, bitterly before taking a deep breath. “It's past. It doesn't matter anymore. We are no longer kids, messing around with things we don't understand. I know what am I. And I know we shouldn’t. I won't jeopardize our friendship again for someone I cannot have.”

There are tears in your eyes, and Carol has the fucking worst timing in the world because your brain simply can't catch up with the meaning of this conversation with all the booze in the way.

“Carol, what are you even saying?”

She just smiles, giving a nod to the bar.

“Let's get inside, I'll get you a cab back to your hotel.”

She doesn't let you question further and the next morning, when the hangover barely allows you to open your eyes, Carol says the worst thing you did last night was try dancing with a Statue.

-&-

Five.

Doctor Lawson has been acting strange lately. She says it's work stress when she returns your calls and ignores your advice about her retiring.

You use your mother's stress as an excuse to come home, and it seems ridiculous that you have to invent reasons to see Carol, but she gives you no choice. Things have been very strange between you in recent months.

The house is a mess, and it's the first time you've worried about the possibility of dementia.

Strange phrases, disconnected words. You think about calling the head of Shield when you put Dr. Lawson to bed after making her some hot tea, but you end up calling Carol.

Your former best friend brings her old truck into your garage.

"Hey, blondie." She hugs you first at the greeting, and you sigh with satisfaction at the contact. You almost forget the stress of the whole meeting with your mother. "It's good to see you."

"I missed you." Carol says with a smile, squeezing you tighter before letting go. "What happened? You sounded worried on the phone."

You sigh before telling her everything you saw, standing there leaning on Carol's truck in the dim light of the garage. It's her turn to sigh when you finish.

"Good thing I brought beer." She comments, getting a laugh out of you.

You don't even notice the time passing that night, but it's like being back in senior year, sitting side by side in the back of Carol's truck, forgetting the world around you for a moment.

When the case of beers is about to run out, you've said almost everything you have to say. Carol thinks she needs to add something more.

"I know the circumstances aren't the best but... I can't say I'm sad." She begins, looking straight ahead, a half-full can of beer in her hands. "With the possibility of you coming to live here again, I mean. I've kind of hated Washington since you left. And Shield too, for taking you away."

You giggle shyly at this and don't know what to say to Carol, so you just decide to hug her. But you're a bit dizzy after the third beer and miscalculate your approach. You end up too close to her face and can see almost in slow motion how the blue darkens or how Carol chokes on her breath.

"I'm sorry, I-" you begin in a hoarse voice, but she doesn't let you finish. The beer can slips out of her hand as she uses both to pull your face towards her.

It's an intense, messy, and passionate kiss. Carol swallows all the sighs that escape your lips as she presses her mouth to yours. Her tongue doesn't ask for passage. You melt against her and try your best to match her energy, suddenly feeling very dizzy, unrelated to the beer.

Her hands move from your face to your neck and down to your waist. Carol mentions pulling you onto her lap, but the balcony lights flicker on and she grunts as she pulls away.

You're still blinking spellbound at the whole thing, trying to catch your breath as she stands up, adjusting her hair.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have done that." She mutters more to herself than to you, hoarse and upset. You swallow dry. "I'm so stupid."

"Carol."

"You're so fucking stupid, Carol Danvers, I swear to God." She ignores your call, continuing to curse quietly to herself. You frown, but end up looking at the porch; your mother has woken up and looks just as lost as before and you really need to check on her.

When you get out of the truck, you touch Carol on the shoulder, and she turns around almost in despair.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that, I'm leaving-"

"Carol, shut up." You cut her off and don't let her say another word.

She shuts up immediately. "I really have to get back inside, and make sure my mom doesn't turn on any water or store the cat in the fridge again." You chuckle apologetically, stroking her cheek. "But I need you to understand that this isn't a mistake, an accident or a thoughtless act after a few beers. At least it isn't and it never was for me. We need to start talking to each other."

Carol nods quickly, swallowing as she looks down at your swollen lips. "Yeah, talking is good."

You smile, and hear the sound of the cat in the house and think you'd better start running. "Later, okay?"

"Later."

But your mother doesn't have dementia. She's not even allowed in a regular hospital. Shield is strangely private about everything, but you're practically coerced into signing confidentiality papers about the current state of Dr. Lawson, who seems to miraculously improve after spending an hour in a room with other agents.

Carol is the only person you can talk to about things, and she has news of her own.

"Maria is pregnant." She tells you, with a twinkle in her eye, without waiting for you to finish absorbing the news. "And she wants me to be the godmother!"

You're happy for Maria, especially perhaps because she's seeing that handsome soldier and she and Carol have nothing going on. Also, you need to tell Carol that you can go back to Washinton now that your mother is better.

"Oh, I thought..." The blonde hesitates as she hears the news, trying not to look upset by forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I thought you'd decided to stay."

You're having breakfast in the living room of your house, Dr. Lawson is working upstairs. You swallow the bitter feeling of hurting Carol again.

"I would, for Mom. But why would I stay in Louisiana?" It's a rhetorical question because you both know very well what would make you stay. Carol laughs sadly, looking down. You get tired of pretending. " I would stay for you. I would stay for... us."

She looks at you in silence, a conflict of emotions on her face. "Don't be ridiculous, you can't just give up your career for a friendship-"

"Carol." You cut her off seriously, and she choked on her sentence, her eyes as tearful as yours. You give her a small smile, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. "You know that's not what I'm saying."

She swallows dryly, and despite reaching out to take your hand, she insists; "I'm gonna need you to say it."

"God, you're such an asshole." You gasp with emotion, laughing as tears of happiness escape yours and her eyes. Carol also laughs but waits. "Okay, Danvers. You've got me. I'm completely, irrevocably in love with you. I have been for a long time, maybe since the first time I saw you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to tell you."

Carol almost knocks over the coffee table when she moves in to kiss you but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers fics #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel imagines #captain marvel #marvel imagines

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a-boca-do-inferno · 2 months

Text

a goddess in my right eye (koba x human!reader) [request]

summary: Kobaʼs plan was just to grab some human guns, until he saw you. Whatever could happen?

warnings: angst-ish, fluff, swearing

words: 1.1k

notes: based on animal by aurora. enjoy <3

You snapped your head at the quiet thud of something falling on the floor, stopping your repairs on the light above you. You came down from the stool you had been standing on and cleaned your hands with a cloth, throwing it aside as you frowned. Who could be around here at dinner time? Mostly everyone was having supper now… Except for the drunk assholes watching over the armoury, of course. Rolling your eyes impatiently, you strolled in the direction of the sound and froze in your tracks as soon as you spotted one of those apes with his back turned to you. You let out a gasp and tried to calm down, gripping the wall you hid behind tightly. Taking another experimental peak at the scene, that’s when you saw it.

Pause. Everything happened so quickly, you didn’t even finish blinking; dead bodies surrounded the angry ape whilst he made his way toward you, stomping firmly on the cement with the biggest scowl you’d ever seen, a machine gun dangling loosely from his arm. Your whole body shook with fear and adrenaline, your hands drenched in sweat and closed in fists. Your mind went completely blank for a second. Run. Run. Run. Yet you simply could not move, your soles glued to the ground beneath your worn out boots. His piercing gaze bore into your soul like burning knives cutting through it. It was helpless. That was your end.

Right?

“Human.” He scoffs, his scarred face contorted in disgust and... curiosity, to say the least. Koba sized you up and down, invading your personal space, his hot breath hitting you so aggressively you had to flinch. Seeming mildly amused by your terrified state, he orders gruffly, “name.”

“(y/n). I-I won’t say anything, I promise…” You stammer, shrinking even further as the ape towers over you, panting with his mouth open. His sharp exhales blew your hair slightly; such a foreign sensation. Surely that wasn’t the same guy who’d come make peace with your group earlier, riding horses and such? This one appeared not to be awfully fond of the human race in comparison. When you noticed the creature only kept on coming closer, his chest almost pressing against yours, you gulped. “Who… are you?” Your voice is but a whisper.

There was something uncanny about the way Koba examined you. He’d never seen a human that was not a scientist and you most certainly were not one, wearing those old clothes and smelling of grease. You seemed scared, but not because of him—not completely. You seemed scared of everything. The ape enjoyed how you shrank away from his every move like a small animal cornered by its prey; the rules were reversed now, it seemed. His nose caught a whiff of your natural smell again, one he couldn’t quite place under the layer of lubricant. He tilted his head, his sharp stare never leaving your eyes.

“Koba.” He huffs, pointing to himself proudly. His good eye inspected your every feature with a more obviously curious gleam now. His large hand reached out for your cheek and you pursed your lips as he traced your soft skin with his fingertips. His breathing remained heavy and quick, taking in your scent. Letting out a deep grunt, albeit not as hostile as before, the ape concedes, “Koba… like (y/n).”

You can’t help but raise your brows, surprised and confused at the statement. “What…”

He gives your face another rough but faint brush of his fingers before holding your chin in place. “Bad human.” Koba continues, pointing at the dead bodies with the gun he’s still holding, then turns to you and places his palm on your collarbone tentatively. He nods briefly. “Good… human.”

A shiver ran up your spine as he pulled you closer, wrapping an arm securely around your hips. The situation was so widely unexpected you couldn’t hold back a nervous laugh, gripping his furry shoulders for support as he held you. Koba was pleased at the sound you made and accompanied you with a chuckle of his own, deeper and more gravelly than yours. Your breathing was still slightly ragged, trying to make sense of what he meant with his words and his actions. A monkey in love with you? Like… King Kong or something?

“Why did you do this?” You ask, genuinely eager to know, while also attempting to escape your rushed thoughts. It wasn’t like those morons would be greatly missed by you. Good riddance. “Why… did you kill them?”

Koba blinks slowly, considering your questions. He doesn’t respond and instead throws the machine gun behind you, putting both his strong arms around your midriff, “Koba want you.” He snarls, impatient.

You snort and sigh, blushing despite yourself. These apes are really something. “I…”

“No talk.” He cuts you off, covering your lips with his calloused hand swiftly, yet tenderly. You obeyed if only because of the fear of turning out just like your dead buddies, but you wouldn’t fool yourself and pretend you weren’t enjoying him holding you like this. And Koba was aware of that too, huffing softly, “come?”

You took in what he was asking. He wanted you to leave the group with him? For what? For how long? His bright eye watched you carefully, even expectantly, eager for an answer. You thought back to the light you were fixing just now; this place was falling apart, anyway, and you’d had your fair share of disagreements with the leader more than once ever since the apes came along. You were almost certain they’d cause a war one way or the other, from both sides, and at some point you’d have to choose your own. And you sure as hell weren’t gonna be on Dreyfus’.

Pulling you out of your thoughts, he asserted, giving your waist a tighter squeeze just in case, “with Koba.”

“Yes.” You breathe, not even letting him close his mouth entirely. Koba hoots gently and joins your foreheads. You smile and cup his face, blurting out in a small snicker, “this is crazy.”

The ape grunted in agreement, a smirk playing across his thick lips as you touched his scars so delicately. He closed his eyes and huffed, enjoying the warm sensation of your breath on his skin. He nuzzled into the soft hollow of your neck and sniffed, taking in as much of your muskiness as he could, eliciting a low rumble from his throat and pulling you against him forcefully, almost possessively.

“Crazy ape.” The ape follows your amusement in kind, placing a hand on his own chest. His fangs appear more as he grins, now pointing to you, “crazy human.”

#koba #koba x reader #pota #pota x reader #planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #dawn of the planet of the apes x reader #dawn of the planet of the apes

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bettyfrommars · 6 months

Text

Death Becomes Us

Part 10: The Man Who Made a Monster

vampire!Eddie x supernatural!Fem!Reader

masterlist playlist

WC: 7.6k

18+ONLY, MDNI, mention of wounds, car accidents, a bit of body horror, angst, guns, gunshot wounds, reader gets physically hurt (but bounces right back), blood, drinking blood, allusions to smut, evil men, supernatural powers, a demobat fren, fear of the unknown, a fire, werewolf!Steve, Dr. Brenner. References to one of my favorite 80's shows, the Incredible Hulk with Lou Ferrigno, and mid-90's MTV. Tiny references to FOI that you won't even notice if you haven't read the book.

Summary: Eddie, Jareth, and Steve come to your rescue, but do you even need to be rescued? Bad men surface and reader finds strength she never knew she had. Eddie confesses more than one secret to us, and the tension is thick. Reader is called Dove as a nickname.

Author's Note: I covered quite a few bases in this chapter, but there is still a lot to explore in the next and final part. We get to see reader in action and get some much-deserved satisfaction. I 've been staring at it for so long, I really hope you have fun reading this, love you. As always, Jareth's face claim is Jamie Campbell Bower.

-----

this starts right where Part 9 left off

Eddie snatched his keys and shoved Steve out the door before he quickly put some food down for Dio and locked the dead bolt.

Steve called shotgun in the air, vaulting over the hood like an extra from the movie Grease, making Jareth roll his eyes. “Is he part werewolf or labrador?” Whispering under his breath to Eddie, but Eddie just nudged him out of the way.

Jareth paused on the opposite side of the Pontiac GTO. “We should go on foot, it would be faster,” hinting to the lightning-speed with which vampires moved.

Eddie inclined his head to Steve. “Not when we’ve got the pup with us.”

“Fuck you,” Steve sneered, brushing back a flop of hair from his forehead. “I can keep up with you two geezers, trust me.”

“What if I just kill him and rid us of the dead weight,” Jareth grumbled.

“You can try,” Steve bit, growling deep in his chest.

“Enough!” Eddie snapped, swatting the top of the car with his hand. “Everyone get in and hold the fuck on. We’re goin’ for a ride.”

—----

Heat scorched through your veins like lava, and as your eyes fluttered open, you passively wondered if the car was on fire, and you were about to be cooked alive.

But

You were no longer in the vehicle. Squeezing your eyelids tight to find the memory, recollection came flooding back as your fingers curled into dirt, cheek pressed into the forest foliage. There might have even been a pinecone acting as a pillow at your ear.

The muscles in your arms and shoulders throbbed, not to mention the feeling of your skull being cracked open by a catastrophic neurological event. A migraine to rival all migraines.

You remembered being taken…the conversation about Brenner…and Bela…

Bela!

You called her name, but it came out as nothing but a puff of air, a whine deep in your chest.

What if she got hurt in the crash? What if she —

The crash!

Adrenaline flushed through you like a swarm of bees and you sat up, cracking your stiff neck as you went, and your head swam.

Where the fuck were you?

A car passed a few yards away on the highway and you realized you’d been tossed into a ravine. In the distance, the SUV you’d been kidnapped in was on its back and smoking as if something inside had caught fire. Where was that awful witch and the man who was driving?

A memory of ripping the door off by its hinges and climbing out of the vehicle flashed behind your eyes, but that was impossible. You must’ve been able to jump out and then hit your head or something. You weren’t turning green and ripping out of your clothes; you were no Lou Ferrigno.

You moved your legs to make sure they worked, and soon you were on your feet, using tufts of grass to crawl along as if you were about to fall off the earth.

In the distance, thunder rolled.

—----

“Turn here, take the shortcut!” Steve shot his hairy arm between the two seats, pointing to right after the stop sign.

“I know what I’m doing!” Eddie roared. “Just sit the fuck back and stay cool.”

Eddie could feel you, and his heart was jackhammering in his chest.

He floored the gas, tires squealing as they ghosted the road, peeling down the old highway through the woods that barely anyone used anymore. The velocity shot Steve back against his seat, and Jareth’s fingers dug into the console while music from Sisters of Mercy blared from the stereo.

“We’re close,” Eddie lowered his chin, laser focused on the scene ahead of him. He could feel that familiar static fill his body whenever he was in your vicinity.

You were not the first human whose blood he’d tasted, not by a long shot. In fact, for the first few years after he’d been made vampire, he didn’t care about himself or anyone else, and it seemed there wasn’t a willing human in a 100 mile radius that he hadn’t tasted.

But with you, it wasn’t even about your blood.

You made him feel a certain type of way that he’d been missing for over a decade, perhaps even his whole life.

The clouds trembled, and a crackle of lightning shot a silent burst of light through the midnight sky. All three of them could smell the wreck before it was ever in view, and Eddie released his foot on the gas to slow down a bit.

—---

You stumbled onto the main highway, and the headlights came at you too fast to understand what was happening.

Everything was so bright, it hurt your eyes. It made you swipe your hands in the air and groan, fighting the illumination as if it were a tangible enemy.

The car coming at you screeched on its brakes, twisting to the side so that it wouldn’t hit you, skidding sideways.

In a blink, you recognized the stunned faces on the other side of the windshield.

—---

The other two men in the car didn’t see that it was you at first—but Eddie knew. He’d witnessed those shock white eyes before, void of color or pupil.

Electricity snapped off you, as if you were a live wire. It crackled and skipped off of your skin like the lightning that appeared above them in the sky.

One of your arms was twisted unnaturally backwards at the elbow, but you somehow flexed the joint back into place as you stood there, correcting your posture. You stood on one side of your foot as if your ankle was broken, but then that righted itself with a sickening twist. Your limbs jerked like the walking dead trying to move for the first time after reanimation. All of this, and yet your face appeared unphased, as if you were impervious to the pain.

Your face was set in surprise and fear and confusion, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest to be able to hold you.

With a curse, he slammed the GTO to a halt, tires burning rubber as they locked and skidded on the asphalt.

Something told him you were fairly invincible, just like him, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Steve slid across the backseat, knocking his head on impact, and Jareth’s fingers dug so deep into the console that they left puncture marks.

Eddie didn’t have time to think about what the other two were doing or the danger of leaving his car in the middle of the highway, he threw the gear into park and jumped out to check on you.

From above, there came a loud squawking, and Bela soared down from where she’d been circling in the sky to land on your shoulder with a weight that almost made you lose your balance.

—-----

Bela bared her teeth and screeched at whoever was approaching from the vehicle. The headlights were too bright, and your ear canals were on fire with hot noise. A loud, shrill ringing filled your skull cavity like sharp a million tiny pinpricks.

But then you recognized his silhouette

You’d know it anywhere

“Eddie?”

“It’s me,” he assured you. “Are you hurt?”

Bela settled once she knew it was him, lowering her wings, and his body came to block the light so that you could see the distress in his face. He reached a hand out to touch your arm, but then he yanked it back with a hiss. It was like you’d given him an electrical shock, with volts like those from a cattle prod or taser.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you hesitated, hoping he’d dare to touch you again.

And he did, rushing closer without pause, not caring about how bad the last one stung. He cupped one hand at your jaw while the other went to your hip, searching your mouth for temptation's sake. “Let’s get you home.”

He got zapped a few more times from seemingly stray sparks, in the chest and the side, making him wince, but he did not relent. It was a good thing the violent stabbing did not force him back, because just then your knees gave out and you slumped into his arms. Bela took to the sky again before landing on the hood of the GTO with another high pitched wail, wings spanning out as if she were about to conduct an orchestra.

Eddie dropped to his knees on the ground next to you, careful to protect your head from the pavement with his hand. In wolf form, Steve trotted over to nudge your face with his snout and lick your cheek with a whimper.

“She’ll be okay,” Eddie took his jacket off and made it into a pillow for you, before angling to sink his fangs into his own wrist. “She needs blood.”

“Use mine,” Jareth hovered nearby, and you could vaguely hear them arguing as your adrenaline crashed. “I’m older, my blood is stronger.”

“No,” Eddie growled, and then the two bared their teeth at each other.

Eddie knew that, more than anything, Jareth wanted to be in your head, to be linked to you in the same way he was. To know where you were at all times and for you to have…those special dreams about him. No way in hell would Eddie let that happen.

He’d already punctured a vein and had his tattooed wrist over your mouth, leaking his life force into your trembling lips until you were able to latch on and suck.

Jareth’s stare bore into Eddie. “Maybe I should tell her you’re the reason Brenner knew about her in the first place.”

Eddie glared at him. “You don’t know fuck about it.”

Jareth smirked. “I know more than you think about the little ‘job’ you were hired to do for him.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and he shushed him. “This isn’t the place for this, Jareth.”

A car had to navigate around the GTO to continue down the old highway, and the person shouted their disapproval, but then the driver slowed once he spotted you on the ground and the SUV that was rolled over on its side in the distance.

Jareth and Eddie turned to him and hissed with their fangs out, glaring at him with obsidian eyes, until he slammed on the gas and sped off in the direction he was headed. Steve growled and chased after the car, keeping up with it for a while before hanging back to sniff around the wreckage that you’d managed to somehow survive.

You mumbled, gurgling on a spurt of blood, and Eddie took his wrist away. Your eyes were closed, but your tongue flicked out to lick more of his essence from your stained lips. Were you conscious enough to know what they were talking about? He’d planned on telling you everything, but the time was never right. He never expected things to get so…messy. Never expected you’d become so…special to him.

Some rich dude offers you to keep an eye on someone for a couple weeks for an abnormally huge chunk of cash, you do it. He’d had no skin in the game when he initially accepted the offer.

Caring about you as much as he did was the last fucking thing he’d expected to happen, but he didn’t know how to make it stop.

Jareth leaned over you to get closer to Eddie. “If you don’t tell her soon, I will, and your little fairytale will be over.”

All Eddie could do was grind his teeth: Jareth was right, he should’ve explained the whole thing to you that night when he’d waited for you to get back from your date with Steve. But by then, he was afraid he’d lose you.

Yet, how could you lose someone you never had?

“We need to get out of here,” Eddie eased you into a sitting position, your head flopped, and then held your chin in his hand. Your eyelids were fluttering and your skin was beginning to cool as the healing properties of his blood took effect.

God, how badly he wanted to press his lips to yours.

“What about the witch?” Jareth stood to full height to look over and see Steve sniffing around the crash. “What if they survived?”

Eddie had you off your feet and lifted in his arms by then, but Jareth was right. As much as he wanted to get you far away from there, he’d watched enough horror movies to know that you never turned your back on a killer until you knew they were dead. Knocking them unconscious with the back of a shovel wasn’t enough; you had to chop their whole head off and throw them in a cement mixer.

Steve morphed back into human form halfway back to the group, butt naked again, to report back on what he’d found.

Eddie waited for him to announce that there was no one in the vehicle and the bodies were gone…

But instead, Steve shook his head. “Looks like they didn’t survive. His neck is broken and she’s—-”

“Are you sure?” Jareth blurted with an air of irritation. “Maybe I should check for myself.”

“I think I know what a dead body smells like, asshole,” Steve grunted, pushing back on Jareth’s chest.

The headlights of another car was approaching, and Eddie reiterated that they needed to get as far away as possible from the scene of the crime. He threw the keys to Jareth, and made Steve sit in front so that he could crawl into the back with you while you healed. Bela billowed into the sky and hovered there, waiting to see where they were taking you so she could follow.

It wasn’t his blood that healed your broken foot or your fractured arm though—you’d done that all by yourself. Maybe you didn’t need him after all, maybe you’d be better off without him.

“Put your pants back on,” Eddie tossed the clothing from the back seat over to Steve. “I don’t need you teabagging the upholstery.”

Next to him, you had your head on Eddie’s shoulder and your hand on his thigh when Jareth sped off just in time to miss being clipped by the oncoming semi truck. It blared its horn just as you lifted your head to look up at Eddie with groggy eyes.

He licked his lips, feeling his throat close up at how near your face was to his.

“Did you save me?” Your voice was strained, sounding like your esophagus was constricted.

Eddie put his hand over yours and you interlaced fingers. “I think you saved yourself,” he mumbled. “You don’t need me.”

“I do,” you said it so fast, and he leaned over even more, thinking maybe he hadn’t heard you correctly. “I do need you.”

Your hand in his, he brought it up to his chest, searching your eyes as an avalanche of words trembled at the tip of his tongue, right there wanting to roll out like a carpet of devotion to you.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves because he was shaking so fucking bad.

Jareth caught his eye in the rearview mirror and the two glared at each other before Eddie broke contact and wrapped another arm around your shoulders to bring you closer. “We’re almost home,” he hushed, planting his lips to your forehead, blushing at the way you refused to let go of his hand. “I won’t leave you.”

—----

By the time you got back to the trailer park, your energy and strength had been fortified and you urged everyone to go home to let you get some rest, except for Eddie, who’s hand you were still holding as you got out of the car.

The witch and her companion being dead felt too good to be true, and a measure of palpable dread hung in the air. It was unspoken knowledge that Brenner was still after you, and he knew exactly where you lived.

Jareth stepped forward, tipping your chin up with the crook of his finger. “Are you sure you don’t need anything, love?”

“She has me,” Eddie growled.

Jareth fluttered his eyelids in that bored way he’d mastered. “If you’re so concerned, we’d be better off at Sacrament. I can keep her safe there more sufficiently than she’d be in this…” he fanned his hand around a few times, “...this place.”

Bela landed on the railing with a swoosh and squawked.

“I hate to say it, after everything,” you angled toward the steps, exhausted. “But I don’t think this Brenner person is going to stop until he gets what he wants.” You glanced sideways at Eddie. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

“I’d like to meet this guy myself,” Steve said through gritted teeth.

Jareth flipped the collar of his coat up and ran a hand through his golden hair. “Well, my offer stands. Sacrament is at your service if you should require shelter or protection.”

“Sounds good,” Eddie said dismissively, reaching for the railing to cage you away from the two men. “We’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Jareth,” you told him, and he winked at you, returning the genuine curve of your smile.

And Eddie hated it so much, he wouldn't have been surprised if steam were coming out of his ears like a cartoon villain.

But he let it slide because Jareth could make things fucking awkward in that moment if he wanted to.

You turned to Steve. “Would you like to come in? I don’t have much by way of food, but—”

“He’s fine,” Eddie answered for him.

The two glared at each other for a beat, but then Steve relented. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. Still, I think I’ll stick around for a while, check the perimeter,” he ignored the tick in Eddie’s jaw and waved at you as he backed up to disappear around the backside of the trailer.

“Hey Harrington, my vest!” Eddie shouted, and it wasn’t long before the denim came sailing through the air to land on the dead lawn near the porch. Eddie bent to pick it up with a huff, and by then Jareth had disappeared into the night.

Now you were finally alone, and as much as it was what he wanted, it made his stomach drop.

Eddie paced the living room a bit before taking a seat, perching precariously at the end of the sofa to bounce his knee and gnaw at his bottom lip.

“Listen,” you took a beer and a half-full bottle of NuBlood out of the fridge to put it in the microwave for him. “I figure there’s no use asking you to leave with people obviously hunting me down, but I really need to take a shower. So just…make yourself at home I suppose?”

The microwave dinged and you walked the warm glass bottle over, and then waited for him to wrap his hand around it, fingers grazing yours, before you spoke. “I feel like there are some things we should talk about.”

Eddie was already nodding. “I’d like that,” he gulped.

Eddie waited until he heard the shower running before he sank down into the cushion and used the remote to turn the TV on. He needed to distract himself from letting his mind wander to how you were absolutely undressing in there, about to be naked and wet and…

He squirmed in his seat and turned the volume up. It was an MTV music video for Metallica’s Until it Sleeps, but he only vaguely cared as he puffed his cheeks for a forceful exhale. In his head, he practiced what he would say, how he would beg your forgiveness, and how he never really understood what this guy Brenner was all about until it was too late…

In the shower, you made the water as hot as you could handle it, leaning into the burn, and stood there for the longest time without moving. Eyes closed, you could feel Eddie step into the shower behind you, sneaking his hands around to pluck at your nipples. “Room for one more?” He rumbled in your ear, just before he nibbled it.

He wasn’t really there, but you couldn’t help but touch yourself with a soapy hand as if he were, biting your lip around a moan.

The water ran cold by the time you were ready to step out, swooshing the curtain aside with a swift swipe of your arm.

The thump of something heavy falling to the ground out in the living room had you straining to hear what it might’ve been as you pulled a clean t-shirt and jeans on. Music videos were on, playing In the Blood by Better Than Ezra, and you called Eddie’s name.

The only response you got was from Bela, and she let out one long screech that felt like it had the power to break glass.

“Eddie?” You shouted this time, flinging the door open to let the steam roll out and fill the hallway. “Bela??”

The door to your trailer was wide open, but Bela was there, scrambling from the back of the couch to perch on your shoulder the second you came into view.

“What happened?” You asked your demobat companion. “He just left us here? Without a word?”

The potted terracotta plant that had once been above the TV right by the door was on the carpet, shattered.

You crossed your arms over your chest, and shivered as you stepped one foot out on the porch to look around, a chill breeze nipping at your flesh. “Eddie? Are you out here? Steve?”

The whole court was eerily silent, even the crickets and frogs were holding their breath.

You backed up into the house, pulling the door shut.

The TV screen went from MTV to static, and you stepped back to stare at it while Bela swished her tentacles around nervously, leaving red, raised scratches on your arm and neck. She was heavy, but you’d gotten used to her weight and hitched our shoulder up to accommodate.

The static changed to the image of a man standing before a black backdrop. He was tall and thin, wearing a business suit with a full head of silver hair.

“Hello Dove,” the man on your TV said.

He was looking right at you.

You glanced around for a weapon, but as if he could read your mind he said. “No need for that, I don’t want to hurt you.” He was handsome in a “trust me”, evil doctor kind of way, but the last thing you felt like giving him was your trust.

“What did you do to Eddie?” It felt stupid, talking to an electronic device as if it were a person, but that was the situation you’d found yourself in.

Brenner said nothing, but you got a bad feeling and swallowed to wet your dry mouth before taking cautions steps over to the window facing his trailer to peel back the blinds.

But you could already see the flames inside, and just then, you smelled the smoke.

His trailer

It was on fire.

“Nononono no,” You chanted, charging for the door.

“Come with me quietly,” the man on the TV said, calmly. “Or your vampire boyfriend will meet the final death.”

You halted in your tracks, glaring down at the older man, nostrils flaring with anger. “Come with you? Where are you hiding?” You chided; hands balled into fist as you cocked your head. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Brenner looked down before meeting your eyes again. “Your father underestimated the capacity for your powers. I don’t plan to make the same mistake.”

“How did you know my father?” You barked.

Outside, one of Eddie’s windows blew out, glass shattering everywhere, and his curtains went up in flames.

You ran outside and flew down the steps before the man's voice could stop you. Dio, Eddie’s cat, ran by to hide under your trailer.

Maybe Eddie had gone in like a crazy person to save some photos or something, and somehow, he’d gotten trapped in there. Bela took to the sky while you rushed to his door.

But then there he was, staggering out on a dark cloud of smoke, holding an electric guitar in his hand.

“My sweetheart,” he held it up. “I couldn’t let her burn.”

He was smiling at you from the top of his steps, dimples popping, and you could help but mirror it, flooded with relief. He really didn’t care that his whole place was burning, as long as he had Dio, his guitar, and you.

He’d lost much more in his life to a fire once when he was younger, so this one wouldn't sting half as bad.

And it suddenly didn’t matter that some creepy old dude could somehow talk to you through your TV: Eddie was okay.

But then something else happened.

He took the first step, never taking his eyes off of you, but something knocked his shoulder back, like an invisible punch.

And then another and another

The smile on his face quivered and his forehead creased, trying to understand what was happening.

He tucked his chin to look at his torso, and your eyes followed.

Dark blooms were appearing on his shirt like liquid spilled from an inkwell. On his chest, over his heart, from his stomach.

He stumbled down the last two steps and then fell to his knees, dropping the guitar so that he could brace himself with his hand.

Had Eddie been shot?

You didn’t have time to figure that out. Some strange voice in your head told you there was a chance the trailer could explode—or maybe you’d watched too many movies—but you had to get him away from there. He was a vampire, and even if he had been shot, he could heal, but you weren't sure how he would survive his body being blown to bits.

The next thing you knew, you were carrying him, much like he’d carried you in his arms earlier. You didn't need to summon the insane strength; it was just there. There was that buzzing in your skull, and you could feel violent sparks crackling through your muscles.

Everyone was coming out of their trailers at that point, and Dolores was screaming frantically into her phone wearing a nightshirt and curlers in her hair. You didn’t know how long it would take for the fire department to get there, or if there was a possibility that the wreckage would spread to the other trailers.

You put Eddie down on the other side of your hearse and leaned him back against the tire to find there was blood trickling from his mouth, but he still tried to grin at you.

“See,” he sputtered. “You’re like a superhero. You don’t need me.”

“But I do,” tears clouded your eyes while another window blew out from the trailer. You put your forehead to his and your lips brushed together. “Please, don’t leave me. Eddie I—”

“The bullets,” he winced. “They’re silver. My body can’t reject them.”

There were three or four different holes in him there that were steaming as the silver burned him from the inside. You cupped your hand on his jaw, and he grabbed your wrist, turning his head to kiss your palm.

“Here, take my blood—”

You yanked your shirt down to give him your pulsing jugular, but all of a sudden you were forced back by some unseen force, flying through the air until you landed ass first in the gravel and skidded to a stop, rolling over to find yourself face first at the feet of someone wearing a pair of black, shiny shoes and slacks.

“Dove,” a familiar, deep voice said. “We meet again.”

You pushed back, scuttling away to find that it was the man from your TV; he was standing in your trailer park. Flanked by two menacing looking men with bald, tattooed heads, wearing sunglasses. Each of them in suits and ties as if they were the actual Men in Black.

“I don’t know you,” you grumbled, getting to your feet that were bare and bleeding, but healing rapidly. You checked around each shoulder cautiously to see that there was a handful of other men in suits, all of them holding guns, and then a tall guy with a scalp of strawberry stubble, no more than 20, in a red jumpsuit. The guy had his chin down, eyes pinned on you as if he might shoot lasers from them.

His expression was deceivingly kind. “My name is Martin Brenner. I met you before you died the first time,” he said casually.

“You see, your father and I used to be friends,” he walked a circle around you, before coming front and center again. “He stole valuable information from my laboratory in order to bring you back. You're my property as well, but he decided to keep you from me.”

“My father never mentioned you,” was all you could say. In your peripheral vision, you could tell the others were inching close.

“We could’ve been so great together, Dove. Imagine your contribution to science. And you would not be so uncertain about your powers,” he stepped back to gesture at the boy in the red jumpsuit. “I want to introduce you to Kane. He was reanimated the same way you were, but under my expertise and supervision.”

Kane had a railroad scar on his forehead, and a hand that was a different skin color than the rest of his body. It wasn’t just a different skin tone; it was a body part from an entirely different person.

You thought about all of the love you were raised with, and though your dad fumbled the ball on attentiveness quite a bit, you never doubted how much he cared for you. You were beginning to understand that maybe he didn’t explain what abilities you might have because it would lead you back to Brenner somehow.

The surge of power was growing inside of you, and instead of pushing it down, you let it grow and churn and spill out, creating a type of electrical force field around your body, a vibrating aura of protection.

“Show her what you can do, Kane,” Brenner said.

Not sure what to expect, you watched Kane rubbed his hands together, creating a bright bolt of lightning from the friction, his eyes went milk white, and then he shot an arm out towards the nearest hulking security guard, palm open, and it sent the man in black off his feet, sailing back as if he were hugging an invisible beach ball. He smacked into the side of the opposite neighbor’s trailer with a bone to metal thwack.

Your eyes were fixed for too long on the man slumped in the gravel, and when you turned to face Kane again, he was a few steps closer, peering through his lashes at you with an evil twitch of his lips.

Apparently, you were the next example in his bag of tricks.

Your feet were off the ground before you could process another thought, catching air like a rag doll only to drop down and skid face first into the cold, dry earth.

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, eh? Lifting into a push up position, you spat dirt and blood from your mouth with a curse.

Gathering yourself up and into a crouch, you vaguely heard Eddie call your name, but he was still rendered temporarily helpless by the silver, and your head was spinning. Not so much from confusion and fear this time, but more…anger.

You nailed Kane with a heated look, and then your hand lashed out in his direction, though he was yards away, and actual sparks flew from your palm, spitting like fireworks.

Kane was pummeled in the gut with a force he obviously wasn’t expecting, and you kept going before he could find his footing again, knocking him down before he could raise a hand at you again..

“How does that feel?” You bit, towering over him.

In a heartbeat, you lifted Kane’s limp body above your head with a roar that you could not believe came from your own mouth. Arching back, you aimed to drop him over the nearby trailer hitch, which would surely break his back, if not kill him, but then you remembered who you were and faltered.

Blinking, trying to quiet the buzzing in your skull, you knew you did not want to kill this boy.

You understood, even under such duress, that he was only doing what he was told.

But Brenner was actually applauding you, pupils blown from the intensity, urging you to keep going, to murder this stranger at his bidding.

You could’ve very easily ended up just like Kane, if not for the love and protection of your father.

Heaving, trying to calm yourself, you threw Kane’s body in the opposite direction, so that he landed on flat ground that would absolutely hurt, but he’d be able to walk away.

Brenner beamed at you like a parent watching their child take their first steps. “You’re stronger than I’d imagined. Your powers have somehow increased since your inception, and I’d love to know why.”

You squared up with him, making him step back to avoid the sparks actively snapping off of you. “What do you want from me?”

You didn’t have to look to know that all of the guns were trained on you.

“I want you to work for me, Dove. We could change the world together, you and I.”

It felt like he was trying to sell you a car, not asking to hook you up to electrodes and make you his own personal soldier.

“Never,” you were calm now, and you wanted nothing to do with this man or whatever he thought he could do for you.

The flames went higher on the trailer, and in the distance, wails of a fire engine could be heard.

You caught sight of Eddie, but he was flat on the ground now and no longer sitting up.

You rushed by Brenner, slamming into his shoulder as you went, but two of the guards caught you by the arms. It felt like they were stronger than normal men, and when they bared their fangs, you realized they were vampires.

Growling, you flung them off of you, and they went stumbling back as if they weighed nothing, as if you were suddenly impervious to their supernatural strength.

“Kill the boyfriend,” you heard Brenner bark at the men. “Use the wooden bullets this time.”

A gun cocked, and you ran a few steps, but then vaulted over Eddie’s body, arms wide, using yours as a shield.

You felt the bullet impact like a dagger in your back, but it was as if it bounced off somehow instead of penetrating. Eddie barked in pain as you covered him, but then he clung to you as you rolled him under the hearse, away from the gunfire.

Caging yourself on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, and stomachs touching, you could feel how weak he was; the silver enabled his body from healing, and you had to find a way to get them out.

You watched the feet of the one with the wooden bullets approach the vehicle, thinking of your next move when Eddie whispered into the side of your neck: “You’re so fucking beautiful—”

If this was the end for him, this was how he wanted to spend it: with you, being able to see your face one last time.

Before you could respond, there came a shrill, tortured scream, and the booted feet you had your eye on stumbled back.

More agonizing screams, until the body in question dropped to the ground, limbs writhing, and you could see that Bela had attached herself to his head like an Alien facehugger.

Only because he was a vampire, he was able to pull her off, but she took most of his flesh and his nose off with her.

Bela took to the sky again, out of view, and they aimed their guns up at her.

“Not so fast, boys,” a new voice rumbled from the shadows. “I want to play, too.”

Eddie’s shallow breaths moving under you, it was all you could do not to cheer out loud when you realized the voice belonged to Jareth.

And apparently, Jareth brought friends; enough to fill the entire courtyard.

They were crouching on the roofs, on cars, everywhere.

Brenner and his crew were surrounded; Bela had gone to get help.

In the woods, a pack of wolves howled their attendance as well.

Jareth pierced the closest vampire in the heart with a wooden stake and he exploded, guts flying everywhere.

As far as the human bodyguards went, the rest was a bloodbath.

From what you were told later, Kane ran, and Brenner tried to get behind the wheel of the SUV, but instead he was dragged into the war zone and drained dry before being ripped limb from limb.

Jareth wanted to keep the doctor in his dungeon to torture him, but a few of the vampires knew of Brenner and the experiments he’d done on their kind over the years. It was all nothing short of sadistic torture, keeping them barely alive so that he could run experiments on them over time and sell their blood for a profit.

They’d been wanting to get their hands on him for a long time.

—-----

By the time the rescue team and fire truck showed up, all of the vampires had evaporated into the shadows, and you’d snuck Eddie up into your bedroom, carrying most of his weight as he was only able to hobble. You collected his guitar as well, and brought Dio inside, since those were the only two things from the burning wreckage, he voiced a care about. With the lights out and the curtains closed, you used a modest bedside reading lamp to assess the damage. While you were concentrating on him, his eyes never left your face, his heart bursting.

“You might have to suck them out,” he cleared his throat. “The bullets I mean. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

“You mean, weirder than all of the other shit that happened tonight?” You mumbled, coming back from washing your hands. There was still dirt caked under your nails, possibly some blood, but whatever.

“Good point.”

Until you got the bullets out, any blood you gave him would be useless, so without another moment of hesitation, you crawled up on the bed, springs bouncing, and knelt next to his torso, bracing a hand at either side of him. He was burning up around the sight of each wound, and the skin sizzled as the alloy continued to roast him alive.

The first one was at the surface and came out fast, hot metal on your tongue. The next one, under his right nipple, was deeper and you had to suck harder, making Eddie’s toes curl. You spit each out onto the floor, and strings of his blood mingled in your saliva.

One hand behind his head, the other rested at his hip with a thumb in his belt loop. “So, you’re like…the incredible Hulk, but with powers. That’s pretty badass.”

“I don’t know what I am,” you scoffed, sucking out another, and then pausing to watch the openings seal up and heal. “I’m a waitress, that’s all. That’s all I want to be.”

He nodded, musing on how many times he’d wished he could go back and not be a vampire. He wanted to tell you the story of when he was reborn, but that could wait for another time. Now it was time to put some very messy cards on the table.

The last bullet was deep, and you had to swirl your tongue around in the hole to loosen it.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he blurted while your lips were near his belly button.

“Mmmhmm?”

Fuck, here it goes…

“First, I just want to say that I had no idea who this Brenner guy was before, like, a few months ago,” his next swallow felt like he was chugging a grapefruit. “If I’d have known what a creep, he was I never would’ve…”

You stopped what you were doing to raise your head, waiting for him to finish, the final bit of silver still lodged in his abdomen. “You knew of Brenner? Before all this?”

He couldn’t look at you, he had to stare at the ceiling.

“Uh, yeah, that first week you were here, he tracked me down at the chop shop and said he’d pay me a shit ton of money to keep an eye on you. I didn’t ask a lot of questions. As far as I knew, you were his long-lost daughter, or some shit and he wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You sat back on your knees, trying to let that sink in.

He lifted up to brace himself on an elbow, wincing at the sting of the remaining bullet. “I didn’t know you then, that was before we were…” he fumbled with what he wanted to call you and what you actually were, “...a friend.”

“So,” you frowned down at your hands. “You’re the reason I was kidnapped tonight? The reason all of this happened?” Your wide eyes snapped to him. “Did you set me up?”

He sliced his hand in the air a few times, shaking his head vigorously. “No..nope…I had nothing to do with any of this,” he pleaded. “I only reported back to him for a couple of weeks, and then I stopped, really. After that night I first took you to Sacrament, I told him I was too busy to—”

All of the horrific memories were rushing back to you. “What about the Klemp’s? Did you pay them to hurt me or something? So that I’d have to drink your blood and let you into my head?”

Eddie spoke so fast; he stuttered over his words. “No, absolutely not, never! I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I would never let anyone hurt you like that.”

“But they did hurt me,” you muttered.

Now it was you who couldn’t look at him, working your jaw muscles as you tried to decide which emotion you should be feeling.

“Why should I even believe you?” Your voice was small.

“Please believe me I—”

“If you knew this guy was stalking me, why didn’t you tell me sooner? If you’re as concerned for my welfare as you claim to be?”

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to cry or scream; maybe both.

Eddie didn’t have a chance to answer. You were on your feet at the end of the bed with your arms crossed.

Suddenly, you were shaking, and you couldn’t control it. “After Sacrament, I didn’t see you for a long time, it felt like you were avoiding me. Was that because you no longer had to fake interest in me for your scam?”

Eddie pushed himself up into a seated position, blinking back the memory of how painfully hard it had been to stay away from you for all that time. “No, you have to trust me, that had nothing to do with—”

“Trust you?” You barked a sarcastic laugh. “Tell me why then? Why avoid me for so long, huh? Because you weren’t getting paid to—”

Eddie’s voice wavered and he spoke in a rush. “Because I started to have feelings for you, that’s why. Happy? Because ever since that first day I saw you, you’re all I can fucking think about. Because I can’t even look at another woman without seeing your face, and believe me, I’ve tried. I’ve gotten real good at disappointing people and leaving people behind, and all I know is, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Your lips parted to say something, but he figured what the hell, he might as well scare you all the way off while he was at it.

He relaxed his shoulders and wet his lips. “I never told you that I was made vampire against my will. I died and was brought back, but my heart went cold, and I never thought I’d feel anything for anyone ever again. I didn’t want to feel anything. I should’ve stayed dead, I wanted to be with all of the people I’d lost…”

His suede brown eyes sought your face. “When I’m with you, I don’t feel dead anymore. When I think about you, I feel fragile and human again. Like maybe I’ve got something worth giving away.”

Silence filled the room like helium in a balloon about to burst.

He’d gone for broke, and there was nowhere left to hide. He was officially at your feet, where he’d always been.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered when you didn’t respond right away. “I get it.”

You tilted your head all the way back to stare at the ceiling.

“I dream about you every night,” you admitted on an exhale. “Logically I know it has to do with ingesting your blood, but it’s…it’s more than that.”

He bit at the inside of his cheek, picking at a thread on the comforter. “Every night, huh?”

You gave a few slow nods, and you could almost hear the smile pull across his teeth.

“Yeah, so, blood induced dreaming should only happen a handful of times after it’s ingested,” he said, shifting in his seat.

You kept nodding, since that was something you’d already suspected. “The dreams are always so vivid, I wake up…”

He dared to finish for you after a long pause. “Wanting more?”

“No,” you corrected, turning to face him. “I wake up wishing they were real.”

----

I la la la love you all who have reached out to me about this story and continue to cheer it on. Comments, reblogs, and asks about this world mean everything to me.

----

Taglist: @trixyvixx@sllooney@writinginthetwilight@sidthedollface2@atomickaratel8dy@probablyin-bed@kiyastrf94@briamunson92 @joannamuns9n@jasminelafleur @@bellalillyrose @dashingdeb16 @alba8688 @corrodeddeadlydoll@brassreign@likedovesinthewnd @ilovetaquitosmmm @skrzydlak@onegirlmanytales@angietherose@probablyin-bed@reidsbtch@moonbeamsandmayhem@eddiesxangel@hideoutside@secretdryrose@nailbatanddungeon@thorfemmes@corkadymu@kellsck@mrsjellymunson@poofyloofy@dream-a-little-nightmare

#Death Becomes Us #DBU #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson angst #Steve Harrington #werewolf!Steve #True Blood au #vampire!eddie #vampire Eddie Munson #supernatural reader #vampires #vampire fic #Spotify

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kryptonitejelly · 4 months

Text

Grease & Tequila - a Flyboy One-shot

Top Gun: Maverick - Jake Seresin x Reader - part of the Flyboy!Universe

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader

Genre: romance; fluff; angst; best friends to lovers

Warnings: general hangman being hangman; sexual tension; general cursing; will contain mentions of a break up / previous relationship; general use of pet names; fem!reader; pining; general naval / flying inaccuracies; alcohol; being drunk.

Length: One-shot

Summary: Set 5 months pre the Flyboy!era. The one where Jake gets the call that you and Dan have broken up and he has to be on the next plane to New York, now.

Flyboy | Mini-Series Masterlist

(not fully updated as of today, but if you follow / search the tag “flyboy universe” / “flyboy” / “flyboy fic” / “flyboy!jake” on my tumblr you’ll find recent asks / headcannons / blurbs!)

A/N: It’s been a while, and this isn’t all that exciting, but I think it definitely (I hope) sets the scene for Flyboy and helps everything click into place.

DISCLAIMER: all work posted here is purely fanfiction; it does not in any way purport to be an accurate representation of real life or the general workings of any institution.

“Lieutenant,” Admiral Craig’s voice booms out as Jake opens the door to his office. The Admiral waits for Jake to shut the door completely before he starts up again, “I got your last minute absence request.”

“That is correct, Sir,” Jake nods, as he comes to a stand in front of the Admiral’s desk. He stands with his feet hip width apart, hands behind his back, eyes meeting the older man’s.

“Everything okay?” The Admiral asks, his gaze steady on Jake’s. It was rare for a last minute absence request to come across his desk, which meant that when they did - it was usually pressing.

“Just something I need to attend to, Sir.” Jake responds, his mask not slipping, but the Admiral hears the weight behind his words. There is a silence pause between the two men, before the Admiral picks up his pen, signing the bottom of the two sheets of paper before him with a flourish. He was never one to refuse these requests as long as he deemed them legitimate, but he made it a point of looking the requestor in the eye to make his own assessment of the situation before approving them. He didn’t need to know the why, unless it was volunteered by the requestor him/herself, but he needed to know that it wasn’t being abused and Jake Seresin, for all his ego and cockiness, was a dedicated solider. He wouldn’t ask, unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Approved,” the Admiral says simply before passing one of the sheets to Jake. Jake’s mask doesn’t crack, but the Admiral sees a twitch of relief as Jake remembers how to breathe, “Godspeed.”

“Thank you Sir.”

Jake shifts irritably in his seat as he waits for boarding to be complete. He had reached out to Grandma Doris’ personal assistant once he had gotten off the phone with you, even before he had submitted his flight request, his text to her was just one sentence, twelve words long - I need to be on the next flight to New York, please. He usually would not have bothered her, but this - this was a pressing situation, he just had to get on that plane. She had, the blessing that she was, gotten hold of two flight options for him, the next flight to New York, and the next next as a backup, both in first class no less, with a simple request to let her know when he needed a flight ticket back from New York.

“May I offer you a hot towel, Mr Seresin?” The stewardess stops beside his seat. Jake shakes his head, offering her a polite half smile.

“No thank you.”

“How about some nuts, or maybe a drink?” She tries again.

“How long more do you think it’ll be till take-off?” Jake’s question is abrupt and she is quiet for a second, slightly taken a back. He isn’t rude, but is, obviously antsy.

“I think another twenty minutes Mr Seresin,” she says as she follows his gaze out of the window.

“Thanks,” is all she gets from Jake as he continues to stare out of the window beside him as if willing take-off to come faster.

“Anything else?” The cashier of the fried chicken shop just around the corner from your apartment building asks Jake as he rings up the total on the till.

“That’s all, thanks.” Jake says as he slides his card out of his wallet before tapping it against the screen of the payment machine which is proffered to him.

“Here’s your receipt, please wait on the right.” Jake slides his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans before stepping towards the right. The tequila which he had picked up on his way out of the airport is in his backpack, the shape of the bottle pressed against his back, a reminder that he was just that much closer to what he came to New York for.

The ride up the elevators to your apartment is excruciatingly slow, and Jake taps his foot against the ground the whole way up. He hadn’t had to buzz you to let him up, managing instead to catch a couple on their way out and slip into the building - something which he made a mental note of in the back of his mind - perhaps it was time to convince you to move to somewhere with a doorman or concierge for increased safety.

The bottle of tequila is now in one of his hands, and the bag of greasy fried chicken and fries in his other - his remedy for your broken heart. Alcohol, fast food, and well, him. His eyes are fixed on the flashing red numbers as if willing the elevator to go faster. It stops with a ding, and Jake all but runs out.

He hears you before he sees you, hears faint noises and shuffling, the unlocking of a separate bolt and a lock before you pull open the door an inch to peer out past the safety chain. His eyes meet yours, and sees your eyes, glassy and red rimmed, no doubt from crying meet yours. The doors shuts fully for a second or two as you undo the safety chain before it is pulled open fully.

Jake takes you in the second the open door reveals you - the red tip of your noise, hair on top of your head in a loose, messy up do, body clad in an oversized t shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants and he feels a funny tug in his chest.

“I thought you might need this,” he says as he holds up the items in his hands. You hold his gaze for a second more, and then it happens, the glossiness in your eyes turn into tears which spill over onto your cheeks as you take a step forward, throwing your arms around Jake’s body, burying your face in his chest. Jake hears, but also feels the sobs that wrack your body against his front and he is quite sure that in that moment, the tug in his chest feels like a earth shattering crack.

“I got you,” he says gruffly, bringing both his hands down around you, while still holding onto both items. His words only intensify the sobs coming from you and all Jake can do is draw you closer.

“I’ve never liked him,” Jake snorts as he watches you down yet another shot of tequila. You are both sitting around the coffee table in the floor of your living room, greasy chicken and fries demolished, the open bottle of tequila three quarters gone - with more damage having been exacted on the bottle by you than by Jake. Jake isn’t drunk, but he definitely isn’t sober, which means that neither are you.

“He’s an asshole,” you half shout, your words slurring from the alcohol as you let your self sag backwards, leaning against the sofa before you let yourself droop sideways, your head coming to rest on Jake’s shoulder. Jake shifts, moving his arm around you. It allows you to scoot further into his side, your face turning slightly to rest against the side of his chest. You breathe in his scent, the faint smell of soap, laundry detergent and airplane along with his own natural musk, which wraps around you like home, and you feel Jake’s fingers running themselves soothingly along your arm..

“Say the word, I’ll beat him to a pulp,” Jake says, dropping the side of his cheek against the top of your head, his finger squeezing the top of your arm gently. His tone is light, joking almost - but yet not really. Nevertheless, the thought of Dan facing off against Jake makes you chuckle lowly. Dan was no slob himself, he maintained a decent level of fitness - occasional runs, regular visits to the gym, but he might as well have been one compared to Jake. Dan worked out for aesthetics, but next to Jake, who had worked out for functionality all his life, football, the Navy, Dan paled greatly in comparison.

“He’ll never stand a chance,” you say, amused as you close your eyes. Your head has started to get impossibly heavy, your tongue feels thick from the copious amounts of alcohol running through your system, and you let your head rest heavier on Jake’s chest.

“That’s the idea,” is what Jake says and it makes you giggle this time as you sink yourself further into Jake’s hold, seeking out a comforting, physical closeness. Jake can feel yourself pressing into him.

“C’mere,” he mutters, as the arm he has around you tightens. You feel movement, and Jake is reaching across your body, managing to slip an arm under your legs to pull you onto his lap.

“Jake,” your protest is weak because you don’t put up an ounce of a fight, opting instead to shift along with him so that you are comfortably nested on his lap, your ear against his shoulder, tip of your nose just about brushing the side of his neck, “I’m not a child.”

“Mmm,” Jake simply hums in agreement with your words, both his arms coming to form a loose, protective cocoon around you.

You both sit in a comfortable silence, a haze of alcohol enveloping you both. Truth to be told, the break up, the serial cheating - it all hadn’t come as a surprise to you. You had suspected on many occasions, but it had been easier to ignore and live in denial than to face the truth after 3 years of being with the same person. It had broken you for many reasons, and it still hurt like hell to lose a constant presence with which you had spent the past 3 years with, but you weren’t all that sure it had broken your heart, not when your relationship had been fizzling out for a while and you’ve suspected for months.

“He wasn’t good enough for you, you know,” Jake says as he turns his head slightly, managing to plant a half kiss on the side of your temple.

“You say that with every break up,” you laugh dismissively, “that’s what best friends are supposed to say.”

Your words make Jake frown and he moves himself to move you, making you sit up sideways on his lap so that he can look you in the eye. Your are slightly elevated from being seated on his thigh, and you find yourself staring down, holding his gaze. You slide the palms of your hands past his shoulders to steady yourself.

“They were all not good enough for you,” is what he says, unwavering as he holds your gaze. From your sideways position, you can feel one of Jake’s hands sliding around your back, and coming to rest on your waist, and the other coming to rest loosely across your lap.

“Or maybe I wasn’t good enough for them,” you say with a rueful quirk of your lips, letting yourself drown in alcohol induced post break-up self pity. Your words only make Jake’s brows furrow together, a flash of irritating passing through his eyes. It makes him move the arm hanging across your lap up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing the space just below your eye. You let yourself luxuriate in the warm against your cheek, leaning into his hold. You see Jake’s gaze dart from your eyes to your lips, but the fuzziness of your mind doesn’t let you overthink at just how intimate the moment between you both is.

“You are too good for all of them,” is what he says. You see a flash of something in Jake’s eyes, and perhaps if you were sober, it would have been something you could more accurately place, but you can’t.

“I want to go to bed,” you say, your exhaustion suddenly hitting you and you let your eyes close, weight of your head still balancing on Jake’s hand.

“Ok,” is all he says as his thumb continues to move gently across your skin.

“Come with me?” You say, your ask clear, you didn’t want to be alone - it was simple, nothing more, no innuendo and you knew that Jake would understand.

“Ok,” he repeats as he finally drops his arm from your cheek.

Jake has a hand behind his head, eyes fixed up on the ceiling of your bedroom. You had fallen asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, no doubt attributable to all the tequila you had ingested, but also a sure sign at just how exhausted you were. He had taken a quick shower, ridding himself of whatever traces of airplane he had left on him, before tugging on the pair of shirt and shorts he had brought along with him and, true to his word - gotten into bed with you. There was no way in hell was he allowing you to wake up alone.

He lets the soft hum of your snores wash over him, and Jake tilts his head down to watch the rise and fall of your body from where it is curled up beside him in a fetal position under the covers. You look at peace, finally - but he can see the sunken skin beneath your eyes, a tell tale sign that not all was well.

“Baby,” he sighs, murmuring to himself, the term of endearment slipping too naturally from his lips, as you shift, your body finding its way a few inches closer to him. He doesn’t hesitate, removing the arm from behind his head to caress the side of your cheek. Your snores stop, turning instead to an sleep exhale of content, and in that moment, it strengthens Jake’s resolve. He feels the gears shift in his brain and chest, feelings that he had kept at bay in the recesses of his mind and heart for months, years, coming to shore. He had spent the past 3 years watching you fumble your way around with Dan, and even more before that with different men that you had dated, but it was enough - fuck that. He was sick of watching them hurt you, breaking your heart when you deserved so, much, more. Jake wasn’t going to let that happen again. The next person you dated was going to be your last, the person you dated, was going to be him.

“Text me when you land,” you twist your fingers around, interlocking them with each other as you and Jake stand on the sidewalk outside your apartment, waiting for his car to pull up.

“I will,” he says while watching you twist your fingers together. You weren’t ready for him to leave, and neither was he - ready for himself to leave, but the days since his arrival on Thursday night had blown past, and Sunday had come too soon, “text me whenever you need,” he says as he extends an arm, pulling you sideways into him. His action makes you stumble slightly, and you reach out with a hand, to grab him around his waist.

“I will,” your response is a parrot of his. It had been a great past few days, once you had gotten over the hangover that hit you both, but you harder, on Friday morning. Jake had forced you out of the house for two whole days of everything and nothing - strolls around the city all while forcing you to thread your arm through his, making sure you filled your stomach with an assortment of food, watching bad television together in your apartment. He had filled your space with laughter, familiarity, and physical touch when you needed it most and you weren’t ready for him to leave.

“I’ll miss you,” he says, leaning sideways towards you to brush his lips against the top of your head. Jake lets his lips linger for a second or two, and you let your eyes close - letting yourself be vulnerable, enjoying the moment.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” you voice is soft, small almost, the truth of your words both a happy feeling for Jake, but also a stab to his heart.

“I wish I didn’t have to either,” he says gruffly, removing his lips from the top of your head to pull you into a bone crushing full frontal hug. He could see a car approaching from the end of the road, his time with you dwindling now to just mere seconds, “I’ll see you soon,” he says, a statement, not a question as you cling onto him in similar fashion.

“Soon,” you echo, a promise between you both.

“So how long are you leaving your girlfriend for?” The driver asks his question conversationally as he pulls away form the sidewalk. Jake’s gaze lingers on you as he raises a hand to wave goodbye. He sees you offer a lopsided smile and a similar wave of your hand.

“I don’t know,” he admits to the driver without much thought, not bothering to correct him. Jake keeps his gaze trained on you until he is no longer able to.

“Hopefully you’ll see her again soon,” is what the driver continues with conversationally, “she looks crushed that you’re leaving.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” is all Jake can say as he settle back into the seat of the cab, his mind far away, his heart still with you.

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scoobyrooster1 · 1 month

Text

She's Mine [Intro]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: Events take place after episode 8 of the acolyte. You are Qimirs new acolyte after agreeing to train under him. But, first you both must escape to the outer rim and outrun the Jedi who now hunts you. A precarious situation arises when you suddenly owe a debt to the local gunrunner... but it could be just the opportunity you've been hoping for. Warnings: None so far Notes: I plan for this to be a slow burn story between you and Qimir. Future heist plot on canto bight. Haven't officially decided on a permanent title yet. Probably needs more edits lol.

youtube

^ Nice ambience for the intro

Master List

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1] She's Mine [Part 2]

______________________________________________________________

You and Qimir had been on the road for months now. Vernestra couldn’t put out an official warrant on you both—not without raising questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead, she relied on something more insidious: whispers, rumors, just enough to keep you glancing over your shoulder but never enough to reveal her true intentions.

So now you found yourself sitting in a mossy dive bar waiting on a pilot that could be your last chance to escape republic space. He was 20 minutes late and it had been one hell of a day. Your patience was wearing thin.

You felt someone sit down at the stool next to you. Not giving them any notice ----until they spoke.

"Oi. Ale for me and whatever the lady wants."

You stifled a grunt, eyes remaining fixed on your drink.

"Not interested."

The bartender, unfazed, slid a glass down the bar landing directly into the strangers hand with ease. He took a full three chugs before wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

Exhaling he exclaimed. "Not interested?... Handsome fella like me? Sure you are."

"Its been a rough day." You grimaced, still not sparing him a glance.

"Well its about to get a little more difficult."

You could feel him shift beside you. Instinctively, you unholstered your blaster and aimed it directly at his crotch. You were now face to face with Ian Skynyr. Notorious playboy and smuggler.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." You whispered.

He only froze, eyes widening on where your blaster now rested. His shoulders slightly relaxed almost as impressed as he was shocked.

"Easy"

"Like I said its been a long day and I'm not especially forgiving on those. So get lost."

"One of my men is in a bacta tank thanks to you."

You recalled what had transpired a mere few hours ago.

Some thug saw you walking through the bazar. Cloaked, your figure appeared small and unthreatening. He assumed you'd be an easy target. He assumed wrong.

Qimir had found you standing over the aqualish male, his breathing labored, knocked unconscious with far more hidden injuries.

All Qimir had said to you was, lets go. No emotion shown on his striking face.

"If he wanted an easy pocket to pick he shouldn't have cornered me."

"Listen sunshine, you put me in a bit of a bind here."

"Not my problem. I know your line of work and I'm not looking for that kind of heat."

Neither you or Qimir could take that right now.

The stranger didn’t back off. He leaned in, just enough for you to catch the scent of engine grease and blaster residue.

"Oh I think it is, don't think I don't know exactly why you're sitting here."

You suppressed a laugh. Of course.

"So I can assume you intercepted my pilot."

"Theres now a debt to pay. Im here to collect."

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Right... Only a certain type of woman wears with an LL-30 blaster pistol strapped to her thigh."

"And it only takes a special kind of idiot to steal from her." You retracted the gun back to under your cloak.

He cracked a smile.

"The job I have lined up that you so gracefully mucked might actually be of some interest to you."

"I highly doubt that."

"You and your friend need to get to the outer rim no? Something about avoiding the order? I can provide that for you both so long as you pay whats now owed."

You couldn’t hide the shock on your face.

So the pilot had a loose mouth. But you knew Qimir would later curse you for your own.

"I don't owe you anything."

"Deny that little fact all you want. What you can't deny is that the republic has been slowly tightening its grip on hyperspace routes. Good luck finding another freighter that can slip past their patrols unnoticed."

You frowned.

He wasn’t wrong. Vernestra wouldn't risk the upper hand she now had on the two of you. It was easy enough to establish stricter checkpoints in the name of peace and safety. Finding another ship capable of making it past their checkpoints undetected and unquestioned would be next to impossible.

You sat there. Silent. Weighing the options in front of you. Even though you had your finger on the trigger and every reason to pull it, you squirmed underneath the predicament he now faced you with.

He watched the gears turning behind your eyes, carefully calculating your next move.

"Well." he sighed "If you're that confident, I guess its easy enough for me to find another replacement."

He slowly stood, nudging the now empty glass towards the edge of the bar.

"Good luck out running the damned Jedi."

What were your chances of another opportunity like this? As damned as the circumstances were.

Before he could step out of the cantina you turned.

"Wait."

Ian inclined his head to you, smile spreading across his stupid face.

Qimir was going to kill you.

_____________________________________________________________

#the acolyte #qimir #qimir the acolyte #qimir x reader #renew the acolyte #star wars #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fangirl #star wars fandom #the stranger #star wars qimir #Youtube

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whatitshouldvebeen · 9 months

Note

Hi it’s me! I would like to order 1 obsessive/yandere Johnny with a side of however you want to do it and my compliments and a big kiss and hug to the chef for making amazing works. I’ve been reading your works a lot and look forward to your posts🥰🩵

Thank you so much sweetheart! I hope this scratches your itch 😈

Your Shadow

Contains; yandre Johnny, possessive behavior

Your coworkers nicknamed Johnny your shadow. You didn't mind having a handsome, brooding man observing you from the other side of the bar as you cleaned out glasses and prepared drinks. He wasn't exactly discreet about it either; he wouldn't order drinks from anyone but you.

He had been a regular presence for weeks, and there was a betting pool for when he'd finally ask you out. You made the mistake of telling one of your coworkers you found him handsome, and now, whenever they saw him, they teased you relentlessly.

One night, as you exchanged glances with Johnny across the bar while cleaning up, an already drunk patron stumbled in and slapped the countertop. You regarded the man with a raised eyebrow.

“Well? Ain't you gonna ask what I want?” he demanded.

“Last call was five minutes ago, and you’re already drunk.”

“Cut yer tone and get me a goddamn drink,” he growled.

“No. Like I said, last call has already happened.”

The belligerent man leaned over the counter, grabbing your shirt. “Make me a goddamn drink, bitch.”

You reached for the gun under the counter, but you didn't need to because a look of terror crossed the man's face, and he dropped your collar instantly.

“Back away, nice n’ slow,” Johnny's low voice was barely audible as he stood close behind the drunk man. The man raised his hands and backed up, sweat beading on his alcohol-flushed face.

“Was this man giving you trouble, sugar?” Johnny asked, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“She wasn't doing her job ‘s all! I just wanted a-” The man protested, but froze when Johnny pressed closer.

“Say another word, and I'll gut you from behind,” Johnny growled. “I asked the lady a question.”

You blinked rapidly, adjusting your shirt and nodding slightly. “Y-yeah, a little bit. It's alright though, Johnny. Don't get yourself in trouble.”

“This ain't trouble. I'd do a lot worse to him if we weren't being watched.” Johnny digs the knife into the man's back, making him whimper. “You hear me? If I see you ‘round here and no one's lookin’, ain’t nobody's ever gonna see you again.”

The man's red face drained, leaving a dread filled expression behind.

“Got it?” Johnny asked, twisting his hold on the man's arm.

“I got it!” The man hiccuped pathetically, tears rolling down his plump face.

“Get out of here,” Johnny said, shoving the man toward the door. The man tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor. You saw his pants soaked with urine, and your nose crinkled in disgust. The man sobbed and stumbled as he got up and pathetically dragged himself out of the bar.

Your eyes left the sorry sight and trailed to Johnny, who was still watching you intently behind messy strands of greased black hair. “You okay, baby?”

You blushed. “Yeah. I'm okay.”

“Can't stand to see anyone touch you,” he muttered.

“I'm alright now. Thank you, Johnny.”

“Anytime,” he said, still watching you intently. “I'll never let anyone disrespect my girl like that again.”

You weren't sure how to feel about being called his girl when you'd barely spoken a word to him, but you were thankful all the same. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“I always will.” His hand reached out, caressing your face. “I promise you that.”

#johnny slaughter #johnny sawyer #johnny slaughter x you #tcm #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw game #texas chainsaw massacre #johnny slaughter x reader

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bruciemilf · 2 years

Text

Having a concerning amount of Bruharvey brainrot, but - can we talk about the fucking whiplash Harvey would experience at seeing his goons roughhouse a literal 10 year old kid.

" The hell are you pea brains doin' with him?"

" Boss! He's Batman's sidekick and he came to stop us all on his own. Had a fight with the winged bastard. If you want a hit in-"

Dick doesn't see what happens next. A huge hand shields his eyes from it, but he knows how guns sound like. A yelp bubbles out of him when Two-Face grabs his suit and lifts him to his impressive eye level.

" Alright, birdie. Start chirpin'. What the hell are you doin' on my streets without Bats? He know where you are?" Dick does his best at conveying confidence; Bruce does it all the time.

He says he's there to stop them, to prove he can fight all on his own, but his shaking doesn't stop. It's a tough job to be tough without Bruce behind him, without a protective force telling him he's doing good.

Two-Face pretends not to see it and its more gratifying than it should probably be. " Well, I'd like a sandwich before you take me in. Don't know about you, but I'm hungry as fuck," a pause , " I'll let ya curse if you don't tell your old man."

Dick giggles; He says way worse, but Bruce doesn't have to find out. So that's how Bruce finds them; Dick almost disappearing inside a huge suit jacket, getting it full of sauce and grease, and Two-Face snorting as he wipes his face with a handkerchief.

" Robin." His name a relief filled breath rolling off Bruce's tongue. Even as Batman, even wrapped in rasp and gruff, Bruce's concerned, fatherly tone doesn't vanish. " Batmobile. Not a sound."

" Bye, Mr. Two-Face!" Dick waves, an innocent shrug meeting Bruce's unamused glare. " What? That's multiple sounds."

Two-Face snorts a laugh, and Bruce glares. " It's not funny."

" Nothin' ever is to ya. Hey, if you need some mommy and me advice, my sister has a dumb blog full of that shit. Sure as hell don't envy anyone who uses it."

" Jessica's blog is very informative. "

Shit.

" So it is you under there, pendejo. Shit, Bruce. I know you had baby fever, but sidekick fever, -"

" He's not my sidekick. He's..." My son. My hope. " He's a hero in making. Bad things happened, and I'm trying to make sure he grows through them."

Harvey's face is blank like a sheet of paper and Bruce doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to be judged. Not by him, never by him.

"Well. Can't think of anything worse than being named Dick. Least he doesn't have to go through that twice. "

And Bruce almost cracks a smile; All these years between them like an ocean of glass and Harvey still knows how to coax a smile from him. " Seriously, Bruce. They'll tear him apart at GA. Those little shits don't know mercy."

And if Bruce is asked why Two-Face picks his child up from school once a week, Bruce just smiles and shrugs. " It takes a village."

#bruce wayne #harvey dent #dick grayson #battinson #batdad #batman #two face #dc two face #bruharvey #bruce x harvey #dc #dc comics #text #writing #PLS GIVE ME MORE CONTENT FOR THESE TWO BC THIS IS A NORMAL OCCURRENCE THE MORE KIDS BRUCE ACCUMULATES #harvey: shit how many kids do we have - UH i mean how many kids do YOU have.#harvey: what IS a kid actually. sounds like fake news

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say-al0e · 2 years

Text

For You

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors, DNI!

Summary: Sometimes Jake gets a little in his head and needs a hand coming back to earth. You’re more than happy to give him what he needs. | Ft. Anon Requests: “How many times have you jerked off to me?” + “Touch yourself. Show me how you do it.” + “Use my thigh. You’ve been staring at it all night, anyway.”

Warnings: A little angsty Hangman (feeling a little lost, a little out of it), male masturbation, thigh riding. Anything else, ask and I’ll tag.

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader (wife!Reader)

Word Count: 4.1k

Top Gun Taglist | Top Gun Masterlist

Jake has never been much of a control freak.

Given the nature of his work, he’s learned to willingly follow orders and do what he’s told - sometimes without question, even when he knows he should ask. He prides himself on being good at what he does, the beset of the best, and he’s learned to bite his tongue when need be.

However, there are moments he seeks to regain some of the control he loses in his daily life.

In the bedroom, Jake enjoys taking control. He’s always liked calling the shots, asking you to jump and grinning when you ask him how high, which works well as you like relinquishing some of the control you cling almost too tightly to in your own work.

Jake is never mean - unless you ask him to be - and will always listen to your concerns, your opinions, your desires. There is never a moment where his control feels absolute, like he won’t take your feelings into consideration, but it helps ease some of the weight on his chest when you allow him to press you into the mattress and take what he needs.

Tonight, however, it is evident that control is not what Jake needs.

Though his week has been full of people telling him what to do, where to go, who to be, his lack of control isn’t what weighs so heavily on his chest. A frustration comes with hearing so many orders barked at him, repeated time and again for those who refused to listen the first time, and you’ve seen firsthand how overwhelming it can be.

When the noise of the week fades, when there is no structure, Jake sometimes gets a little lost. It’s a side of him that only you see but it’s still heartbreak to watch as he wanders, searching the house for something to do - something to make himself feel useful, needed - while you search for ways to help him return to himself.

It’s not often that he feels this way. He’s learned to handle it, to work through the sort of depersonalization that comes with living a life controlled by so many others, but the signs are always there.

This time, the first sign comes in the form of him tackling the to-do list you’ve both been putting off.

The new house came with its fair share of work to be done - a few little repairs, nothing a little paint and elbow grease can’t fix - and Jake spends his rare Friday off working through them one by one. And by the time you arrive home from work, the house smells of paint and you find your husband sitting on the bathroom floor, swapping out the knobs on the cabinet.

A second, much more obvious sign, comes in the form of silence.

Jake likes music - country, usually - to fill the quiet, especially on the odd occasion he’s home alone. This time, the only sound you hear is that of tools touching wood, hitting the floor when he sets them down, and the rattle of screws as he pulls the second knob from the package.

The third, and the most telling sign, comes in the form of his obliviousness.

On the odd occasion Jake has a day off that you don’t, or finds himself home before you arrive, he seems to be aware of your presence the moment you step through the door. It’s rare that he allows you to make it more than a few feet into your home before he’s greeting you. So, the fact that you make it through the house, to the bathroom, and settle in the doorway, all without him batting an eye, tells you more than you need to know.

“Y’know, a girl can get used to this.”

Jake flinches, clearly surprised by your presence, but manages to cover it with a grin as he glances up at you. His eyes, a touch more exhausted than usual, brighten considerably as they meet yours. “I’m just here to fulfill all your domestic fantasies, sweetheart,” he teases, gesturing to the smear of paint staining his hand. “Knocked out most of the list today.” He stands, dropping the wrench onto the countertop with a clatter, and makes his way to you, just a fraction slower than usual. “Figured we can go look for furniture for the deck tomorrow, maybe stop at that little cafe you like for lunch.”

As his hands fall to your waist, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your top almost immediately, you smile. “I just got home and you’re already talking dirty.” When your hands lift to his hair, fingers combing through the soft strands, Jake tilts his head to lean into your touch. His laughter is quiet, accompanied by a more subdued grin - not quite as bright, not quite as rakish as his usual - and you struggle to hide your frown as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “How can I ever repay you?"

“If you wanted to blow me, I absolutely won’t deny you the pleasure.”

Jake grins at the roll of your eyes, this one truly lighting his eyes, and squeezes your hips as he leans in to press a firmer kiss to your mouth. It’s still chaste, not quite enough to convince you that he’s truly alright, but enough to give you hope that he just needs a moment of thoughtlessness.

“Maybe after dinner, handsome,” you offer, not bothering to clue him in to the plan already beginning to formulate in the back of your mind. “Takeout okay?”

The answering frown you receive is further confirmation that he’s not totally gone - not so far out of it that he’s completely lost sense of himself. “It’s date night,” he reminds you, almost appalled that you seem to have forgotten. “Thought we were trying out that Korean place?”

“I was hoping we could stay in. Order takeout, maybe watch a movie? It’s been a long week.”

For a split second, you worry that he’ll refuse - he takes date night seriously, loves seeing you all dressed up and showing you off - but his features soften the moment you bat your lashes at him. “Kills me when you do that,” he grumbles, though there is no real heat behind his statement. “But you know I’ll never say no to having you all to myself, sweetheart.”

Despite all the bravado, all the snark and witty quips, you know the real Jake. A man who wants to love and be loved in return, a man who will give you the world if you ask - your husband is wrapped around your finger, just as you are wrapped around his, and makes it all too easy for you to set about helping him back to himself.

Most of the night passes rather quickly after that. A shower for each of you - separately, as you know exactly where a joint shower will lead you - before you consume too much takeout and watch the same movie you’ve both seen a thousand times.

Every gesture is small - ordering his favorite food and grinning when he opens it, groaning at the scent; choosing his favorite movie, without even bothering to ask because you know he’ll attempt to sway you into your favorite; grabbing him a beer before he can question if he needs another, placing it onto the coffee table with a wink - but each one seems to ease his mind just a little more.

And as the night wears on, your Jake begins to return, piece by piece.

The final gesture, one that you know will bring him back to you wholly, comes when you send him to the bedroom with a request for him to wait for you.

Control is not something he fears losing, not something he finds difficult to relinquish, in his daily life. The bedroom has always proved a little more difficult. Jake listens, asks you what you want and gives it to you easily, but the orders he takes are always in the pursuit of your pleasure. Taking orders in the pursuit of his own, he still struggles.

Over the years, you’ve learned how to take control in a way that feels selfish. You give him the illusion of control by giving him your full attention. Giving orders in a way that feels like a request, a selfish plea for something you know he wants but has a hard time freely giving, works best with Jake.

He loves your attention, placed solely on him, and loves your praise even more. Every boost to his ego, every reminder of just how perfect you think he is, just how much you love the man he sometimes forgets he can be, helps bring him back. So, you decide to take a gamble.

When you step into the bedroom, you find Jake settled at the head of the bed with his back pressed to the headboard. The weight of his gaze is heavy, burns into your skin as he watches you settle at the foot of the bed. Those warm green eyes meet yours and you can read the amusement in them, hidden amidst thinly veiled confusion, as he waits for you to provide him with an answer as to what you want.

This certainly isn’t what he had in mind for date night, clearly isn’t where he pictured the night ending, but he makes no move to protest as you offer him what you hope to be a reassuring smile as you fold your hands over your lap.

“How many times have you jerked off to me?”

The question is quiet, almost timid as you nearly second-guess yourself, but it earns a puff of surprised laughter from Jake. His brows lift as he blinks. No matter where he imagined the night heading, this isn’t it, but he only dwells on his surprise for a brief moment before tilting his head to get a good look at you.

“Lost count after that first deployment.”

His answer is teasing, accompanied by the brightest grin you’ve received all day, and you can feel your cheeks burn as he eyes the exposed skin of your thighs. When you chose your nightly attire, you played dirty - opting for a t-shirt, stolen from his drawer, and a pair of soft but presentable panties you knew he’d like once he caught sight of them - and you can tell just how much he appreciates it as his gaze falls to the soft blue fabric.

That deployment was particularly hard for you both as it saw you going from sleeping together nearly every night to little contact for three months, but Jake clearly remembers one difficulty above the rest. “I looked at those Polaroids more than you’ll believe,” he admits with a smirk, “but no matter how many times I got off, my hand was never enough. You created a monster, sweetheart.”

Jake’s honesty can be his detriment at times - blunt, wielded like a weapon to protect his heart from hurt - but it can also be his greatest strength. There is no room for sugarcoating, not with you, and you believe him wholeheartedly as he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“Will you show me?”

The request earns a brilliant smile, the clearest indicator that your plan seems to be working, as Jake searches your face for any sign of deceit. The only thing he finds is honesty, a clear longing - a desire to see him, to selfishly watch as he seeks his own high.

“Show you what?” He wants you to say it - has encouraged you to speak up, to be vulgar, to be specific. This is expected, something you can see coming from a mile away, but it gives him the illusion of control as you bat your lashes and feign bashfulness.

“Touch yourself.” Another quiet plea - order, hidden behind doe eyes and pouted lips - that sees Jake inhaling sharply. “Show me how you do it,” you request, fingers finding the hem of your top, “please, Jake.”

Jake tries to hide just how affected he is, just how eager he is to give you what you’re asking for, but you can see right through him as he shakes his head. “Can’t believe my girl’s a voyeur,” he teases with a grin, even as he allows his hand to fall to the soft cotton waistband of his sweatpants. “You wanna watch, pretty girl?”

A soft nod from you has him licking his lips, tongue darting out to drag across the plush lower lip, while his hand drifts lower to palm his hardening cock. Despite the weight you know he’s felt pressing on his shoulders all week, Jake seems far more at ease than he has been with your heated gaze following his every movement.

It’s clear that he thrives on your attention, on your quiet pleas to witness his pleasure, and you give him exactly what he seems to want.

The sight before you is, on any given day, almost overwhelming. It seems that no matter how many times you look at him, no matter how many times you’re given the opportunity to witness him in this state, it never gets old.

Jake has a habit of wandering the house shirtless, sun kissed skin on full display, and you’re shameless as you trace the expanse of his exposed skin. The width of his shoulders, his chest; the planes of his stomach, the light trail of hair disappearing beneath the band of his sweatpants - every inch of him is beautiful and you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes as you commit every inch of his torso to memory.

“You could take a picture,” Jake teases, drawing your attention back to his face. The green of his eyes is darkening, slowly giving way to a lustful black, but that smirk remains as his hand squeezes his bulge. “Might last longer.”

“I have some,” you remind him, grinning at the thought of the photos hidden in your phone. “Just wanna see you tonight.”

“Well, how am I supposed to say no to that?” Jake shifts then, slips his hands beneath the fabric of his sweatpants and tugs. As he shoves the fabric down his legs, kicks it off to the side, his cock springs free and slaps against his stomach.

Another sight that you have yet to grow used to, despite the number of times you’ve seen him. Your eyes fall to his cock, flushed red, as another sigh falls from your lips. The sight of him, thighs parted slightly and heavy cock resting against his stomach, captures your attention.

“You’re so pretty, Jake.”

A light dusting of pink coats his cheeks, spreads down the column of his throat to the top of his chest, even as he laughs. “Why don’t you give me something pretty to look at? I’m feelin’ a little exposed, here.” It’s teasing - Jake has no qualms about nudity, would likely wander around the house naked, if you allowed him - but you know what he’s asking for and give it to him with no hesitation.

Eager green eyes follow your every movement as you shuck your - his - shirt and the panties you chose, special for him. “Is this what you think about, when you touch yourself?”

Jake extends his hand, once again asking without words, and smiles when you lean forward to give him what he wants. You’re guiding, not controlling, and he seems to understand as his hand lazily falls to his cock. While he considers your question, his lips part in a sharp exhale at the first pass of his spit slick palm.

“You, naked? Absolutely.” His voice is a hint tighter than usual, though nowhere near as brittle as you know it can be in the throes of passion. “You’re usually under me,” he continues, grinning when you shift to get a better look at him as his hand slowly strokes the length of his cock. “Always ends the same, though.”

“How’s that?”

His chest rises and falls just a touch faster than normal, breath comes in sharper pants as his lips part, but those eyes remain fixed on you. Even as your gaze wanders, drifts between his face to his hand to his thighs - tensing with each brush of his thumb over the head of his cock as it begins to leak pre-cum - before falling shut for a brief moment, his never falters. He watches, attention rapt, as you fist the sheets and await his answer.

“That pretty little cunt, dripping with my come.”

The intention was not to touch yourself, not to allow your fingers to slip between your spread thighs even as slick gathered, but Jake makes it difficult. He knows what he’s doing, knows exactly what you want to hear, and you struggle to keep up the facade as you bite back a whimper.

“Is it always this slow?”

The question is forced between clenched teeth, nearly spat at him as you cling desperately to your train of thought, and it makes Jake laugh, even as his stomach tightens with a particularly rough stroke of his palm.

“No. Just figured I’d give you time to look.” He raises an eyebrow then, expression so smug it nearly makes you want to roll your eyes - would have, were it not exactly what you were hoping to see, the kind of cocksure Jake attitude you were fishing for - as he pauses with his hand wrapped around the base. “Gonna take advantage of the show or are you testing your willpower?”

“Wanted to focus on you. Always so hard to focus on how pretty you are when you’re making me see stars.”

There are moments you refuse to stroke his ego, refuse to confirm what he already knows to be true, but the light that brightens his eyes with every word makes it all worth it. He needs this, needs to be reminded of who he is - how loved he is - so you’ll take any amount of preening, just so long as your husband returns to you fully.

Jake’s eyes narrow playfully. “Is it my birthday?” His tone is exaggeratedly suspicious, teasing, and manages to make you laugh, even as you watch him resume his slow strokes. “You’re bein’ a little too nice to me, sugar.”

“I’m always nice to you.” Jake laughs at the defensive bite, the pout of your lips. He knows that to be true - knows you’re nice to him, knows just how much you love him - but he can’t help the playful raising of his brows.

“Mm, I know.” The acknowledgement is accompanied by a soft sigh as his thumb brushes the head of his cock, smears the slick beginning to drip, and a grin as you repeat the sound. “Should repay the favor. Help you get off, too,” he encourages, splaying his thighs just a touch wider as he beckons you forward with his free hand. “C’mere, darlin’. Use my thigh. You’ve been starin’ at it all night, anyway.”

When you hesitate, not wanting to intrude on the moment - regardless of the slick pooling between your thighs and the ache of your neglected clit - Jake laughs. “Don’t make me beg.”

“What if I want you to?” Even as the question spills past your lips, you clamber up the bed to settle over him. Your knee slots between his spread thighs as you finally lift your gaze to meet his. “Would you?”

“You know I’ll give you whatever you want.” Jake is honest, almost to a fault, and you know just how sincerely he means it. He’ll do whatever he can to make you happy, even if it’s something he once struggled with, but your bid for control - your attempt to guide him back to himself - has gotten you both where you need to be.

Instead of pushing, instead of asking him to beg, you lower yourself on his thigh and sigh at the pressure. “I’ll prove how nice I can be,” you quip, voice nowhere near as strong as you hope for it to be. “No begging this time.”

“An absolute angel.” Jake tenses his thigh then, gaze fixated on your face as his free hand falls to your hip. “Look like one, anyway.”

The feeling of his thigh between your own, the pressure against your clit as you lower yourself completely, pulls a soft moan from your lips. Even as you attempt to return your focus to him, to watch the way his hand wraps around his cock a little tighter - the way he drags his fist just a little faster - Jake captures your attention by leaning in to press his lips to yours.

“Jake.”

He swallows your whine, the disappointed huff, with a smile that you can feel as the hand on your hip guides you to move faster. His tongue traces your bottom lip, nips at the supple flesh when you refuse to open your mouth, and huffs in playful annoyance.

“This isn’t very nice, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not giving me what I want, honey.” That draws a laugh from him, a bright grin that reaches his eyes, even as he relents and returns his head to the headboard.

“Fine. Watch. Want a kiss - a real one - when I come,” he demands, though he knows you’ll never deny him such a request.

Jake falls quiet after his demand, returns his focus to your face - to the way your lips part, the way your brows scrunch as you attempt to find a rhythm that feels best - and the way your hips move as you straddle his thigh. Your attention falls to his hand, watching intently as he focuses his attention on the head of his cock.

As Jake’s thumb gathers slick, uses it to ease the drag of his palm, you grind harder and attempt to chase a high you doubt will come. There is no worry, you know that he’ll make up for it, so you lift your hands to his hair and tug at the soft strands.

“Come for me, Jake,” you encourage, batting your lashes at him as you watch his eyes begin to blink just a touch faster. “Please? Wanna see it. Look so pretty when you come.”

To see him fall over the edge is a sight you’ll never tire of.

Though Jake is always beautiful, always a sight to behold, watching him on the verge of an orgasm is otherworldly. His focus begins to fade, begins to turn entirely to the impending warmth of his orgasm, and you pause the rocking of your hips to soak it all in.

Jake’s eyes flutter shut as his head falls back, column of his throat exposed as his chest begins to heave. A few soft sounds escape, a quiet moan, a soft grunt, join the slick sound of his hand wrapping around his cock. It takes only a few short moments - in which time a flush covers his face, his neck, his chest - before he tumbles over the edge.

Ropes of come splash onto his stomach, his hand, as he falls over the edge with a low, punched out sound that has your thighs clenching - goes straight to your aching clit, nearly sends you pressing your fingers between your thighs in search of a better friction.

While he rides it out, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So pretty,” you whisper, voice muffled by his skin. “So good. Always so good for me, honey. Love to see you come for me.”

A breathless laugh escapes, quiet but easily discernible even as he attempts to turn his head. “Can say the same for you, darlin’,” he returns, tone almost reverent as he seeks your mouth. “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll get you off.”

Jake is a man of his word, never one to leave you hanging, so you leave it. Allow the comment to linger as you shift your head and press your mouth to his. The kiss is soft, chaste, but it’s exactly what he wants as the hand he’d left on your hip lifts to cradle your jaw.

This Jake is the one you love best - pleasure softened, unbothered by the weight of the world - and you know that he’s well on his way back to the husband you know and love. It takes a little time, a little effort, but you can see the light return to his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours.

Worry always lingers, settles in the pit of your stomach, but you know that you’ll always be home. A place he can feel safe, free from the demands of work, and a place to regain a little of the control he lacks - a little of the self he loses outside the confines of your home.

And as he presses one final kiss to your mouth, fingers pressing into your skin, you know that you’ll do whatever you can just for him.

____________________________________________

Author’s Note: I don’t remember the last time I wrote a fic in present tense but it was a fun challenge. Would’ve waited to post tomorrow but I’m going out with a friend so figured I’d get this up tonight. :)

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