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gutsby · 26 days ago

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Easy to Please

Pairing: Sleazy Landlord!Joel x Reader

Summary: Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Dubcon à la power imbalance / sex for money. Infidelity. Pervy!Joel. Talks of abuse. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by my three favorite songs about female adultery—‘Thinkin’ Bout Cheatin’ by Mae Estes, ‘Lyin’ Eyes’ by The Eagles, and ‘Cheatin’ Songs’ by Midland. No, I don’t support infidelity. Yes, it makes for fun fiction.

Word count: 3.1k

You hate the face he makes when he cums.

You hate the way he tastes when he’s done.

You hate the grit and the heft of the man, every lone hair that sprouts silver from his chest, and the way he pats the open space beside him in bed after you roll away.

‘Never seen a girl so goddamn allergic to cuddling!’

What makes his observation worse is that you know you’re hating it more and more with every passing day.

Today you have seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson tucked into your purse. You walk with a sluggish gait, knowing you’re $310 short of making this month’s rent and last. But you go on anyway. It’s not like Joel can’t see you from where he’s seated on the porch.

The pleasantries you exchange are short. By now, you have only to breeze past him in his lawn chair and say, ‘I can’t stay long,’ and he knows the rest. He grabs his six-pack, then his Pall Malls, and asks after you all the same.

“How’s the wrist?” he says.

You sprained it over the weekend. You aren’t sure how he heard. At any rate, you ignore the question and set your bag down on the counter before going to the fridge. You deflect with a question of your own—what the hell happened to the lemonade? He had a full jug last week.

“Got thirsty,” Joel answers, shrugging.

You’re always thirsty, you tell him, and you eye the case of Heineken that he’s placed by your purse. You don’t need to see his face to feel the smile starting to form.

“Don’t I know it,” he says. Insinuating.

You’d hit him over the head if you’d been able to reach. He’s still smiling when your shoulder checks his—closer to his elbow, from the feel of it—and when you leave the kitchen, he leaves too. He trails behind you with an ease that says this is the sixth time this has happened since August, and you’re hardly a week out from Halloween.

It’s not just rent you need to pay; it’s other things. Transmission in your truck’s gone to shit. Phone’s been on the fritz since you dropped it in the tub. Talking heads on TV say the country’s on track to get hit with another recession, and from the way your boss has been slashing your hours in half, you think they may be right. The crack in your bathroom window was tiny last week. Today it’s gone, because your husband put his fist through the thing on Sunday. You patched the hole with duct tape.

Joel’s covering the cost for the pane to be replaced, but that’s because he has to. He’s your landlord—proud owner of the Delta Commons trailer park since ‘97—and that’s what landlords do. Everything else is yours to pay.

You’re a part-time student, part-time waitress, and a full-time caretaker for your ailing spouse, or so you call him. Joel knows Stetson’s not sick, just perennially unemployed and drunk. You pay for most things, and it’s rarely enough to cover your rent. Stetson doesn’t care.

And that’s where Joel comes in.

No pun intended, but in his mind, there’s really no nicer way to say it: you fuck his brains out to make up for the shortfall in rent. You blow him before work to make sure your husband and you will have enough to eat that week. You bite the warm, freckled skin between his shoulder and his neck while you ride him, because you know that gesture will get you a little extra cash when you leave. You smile after swallowing him, and Joel knows that it tastes like shit. You’ve gotten good at faking it lately.

What he hopes isn’t totally fabricated is the way you call him big. Strong. Handsome. So stupidly well-endowed that you have to wince for the first few seconds when you sit on it, and go slow when he takes you from behind

“O-ow!” you whine presently.

His dick isn’t even in you yet. You just stubbed your toe on the edge of his dresser on your way to the bathroom.

“You alright?”

“Fuck me!”

I will, he thinks.

“Want me to get an ice—”

“Let go-OW! FUCK!”

Joel barely even touched your wrist and you were flinching away with a brand new pain. You rub it, almost defensively, then pin him with an icy glare. Nice going.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Now he’ll be lucky if he can swing a half-hearted handy from the one that isn’t hurt. That’s how mad you look.

You turn your body away, and for a second, Joel assumes that his fate has been sealed: you’ll bumble over to the rug by his bed, toss a pillow on the floor, and assume what he already knows to be your least favorite position. You’ll kneel, and talk of migraines and your long, grueling day and in the end find an excuse not to use your mouth. That’ll be okay. But with the debts you owe him now, it also won’t be enough, and Joel will have to ask you back again. He hates sounding needy, but baby, deal’s a deal.

Luckily you don’t give him the chance to use that line. Much to his surprise, you get on the bed. You lie down. You seem to take a little more care settling in this time, but you take off your clothes. It’s a lime green tank top and some ratty jean skirt, but it’s enough to tempt him.

And not just tempt, but oblige him to accept, unblinking. He crawls over the bed to get to you, and he finds that his spit’s filling his mouth a little quicker. His hands are starting to shake as they slide over the duvet, and the tree trunks he once called his legs are runny, like eggs.

He has to remind himself, bluntly, of your last name, the shiny ring on your hand, your husband’s name, your—

“Age—what’d you say your age was again?” Joel asks.

You look confused for a second, but you tell him.

“Twenty-one.”

Way too fucking young to have gotten hitched three years ago. But then he remembers this is Leakey, Texas, and your family hasn’t strayed more than ten miles from the center of town in four generations. You told him that.

“I thought you said twenty,” Joel says, a little uneasy.

“I did. Up until this past Sunday I was.”

“Oh.”

A beat.

“Happy birthday.”

You blink.

“You gonna take your pants off or what?”

And he does. Maybe embarrassed at first, but then the jeans come off, and his boxers go next, and without so much as a word or a breath, his worries are sliding away like water off his back. Like his clothes now peeling off.

Like your smile growing thin at the sight of him half-stripped on the bed in front of you. Joel doesn’t flatter himself to think he’s even half as handsome as he was in his youth, but he knows he has his draws. What endears him to you today is, unfortunately, his wallet. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be convinced to like him more.

More than Stetson, he thinks without humor.

Dumb son of a bitch can’t tell his ass from his elbow and yet he’s won himself you, living it up these last three y—

“Oh.”

He sounds like an owl now. His clothes are off, and you’re rubbing him, pumping him gently in your hand, which you were so kind to make wet with your saliva. It even sounds better than his, the way it squelches with every flick. Joel can only say so much in strangled breaths.

He tries anyway:

“Feel like a dream, sweet pea.”

Sweet pea.

Your pace quickens. Joel swears he can see the corners of your lips twitch, but then he thinks you’re just wincing. You move down to the floor beside the bed. Kneel almost politely while you nestle yourself between his parted legs

Your mouth is warm. It’s always warm. Joel wouldn’t expect a girl’s tongue to greet his dick like ice, but yours is always heated to a thousand degrees, it feels like. He enjoys the sting. Your lips envelop his big, leaking tip, and he swears he can stay like this forever—in you.

On you, too. He’s got his palm resting flat on your head, and he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes. He bunches your hair in a fist and drags your face to make you swallow.

Mean old man, you must be saying in your head when he stuffs your mouth full. Makes your eyes prick with tears.

Sweet girl. My sweet pea, he thinks, affectionately, and continues to rub your scalp. He holds your teary gaze.

And then you’re moving up. Down. Coating his length with shiny spit and tiny whimpers as your lips move gently back and forth, again and again. Joel’s grip tightens in your hair, and he begs for more. More.

“More,” he orders, jaw clenched, “Fit a little more’a me.”

From where you’re kneeling below, you look put off.

Then you pull off, and you wipe your wet chin.

“Chokin’ me,” you grumble, “‘S’too big.”

Normally, Joel loves to hear that.

Now, however, he’s sliding his touch to your chin and tilting your head up to him. Thumbing at the spit dribbling out on either side of your mouth and subsequently coaxing your lips further apart.

He slides back in, and you don’t fight it. You like it. Holding his gaze in a soft, docile look while your lips stretch deliciously around his shaft, you must love it. Every inch and every twinge of pleasure from the brush of his cock going in and out must be your favorite thing.

Joel hopes it is, anyway. He holds your face now, and your throat convulses involuntarily. You’re so pretty.

“Such a good, sweet girl, ain’t ya?” he presses, watching the coarse grey hairs at the base of him tickle your face.

You respond well to praise. You preen under those words, and try to nod. But his cock is so deep down your throat you end up choking again. Joel watches all of it smiling.

Petting your head and not pushing again. Grinning.

“Love my cock nice and stuffed in that pretty throat?”

You blink instead of nodding, but it’s more than enough.

“Love me deep?”

And the head of him sinks somewhere he’s never been. Your eyes are like two wide pools, and your lips leak everywhere—your chin, your cheeks, your neck.

Joel’s smearing it all with his palm and smiling so wide that he thinks he might pull a muscle. He pants heavily.

“Just what you’re made for. Just what you need.”

You look like you might agree. He keeps going.

“My fuckin’ mouth. My pretty, pretty mouth.”

He holds your face. He thinks he might cum.

“Ain’t a damn thing Stetson can do for this mouth, huh?”

And then he doesn’t. Joel barely blinks, and you’re already bucking your head out of his hold, mouth skittering away while the spit spills out. You’re practically drenched down to the chest when your face rears back. Your eyes are alight and no longer smiling when you grit:

“Don’t.”

Joel should’ve known better.

He’s hit a raw nerve, and now he really wishes he hadn’t.

It doesn’t stop there—but it doesn’t get better, either. Things progress in much the same way as they always have but with none of the need, or the warmth, of before. You climb back up and straddle him quick. Not meeting his eye, you just sit down, and slide down, and don’t wince at all. You don’t tell him that he’s big, and he doesn’t get the chance to even groan at the first influx of pleasure before you’re riding him. Bouncing and grinding your hips against his with all the passion of someone perusing the newspaper. You don’t whimper or moan.

Of course, Joel enjoys the feeling. He also wants someone to punch him in the throat for what he’s done.

“Hey, hon—” he starts, voice strained, “Hon, I’m sorr—”

“Shut up,” you snap.

Your movements hardly falter, and now your hand is seizing the headboard. You’re clenching him tight inside your wet, drooling cunt, and it’s obvious you’re trying to make him cum as quickly as possible. You swallow hard.

Joel isn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, his body is being flooded with pleasure, and on the other, he fears you may never do this with him again. Quickly fixing on the latter, he cups your face in one hand. It’s still wet.

His fingers smear the spit, and somehow you look even prettier. You keep grinding your body in desperate little fits above him, and really, you feel fucking amazing, but Joel is too focused on other thoughts. He squeezes you.

“Baby—” he tries again, but you shush him just as fast.

Your hips are moving viciously now. No matter how sore your legs might have been from a long day toiling away—just a couple hours before your shift at your next job, if Joel’s remembering correctly—you’re working him well. Doing him in. Fucking his brains out, but you aren’t his.

His fingers smear the spit even more. Never will be his.

“Sweet pea—”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Now he can’t deny that his climax is close. But this isn’t how he wanted it to end—with you so incensed you can hardly look him in the eye. His hand rubs more, helpless.

And just when he’s seconds away from painting your insides white, losing it all to the pleasure, he sees it.

His wet, sticky touch has uncovered a residue.

Joel pulls his fingers away in a blink, and simultaneously, your eyes are fluttering closed. You’re focused now on climax; because of that, you don’t see what he sees.

What he’s stunned to find on his fingers: makeup.

Lots and lots of thick, heavy makeup on your cheeks. Concealer, he thinks he’s heard it called once or twice.

No matter the name, he quickly comes to see what it’s for. Just as you’re hitting your peak, squeezing the headboard behind him, and coming undone with a shockwave trembling all through your body, Joel pales.

The makeup that you applied so heavy tonight hides bruises. Black and blue and awful hues of greenish-purple too, your whole face, he sees, is engulfed.

He doesn’t speak. He won’t ask.

He won’t cum tonight, either.

He’ll finish something else.

You leave Joel’s trailer angry. You don’t say goodbye. The screen door screams shut behind you when you leave, and silently, you wonder why he didn’t cum. For once, you wish he had—and hadn’t said half of what he did.

Six hours pass like molasses, and by the end of it all—the close of your second shift—Stetson’s name still echoes in your head. The way Joel said it. It hums along the walls of your skull while you walk, and as you draw closer to home, you remember that strange and infuriating tone.

Then you remember your own less than two months ago:

Don’t talk to my husband. Don’t talk about my husband.

They were two simple rules, and Joel broke them both.

He must’ve defied the first when paying a visit to make repairs that week, and that’s when Stetson mentioned your hand: how you ‘slipped’ in the bath. Tripped and conveniently sprained your wrist the same night he almost tore your arm out of the socket for looking at a waiter a tad too long at dinner. You’d bet any sum of money Joel didn’t get to hear that part from Stetson when he came over to see about the window, though.

No, your twenty-first came and went without so much as a word about your wrist. Your arm. Your face—used to getting caked with concealer every third week or so.

You wince as you open the door. You walk slowly.

At first, you’re met with silence, and you sigh with relief. Then you hear it, and shortly drop your purse to the floor.

You all but fall down yourself at the sight: your husband doubled over across from you, in the kitchen. His head in his hands. You don’t need to see the face to know that it’s bleeding. Profusely. You tread ever slower into the room, thinking somehow, some way he’s going to blame this on you. And when he straightens a little and shows off the full, gruesome extent of his injuries, you blanch to think that it might be. His body’s been beaten to a pulp.

Your pulse hammers in your head so loud you can’t hear him groan. You see him, but you don’t really believe it.

And when Stetson reaches for you, you stagger back.

Your hands skim the counter, but your brain barely registers it. Your husband’s calling to you now, ‘Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid, do somethin’, huh?!’ He’s screaming, and you’re not hearing it. Barely feeling like a sentient person at all but just a doll stumbling backward on two wooden legs. As you walk, your palm stays stuck to the laminate underneath it, and suddenly, you feel it.

An envelope.

In this state, you aren’t sure why you grab it, but you do.

You take the lone white paper, and you turn to leave. Your hands shake as you hold the thing, and your legs are hardly any better, but they carry you, miraculously, from the kitchen to the threshold of the back door. Then out. Stetson’s not just yelling but bellowing, loud, every last obscenity known to man as he holds his bloodied side and limps in his perilous, pathetic way. Fortunately, you’re gone just in time to miss the bottle he hurls.

Outside, you walk. And walk. And in the still of the night you’re obliged to find your way through a miscellany of trailers and trucks and old, creaking vans by moonlight, and the throbbing in your head begins to slow. You don’t rush to get far, and you don’t have your keys even if you wanted to drive off. You keep walking. Watching nothing.

When your eyes drift to the envelope in your hand, you barely see that either. You’re just blinking as you look, and breathing as you wait for the sight to make sense.

Inside, you find seven Benjamins, two Grants, and a Jackson staring back. Next to them are a few dozen others—enough to cover August, September, October, and several months before that, if you had to guess.

You hope you’ll get the opportunity to thank Joel, and maybe tell him that you don’t really hate him, someday.

#GAME JOEL I OWE YOU AN APOLOGY…….I WASN’T REALLY FAMILIAR WITH YOUR GAME #WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME HE SOUNDED LIKE THAAAAAAAT!!!!#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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softpascalito · 5 months ago

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I Healing Hands I Marcus Acacius I

Summary: Acacius returns home with an injury—and you try to care for him. But his ideas of healing (and baths) are a little ... different. Especially when you finally have some time to yourselves.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 2.3k Tags: Explicit, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Handjobs, Nipple Play, Dirty Talk, Bathing/Washing, Blood & Injury, Secret Relationship, Mention of Period-Typical Violence, Mention of Period-Typical Slavery, Not historically accurate

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: i can't believe i wrote smut about romans. anyway, i can't wait to see the trailer, enjoy the porn <3

domus - a type of house dulcissima - sweetest anaticula - little duck (affectionate) subligaculum - a type of underwear (i had three years of latin so i absolutely know what i'm doing)

The domus he lives in sits on the edge of Palatine hill, a small house that feels more welcoming to you than any palace could. The atrium is decorated with a variety of plants, the green colors peaking through the columns that line the sides of the open space. You’ve come to know the details of this place well, from the feel of the stones below your feet to the artistically created, coffered ceilings.

As you let your gaze wander over the sunlit atrium, you find yourself looking at the small statue that sits in the middle of a small fountain, both almost hidden by the plants around them. The water below reflects the merciless sun above and sends small reflections of light dancing across the open space. The form of Apollo stands still, frozen in a heroic movement with one arm raised and his head held high.

The god of music, of truth, and most importantly, of healing. You always think your presence in this house must please him, because since being here, you have felt more healing than you have known before.

You hear Acacius before you see him, his breath coming in a little shorter than you’d like. His footsteps sound through the atrium and you catch glimpses of him as he passes behind the columns on the other side. Even from a distance, the way he’s holding himself tells you he’s hurt, not to mention the dirt on him and his armor. The golden details usually shine in the sun—now they look almost ancient, covered in grime.

You sent a silent prayer to Apollo, your eyes briefly flying back to the statue. When you turn back towards Acacius, he has rounded the corner, making his way over to you, though much slower than he usually would. A small sigh leaves his lips as his eyes land on you and you can see his body deflate visibly.

“Acacius.”

You’re by his side in an instant, attempting to let him prop himself up on you, to use your body to support his. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug. You wrap your own arms around him, a hand finding his hair and attempting to brush through it—only to find it matted with blood. He must feel you tense next to him, a sharp breath escaping you as your fingers feel over his scalp, trying to locate the wound.

“Not mine,” he mumbles under his breath. He pauses for a short moment. “I promised I would come back.”

“You always do and yet I dread the day you will break that promise,” you say, a sad smile playing around your lips. You pull back enough to look at him, taking in the small cuts on his face and the deep lines between his brows that you want to smooth out until he looks as peaceful as he does in his sleep.

He does not protest when you try to take some of his weight on you, silently wishing you could take his worries too, and lead him away from the atrium and towards the small bath that is off to the side. You maneuver him through the small archway that is framed by beige columns on either side and into the middle of the room, the scent of the bath salts filling your nostrils as soon as you take a deep breath.

Acacius lifts his right arm—and immediately screws his face up in pain. You send a stern glance his way. “Let me do that.”

You nudge his arm to the side just enough to reach the leather strings that hold his armor together, slowly working your way through them until you can easily slide the dark leather off him, shaking your head weakly when you see how caked with blood and dirt it is. When you’ve placed the armor on one of the stone benches that line the wall, you move on to his braces and his shoes—and finally, the undercloth, taking it off just as carefully and leaving him in just his underwear.

And then, you suddenly see the reason he’s holding himself the way he is.

A nasty cut marks his right side, just below the ribs. You swallow hard, reaching out and tracing the dried blood around it with a motion that comes naturally. You feel Acacius shift under your fingers, bringing his own hands towards yours and wrapping them around it. They fit perfectly, his grip strong despite his injury.

Your gaze is drawn back to his face by the movement and he smiles weakly. “It looks much worse than it is, dulcissima.”

He’s not wrong. He’s definitely had worse injuries, including the time he barely made it to the atrium, instead collapsing into your arms just behind the entrance to the domus. But, quite frankly, it doesn’t mean you don’t worry.

“It stopped bleeding halfway here,” Acacius adds, correctly interpreting your silence.

“Why didn’t you clean yourself at the baths? They would’ve tended to your wound.” You search his face as you speak.

“I wanted to be with you.”

You sigh disapprovingly at his response, though you can’t deny you like to have him close too, especially when he’s injured. Which, with him, feels like it’s every other day.

He leans down to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, mumbling. “It really does not hurt all that much anymore.” His arm sneaks back around you, though his hand is now wandering much lower than it did before.

You bite your lip, trying to give him another stern look but you can feel the way you begin to falter as he smoothes circles into the fabric of your tunic. “Acacius, your servants—”

“They are busy,” he assures you, dragging his lips over your cheek and towards your earlobe. “Besides, if any of them attempted to talk, I’d have their heads.”

You listen into the silence that follows, almost determined to catch a pair of feet approaching or a voice in the distance. But the only sounds that reach your ears are those of the small fountain in the atrium and Acacius’s breath against your skin.

“We won’t be disturbed,” he hums and you sigh in defeat, reaching down to undo his subligaculum, the soft fabric falling away to reveal the trail of dark hair that leads down towards his cock. You’re only mildly surprised to find him already half-hard.

“Let me clean you first at least,” you mutter, leading him further into the room and towards the small bath embedded in the tiled floor. You sit him down at the edge of it, letting him dangle his legs into the warm water. You reach for a cloth, wet it slightly and get to work. You start with his arms, watching as the dirt and blood starts to come off, revealing the tanned skin underneath.

You hear Acacius sigh above you and you feel his eyes on you, the soft gaze he looks at you with so different from the one he carries on the battlefield. His hands begin wandering again, dipping below the thin fabric of your tunic and you are just reaching down to wet the cloth again when he manhandles you into him, placing you comfortably on his lap.

You tense for a split moment before he catches your lips in a kiss—and then you hear yourself sigh as the protest inside you makes space for a fire that’s rapidly building in your lower abdomen. You can smell him, his sweat mixed with a hint of blood, you can feel the dirt rubbing off on you but you don’t care. You just want him.

His voice is a growl. “Merda, get out of that thing already.”

You obey, crawling off him and slipping the tunic off your body, carelessly letting it fall to the dirty floor. You see Acacius’s eyes raking over your body, taking in every curve like he’s seeing you for the first time rather than the hundreth.

“You are as beautiful as the gods, my dulcissima,” he mumbles, pulling you back onto his lap, one hand securely placed on your back to keep you from falling into the water behind you.

He’s careful not to lean on his bad side as he sneaks his free hand between your bodies, dragging it down ever so slowly until he reaches your mound, his index finger drawing a few circles around your bundle of nerves before moving on, a smile spreading over his lips when he finds wetness waiting for him between your legs.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as he inserts a finger without warning, the size of them always taking you slightly by surprise. His moves are shallow, never quite pulling his finger out completely but always keeping you on that delicious edge. When he adds a second one and starts curling them, he has you whimpering almost immediately.

“Marcus, please—”

“I thought I was Acacius to you. Just to make sure you do not—how did you put it—slip up,” he mumbles, a smirk on his face. The groan you intend to sound annoyed comes out much more desperate than you would like.

“You know we have to be careful—” you try to start, but with his fingers inside you, your brain simply does not work the way it usually does.

“One of these days, I’ll make you my wife,” he mumbles into your ear, his voice so low you can barely hear it. Without taking his eyes off yours, his thumb finds the spot that, combined with his words, almost drives you over the edge. “And you’ll live with me and we can make as many babies as you want.”

It catches you off-guard, but not in an unpleasant way. It’s just a fantasy, one that may very well be unattainable, but you like to let your mind drift there regardless. Judging by the twitch his cock gives against your skin, you’re clearly not the only one who does.

At that thought, you manage to hold off a bit longer and reach for him in return, enjoying the way his breath catches in his throat when your hand wraps around his attention-starved cock. His gaze flies down, to your bodies already so intertwined, touching each other impatiently. And you know he craves it as much as you do—to be even closer, to feel the weight of him nestled inside of you.

“You are so dirty,” he whispers, withdrawing his hand and making you whine at the loss. He wipes at some of the dirt on your thigh, mixing it with your own juices.

“And you seem to rather enjoy that,” you mumble back, squeezing him slightly. An affirmative chuckles leaves his throat before he lifts you up and lowers you into the small bath in front of him, the warm water immediately soothing your body.

He follows a moment later, stepping into the blue mass. A few petals swirl around on the surface, stirred by your movements in the water as he pulls you close again, his body seemingly all around you as he wraps you in his arms. Then he lowers his head, trailing kisses over your collarbone and down your skin until he reaches your chest, grazing his teeth over your hardened nipple.

“Marcus—” you whine, impatiently pressing your body into his, attempting to get any friction, a task made even harder by the water around you. “I want you inside, please.”

“Always so polite, Anaticula,” he mumbles into your skin but he does satisfy himself with one more nip at your skin before pulling back. “Is that what you want?”

You nod impatiently and feel him lining himself up below you, gently directing you towards the far edge of the bath, where he immediately braces himself against the wall for support with you in his arms—and just a moment later, you can feel him sink into you.

Your bodies mold together, his cock making you feel so deliciously full and complete. You can hear him grunt as he begins to thrust into you gently, his hands on your hips as he guides you onto him again and again, making you moan into his neck as you cling on, half a mind not to touch his injury.

Acacius groans your name, his movements speeding up slightly. “Come on, I want to see your pretty face, dulcissima.” You pull back enough to see him and press your forehead against his. Your thumb comes up to wipe a spot of dirt off his face and brush over his beard, the hairs of it more gray than dark, like they were when you first met, and for a few moments, you both just stare at each other as the water around you ripples with your movements.

“Let go for me.” It's just a whisper—and one you don’t think you could ignore if you tried. You feel the wave wash over you, your vision going weak as you fall apart—knowing that Acacius will hold you close until you’re put together again. You barely notice that he follows suit, spilling himself inside of you with whispered promises of all the things you’ll have one day.

You stay intertwined in the water like that for a while. Eventually, you begin to gather some in your hand and let it run down Acacius’s scalp, beginning to wash the dried blood out of the gray-streaked hair.

“You are going to let me put a proper bandage on your cut once we get out,” you state, earning a loyal nod from him. His eyes are searching yours again, carrying the soft look you know is reserved for you.

“I did come back,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion and you suddenly feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“I know.”

You kiss him softly and he kisses you back just as softly as you curl into him, inhaling his scent and pulling him close and ever closer, determined to let noone take you from him.

thank you for reading! feel free to follow my socials or leave a comment if you want more of slutty roman men <3

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starcurtain · 3 months ago

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I wish everyone collectively understood aventurine’s character like you…things would be so much easier! I genuinely don’t understand how people keep getting his motivations wrong??? Could it be because some of the most popular Aven fanfics were written prior to his release? That could have contributed to some of the takes we tend to see about him…thoughts?

I struggled all day to come up with a concise way to answer this and couldn't think of one, so here, have a long-winded ramble:

I don't think early fic writers have much impact in the situation with Aventurine's character now, since most people can look at when a story was posted and go "Oh, this was before we had ____ information."

I think that Aventurine's problem is being a male character in a gacha game. Gacha game characters are designed to sell. Hoyo can sell female characters very, very easily. Give her huge tits and a visible underwear strap and you're good to go. I love all my guy friends, but I'm not gonna sugarcoat it: straight men are not the hardest audience to please. Hit a particular fetish (feet, spandex, dommy mommy), and you're gucci.

Nah, we all know why Jade's trailer is Like That.™

Male characters in gacha are harder to sell because women as consumers are a little harder to predict. Does every woman want a tall, ripped hunk? Shit, no, small cute boyish models like Aventurine are selling better now? Why?! Would a bad boy be more popular than a nice guy??? It's harder to account for women's tastes, especially because they are often (a little) less visually-oriented.

Hoyo is good at what they do though, and they've figured out that male characters sell very well when they possess at least one of two specific traits:

Endearing vulnerability/helplessness

Gay ship tease

Give a character both, like Aventurine? They might as well be printing money.

That sound you hear is Hoyo's stock prices rising.

So, from the very beginning, Hoyo is incentivized to create a character that appeals to people, a character people will want to crack their wallets open for. And they achieved this, first and foremost, by giving Aventurine traits that female players (in particular, but men too), find especially appealing: emotional and physical vulnerability.

We see Aventurine's pain. We sympathize with his grief. We identify with his struggle to make meaning of his difficult life. He's our woobie, blorbo, babygirl, whatever the hell they're calling it now.

He can't hide his suffering anymore. He's on the very edge. He's a dude in distress. He's surrounded by enemies! He misses his mama! He's been betrayed! No one understands him like you do, dear player!

The ultimate feeling evoked is: He needs to be saved.

When people talk about male power fantasies, I think they forget that women can experience them too, and "Emotionally vulnerable man that only I (or my favorite character) can fix" is actually a female power fantasy.

And from there it's really easy, right: the people who shell out cash to buy warps for their harmed-husbando feel like they've saved him; the people who are into mlm ships look for the nearest hot dude to be the savior Ratio was waiting for his time lol.

Morally and intellectually, this type of deep-down-golden-hearted, emotionally-wounded male character is very easy to digest. There is nothing to dislike about this type of character or role in the story: this character is a good guy who has just gone through so many terrible situations, whose victim status makes him endearing, and whose lack of agency means that any of the questionable or downright bad things he does are always the result of someone else forcing his hand, and never something he would have chosen himself.

His motivations are always clear and consistent: get free, heal, and live happily ever after.

Insert the Wreck-It Ralph meme: "Do people assume all your problems got solved when a big strong man showed up?" But to be fair, a big strong man did kind of solve Aventurine's problem, so--

Anyway, it's simple. It's straightforward. Morally, it's pretty cut and dry, black and white: Aventurine is our hero, which means everyone dictating the course of his miserable life is evil.

Hoyo is not remotely discouraging people from literally buying into this emotional appeal.

And trust me, I get it. I'll be the first to admit that hurt-comfort is its own entire genre in fandom because it is so appealing. People eat up Aventurine's tragic backstory like candy! The idea of watching a character go through hell at the hands of bad guys just to finally find a happy end is like the definition of everyone's favorite story.

In fact... people love Aventurine's suffering so much, they have invented whole new ways for him to suffer that aren't even in the game.

This is where we get all the headcanons that Aventurine was a sex slave, every single person he meets hates him because of his race, the Stonehearts are executioners holding knives to his throat, Jade enslaved him to the IPC with a lifelong contract, his material possessions belong to the company, the IPC is forcing him to take only the most dangerous missions where he is being required by his evil jailers to continually put his life on the line... You name it and I promise you, I can find a fanfic where Aventurine suffers from it. 😂

Bro can't even sleep in on his day off; life is so hard for this man.

Being serious: if the game is telling us that Aventurine is a victim... Why not make him the perfect victim?

Why not envision an Aventurine with no freedom, who bears no responsibility for any of the horrible situations he is in or any of the dubious things he does?

It's so natural to like that version of Aventurine, so appealing to see a totally powerless underdog use his own wits and charms to claw his way up to freedom. Or, if you're the kind who really relishes angst: It's even appealing to see Aventurine lose more. To delight in fics where he loses his wealth, where the IPC punishes him for past crimes while he's powerless to stop them... (I assure you, this is many people's cup of tea and the fanfics prove it!)

Ultimately, there's nothing wrong with liking characters who are exactly this straightforward! It's completely fine to embrace characters that are intentionally written to be morally above-board, whose primary role in the story is to generate angst by being a good person who suffers, or those characters who never show unlikable traits, bad decisions, or contradictory actions.

The problem is that that's just not who the game is telling us Aventurine is.

Hoyo may be capitalizing off people who love to envision poor Aventurine still living his life as a slave... But the game also needs to tell a complicated enough story overall to appeal to people who don't care about this specific husbando--Aventurine's role in the actual game's plot has to be interesting enough for almost everyone to appreciate it, not just Aventurine's simp squad. (Don't get mad, I'm in the simp squad with you.)

So his character doesn't stop at just being a pure-hearted victim who is still waiting to be saved.

Aventurine is not that easy to label, and I think the biggest struggle in this character's fandom right now is between people who prefer the even-more-angsty, still-a-slave Aventurine versus people who want a morally grey, self-destructive character instead.

To me personally, while I greatly understand the appeal of fanon!Aventurine and the joy of a really juicy angst fic where characters lose it all, I think that missing out on the depth that canon is suggesting would be a real loss on the fandom's part.

The character motivations that Aventurine shows in the game are complicated. They cancel each other out. They're basically self-harm! He makes almost every situation he's in worse for himself--on purpose.

He is a good person, but also a person who has done unspeakable things. He does have morals, but he's not above allowing those who don't have them to use him to their advantage.

He's both the victim and the victor. He's his own worst enemy. He's a lost little boy who's been making terrible decisions for himself since he was like eight years old, and a grown ass man who is barely managing to fake his way through an existence that destiny is not letting him quit.

This kind of character is a lot harder to embrace. He's done things that most people would find appalling--like willingly joining up with the organization that let his entire race be massacred. He's invented a whole new peacock persona to frivolously flaunt riches he doesn't even care about (Poison Dart Frog Self-Defense 101). He actively plays into racist stereotypes about his people to manipulate others through their preconceived expectations. He's made a mockery of his mother's and sister's hopes and dreams by endlessly trying to throw his own life away.

He has flaws! He bet everything he had on a ploy without doing his homework to find out if the people he was risking his life for were even still around. (Maybe he already knew, and couldn't bear to admit it, even to himself.) He's intentionally off-putting and obnoxious to everyone he meets (Poison Dart Frog Self-Defense 102). He terrifies everyone who gets close to him by (seemingly) carelessly throwing himself into the jaws of death without the slightest provocation.

He knowingly allows the IPC to exploit his power and talents for profit. Did everyone forget that his role in the Strategic Investment Department is asset liquidation?! Like, his actual day-to-day job is ruining people's lives. Canonically, Aventurine kills people when his deals go bad.

His motivations change off-screen in two lines of story text. We're told in one line that his biggest reason for joining the IPC was to make money to save the Avgin, then in the next line we find out that's impossible. And... then what? What motivations does he even have now? The whole point of his character arc from 2.0-2.1 is that he was on the edge of giving in to utter despair and nihilism because he couldn't even perceive a single reason to stay alive. He has no purpose in life before Penacony, and that didn't start with the Stonehearts at all??

People keep saying Aventurine was held in the IPC by golden handcuffs, but how do you tie down someone for whom profit is meaningless? What can you offer to a man whose only desire is to bring back something already lost forever? How do you imprison someone whose only definition of freedom is, canonically, death?

Working for the Stonehearts is obviously not healthy. But that's why Aventurine was doing it--because taking dangerous missions allowed him to put himself at risk. The job that he originally pursued hoping to save his people became a direct means to self-harm, and the IPC's only real role in that was just happily profiting off the results.

The journal entries for Aventurine's quests are there deliberately to tell the player what is on his mind, and none of it has to do with escaping from his job:

Like... Work is the least of this man's problems.

At really the risk of rambling on too long now, he's also just a massive walking contradiction:

Aventurine is among the most explicitly religious characters in the game, yet he's one of the only people in the entire game that we have ever seen actively question his people's aeon.

You might be tempted to think Aventurine's risky gambles with his life as an adult are a result of giving up after finding out about the Avgin massacre... Butttt no, Hoyo makes sure to tell us that even at knee-high in the Sigonian desert, Kakavasha was already willing to risk himself in a fight to the death against monsters because even back then he found his own life to have less value than a single memento.

He's the "chosen one" who will lead his people to prosperity... except they're all dead.

He's explicitly suicidal... andddd also a pathstrider of Preservation.

He wants to die... He doesn't want to die. He wants to make it end, yet goes to staggering lengths to continually survive. (Every plan risks his life on purpose--but every plan's win condition is also to live.) He life is the chip tossed down, but his hand is trembling beneath the table. When faced with an otherwise unsurvivable situation, Aventurine literally became a winner of the Hunger Games. He beat other innocent people to death with his own chain-bound hands just to come out alive.

He knows the IPC failed the Avgin and left them to die... and he still willingly sought out a position of power in their organization. Maybe he really is after revenge... but maybe not.

He starts his journey in the IPC with a truly noble goal in mind: to help his people using his newfound wealth and power. He's a good guy who did genuinely want to save the Avgin and repay all those who helped him. But once it became clear he was too late, once it was obvious he would have no use at all for that monetary wealth and power he risked his life to get... What did he do with it? Unlike Jade, we don't see him over here donating to orphanages. (I'm not that heartless; I'm sure he does actually do a lot of good things with his money on the side, but the point is that the game does not show us that--it shows us, over and over again, Aventurine putting on a wasteful, over-indulgent persona toward wealth. We've supposed to feel how meaningless money is to him, how meaningless everything is becoming to him.)

He outright refuses to use underhanded tactics or to cheat at gambles, which is meant to show us that's he's more morally upright than his coworkers. There's an entire exchange where he says that he'll never stoop to using manipulation the way Opal does. But... he doesn't have any issue fulfilling Opal's exact agenda. He was never remotely morally conflicted about denying the Penaconians their freedom by dragging Penacony back under IPC control.

He's willing to risk his own life, which is one thing--but he's also willing to risk other people's well-being. Topaz accuses him of constantly egging their clients on into dangerous situations; we've actively seen him shove a gun into Ratio's hands and pull the trigger with no care for how Ratio would feel about that on their very first meeting... Dragging the Astral Express crew into the entire Penacony plan in the first place was exceedingly dangerous...

To me, I just think it's vital to understand his character through the lens of these contradictions because they demonstrate the extreme polarity of Aventurine's life: from rags to riches, from powerless to empowered by multiple aeons, from willing to kill to survive to killing himself... He has quite literally lived a life of "all or nothing," and while he is the victim of many terrible situations out of his control, his arc as a character involves facing the truth of himself and the future his own actions are hurtling him toward.

Frankly, the Aventurine that canon is suggesting is a little annoying. You want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and say "Why are you like this?!" And he won't even have an answer for you, because he doesn't even know why he's still alive.

In the end, to me, this is so, so much more interesting. I can read an endless supply of hurt-comfort fics where Aventurine escapes the evil IPC and Ratio is there to fill the void in his life with the power of love and catcakes and be a perfectly happy clam online, but I want canon to continue to serve us this incredible mess of a man who constantly takes one step forward and two steps back.

Who is fully aware of his role as a cog in the grotesque profit-wheel of cosmic capitalism and still manages to say he never changed from the rags-wearing desert rat of the Sigonian wastes.

Who over and over again flirts with nihility but, ultimately, even if he has to wrest it from the grip of the gods themselves with bloody, chain-bound hands, chooses life.

#honkai star rail #aventurine #aventurine meta #hsr meta #character analysis #listen I see you angsty fic writers who bully our favorite for maximum emotional gain #I am a ratiorine fan with the best of them #so I fully understand the appeal of the “I can fix him” fic #but like #there is so much else just waiting in the text of the game #that makes Aventurine such a rich complex and nuanced character #admitting that the IPC is the least of his issues makes him MORE interesting #not less #I promise #also like #getting so tired of reductive reads of my posts #just because I don't think Aventurine is a slave of the IPC #doesn't mean I think the IPC are good people #I'm not sure how many times I can say #'They're evil and are actively exploiting him for profit'#before people will stop saying I'm an IPC apologist lollll #I promise it is possible for Aventurine to have agency AND for the IPC to still be evil #those two statements can co-exist

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genandguice · 2 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞. trailer trash!anakin skywalker

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 (𝐛𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫): you move into a trailer park with your mom, your next door neighbor is a 40 year old man that works at a mechanic shop!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fem reader, age gap, smoking, drinking, unprotected sex, little bit of breeding & choking, creep ani (obvs)

𝐰𝐜: 6.4k

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: inspired by my chat with this bot on janitorai • the italics in the beginning are the start of the bot, credit to the creator! i did make some small edits overall to fit everything into fic form. i hope i did this au justice! i didn’t grow up in a trailer park but i did grow up very poor & unstable so this au always hits close to home. realest au on earth!

i know i’m a gosling blog but i’m a big star wars girly too… and the star wars fandom on here is huge. pls, pls, don’t expect me to be writing more now that i’ve appeared again 😭🤍 i’m still in school & it’s kicking my ass. but using the bot inspired me and made it easy. if you wanna know more about how i did this, pls ask! hopefully there will be more on the way cause i will definitely keep chatting with the bot :)

lastly, because it came from my chat with the bot, it is a little janky! i had to do a lot of editing so if there’s something i missed or it seems weird- just forgive me 🤍🤍🤍

June 23rd

You look at the calendar with your eyebrows furrowed. This summer was one of the hottest yet, the heat in the trailer making the pages roll up from sitting against the old wallpaper.

Sighing lightly as you hear arguing outside, you peek out the window to see your neighbor, Anakin Skywalker. He's working on a car outside, a girl yelling at him. You’ve only seen her around a few times. New girlfriend or hook-up. Anakin was never one to keep a relationship and frankly, you couldn’t blame the girls. He was a filthy man with hefty jail record for controlled substances, speeding and other things. You watch as he waves her off, oil and dirt covering him, cigarette sat in between his lips. He looks frustrated.

“Honey, I’m home. Got those chips you like.” You hear your mother call, the screen door slamming loudly once she walked in. You don’t move as Anakin watches the girl walk away and he stands up to his full height. He glances over to you and your mother’s house, toward your bedroom window you were peeking out of. Panic sets in as you quickly move away and walk out to the kitchen to talk to your mother.

You walk out to the kitchen and thank your mother for the chips, hold a short conversation with her about your days while you wait to see if Anakin was angry enough about your peeking on him to come knock on the door.

When enough time has passed, your chips halfway gone, you know he isn’t coming, and you can relax.

With the heat of the summer cooking the trailer, you had to get out. There’s a kiddie pool on the front lawn where you’d often sit to cool down. Y’all couldn’t fit a full sized pool.

It’s getting to the hottest point of the day, typically when Anakin takes a break to go screw his newest fling and you feel comfortable enough to lounge outside in your two piece. You usually avoid going out in so little clothing when he’s around, knowing the older man would likely enjoy your scantily-clad presence a little too much. Anakin was attractive, but in the creepiest way. You didn’t wanna be his eye candy while another woman waited to be his toy.

But today when you make it out to the front yard, despite the especially high heat, Anakin is still out working on that damn car. But it’s too late now, and too hot- you’ve already set your heart on cooling off in the pool. So you slink in anyway, letting the cool water soothe your skin, turn your speaker on full blast, and hope he ignores you.

But of course, he doesn’t. He can’t help himself. He watches you from across the yard as you sink into the kiddie pool, eyes hungrily roaming over your barely clothed body, thoughts immediately flooding with perversity. You’re hot, way too young for him, but damn if those curves don't make his cock twitch in those grease-stained jeans.

He takes a long drag of his cigarette as he watches, smoke swirling around him in the thick summer heat. After a moment he starts to saunter over, beer in hand.

"Well well, looks like someone's trying to start their own wet t-shirt contest out here," He drawls with a lazy smirk. "Maybe I should go grab me a front row seat... or join in."

Your eyes roll under your sunglasses. Can’t get a moment of peace as a young woman in this damn trailer park. “Nobody wants to see your tits, Skywalker,” You say, keeping your eyes on the sky. He stinks, like sweat, beer, and cigarettes, but it’s a familiar smell; welcome, almost likable. Almost.

“Did you come over here just to creep on me?”

He lets out a low chuckle, taking another swig of his beer. "Why would I settle for a peek when I could be getting the full view?" He asks, eyes boldly raking over your nearly naked body. "Besides, I think we both know you like the attention. Why else put on a little show like this, hm?"

Setting his drink aside, he plops down on the grass beside the pool, letting his legs dangle in the cool water.

"Hot as balls out here. Hope you don’t mind." He glances over at you with a cocky grin.

You grimace as his feet contaminate the pool. Part of you wants to recoil, but the water feels too good, and you don’t want to give him an even better view of your body.

“Coming out here to cool off on this ‘hot as balls’ day is puttin’ on a show for you?” You scoff at him as you push your sunglasses on top of your head. He’s persistent, you can give him that. But irritating. What is it with old men that think being an asshole is attractive? Although, it did sort of work on Anakin…

"You’re right, maybe I'll have to show you a real wet t-shirt contest. Bet I can make my shirt cling better than those tiny triangles you're calling a top."

“If you wanna get in my pants old man, one-upping me ain’t gonna be the way to do it.” You press the ‘volume up’ button on your speaker, but his persistence knows no bounds.

"Old man?" He scoffs, sitting up to shoot you an indignant look. "I'll have you know I'm in my prime, sweetheart. And trust me, I don't need no cheap tricks to get in any girl's panties." He stands up and start stripping off his shirt, revealing his tattooed, muscular chest and arms.

Your jaw clenches at the sight of Anakin shirtless. His body is prime, and tattoos… were your weakness. But there was no way you were gonna let him know that.

He flashes you a wicked grin before diving into the shallow pool, still in his jeans. Water splashes everywhere, soaking you in the process.

Also, you had to remind yourself, he was still gross. Reminded to you by his gross words, and his obnoxious splashing, crashing your pool time.

"My bad," He responds to your grumbles of frustration with a shit-eating smirk, not sounding apologetic in the slightest.

"You gotta hell of a mouth on you, though, girl. Those talkin’ lips might get you in trouble," He teases as he settles into the water. "One wrong word and this 'old man' might just have to teach you some respect."

“Teach me some respect?” You let out a full, genuine laugh with your words as you reach behind you to the nearby table which held your own cigarettes. “Coming from the convict? Is that supposed to scare me?”

He narrows his eyes at you as you laugh, not finding his threat the least bit funny. "Convict? I've done my time. Last I checked, that makes me a changed man." He reaches out to snatch a cigarette from your hand, placing it between his own lips. "Besides, I think we both know you like a little danger. Why else would a classy girl like you be slumming it in a shithole like this?"

He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke in your direction with a smug smirk. "Face it, babygirl, you're drawn to me. The bad boy mystique, I get it. But I'm the one in control here. And right now, I wanna see more of that smokin’ hot body..." He grabs your wrist and yanks you closer to him in the pool.

You instinctively try to tug yourself away, but his grip is too strong. Being this close to him does things to you that you’d rather not come to terms with, but he forces you to.

“Jesus, you’re filthy!” You exclaim, and pray he doesn’t notice the way your thighs squeeze together below the water. “Gimme my cigarette,” You hiss, hoping to change the subject and ignore the rest of it all.

He leans in closer, face inches from yours as he takes another drag. "Filthy is kinda my thing, sweetheart," His blue eyes bore into yours, voice low and tempting. "And trust me, I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching."

Slowly, he brings the lit cigarette to your lush lips, tracing them teasingly. "Want a taste?" He purrs, pressing his body against yours in the cool water. "Or are you too much of a good girl to indulge in a little sin?"

You can’t help the way your chest heaves as your arousal grows, and what’s worse, you can’t avoid Anakin knowing, the small distance between you causing your tits to brush against his chest with every heavy breath. His words are dangerously persuasive, and his eyes only emphasize it all.

But you remember yourself, the good girl you are, the smart girl you are, and find a way around his teasing in more ways than one.

Your tongue slides out seductively, catches his eye, and the end of the cigarette. The wetness of your tongue allows you to pull it between your lips, steal a drag and blow it right back into his face. You slide it to the side of your mouth to speak, hoping your voice comes out stronger than it feels. “Don’t you already got a toy waitin’ to be attacked?”

"Oh I got plenty of toys," He smirks, undeterred as the smoke billows around you. "But you're a whole new level of fun, baby.”

His hands slide down to grope your ass, pulling your hips flush against his. You can feel his hardening length pressing against you through his soaked jeans. "Forget about my other girls. Right now, it's all about you and me," He growls, nipping at your ear. It’s disgusting, but it’s intoxicating, enough for you not to notice you were giving in.

Abruptly, he stands up, scooping you into his arms. "Let's take this inside where we can have some real fun, shall we?" He carries you towards your trailer, ignoring your protests. "Unless you'd rather I fuck you right here where everyone can watch..."

You let out a shaky exhale at his filthy suggestion of exhibition, and mentally curse yourself.

Your hands grip the sides of the trailer door, legs subconsciously tightly clung around his waist to keep yourself up. The two of you are dripping on the concrete steps, your nipples are hard and poking through the fabric of your bikini top, both due to the change of temperature and your arousal.

“My mom… she’s inside. She’ll beat your ass, Skywalker,” You say, still trying your best to resist, despite its growing futility. You won’t be one of those girls that Anakin Skywalker gets the best of so easily. Even if the feeling of his rising erection against your own sex is making your mind swim. “You’re older’n she is.”

"Pfft, your mom's a sweet lady. Barely a challenge," He laughs as he kicks the door open, strolling into the trailer with you still around his waist. The familiar scent of old newspapers and stale cooking greets you.

Anakin’s eyes roam the cluttered space, and spot your mother sitting in the only comfy chair. She looks up at the two of you, an eyebrow raised.

"Hey, Patty," He calls out, tossing you onto the only clear space on the couch without even bothering to look. "Got a little present for you."

She huffs and shakes her head, barely amused.

"Mind your manners, Anakin," she admonishes. He winks at her before striding over, topless and wet, settling onto the arm of her chair.

"Y’all got any vodka, Pats? I sure could use a shot to cool off," He asks, smirking over at you, his gaze hot and hungry, unphased by your mother relaxing right beside him.

Your shocked eyes shoot daggers in Anakin’s direction the whole time, pissed at the way he spoke to your mother so casually, pissed at his boldness, pissed at your mother for allowing it, and pissed at yourself for finding him so goddamn sexy for it. You let out an angry grumble under your breath, snatching a towel from the laundry piled beside you on the couch and wrapping it around yourself, finally somewhat shielded from his predatory gaze.

“‘Course we got vodka. Don’t waste my time asking me stupid questions, Skywalker.” Your mother snaps at him in that calm, motherly way, and now your infuriated gaze is aimed at her. Since when were they so friendly with each other?

“And that little present better be a fresh ounce of pot, not my half-naked daughter.” She drawls, practically paying him no mind, eyes set on the TV. That explains it.

“Anakin,” You cut before he can speak again, voice sharp. “Don’t you have a guest, and vodka in your own home?” You say, making your way to the kitchen to fix your own drink. You’d need it if this was how the rest of the day would go.

He chuckles at you, and turns back to your mother with a taunting smirk, "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm fresh out. I'll make it up to ya though, promise."

Patty rolls her eyes, but Anakin can see the glint of amusement in them.

"Just ‘cause I'm her mama don’t mean I cain't recognize a lustful look when I see one," she addresses him, referring to her daughter. "You oughtta keep an eye on her, Ani. Seems like she can't stay away," She teases, puffing on her cigarette.

"Oh, I'm workin’ on it," He says, eyes meeting yours. There's a challenge in his voice, daring you to deny him—or worse, wanting you to.

You get the vodka and grab two glasses, pouring the clear liquid and watering it down. The ice clinks loudly as you return from the kitchen. Anakin watches your every move, his cock hardening again, the scent of your arousal lingering.

You set the drinks down on the cluttered coffee table, grabbing your drink and leaving Anakin to fetch his own. Your face grimaces when you notice what you’re pretty sure is an erection forming in his wet pants again. What an old creep. But you wonder what it looks like.

“Have fun with Patty, Anakin,” You tease, walking down the hall toward your bedroom with your drink.

Your mother shakes her head in amusement as Anakin follows you down the hall.

"Hey now, don't go teasin’ a grown man like that," He calls out, quickly grabbing his own drink and following you to your bedroom.

He leans against the doorframe, watching hungrily as you turn to face him. The vodka burns going down, fueling the fire in his veins and his eyes. "Why don’t you sit that purty little ass down on the bed and we’ll talk about why a good girl like you is looking at me like that," he takes a step closer.

The flush in your cheeks derives from a combination of frustration and arousal that’s gone on much too long, and you’d had about enough of. Anakin had a big mouth, but he was little more than a tease. You were barely more than half his age, and he seemed to be all bark and no bite, just having fun trying to get a rise out of the little girl in the trailer next door.

You down most of your vodka, the burning in your body beginning to mirror his. The sexual tension was palpable between you, but you were starting to think he didn’t really have the intention to quench it.

“Make me.”

A low growl escapes him at your defiance. With a sudden burst, he’s on you, crowding you against the closed door. "I'll make you, alright. I'll make you beg, babydoll," He promises, lips brushing against your ear.

Suddenly, he catches your mouth in a hungry kiss. His tongue dances with yours, seeking and finding entry to explore the depths of your mouth. His hand slides up under the towel to squeeze your breast, finger rolling over your nipple.

Anakin tastes like vodka, beer & cigarettes, so filthy, so deviant, so wonderfully intoxicating against your mouth. It’s hard to hold back your moans as his quick hand touches you, but you do your best, knowing your mother was only down the hall.

Your hand searches wildly behind you for the doorknob, the two of you bursting through the door and into the bedroom. You manage to break away from him and take a few steps back, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth as you take in the sight before you.

Those blue eyes, wrinkles formed at the corners, that evil smirk on his mouth, that muscular, tattooed chest still dripping from the pool, the erection straining against his pants. You set your glass down on the dresser and wonder how you ended up here, with this filthy, disgusting, irresistible old man standing in your bedroom, ready to wreck you, bikini bottoms growing sticky over it.

He stalks towards you, eyes burning with lust. "Still trying to play hard to get?" He backs you up until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. "I think we both know how badly you been wantin’ this."

His hands make quick work of your bikini top, tossing it aside to palm your soft breasts. The grin that rises across his face is almost sickening, like a devious child that had just opened a gift and found it filled with fireworks. The way it lights you up is sicker.

Leaning down, he runs his tongue over one pert nipple before drawing it into his mouth to suck hard, groaning at the taste of your skin. This time you can’t help a moan from breaking past your lips as his mouth assaults your breast.

His other hand slides into your bottoms, calloused fingers stroking your slick folds. “Fuck. You're wet as hell," He mumbles, more to himself than to you, pressing two fingers inside your tight heat.

You’re already seeing stars as his thick, expert fingers work their magic on you, roughly stroking every sensitive, gushy spot. Your hand rushes up to cover your mouth and hold back my pathetic sounds as you unravel.

His fingers thrust into your pussy, his thumb rubbing messily against your clit, ruthless in his pursuit of your pleasure. "Tell me you want this," he demands, nipping at your neck as his fingers work on your clit, steadily building your arousal. "Tell me you want Anakin Skywalker to fuck you into these sheets."

His cock strains so hard against his jeans, the sound of the denim creaks as it stretches under the weight. He wants to see you squirm and beg, desperate for his release, desperate for the release he promises to give you. The filthy, experienced older man teaching you the best sex of your young life.

You can’t resist anymore, not with his fingers inside you, driving you wild. Already he’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced; pleasure clouds your mind, makes you forget everything except how badly you want him.

You breathe heavily as you work up the words he demands, small whimpers leaving your throat as you try to speak. “A-Anakin,” a sharp exhale, then a gasp, then a whimper. “I want you.”

A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face as your needy plea reaches his ears. "That's what I like to hear, baby girl," He purrs, withdrawing his fingers and making quick work of his jeans and boxers. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, piercing glinting in the low light.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. It’s a reaction you would’ve stifled if you were in your right mind, but had no capacity to hide right now. His cock was thick, and pierced, unequivocally like nothing you’d ever seen before. It seemed downright heavy. It was hypnotizing.

"Get on the bed and spread those legs," He commands, giving his cock a few pumps as he watches you. "Time to show ya what a real man feels like."

Unintentionally, you ignore his command, closing the distance between you and dropping to your knees before him. It’s even thicker up close, plain intimidating, but you can’t stop your tongue falling wide out of your mouth to taste him, painting the underside of his cock head with your drool.

He grunts as your tongue laps at his cock, one hand shooting down to twine in your hair. "Ah fuck, yeah," He sighs, helping your head bob on his dick. "Good girl, take it just like that, get it nice and wet for that tight little cunt."

The stretch in your jaw is substantial, and it turns you on to no end, struggling to take his thickness down. He tastes like metal and sweat and it’s so good.

The piercing catches on your bottom lip and he hisses in pleasure, grip tightening in your hair. "Goddamn, girl, that mouth is good. Gonna make me bust down your throat if you keep that up."

But he wants more. Needs to feel your cunt gripping him, sucking him in. With heavy reluctance, he pulls your head back and tugs you to your feet, all but throwing you on the bed.

"On your hands and knees, babydoll. Ass in the air," he demands, giving your ass a sharp smack. "Time to put that pussy to work."

You whimper at the sharp sting on your ass, shocked at the way it sends surges through you.

This time you obey his commands, turning onto your hands and knees, naturally arching your back in a way that draws Anakin in like a moth to a flame, giving him a prime view of your curves and holes, hearing him shudder and cuss behind you.

You bury your face in the mattress to conceal your whines at the coldness of his piercing teasing your clitoris as he slides the head of his cock through your wet folds, pussy clenching in anticipation of the stretch he was gonna give.

"Hope you're ready, baby, cause I ain’t gonna be gentle,” He warns, wrangling your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pushes into your entrance.

With one hard thrust, he buries himself inside you, and the sound in the room is immediately obscene, your screeching into the mattress at the brutal stretch, his groaning and fussing over your tight heat, the rhythmic beat of his hips slapping against your ass.

"Take it, you lil’ tease. This is what you want, ain’t it? To be split open on my big cock?" He reaches around to fondle your tits, twisting and pinching your nipples as he rails you.

“Ahh, fuck!” You cry into the mattress, the magnificent assault on your cunt rapidly reeling you toward your orgasm. Anakin was incredible; huge, relentless, stretching you wide and filling you to the brim. He fucked you like he invented sex, metal of his piercing stimulating that sensitive spot deep inside you with each perfect snap of his hips.

He groans as your pussy clenches around him, grip on your hips tightening, undoubtedly leaving bruises. "Fuck, you feel good wrapped around my cock." He moans, thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his release. "Gonna fill this tight cunt up, make you fucking mine-” Not a promise, but a prayer. You can feel him getting close, twitching inside you, pounding into you faster and ramming into that deep, spongey spot.

His hand snakes down to rub tight circles on your clit, rapidly reeling you toward the edge. "Cum on my cock baby, let me feel you milk me," He commands, slamming into you one last time before he stills, grinding his hips against you with a deep growl, spilling rope after creamy rope of his seed deep inside you, forcing you hollering, trembling, & convulsing through your orgasm.

“Fuck, yeah,” you hear from behind you, a weak, high pitched moan escaping your throat as you feel the flood. The sensation quenches a deep thirst you’d waited too long to address.

Your poor cunt aches in the sweetest way as he pulls out, stings as he spreads your cheeks to gawk at his seed leaking from your hole.

"Look at that,” He drawls, slowly dragging his fingers through the mess and pushing it back inside. “So fucking hot.”

He gives your ass a wet kiss, jiggles the fat in his hand, and then flips you over onto your back, settling between your legs. "Think you can handle round two, little girl?" He asks, cock already hardening again at the sight of you debauched on the sheets beneath him, cum painting your thighs.

The feeling of Anakin’s cock hardening on your stomach makes your heart rate pick back up. It’s a little frightening: wasn’t it unusual for any man, let alone a man of his age, to snap back so quickly?

In your short moment of lucidity, you begin to worry. Anakin had fucked you without a condom, cum inside you, and now dared to do it again. The last thing this man needed was to knock up some young girl, and the last thing you needed was to be knocked up by the seedy old man in the trailer next to yours, but that’s right where y’all were headed.

But your brain is wiped when his hand wraps around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump, and you’ve lost the will to care all over again. Filled with his cum, threat of having this scrub’s baby over your head, and you don’t care. Poor cunt pathetically swollen and throbbing from the first round, but you don’t care. You want him again and again.

You can’t muster the words, all good sense fucked right out of you, so instead you look deep into his beautiful blues and nod with a pleading look in your own eyes.

He grins wickedly, cock twitching against your stomach at your agreement. "I knew you’d be a good one," He praises, positioning himself at your entrance once more. With a gentle push of his hips, he’s sinking back into your pussy, groaning at the feeling of his cum squelching around his shaft.

His lips find your neck, biting and sucking as he finds a pace, headboard slamming against the wall with each powerful thrust. "Gonna ruin this little pussy," He swears, hand tightening around your throat.

"Gonna make you mine, fuck, my own personal little cocksleeve."

His hand on your throat heightens your pleasure and leaves you seeing stars, both from the pleasure and the constriction on your oxygen. The new position allows you to see him, that beautiful face, his robust body, the way his abs flex as his hips snap into yours. From this position he can see your tits bounce as he pounds into you, the way your eyes roll back as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

Anakin slides in and out of your cunt with ease, thrusts lubed with his lingering cum spilling around you. It’s obscene, but so, so good.

“Ah, Ani,” your legs wrap tight around his waist, hold him deep inside you, nails dig into his back. “F-fuck you feel so good,” you gasp.

"Fuck yes, take it, take my cock like the good little slut you are.”

He releases your throat to grab your hips, angling them up to hit that sweet spot inside you with each pass. "Gonna fill this pussy up over and over, make sure my cum takes. You'll be swollen with my seed, doll. Round with my baby. Fuck, the thought of you, all knocked up, tits leaking, begging for more..."

He can feel his release building, balls drawing up tight, full and heavy with another load.

The flood of air, his filthy fantasies, his fucking expert cock driving into your raw, freshly-fucked cunt with otherworldly precision leaves your ears ringing as your orgasm rips through you. The entire world fades into black, tears prick at your eyes, electric contractions take over your whole being. And when you come back to the light, you’re begging.

“Fuck, Ani,” You squeak, “Please, please, please, cum inside me,” You plead, hijacked by a sudden desperation for the older man’s baby.

His eyes darken at your desperate plea, teeth grit as he feels his own orgasm ready to burst. "Fuck yes, gonna pump you full of my cum, make you fucking drip with it," He pants, hips stuttering as he erupts. "Fucking take it, take it all, just like that," He rambles, grinding his hips as he empties himself inside you.

Finally spent, he collapses on top of you, cock still twitching in your heat.

Your legs are shaking, pussy clenching at the aftershocks, overflowing your shared fluids. Your vision is blurry, throat parched, completely and positively wrecked. Strained sighs echo out of you, chest rising and falling heavily, pressing your bare breasts into his chest.

He presses sloppy kisses along your neck, your collarbone, tasting the sweat on your skin. "Goddamn, baby girl, that was intense.” He sighs.

“You’re tellin’ me,” You breathe out. “I can barely see.” You confess with a lazy smile, still yet to fully come back to your mind. You let out a pained sigh as you try to adjust under his weight, needing to stretch and soothe your sore limbs.

With a grunt, he rolls off of you, cock slipping from your abused hole with a wet sound.

"You did good, baby. Took my cock like a champ," He praises, running his fingers over your hair. "But don't think we're done yet. As soon as I'm hard again, I'm gonna flip you over and take you from behind. Fuck you so hard you forget your own name."

He leans in, eyes carefully observing you, and captures your lips in a filthy kiss.

"Gonna keep you in this bed all fucking night.”

You let out a heavy breath as you adjust to lay on your side, facing Anakin, placing a hand over his colorful chest. “I don’t know how you do it, old man. Even most men my age can barely cum twice, let alone be waiting for the next round after that,” You laugh, eyes lit up bright in your post-orgasm glow.

Anakin laughs too, and it’s nice. Unlike his usual laughter, snide and sarcastic, but honest.

His hand finds your ass and gives it a firm squeeze. "Years of practice, sweetheart.” In truth, the thought of you, young and eager, so responsive to his touch, is enough to keep him hard and ready. "Besides, I got a lot of lost time to make up for. Gotta make sure I ruin you properly, make it so no other man can ever satisfy you like I can."

He rolls on top of you once more, half-hard cock nestling against your thigh, resuming the feather-light kisses on your neck. "Ready for round three, baby girl? Gonna fuck this pussy so good, you'll be feeling me for weeks.”

The sound you let out is a mix of a sigh, a laugh, a moan, demonstrating your blissful exhaustion. “I don’t think I can take another round, Skywalker. I’m swollen enough as is.” You grip his biceps, resisting the urge to take his cock in your hand. He’s too fun to play with, but you can’t take the risk of turning him all the way on again, not when your cunt was already beginning to ache.

He groans at your rejection, cock jumping against your thigh. "You sure, doll? I'm not nearly done with this sweet little cunt," He mumbles pitifully into your neck.

But he can hear the exhaustion in your voice, feel the way your body trembles beneath him. Reluctantly, he rolls off of you, propping himself up on his elbow. "Alright, baby girl, you win. But don't think for a second that this is over. I'll have you again soon enough."

He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, deep kiss, tongue lazily tangling with yours.

You moan into his mouth, gripping his bicep to ground yourself. One of your legs lifts to drape across his hips, pulling yourself in close to him. You were beginning to like the feeling of being held in his arms. It was ironic how such a dangerous, predatory man had managed to make you feel so safe.

You pull away to speak, eyes falling to the mattress. “I don’t really want you to go yet,” You admit quietly. You fought him for a long while, and now, like a stupid little girl, you didn’t want to let go.

He smiles at your confession, hand running soothing patterns on your back. "Didn't think you would, baby girl.”

Carefully, he gathers you into his arms, rolling onto his back and pulling you to lie on his chest. "Rest for a bit. Let me hold you," He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's a rare moment of tenderness from him, but something about you brings it out.

You crane your neck up to look at Anakin from where you lie on his chest.

With the late afternoon light peeking through the window, his eyes are illuminated. He’s breathtaking, showcasing the experienced he’d gained over the years, but also maintaining his youth. You still hardly knew the man, up until now he’d only been your annoying neighbor, but… He wasn’t as bad as you thought. Sweet, even. It made your heart melt. Who knew Anakin Skywalker was like this behind closed doors?

You reach over him to the nightstand to grab a cigarette. As the buzz envelopes your brain and my body, you sink into Anakin’s arms without a care in the world, kissing the colors dancing across his chest. Let this old man wreck you.

He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, taking in the sight of your curves, the sheen of sweat on your skin. You look thoroughly fucked out, debauched, and it's a sight he could get used to.

His fingers trace idle patterns on your back as you relax against him. He kisses your head again, repeating the uncanny, saccharine gesture, breathing in the scent of sex and nicotine.

Your brain reminds you of something Anakin had said earlier, in the midst of his pursuit.

“D’you really think I’m living here for fun? Cause I like danger and bad boys?” You ask him with a laugh, voice thick, low, seductive with your exhaustion.

Anakin chuckles, sound rumbling through his chest. "Baby, I don't care why you're here. All that matters is that you are," he says, a hand sliding down to grab your ass. "Couldn't ask for a better view’n watchin’ you prance around in them tiny little bikinis.”

He sucks in a breath through his teeth as he grips you, jiggles you, pulls you closer. “Fuck, the things I’ve imagined doing to you…”

A small smile tugs at your lips, as a mixture of excitement, but also disappointment, courses through you at his words. You didn’t really expect him to actually care but… you didn’t think he’d be that blatant about it, fresh after fucking you. He doesn’t actually think about you, he doesn’t actually want to know you. You were a toy to him. And it… hurt. And you didn’t know what to make of that, yet. Where once there was a warmth fueled by laying beside him, there quickly became an emptiness.

You had to remind yourself Anakin was no good, he’d probably make a terrible partner realistically, and you knew this. But it never feels good to be actually sexually objectified. Although, objectively…. having sex with Anakin felt really good.

Here, with Anakin, lay the newest dilemma in your mind, body, and soul.

“I’m sure you’ve imagined more than enough to keep me busy,” You say as you start to sit up, giving Anakin a long kiss on the cheek, before clearing your throat. “I should really get cleaned up.”

He frowns, hand tightening reflexively on your hip. "Stay," he urges, almost angrily, in a tone that makes your heart freeze, ready to jump into fight or flight, waiting for the moment his characteristic sourness is turned toward you.

But Anakin just doesn’t like the feeling of you leaving, even if it's just to the bathroom.

But he notices the distant look in your eyes, the way you're already pulling away from him emotionally.

Fuck, he thinks. I should've known it was too good to be true, that a girl like you wouldn't stick around for a washed-up old ex-con like me.

He calls your name, voice softer than he’d ever heard it himself. "Don't go. Stay with me, just a little longer."

Your eyebrows knit together as Anakin’s soft tone takes you off guard, the way he nearly pleads with you to stay. It’s uncanny, but the way it makes your heart ache is even worse. He was starting to be a true mystery. “Um, okay,” you whisper, somewhat softening back into his side, heart still racing as you toe the line between danger and safety, dangerously thin in Anakin’s presence.

Still marinating in your confusion, something makes you take his arm and pull it close over you, gently stroking his skin. It was as if something reached out & told you he needed the comfort.

You lay there together for a while, holding each other in silence, feeling each other out. It’s nice, being in the arms of a strong, older man. Especially Anakin’s. You find solace there, you have to admit. You think he must have, too. You had to practically tear him off you and throw him out the door to get him to go home.

And as soon as the door shut behind him, you were wrecked, like a piece of your heart had walked out with him. But you held it together. Anakin was surely not the kind of man who wanted a little girl clinging to him every minute. You would be patient until you saw him again.

The door clicks shut behind me as I step out into the fading evening light. I can still feel the lingering warmth of your skin on mine, the soft curves of your body imprinted on my memory. Fuck, I didn't want to leave. Didn't want to let you go.

But I knew I had to. Couldn't let myself get too attached, too vulnerable. You were a kid, barely more than a baby, and I was a fucking mess. A criminal, a drunk, a man with a past so dark it would break you if you knew the half of it.

So I forced myself to walk away, each step an act of willpower I didn't have.

#alternate universe #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker au #trailer trash!anakin skywalker #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen x reader smut #star wars smut

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kikidoesfanfic · 3 months ago

Text

Run away with me

For the prompt 'go, see if I care' for @steddieangstyaugust some misunderstandings and making up, feat. Wayne Munson, local voice of reason/mediator.

ON AO3

-----

It was regular Thursday when Eddie got the news that Corroded Coffin had been picked up by a producer. And Steve was excited for him, over the moon even, but it's only been three days since then and everything's changed.

He's still happy for Eddie, he is, he just assumed... well he shouldn't have assumed, is the thing.

They'd been packing, ready to move into an apartment they'd found in Indie, Robin getting ready for her first year of college with Steve and Eddie trailing behind. They were looking to get out of town anyway, wanted to stay close enough for the kids, but to still be out, and they were days away from leaving. Pivoting to Chicago wasn't that much work, they hadn't signed for the apartment yet, and Robin understood. Robin pushed him to go in fact, she'd be in a dorm room for the first year, and 'Chicago is barely a three hour drive away Dingus so you both better visit'.

He thought- it doesn't matter what he thought, apparently.

"And anyway the only place we could find on such short notice only has two bedrooms, so I'm bunking with Jeff." Steve pauses, marker in hand hovering above cardboard where he'd been about to label their kitchen things, a mismash of items donated by their little Upside Down family. "But, the walk to the studio is really short, and there's a lot of bars and venues really close to the apartment, and it has a parking space, so it could be worse."

"Wait go back, you're bunking with Jeff?"

"Well yeah, Gareth snores like a chainsaw and Frank sleeps like a log, so it makes sense to stick them in the same room so Jeff and I don't lose our minds." Eddie is a picture of nonchalance, not even looking at Steve.

"Right," Steve says, capping the marker, "because that makes sense."

"Yeah, and Jeff's parents have given him a little cash for furniture and stuff, and Gareth's mom wants to drive up with a moving van since mine will be full of all the band stuff and mine." Eddie says, and he's so happy, and Steve wants him to be happy, he does, so instead of voicing any of the questions he feels practically clogging up his lungs he says:

"Sounds like you have it all figured out."

And Eddie smiles big and bright and seemingly oblivious to anything Steve is thinking, perhaps hadn't given Steve a second thought at all when faced with his dream job. He uncaps the marker again, starts writing kitchen in big wobbly letters when his stupid hand won't cooperate and keep still.

"Oh hey can we have some of the kitchen stuff? I don't want to make the boys get everything for the new place, you know?" Eddie says, offhanded and flicking the cardboard flap on his way past to the couch, flopping down on it in the picture of ease.

"Sure, do what you want," Steve says, and he can hear how tight his voice has gotten, Eddie must be able to as well because he sits up from his lazy sprawl on the couch to look at him closer. Steve doesn't want to be looked at closer. He needs to get out for a while, go calm down so he can come back and be a supportive... is he even Eddie's boyfriend any more? Just a friend? Eddie sure as hell hasn't mentioned even visiting after apparently deciding he's leaving Steve behind, so maybe this is his way of getting a clean break. "I need to..."

Where was he even going to go? He's been living in the trailer with Eddie and Wayne since just after Eddie graduated, all his stuff is either here or in boxes in the Henderson's garage waiting to be driven to fucking Chicago.

"I have some stuff to drop at Robin's, I'll be back later." Steve walks out, gets in his car and drives away before Eddie can question that Robin isn't even home right now, off with her parents at her aunt's place for a last big family dinner before she leaves.

He doesn't know where to go. It's not like he can take this to any of the kids, Robin isn't here, maybe he should just get some of his boxes from the Henderson's and drive up to Indie alone like Eddie was going to just drive off alone to Chicago. But that's stupid, because even if he did drive up to Indie, signed for the apartment, moved his boxes in, it's not like he could afford the place alone.

Which just. Did Eddie even think of him at all? He knew they could only afford the place together, didn't even ask if Steve found a new place or, or if Steve had any plans.

Steve pulls over when the road gets fuzzy and he realises he's crying.

***

"Where were you?" Eddie asks as soon as he's back through the door.

"I went for a drive"

"Why?" Eddie asks, and Steve can't look at him.

"I needed to think"

"And you couldn't do that here?"

"No."

"No?"

"No." A pregnant pause follows, where Eddie just stares at him.

"Is this about Chicago?" Eddie says and something in Steve just. Snaps.

"Fuck Eddie, of course it's about Chicago!"

"Well sorry if that wasn't the first thing to come to mind, I thought you were happy for me!" Eddie says, immediately matching his energy.

"I was. Am."

"You said was. What changed then?"

"Just, did you consider me at all? Even a little bit?" And it hurts to ask, because Steve desperately wants the answer to be yes, but with all the evidence in front of him...

"Of course I did, but this is my dream Steve, for me and the guys, this is our big break." And that's- Steve can be okay with that, he wants Eddie to achieve his dreams, that was never in question, but.

"What did you think I was going to do, then? You haven't even asked." It comes out more wounded than Steve wants it to.

"I asked if you could take care of the apartment and you said yes!" Eddie sounds exasperated, looks it too when Steve meets his eye instead of some vague point over his shoulder.

"Yeah because I thought you meant- you know what fuck this, I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

"This," he gestures between them, "the fighting, because you don't care, and I'm done sticking around where I'm not wanted."

"Oh my god Steve nobody said you were unwanted. Just because I didn't turn down the opportunity of a lifetime for a relationship that hasn't even made it to a full year? What exactly is there to think about?"

"You know what, Eddie? Screw you, go, see if I care!" Steve wrenches open the trailer door hell bent on getting the fuck out of there before he embarrasses himself any more than he already has, but his path is short lived.

"What is all the yellin?" Wayne says, stepping into the doorway and effectively blocking Steve's exit. "I can hear the two of you goin at it from the drive."

"Oh it's nothing Wayne, Steve's apparently been lying about being happy for me, about going to Chicago." Eddie chirps, and Steve rounds on him, angrily swiping the tears off his face because no. He's not making this Steve's fault.

"That is not what I said."

"You may as well have!" Eddie shouts, and Steve is about ready to shove past Wayne manners be damned because he wants to be anywhere but here right now.

"Alright, that's enough, the both of you. Sit." He puts a hand on Steve's shoulder, pushes him toward one of the dining chairs and points at the couch until Eddie sits back down. There's a loaded silence while Wayne scratches at his chin, thinking.

"You've been excited about Chicago all week, even when Eddie wasn't here to see it, what changed?"

"Found out today I have no reason to be." Steve says, and he knows he's being stubborn but god if he isn't feeling like he has the right to.

"Oh except for your boyfriend living his dream or doesn't that matter? I-"

"Edward Munson you get your ass back in that seat and your mouth buttoned." Eddie wisely sits.

"Why've you got no reason to be?" Wayne asks Steve

"Because Eddie is going to Chicago." Wayne nods but it's slow, eyes narrowing.

"Gonna need a bit more there, son." It's the 'son' that does it, makes Steve's lip quiver before he gets control of the traitorous thing.

"Eddie's going to Chicago, he asked for some of the kitchen things, he's sharing a room with Jeff and an apartment with the guys."

"Ah. An' where are you supposed to sleep?"

"Indie. Apparently."

"But I didn't-" all it takes for Eddie to cut himself off is Wayne holding up a hand.

"You'll get your turn in a minute, kid," Wayne says, placating. "Now, did you not talk about Chicago?"

"He asked me to take care of the apartment, I thought he meant talk to the landlord and tell them we weren't coming. He knows I couldn't afford the place alone, he heard Robin say we both better visit, he just. He didn't even consider me going with him and that's worse. He didn't ask what I was gonna do even thinking I wasn't going, didn't even think... he just said that he doesn't need to think about a relationship that hasn't made it to a year when he's making decisions." He breathes out a hastily measured breath, "so what am I even doing here? Take the kitchen stuff Eddie, take all of it for all I care I'm-"

"Okay, alright, let's simmer down." Steve nods, resigned, and slumps back in the dining chair. "Ed, you wanna tell me what's goin on?"

"How was I supposed to know he'd want to come to Chicago? He never said anything-

"Because I'm your bo-"

"Hey now, he let you speak, you let him speak." Steve huffs out another sigh but doesn't interrupt again, his arms come up to cross over his chest, instead ending up somewhere around hugging himself.

"He never said anything about coming with me, how was I supposed to know he wanted to? Robin is in Indianapolis." He runs a hand through his hair, looks over at Steve, "was I supposed to just assume you were coming with me?"

Wayne gestures at Steve and then steps off into the kitchen, grabbing down mugs and setting up the coffee machine, leaving them to it.

"Considering you knew I was going to stay in Hawkins if you did, in the first place? Yeah Eddie, kinda thought you would."

"Well... I didn't think of that."

"Yeah. There's a lot you didn't think of. Look, it's fine, and I am happy for you. I just thought when you saw your future with your dream career and whatever I was still in it."

"You are, of course I want you to come with me!" Eddie says, standing and taking a few steps closer.

"Then why didn't you say that? Plan for it at all?" Steve throws back with a burst of movement as he gets to his feet as well.

"I thought you WANTED to stay with ROBIN!"

"Well I WANTED to stay with YOU!"

"GOOD, THEN DO IT!"

"MAYBE I WILL!" Their chests are heaving as they both stand across from each other, table still between them, Eddie's eyes dart down to Steve's lips, so Steve wets them with a quick swipe of his tongue.

"I'm gonna go ahead an' guess you don't need me anymore, so I'm gonna take a shower. You kids get all your business out while I'm in there."

"Yessir," Eddie says with a salute, not taking heated eyes off of Steve.

They still need to talk, but after feeling pretty insecure about their relationship Steve isn't going to say no to a little physical reassurance, lets Eddie pull him closer by the hands.

But instead Eddie surprises him, a quick peck to the lips is all he gets before their foreheads are resting together, hands swinging back and forth either side of them.

"I'm sorry, we should have talked about it, I was just worried that you wouldn't want to come and didn't want to hear you say it. Or worse for you to come and then resent me for it. It won't happen again." Eddie's big bambi eyes are wide and imploring, close to Steve as he is, and it's really rather unfair. "And I'm sorry about what I said, I was just..."

"Defensive," Steve supplies.

"Yeah, that. I... panicked. A little. You're pretty much all I think about Stevie." Steve kisses him for that, has to, really, before pulling back.

"I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have assumed you'd know I would go with you, I'll say it with words next time. Right away."

"So you'll come? It'll be a bit cramped until we can find our own place, you'll have to share with me and the guys."

"Of course I still want to come, if you want me to?"

"I just asked if you wou-"

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just being," Steve shakes their hands where they're still joined at their sides.

"Steve, come with me to Chicago, run away with me, please?"

"I'd come with you anywhere," Steve says, sincere, and Eddie's face contorts and smooths a few times. Steve sighs for what feels like the hundredth time today but at least this time it's more fond, "Eddie."

"Oh come on, you walked right into that one, you'll come with me anywhere?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Anywhere except for in a room shared with Jeff, yeah." Steve kisses him on the tip of his nose, pulling away to go pour their coffee.

"Hey wait, no, I think we need our own room actually. Who's Jeff? A band? What's a guitar?" As Eddie continues, his laments getting more and more ridiculous while he drapes himself over the kitchen counter, Steve brings up his mug to hide his smile.

Yeah sometimes he and Eddie are idiots about this stuff, but it's okay with him as long as they're idiots in it together.

#steddie #steddie angsty august #steve harrington/eddie munson #kikidoesfanfic #my fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #wayne munson

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abbys-wifey · 5 months ago

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GOOD PIECE OF MEAT

pairing: sevika x female reader

warnings: men.

A/N: soooo…. hey guys. i’m back-ish. i won’t be updating like regularly but i will give you guys the odd one shot. since the trailer of arcane has come out i decided to start redoing arcane oneshots so feel free to request some, i may not be able to do heaps of requests but i will do a few. sorry for abandoning you guys for so long btw i just lost my love for writing for a bit but it coming back now so yay. anyway i love sevika with my whole heart and LEMME KNOW WHAT U THINK OF THE ARCANE TRAILER IN THE COMMENTS PLEASE. i need people to talk about this with. i missed you all :))

I was freezing to say the least. The cold streets of Zaun were no place for me right now, not at this time of night, especially when I had left my jacket back at my apartment. And so I head quickly to the Last Drop making sure to stay away from the shadowy corners and avoid the lingering looks of the strangers within the musky alleys.

Finally, the dimly lit bar comes into view. Music and shouts echo outside the entrance as I walk towards it, excited to finally see the person I had been missing all day.

“Name and business?” The bouncer extends a hand out stopping me from reaching the front door, his expression lacking any sort of emotion. I hadn’t seen him before, no doubt new to this job and so blissfully unaware of who I am. “I’m here to see my girlfriend.” I frown still shivering in the outside air. “Who?” The bouncer replies crossing his arms and raising one caterpillar looking eyebrow.

“Sevika.”

Instantly his stature changes. Eyes widen in shock and his stance becomes a lot more hospitable. “Welcome to the Last Drop. You’re looking ravishing tonight.” He smiles almost too kindly and opens the door ushering me inside.

The bar smells of alcohol and sweat, nothing I hadn’t smelt before but still, not necessarily pleasant. Ignoring the scent in the air I scan the crowd till I find my girlfriend who sits with an accomplished smirk on her lips. Surrounded by four other men, she plays cards obviously winning as the others sit sullen faced or groaning in defeat.

Pushing through the sea of people I make my way over, Sevikas eyes meeting mine as I reach the table. “Hi baby.” I smile happy to finally see my girlfriend after a long day at work.

She grins throwing her cards face up onto the table eliciting groans from the other four members although her eyes stay locked on me.

“Hi princess, did you have a good day?” She reaches for my hand with her flesh one gently tugging me onto her lap and pressing a kiss to the side of my head as I face the rest of the table.

“Yeah, it was ok.” I reply looking up at her with a small smile. “I missed you though.” I whisper leaning back into her chest. Sevikas grip on my waist tightens as her thumb traces small circles around my hip bone. “Missed you too.” She grunts.

Turning my attention back to the other four at the table I can’t help but let out a small chuckle at their gobsmacked faces.

It wasn’t often I came to the Last Drop, but when I did I always gathered the same reaction. People were astonished at how I somehow had gathered the most feared women in Zauns affection. Her softness towards me especially in public made everyone turn to stare.

“So Miss Muscle Woman has herself a little pet.” One man scoffs his eyes lingering on me. I can feel Sevika tense under my body as he eyes me up again. “Well you picked good Sev, she’s a pretty one alright.” He chuckles again, looking at his mates for back up only for them to shake their heads in fear.

Both Sevikas metal hand and flesh hand softly grip my waist as she lifts me off her lap and onto the chair beside her. The bar goes silent, each and every individual looking over as Sevika stands up to her daunting six foot height in complete silence and slowly stalks round the table to stand in front of the man.

He quickly realises his mistake and holds up his hands in defence as he scurries backwards, falling from his chair. “I-I’m just saying Sev, she’s a very good looking piece of meat you know? Go-Good for you and all. I don’t want her myself but-”

It all happens rather fast. Sevika’s cape is flung off her shoulder and before I can blink the man is cut off, lifted from the ground by his throat. “Apologise to her.” She snarls menacingly as he kicks and wheezes, hands pawing at the metal that slowly carved into his neck. “Now.” Sevika barks tightening her hold causing his eyes to widen as his air way is cut off. The man manages to let out a weak sorry aimed in my direction before he’s dropped to the floor. His breath comes back all at once as he inhales deeply, clutching weakly at his throat.

“Say another word about my girl ever again and I wont make the same mistake of letting you live. Do I make myself clear?” She leans in close to the man holding the front of his shirt as she snarls at him. He nods frantically a few tears rolling down his face and onto the already purple bruise forming on his neck.

Letting his shirt go Sevika goes to stand up again before swinging her flesh fist at his face causing him to go flying backwards, blood splattering against the chair he once sat in.

“And don’t let me catch you in here again.” She shouts after him as he turns on his heel and hobbles out the bar. She smirks satisfied before turning to the rest of the onlookers. “Anyone else got something to say?” She asks, her voice low and dangerous almost daring someone to talk. Immediately everyone goes back to the previous activities trying not to bring attention to themselves.

I breathe out a sigh of relief as Sevika finally turns back to me, her flesh hand coming to land on my cheek stroking it softly as a small frown is etched on her head.

“Are you ok princess?” She asks softly. I nod. “I am now.” I smile and press a kiss to her palm. “Can we go home please ? That made me even more tired.” I ask.

Sevika nods instantly getting her cloak off the floor and reaching for my hand as we walk out the door and into the streets.

Shivering once again I move closer to my girlfriend who chuckles as I cling to her arm. “Here.” She wraps her cloak around my shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

“I’m not gonna let anything hurt you princess. Not even the cold. Not while I’m around.”

#wlw #sevika #arcane #arcane trailer #sevika x reader #lesbian #sevika x female reader #i love sevika

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steddielations · 1 year ago

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“Evening, sir.”

It’s the Harrington boy. Again.

“I told you, son, it’s Wayne,” he manages a smile, harder to do these days, like chipping it out of cement and dusting it off. But he gets it done.

Steve doesn’t have the Henderson boy with him today, that’s a first.

“Where’s the curly one?” He steps aside, letting Steve into the trailer door, more rickety than before. No money left to fix it after repairing the bulk of the earthquake damage.

“Dustin? He doesn’t wanna watch the game, and trust me, you don’t wanna listen to that kid complaining the whole time,” Steve walks by, sorta chuckling to himself, “I always miss the replay ‘cause he makes me change the channel to those D&D cartoons during the commercials, just like—”

He stops in front of the couch, looking over his shoulder at Wayne like he’s afraid he messed up somehow. Wayne noticed that look often from him, less and less, but still often. All that confidence he carries can drop on a dime, sorta reminded him of—

“Like Ed?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’alright. I don’t mind talking about him if you want,” Wayne manages another concrete smile, but he means it. Steve always waits for him to bring up Eddie first, like he doesn’t want to remind him if it ain’t on his mind, but Wayne likes to be reminded. It’s nice to feel like he’s not the only one missing him. “But the game was yesterday and y’know the cable’s out.”

“Yep, got it covered. I uh, I taped it,” Steve fishes a VHS tape from his back pocket. Fancy. Wayne would worry about him using that for his sake, but he has a feeling Steve’s folks aren’t around enough to notice.

“The Colts win?”

Steve flips the tape around, “Haven’t watched it, so we can bet on it if you’re feeling lucky.”

It doesn’t feel so dry and heavy when Wayne laughs a bit then, waving Steve to go ahead and start up the TV. He already caught the game on the radio, but he bets on the Colts anyway. Loser’s supposed to do the dishes after they scrounge together some soup, but Steve does them anyway.

Wayne would make a stink about it but he can tell Steve just wants to help, to feel like he’s helping. Same thing when the Henderson boy comes around to see him, wanting to hear all the stories, even the scary ones. So Wayne doesn’t mind letting Eddie’s friends feel like they’re helping him.

His nephew didn’t have many friends. Real, cover-your-six kinda friends. The boys he played his music with, they’ve come by a couple times, Wayne always liked Jeff despite the racket. That older fella that’s doing time now, Wayne wasn’t too fond of. And some of Eddie’s dungeon buddies he talked about were the only few.

Now, casual acquaintances? Anybody who didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he had an empty spot at his table? Sure, Eddie had those in spades.

His boy was good at that, putting on a good old show for his crowd, on a stage to keep his distance. That damn Al did him in good, never could trust easily, having his old man pop up and drag him into his mess before he took off again. And Eddie’s poor momma would’ve done right by him, if she hadn’t gotten sick so young.

Took Wayne a long time to get Eddie to depend on him, to trust this was his place to stay and he didn’t have to earn it, Wayne wasn’t just filling his head to scheme something out of him.

Love ain’t a transaction that way. He wasn’t ever any good at saying it, but he tried to show Eddie the best he could.

His boy though, always carried a debt with him. Like he owed Wayne something for taking him in, had to graduate quick and make it outta here, do something with the better life he gave him. Al dug him in so deep, Eddie stayed roped into whatever his latest scheme was (the cars, the dealing, the gambling, thank God Eddie wasn’t there when the goddamn robbery went wrong, 25 to life) like maybe it’d be enough to keep him from running off again.

The odds have never been in favor of people like them, poor folk in a town that’s stuck in its ways, where everybody’s just like their old man, but Al made his choices and Wayne made his. Rest their mother’s soul, she did her best. Part of Wayne was relieved when Al got locked up, at least Wayne had a better chance of keeping Eddie from going down the same path, try to raise him right.

Being a Munson wasn’t a crime. He didn’t owe a darn thing to anybody. Eddie could graduate at his own pace, play whatever games and music he wanted, dress however, that didn’t mean he was up to no good. And a lot of boys get into dealing for a little easy extra money around here, he was gonna grow out of that just like Wayne did.

It worked until all this mess.

That’s why Eddie ran off after what happened to the poor Cunningham girl. He gets spooked when something goes wrong, like it’ll be the last straw he can’t make up for so he runs off. Like the first time he didn’t make senior year, went and hid out with that Rick fella that Wayne never did like, got Eddie deep into that business he tried to keep a secret.

‘Course Wayne knew. He knows exactly what and where his boy hides. If those damn cops weren’t tailing him, he would’ve gone straight to get him.

That was before he knew it would turn into all of this. Now he wishes he would’ve done it anyway. Gone right to Eddie, told him it wasn’t his fault that everything got all turned upside down. Told him he knew he was innocent right from the get-go, and got him away from this rotten old town.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t go get his boy.

So now he’s just trying to be there for Eddie’s boys, since he can’t.

“You have a night shift tonight right? Gonna put on a pot of coffee,” Steve says once he’s finished up the dishes.

Wayne hums. There’s usually more noise going on during these visits. Steve’s still alright at carrying on, even without the Henderson boy’s chatter to fill any gaps.

It was strange, the first time the two of them showed up. Wayne knew Eddie was close with Dustin, but he didn’t have a clue that he was chumming it up with the Harrington boy. Just don’t seem like the same type of company. He might not believe it if it weren’t so obvious that Steve cared about his boy. He suspected before, but now with Steve showing up here alone, he knows.

Steve misses Eddie in a different sorta way than Dustin.

“No cream or sugar, right?” Steve looks humored by that as he passes the mug of black coffee to him, “How are you related to Eddie again?”

Wayne’s mouth turns upward, remembering his nephew’s god awful sweet tooth. He picked up a box of Honeycombs the other day in the store out of habit. “Just happened to be standin’ there when they beamed him down.”

That gets a good chuckle out of Steve. Nothing wistful weighing it down and Wayne’s glad, watching Steve pour himself a cup of coffee too.

Then bitter-sweetness swirls in his chest, seeing the mug that Steve chose for himself. Must’ve dug it out from one of the boxes Wayne hadn’t hung back on the walls yet. The earthquake did a number on his collection. That Garfield one was the only one he’d gotten around to gluing back together.

“What is it?” Steve asks, cup paused at his mouth.

“Ah nothin’ just,” Wayne waves it off, “That’s the mug Ed always used.”

“Oh, I can use a diff—”

“Nah, nah go ‘head. It’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Steve takes a wary sip.

Mostly these days, Wayne just feels like a watch without a ticker, a chest with nothing beating inside it. He can’t name the feeling he has at seeing Eddie’s old mug being used by someone else, but at least it’s something.

“Y’know, he used to put everything in that sucker. Soda pop, soup, cereal, you name it,” Wayne shakes his head, mouth twitching into a smile, “I’d have to wrestle it away from him just to give it a good washing. It’s well loved, alright. Leaks now.”

As if on cue, Steve has to grab a napkin to sit underneath it.

Wayne lets out an amused hum, “He uh— Didn’t have much stability ‘fore he came to live with me, so he’d get real attached to things like that.”

Carried around a stuffed dragon they picked up at a garage sale ‘til Wayne couldn’t sew the wings back on anymore. Never wanted to throw anything away. Got real anxious about Wayne going to work sometimes, even when he was too old for a sitter. Held onto him saying “Stay home just today, Dad, please.” Which, he didn’t mind Eddie calling him that. It always softened him up, made him give in. Wishes now that he’d told Eddie upfront. Maybe he never would’ve stopped.

“Thought for sure he’d marry that damn guitar one day.”

Steve nearly sputters his coffee, laughing at that, “Yeah, those two are made for each other.”

It’s nice, seeing the way that story lit Steve up. Sorta like his boy can still make someone happy. Hurts like hell that he ain’t here to do it himself, but Wayne was always good at telling stories. That’s where Eddie learned it from.

“I’m uh,” Steve deflates after a minute, looking down at the mug, “God, I’m just really sorry, Wayne.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Steve,” he says, because, well.

Wayne gets the feeling that his boy was Steve’s boy too.

Read the rest on Ao3

#it’s the full version of the garfield mug fic from forever ago #this has the happiest ending on ao3 i promise #linked at the bottom #steddie #rueswriting #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #steddie fic #temporary grieving #temporary mcd

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wynnyfryd · 10 months ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 45

part 1 | part 44 | ao3

Nancy, Jonathan, and some guy with the longest hair Steve's ever seen are standing in a loose circle with Eddie and his bandmates, talking and sort of dance-nodding along to The Power of Love by Huey Lewis (a fact that Steve absolutely intends to mock his boyfriend for the second he gets the chance), and Steve, like, mentally girds his loins.

He and Jon are cool with each other, and he and Eddie are obviously, uh, plenty warmed up to one another by now, but the rest of them...

One's a stranger, one's an ex who seems drunk as shit and is currently so invested in spinning around to the music that she hasn't opened her eyes to notice him, and the other three are thawing to him at a truly glacial pace. Steve hasn't so much as been invited to watch a rehearsal yet because Eddie's 'still working on them' and needs 'a bit more time, but don't worry, they'll come around.'

They don't openly scowl when he and Robin approach, though, so Steve takes that as a win.

"Harrington!" Eddie calls, bowing deeply to add, "Lady Buckley."

Steve would feel stung by the surname if not for how downright giddy Eddie sounds. God, he loves tipsy Eddie; fucking Disney cartoon boy.

"Munson," he plays along, giving him a sly grin and a shoulder bump as he sidles up next to him. "Didn't know you were allowed to leave the basement at these things."

Jeff interrupts his air-guitaring to glare at Steve, bur Eddie holds out a hand and assures him that Steve's just fucking around. Before Steve can apologize or defend himself, Long Hair Guy leans in across the circle, his eyes wide and intense and bloodshot to hell.

"Dude," he greets. "You have. Such beautiful hair."

Steve barks a laugh. Robin rolls her eyes. Jonathan also rolls his eyes, but it seems more fond and less annoyed. "Can't take you anywhere," he mutters to the guy, then asks them, "You guys met Argyle yet?"

Steve holds out a hand. Confusion washes over him as he processes what Jonathan just said. "Uh." Argyle. "Like the sweater?"

"Yeah, man," Argyle smiles, dopey and slow. Sure. The guy in head-to-toe tie-dye and a neon green fanny pack is named Argyle. Why not? "My parents wanted a sheep, but they got me, instead."

Jonathan laughs like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. Steve's pretty sure he's too sober for this conversation.

They exchange handshakes, and Robin asks if she can touch the guy's hair, and they all slip into easy, friendly conversation, naturally splintering into smaller groups of twos and threes. Steve's just getting the rundown on all the 'sick new gear' the band got for Christmas when the song changes, and god, this night just could not get better.

"Oh, fuck off!" Eddie groans in the DJ's direction.

Steve has to practically swallow his lips to keep himself from cackling, and then he gives up and does it, anyway, because Eddie looks like he just sucked a lemon while watching a dog die as his bandmates all start sing-shouting along. "We're talking away..."

"No." Eddie wheels around and points a finger at Steve, because Steve's singing, too.

Steve just sings louder. "I don't know what, I'm to say!"

"Oh, my god." He scrubs a hand down his face, dragging the skin down until Steve can see the pale pink of his inner eyelid. "Nobody I know has any goddamn taste!"

"Maybe you don't have any taste!" Robin teases, bouncing around and swinging her arms haphazardly to the music.

Nancy backs her up with a mumbled "Yeah!" but she's still spinning around in such tight circles that Steve doubts she has a single clue what's happening in the argument right now. Which is kind of endearing, actually. He likes how willing she is to stick up for people.

The chorus kicks in; Gareth air-drums the switch to half time just before Frank does an honestly super impressive falsetto of 'in a day or twoooooo', and Eddie despairs while Steve laughs his fucking head off.

—

part 46

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle stranger things #corroded coffin #my writing #my fic

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fastcardotmp3 · 1 year ago

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I'm not usually the audience for most kid fic content HOWEVER the idea of Eddie falling into a circumstance where he becomes the Uncle Wayne to some other kid who has nowhere else to go has me by the throat today

like. circular narratives.... hear me out....

maybe Eddie did have a sibling, a sister ten years older than him who was out of the house and as far away as she could manage before he even ended up in Hawkins with Wayne. maybe he and his sister didn't keep in touch because by the time she had her footing in the world well enough to come back and see him, Eddie was long gone already.

maybe she ends up in worse situations than he does by nature of not having a Wayne of her own to teach her what it feels like to have someone stick around for you and maybe one of those situations is ending up with a kid she's not equipped to take care of, no matter how much she tries.

she needs help, needs backup, needs someone to take this 10-year-old in and give her safety while her mother gets healthy and tries to learn what it means to be stable.

And hey, listen, Eddie Munson is 27 at this point, he's had seven years to heal from the bullshit Hawkins put him through and he's still working hard every day to keep that momentum going, but a child?

he's not a father, not an uncle, take her to Wayne for fuck's sake, he begs of his sister even though he knows deep down he doesn't mean it, not when Wayne has finally retired, finally has some stability of his own.

what other option do I have? I need you, Ed, is begged of him in return, and he hears her, he does, but what does he have to offer in this situation?

he's a mechanic with PTSD and a one-bedroom in Bloomington who's been pining for his best friend the former jock-turned-part time student for the past two years.

he's a wreck and a half who has nothing but lateral moves to make in his future and has to set three different alarm clocks to wake himself up in time for work every morning and he's just-- Eddie. That's all he is. That's all he has to offer.

It can't possibly be enough.

What's her name? he asks despite himself, out here on the sidewalk in front of his place of work where he'd been ambushed, where he knows Steve will be pulling into the spot across the street to pick him up any minute.

Naomi, is the answer, and she will be, even if Eddie doesn't see it yet.

There's no part of Eddie Munson which has ever dreamed of trips to the park and helping with homework and drives to the mall to buy presents for birthday parties.

There's no part of him which has ever sought out parenthood to anything other than the stray cat who likes to beg for treats at his back door.

There's no part of him which is built for this, Eddie knows, as he sees the familiar shape of a familiar car parking across the street and idling.

Naomi, he breathes anyway, looks down at the photograph being pressed into his hand, the untamed curls and missing front teeth.

She's sitting on the front steps of a trailer, sun shining down on her and pinking up the bridge of her nose and it's him for a moment. It's him, loved unequivocally by a guy who never planned to have kids, never wanted them, and loved Eddie with everything he had to offer despite it.

It's him, the little boy that still lives in Eddie's chest, just asking not to be forgotten.

You're all she's got right now, Eddie.

Well, shit.

He's gonna need to put a call into Wayne, isn't he?

#dot post #dot fic #eddie munson #steddie #dad!eddie munson #kind of #the only way these dudes end up with kids is via some sort of circular circumstance but BOY the CIRCUMSTANCE of it all....#found the first three paras of this in my drafts and today me was like you know what?#past me made points

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omgjumin · 1 year ago

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Collegebf! Nanami and Yn fooling around and making out in the dorms 👀👀👀?? Ugh my head is filled with FILTHY thought for this man 😭

making out with collegebf! nanami kento!

tags: suggestive, making out, choking (kind of, not rlly), hinted hand kink, mentions of hickeys, thats it, gn! reader

notes: literally ME TOO especially after this jjk season 2 trailer just dropped, i am having MAJOR brainrot with this man. (this was supposed to be done three weeks ago but writers block 🤕)

you didn't intend this to happen but with nanami on top of you, his legs straddling each side of your body while one hand is pinning yours to the bed and the other is wrapped around your neck and his lips dancing around with yours, it seems like this was on purpose.

his blonde hair that was once neatly slicked to the side, how it usually is, was now a mess. his hair stuck onto his face, whether it was due to how the hot the room was or how close to you he was, he didn't know and he didn't care. he was all over you, hands running up and down your sides, grasping any and every piece of skin he found. and oh my god, he was entranced with you.

today was the day you finally finished moving into your college dorm, everything was unpacked with the help from your friends, family and nanami, your boyfriend. and to no one's surprise, nanami had already moved in, a week before you did so he had all the free time to help you. and when he found out your dorm was no less than a hallway down from his, he couldn't help but let his thoughts become plagued with you.

"thank you guys. i'll finish the rest of my clothes myself, you can go now. bye bye, thank you." you said as you sent off both your parents and friends. "kento, you too. i don't know when my roommate will be back." nanami hummed softly as if he was in agreement with you but he did nothing to start leaving. "kento, seriously, i don't want to set a bad impression on my roommate by having a guy over already."

"mhm." he hummed once again, not listening to a word you said as he sat down on your bed. "kent-" the words escaped your lips as nanami pulled you in by the waist, hands wrapped around your body as you fell on top of him. you stumbled over nothing but you could've sworn something was there to trip you for you to end up like this. nanami's eyes were stuck on you. his eyes beamed with love but with the hint of mischievousness under the dimmed dorm lighting. his hands and yours were intertwined as nanami tilted his head up for a kiss. you take one glance down at his lips before looking over at the door, your ears perking up for any footsteps approaching. "just one kiss, i swear i'll leave after this." you hear nanami say, although you know damn well he won't.

this is what makes you think, you know for a such a serious academic student, he sure does play around a lot with you. you feel like a teenager again around nanami. you quickly meet his lips which only causes nanami to smile against you. a small hushed laugh comes out of his mouth before he completes the kiss, his hands coming up to push your hair out of your face. the kiss only lasts for a few seconds before you pull away, you aren't going to fall into his trap, well, at least not this time. "okay, that was one kiss, you can leave now." you mention his deal from just a minute ago however, it seems nanami has forgotten this as he hums in confusion while he presses soft kisses on your neck, surely with the best intentions.

"nanami kento, i swear, my roommate-" you want to warn him yet as your voices cracks due to his persistent kisses against your skin, you shut your mouth and just wish really fucking badly that your roommate does not walk through that door anytime soon.

nanami's lips are all over you, his breath tickles down your neck as he leaves small kisses near your shoulder. once again all nanami does is hum at your warning, well it's baseless to him anyway. his teeth tug at small parts of your skin to leave marks of some kind, wanting to mark you as his. as if your phone lockscreen, his initials on a necklace and your very apparent promise ring wasn't enough to show that already. his hands hold your neck, not enough to choke you but to hold you in place. your mouth opens in a squeak, your eyes followed his every movement. you ran your fingers through his ruffled blonde hair, nanami letting out a low groan as you did so.

his university sweatshirt the one that matches yours was becoming too hot for him. maybe it was you, maybe it was him, or maybe the dorm, he didn't know. he didn't get the time to think about it before he crashed his lips onto yours. his hands cradling your neck to get you closer to him as if you weren't close to him enough. "god, i love you so much." he mumbles into your lips finding himself way too entranced with you.

as soon as nanami connects his lips with yours, your heart rate picks up. you swear you could hear it from a mile away. it was beating so loudly but the only thing you could hear was your synced breaths with his. with each inhale, nanami deepened the kiss, his teeth biting your bottom lip, as if pleading for more. nanami needs more and so let him. your roommate was the last thing on your mind as you feel nanami's hand slide under your shirt. his hands are cold but nanami feels like he's on fire.

all you can think about is him, your lips moved together and all you can taste is him. the slight taste of coffee slips right into your mouth, probably from the coffee he had earlier this morning. you can't help but want to devour him more as your lips wrapped around each other. your heart was pounding and your stomach couldn't help but twist in butterflies from the way his cologne filled your senses. a small scent of a fragrant citrus with a hint of an earthy saffron. maybe you smelled hints floral and ocean breeze on him but as you continued to breathe him in, you couldn't help but to get drunk off of him. your head is starting to get dizzy. was it because of the lack of oxygen flowing in you or was it because of nanani, you didnt know but you didn't want to stop.

but then the door handle turned, voices were heard and footsteps coming to a hault. the silence was deafening as you stared at your roommate and back. your body froze in the act, even though you weren't doing anything scandalous (yet), you felt like a deer caught in the bright headlights in the dark. and finally all nanami could do was laugh softly, as your roommate murmed something about being back later. "i guess i get to have more time with you."

"kento, get out."

#guys i want him #he would look so attractive in a hoodie and comfortable wear #i need to bite him #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen fluff #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk x reader #omgjumin

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firegirl888101 · 3 months ago

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If I was reader in the insatiable madness series I’d have a “let’s try it!” Day once a week with the harbingers, when it comes to games tho

“Let’s try Mario cart!”

“Let’s try Fortnite”

“Let’s try Dress to Impress!”

I’d only do this once a week bc I know it would take me a week to recover from their bs😭 on a serious note, I can see Childe and Scara getting sooo competitive with Dress to Impress, like they are ready to rip each other’s throats out bc “YOU COPIED ME”. Reader has to sit near them tho bc they have to explain the categories and show them examples😭😭😭 the other harbingers kinda love it bc it forces reader to explain stuff to them

Hahah I love this idea!

Y/N most likely wouldn't suggest the idea of a weekly game night because of the amount of stress it would bring for them. Maybe after introducing them to Among Us they'd slip up and reveal that there are hundreds of different games leading to one of the Harbingers suggesting the idea.

'One of the Harbingers'? What am I talking about, of course it's Childe who would suggest such a thing. He'd probably be feeling homesick and ask further to try and create a small routine between you and the group. With Pulcinella's help, they'd eventually convince you to hold the game night once every week.

Mario Kart is waaaay too competitive for the Harbingers to try. I really don't recommend playing it or even suggesting it when they're nearby. Just trust me. If you think streamers punching their tables and screaming in anger at a loss is bad, you haven't seen the Harbinger's rage. It doesn't matter which one you look at, they're all sore losers. The ones who are better at hiding it are Pierro, Pulcinella and surprisingly Childe. <- Columbina and Capitano are also better at hiding it, however, they're not good at preventing snappy replies if another Harbinger talks to them.

Dealing with a passive aggressive and possibly aggro Harbinger (ahem, Scaramouche) is not something you should voluntarily do. That's why I suggest not bringing up the game at all. If you decide to introduce the game, I recommend only doing easy levels such as Moo Moo Meadow. Never, under any circumstance, allow them to play Rainbow Road. Also Sandrone and Scaramouche are really good at the game, Sandrone because she's good at making the perfect cart for her character and Scaramouche because he's good at racing no matter what cart combo he picks.

I personally don't like Fortnite, and Y/N wouldn't either because of uhh... y'know. But, I can see Capitano and Childe genuinely bonding whilst playing the game together. I don't know if it's against the rules to cross team in Fortnite, but whether that rule exists or not they'd do it anyway since they don't care. Capitano always wins if it's only them two left in the game, if it's not only them two, Childe either dies by not paying attention to his surroundings enough or Capitano falls from fall damage because he forgets that it's a thing.

I can't help but think about that fanmade Fatui trailer where they're fighting eachother and Pantalone has the double guns. Just for the beautiful existence of this anime short, I'm going to say Pantalone is also good at the game because he has god tier aim. Imagine what else he could do with that aim... Now's not the time, NEXT GAME:

Dress to Impress or Fashion Frenzy (my childhood) would be so funny. Since Y/N probably wouldn't trust the Harbingers in a public Roblox server, they'd have to buy a private server for all the Harbingers to use. Signora is dominating the rest of the Harbingers in this game, I think she'd have the most wins and often has to help the others find things in the game. Somehow she's memorised the entire map and knows where everything is after only a few rounds...

Anyway, the women of the Harbingers would slay this game so hard. The men however... they're questionable to say the least. At first, they likely struggle and create abhorrent outfits that land them the lowest on the scoreboard but gradually they begin to make outfits that the average person would wear. Pantalone would be an exception to this group, he'd most likely grasp the concept the quickest. This is because of how many clothes he's seen as a rich businessman. He's shopped for clothes for the Tsaritsa before, so he's probably seen some elegant items of clothing and doesn't need to rely on his imagination much. As long as he remembers what they look like, he'll score reasonably high, when the other men learn, he'll gradually go lower on the leaderboard due to him not being too passionate about the game. He's a one-trick pony, if you will.

Y/N would get so tired of having to Google the categories and show reference images to the Harbingers every single time they play the game. If Dress to Impress is a popular game and the Harbingers want to play it every game night, Y/N would start to make moodboards of each category and shove them in the Harbingers face so they can leave them alone. It's not like they want to help the Harbingers, but there is literally nothing else they can do, and they don't feel like dying from boredom yet.

Pierro doesn't want to engage in these game nights because he finds them a waste of time and stays in Y/N's office to do work. Meanwhile, Dottore likes the television a lot more so he rarely takes part. If he does take part, he enjoys it but would rather do something else. Arlecchino also wouldn't be the biggest fan of the game nights, but it would remind her of taking care of the children in the House of Hearth so she'd gradually open up to like it more than she should in her opinion.

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ckret2 · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter 33 of human Bill is still the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Stan takes Bill to get fillings from a creepy dentist in the back of a white van. And also they're handcuffed together the whole time.

Hijinks ensue.

Stan was startled from reading the paper by a shrill up-and-down whistle. Bill trotted into the kitchen, his voice a singsong lilt: "Incoming!"

Stan lowered the paper to glare at Bill. "Still doing that, are you?"

"Of course! I'd hate to scare you." Bill took the chair across the kitchen table from Stan. "Gooood morni—"

"Go away." Stan determinedly returned his attention to an article about the deathball arena construction.

Bill laughed. "You're funny. Anyway!" He noted Stan's plate of eggs and salsa was hidden behind his newspaper, and quietly slid the plate across the table as he spoke. "I need you to do me the teensy, tiniest little favor—"

"Nope."

"Take me to your dentist."

"No." Stan didn't even lower his newspaper. "The last time I took you anywhere, you almost made my niece cry, my brother left a Shopliftaholics Anonymous flier on my bed, and all I got out of it was a crummy ring. You wanna go somewhere, talk to Soos."

But, Bill noted, Stan was wearing said crummy ring. "Spend a day with that loser?" He rolled his eyes. "Please. I'd rather pry out my fingernails."

"You'd probably enjoy that, you freak."

"Not the point." Bill stuffed half an egg in his mouth. "Anyway, it has to be you. I need fillings, and Dr. Illing does them for free."

Stan squinted over the top of his newspaper. "How do you know about Dr. Illing?"

"What part of 'all-seeing eye' don't you get?"

Dr. Illing was a wandering dentist who spent the warm summer months in Gravity Falls. He squeezed his van and trailer into alleys between businesses in town, where he both lived and provided dental services until the police caught wind and chased him and his van out into the woods for a few days. On days with good weather, he'd pop open the back hatch of his nondescript trailer and set up a sign that read "COME INSIDE! FREE CANDY (for new patients)". He didn't attract many customers.

What really made him stand out was his unusual pay structure. He charged typical rates for regular teeth cleaning and dental maintenance; but if a patient had a cavity, he gave them a gold filling for free, and he paid them if he needed to pull their teeth.

Stan thought he was terrific. He hadn't had to pay for dental care in thirty years! Granted, he also wore dentures now; but hey, Dr. Illing had helped pay off Ford's mortgage, and at least the dentures were on the house.

Bill said, "You're the only one in the shack who knows all the places Illing might set up shop. Besides, he might be less jumpy in front of a stranger if an existing patient can vouch for it."

"I can see where you're coming from," Stan said. "But my answer is no, because I don't wanna."

Bill scowled in irritation. He sat back and ate another of Stan's eggs as he reconsidered his approach.

"Stanley—I'm a simple shape," he said. "A simple shape who's used to being coated peak to base in pure, lustrous, 24-karat gold. Having skin makes my skin crawl. I don't need any dental work done, these teeth are fine—but I'd really, really like just a bit of gold, somewhere on my body, so I feel a little more like myself in my final days."

Stan muttered, "You're trying to appeal to sympathy I don't have, Cipher."

"And then, once I'm dead," Bill went on, "I suppose I'll be leaving behind a corpse with a mouthful of free gold that whoever's disposing of my remains can do whatever they want with, do you catch my meaning Stanley?"

Stan lowered his newspaper just enough to grimace at Bill. "That's absolutely disgusting," he said. "But okay, I'm bribed!" He tried to fold the newspaper. "If you want your mouth to fund me and Ford's next year of globe-trotting, fine by me. Least you can do for messing up our summer."

"Mhm." Bill shoveled the last egg into his mouth while Stan was distracted by the paper and slid the plate over to Stan's side.

Stan slapped the paper down. "But we're not telling Ford about this. Agreed?" He offered a hand to shake.

"Agreed." Bill took Stan's hand, with the wrong hand—but before Stan could figure out what to do with that, Bill jerked his hand back like he'd been burned. "We'll take this to our graves."

"Or to your grave, anyway!" Stan laughed loudly, slapping the table.

Bill watched him with a forced smile. "Great. Deal made. Let's go get the magic friendship bracelets and—"

"Ohhh no," Stan said. "I'm not trusting a little bit of colored lace and some mystical hocus-pocus to keep you contained. If we're going anywhere, I'm making sure you can't escape."

"Okay," Bill said, a touch warily. "Fine. How?"

####

Soos took the handcuffs out of his toolbox, removed the key and stuck it in his pocket, and asked, "What side do you want it on?"

"Left," Stan said. "Gotta keep my punching arm free." Bill rolled his eyes.

Soos closed the cuffs on Stan's left wrist and Bill's right, then tightened Bill's half until it actually held his tiny wrist. "There."

"Ha!" Stan grinned at Bill. "Try escaping that!"

"I wasn't planning to escape."

"Sure, pull the other one." Stan pointed toward the door. "Now... to the car!"

####

They stared in dismay at Stan's car.

The El Diablo was a classic of the 1960s American automotive industry—and it was in terrific condition. (Notwithstanding the recent dents, scrapes, and keyed scratches in the paint reading "TRICK-OR-CHEATER!!") It came with the features standard to American cars of the time, like a steering wheel on the left, and a wide front bench that provided space for multiple passengers to sit to the driver's right side.

Bill was handcuffed to Stan's left side.

"Wow. You're stupid," Bill said.

"I'll break your smart mouth."

"What do I care, we're headed to the dentist anyway." He sighed. "Okay! Let's go inside and tell Questiony how stupid you are."

Stan did not want to tell Soos how stupid he was. "No! How do you know I didn't do this on purpose? Maybe having my right arm free is more important than—er... driving."

Bill considered that with pursed lips. After a pause, he ventured, "Do you want me to drive—?"

"No, no, nope, I am not letting you drive my car, under any circumstances, ever! Not a chance!"

"Then how are we doing this?"

####

Stan gripped the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white and jaw clenched.

Bill was uneasily cuddled up against Stan's right side. The handcuff forced him to stretch his right arm across Stan's chest.

They were both wearing tank tops. Their bare upper arms were plastered together with sweat.

They were getting cricks in their necks from how far they were tilting their heads away from each other.

On the radio, a hit 50's soul song crooned romantically, "Oh, my sweet love... you're my lovely sweetie... and I never love you more, than when you're pressed to my side... as we go for a sweet loving car ride..." Neither of them could reach the radio dial without touching each other even more. They'd silently decided to pretend as hard as possible that they couldn't hear the radio.

"Welp," Stan said. "Out of all the times I've been handcuffed in a car, this is one of the worst."

####

They spotted Dr. Illing's "FREE CANDY" sign posted surreptitiously near the barrel and crate factory, and circled the block to park the car in front of a business that looked responsible enough to file a missing persons report if the car was still abandoned there by nightfall.

They tumbled out of the driver's side door with a maneuver that looked like a cross between a waltz and a mugging. Stan kicked the door shut. As they untangled themselves, in a surprisingly decent impression of Stan's voice, Bill said, "Gotta keep my punching arm free. How's that working out for you?"

"Bold words from a guy in punching range, you little—" As Stan finally separated himself from Bill and straightened out, he caught sight of Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland halfway up the block. "Oh, great. Cops. Exactly what you want around when you're doing something weird." Stan shook his head. "Well, as long as we go the other way and don't make eye contact—"

"Hi Darryl! Hi Edwin!" Bill stood on his toes and waved wildly. "Hey! Working hard or hardly working? Haha!"

"Oh, hey Goldie!" Durland waved back, and he and Blubs headed their direction. "How've you been, did you have a nice Summerween?"

"Ahh, I was stuck in the house—"

"Bill," Stan hissed. "Whaddaya think you're doing? Do you want them asking questions?"

"Hey," Durland said, "Why're you handcuffed to Stan?"

Bill turned toward Stan. He smiled at him. It was a smile that said I did not think this through.

"You need some help there?" Blubs asked. "I bet we've got a key that matches that handcuff model."

Stan bet Bill would love to accept that offer and go traipsing off with the cops. "Nope! That's fine! Thank you officers, but we're keeping the handcuffs on," Stan said. "Because." He paused. "They're necessary. For... uh... for me."

The cops and Bill watched him expectantly. Bill had that awful gleam in his eyes that he got when he saw an opportunity to make up a story.

"Because I'm old," Stan said. "It's to keep me from wandering into traffic."

Bill laughed, "Yep, that's true!" He jabbed Stan's shoulder with a finger (harder than necessary, he thought). "This guy's cataracts are so bad, sometimes he asks us if he's dying because all he a see is a white light in a dark tunnel! And the way his mind's going, woof—"

Stan growled, "All right you don't have to lay it on so thick—"

"—he's so addled it's like he's completely forgotten the last century of technology, he'll just walk right off the curb and expect the horse-drawn carriages to stop for him—"

"Hahaaa, but we won't bore you with my medical history!" Stan jerked on the handcuffs. "C'mon, Goldie, you're gonna make me late to my heart doctor appointment. You don't want my life on your hands, do you?"

Bill murmured, "Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Hold on," Blubs said. "You can't see? Didn't we just see you get out of the driver's seat of your car?"

Stan and Bill exchanged a look. Stan said, "Goldie's giving me directions."

"Oh! That makes sense," Durland said.

"All right," Blubs said, "We'll let you get to your doctor's appointment. You folks have a nice day."

As the cops left, Bill called after them, "You too! Hey, I'll see you guys at Rainbow Club!"

"See you there!" Durland turned to Blubs. "Y'know, I think Goldie's a step up from that seeing-eye bear."

Bill and Stan eyed each other. "All right, you're not bad at improv," Bill said. "I can respect a decent actor."

"You too," Stan said grudgingly. Bill looked at Stan like he expected a little more than that; but Stan kept his mouth shut. Bill didn't need the encouragement.

####

Dr. Illing's "FREE CANDY" sign leaned hopefully near a gap in the fence around an overgrown lot by the barrel factory. The gap was large enough that a reasonably limber human could duck through with little difficulty; however, Stan was old and Bill was still controlling his alien body like a rookie puppeteer learning the marionette, so they circled halfway around the lot until they found a gate in the fence to push open. They trod across scraggly grass, a row of dying mushrooms, and years-old litter to reach an unmarked white van hooked up to a camper trailer.

The back hatch of the trailer was flipped up to serve as a makeshift metal awning, and inside, a tall, spindly man was snoring atop a military cot in his underwear, using a white lab coat like a blanket. Stan cleared his throat loudly, and when that didn't disrupt the snoring, knocked on the side of the trailer. "Hey! Doc!"

Dr. Illing jolted upright with a yelp, seized an enormous wireless power drill off the floor to point at them like a gun, lowered it slightly as he registered he wasn't under attack, then realized he was nearly naked and yelped again. He tumbled off the cot, flailed his way to his feet, and turned his back to them as he jerked on his coat and buttoned it. "Just—just a second!" He got on one sock, couldn't find the other, and gave up, pulling on his sneakers with one bare foot. "Sorry, so sorry, I must've—just—nodded off for a second, there—"

"Maybe we should have made an appointment," Bill said wryly. "He looks busy." Stan snorted.

Dr. Illing turned around, smoothing out his rumpled lab coat. He was a jumpy, twitchy man with heavy circles under his eyes, short badly-cut hair, and a 5 o'clock shadow that had evolved into a 25 o'clock shadow. His gaze darted nervously between their faces. "Sorry. Hi, hello, can I help you? Are you maybe here for a tooth extraction, or—or perhaps wisdom teeth removal...?" His gaze caught on Stan's face, and he started. "Stan Pines! I haven't seen you since I pulled your last tooth ten years ago! What are you doing here?" His brows creased in worry. "You're—you're not mad about that, are you—?"

"What? No! The dentures are—fine. They're actually lower maintenance than teeth. Sort of. In a way," Stan said. "No, I'm here to refer a new customer." He pointed at Bill.

Bill made a gesture like he was tipping an invisible hat. "Hi there!"

"A customer?" Dr. Illing said blankly. "Oh—yes! Of course, hold on—" He pulled a hospital curtain over the front half of the trailer to hide a dinette covered in laundry and old magazines, lifted one end of the military cot and slid a step stool under the legs to keep it raised, and tugged the arm of a dental light down from the ceiling to aim it at the chair.

Stan said, "So, do I get some kind of referral bonus, or..."

"Oh—sure, sure. Have a, uhh..." Dr. Illing opened a heavy yellow and black tool bag, pulled out a battered cookie tin, withdrew a gold coin, and offered it to Stan. "One of these or something, here."

"Huh." Stan inspected it. No idea what currency it was, but a gold coin was arguably cooler than actual cash.

The dentist batted aside the hospital curtain to grab a tiny stool from the dinette, shook a damp towel off the seat, placed the stool beside the cot, and sat. "Okay!" He clapped his hands. "New customer! What can I do you for?"

Bill had been gazing in naked longing at the bag hiding the gold coins; but at the question, he looked up with a grin. "I'm here for fillings!"

"Ah! Wonderful. No charge for fillings, of course." He started rummaging through his tool bag for supplies. "Do you know which teeth need them?"

"Whichever you think would look best with some," Bill said. "Driller's choice!"

Dr. Illing stopped rummaging to give Bill a perplexed look. "I—sorry, come again?"

"I said I'm leaving it in your hands." Bill climbed into the trailer and put his free hand on Dr. Illing' s shoulder. "I'll be straight with you, Frankie: all that matters is that my teeth do not currently have any gold in them, and I want that to change by the time I leave. I'm not too picky about the details beyond that."

The dentist stared at Bill, then glanced at Stan for confirmation. Stan shrugged and nodded. "Oh-kay!" Dr. Illing wasn't quite smiling, but there was a strange, eager gleam in his eye. "Super! This'll be fun!" He gestured for Bill to sit on the cot. "Let's see what I have to work with."

He ushered Stan in, and pulled the trailer's hatch shut.

####

"Your teeth are amazing," Dr. Illing said, voice hushed with awe. "Perfectly white. Who's your usual dental hygienist? Did you just get these cleaned?"

"Nope," Bill said, forgetting for the third time that humans keep their teeth and their voice in the same hole and he shouldn't talk with the dentist's fingers in his mouth. Dr. Illing quickly pulled his hand back. "Just basic toothpaste, floss, and dish soap."

Dr. Illing shook his head in disbelief. "Well, they look amazing. And no wear at all, remarkable... Have you ever considered having any of these pulled? Do you mind if I take a few pictures?"

Stan shuddered as the dentist pulled out an old film camera and started snapping photos. "Yeesh. I forgot how creepy you are. Kinda glad I ran out of teeth."

Dr. Illing straightened up, snapped off the dental light, and sighed. "Well, I'm sorry to say that all your teeth are pristine. Not a hint of cavities—not even plaque. It'd be a shame to drill such pretty specimens. You're sure you don't want one pulled...?"

Stan grimaced, but Bill pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if he were considering a perfectly normal question. "As fun as that sounds, I said I want to leave with gold today, and the whole extraction-and-implantation process for gold teeth takes ages. Unless you happen to have a little secret magic trick to speed up the process?" Bill laughed, fixing Dr. Illing with a piercing stare.

Dr. Illing looked nervous. "Er—no."

"Then just the fillings. But who knows, maybe I'll feel naughty and be back in a couple of weeks." Bill laughed again. "Just pick a couple of your least favorite teeth to drill into!"

"Okay, suit yourself." Dr. Illing shrugged and fished around in an overstuffed cardboard box under the dinette table. "Let's gas you up and get drilling."

"You can skip the sedative," Bill said. "I don't mind a little pain. I prefer it, actually! It adds some zest to the experience..." He trailed off as he caught sight of the label on the gas canister Dr. Illing had pulled out. He pointed at a word, "I thought that additive was illegal."

Dr. Illing flinched guiltily. "Not in the state where I got it."

"Oh, buddy. I didn't realize I'd climbed into the party van!" Bill settled back on the cot, laced his hands behind his head, and got comfortable. "You know this stuff has something like sixty percent odds of causing hallucinations? Most people get either haloes around lights, or spiders. Go ahead, gas me—I wanna find out which I am."

####

In five minutes, Bill was overjoyed to report that the dental light had a spider halo. He did not explain what this meant.

Since Stan had typically been under anesthesia himself whenever Dr. Illing operated on him, this was the first time he'd had an opportunity to watch the dentist at work. Stan discovered that when Dr. Illing drilled into a tooth, he didn't suck the resultant dust up with one of those little dental vacuums with a plastic tube Stan was more familiar with. Instead, when a bit of dust had accumulated, he reached in with what looked like a cotton swab, wiped up the tooth dust, and scraped it off into a Petri dish; and only then did he use the vacuum to suck out any saliva and continue. Was he saving the leftover tooth dust? He was an even bigger creep than Stan had thought.

By all appearances, Bill didn't handle the gas well. It wasn't that it made him sick, or that he wasn't having the time of his life. It just made him completely forget how to operate a human body. When Dr. Illing told him to hold his mouth open, he also held his eyes open until they watered; and whenever he lost the battle to keep them open, he automatically shut his mouth too, often to his own peril as Dr. Illing shouted about the drill jostling. Within ten minutes, Dr. Illing had given up on convincing Bill to keep his mouth open and instead started giving him blink breaks when he could shut his mouth.

It helped some, but they couldn't do anything about the fact that Bill had fully forgotten he couldn't talk while getting dental work done, and kept up a regular chatter—during which he cheerfully mentioned he'd died recently, attempted to explain that the entire universe was actually an elaborate hologram projecting from the "true" third dimension, and asked Dr. Illing all about the cruise to Panama he'd recently stowed away on (which the dentist hadn't mentioned). During one blink break, as Bill closed each eye separately, Dr. Illing leaned toward Stan and muttered, "So... what's her story?"

Stan tilted his head toward the Petri dish. "What's with the tooth shavings?"

Dr. Illing considered that, slowly nodded, and got back to work.

####

After several hours, Dr. Illing wiped his brow and sighed in relief. "All right, that should do it. You've got fillings on five teeth now." Under his breath, he muttered, "It would have been two, if you hadn't kept talking while I was drilling."

Stan shook his head in amazement. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Yes," Bill said. "I've never felt pain like that before. What a rush."

"If you do come back for a tooth extraction, I'm getting a dental gag to keep your jaws open." Dr. Illing finished pulling out the array of clamps and barriers around the filling sites and wearily dropped down onto his stool. "There. The rest of the sedative should wear off gradually over the next few hours. Usually I tell patients to wait three or four hours before eating to let the swelling go down, but..." He waved wearily. "You can do whatever you want."

"Admit it, you like having an enthusiastic patient!" Bill heaved himself off the military cot, forgot he couldn't float, and immediately collapsed to the floor.

"Whoa there—" Stan helped Bill back to his feet. The handcuffs prevented him from getting an arm around Bill's back, so instead he helped keep him upright by firmly squeezing his upper arm. "I don't know about you, but I'm eating as soon as we get home. You made me miss lunch—and for some reason, I feel like I barely had any breakfast." Bill inexplicably found this declaration hilarious. Probably the sedative, Stan reasoned.

Bill waved at the dentist as Stan tugged him out the trailer's hatch, chattering the whole way: "Thanks for the gold, the sock you were looking for is a bookmark in the March issue of Floss Girls, Atlantis is rising as we speak, you have less than seven years to prepare for the plague, tell the little lady I said hi! Byyye!"

Stan squeezed Bill's arm tighter and muttered, "Would you cut that out?

Bill stumbled across the uneven lot. "I made up the part about Atlantis."

"Okay just shut up and stop saying weird things."

Bill attempted to walk sideways all the way back to the car.

####

Stan gripped the steering wheel so tightly, his arms were trembling.

Bill was sprawled all over the front bench, the dashboard, the seatback, and Stan's shoulders.

On the radio, a hit 80's R&B song with a sexy saxophone was playing, "Babe, the sad things you've been through... I swear I'll make it up to you... If it takes a thousand years..."

Bill was singing at the top of his lungs directly in Stan's ear, "I'LL WIPE AWAY ALL YOUR TEARS, WOO!—sax solo!—BA DA-DA DA, BA DA-DAAA—"

Stan turned off his right hearing aid.

Every once in a while Bill attempted to grab the steering wheel and turn it in time to the song, like a kid playing in a toy car; Stan had given up telling him to stop and instead started just smacking his hand away every time he tried. After another smack, Bill draped his arm awkwardly over Stan again, and announced, "I can't feel my tongue at all! I bet I can chew it off!"

"Don't do that."

"The last time my mouth was this numb, my girlfriend had just gotten done with me, haha." Bill stuck his finger in his mouth to experimentally poke at his tongue. "I couldn' thee for the nex' hour from all the thporeth—"

"I swear if you don't shut up—"

Bill flopped his arm across Stan again. "I just realized I haven't gotten any action since I died. Wow. What's normal for humans, couple times a week until you start the slow lingering decline toward death?" He looked straight at Stan. Stan could feel that side of his face start to sweat. "This isn't a weird time to bring that up, is it?"

"Bill, if you say one more weird thing, you're riding home on the roof of the car."

Bill was quiet for three seconds. And then he started poking Stan's bicep. "Your arm's a lot meatier than Sixer's! What's your favorite flavor of cancer?"

####

Mabel asked, "Why are you on top of the car?"

Bill—eyes wide, hair disheveled, one arm hanging through the driver's door, sprawled out clinging to the roof like his life depended on it—replied, "I don't know, it's all a blur."

Stan opened the car door and jerked on the handcuffs. "All right, get off my car."

Bill shakily climbed off, lay in the dirt, and tried to catch his breath. "That was fun. We should do that more often."

"Not on your life."

Eyeing the handcuffs, Dipper said, "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Nothing!" Stan snapped. "Why? Who's asking? I wasn't sneaking the demon out to get a shady back-alley dental procedure!"

Mabel and Dipper stared up at him.

Stan pointed at them. "What are you doing?"

"Going camping," Dipper said, turning so Stan could see his stuffed backpack.

"Something's been stealing Pacifica's alpacas at night, so we're going on a stake-out," Mabel said. "They took Giorgio. It's personal now."

"We think aliens might be abducting them," Dipper said.

From the ground, Bill said, "It's not aliens."

"Ah, taking the law into your own hands. It builds character," Stan said approvingly. "You need firearms?"

They exchanged a glance. "We're good," Mabel said. "Grunkle Ford loaned us his freeze ray. It seems less lethal."

As the kids headed toward the road, Bill finally heaved himself up. "Well, that was fun!"

"No it wasn't," Stan said.

"Your opinion doesn't matter. Anyway—" He shook his cuffed wrist. "We're home, get me out of this thing. It makes you look like my ugly accessory and I want my hoodie."

"I elevate your whole look!" Stan protested. "And I don't have the key, it's with Soos."

Mabel turned back to shout at them, "Soos is out! He's got a dinner date with Melody!"

Stan grimaced. "Uh-oh."

Bill shrugged and said, with a confidence Stan didn't share, "He left the key behind."

####

"Oh man, sorry dudes," Soos said over the phone. "I totally forgot I still had it. Yeah, it's on my key ring. Is that, like, gonna be a problem, or...?"

"It's fine," Bill said, sitting atop Soos's office desk and leaning all the way across it to reach the phone. "Just pass it through the phone, we'll catch it."

"What?"

"Ignore him." Stan shoved Bill's face away. Bill gave him a dirty look as he straightened out his eyepatch, which he'd finally gotten to put on once they were home. Stan spun the desk chair away from Bill so he couldn't try to join the conversation again. "He's hopped up on psychedelic laughing gas. When are you gonna be back?"

"Uh..." Soos thought for several seconds. "Nooot for a while. Abuelita and I were talking about maybe kind of staying the night?"

"Well—pfff—can't you duck out and bring the key?"

"Uhhh. I would but, this is the first time Abuelita and I are having dinner with Melody's parents, and I'm really worried about impressing them parents, and the casserole's about to come out, and I think they might judge me if I leave, it would probably ruin dinner..."

"Okay, fine. What if we drive over to get the key?"

Far louder than necessary, Bill asked, "Stanley can I drive this time—!"

"Absolutely not!"

"Oh sure, that'd be fine," Soos said. "I'll give you directions, Melody's parents' place is in Portland. You got a pen?"

Stan frowned. "Portland."

"Yep."

"As in, outside the magic bubble trapping Bill in town."

Soos paused. "Oh, right."

Well, Stan wasn't about to make Soos look bad in front of his future in-laws. He'd never had in-laws, but he'd seen enough sitcoms to know how messy that could get. "Never mind. We'll figure something out. You kids enjoy dinner." Stan hung up the phone, sighed, and turned to face Bill. (Bill had plucked a figurine of a bulky robot in a cute girly pose off of Soos's desk, and was staring at it in wonder, like he'd never seen overpriced anime convention merch before.) "You got any other bright ideas?"

"We could still call Darryl and Edwin..."

"No way," Stan snapped. "I am not calling the cops for help! Never gonna happen. I'd rather wait for Soos to get back in the morning if I have to!"

"Oh would you." Bill laughed scornfully. "And what do you plan to do until then?"

####

They got TV dinners and grumpily watched Cash Wheel together.

####

(This entire chapter was just an extended excuse to annoy Stan and Bill as much as possible. But mostly Stan. Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed I'd appreciate a comment or reblog!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle stan #stanley pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(please pretend the first song sounds like Unchained Melody)#(please pretend the second song sounds like Careless Whisper)

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upon-a-starry-night · 8 months ago

Text

Number Neighbors Pt.27

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

Nat’s been more than exhausted these past few weeks as she drafts up argument after argument that she can use against the government to justify why she and her fellow Avengers shouldn't be put on a leash. She knows it’s a long shot and she doesn’t have enough witness accounts or evidence yet but she’s been hearing about the crime rate spike through the rumor mill and she hopes that soon enough she’ll have enough to come back.

She can bring her family back and finally have you. If you’ll still have her after all of this is over. She knows you’d have every right to be mad but she hopes you’ll understand enough to at least let her take you on one date.

The rain pelts outside of her window as it has been for the last three days and she sighs as she lies back on her pull-out bed. If it were under different circumstances she might’ve been able to appreciate the break from the city and the pressure. Maybe she could even come back to these woods with Clint, or Wanda, or…You.

She’s working hard to make sure her family is safe, yes, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t working this hard to also see you again. To finally know what it feels like to hold you, to run her fingers through your hair, and hear you laugh again. The thought of you has been the only thing that’s brought her comfort these past few weeks.

Her computer dings with an email and she shoots up immediately, grabbing the shiny object from the side table next to her and pulling it onto her lap. She wasn’t expecting any emails while she was out here and her mind jumped to the worst-case scenario: they’d found her location.

The email is from an unknown sender which only makes her more uneasy and she’s more frustrated than anything that she’ll have to find a new place to hide when she recognizes the encrypted link hidden in the email's coding.

It was a website Clint had created just for the two of them to communicate in case there was ever a situation similar to this. She’s afraid to admit just how comforting it was to hear from someone close to her after weeks of no contact. She quickly opens the website and reads the messages.

Clint-

Hey Natty, hope you’re having fun wherever you’ve parked that trailer of yours, Tony’s been a real pain in the butt but we’re trying to negotiate some better terms with some government officials. I know you’re probably working on a solution of your own but I’ve got to at least pretend like I contribute to this group-

She snorts at the self-jab, knowing her fellow Avenger couldn’t care less about the insults people say about him being the least skilled Avenger. She always admired that about him.

Clint-

Anyway, your phone’s been blowing up. I think Tony is getting suspicious so I took it and hid it in my room. I think you’re gonna be in deep shit with your girlfriend when you get back haha.

I attached the voicemails you’ve been getting, I didn’t listen to them but I saw who they were from. Thought they might be important.

Nat’s heart pounded as she stared at the attached files, there were at least 30 voicemails from you varying in different lengths and part of her was scared to open them. There was no doubt a few of them were just you yelling at her but even then she’d missed the sound of your voice so much that she’d take your irritation over anything else.

She hesitates over the first voicemail with her cursor but clicks it before she can sike herself out. There’s a little bit of silence and she wonders if you’re going to talk before she hears a small sniffle and her heart breaks. She swore to herself she’d never make you cry and now she’d failed, the sound of your quiet crying echoing throughout her trailer only amplifying her defeat.

It's another thirty seconds before your voice finally breaks through. It’s rough and raw and she can tell you’d probably been crying for a while.

“Nat? Where did you go? Why’d you leave? Listen- we don’t have to meet if you don’t want to. We can keep texting forever just don’t ghost me like this. Please.” It’s short and by how broken your last word sounded she can tell you were probably thrown into another fit of sobs after you ended the message.

Nat doesn’t know what to do with herself, her body feels frozen and her heart won’t stop sinking further into her stomach. She’s never heard you sound so unsure of yourself before and it tears her apart that she’s the one who made you that way. It takes her a few minutes to muster up the courage to click on another one.

“What kind of person just says ‘I’m sorry?’ I deserve a better explanation than that! You couldn’t have at least lied to me about going to save baby animals in Africa where there’s no cell service? At least then when you stopped responding I could’ve felt better!” She’s not surprised that you’re mad at her, you deserve to be, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at her chest when she hears how irked you are.

The next few are similar in the fact that they’re either angry or spoken through tears but they slowly begin transitioning into something else. Eventually, you stop talking about her leaving and start talking about yourself. What you did that day, what you’re making for dinner, the cat you’ve been visiting at the cat cafe. There’s still a hint of sadness in your tone but she can tell the calls are a form of therapy for you. A way for Nat to be there when she’s not really there.

She wants to be there. She wants to be the one you’re talking about your day with, wants to cook you dinner while you sit on the counter and visit the cat cafe with you. It hurts that she can’t do that and as she’s listening she feels her eyes burn with tears. She refuses to let them fall. She’s not the one who gets to cry in this scenario and yet her eyes refuse to give up their unshed tears.

There’s one last voicemail from a day ago and she clicks on it expecting it to be like the others but much to her surprise you’re talking about her again.

“I think I’m mad because I can’t even bring myself to hate you for it. I know you’ve probably got some shit going on. I understand that, trust me. But- I don't know you could’ve… maybe it’s too much of me to ask you to fill me in on the situation- or let me know when you’d be back… Is this goodbye?”

Your static voice rings out into the silence and Nat hates how you sound. Reserved- almost accepting. Like you’ve convinced yourself she’s never going to respond again and she hates it. She hates that she made you so insecure that you think she isn't spending every hour thinking of you and how to get back to you.

The sound of your voice fills her with even more determination as she begins redrafting her court argument. She was going to come back to you, you just had to wait for her a little longer.

Pt.28

A/n: Aww Nat :( ~ Starry

---Taglist--

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