#but then again when he abandoned me like a wet dog on the side of the road

[mercymaker]

love is truly the dumb fuck juice of all time because a man can literally tell you 'i have violent thoughts of harming you' and your ass will be twirling hair and kicking feet like 'but would we kiss after that or?' like

[lovelivision]

GREEDY FOR MORE!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 【𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞】 fushiguro toji/reader, geto suguru/reader, gojo satoru/reader, kamo choso/reader

𝐖𝐂: 3.4k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: pussy drunk and so obsessed they're behaving downright greedily, just how will you fare against them when they're not thinking sensibly?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, clit slapping (once), needy and desperate boys, pussy drunk boys, biting/marking, creampie, p in v sex, afab!reader, no pronouns or y/n used, i think that's all !! <3

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 ★

It’s hot, the room is hot, Toji is hot, you’re hot, it’s hot and you can barely think. His huffed breaths warm against your neck, his hips relentless, hammering into you with reckless abandon, so far gone and still in pursuit of more.

Making such a mess, the combination of your shared previous orgasms drooling from your cunt with every thrust he makes. Lewd slapping sounds filling the room with the force of his every movement, ravenous and unwilling to stop.

Panting against your skin, hands pushing your legs down, folding you under him, moving you how he pleases, how he needs, “Doing so good – hah – for me, messy little thing.”

“I can’t keep going, Toji – mmph – it’s too much,” your eyes burning with tears, the overstimulation becoming too much for you, so fucked full that it’s beginning to make your head spin.

“Don’t be silly,” he nips at your neck before licking at the length of it, “Of course you can keep going…” pulling back to look you in the eyes and oh, he looks so utterly fucked, dumb and happy look in his eyes, “‘Cause I’m not fucking done yet.” Punctuating the end of his sentence with a harsh slam of his hips.

He’s not pulling out yet, not when you’re so soft and warm, creamy pussy pulsing around him, sucking him in so divinely, how could he finish now when he’s this obsessed with your sweet, little cunt.

Your tears only spurring him on, loving how wrecked you look, dick twitching at your small sobs and whines, so overwhelmed by your own pleasure. Leaning in to kiss you hotly, deeply, tongue licking into your mouth, moans shared in it, each sound he swallows down.

Never stopping his hips, pelvis hitting your clit with every re-entry, your mind foggy, hands clawing at his back, hoping it gives you some kind of reprieve. Legs starting to burn with how they’re thrown over his shoulders, too far gone to really register it.

Hands moving to tug at his hair, pulling him back by it, lips connected by a string of spit, snapping when he licks his lower lip. You’re not even sure if he’s all there anymore, eyes glazed and lidded, pace faltering when he looks you in the eyes.

His head dips to watch how he fucks into you, groaning aloud at how messy it is, how obscene it is. Balls pulling tight at how your cunt has him coated in white, “God, I’m gonna fucking die,” words rushed and mumbled, speeding his hips up, barely pulling out before fucking back in, “Gotta keep going – hah – can’t stop, don’t wanna – hnnn – stop, don’t make me stop, please.”

His gaze never leaving your cunt, something deeply possessive bubbling inside him at how your pussy bulges around his cock. He doesn’t want to stop, never wants to stop fucking you, breaths rushed and nearly panting like a damn dog. You’re doing so good for him, always so good, almost too good.

Your grip pulls his head up to look at you again, his eyes wet, skin flushed so pink, biting into his lower lip, so desperate to keep going. “Last one,” you condition.

“So cruel…” he groans pathetically, one of his own hands reaching out and holding the side of your face, “Fine.” His thumb wiping at one of your tears, “Better make it count then, huh?”

Eyes growing wide at his words, confused by what he means before understanding suddenly and all at once. Somehow, his thrusts harsher, controlled, angled specifically to hit against the one spot that has you going fucking insane.

Crying from how good it feels, too good, nails clawing down his arms, breath stuttered and rushed, shocked by his force, left struck dumber than him at it. His lazy smirk, drunk and proud, eyes nearly rolling back at how tightly you’re suddenly gripping him.

Already so close for him, not even with it enough to be embarrassed over it, though, you’ve both been far gone for a while now, how you can even still huff out pleas is beyond you. “Too mu– ah ah, too much, Toji– please, slo–”

“If you can – hnnn – still talk – hah – then I’m not doing –hnnn – it right,” he bites out, concrete in his sentiments.

Manoeuvring your legs down, pressing into the back of your knees, leaning back. Almost falling apart at the sight of you spread so open for him, so beyond wrecked, so soft, God, he might not pull out, might try and convince you to let him keep going, he might beg for it.

Pistoning down into you, “Just one more, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Let’s see how long I can hold out for then,” he smiles large and languid. Evil in his intent, sure, it will be his last orgasm but that doesn’t mean it will be soon.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 ★

Chest sweaty against his, pressed to him, his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight. Sat in his lap, his hips fucking up into you, his cum leaking back down onto him from your overstuffed pussy.

You’re limp on him, however many orgasms deep, having lost count a long time ago, Geto keeps making you cum, over and over and over–

Obsessed with how it feels, how it feels when you cum around him, cunt gripping him so tightly, sucking him in deeper. Needing to feel it, loving it too much, hungry for more. Bordering on feral for it, losing his ability to consider his next moves, only really driving his hips up over and over, hoping he’s driving you as crazy as you’re driving him.

Your plush walls tight around his throbbing cock, his hands spread your ass cheeks to fuck himself in deeper, eyes nearly rolling back at it. Nuzzling his head into your neck, panting his moans against your skin, teeth nipping at you.

Your hands thread shakily through his hair, tugging his head back, “Sugu– I can’t– you need to – hah – slow down.”

“Don’t wanna,” he bites back, head tipped back, eyes hazy and fucked as he looks at you, “Feels too good – hnnn – so good,” mouth gasping for air when your hand tugs harshly at his hair.

Eyes teary when you plead, “Can’t take anymore – mmph – it’s too–”

“It’s fine, you’re fine, you–” hips stuttering when you grip him tighter at the sound of his wrecked voice, his moans cutting himself off, “Fuuck– always take it so well.”

Suddenly, your world is spinning, dizzy as he manoeuvres you both so he’s on top of you, heavy cock barely leaving you before he’s stuffing you full again. Pace wild and quicker, forcing all the air out of your lungs with it.

Legs kicking at the delicious sting of overstimulation, his pelvis smacking into your clit with every angled thrust. Wrapping your limbs around him to hold on for dear life, his large hands on your waist, tugging you back and forth, fucking you like a toy.

In all honesty, Geto feels like he might fucking pass out, head foggy and fucked out but needing to feel more of you, all of you. Your small whimpers and pleads fall on deaf ears, he’s not listening, not when you’re sucking him back in before he even really gets a chance to pull out.

Growing impossibly tighter around him, his groans breathless, hips struggling to continue fucking you at the pace he wants. “You’re gonna – oh fuck – you’re gonna cum again, can fuckinn feel it,” words pushed out through his teeth, shivers running down his back.

Your eyes are screwed shut, “I don’t – hnnn – know if I can – ah!”

“You can and you are,” he chuckles humourlessly at how pathetic you sound, so utterly ruined, “Poor thing – hnnn – so fucking wet, so sloppy, making a fucking mess everywhere and this cunt is still creaming for more – ah fuck.”

You’re cumming around him violently, pussy spasming around him, hips struggling to move away from it all but it’s of no use, Geto is holding you firmly, still fucking you through it. Mouth hung open and eyes rolled back while he dances on cloud nine, fucking delighted by how hard you’re cumming for him.

Barely even slowing his pace before ramming into you again with a renewed vigour, your body wracked and shaking with your aftershocks. Everything feels like jelly, your limbs, mind, everything, cheeks wet and stained with your tears and drool.

“Pick a number,” he grunts roughly, tone shaky even to his ears.

You huff against him, hands scrabbling for purchase on his back, your own barely even on the bed, nearly all your weight being supported by his hands, words slurred as you manage to struggle out a small, “W–what?”

“Pick a – hnn – fucking number, now.”

Sobbing out a confused, “Three?”

You can hear the grin in his tone, incredibly excited, “Alright, three more – fuck – three more orgasms from you.”

Eyes widening in shock, shaking your head against him, trying to pull away, “No no no, I can’t– I can’t, Sugu.”

He licks cruelly at your cheeks, collecting the tears that had stained them, “‘Course you can,” he huffs out through his nose, amused, “You picked the number after all.”

Not letting you argue against him, lips on yours, suffocating any words you had for him, tongue licking at your own. You can’t breathe against him; he’s not pulling back for air enough. When he does pull back, he’s ecstatic at just how fucked you look, pressing a soft peck to your lips.

“Three more, you can do it – hah – always so good for me,” he praises, still completely unwilling to pull out, he needs to feel it, your cunt snug around him, pulsing as you cover him in fresh slick, he fucking needs it.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ★

Face stuffed into the plush bedding below, Gojo fucking into you from behind, his cock coated in your combined orgasms, completely obscene and depraved. His eyes locked on where he’s stuffing you full, fucking hypnotised by the sight.

Free hand gripping at your ass cheek, pulling you open just to get a better view, his knees knocking yours open more, your back arching for him even more. It’d be downright embarrassing how exposed and obedient you were being… if you were even capable of a singular coherent thought.

“So good– holy fuck,” laughing breathlessly at how your cunt spasms around him at the sounds of his voice, “I’m dying before I pull out, can’t– oh!” Hips stuttering and words dying on his tongue when he catches how your pussy drools onto the bedsheets below, his and your cum both leaking from you in thick globs.

He’s not leaving any time soon, obsessed with the view, with how it feels, lewd in how wet and sticky everything is. Not sure when the next time you’re going to let him fuck you like this will be and incredibly unwilling to end this experience.

Wearing a large smile on his face, eyes bright and filled with a fucked kind of delight, his body leaning down over yours to speak into your ear, “I bet,” he licks at the tip of your ear before nipping it, voice low when he continues, “You’re getting close again,” he tuts against you, “So greedy.”

“‘Toru, I–” cut off abruptly by the swift smack he delivers to your clit, jolting your body forward, choked whine leaving you with it. Your pussy seizing against your will, cumming just like he knew you would, if his amused laughs are anything to go by.

“Ohh fuck! That’s it– holy shit –hnnn–” His words are spoken over a smile, completely wrecked but also completely excited over it.

His dick twitching wildly with how tight you grip him, cumming from how much slicker and tighter you get, dumping his cum deep inside you, barely even stopping his thrusts. Just stuffing your overfilled pussy, leaning back to stare at your poor cunt bulging around him.

Biting his lip to hold back all his own ruined noises, hoping to keep the illusion of control when he’s all to aware of how completely pussy drunk he is. If you threatened to stop him now, he might actually cry, whipped and desperate to keep fucking into you.

Pulling out only to watch the way his cum gushes out of you, eyes sparkling at it, hand leaving the back of your neck so he can use the both of them to pull you open, your cunt jumping and hips trying to wiggle away from him.

“No no nonono, you’re not going anywhere,” guiding himself back to your hole, shoving himself inside, bottoming out quickly, “Nooo, we’re not done, fuck– never be done.”

So quick to resume fucking you like a madman, his hands gripping and pulling at you everywhere, obsessively worshipping your body in the most depraved manner he’s capable of.

Leaning in again just to bite at your shoulders and neck, leaving marks everywhere he can possibly reach. Relishing in the way you twitch and whine for him, truly feeling the most debilitating need to keep fucking you.

Desperately rutting into you, eyes glazed over and lost, head heavy as he leans into you, hands tugging you back against him by your hips. “Feels too good– fuck, what the fuck– hah–” Just about losing his mind over how good it feels.

Your small and wrecked voice calls for him, spit drooling from the corner of your mouth, “You need to – ah! ah! – ‘Toru, it’s too much!”

“Shhh, no no, please don’t – hah –” Pulling back just to pull you up with him, cock never leaving your tight heat, his chest to your back, hands roaming the front of your body, “Don’t say that, not enough– never be enough–”

His fingers moving down your body to rub messy circles into your clit, the sudden stimulation almost knocking you over, only held up by Gojo’s hand on your chest. Loud whimpers pulled from your chest, feeling completely limp against him, eyes wet and crying.

“More, I need more, more more.” He’s practically begging you to cum again, mouth right by your ear, “You can give me more, right? Please pleasepleaseplease.” Pathetic in how he’s asking.

“I– I dunno ‘Toru,” you whinge, words slurred.

“I think you can,” fingers speeding up on your clit, wicked and fucked out smile on his face at how your eyes roll back in your head, mouth dropping open.

You’d fold in on yourself completely if Gojo wasn’t still holding you up, your orgasm rocking through your body, hips caught between trying to get away from him and fucking back onto his cock.

He’s going insane, fucking you through it and holding you tightly so you can’t get away, needing to keep going, keep feeling how you pulse and cream all over him, he could swear he’d die if he doesn’t.

Fingers not letting up, still dancing over your clit, the overstimulation too much, whines leaving you, trying to tell him it’s too much, that’s it feels too good, that it hurts. He’s too preoccupied, though, completely aware of what he’s doing, just hoping to get another orgasm out of you before you pass out.

Succeeding in his endeavours, large, diabolical smile breaking out across his face at how he pulls another orgasm out of you so soon after the other, “That’s it– fuck– that’s it, so good, sooo good.”

Shaking your head against him, telling him no more, to which, he thankfully pulls his fingers away from your poor abused clit. His thrusts don’t stop though, obsessively driving forwards, letting you flop back into the mattress just to lay his weight over the top of you, pressed close. Cock twitching inside you, sensitive and still aching for so much more, voice cracking in his desperation, “Jus’ a lil’ more, hmm?”

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 ★

This was just meant to be you riding him, something for him to enjoy, something for you to knock his socks off with but it’s quickly devolved into him holding your body flat to his, his hips rutting desperately up into you, his arms around you using you to fuck you back and forth onto his aching cock.

Fucking orgasm after delicious orgasm out of the both of you, though yours are just a consequence of his relentless fucking, not really aiming to fuck you properly, hips just mindlessly chasing his own pleasure.

“Sorry, m’sorry, ‘m so sorry,” he mumbles over and over, feeling bad for taking away your control but needing to use you to fuck himself how he pleases.

You felt too wet, too tight, too hot wrapped so snugly around him, your pace wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t hitting deep enough, he just needed so much more, he needed to fuck you until he’s blind. He needed to be able to hold your body tight and fuck himself stupid, he’ll let you ride him next time, he promises.

“Cho– I– it’s okay,” you manage to force out, drooling into the corner of his neck, completely dumb on his dick.

“I’ll let you – hnnn – fuck me properly next time – hah – I promise,” pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, a complete opposition to how he’s fucking you so meanly.

Hands moving down your body to your ass, gripping you, forcing you up and down in time with his thrusts. Moans leaving him in a choked manner, trying to hold back and failing miserably, sounding so pathetic even to himself but not really caring, not when your cunt only drips more for him, grips him tighter.

His abs tense and squeeze, it all feels too good, too much, and he’s hooked, completely drunk and desperate for more. So fucking desperate it’s embarrassing, eyes wet and glassy, like he might shed tears just from how good it all feels.

Grip tight on your soft skin, places that will hurt tomorrow, his hands hoping to ground himself but only driving him wilder at just how unbelievably soft you are, skin delicate, his nails probably puncturing into it, leaving crescent shapes behind.

His cock so hard it hurts, twitching and throbbing inside you, you can feel it, the tempo of it. The thought alone dizzying, pulling at his hair, making him moan, his hips jump, “Need – hnnnn – need so much more, need it all, need to stuff you so full you can’t breathe,” he’s not sure if he’s making sense, words rushed and completely horny.

“Do it then – hah –” You’re goading him, giving him the permission, just to see what he does, to see how much more he can ruin himself and you along with him.

He rolls the both of you, the air leaving your lungs at the switch, his arm quick to hold your knee up and over his shoulder. Holding you open in an obscene display, his dick back inside you so fast you don’t even have time to think about it.

“Sorry, m’sorry, sorry – hah – but,” his brow is creased as he fucks into you, head dipping to see how fucked full you are, his cock opening you up lewdly, his chest stuttering at the sight, messy and creamy, “I need it– fuck– I need it so bad,” his voice pitched and pathetic.

Every time he thrusts into you, his pelvis grinds into your clit, your pussy jumping and eyes almost rolling every time, your hips trying to meet his. His hand forces your hips down, “Just– stay fuckin still,” determined to make you cum, “Let me do this – hnnnn – let me fuck you how I like.”

His words have you shuddering, the most feral you’ve ever see him, not usually so demanding, usually allowing you to do as you please in bed. His eyes are dark though, needing something from you that you can’t give but he can certainly take.

The glazed over and fucked out look in his eyes has you breathless and his insistent thrusts have you cumming in a similar breathless manner, only able to smack at his chest lightly to try and warn him, words not forming.

Choso whines at how you cream on him, at just how much messier it all gets, how much slicker. Not slowing his thrusts though, fucking back into you at the same pace, pushing down on your stomach though, to watch all of his cum still inside you leak back out around him. Sinful in nature, having his eyes rolling into his head, cumming just from that.

Cumming inside you deeply, balls heavy and cock twitching as he pumps rope after rope of his cum inside you, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours, pressing kisses to your tear-stained cheeks.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, you’re not sure why until you realise, he’s not stopped, hips slowed to a small rock but not stopping. “Need more.”

𝐀/𝐍: i miiight have gotten carried away with Gojo's but in my defense....... i got nothing, he's just been on my mind a lot lately ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ thanks for reading and i hope you liked it !!

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ LOVE AND MERCY !

summary: you're more stubborn than the apocalypse. eric is the personification of a sad, wet dog. your world's collide when the world as you know it ends. (6.3k)

pairing: eric (a quiet place day one) / f!reader

contents: strangers to friends to lovers, a couple of losers in love, apocalyptic setting, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of grief and anxiety, brief mentions of injuries, and smut 18+

You wake up that morning in a bed that is not yours, in a room that does not belong to you, in an abandoned cabin you turned into a safe house three weeks ago.

Everything around you is foreign. Including the world outside these rotted walls, which turned entirely on its head in a blink. A blink that somehow turned into three months gone.

The only thing familiar to you now is the stranger lying in the bed beside you — on the right side that he has wordlessly claimed as his own. Before Eric was a guy you shared beds with, he was a guy you found in the rain. A boy with big, wet, puppy dog eyes who followed you like a stray after the world fell.

That was all he was to you for a month straight. A burden. Deadweight. An ever-anxious being that had nearly gotten you killed more times than you could count. You never saw him any differently until you almost died — a certain death involving you, an old beartrap, several aliens with uber-sensitive hearing, and a stupid boy who was too dumb to leave you behind. 

“I can’t leave you,” Eric blubbered through tears, whimpering in faint whispers so the blind monsters wouldn’t hear. “I won’t.”

“Then you won’t make it at all, you idiot,” you spat through gritted teeth, eyes wide and stern and glittering. You wouldn’t let yourself cry, not even with your leg all but torn to shreds, but Eric’s sudden stubbornness scared you. Why now? Of all times? you thought to yourself, Why does he have to be so stubborn now?

“I wouldn’t want to,” Eric promised, bloodied hands trembling where they gripped your arms. “I wouldn’t want to make it without you.”

That was a month or so ago, but you carry the horrors of that day still. 

In the vivid nightmares that rattle your bones. In the marred skin of your ankle, hidden beneath bandages, slowly healing with each passing day. And in the strange boy with puppy dog eyes who still hasn’t left your side.

Let me check your leg, Eric scribbles on a notepad. 

His handwriting is slanted and small and hardly legible — fitting for a man whose mind is always racing faster than he can keep up. 

The marker is fading slowly, too, dying from excessive use because the majority of your conversations are spoken through written words on a page. You’ve gone through a notebook or three already.

You snatch the notepad from his grip to write a response of your own. Eric peels the tattered blanket from your body to survey the gauze around your ankle. He peeks beneath the bandage, and his chest pinches at the sight — not because of his sensitive stomach, but because of the harsh reminder of the day he almost lost you.

The paper swishes faintly when you turn the notebook back to him. Okay, Dr. Eric :P, you’ve written in sloppy cursive. The boy grins at the mischievous look in your eyes.

“That’s Doctor Eric Esquire to you,” he corrects in a whisper that makes his accent sound more posh than usual. He smooths the gauze back into place with a gentle hand and says, “You’re healing fine, I think. I’ll have to go out and scavenge for more bandages soon, but these should last for another…”

The sounds of your rapid scribbling fill the quiet cabin. Eric trails off in wait, wide eyes darting from the marker in your hand to the pinched look of concentration on your face. 

He sees a strange sort of giddiness sparking in your otherwise serious features that makes him fearful. Intrigued, yes, but still distantly fearful. All your ideas tend to get him into trouble.

The notebook turns to him again. His stomach does a backflip.

Wanna go on an adventure?

“This is… Not what I was expecting,” Eric muses beneath the sounds of a rushing waterfall. 

His words echo slightly in the expanse of the dank cave. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in full volume, deep and accented and smooth. His pretty whispering annoyed you to no end back when he was just a stranger with exactly zero survival instincts. Now, you never want him to stop talking.

“Well, that’s why it’s an adventure,” you lilt, wiping water from your brow with the neck of your t-shirt. 

Your clothes stick to you in places where the waterfall had splashed you on your way underneath it. The still air of the cave, strangely cool compared to the humid air outside of it, makes you fight back a shiver.

Eric eyes you from a distance, features swirled in a quiet concern. It’s impossible to relish in this little ounce of peace when you have the kind of mind he does — the kind of mind that’s always anxious and always filled with thoughts of you. 

He cares so much for you, far more than he planned to, that it’s made him chronically fearful. He’s grown to realize, since he met you, that the two words are rather synonymous. You can’t have love without fear — and what is there to be fearful for, if not for the ones you love?

“Your bandages really shouldn’t be getting wet, you know?”

You scoff and limp further into the damp hollow. The quiet sound of your steps reverberates within the stone walls, along with the subtle scuffing of your bad foot. “You said I was healing okay, remember?” you huff and drop the basket in your elbow onto the cobblestone.

“I said you were healing fine,” Eric chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” you shrug with a scrunched nose, flashing him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. You turn away again and wince at the distant ache in your ankle when you crouch. 

Sometimes the scars hurt like they’re still fresh, still weeping scarlet and throbbing like a new wound. Eric’s not a doctor, but he tells you that it’ll probably be that way forever. “Phantom pains, I think they call it,” he says in a posh accent that makes him sound more official than he really is. You’re inclined to believe him, anyway.

The boy watches as you sort through the wicker basket you stole — or borrowed, as you claim, “’cause it’s not like the owner’s coming back for it anytime soon.” It’s full of stuff you wouldn’t let him see, like it was some kind of big secret. 

He grimaces when you squat, putting unnecessary weight on a barely healing leg. He knows it hurts, even when you pretend it doesn’t — especially when you pretend it doesn’t. His chest pinches like the ache is his own. Like sympathy pains or something. He worries so much for you that you’ve given him fucking sympathy pains.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Eric agonizes, wiping a pair of anxious hands down his face. He swipes his fingers through his hair and finds the chestnut curls now partially damp. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I mean, what if we have to run, huh? What if we have to—”

“We won’t,” you groan as you stand to full height again. You hold an old quilt in one arm and gesture wildly with the other. “That’s what the waterfall is for. They can’t hear us under here. Nothing’s coming.”

He knows you’re right, but it doesn’t worry him any less.

“How’d you even know this was out here?”

You falter for a moment. A mere blink of a second. But Eric catches it immediately because there isn’t anything about you he doesn’t instantly notice. He’s rarely ever seen you, his silver-tongued girl, so ambivalent. And something about it frightens him.

“I was… on a walk one day… while you were out scavenging—” you answer slowly, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal at all, though you immediately follow it with, “—Don’t get angry.”

Eric’s pink mouth falls softly agape, opening and closing like a fish’s might, while he tries to find the words to say. To shout. To scream. 

“Y-You... You— You left without me?” he stammers, voice booming. 

The words ring across the expanse of the shallow cave, bouncing off the damp stone walls. It’s the loudest he’s heard himself talk since the world ended, and the notion startles him. Like a dog just learning how to bark.

Eric’s breath hitches in his throat as his dark eyes widen in fear. He waits instinctively for the screeching of far-off monsters and their booming footsteps — prepares for an adrenaline rush that’ll give his weak arms the strength to carry both of you to safety.

It never comes. 

The sounds of the waterfall shield you from the war raging outside of it. 

When the panic passes, the anger resumes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eric agonizes, quieter now, though the corner of his lip twitches with withheld anger. 

You keep your back to the boy and lay out the contents of the wicker basket. A floral quilt to cushion the stone flooring, two bottles of wine to share between you, several bags of stale chips, and one MP3 player that’s somehow stronger than the end of the world. You pay Eric no mind as he continues to rant behind you.

“What if you’d gotten killed? What if— What if you got lost and I couldn’t find you—?!”

“Don’t shout!” you gripe despite your own booming voice. 

“Why not?” Eric questions with a cynical laugh. “I thought nothing could hear us under here?”

You spin back around to face him, grimacing slightly when your healing wounds start to burn. You tilt your chin in a look of defiance, though your eyes sparkle faintly in the dim natural light — something mischievous and strangely shy. 

“I don’t want you to shout because I put a lot of effort into this,” you answer in a steady voice, lips quirking in a distant smile. “And we can’t enjoy it if you’re gonna be grumpy the entire time.”

Eric blinks at you for several long moments, brown eyes wide like an owl. Only then does he notice what you’d set up for him in the brief minutes he’d been blinded by his anger. A picnic of sorts — fashioned with a moth-eaten quilt, dusty wine bottles, and snacks you’d scavenged and seemingly stashed like a squirrel. It’s about as fancy as you can get in an apocalypse.

His mouth opens and closes again, this time in a quiet sort of shock. “Wh… What?”

“Well, you kinda spent your entire birthday taking care of me, so… I figured we were past due for a celebration.”

Eric’s brows pinch together. A furrow of deep thought settles between them. 

He realizes he hadn’t thought twice about his birthday till now. Hadn’t thought twice about turning another year older, just like he hadn’t thought twice about needing to be repaid for taking care of you. He did both things without thinking. He can’t control his urge to dote on you like he can’t control the existential dread of getting older.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“‘Cause you told me once,” you shrug. “And I keep track of the days in my calendar, so—”

“So, you’re saying that… That you did all this...” the man laughs, gesturing to the cave and the waterfall and the wine. “For me?”

A similar-sounding laugh sputters from your own mouth ‘cause you do it all for him. From going on stupid picnics to fighting monsters from another planet. Everything you’ve done up until this point, you realize now, you’ve done for Eric. You keep on living despite the unfavorable odds for Eric.

“Of course I did. It’s not that big of a deal,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest to shield your bleeding heart. “I mean, you kinda saved my life. The least I can do is take you on a stupid fucking picnic.”

When you turn around again to ease yourself onto the blanket, Eric tries to make out the words to thank you. Not just for what you’ve done here, but for what you’ve done all the days since he found you. Because you’ve saved his life too, more times than he could count, actually — ‘cause that’s just what you do. You save each other and don’t think twice about it because that’s what you do when you care for someone.

He forgot all about birthdays and picnics and what it meant to be alive before he found you. And now that you’re here, you spend every single day reminding him of everything the end of the world begs him to forget.

“I’m— I’m sorry… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Eric stammers in a sheepish murmur, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I know,” you nod, smiling as you pat the spare spot beside you. “Now stop being weird and come sit down.”

The wine is warm, the chips are stale, and the quilt just barely cushions the hard ground beneath you — but everything’s still somehow perfect. Your MP3 player is almost as old as you are and cracked down the middle, but the music plays just perfectly from its headphones, anyway. 

Maybe it’s perfect ‘cause it’s not perfect. 

Or maybe it’s perfect because you’re here.

You sit side-by-side on the handmade blanket, legs crossed and knees brushing, as you share an earbud between you. Conversation ebbs and flows between snacking. Music fills the silence.

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie with my hands on my chin,

All the violence that occurs, seems like we never win...

Eric tips his head back to down the rest of the cheesy crumbs in the package he holds in a pale fist. His scruffy cheeks jut like a chipmunk as he chews through the mouthful. “I missed this, you know?” he mumbles.

You set the wine bottle beside you after taking a lengthy sip, licking the bitter-sweet grape from your lips. “What?” you wonder aloud. “The wine? The Cheetos? The music?”

The boy goes quiet as he ponders the question. He figures he was talking about you, mostly — this sort of connection between humans, this sort of comfort, this sort of normalcy. The music answers your question in his silence.

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

He nods anyway. “All of the above, actually…”

“You know what I miss?” you wonder beneath the rustling of the Scooby Snacks you dig your hand into. You chuck a cartoon bone into your mouth and find the graham-cracker components have gone soft with time. “I miss driving down backroads… going way faster than what’s probably allowed… with the windows down and the radio all the way up…”

Eric watches the far-off look in your eyes as you stare, unblinking, at the waterfall ahead of you. Clear water rushes from the mountain and falls hard onto the cobbles and the still water below. Rogue drops splatter inside the shallow cave, occasionally splashing you with fat droplets.

The running waterfall cast fleeting shadows over your face, littered now with faint scars. Your features are much softer than he’s used to in the natural light.

“I miss college parties,” he confesses, wiping his palms on his knees.

You wash the dry graham cracker out with another sip of wine and try not to laugh as you swallow it down.

“Why’s that funny?” Eric wonders through his own chuckle, only partially offended.

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t take you for a partier.”

“I wasn’t really…” he concedes with a shy shrug, gaze averted and cheeks pink. “But I was a really big fan of karaoke.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eric humors with a scrunched nose.

You tilt your head back to laugh — a pretty, airy sound that echoes within the cobbled walls, only partially drowned out beneath the rushing waterfall. You shift closer toward him when you’re upright again, probably without realizing, but Eric notices. He can’t help but notice everything you do. And he can’t help but lean instinctively closer to you, too.

He can smell the natural scent of you beneath the various surrounding ones — of freshwater, pine, and whatever cologne was spritzed on your shirt before you found it. He can smell the sweet wine on your breath, too, and he quickly realizes that you’re close enough to kiss. If only he weren’t so chicken shit.

The proximity makes his cheeks flush, though you’re not nearly as fazed by it.

“I forgot what that felt like…” you muse in a quiet voice of disbelief.

Eric smiles so hard his eyes squint. “What?”

“I don’t know… just, like, happiness? I guess?” you laugh. “I used to think that was impossible before now.”

“Yeah… Me too.” 

The conversation lulls for a moment. The music playing in your ears takes over: 

—I was standing at a bar and watching all the people there…

All the loneliness in this world, well, it’s just not fair…

You cage your smile between your teeth in a feeble attempt to conceal how wide it’s grown. Your eyes are wide and sparkling, likely from the wine, as they flit between both of his darker ones. Eric exhales a breathy chuckle in response, all giddy and nervous for a reason he can’t name (probably from the wine, too, if he had to guess).

He feels himself leaning in to kiss you before he realizes it. He only catches himself when you pull unknowingly away, reaching again for the glass bottle at your side. His heart drops to his swirling stomach as his cheeks flare a deep pink.

“I’m glad you followed me like a creep for a week straight, you know that?” you confess with a teasing squint in your eyes as you bring the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

Eric scoffs at the memory, which feels like yesterday and ancient history all at once.

He was by himself when the world first fell — a stranger in a strange country, and the loneliest he’d ever been in his life. And, perhaps, the most scared, too. 

Then, all of a sudden, he sees this girl rush out of an alleyway and into a monster-infested street to save a dog from an otherwise unavoidable death. Eric watched from a distance as you returned the scared pup to its owners — a very young couple cowering behind a car, not that much older than you. 

You pointed them in the direction of a military base setting up camps for civilians then went the opposite way. Away from guaranteed protection. Like the safest hands were your own. 

Eric made the quick decision to follow you as you went. He figured if you were brave enough to save some dog that wasn’t yours, and stare death directly in the face while you did it, then you could do just about anything.

He didn’t know, then, that he was making the best decision he’d ever made in his life.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pummel me in the face for following you like a creep.”

“I should’ve,” you quip. “But I liked your company too much, I guess…”

“Liked?” the boy parrots, laughing loudly at the turn of phrase. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally tired of me?”

You roll your eyes and hide your smirk behind the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think I would’ve done all this shit if I wasn’t the least bit fond of you, Eric?”

The question is rhetorical, but you expect a lighthearted quip from the British boy anyway. Your words seem to settle something heavy on him, though. It’s the very first time you’ve admitted out loud, without a shred of sarcasm, how much you really care for him. 

Eric forgets to say anything at all. The cave fills with a loud silence. The steady drumming of the waterfall and the whisper of rustling trees. Strangely peaceful for the end of the world. 

“Wanna know something wild?” he asks you after a few long moments. His accent makes the words sound heavy on his tongue. Your brows raise to egg him on, and he continues, stumbling over himself in the process. “I’m… I’m not happy the world ended, but… I am— I am glad that it brought me you.”

Your breath catches. It’s the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you, you think. Way deeper than any measly ‘I love you.’ And how are you meant to respond to that? To his confession that the end of the world was worth finding you? There’s no string of words in the English language that could possibly compare to that.

Eric waits for your response with bated breath. He hopes for an affirmation of your similar affection, of course, but a rejection would be better than nothing at all. He blinks at you with hopeful chocolate eyes, then flinches away when you laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, giggling, as you reach suddenly for his face.

You cradle his scruffy jaw between warm and gently calloused hands, pulling him into you with an admirable effortlessness. You kiss him like it’s natural to you — like he was never just a stranger — like you’ve spent entire lifetimes kissing him.

You take the breath from his lungs with little effort. Eric tips his head back and sighs when you swipe your tongue along his chapped bottom lip. The exhaled breath fans across your cupid’s bow, and you smile against his mouth as you clamor gracelessly into his lap — straddling his lean hips and pressing your beating heart to his. 

The earbuds fall carelessly to the ground, and the fading song plays muffedly from beside you:

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

Your mouths click when they part, a subtle sound beneath the drumming waterfall behind you. Your eyes are heavy and lidding as they fall to Eric’s kissed mouth — now a rosier shade, gently swollen, and shining with your spit. A stamp of ownership, almost, that makes your chest swell with pride.

Eric looks up at you with big, wet eyes as his hands fidget on either side of your waist. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages,” he confesses in a low murmur.

A small smile quirks faintly at the edges of your mouth. “Could you maybe say something that’s not super cliché?” you tease.

“How about… I really, really want to kiss you again?” Eric offers in a honeyed tone that makes his accent heavier. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “And that I… I wanna make you feel good?”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. Your fingertips are calloused and cold as they toy with the curls at the nape of his neck — tiny chestnut strands coiled in perfect ringlets. Eric fights back a shiver.

“Then I’d say that…” you begin with a mischievous lilt to your voice, wild eyes flitting from his pink lips to his watery eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

You part from him then, taking the warmth of your body with you as you sit on your knees across from him. The rugged ground is hardly cushioned by the thin quilt. You can vaguely feel small rocks digging into your skin, but your need for him is much louder. 

You cross your arms in front of yourself to swipe your t-shirt over your head. You toss the discarded fabric carelessly beside you, then work at the buttons of your jeans — also borrowed, and just a half-size too big for you. 

Eric watches with his heart in his throat. It’s the most naked you’ve ever been in front of him before. The sight of your bare skin, covered now only in the sports bra you’ve had since the world ended, makes his head swim. It takes him a moment too long to realize he should be undressing, too, and he rushes to catch up.

The two of you undress yourselves in relative silence. The sight is hardly as sexy as you’d expect — full of fumbling limbs far too eager to be graceful. Eric’s shirt gets stuck on his chin. Your jeans get caught at your ankle. The tense lull between you ebbs into a symphony of entwining giggles.

With your clothes scattered in abandoned piles, you lay back against the blanket. Eric settles on top of you with a strange sort of effortlessness — like it’s muscle memory to him, even though neither of you has done this for a long, long while — much less with each other. 

The weight of his body is warm and heavy over yours. You slide your hands under his arms and curl them over his freckled shoulders, digging your nails softly into his pale skin to pull him further into you. 

You watch with heavily lidded eyes as Eric brings his hand to his mouth. He slides his pointer and middle finger between his lips, wetting the pads of them with his tongue. You exhale a deep breath when the limbs come out again, glittering in the low light. 

He studies your features with a dark and unwavering stare as he slips his fingers between the lips of your pussy — tracing the velvety lips for a moment before easing them slowly inside. Your eyes flutter shut at the foreign feeling. Eric smiles to himself, wrist flexing, as he explores your silky cunt with his fingers. 

“Please fuck me,” you sigh when his palm bumps your swollen clit. Your head tips back as your hips buck upward, all but melting under his touch. “Please.”

It takes Eric a moment or more to formulate a response. You’ve never been so subservient like this before, so needy for him. This must be the eighth wonder of the world, he thinks to himself, as he continues to work you open with unworthy hands.

“Have to get you ready for me first,” he tells you, voice and low gritty, as he exhales a breathy chuckle that fans across your jaw. “Don’t wanna break you, honey.”

You manage a scoff in response. “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you— oh…”

Eric crooks his fingers until the tips of them brush a spongy depth inside you. Your mouth falls agape at the feeling, so foreignly full beneath him. His spit-slick lips curl into a lazy smirk. “That shut you up, didn’t it?”

You would’ve spit a snide remark back at him if his thumb hadn’t pressed so mercilessly to your delicate clit then. The words dissolve like dust on your tongue and escape only as a breathy moan. 

Eric continues his relentless pursuit with nothing but two of his fingers. Relentless, you think,because he’s hardly trying to make you cum now. You’re not sure if he’s just oblivious to how good he’s making you feel, or if he’s pushing you to the edge and jerking you back on purpose. It’s agony either way.

He only stops when his pointer and middle finger start to prune, the pads of them softly wrinkled from your honey. He wipes them off on the quilt like a total barbarian. You would’ve said something about that, too, if you weren’t still trying to catch your breath.

Eric rises to his knees. His bare chest, dusted with sparse hair over the sternum, rises and falls with uneven pants. His cock hangs heavy between his spread thighs — half-hard, glowing red, and leaking faintly at the tip. His wide hands are softer than your own as they smooth up and down the length of your thighs. His thumbs rub soothingly over the supple insides of them — with a touch almost as gentle as the melted chocolate gaze he looks at you with. 

“Are you alright?” he wonders, all quiet and suddenly shy, like you aren’t all but dripping for him now.

“You’re so annoying,” you gripe with a scoffed-out laugh, rolling your eyes because you’re certain he’s teasing you. Your stomach sinks when the genuine glimmer in his eyes doesn’t waver. You squirm beneath him and his unyielding gaze. “I’m okay, Eric,” you murmur sheepishly, never easily serious.

He nods to himself and swallows hard, still visibly unsure. It makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing. “Stop staring and kiss me, you asshole,” you grouse with a forced laugh, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

Eric’s mouth quirks in an absentminded smile. “Just let me look at you for a second…” he whispers, squeezing the outsides of your thighs with warm hands.

“We don’t have to whisper anymore, dummy,” you tease in a hushed tone of your own.

His grin widens until his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his tongue pokes softly through his teeth. He laughs despite himself and grips his heavy cock in his fist. “You’re so mean, you know that?” he asks, folding your knee back with his free hand. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a real response, but he slips into you before you can give him one.

He fucks into you slow — bitterly, painfully, and agonizingly slow — forcing you to feel every inch of him. His cock is of average length, but girthy enough to stretch you open. You’re suddenly grateful he thought to use his fingers on you despite your impatience, but the two of them alone hardly equate to how thick he is.

Both of you inhale sharply when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, neither exactly used to the feeling. Eric allows you a moment or more to adjust before sliding out again. You exhale softly together in entwining moans that get lost beneath the sounds of a raging waterfall.

Eric thrusts into you again with gritted teeth, trying not to whimper too loudly when your pussy clenches around him. He bends at the waist to hide his face in your neck and exhales all his pathetic moans there. 

He keeps one hand clenched into a fist on the blanket to prop up his weight; his other slides beneath your head to cushion your skull from the hard ground. You grip the boy by his flexing biceps, digging your nails into the skin every time he thrusts into you. Jaw clenched, nose scrunched, eyes squinted — you take his cock without complaint despite the very loud feeling that it’s all too much for you.

Eric is everywhere, and the notion alone overwhelms you. He’s in you, on top of you, all over you. Like the air you breathe. You need him just the same. Not because he’s your friend but because you’re scared you might seriously die without him. 

It’s dramatic at best. At worst, it’s the exact opposite feeling you should have for anyone in the apocalypse, where death is essentially promised for both of you.

Tears prick your eyes at the thought, though you’d rather blame them on Eric’s merciless thrusts. They’re sloppy and unmeasured as he struggles to find a rhythm. He’s similarly overwhelmed by the pleasure. You can tell by the way his body trembles over yours, and the way he buries loud moans into your pulsepoint. You can feel the vibrations of each moan in your veins. 

The way you’re pinned beneath him cages your clit between your bodies. Every time Eric’s lean hips thrust upward and back again, the coarse thatch of hair above his cock brushes your sensitive button. You couldn’t free yourself from it if you tried. You’re not sure if you even want to.

“This is good for you, right?” Eric wonders through heavy pants, voice wavering under the weight of his pleasure. “Please tell me this is good for you.”

Any other time, you would’ve laughed at him, but now you only nod. Rapidly and with your jaw clenched tight. Just as pathetic as he is. 

“’S good,” you promise through gritted teeth as the coil in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. “It’s so good, Eric. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

The affirmation makes him moan. Loudly. Enough for you to be momentarily grateful for the cover of the rumbling waterfall. Eric buckles down over you and strengthens his rapid, irregularly timed thrusts with a feeble cry. 

Your own whine rumbles in your throat, falling from your mouth like honey. Your warm skin, now slick with a layer of sweat, begins to buzz. The need for release builds like a dam within you — somewhere deep, right where the tip of Eric’s cock fucks into you. 

Your thighs start to tremble on either side of his waist. Your hips begin to buck despite yourself. You can’t be sure if you’re running from the pleasure now, or chasing it entirely.

“You gotta cum, baby,” Eric tells you through a pitiful whine, face still tucked into your neck. He licks his lips and starts to babble: “I can’t— I’m too close— I need you to cum before I do, baby— Need you to cum right now— Fuck.”

“Is your idea of dirty talk always this pathetic?” you would’ve joked if you weren’t already cumming for him. 

Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan as your head tips back into his palm. Your back arches as you reach the height of your pleasure, pussy fluttering through every wave of it. 

Eric fucks you the entire way through your orgasm — despite your nails biting crescent shapes into his shoulders, despite your velvety cunt tightening around him, despite the very overwhelming feeling that he might burst entirely.

Only when your body goes lax does he pull out of you. 

The empty feeling makes you whimper. Your weeping pussy clenches around nothing while Eric jerks himself off. You can’t see him, but you can feel his wrist moving in rapid motions between your legs. 

A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he tenses on top of you. His still body goes rigid. Something warm and wet spits on your inner thigh a second later — a heavy load of his pearly white cum, which he gives you three of before he’s milked himself dry.

Eric collapses on top of you when he’s officially spent. He forgets to hold up his weight, and you deliberately decide not to remind him. You let the man soak in the waves of his pleasure while you strain to reach the wicker basket at your side — struggling for a moment to find the handful of napkins at the very bottom, then using them to wipe up the mess on your thigh.

“Ah, shit,” Eric curses when he notices (his mess or his weight, you can’t quite tell). He sniffles and rolls off of you. “Sorry…”

Your head whips in his direction. You find his face all flushed, glowing red along the apples of his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. His eyes are big and wet, too, glassy like he might cry. 

Buzzing with concern, you rise to your knees, watching intently as Eric reaches for your discarded pile of clothes. You set them aside when he passes them to you and hold his face in your hands instead. His stubble scratches at your delicate palms. Your wide eyes sparkle with concern as they dart over his teary features.

“Hey… Hey, what happened?” you agonize. “Are you okay?”

Eric laughs at himself, then sniffles again as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah… So much for not being cliché, right?” he jokes.

“What happened?” you repeat, giggling this time at his crooked smile.

“Nothing,” he assures, shrugging his freckled shoulders. “I just… I’m just really happy, I guess…”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh of relief as you nod in response. “Yeah… I am, too.”

Eric’s grin widens at your confession. His cheeks speckle a rosy color, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the response — as if his softening cock isn’t still sparkling with a mixture of your cum. 

You meet his smile with a scowl, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully at his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble and turn away from him, reaching for your clothes. 

Your body looms over him as you stand, putting very little weight on your scarred leg. You bend at the waist to tug your underwear up your thighs.

Eric shoves his boxers on with a cheeky grin. “I’m really glad I found you, you know that, right? Even though you’re mean to me all the time?”

You scoff and drag your sports bra over your torso, yanking it at the hem to pull it over your breasts. “I’m happy you found me, too, stalker,” you respond in a monotone that would otherwise suggest the opposite. But Eric catches you smiling when you reach beside him for your shirt and knows you really mean it. 

“You love me,” he insists playfully, right before stealing a kiss from you. 

His lips only manage to brush the corner of your mouth in his haste, but he grins wide about it anyway. Your face screws like you weren’t begging him to fuck you ten minutes ago, as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re disgusting…” he hears you mumbling as you turn away, tugging your shirt over your head. 

But he knows what you really mean.

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian's girlfriend is addicted to sucking him off. 🛑 Warnings: NSFW. Sloppy blowjob, cum, name-calling 18+ 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I'll fix it! 🖤 Taglist: If you'd like to be added, please click here! 🖤 MASTERLIST

She’s giving him that look again. He can see her out of the corner of his eye as he scrolls Twitter on a phone that nearly disappears in his huge hand. She’s on the opposite end of the couch, knees bent to support the iPad in her lap where he can hear she’s watching Friends for the nine millionth time, though she seems to have no interest in Joey proposing to Rachel.

It’s the gray sweatpants, he knows. The question has never been answered as to what it is exactly about the gray sweatpants that drive women wild, but he couldn’t be less concerned with the why. No, no, he’s much more focused on the results of this phenomenon—results, he guesses, that are quite imminent. On the off chance he’s wrong, he lifts one long leg and places his foot on the coffee table after tugging at the sweatpants near the apex of his thighs to create a bulge he’s openly proud of. Grinning, still watching her through his peripheral, he notices her thighs rubbing together, which knocks the iPad to the floor with a thud.

“Shit,” she whispered, reaching for it.

“Leave it,” he orders, a rumble like thunder in the distance, his eyes sliding to her. She turns back to him, biting her bottom lip. Her eyes are on his for just a moment before they slide to his lips, where she trades the biting of her lip for sucking it into her mouth, a gratuitous act that demands his attention every time. “We both know what you really want.”

She feigns innocence for a nanosecond, and then she is overwhelmed by the need for him, specifically the need for his cock in her mouth. Almost as much as he loves her licking and sucking on his dick, watching her transform from the bubbly, businesswoman girlfriend to the depraved cockwhore he sees before him now is a completely different ballgame. Her eyes are two tiny black holes, ravaged with avidity and lechery, and he feels himself harden in an instant. Abandoning his phone, his chin dips as he curls his finger. Maneuvering herself onto her hands and knees, she crawls the short distance to Damian, stopping, awaiting instructions. Enchanted by her yearning for him and her natural, obedient nature, he presses the pad of his thumb to her lips, watching with a tilted head as she kisses the digit. He sucks in a breath when his finger disappears inside her mouth, her hot, wet tongue sweeping across his skin.

“You want this dick, don’t you?” he growls. She nods, black eyes toeing the line between she-devil and puppy dog, sucking tenderly on his thumb. He pulls it out with a resounding pop, the momentary devastation on her face sending the remainder of the blood in his body straight into his groin, tenting the sweatpants that started the whole thing. “Mi dulce gatita quiere su leche,” he whispers, cradling one side of her head as he works to unleash himself with his other hand. She blushes, and he can feel the heat against the palm of his hand, but she nods just the same, moving her body an inch closer to him. He’s impressed she knows what he said, considering she only recently began learning Spanish, but her thirst for knowledge is insatiable, much like her hunger for him. “Show me where you want it.” Without a thought, her jaw drops and her tongue rolls out like in the old cartoons on Saturday mornings, except this isn’t funny and it isn’t cute—it is outright indecent and pornographic, and could he be any more in love than he already is?

Upon pulling his cock out—a cock perfectly proportioned to his six foot five inch frame, thank you very much—she starts toward the floor. Hand still on her face, he lowers it to gently clutch her jaw, stopping her in her tracks. “Face down,” he instructs, “ass up.”

Grinning, she bends over, heat and wet encompassing the head of his dick, neither of them fans of a slow build up. A groan rips from his chest as he reaches for and palms her ass, smirking and shaking his head to discover she is wearing nothing underneath her leggings. His middle finger slips down the crack of her ass, still over the leggings, quickly encountering a growing wet spot. He begins to massage her pussy, feeling the lips easily separate, bringing his middle finger in contact with her clit. She growls around him, entire body wracked with a shiver, forcing him as deep into her throat as possible, and Damian places his free hand on the back of her head, helping her gain almost another inch. His eyes roll back and his head falls against the couch as she coughs, sputters, and drools around the cock she tells him she dreams about almost on a nightly basis.

“Sí, mi vida,” he whispers, pumping his hips into her mouth. “Just like that. Let me hear how much you love my cock.” His eyes open as her back bows so she can spread her thighs further apart, allowing her to buck against his fingers. He can smell her want, and he can hear her need, and this might be the shortest amount of time he’s lasted before that familiar pressure starts to build at the base of his spine.

“Fuck, your mouth,” he wails, slipping his hand under her leggings, long fingers immediately delving within her soaking folds. 

She throws her head back, her mouth releasing him with a much more filthy version of the pop from earlier. “Fuck,” she whines, holding the obscenity out for as long as there was breath in her lungs. Her hand, seemingly so small around his cock, continues jerking, her wrist flicking every few pumps. He snatches her chin and smashes his lips against hers, their tongues brawling like they’re in the main event of Wrestlemania, and he doesn’t know what it is about tasting himself on her tongue, but he fucking loves it.

“You’re such a whore for this cock,” he rasps, his lips rubbing along her swollen ones.

“Mhmmm,” she beams, nodding, their noses massaging one another, hand still stroking, her entire upper body vibrating with the movement. Her breaths come in short bursts.

Damian nods in unison with her, still gripping her chin. “And where does my whore want me to cum?”

“In my mouth.” The answer is prompt, and the desperation in her murmur is almost enough to make him shoot his load right inside these stupid sweatpants. “Please cum in my mouth,” she begs.

Hand returning to the back of her head, this time gripping the messy bun threatening to come apart, he impales her throat with his cock, sliding in deeper than ever before. Though the last inch or two of his length is still visible, it’s covered in her spit and slobber and hard work, and maybe he won’t train her to take the whole thing. Maybe he’ll simply encourage her to choke more, gag more, and in return, she’ll salivate more. Damn, he’s a genius.

But he’ll have to pat himself on the back later because she’s in the middle of a coughing spell—too much of him all at once—the pulses from her throat trying to dislodge this huge foreign object were like tiny little vibrators all around his cock. She starts to lift her head, cheeks a dark crimson, a few tears falling, and he can’t allow it. He’s too close, and she feels too fucking good. He forces her back down, eyes closing to focus only on the nasty, wet sounds, and the slaps and shoves on his thighs as she tries to get free, as she tries to find oxygen.

“Tómalo,” he commands, holding her in place for a few more seconds, for a few more pumps into her mouth. She gasps for air upon release, squeezing his thighs and pulling him closer to her this time. “Jerk me off,” he breathes. Still sputtering from near asphyxiation, she somehow hears his order, and her hand begins work while the other remains gripping his muscles. “That’s it … Make me cum in that whore mouth.”

She drops her tongue, still fighting for oxygen, a river of saliva sliding from her tongue to the head of his dick. He lets out a roar as one of the more intense orgasms he’s ever had explodes through his body, and he shoots rope after rope of cum onto the eagerly awaiting tongue. She lifts the muscle so as to catch as much as possible in her mouth, but he watches with a smile on his face as one tiny tributary dribbles down her chin.

“Show Papi,” he whispers. She drops her jaw proudly, moving her tongue this way and that to swish the salty cream around. His eyes zero in on this salacious act, and he scoops up the white stream from her chin, placing it in her mouth. Her lips clamp around the digit to suck it clean, and he pulls it out with yet another wicked pop. He takes her throat softly in his hand, his nose touching hers as he says, “Swallow.” His thumb rises and falls as his cum is deposited in her stomach, he hears the gulp, and his dick twitches.

“Gracias, Papi,” she sighs, eyes getting heavy. He imagines she’ll want some attention later on with regard to the absolute mess between her legs and, consequently, the leggings.

Damian grins, using the bottom of his t-shirt to clean up the mess on her face. “De nada, corazón.” They share one more kiss before she lays her head on his thigh, snoring softly within seconds. He caresses her cheekbone for a moment and brushes a few strands of sticky hair from her forehead. He tucks himself back inside his now damp sweatpants, picks up his phone, and resumes scrolling Twitter.

🎀 Mi dulce gatita quiere su leche - My sweet kitten wants her milk 🎀 Sí, mi vida - Yes, my life 🎀 Tómalo - Take it 🎀 Papi - Daddy 🎀 Gracias, Papi - Thank you, Daddy 🎀 De nada, corazón - You’re welcome, sweetheart

[uncookedfeeler]

Busty Princess 👹

Jeewon x Reader

Tags : 3k, smut

Sitting in your luxurious office, you stare at Jeewon, the star of Cignature, while you're immersed in a tense phone call with the CEO of J9 Entertainment. The conversation is cordial at first, but quickly turns into an argument. You're talking about the group's imminent comeback, and you can feel your interlocutor trying to boss you around. But he forgets one important thing: it was you who saved Cignature from the wreckage. After their old label collapsed, you took the control, investing your time, money and energy to bring these idols back from the shadows.

Your voice hardens and you say curtly:

"Don't mess with me, you little shit, it's not you who controls the future of this band anymore, IT'S ME!. Your shitty company is nothing but a bunch of imbeciles and failure like you. This band and especially Jeewon are mine now. I dictate the direction, the decisions and the outcome of their careers. So now you're going to listen to me or I assure you we'll see each other again very soon.”

There was a moment's silence on the other side of the line, then, before he could say anything, "I advise you to remember who holds the cards here. So be obedient like the little dog you are and follow my orders.”

Jeewon, observes the intensity with which you dominate this pseudo-negotiation. You can see in her eyes that she knows what this means: you are the only one who can make or break her future. One last icy word and you end the call.

As soon as you've put the phone down on the desk, you sink back into your chair and sigh in frustration.

"What a bastard this guy is, sorry for the inconvenience sweetie", you put your hands on Jeewon's hips again, since the beginning the idol is straddling you, completely naked, lovingly placing kisses and sucking on your neck, not forgetting your cock deep inside her.

"Mh mh, I rather thank you daddy, since you took over our conditions are much better, let me express my gratitude once again and for a very long time", the young woman moves her pelvis on her own initiative and continues to massage your cock with her wet hole.

She gives you a sensual look as she straddles you and throws herself head first onto your cock. Moaning, she covers your cock with her pussy juices.

"I know you like it when I do this, I can feel your cock trembling inside me," Jeewon says as you see her two huge meaty tits slapping against her skin, you'd have to be crazy not to have noticed them, her milky breasts would make any man on the planet hungry.

After seeing them on stage, Jeewon and her band stayed on your radar, the takeover was an ambitious project and far be it from you to turn them into sluts for your clubs, but Jeewon more than the others tried to make sure they thanked you in their own way, after several rejections you finally agreed to take care of your new kittens and the young females gave themselves up to you, their new "daddy".

I stretch my arms out in front of me and cradle Jeewon's breasts in the palms of my hands, savouring the weight of the firm flesh and the sucking sensation of her skin, kneading the swell of her ample breasts, "Please, please enjoy yourself, play with my breasts, my body belongs to you! Make it your toy as much as you like! 

 "Even if you don't tell me to!" I bury my fingers deep into Jeewon's breasts and knead them vigorously.

"I can feel it! My whole body feels so good～!, More on my breasts and pussy please"

As you continue to move your hips, Jeewon writhes provocatively with her body, the complex twist adding to the up and down movement of the vagina that handles your cock. A different kind of pleasure than before is given to the erect meat stick: 

"Ugggh... Damn, that's amazing...! Jeewon"

Jeewon's hip movements get bigger and bigger, the shaft that goes in and out of her body is covered with her cloudy real juice. It's like she's getting excited by lowering herself. Jeewon screams and cries with such abandon that until recently you wouldn't have thought she was a virgin.

"You can enjoy this already! What a slutty cunt you have!"

You can feel your cock growing harder as your excitement takes over. You continue to pound Jeewon's depths with your tip, pushing it hard into her.

"Oh God! Oh good!♥ Whyyyy!?Why does it feel so damn good daddy"! Forced by you to enjoy being rammed into her cervix, the pleasure in her voice is mixed with sheer confusion as she continues to moan without pause.

The entrance to her womb swells and puffs under the relentless assault of your cock. You continue to push, grinding your hips to make sure she feels it all. You had barely touched her but Jeewon's nipples were already hard and erect. It was likely that every inch of her body was capable of giving you sexual pleasure at this point. Still stroking her tits with the palm of your hand, you caught her nipples between your index finger and thumb and began to stroke them gently.

"Oh God♥! My whole body feels so good! Every part of my body is going crazy!" 

Drenched in sweat, Jeewon writhes helplessly on top of you, a trickle of saliva running down her chin from her parted lips.

And yet her pussy is still tightly clenched around your cock. It was so good and you could feel your pleasure rising.

"No way! It's getting bigger! Your dick is getting bigger inside me!♥"

Jeewon's pussy began to squeeze your cock so hard it felt like it was being crushed and you knew you couldn't hold back your orgasm much longer. 

You could feel the build-up of pleasure reaching its peak inside you, rising steadily, an urge that could not be held back any longer.

The only question left was where to dump your load of cum.

"Jeewon, I..."

"Go ahead daddy, you can come in, our pussies are yours and I'd be proud to be the first of the gang to receive your children deep inside my cunt." 

Your cock was already throbbing and about to blow its load. You grabbed both of her nipples and twisted hard. Her whole body shook violently and she stopped for a moment. 

You took advantage of this moment of weakness and grabbed her thighs, tightening your grip and jerking her hard on your cock, jamming it all the way inside her for the final frenzied rush.

You don't really want her to be pregnant yet, but you can't stop now, so you continue to thrust with your hips as her soft ass bounces on your crotch. Her body will soon give in to the pleasure and you will be free to fuck her as hard as you want and start thrusting with strength and purpose. 

"It's so fucking good, your pussy feels incredible sweetie!♥" Loud and dirty, her juices splashing everywhere. Jeewon's cries of pure pleasure fill the large room.

Her bubbling wetness foams up around your cock, constantly lubricating it and paving the way for the impending load of cum you are cooking up.

The feel of your sperm splashing against the entrance to her womb pushes Jeewon over the edge again, magnificently reigniting her orgasm. Her body throbs and thrashes as she climaxes once more, your cock caught in the epicentre of the quake, squeezed and clenched in her quivering folds, you feel a new surge of cum rising from deep inside you. 

Her howling becomes almost bestial as she climaxes again and again. More and more cum is pumping out of your cock as if you had an endless supply of it. Soon there is no more room for it inside her and it begins to pour out in thick waves. One time was all it took for her body to learn the joys of creampie sex and greedily chase after every orgasm it could get. Jeewon's pussy is still squeezing and clenching in a steady rhythm, persistently sucking on your spent cock.

"You're so good, darling, let me give you some more of that cock you love so much," you say breathlessly, luckily your little blue pills make up for your lack of cardio and you gently pull her hips down, grinding the head of your cock against her over-excited, hypersensitive cervix.

"Ohhh! Nooo!♥ Stop iiit!♥ I'm gonna cum again!♥"

You keep her going for a while longer, teasing her depths and coaxing more orgasms out of her.

"Ahaaa...♥ I'm cummiiing...♥"

Jeewon trembles weakly in your arms, tired from the exhausting orgasms, and after a while she goes almost limp, as if she had fainted... Her luscious, sweaty body falls against yours, her head crashing against your shoulder and her warm breath hitting your skin.

You whisper "That was great baby, you can rest now" as you tuck her hair behind her ear and caress her back. The young idol sleeps comfortably on top of you, her two huge tits pressed against you, which doesn't leave your huge cock indifferent. Determined to end your day with your cock pampered by the walls of Jeewon, you cover her with your shirt and jacket, place them on her shoulders and get back to work.

As the hours tick by and the paperwork piles up on your desk, all this technology around you doesn't mean you don't still have to deal with your important documents the old-fashioned way, but when you're done, you type quietly at your keyboard, going over the latest figures for this year and next. Your business is flourishing like never before, with all the positive figures and upward curves on your monitor, but nothing is perfect and certain problems remain like thorns under your feet.

You're no novice when it comes to investing. As soon as your company started to show good results some twenty years ago, you started putting your money not into companies, but into people in the entertainment business, like Jeewon and her group. And today you have a meeting with your very first investment, a former princess turned nasty bramble.

But first you have to wake up your new princess, you look at her for a moment, a smile on your face, unable to suppress the tenderness welling up inside you. Her hair falls over your shoulder and from time to time she whispers something in her sleep. She's peaceful, completely at your mercy, as if she knows you're watching, that you're there to support her.

"Hey, sweetie," you whisper softly as you stroke her hair, "nap time's over.

She moves slightly, her eyes still closed, her little face wrinkled with sleep against your chest.

"Hmm... Daddy," she mumbles, barely audible, without really waking up.

You smile affectionately and place a light kiss on her forehead.

"Daddy wants you to wake up."

She opens one eye, then the other, her little arms wrapped lazily around your neck.

"But I want to stay here, Daddy... just a little longer"

Even though she's your favourite little girl, you don't like to be made to repeat yourself, so you change your tune.

"I'm going to count to three..."

Jeewon doesn't move and you feel her pussy clamping down on you, she knows exactly what's happening and she's just waiting for you to punish her, so without even going through 1 and 2, you lift her up and slam her down on your desk to give her a single hip thrust that pierces her uterus, your tip spilling all your sperm back into your personal baby dump...

After hours of exploring and shaping her cunt, your cock finally emerges from Jeewon's pussy, the poor idol, who has just woken up, makes a satisfied face and while still lying on your desk, brings her hand up to her freshly filled hole to collect your sperm and put it in her mouth.

"Wow... look... my pussy is overflowing with your kids. But you didn't have to throw me on your desk like that, my back hurts".

You smile stupidly as you think back to the way you threw her, "Sorry babe, but you kind of pissed me off. Get dressed and get out of here, I've got an important meeting".

"I think a day at the spa for me and the girls will be enough to make it up to you. Who knows, after we've been massaged on the outside we might need someone to scratch our insides", Jeewon replies, spreading her pussy with her fingers to let out your cum, which stains the carpet.

The idea of having another orgy with the girls of Cignature does not displease you, you imagine them naked, simply dressed in white bathrobes, their voluptuous bodies freshly massaged and free of any tension, their tits ready to be devoured, not forgetting their fertile little cunts that will come in turn to milk your cock. But there is also one of them in front of you with her legs spread and determined to make you postpone your meeting.

"Are we having perverted thoughts, Dad? Is it my little pussy doing this to you, or is it coming to fuck us in the dormitory that turns you on?"

Without even answering, your body betrays you as your cock hits your own stomach and a raging erection erupts inside you.

"Oh my little rascal, just wait," you place your cock on her clit and rub it as you pick up the phone on your desk to make a call.

"It's me, tell her I'll be 20 minutes late..., no...., make it 30, thanks" You quickly hang up before taking your clothes off, this time you're going to show this little cunt how to take your cock properly.

You put your tip against her pussy and start to push it in, then stop.

"What do you say to your daddy, darling?"

"Please come," she says, opening her arms and waiting for you to join her in a loving kiss.

"But what else?" You push yourself inside her, your cock moving forward with ease, lubricated by her wetness and your sperm still inside her.

"My little pussy needs to feel her daddy's love, come and pamper the baby oven that belongs to you, come and play with my two huge milkers before your child takes possession of them."

And in your great kindness, you thrust into her as she wishes, your cock hitting her womb with full force and your lips crushing against hers to give your little princess all the attention and love she deserves.

In the 30 minutes that follow, you abandon yourself in her, in a relationship that goes beyond the framework of an employer and an employee, money and power have brought you together and since a love story between pleasure and passion that burns, your big cock and her little cunt a real slimy love story.

Later that evening:

You and Jeewon had gone way past the scheduled time and the idol had gone home by nightfall. Your repeated phone calls to reschedule your appointment had often been interrupted by Jeewon's moaning, which even through the thick walls of your office, she was unable to silence. You had no doubt that she had woken more than one colleague.

On your phone you see a huge list of notifications, all from the same conversation, that of the Cignature girls, even before reading the avalanche of messages, you go back to the source of this madness to see a video Jeewon sent a few minutes ago, her phone seems to be resting on a piece of furniture next to the toilet and you see the young woman sitting naked on the toilet:

"Girls, look at the presents daddy gave me this afternoon," she says, showing her neck filled with clearly visible hickeys, her breasts still bearing the marks of your fingers and her aureola bright red with teeth marks. Then she takes the phone in her hand, as if to take a selfie, and points it at her crotch, which she spreads to show her pussy dripping with sperm, which is slowly dripping into the toilet.

"You see the marker pen lines on the bottom of my tummy, daddy made them every time he dumped his nasty cum in my sweet cunt, daddy I'm sorry I didn't say anything but my pussy is terribly fertile today so with all you've pumped into me I think I'm going to end up pregnant ....", the idol finishes her sentence before laughing. "I took Chloe's pills from her room, she doesn't need them anymore anyway, look, I'll make sure you can still fill me up as much as you want," the young woman dips the pill into the cum dripping from her slit and swallows it in one go before sticking out her tongue and concluding the video.

Well aware of the mess that is about to fall on you, you scroll slowly to read the conversations between the girls, at first they seem to be shocked by what they have just seen, but quickly their minds of little hottie start and engage in a battle to know who has the most lovely mouth, the most beautiful breasts and the most stunning pussy, for the pleasure of your eyes, the girls begin to send photos of their assets as proof, Each girl brags about her sexual prowess and starts to create categories such as who can go the longest without coming on your cock, who will be the last to get pregnant without contraception, who will make you come the fastest with her mouth, a real award ceremony is organised between the girls and then, as a good and terrible leader, Jeewon suggests that the girls let you decide who deserves what the next time you visit them.

You put your phone down, afraid you won't be able to resist going now, and go home more agitated than ever.

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐱: 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: eddie stays until clove’s shift is over at the club despite her best efforts to get him to leave. jolene expresses her concerns, an old acquaintance reintroduces himself with eddie. a piece of the past is revealed.

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ stripping, drug use/abuse, alcoholism, addiction, abusive relationships, prostitution.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 6.8k and a rewrite 🫣; we are finally getting somewhere in this story and i am sorry it took so long to pass these awkward tense filled chapters! 😓 im really happy with the way this chapter turned out and i hope you enjoy it too.

A smile twists on your lips, and you can’t hide the funny tingling shift of your eyebrows as you test the numbness in your face. You felt as if the world was spinning with colors of orangey yellows and blushing pink.

“Slick…come. on.”

The sky moved above you in gentle waves, pulsing and vibrating. The tangle of tall grass around you felt like shaved butter beneath the pads of your fingers. A giggle bursts from your lips and you stretch your arms out, feeling the creamy splats of the chickweed on your elbows. You imagined that you were a piece of toast, becoming soft by a pat of butter and a smear of jelly.

Would you be flavored as Grape? Choke Cherry? Definitely Mulberry, you’d decided after moving your tongue against the dry membrane of your cheeks… willing for a drop of saliva to coat it, tasting the jam on it with every swirl.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

You look up, a drunken haze on your stoned eyes. Lids felt heavier with every blink upward towards the tendrils of caramel swaying above. A concerned look is painted on Eddie’s face and you couldn’t for the life of you understand why.

Sweat formed beneath his bangs, his temples dripping wet. He wanted to shout and scream as your finger reached up to poke him on the nose, a raspberried boop bubbles from your lips and a fit of laughter follows.

He was pissed when he finally found you at the party. Even more upset that the sweet freshman, Barbara, had distracted him by asking about the Chemistry test, trying to compare answers to see if she had gotten the questions right.

In that amount of time you had disappeared in the crowd of sweaty bodies, nowhere to be seen. He settled into an immediate panic. Crippling anxiety crawling up his spine.

This party was a bad idea, he should have never taken you here, but your puppy dog eyes never failed to make him cave. You were always good at that.

The rickety farmhouse now used for high school kids to drink beer and smoke weed was abandoned long ago. Paint had chipped from the wooden slat siding, the wallpaper was ripped to shreds in every room, graffitied over. Rumor had it, the class of ‘79 threw orgies in the basement.

He searched every face around the flames of the bonfire for you, called your name into the lonesome woods— but you were nowhere, and when he asked people if they had seen you, nobody knew who you were. He was scared, terrified— after what happened the last time you went missing at a party— he swore it wouldn’t happen again. His eye was still discolored from that fight.

An hour had ticked by then an hour and a half, and he felt full fledged crazy when he started searching in parked cars.

The sweet smell of weed hit him as he walked past a pickup he hadn’t recognized. The tailgate was laid down with a blanket laying across it in a rumpled mess. And he almost missed it.

Almost turned to leave when he spotted a hand, laying limp from beneath the flannel threads— and his stomach fell at the sight of a homemade tattoo sketched in the same spot as his, opposite hands.

He planned on leaving. Not wanting to see the way your life had trainwrecked out of control and off the rails. But his heart ached for the girl he knew, the one he once left behind.

Eddie planted himself on that barstool like he was a permanent fixture. Keeping quietly to himself. Politely telling the bartender he was fine with the water and cold basket of wings that sat untouched.

His stomach was uneasy, sick with worry about the truth he spilled and your reaction to it all, acting as if it had never happened—turning something serious into a party. Maybe that was easiest for you? Turning a blind eye to the truth.

Tonight, Eddie would stay for you, ensuring you got home safely. Something he should have done years ago but couldn’t.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

You were floating on a warm and buzzing kind of high, drunk on the cheap liquor and pills you consumed tossing them back like a child would candy.

Reckless was an understatement for the mask you wore tonight. The armor shield you bared to protect yourself from getting hurt was heavy, but you never let it slip from your shoulders.

Overly friendly, flirting with the regulars, the out of towners. Anyone with a swinging dick was game. The college guys who you would normally rather drop dead than spend any amount of time talking to— suddenly were the most interesting males you’d ever laid eyes on.

You laughed at their stupid jokes, pinched their cheeks and kissed their necks as you ground your hips into their laps. Their grabby hands roamed over your body freely and you never swatted them away.

You accepted singles in your g-string like a eucharist in a catholic church. Their warm breath on your neck and shoulders held whimpers and groans as you moved above their laps to the music, or ran your tongue along their ear.

Giving away bits of yourself you didn’t care about, a lazy smile on your lips as your eyes closed and your head swayed along with your hips to the sultry music that played for Wendy’s set.

They all wore the same face, their voices were different but their soulless expressions spoke to the tiny crumb you kept hidden away that you still carried around, singing to you like a prayer of hope.

The only thing you couldn’t do was look any of them straight in the eyes. It didn’t matter who they were, their eyes were always the same: doe like, a stain of muddy brown and surrounded with dark lashes. Eddie.

The conversation you had with him burned like a fiery wind in your chest, and you did the usual to extinguish the flames. But the sad bourbon eyes parked at the bar ignited it every time you caught them in a stare over a suit jacket shoulder, making you turn away with something stronger than guilt.

Tipping back shots of god knows what, you fell deeper and deeper into the pit of numbness, until you fully succumbed to it, shutting out everything around you, disassociating to another time.

Watching the swing of a chain bounce from left to right, your fingertips felt like lead as they dangled. Grass was on the ceiling being stamped down to the soil beneath large footsteps. A pair of black legs moved as you swung like a wind chime in a summer breeze. The skinny legged creature holding you was murmuring under its breath. It took you much too long to realize you were being carried and the thing holding you was Eddie.

Your face was level with his lower back, the black shirt he was wearing rode up enough to leave a sliver of navy checkered boxers hanging out. The pattern looked funny, like tic-tac-toe. The words forming on the tip of your tongues mind, tickling the muscle as you make up rhymes.

“linch-lactose, ditz-duck-toast, yic-yac- yo, pinch-punch post!”

Your fingers squeeze the band of his boxers and pull it way out, revealing the whitest ass you’d ever seen and you gasp in surprise as if your incoherent mind forgot what would be clothed beneath, letting the fabric snap back into place. Warranting an irritated yelp from Eddie that has you tipping upwards and upwards until you are falling downwards and downwards behind him.

Now you were wading on your back in a soft batter of cake, and Eddie swore under his breath.

“Up, get up.”

You shake your head at him, moving your fingers to try to make his frown tick up. “I’m having fun, you should try it sometime.”

He huffs in annoyance, “fun? You call running away from me at a party with some West Academy fuckheads fun?”

You blow a raspberry with your lips, tossing your body over to your front then your back again and again until you’ve rolled a few feet away from him further into the deep grass.

“Seriously?” Eddie groans in frustration following you crossing his arms once he faded into your peripherals, “quit acting like a little kid!”

Eddie never got mad at you. At his dad, the way you grew up, school… but not you.

You frown back at him, eyebrows curling inward, “what’s up your ass Munson?”

His eyes cloud with something you can’t recognize, not in your current state of mind at least.

“Nothing, let’s—can we go? I’m fucking exhausted, and you’re pissing me off.”

“Oh…” you sing, leaning up on your elbows, scowling, “I get it now, you can get high with Byers’ whenever you feel like it, but when I do it without you— it’s suddenly a problem.”

He doesn’t say a word, only sighing deep and running his hands through his hair til they snag on his neck, bangs shoved aside.

“You’re a real bastard y'know? A hypocritical, fuckass!”

“Me?!” he shouts, flabbergasted, “It’s been what? Three weeks since I punched Hagan until his mouth bled for what he tried to do to you… and now you’re just going around putting yourself in the same situation Clove! It’s stupid, you are being stupid! You’re just asking for something bad to happen, like you’re looking for it!”

It wasn’t easy to forget that night, the tears that slid down your face, the taste of blood and gravel in your mouth, or the rip in your clothes from being pushed down.

You spent nights lying awake, wondering what could have happened if Eddie wouldn’t have shown up when he did. White knuckling your blankets, you stayed that way until the sun shone through the ripped tinfoil on your window. The only reprieve you could find was altering your mind for an hour or two.

Looking for that tiny bit of relief, you jumped when the opportunity to let loose came up, hungry for the numbness to settle, for your mind to ease.

After all— you were just having fun. What’s the worst that could happen?

Lights flashed in every neon color imaginable as the night drug on. He was torturing himself watching you become clumsier, spilling drinks, and nearly tripping over your own two feet.

The clink of the beads from the back room made his stomach turn as they moved like clockwork, girls went in every thirty minutes and out almost at the exact second it was up.

Shots of a bubbly pink liquid floated around in your hands as you brought them to a table of younger guys. Squealing as one of them pulled you into their lap, shoving his face into your chest as you giggled and swatted at him playfully.

Eddie wanted to puke. Wanted to throw his knuckles into that guy's stomach until he gasped for air. As much as he wanted to give in to his urges and bust the teeth out from that guy's mouth, he didn’t. Not wanting to embarrass you by being overly protective. He didn’t have that right anymore.

So he sat back and simply watched with a sinking heart, swirling the bottle of a now warm beer in his hand. Waiting.

Waiting for what— he wasn’t quite sure. Maybe you would sober up and he could take you to get some food at an all night diner? The two of you could laugh about old times, and you’d get to know one another again, in better circumstances.

He held onto that thought as his knee bounced watching you go from lap to lap at that table of college boys, a smile pressed to your lips that didn’t meet your eyes. Your pupils were so large he could see them from where he sat, inky blacks taking over where your natural color pooled.

“Hey there handsome, gin and tonic?”

Eddie swirled to face the bar at the bartender’s voice, thinking she was speaking to him. Her eyes didn’t fall to him, they were focused on a guy leaning his elbow across the counter, a gaudy red jacket flanking his shoulders.

Slitting his own eyes into narrow strips, he recognized him immediately. Still too many freckles pocking across his face. Hair cut short on the sides, slicked back with stiff gel. A cocky smirk on his face as he eyed Eddie, puffing out his chest like an alpha male. Tommy Hagan.

The heels of your palms press into your eyes, creating shapes behind your eyelids as the tears slid out rolling down the apples of your cheeks, your head laying softly against the ground.

Eddie nearly broke when your chin quivered, your lips shaking as your lungs raked in a choked breath. He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, never wanted to be someone who made you cry.

He kneeled down next to you, reaching for your wrists to peel your hands from your eyes. You finally let him, but kept your eyes shut tight.

“C’mere,” he whispered, wrapping his arms under yours and hauling you up with him to stand.

Your tears wet his hands from where he held your face, wiping them as they fell. “Don’t shut me out,” he pleaded, worry spreading across his face, “you can tell me anything.”

Shaking your head you tried to pull yourself away from him. “It won’t go away, Eddie,” you sobbed.

You could hear his tantalizing words in your ear just like that night. Still feel his hands under your shirt, and when you pushed him away, running from him, Tommy had caught up to your drunken strides and shoved you onto the gravel, pinning you there.

“I’m tired of crying, I’m tired of being stared at… I wanted one damn night of not remembering, of feeling normal again!”

His arms squeeze around you like a vice, and you cry into the column of his throat, your tears coating the split ends of his hair.

Eddie murmurs your name as he runs his fingers down your back in a soothing pattern. Letting you cry it out. His heart shattering right along with yours.

He didn’t let go of you until your tears fell a little more silently, your sniffles scarce.

“I have a surprise for you.”

His dark eyes were wild. Wide in psychotic amusement at the scene in front of him. “Physics proves me wrong again,” Tommy sneered, “they really can stack shit six foot high.”

Eddie shifts away from him, searching the bar for you. But Tommy doesn’t let up.

Waltzing towards Eddie, Tommy’s stocky build and red jacket made him look like something from a cereal box. “Ah, man, cmon,” he chides, leaning an elbow beside Eddie’s arm, “‘m only playin’ round.”

“What do you want, Hagan?”

“Now Eddie… is that anyway to treat an old friend?”

He was trying to bait Eddie, get him to swing on him maybe, finish the fight that started years ago. But Eddie wouldn’t budge, ignoring him completely.

Tommy runs his tongue along his teeth, “I have to wonder just how Rick would react to finding out that The runaway Munson bastard was sitting in his club, staring at his girl.”

Eddie almost choked on the breath he took, but he managed to keep his face calm even though he was breaking apart on the inside.

“She didn’t tell you?” Tommy feigns surprise, “She’s been his whore since your old man started selling dope. Don’t worry though—Rick is pretty generous, he’ll let you fuck her in the private rooms for the right price.”

Eddie swallows thickly, holding back vomit.

Tommy leans in close, his cheap cologne stinging Eddie’s nose, “pricey, but trust me…that pussy is worth it.”

Eddie’s fingers curl into tight fists.

“Oh and before I forget, Rick will be happy to know you’re back in town. Your old man still had some business to take care of before he vanished like a fart in the windp, and Rick is looking to collect.”

He watched Tommy leave. Striding up to one of the girls and squeezing her ass before laying a sloppy kiss on her lips.

Dread filled his soul like a sandbag, weighing him down until he could barely move, hardly digesting what Tommy had said before Rocket Queen started blaring from the speakers.

The crowd whooped and hollered for the girl on the pole, catcalls and wolf whistles, meaty hands slapping the stage with singles.

The table you were sitting at now sat empty, and you weren’t anywhere around, the bartender screamed your name and he knew before he even looked that you were the one on stage.

“The treehouse?”

“The treehouse.”

What felt like a ten mile walk in your inebriation was barely even one as you followed behind Eddie. Your finger laced into one of his belt loops guiding you along with your eyes half open.

“When you mentioned having a sleepover, Slim— I thought it would be in one of our rooms, with blankets, a pillow maybe.”

It was a goldmine when you stumbled across it all those years ago. Deep in the woods behind Forest Hills, you couldn’t believe it was still standing.

He smiled and brushed hair from his neck, “ What’s wrong? Clovie wovie a wittle afraid of a dirt and some bird shit?”

You shove his shoulder and make a disgusted face, “mostly afraid of getting Hepatitis.”

“Relax,” he said, putting a foot on the first wooden rung, nailed to the tree trunk, “I was here last week and cleaned it out.”

He climbs the makeshift ladder with ease, all fluid motion like an ape at the zoo.

“There’s no way in hell I’m gonna be able to do this.”

Eddie gets to the stop and pokes his head down, “it’s not that high up.”

“Yeah but I am.”

Eddie rolls his dark eight ball eyes and lays on his stomach across the floor of the treehouse, partly dangling over the edge to reach for your hands. “Put your foot there, no— that one.”

It took longer than it should have but with great effort from Eddie and as much concentration as you could manage, you’d finally made it to the top, laying flat on your back huffing like you’d ran a marathon.

“Well, that was easy.”

Eddie glares at you with a sweaty brow, “yeah, you really aced it Slick.”

You raise a middle finger and he sends one back making you both laugh. “I’m gonna hire you to clean my house, it’s pretty nice up here.”

The floor was swept and a round rag rug laid in the center. A tarp covered the ceiling where rain always snuck through the roof.

“Yeah, yeah, figured this place shouldn’t go to waste just because we don’t use it anymore. Maybe Lolly could play up here with her friends.”

Eddie bends down to lift the lid to a large wooden box you don’t remember being there before. He hauls out a large sleeping bag, a folded quilt, and a flashlight.

Placing the flashlight under his chin to illuminate his face in creepy shadows, Eddie throws his voice into a creepy cackle, “know any good ghost stories?”

The room spun as you hung upside down from your ankles crossed against the pole. It was a blur, a blackening clouded storm piercing your barely conscious mind. Years of dancing on this stage, you could practically do it in your sleep.

When you seductively lowered your bra straps and revealed yourself, the men went crazy. Everybody loved the devil, and right now you could use a better disguise to mask the pain from Eddie’s spilled truths earlier.

Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

The more you tried to suffocate his name in your mind, soul, body, he remained. Always.

You hadn’t spoken to him since earlier when the bar was empty except for the two of you and seven year old secrets. His eyes burned into your skin whenever you saw him, and you wondered how far you’d have to go before he decided to leave again for good.

The answer you asked for left you feeling like you swallowed a Buick. It tasted wrong on your tongue like burnt iron, and it was too much to chew.

Throwing yourself on men’s laps like the true whore you’d grown into, you felt his stare on you all night, and no matter what you were doing, how loud you laughed or danced for dollars—Eddie stayed.

It should have charmed you, should have given you a little joy to know that despite your job, despite everything you’d been through with and without him, he wanted to be here. But those days had come and gone, and now the only thing you felt was burning rage.

Back in high school he would get so hurt when you’d show back up at the party having already smoked with someone else. You never forgot the way his eyes looked as you laid in the grass. Disappointment. The thing you couldn’t recognize in them at that time.

And disappointment was what you needed to find in his eyes tonight. But as you looked towards the bar where you knew he was sitting, the dark coal of his eyes weren’t looking at you at all. His head was lowered, picking at his nails.

The song played on, and the finale was coming up where you laid across the floor amongst the filthy cash and pretended like the moans from the woman in the song were your own, and that every guy in the bar was making you feel the ecstasy of an orgasm.

You wanted Eddie to be so uncomfortable he wouldn’t want to come back. He needed to hurt the way you had. He could have come back, Eddie knew you’d never leave Hawkins, and he— fuck, he promised that you’d both get out of here.

Maybe it was the drugs and the alcohol that were making you so irrational, but it never crossed your mind, and Eddie’s eyes never lifted to meet yours.

One hand was laid across his chest, your head resting on his right bicep, a bent leg between his. You’d been asleep for a half hour according to his watch, and it’d been twelve minutes of you curled into him the way you were.

Neither of you had any good ghost stories, your real life being scary enough there wasn’t anything to fantasize about being more terrifying than that.

The two of you talked for a long time, whispering stories back and forth, laughing about the shade of Higgin’s face when you had both egged his house on Halloween last year.

Quiet fell over you both and you tucked the blanket under your chin, a small yawn escaping your lips.

“Eddie? You awake?” you whisper.

His chest expands beside you, “yeah, are you?”

“Yeah.. I wanted to tell you—”

The high was gone and you laid stone sober. You needed to thank him for helping you, for never giving up on you when you were beginning to give up on yourself, but it fell flat, carried away on the cool breeze blowing through the treehouse.

“… your butt is really really white.”

Laughter fills the space between, and you and Eddie giggle until tears squeeze from your eyes.

“You’re such a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

Moonlight shines through the open doorway illuminating the smile on his face, it was then that you began to see him differently as if he suddenly became more to you than anyone ever had. But maybe he always was.

Crossing a line you never had before, you lean forward pressing into him your body over his. Your heart raced but not any faster than his was. He was so handsome like this, and right here in this moment you felt as if it was second nature. As if looking at Eddie this way wasn’t new or different.

“You’re my best friend,” you said to him, stroking his cheek, “always and forever.”

You lean forward just enough for your lips to brush against his. The most delicate of kisses like a butterfly wing flapping in the wind.

Before he can say anything or react, you lay your head on the crux of his shoulder, and close your eyes.

When he was certain you were asleep, Eddie’s throat finally untangled and he whispered into your hair before kissing your forehead, “til the end of the world, baby.”

He couldn’t look. Out of respect for you and for your dignity, Eddie wouldn’t watch your set. It made him feel wrong, dirty, as if he were just another sleazy guy hoping to get into your pants.

Last call was hollered out and Eddie finally raised his eyes to see the stage now empty, only catching the shine of your heels walking to the dressing room.

The bar was emptying out, the bartenders had stopped serving. Overhead lights hissed as they illuminated around the bar, much like the club go-ers showing the true coyote ugly before a night of regret could begin.

The black haired bartender smiled big and set a glass of water in front of Eddie. “You okay to drive, sugar?”

Eddie smiles small, sliding his hands down his face, “Yeah, I’m just waiting for a friend, figured she needed a ride home.”

There weren't any other customers left in the club, and the bartender raised an eyebrow, “one of the girls?”

Eddie nods tiredly, taking a sip of his water.

“Yeah, I didn’t tell her that I was waiting, but.. don’t think she’s sober enough to drive.”

Jolene knew the other girls had already left, having had Kenny walk them all out to their vehicles, all but one.

“Clove?” she seemed a little startled, “you’re waiting for her?”

He rubs his hands together, “Yeah.” Her eyes narrow and she leans across the bar, waiting for an explanation on who he is. “I’m Eddie Munson. Slick— Clove, I mean, and I grew up together in Forest Hills.”

“Munson?” her eyebrows nearly cross, “Wayne? Or Al?”

“Al, un…fortunately,” he admitted, twisting his rings around his fingers, “back home for Wayne’s funeral.”

Lightbulbs clicked and Jolene spread a wide smile, “I remember you, Patty my aunt, babysat for Clove’s sister sometimes.”

“No shit? Swear this world gets smaller and smaller.”

Jolene sighs a bit of relief after connecting the dots on just who was waiting for you, a mother hen to her little chicks. “You and her kinda took care of each other back then, right? Looked after one another?”

He shrugged, not really comfortable talking about those times with a complete stranger, “kinda, I mean we really weren’t given a choice.”

Sighing deeply and looking worn out, Jolene shakes her head, “she needs a little of that right now, a lot of it actually.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, “choices? Or someone to take care of her?”

Before she can answer him, the dressing room door flies open with a clunk against the wall, likely to leave a hole where the doorknob hit the already crumbling drywall.

The fine powder around your nose was still dusted in a spot you had missed, and your slippers were back on your feet.

Looking from Jolene to Eddie and back again you scoff in annoyance, “what are you still doing here?”

Eddie looks a bit taken back but doesn’t let your hurtful words slice through him the way you had hoped they would.

“Gonna bring you home, make sure you get there, alive.”

Rolling your eyes, you bite a curt goodnight to Jolene and brush past Eddie, hitting him with your purse on the way out as you shuffle for your keys.

Jolene’s face is full of worry and she looks to Eddie with pity in her eyes, “she needs both.” Taking his glass she nods towards the door as you’re part way through it, “she’s been lost ever since she walked into this club…but lately, it’s gotten out of control.”

If his heart could plummet any further it would, but Eddie simply looked to Jolene and gave her a nod of understanding before he stood and jogged to follow you out of the doors.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Gravel crunched beneath your slippers as you stumbled your way out to your car. The depths of your purse finally revealed the keys they’d been hiding and you pulled them out in a hissy fit, ignoring the calls of your name from the last person you wanted to see right now.

“—wait! Shit why are you walking so fast?” Eddie said pretending to be out of breath.

You nearly fell into the back end of your car as you shot him a glare refusing to answer him. Holding onto the sedan to make your way to the driver’s door, keys out.

“What are you—?” He realizes you’re trying to unlock the door so you could drive yourself home. His sober body being more agile than yours— he quickly finagles them from your fingers and puts them in his back pocket.

“Give them back!”

“No,” he says firmly, “you’re drunk, you’re not gonna kill yourself getting behind that wheel.”

“What are you the cops? A fucking pastor out east.. or west.. or wherever the hell you live at now? I’ve done it a thousand ti—” you groan in frustration when he backs away out of reach.

You reach for him again and again, holding onto his shirt and trying to yank him towards you. Eddie gets free and slams against the driver's door.

“Stop! I’m not letting you drive.”

All fight in you is lost. Instead you flip a switch and turn on the charm, batting your eyelashes like you would at any Sam, Dick or Harry at the club to get a good tip. Swinging your hips, pressing your body against his, your voice lilts into seduction.

“This what you want?” you ask sweetly, a sinister look in your eyes, “why you came home, right?”

Eddie’s lungs weren’t functioning, his mind blank, completely and utterly speechless at the way you were acting. He was repulsed, disgusted with how this night had turned out.

You walk your fingers against his chest, placing a manicured hand under his chin. His skin crawled, feeling the failure, the let down you had experienced seep out of you, because of him.

He was pissed, fuming with rage at the idea that you would think that this is what he wanted? To sexualize his own friend, you!?

You had been used to using your body to your advantage to get what you needed to survive. It had become almost thoughtless as you me body took over.

The alcohol, drugs, the provocative behavior, it was all a tangled web of coping. Of growing to be a product of your environment. Wearing a suit of spades from the same hand you were dealt.

He felt as if he was no better than those pigs in the bar who grabbed ass for freebies. Regret looming over him with each and every second that ticked by.

When your hands started to go south, Eddie’s brain zapped and he grabbed your wrists, halting you from touching him any further than you already had.

He searched into your eyes for a shred, an inkling of the girl he used to know. But came up with nothing but sadness and a glossy high.

“That’s enough.” His voice was firm, startling you into a gasp at his refusal to fall for whatever the hell you were trying to do, “get in the car, Clove… I’m taking you home.”

Rejection stung, but this was worse than that. Throwing yourself at Eddie, trying to make him so uncomfortable that he would leave the bar only for you to try to seduce him so you could drive your own car?

Pathetic. Self sabotage wins again.

Your face falls before you could whip up a response, or continue to argue with him. You didn’t see the way his eyes were wet or the way he was falling apart. Yanking your wrists from his light grasp, you march to the passenger side of the car, mountains of regret pressed heavy into your shoulders, but your face was painted in a false unbothered state.

His back is still turned away as your foot taps impatiently. A loud annoyed sigh from you finally renders Eddie free from the crestfallen place he’d seeped into.

He unlocks the door and gets in, adjusting your seat to accommodate for his longer legs, reaching across the center to pull the lock for you.

▫️▪️▫️▪️

Coming out of the shower you were surprised to see Eddie standing in your kitchen.

“I’m a grown woman… I don’t need you to coddle me.”

His flannel hung on the back of a chair and he wore a plain white shirt underneath, thin enough where you could barely make out more black swells of ink spread across his back.

He had insisted on walking you to your apartment despite you rolling your eyes so hard they could have fallen from your head.

“Heard you throwing up,” he said over his shoulder, flipping something in a pan, and moving to the fridge, bending low to retrieve something from the bottom shelf, “I’ve been with you almost all day and haven’t seen you eat a single thing—so get dressed and sit down while I make us some food, yeah?”

“Eddie,” you groan with thrown around explicits, stomping back to your room. You had thrown up while in the shower, entirely liquid your stomach purged itself until you were gasping for breath.

You grumbled as you fought your way into an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. Foregoing the trouble of drying off properly, you throw open your door and smell the sweet scent of cinnamon.

“Y’know you don't have anything in your cupboards, right?” Eddie called from the kitchen.

Your head and your heart were fighting each other on how you felt about him here in your apartment. And you threw all rational thoughts out the window as you geared up with vinegar in your veins, ready to argue with him.

Rolling your eyes again you say, “didn’t know I would be hosting Julia Child.” The counters are filled with mixing bowls, the scarce amount of milk you had left and a carton of eggs. “I rarely eat here, besides… nobody asked you to do this. I’m fine, I can make my own food… and you can leave.”

He stops whisking the eggs and shakes his head before continuing, holding the bowl and turning to face you.

“My skin has grown pretty thick over the last few years, so if you think you can insult me enough to hurt my feelings, save your breath.”

Hands on your hips you stare up at him, “maybe your thick skin can tell your thick fuckin’ head that I don’t need you around.”

“Do you push everyone away, or is this a special thing you’ve saved just for me?” Eddie asks earnestly.

You stalk towards him, arms crossed, “well I’ve had seven years to come up with what I needed to say, so don’t flatter yourself.”

“By all means, lay it on me,” he retorts, spreading his arms wide, “I deserve it—but I told you why I had to leave,” he half pleads, “I didn’t have a choice.”

Rage pours from you thickly, and you can barely stand yourself as you scream at him.

“There’s always a choice! You’re only here now because you know you made the wrong one, and you can’t live with that!”

“I have one regret in my life— one… and you’re right, it was leaving Hawkins without you. I think about it every single day, but don’t think I never—” he pauses long and hard.

Would he ever tell you? Not like this, not right now.

“Don’t think what?” you poke, sticking a knife into his wound and adding salt until it festered, “c’mon Eddie don’t quit on me now.”

You were being awful, but it was the best shield you had.

“Really wanna go there? Wanna have this talk? Fine, we can do that,” he stood tall but his shoulders sagged and his voice was quiet, “but only when you’re sober. I’m not fucking talking to you about this while you’re drunk and high.”

“‘m not drunk,” you sulked.

Eddie turned back to the stove, placing the eggs in the hot pan and letting them sizzle before scraping them around with a spatula, “whatever you think, sit down… this is almost done.”

You slid into a chair at your table, “I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t care, you need to eat, and lucky for you,” he chides, turning off the burners, “I worked as a cook for about a week a few years ago, so I made due with what you had.”

You wait for him to say he was joking but he never does, “how did you manage that—learning the fine culinary skills from making grilled cheese and orange koolaid?”

He laughs and opens a cupboard looking for plates, “well, living on the streets, you find out real quick just how much you’re willing to lie to get a job.”

Eddie places two pancakes on each plate with a heap of scrambled eggs and a few slices of an apple.

For the first time since he’s been back you take in account just how scary it must’ve been for him when he left, and your heart sinks.

“How long did you do that?” you ask quietly, moving towards the coffee maker and placing a filter into it, adding the grounds.

“Work as a chef? Oh not long they figured out I didn’t know anything about cooking shortly after I burned the hard boiled eggs.”

“No, I mean… live on the streets.”

Eddie carries the plates to the small table, “a few months here and there… crashed on a lot of couches until I had enough money to rent a room from a guy I worked with… wasn’t too bad, the van was pretty roomy.”

Nodding, you watch as the coffee brews and begins to drip into the glass pot. He moves behind you and back to the fridge to get out a tub of butter.

The itch of him being in your apartment felt so beyond foreign but was starting to feel almost comforting. As if him being around was closing your own open wounds, and you were getting whiplash from listening to your mind and then your heart all in one night.

“I’m sorry you had to do that.”

He turns to see you looking at him with a sad look in your eyes, and it broke him to see you go from one extreme to another. Fighting mad like a cat in a bathtub one minute to crying the next. As angry as you had been at him, he understood because he experienced the same kind of light switch type of emotions.

Two kids who never learned how to properly handle feelings, now barely adults still navigating the waters of being an adult.

“Hey,” Eddie spoke softly, crossing over to you, he places large hands around your biceps, looking deep into your eyes, “I’m alright, Clove. I made it out just fine, okay? Someday you’ll see for yourself just how good life can be, I promise.”

Hanging your head you mumble, “there’s nothing good left for me, Eddie.”

His hand moves under your chin before he can even wonder if what he’s doing is alright, and a tear falls before he can wipe it from your cheek.

“Don’t say that.”

Your eyes lift to him as more tears leak out, “I’m stuck here…you don’t know the kind of shit I’m in.”

Eddie pulls you into him as you cry, rubbing your back as you sob into his chest. You didn’t know the last time that you’ve been hugged and you melt into his arms as you tuck yours further into him.

You needed Eddie home, as much as you hated how your lives ended up, this was exactly what you needed. Him. Here, with you.

“I’ll help you, Clove…” he whispers into your hair, “all you need to do is let me.”

For the first time in a long while you believed him. Putting hope or faith or whatever you could into that moment, into his words. Holding that little ball of light at the end of the tunnel close to your chest.

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch

@tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded

@micheledawn1975 @leelei1980 @browneyes828-blog @emilyslutface

@mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @corrodedcoffincumslut

@sidthedollface2 @winchester-angel l @mrsjellymunson @joannamuns9n

@mewchiili @spacedoutdaydreamer @emxxblog @maybeisthemoon @str4ngergirlw0rld

@insertcoolnameherethanks @kellsck @prestinalove @mandyjo8719 @joejoequinnquinn

@veravee-blog @taintedcigs @eddies-acousticguitar @oeuryale

@kthomps914 @bangaveragewhitewine @lil-quinnie @definitionwanderlust @madaboutjoe

@eiightysixbaby @writinginthetwilight @jessisacarica @ali-r3n @kurdtbean

@dandelionnfluff @aysheashea @fishwithtitz @chaoticgood-munson @thisischole

[loveywon]

♡𓂃 MEMORIES !

pairing: ex!sunghoon x gn!reader

wc: 3.5k+

synopsis: it’s hard to turn away a park sunghoon who looks like an abandoned puppy, waiting at your front door, when he is only supposed to be a memory that you wish to forget. ib memories by conan gray

warnings: umm angst haha…, ex’s to errr lovers maybe haha……., cursing, mentions of sunghoon being under the influence, maybe one suggestive joke?? i dont really know, reader is emotional but under good reason, sunghoon isn’t an asshole but he’s selfish, kinda fluff if it makes you feel better, not proofread of course

you’re starting to finally heal. you’re starting to build up your friendships again, becoming more stable in your job, and your relationship with your parents are starting to become healthy! so why are you opening the door, three in the morning, to an obviously drunk and high sunghoon?

you know better than to open the door. you blocked his number, blocked him on every single social media platform you could think of, and cut off all mutual friends you two shared. the sight, the mere thought of anything that could possibly remind you of park sunghoon, makes you want to hurl. you don’t want to be reminded of him, and you were doing exceptionally well. until now, where your shaky hand is reaching for the door knob, well knowing that sunghoon is outside your door. your hand finally meets the door knob, but you don’t turn it. you can’t. you shouldn’t. you bite back a pathetic laugh, your head hanging down in disappointment for yourself. you’re stronger than this, you’re a smart person. but park sunghoon makes you stupid. stupidly in love.

sunghoon can feel your presence on the other side of the door. his forehead meets with the hardwood of your door. the thud breaks you out of your thoughts, a loud and exasperated sigh leaving your lips. you really can’t deal with this, but when you take a small peek through your peephole, you think he looks like a stray wet dog with no owner, just looking for some shelter. you’ve been sunghoon’s shelter long enough, you think, so what’s one more night?

you scoff to yourself, and sunghoon hears it. he plants a hand on your door, softly patting it in his drunken state. “y/n…” he lazily drags out your name. you’ve worked so hard to move on. and you have finally found peace with yourself. are you really about to ruin all your progress? you suppose so when you finally crack open the door. you don’t dare to look at him. you haven’t seen his face, you haven’t even heard his name in months. you really hate yourself for opening the door, but you hate sunghoon even more when you look up to see a sleazy smirk resting on his ridiculously attractive face. you don’t say a word. you grab his wrist, (harshly) pulling him inside your apartment before slamming the door shut. “sit,” you gesture over to the couch. you have a spare room, and sure, you can offer him the room to sleep in for the night. but you’re petty and bitter, so you think he deserves to have back pain when he wakes up the next morning.

sunghoon trudges to your couch, flopping onto it as he did a few months ago. it feels weird to see him in your home, and it’s the same weird feeling when you wouldn’t see your home. you purse your lips as sunghoon rolls around on your loveseat but he abruptly sits up, looking at you dead in the eye. “did you change your couch?” he asks, as if changing the couch offended him (it did). he literally cannot be serious, and judging by the way he looked at you, he was, and it pissed you off even more. you scoff again, shaking your head in disbelief as you walk over to your kitchen. as you pour him a glass of water, you feel sunghoon’s eyes following your every move. “why did you change your couch?” he presses again, but you ignore him again.

he rolls his eyes when you don’t answer him, and for a moment you forgot that he doesn’t like not having answers. “y/n, answer me. why’d you change it?” he’s more firm on his question now, and you almost want to chuck the glass cup filled with water at him. you walk over to him, handing him the glass of water but his eyes only stay on your face, awaiting for your answer. you sigh dramatically, “i swear to god, just drink the water, or i will not hesitate to dump you outside again.” you’re just as firm as him, and you swear you saw his eyebrow twitch in agitation but he takes the glass anyway, downing it in one drink. setting the glass on your coffee table, his eyes harden once more and you already know he’s going to ask you again. he’ll ask and ask until he gets an answer. “y/n–” he starts again, and you feel queasy from hearing his voice. you stand up, turning your back on him. “shut up. i changed it because it didn’t match my apartment furniture. that’s all,” you finally answer him, but both of you know that it is far from the real reason why you changed your couch.

sunghoon spent too much time on the old couch, and seeing it every time in the center of your apartment made you sick to the stomach, so you changed it. now, you think, you’ll have to change it again after seeing him on your new couch. he slowly lays back down on your couch, but his head is slightly tilted up as he keeps his eyes on you. “well i think your old couch matched your apartment just fine. i guess i’m just sad that all our memories on that couch are gone now,” he shrugs lightly, speaking casually as if you two didn’t have the nastiest breakups in the history of breakups. you have to bite the inside of your cheek so you don’t lash out on him (even though he deserves it), but you lose your cool when he sits back up and you feel his presence behind you. he takes your hand in his which makes you sharply slap his hand away.

he has to be playing some sick joke, you think. the fact that he has the guts to even mention the past makes you want to run to the bathroom and throw up. “i think that’s the point. you’re supposed to stay a memory, so you should actually just leave because you seem to have sobered up,” you say through gritted teeth, but you know well enough he actually isn’t totally sober yet as his eyes droop occasionally and he stumbles on his feet a bit even if he is just standing still. and unfortunately, sunghoon knows that you’re not a cruel human being so you won’t kick him out when he is still under the influence.

“i don’t wanna leave. i want to stay here forever,” he whines as he flops back onto the couch like a child. if you two were still together, you would’ve thought it was cute, but you don’t now, and you want him out of your apartment as soon as possible. “well you’re not staying here forever. you’re lucky i am a decent human being, but you better be gone when i wake up tomorrow,” you grumble as you fold your arms across your chest, “please sober up more. i don’t want to smell throw up in the morning and even if you do, you’re cleaning it up or else i will haunt you for the rest of your life,” you threaten, and sunghoon merely gives you a weak grin, looking as if he’s about to fall asleep during your mid-rant.

“you already haunt my mind every day,” the boy mumbles, but you heard what he said, and it’s enough for you to click your tongue and leave him in your living room with no pillows or blankets. you loudly shut your bedroom door for him to hear that you do not want to be bothered before making yourself comfy on the bed. a peaceful fifteen minutes pass, and you’re close to dozing off to a slumber when you hear your door knob click open, followed by heavy footsteps that you recognize all too well. you don’t need to open your eyes to know it’s sunghoon, so you pretend that you’ve already fallen asleep in hopes of him giving up and leaving.

but you know sunghoon better than that, and you know that he’s incredibly hard headed and is a company type of guy. he’s always had trouble sleeping if you weren’t next to him in bed, and at the very least if you were apart then he’d facetime you. he would always find a way to be with you before he sleeps, and you suppose he hasn’t broken his habit yet when you feel the corner of your mattress dip slightly. you peek an eye open as subtly as you can, seeing a messy brown head of hair facing you with the rest of his body sat on the floor at an uncomfortable angle. you shut your eyes tightly once more as if the more force you put into your eyes squeezed shut would make him disappear.

you hear a loud, exasperated sigh come from him, and you still don’t budge. you then feel his head shake a little, then a quiet and choked sob leave his lips. you bite on your lower lip to suppress any noise, trying to maintain your even breathing. a part of you feels bad; you didn’t know he was this affected, especially when he was the one who broke up with you. you then give yourself a mental slap for ever feeling bad for the man who stomped on your heart. he is clearly still not in the right state of mind and is just feeling emotional, you think, but you still let him stay beside you. you argue in your mind that, as long as he’s gone when you wake up, you can return to your normal routine and pretend he never existed in your life.

if only that’s what really happened.

your eyes shoot open at loud clanking from your kitchen area, mind almost immediately going into panic mode until you remember sunghoon from last night. you groan audibly, hopefully loud enough for him to hear but your bedroom door is shut still. you turn over to your side, seeing a lost strand of brown hair that had to belong to sunghoon. you grimace, swiping it off your bed sheets as if it was a spider before rolling out of bed. angrily stomping to your kitchen where you see sunghoon messing with your kitchen pots, you lean against the wall until he decides to acknowledge your appearance.

“oh, good morning y/n. did you sleep well?” he asks as he struggles with cracking an egg into the pan. you roll your eyes before walking over, only to shove him to the side and take the egg out of his hand. “could have been better if someone didn’t decide to sneak into my room,” you mutter in absolute despise as you crack the egg with ease into the pan. he chuckles awkwardly as he watches you from behind.

“this kinda brings back memories, no?” he says casually, and you immediately look over your shoulder with venomous eyes that makes sunghoon purse his lips into a tight line. “you are supposed to be gone,” you only say in return and you get a shrug as a response from the boy. you wonder how you even dealt with him when you two were together, but you don’t remember him being this insufferable before.

“didn’t feel like it,” he grins, canines peeking proudly that you can see from the corner of your eye when he tries to get you to look at him. despite your disliking of his pestering habits, you can’t help but recall when the two of you used to cook breakfast together (it was more you than him). fighting off a smile that dared to appear on your face, you roll your eyes before putting the cooked eggs onto a plate and shoving it into his chest. “eat, and then leave. that will also be two dollars for the eggs. inflation is crazy these days,” you mutter, sighing as you run a hand exasperatedly through your hair and walking over lazily to the couch.

“oh, is this your excuse for me to contact you again. i knew you wanted me back, y/n,” he sighs happily, ever so touched by your words even if he did it in a dramatic manner. he took a bite of your cooked eggs, and he almost wants to physically melt. no one has ever made eggs for him like you do, even if you just sprinkle some salt and pepper. it’s not the same if it’s not you, he thinks.

sunghoon happily plops down next to your slumped figure on the couch, enjoying his eggs as if it was a normal sunday morning. you wish it could be a normal sunday morning, if only he didn’t absolutely spit on your heart and stomped on it after. “no. and get away from me. i literally do not want to see you any more. just please, leave,” you say almost desperately as sunghoon swallows his last bite of your eggs. a frown makes its way onto his lips when you move away from him, pressing your side against the armrest of the couch. “y/n,” he starts but you squeeze your eyes shut when his voice reaches your ears.

“no! no, just get out of my life, sunghoon. seriously, i mean it. you can’t just come back into my life like nothing happened and be all boyfriend again like this. it’s been months, get over it!” you snap at him, head turning to shoot a glare at him but his eyes are wide and his brows are furrowed as if he’s confused, but he really has no reason to be confused and it only makes you even more mad.

he looks like a lost puppy, you think, but you can’t let yourself fall for it again. no, you refuse to. you were already weak earlier, but you can’t be caught slipping anymore. you snag the plate off of his lap, giving him a sharp glare before stomping off into the kitchen and furiously scrubbing soap on the plate that wasn’t even that dirty to begin with. the water that spills out of the faucet is loud, and you don’t even notice a few tears have fallen from your eyes until sunghoon swipes your cheek.

you drop the plate into the sink, resulting in a loud clank but neither of you flinch at the sound when you’re swatting his hand away from you, wiping harshly at your cheeks to dry your face but it’s no use when the tears keep leaving your eyes. “please don’t cry, it hurts me to see you like this, y/n,” sunghoon whispers quietly as he stares at your tearful face that he pities so much.

you scoff, but then you break into a laugh. you know he probably thinks you’re a maniac for suddenly laughing, but his words put you in so much shock that it’s unbelievable you actually wanted to marry him one day. “it hurts you…” you mumble underneath your breath, and sunghoon barely catches what you say. “what–” he asks, confused, but is cut off when you let out another breathless laugh. “oh, you’re actually sick. you are so, so sick, park sunghoon,” you say so blankly as your eyes bore into his, and sunghoon almost falters back at your sudden change of attitude.

“i don’t–” he sputters out, in a rush to try and stop you but you feel like you’ve gone delirious. and it’s all because of sunghoon. stupid sunghoon and his stupid, stupid face that makes you want to kneel down and apologize for what is about to spill from your lips.

you look away for a split second, as if your mind was subconsciously thinking twice but you’re off the rails, too angry to even stop the finger that jabs at his shoulder roughly. “we broke up for a reason. what was it that you used to say…?” you feign ponder, “oh! the past is in the past, so we should move on from it, right? you, are the past. you are just a memory that i can forget! and i’ve already moved on, so why are you still in my fucking apartment?” you spit out, finger constantly jabbing at his shoulder blade while he sits on the couch, jaw slightly agape and brows furrowed.

“you moved on? to who?” he asks, almost like he’s angry but he has absolutely no right to be angry. and it only makes you even more furious that you ‘moving on’-- which was an absolute lie– was the only part that he focused on. your finger that is lingering still on his shoulder blade is taken off by sunghoon, his hand wrapped around your wrist as he pulls you closer to him.

you’re taken off guard, eyes widening a bit from his sudden action. “answer me,” his brows furrow even more, but his face isn’t angry anymore. he’s pleading, you realize. it really bothered him so much that you moved on. so you laugh in his face again. you laugh hard, so hard that you lose your balance from where you’re standing with sunghoon’s leg in between yours. you fall forwards, forehead meeting his shoulder as you continue to laugh.

you calm down, short breaths leaving your lips as sunghoon’s grip slowly releases your wrist. then, you pound his chest. it’s definitely not enough to hurt him, so you think that repeating it will at least do some damage. he only sits there and takes it. “you’re so pathetic, park,” you whisper into his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut when your fist stops hitting his chest.

“i’m only pathetic because you make me desperate,” he responds so casually, like it’s a normal everyday thing to say to an ex. he sits still, even with your whole body leaned against him and your legs tangled up with his. “hug me,” you mumble, the fist on his chest now squeezing his shirt tightly. he hesitates for a moment, but he could never ever say no to you, so he wraps his arms around you. “i’m not going to disappear out of thin air, you don’t have to hold onto me that tight,” he tries a joke, but then your body starts shaking and you’re crying once again.

“oh, oh god. i’m so sorry, i didn’t think it was that bad of a joke, please don’t cry,” he pleads, rubbing your back soothingly as you rub your eyes against his shirt fabric on his shoulder. he’s got more to worry about than a tear-stained shirt. “you are really so fucking stupid, i think my head is starting to hurt,” you mutter out through gritted teeth because you really can’t believe you’re letting him hold you like this again, when just a few months ago you were hugging yourself in your bedroom alone, crying hysterically because you missed his hugs.

he clicks his tongue, “it’s only hurting so much because you can’t stop thinking about kissing me,” he tries for another joke, again, and you really stop crying and stare at him blankly again. “you are only supposed to be a memory,” you mumble out again, and his face turns into confusion. “but–” he wants to fight for you, but you don’t let him.

“i can’t hold you back from finding your real lover,” you frown, eyes still watery from tears that are building up once again, “and you can’t hold me back either. you already know how this is going to end, don’t you, sunghoon? i don’t think i can deal with the aftermath, again,” you whisper almost desperately to try to get him to understand but he only shakes his head. “so you’re saying you don’t want me in your life?”

you bite your bottom lip, brows scrunching as you look away from him. “being your friend or your lover will hurt in the end. i can’t do it,” you reply, voice shaky as more tears threaten to spill out of your eyes and you swear, when you spare him a glance, his eyes are also glossy.

he frowns deeply, opting to say nothing because maybe, just maybe, you’ll let him stay a little longer and relish your warmth against him before he’s forced to grab his things that he’s left for you in your apartment and leave, for good. he brings you in closer again in his embrace, and you think you will also relish in this moment again before you repeat the healing process over again when he leaves.

you hate every part about park sunghoon, with the way his cologne still lingers on your shirts no matter how much you wash it, and the way almost every piece of furniture in your own apartment reminds you of him that you had to change your couch so that he would stop sticking to you like glue. but you always know that no matter how pathetic you think he is, you are too, if not more, pathetic than him.

[pfhwrittes]

last night i was fussing over my extensive stretch marks in my boob-to-pit region and then a voice in my head said Soap would think that’s hot. and somehow i think that was your doing

firstly you need to know that i cackled like a mad scientist when i got this ask. secondly, here have some more parker's 'pit stuff. thirdly, and most importantly, i love you 💜

pairing: john "soap" mactavish x AFAB!reader word count: approx. 500 tags/warnings: 'pit stuff (i'm not sorry in the slightest), a hint of body insecurity, AFAB!reader (but still hopefully gender neutral), a brief mention of playful wrestling, the reader's hands are pinned, bonnie used as a pet name, abrupt ending and barely edited as per usual.

"whatcha doin', bonnie?"

johnny's voice drifts from across the bedroom and you hear the rustle of his towel hitting the floor (always three paces away from the dirty laundry basket, despite the way you've lovingly threatened to smother him to death with his abandoned clothes each time you've had to pick up another pair of his socks).

you hum distractedly as you poke and prod at the textured skin carving light patterns from your underarm to the side of your breast. maybe you should try that miracle moisturiser your friend had suggested. ugh.

a pair of large, warm hands reach out to knead at your tits and you huff at your boyfriend as you meet his excited gaze. if there's one thing you know about john mactavish, it's that he's happier than a dog with two dicks whenever you're half dressed in his presence.

"johnny, get off. i need a shower." it's a token protest at best, you know that once he's got his hands on you that you won't be escaping his clutches until he's satisfied.

(it's one of the reasons you had to implement a "no showering together" rule so early on in the relationship, especially as he'd drop to his knees on the cool tile to chase the rivulets of water running down your thighs and make you unavoidably late every single time you did offer to share.)

"oh aye? feelin' a wee bit dirty are ya?" johnny waggles his eyebrows lasciviously. it takes everything in your power not to roll your eyes at him. you know what'll come out of his mouth next -

"i'm up fer givin' you a wash bonnie, ye just have tae ask."

(what follows is just as predictable as his cheesy lines. you end up panting lightly after being wrestled onto the bed, your wrists pinned lightly above your head and johnny face down licking a wet stripe into your armpit.)

his stubble prickles at the sensitive skin of your underarm and where his cheek is rubbing against your tit, causing you to squirm. johnny groans in response and you feel his cock twitch against the curve of your hip, smearing precum against your skin.

"i fuckin' love this." it's muffled against your skin and you shudder again, "i fuckin' love the way yer tits feel too."

you bite down on your lip to stop from gasping as he turns his face slightly to suck a wet mark over your stretch marks. you don't exactly get his thing about your armpits but you do admit that the way he worships your body certainly helps you appreciate it at least.

"y'look fuckin' incredible. wish i could just keep ye here in our bed forever, not hafta share ye with anyone ever again."

johnny cuts himself off with a low moan, his own words winding him faster than the way you're wriggling weakly against him, not unaffected yourself.

"j-johnny, c'mon. let me go shower -" you manage to gasp out. you feel his hands tighten slightly on your wrists and johnny looks up, his beautiful blue eyes more intense than you've seen before.

"oh no, bonnie. i'm keepin' ye right here until 'm done with ye."

(and when johnny is done with you, your legs won't stop shaking as he crowds you under the spray of the shower, washing the combination of cum and spit from off your chest and out from under your arms.)

-- (@kaadaaan come get your man he's being weird about armpits again)

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

If you do want to write a lil something for the Minecraft qpr this is your free pass. Do whatever you want. And if you're not feeling it you can just not do it too :)

(700 words. post-Double Life. Galaxy Duo, ambiguous relationship (intended as QPR but could be read platonic or romantic.) depictions of trauma and brief mention of gore. canon-typical death.)

The freezing, wet chill of the snow soaking into her palms and knees. The acrid stench of gunpowder. The burning hot air from the scorched crater in front of her where he stood only moments ago. And her hot, angry tears, rolling down her face to land against the forest floor.

She coughed. She coughed and coughed. Was she choking? Was it from the smoke the explosion had left behind, or just from her shattered soul? She could feel it tugging her closer to the grave with every second that passed, the holes he'd torn into her heart when they split at the outset demanding that their tithe of blood be paid. She thought she'd filled those holes in, only hours ago. She felt complete. But he was gone now.

It was time to go. Her heartbeat was slowing. She could feel the frostbite setting in. She couldn't bring herself to stand. If he was gone, would she find him by accepting her fate? Did she even want to? Until only a few moments ago, she'd thought she wanted to kill him herself. With the blood and gore left by his eviscerated corpse scattered across the ground only a few feet from her, she wasn't sure anymore.

Something nudged her arm. A dog, its thick grey fur and shining eyes so much like the one she'd lost. It nestled against her side, attempting to keep her warm, though she knew it would be in vain. The dog didn't have a name. Neither did any of the dozens of others at her back.

She'd bred them in her loneliness, their bloodline beginning with her beloved Tilly and his own wolf, a wolf he never named. When loneliness faded into hatred, she'd started breeding them again, selecting for new traits. Aggression. Teeth and claws that could rip open all those who'd abandoned her. But now she was going to die, and they'd be left with no company but each other and no reason for their vicious instincts but the wishes of a dead woman.

She hoped they'd be alright. She didn't want them to feel alone.

* * *

Pearl bolted upright in a cold sweat. In contrast to the slow, dying vitals of her dream, her heart was pounding and she gasped for air.

She was crying. That part was real.

Her hands shook as she reached for her communicator. Fumblingly, she found his number in her contacts and managed to hit the dial button.

It took him four rings to pick up. He answered blearily. "Pearl? It's one in the morning-"

"Scott," she said, her voice tight, "tell me you're okay- please, please-"

"Pearl- Pearl, I'm fine," he said. His voice was soothing, but she didn't feel soothed. "Is something wrong? Did something happen?"

"N-No- nothing happened, I'm being dumb- ignore me-"

"Pearl, I think you already know why that's an unreasonable thing to say." He spoke firmly, though he softened again quickly. "Is it the nightmares again?"

"Yeah," she choked out.

"Oh, Pearl," he said, and she hated the pity in his voice and then reminded herself that it wasn't him she was hating, not really- "How bad is it? Do I need to come over there? I can ask Fwhip for help crossing servers."

"No, it's- I'm fine. It's fine. Just hearing your voice is enough." She was starting to wake up enough to keep herself in check, though just barely.

"Okay," he said. A pause. "I wish you'd tell me what happened in yours. I told you all about mine- well, most of it, I glossed over the parts where you and Cleo died. I don't like thinking about it."

She shook her head, then reminded herself he couldn't see her. "If I told you," she said, "you'd hate me."

"Nothing could make me hate you, Pearl," he said.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If only that were true.

"Maybe someday I can tell you," she lied. "Can we just... keep talking for now? Can you tell me how your week's been?"

"I..." he hesitated, then sighed, apparently agreeing to drop the subject. "Okay. Yeah. So, a few days ago, Pix found this crown on a dig..."

[sanddef]

Nice things for an Abandoned Quest

Rewrote an old assignment and it held up surprisingly well. This picks up after Kay tried to kill that dog

597 words

Though incredibly biased, Bedivere genuinely thinks that Kay deserves more credit. After all, the man has been at the King’s side since they were children, he fought his first battle for him at sixteen. Not once has he tried to usurp Arthur or undermine him, and that’s saying a lot for a king’s brother these days. Lord knows he has enough work as a seneschal on top of being a knight. But that didn’t mean that everyone in Camelot was mistaken. No, Kay was often less than honorable, though then again, honor seemed like it was in short supply these days. 

“How did you fare?” Bedivere asked Kay when he returned from his quest not even half an hour after he left. He’s soaking wet, and everyone was giving him a wide berth, trying to avoid his temper. Bedivere didn’t worry about it, let him yell himself hoarse, he was going to make sure he wasn’t hurt at the very least.

“I lost the dog.” Kay said simply, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

“No, you did not.” Bedivere said, taking Kay's sword and shield so he could have his hands free. Kay huffed.

“Well, it is a ridiculous quest anyway. Why must I follow a dog? What would that lady even want with the foot of a hart anyway?” He complained, “I hate getting wet.”

What happened on that quest, Bedivere had no actual idea. He just knew Kay was a habitual liar, especially when he’s this upset.

“The dog returned.” Bedivere said as he helped Kay with his cloak. Kay grunted, used his magic to warm his hands and rubbed at his face. “It is all wet too. Would you mind telling me how that happened?”

“I did not try to drown the dog, and that is the truth.” Kay said, “I returned because I felt sick.” Bedivere guessed that the second statement was a lie, but as for the first, he had no reason to disbelieve him. Kay shrugged off his chainmail, laying down on his bed.

“I suppose Gawain will attempt the quest now.” Kay continued, “What an auspicious start, by mocking me. He is sure to succeed, it seems no punishment ever touches him. No fear of anything short term, much less eternal perdition.

“Not Gawain; Lancelot will.” Bedivere said, idly folding Kay’s cloak, “And you know that to be untrue. You remember the Green Chapel?”

“He got let off easy and you know it.”

“He girds to this day.”

“Don’t care.” Kay sighed, sitting up slightly, “He has an unseemly easy tendency towards diplomacy.”

“You say that like it devalues his character.”

“It does when he does it.” Kay said, “And Lancelot has a similarly uncontrolled tendency towards violence. You would think it would be the other way around.”

Bedivere tossed the cloak onto Kay’s chair, “Are you done?”

Kay paused, considering the question. Bedivere could almost see his thought process, searching for something else to complain about before Bedivere leaves.

“You’re too kind.” Kay says finally, smiling slightly, “By the hand of my friend, you tolerate too much.”

“Are you done now?” Bedivere asked again after a moment. Kay scoffed, looked up at the ceiling of their room.

“I’m insulted that you’re leaving me to go do God knows what.”

“I won’t stay and lick your wounds.” Bedivere smirked, and Kay bristled. For a moment Bedivere thought he was going to send him away.

“Will you stay and talk to me?” Kay paused, considering, “We can talk about something nice. I can do that.”

“We can do that.”

[angelasscribbles]

The Dark Kingdom Chapter 1: Escape

Series: The Dark Kingdom

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: None yet.

Word Count: 1,053

Rating: MA for series just because themes could get darker

Warnings for this chapter: vague mention of abuse

A/N: Esseri is a catch-all term for all humanoid creatures that aren't human (vampires, shifters, demons, etc)

A/N2: Well I was going to wait for Tumblr to unmark my blog as explicit to post but as it turns out, I don't have that kind of patience. I'm really, really annoyed about it, but it doesn't keep me from posting so I'm doing it.

I thought about waiting until I finish Dark Elf but again, ADHD and no patience. Hopefully no one is confused by two different paranormal fics going on at the same time.

My other stuff: Master List.

The girl ran through the night, heedless of her torn gown and bare feet. She was fleeing for her life and there was only one place she could go, only one place no one would dare follow. One place she could disappear into.

The Black Spire Mountains.

The sounds of pursuit faded behind her as she climbed. Jagged shards of rock pierced her hands and feet as she hauled herself painstakingly, but determinedly up the side of the cliff face.

The sound of the royal hounds baying as they gave chase transformed into yelps and whimpers as the dogs drew close to the foothills.

The horses stopped of their own accord, refusing to cross the invisible barrier between the world ruled by men and the one ruled by monsters.

“She couldn’t have gone in there!” The captain of the King’s Guard spat, “No one is that stupid! Fan out! Search the riverbank, the woods, and the old ruins! Find her! Go!”

Hooves clattered as riders scattered in different directions to do their leader’s bidding.

Riley had no idea how long she climbed but finally, she pulled herself over a ledge and collapsed onto the ground, heaving the cool night air into her burning lungs as she gasped for breath.

Something howled in the distance. Werewolves? Dragons? She didn’t know and she didn’t care. The real monsters were down below. She would take her chances with the Esseri.  

When she could draw breath comfortably again, she rose to her feet and took in the sights. The darkness coalesced around her, and thick tendrils of fog obscured her vision. She glanced behind her, shuddering at the steepness of the cliff face she had just scaled. She listened, but the searchers had either moved on or she was too high up to hear them. Either way, she couldn’t go back down so she moved across the plateau, the wet grass soft on her bloody feet, a welcome change after the unforgiving rock.  

She hesitated when she reached the tree line on the other side of the clearing. The moon was obscured behind a cloud, the dark of the woods in front of her was deep and thick. Something moved through the underbrush, the snapping of a branch echoing through the stillness of the night like a shot.

Fear gripped her as she stumbled back away from the edge of the forest. A rabbit darted past. Relief surged through her, followed by a new jolt of fear as she found herself face-to-face with a lynx. The large spotted cat abandoned the rabbit to investigate its new prey. Its ears twitched as it regarded her. She could hear her own heart thundering in her chest as the predator crouched down preparing to pounce. She took a step back steeling herself to turn and run, but before she managed the maneuver, the lynx made a screaming sound as it spun and fled back into the forest.

Her respite was short-lived. A pair of powerful arms grabbed her from behind. A menacing laugh cut through the quiet, “Ohhhh, what have we here!”

“Let me go!” She struggled in his arms, kicking and flailing to no avail.

“Okay!” He released her and she lurched out of his embrace, running for her life back the way she had come. She never saw him move past her, but he was suddenly, inexplicably in front of her, “Boo!”

She whirled and ran back the other way, crashing into another man. This one didn’t try to grab her. He just stood in front of her, arms crossed, immovable. The collision sent her sprawling to the ground. The first man was behind her now and any chance of escape was rapidly dwindling.

The first man bent over her as the fog lifted, giving her a clear view of blond hair and soulless blue eyes, “What could possibly have possessed you to come here, human? Do you have a burning desire to be eaten?” The grin that spread across his face was bone-chilling, “because that can be arranged.”

“Knock it off Leo,” the second man still hadn’t moved but his tone brooked no arguments. Her eyes moved to him, taking in the chestnut hair and copper eyes that glinted in the moonlight. He seemed more human….barely.

“Ah, come on, Drake! She’s here, in our territory looking helpless and delicious, let me have a bite!”

“What happens to her isn’t up to you. There are treaties to consider.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! She broke the damn treaty the moment she crossed the partition and I saw her first so that technically makes her mine!” He turned his attention back to her, his head tilting to the side as his eyes ran hungrily over her form, his stance not much different than the lynx that he had scared away.

“You will abide by the rules,” the second man replied evenly, “We will take her back to the keep. The dark lord will decide her fate. No one else.” Finally moving, he reached out one hand and pulled her to her feet as if she weighed nothing, “Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled as she stumbled into him.

“For what?” He steadied her as his eyes fixed blankly on her face.                   

“Saving me from him!” She moved closer to him, seeking safety in his nearness.

He continued to regard her with an inscrutable expression before shaking his head, “I am not your friend. I’m merely doing my duty, and by the time the dark lord is done with you, you may well wish I had let his brother eat you.”

Her blood ran cold as her eyes darted back to the blond. His brother was the dark lord? Her eyes closed as she swallowed thickly. What the hell has she gotten herself into? Then her eyes fluttered open, and her head turned back toward the edge of the cliff she had just climbed, the memories of her life before solidifying her resolve. She filled her lungs with air as she pushed her shoulders back and thrust her chin out. Making direct eye contact with the one called Drake she nodded, “I’m ready. Take me to him.”

Whatever awaited her in the dark kingdom could be no worse than what she had fled from, she was sure of that.

[buriednurbckyrd]

Nothing Stays the Same Forever: Chapter 1

***author note: I have not played either one of the games. I loved S1 and I’m trying to keep from potentially spoiling the rest of the show for myself so I thought I’d focus my energy on writing a fic. Plus, like the rest of the world I’m absolutely feral for Daddy Pascal rn and since I haven’t felt like writing anything in a hot minute and I do now I’m seizing the moment.  As always, your feedback is greatly appreciated and will definitely help inspire me to keep going with this. Cheers!

Every single step was agony. The air was so cold it burned in her throat and lungs, and when she forced one leg in front of the other her muscles screamed and spasmed from the old hunting knife lodged in her side. She gritted her teeth and swallowed down her screams of pain. Stopping now would mean death, if she paused to chase a moment of relief she would lose the strength to continue. After everything that had happened… There was a part of her that desperately wanted to drop in the snow that very moment and let the darkness finally consume her, putting an end to the struggle and suffering. 

You promised. 

Was that steam rising from the hot tears rolling down her frozen cheeks? Or was it just her labored breaths forcing their way into the waning sunlight? 

The settlement exists. It has to. Don't you dare fucking stop moving! 

Her hand grips the handle of the knife, trying to somehow stifle the pain. It had been a brutal mental battle to not try and pull it out like her instincts demanded she do. It would only make her bleed out faster, leaving it gave her at least a small chance to find help and survive. 

Was she losing her mind or did she hear a dog barking? And… footsteps in the snow? She tried to move faster, fear turning into a lead ball in her stomach. In her haste, she slipped, and only just managed to turn her body so she didn't land on the knife. The fall knocked the meager amount of air from her aching lungs. She tried to be quiet but couldn't help the loud wheezing as she tried to catch her breath. 

The footsteps crunched closer, and she heard a voice call out. She strained, attempting to push herself up on the arm that wasn't still holding onto the knife, but all of her remaining strength had abandoned her. She started crying in earnest then, and shame washed over her. After everything, this was how she faced the end? Sobbing in the snow, unable to fight off whatever new hell was about to find her?

She felt the cold, wet nose of a dog prod her cheek. Her eyes squeezed shut and she waited for the animal to tear her throat out. Instead she heard a low whine and the dog laid down and rested its head on her chest. She opened her eyes as it began to snow again. The edges of her vision were starting to go fuzzy and gray but before she succumbed to the dark embrace of unconsciousness, the face of a woman looked down at her. She was talking, but she couldn't make out the words. 

…

That was a year ago.  And if she was being honest, she had no idea how she survived. Even though the woman and her group managed to get her back to their settlement, which definitely existed, she had been in terrible shape.  Hospitals were a thing of the past, they had disappeared along with the rest of the civilized world twenty years ago.  But somehow, the residents of Jackson were able to nurse her back to health and welcomed her as a new member of the community.  Maria, the kind but no nonsense woman that had been the first person to find her after the dog, had been an angel.  She was married to a handsome man named Tommy and the two of them were expecting a baby within the next few months.  He was a sweet guy, perhaps a little rough around the edges, but who wasn’t after an apocalypse? 

A while ago another man and a teenage girl had passed through.  Y/N had stayed away when she heard that the man was Tommy’s brother.  Maria always insisted that she was practically family, but there was something about the reunion between the two men that felt fragile and like the presence of another person would be the thing that pushed them over the cliff.  The two hadn’t stayed long, but afterwards Maria and Tommy had a lot of hushed conversations.  She decided it wasn’t her place to ask questions, telling herself that Maria would bring up the topic if she wanted a friend’s ear.  

So she continued her little routine.  Before cordyceps, she had worked in alterations at a wedding dress boutique.  Jackson didn’t have many people who knew how to sew much past mending a seam or taking up a hem.  Somehow they were able to find a sewing machine that still functioned and she became the seamstress of their little village.  There was nearly a daily stream of repairs for her.  When it was no longer possible to pop over to the local Walmart when your jeans ripped, clothes were kept and repaired for as long as the garment could still be worn.  But she did have down time, and would often take scraps of old clothing and make quilts for residents or stuffed toys for the children.  

She never gave things out herself.  The old taunts from the QZ still played on repeat in her mind whenever she didn’t wait long enough for the dining hall to empty out.  Maria and Tommy were the only two people she could bring herself to trust, and no amount of reassurances from the other woman had convinced her to give the others a chance.  

…

Joel and Ellie were back.  Both alive, with a plethora of new scars both visible and invisible.  Tommy was obviously relieved to see his brother in one piece again, and thankful that he still had Ellie with him.  The bond between the two had strengthened, neither one of them the same person that had originally walked through the gates.  Maria sensed an underlying tension in the air but chose to let it lie.  Why disturb the peace when it was so damn hard to come by these days?

Now that they were there to stay, the little house they had used on their first visit was their official home.  Y/N saw Joel and Tommy talking on his and Maria’s porch on her morning walk to work.  The girl was fidgety and clearly bored.  Her hands were stuffed into the pocket on her hooded sweatshirt and she scuffed her boots against the ground, muttering to herself.  

“Can I go see the horses?”  She called out to the men.  They turned to look at her, Joel’s face annoyed, Tommy’s amused.  

“Can you just wait for five goddamn minutes?”  Joel growled.  Ellie snorted.  

“You said that five minutes ago you grouchy asshole.”  Y/N wasn’t awake enough to stifle her laugh at the girl’s sharp words.  Ellie whirled around and narrowed her eyes.

“Something funny?”  Y/N felt the mirth dry up in her throat.  Did the girl think she was laughing at her?  

“N-no, I’m sorry.”  Ellie looked her up and down and Y/N found herself absolutely terrified at what the child might say next.  

“Y/N!”  Tommy pushed his way past his brother and strode up to her with his arm outstretched, taking a gentle hold of her arm when he reached her.  “This is my brother Joel and his uh…  This is Ellie.”  She felt her face get hot as she was led closer to the house.  “They’ve decided to stay this time.”  

“Oh, um.  Nice to meet you.”  She looked down at her shoes, wishing she had started out earlier, or waited another ten minutes to walk over to the commissary.  

“She’s lived here about a year, and she’s practically family.”  Tommy told them with a smile, clearly happy to have found a way to shift away from whatever he and Joel had been discussing.  “If you ever need any o’your clothes fixed up she does it all.  Don’t know how we managed before we found her.”  

“Huh.  Could have used you when I had to sew his guts back together..”  Ellie said flippantly.  She crossed her arms and kicked at a loose stone.  

“Jesus, Ellie.”  Joel scrubbed his hand over his face in exasperation.  

“I um, didn’t mean to interrupt you all.”  Y/N said quietly.  Tommy swung his arm around her shoulders and side hugged her.  

“Don’t worry about it.  We were just talking about when Ellie might join the other kids at the school.”

“Without Ellie’s input!”  The girl rolled her eyes.  

“There’s no point in stalling, kid.  Might as well go over there today.”  Joel told her.  

“I already know how to read and write and shit,”  Ellie spit out.  “I can do other stuff, help hunt or patrol or something.”  

“And I think maybe she could take a few days to get settled before she starts going to classes.”  Tommy was trying to be the voice of reason.  Ellie was frustrated with both men.  Joel looked like he was ready chew glass.  

“I should really get going,”  Y/N started, trying to pull away from Tommy without it being too obvious that she wanted to bolt.  “I think a group went out during the night and they always come back with tears…”  Maria chose that moment to open the door and see what was going on.  

“Hey, lady!”  She smiled at Y/N.  “You wanna come in for some tea before you start your to-do pile?”  She felt trapped.  Tommy wanted her as a buffer between him and the school argument, and it felt like Maria was giving her a silent plea to accept the invitation.  

“I… Sure.”  Resigned, she started towards the porch.  The closer she got to Joel, the more it felt like there was a group of frogs jumping around in her stomach, he had an intimidating aura around him.  To her horror she stumbled on the first step and he caught her by the arm.  His grip was far more gentle than she expected.  

“Okay, there?”  He asked her in a quiet, gravely tone. Not trusting herself to speak, she only nodded in response.  He looked at her, and she felt an uncomfortable sensation, like she was about to give a speech in front of a large group of people.  He gave her a sharp nod and let go of her arm, striding down off the porch.  “Let’s go see the damn horses.”  He muttered to Ellie and the girl’s face broke into a triumphant grin before she scuttled after him.  

“You two enjoy your tea.  I’ll meet you for lunch at the dining hall, yeah?”  Maria waved.

“I should be there around one.”  Tommy saluted the two women and started on his way towards the center of their little town.  Maria ushered Y/N into the house and took her coat to hang up by the door.  

“I’m glad you wandered by, the three of them would still be arguing.”  She walked into the kitchen and took out a slightly chipped mug, dropping a tea bag into it.  

“You don’t have to go through the trouble, I probably have a pile of stuff to start working on.”  Maria shook her head and pointed at the table.  

“Everyone here’s got a spare pair of pants, you can sit for a few minutes.”  Y/N knew better than to argue and settled into a chair.  Maria poured hot water into the mug and slid it over to her with a spoon.  “I still have some of that honey we harvested, help yourself.”  Y/N smiled to herself when she noticed the swell of Maria’s abdomen as the other woman cut herself a couple slices of bread.  There was already a soft flannel teddy bear squirreled away in her house, and she was collecting scraps to make a quilt for the baby.  She hoped that they would like them.  The couple had already done so much for her, and she wanted nothing more than to somehow pay back even a little of what they had given her.  With a quiet sigh, she scooped up a spoonful of thick, golden honey and stirred it into her tea.  The morning sun shone through the kitchen window and reflected off the liquid, and she felt foolish that it made her think of Joel’s eyes when she had looked up at him after almost falling on her face.  She rubbed at her arm where he had saved her from total embarrassment.  Maria sat down across from her and spread some of the honey onto her toast.  When she looked up at Y/N, the almost dreamy look on her friend’s face made her wonder for a moment, before she smiled and took a bite of her breakfast.  

next

[herarcadewasteland]

Tragic, Really.

A/N: Inspired by @hoseokhasmyheartxx and @orchidyoonkook because Yoon sent the post that @hoseokhasmyheartxx reblogged about a quote: "I know baby, I know." (Condescendingly). And this was born. No idea who the original poster is, the reblog rabbit hole went too far for me to keep looking.

-CW: Violence and kinda gorey, read at your own discretion.

-Hoseok x Reader, almost yandere (probably full yandere hoseok)

This took a fairly dark turn. Enjoy?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I know baby, I know.”

His voice was overly sweet. Condescending. His large hands pressed roughly into your side, the stab wound gushing as he released pressure to draw a line of your own blood over your cheek. It didn’t start like this… he had been the sweetest, most attentive and caring boyfriend in the world. But when Yoongi started spending time with you, something changed. He became quicker to anger, he pulled you closer with more force than necessary, kissed you in front of Yoongi for no reason. He had changed overnight and now you were here, laying on the floor beside Yoongi, Hoseok hovering over you with his normal joyful smile.

Your head shook from left to right, legs pushing you away from his crazed smile and harsh touch. He tsked and looked like you had shot his dog, his eyes watering before he grabbed you around the waist, pressed his thumb into your wound and pulled you back. The only difference now was he had settled over your thighs, not just leaning over you from your side.

Tears tracked down your bloody cheeks, eyes dancing from Yoongi to Hoseok, his smile still firmly in place. Your struggle resumed despite the sharp pains it caused, his thighs tightening around yours as he pressed your wound harder, reaching behind him to grab a discarded bottle of Soju that had been involved earlier in a drinking game. Your eyes caught the shine of the glass, head shaking side to side in denial even though you knew exactly what he was about to do. His disappointed tsking made you freeze, eyes trained on the hand holding the bottle of alcohol. The tilt of the bottle tensed your stomach, pain pulling a strained cry from your raw throat. The liquid hitting your wound and pooling in it caused a burning sensation to spread through your body, the dried blood around it flaking as a new source of wetness pulled it from its new place on your skin.

Screaming at the added pain, you saw Hoseok frown through hooded and blurry eyes, his smile somehow bigger as he watched you writhe. His hand tilted again, the Soju burning an imaginary hole through the existing one in your side. You thought watching Hoseok change so drastically was the worst pain you had ever felt, but as he took a few sips from the bottle and chucked against the wall before he leaned down to your ear, plush lips brushing it lightly, you realized whatever happened next would be even worse than losing your brother.

“This could have been avoided, Y/N. How could you do this to me?! You left me for him. Your attention wasn’t mine. I had to do it. You understand, right? Of course you do! You love me~!”

His whisper sent rough shivers through your body, his hand pressing against your wound again. You coughed violently, blood spilling past your lips as you struggled to breathe. A new, duller and redder shine caught your eye as you spoke roughly.

“He’s my brother! I couldn't-”, you coughed again, watching the shine become clearer in your blurred vision, “I couldn’t just abandon my family for you!”

A growl left him. Your pulse quickened against his lips as he trailed them down your neck. His hand raised above you as the shine grabbed your attention once more. The knife. There was nothing you could do, even if you were afraid. You couldn’t be scared to death, you were right on the brink of it anyways. So as his hand raised, his monologue continuing, you closed your eyes and waited for the greatest pain of your life. Being killed by the one man you had loved more than anything. The knife pierced your chest with a dull thump, your body lurching as you coughed up more blood. You could feel his eyes as he watched the blood drip down the edges of your jaw, his laughter filling the space as he pulled the knife back only to plunge it back in moments later.

“If even I can’t have you, then no one will. Not ever. Tragic, really. How you thought you could get away with it!”, his voice raised with a new arc or the knife, your body jerking upwards again.

His voice faded slowly, his laughter following stabs of the knife as he traced his other hand over your body. Seeing a light behind your eyes, you smiled. As much as you loved him, the man above you was no longer him. It never would be. For after you let the warmth of the light take you in its embrace, he had let himself go after you, following you to be with you, even in death. In some ways, the news article that would be released days later was accurate. He had gone insane. And you had struggled. But in the eyes of the public, you died as lovers. Hoseok was not your lover at that moment. He had simply been Jung Hoseok. Kind man gone insane.

[subjectnr8]

SoapxGhost pt6

"Warmin' yer hands"

Ghost leaned against a table of a bombarded old house. Shattered glass covering the red cushion of a bench. The floor was used and bearing the witness of countless people walking around here. This building had been a bar, the counter with a few broken bottles still showing evidence of a once busy and cozy place.

The table he leaned on creaked, the soft noise of liquid dripping down and forming a puddle on the floor, was all that Ghost’s ears could focus on.

There were several barstools thrown around, accompanied with many empty bullet shells. Ripped newspapers, broken tiles and holes littering the brick wall. First aid kits opened and searched through desperately. A throwing knife shimmered next to his foot as it had been stuck into the floor. Or fallen.

Broken, irregular panting. A desperate plea rang through Ghost’s ear. It wasn’t the person behind him on the table. It was his own voice. Shaking. Begging to whoever was willing to listen.

Why me? Make it stop. Let me wake up. What have I done?

When he first set foot into the bar, he was vaguely following a trail of blood. From a crashed building, through half a destroyed city and now he had ended up in some sort of safe house. For the normal folk it was just a bar scarred by war, but the barricades and the unused ammo where clear signs for Ghost’s trained eye.

The house was deserted, no trace of anyone. Except, this strange man. A man who shared so many similarities with a person that had haunted him in the past days. Yet, it wasn’t quite him.

Ghost had stepped up to the stranger who was lying on a table in the middle of the room. First, he couldn’t make out anything. No heaving chest, no eyes fluttering open, just the blood track leading right to him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to forget what face he had just seen. A neat mohawk, face paint smudged in triangles along a sharp looking face. Skin pale, eyes dead.

He was wearing grayish tactical gear, the letters S.A.S. stitched proudly on a patch on his chest. For a short second, shock froze Ghost to the core, his hands solely functioning on autopilot as he reached for the stranger’s neck, searching.

Where the fuck was it?!

The longer he searched, the more the dead mans head lulled from side to side while Ghost searched him through. Dog tags, patches, a journal. He just needed a clue of who this man was. Ghost’s hands felt wet and cold. With a tremble he gave up his search, retreating his hands. Staring again. His hands were covered in fresh blood. It shimmered against the leather of his gloves.

Drip. Drip.

“Fuck!” His gloves flew through the room as he yanked them off. With his back now turned to the bleeding dead man, Ghost tried to find his focus. It’s not like he isn’t used to blood by now, it’s the terrible similarity between the dead man and… Soap. Just the thought that this man might be his Johnny made Simon tremble with fear.

Why Soap? Make it stop. Let him wake up. What has he done?

Drip.

Whilst Simon was overtaken by sheer panic, Ghost kept his emotions at bay. Like usual. Deep breaths came harsh through the balaclava. He had to be professional right now, no time to dwell in his feelings. There has to be some information around here of what was going on, of who this poor bastard behind him is and why he looked like Johnny.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Slowly the puddle around Ghost’s heavy boots devoured his shadow. It reeked of iron and something more, rotting flesh with a fruity undertone. The smell of a corpse, a dead man. Left to die alone on a table in some abandoned safe house. Where the fuck did Ghost stumble into?

Keen to find out what had happened, Ghost started to search the bar. He quickly made his way through the chaos, searching through boxes, med kits and tried to figure the shredded papers out. But nothing.

Behind the bar counter where shattered bottled and a few that still were intact. His gaze was stuck on two bottles, sitting next to each other in the corner of a torn shelf. Scotch. Bourbon. With a sour feeling in his stomach, he made his way back to the table.

Picking up the knife from the floor, he glanced a last time at the man. With a shaking head Ghost left the bar. If the safe house was a dead end of clues, then this fucked up city might hold the solution to this mystery. This mystery of a man.

There he was again[J1] . The man with the mohawk, warpaint and the heavy gear. Dying. Soap, but not quite Soap. Whilst sneaking through the city, inspecting more or less every house, Ghost starts to think he was going insane for good now.

The bar now was several minutes behind him, yet Ghost wasn’t able to find something that would give him more information of where he was, of who this man was, and why no one was around here! “Jeez..”, Ghost kneeled at a wall, inspecting the dried splashes of blood that painted it. It looked like someone had thrown a bucket of red paint against it.

His bare fingers scraped along the rough wall, some blood flaked off. He had left his bloody gloves back at the bar but now he kind of was regretting it.

The wall was littered with bullet holes and it reminded him of the brick wall in the safe house. Whatever had destroyed the bar, it also happened here. And as there had been a blood trail leading into the safe house, leading to the dead man on a table, there also was a scarlet, glistering track leading around the next corner.

With a sigh Ghost rose to his feet, the throwing knife loosely in his hand. It was his only defense, but if dying was his way out of this nightmare, he would take it. Yea, a nightmare, it had to be a nightmare.

In a slow pace Ghost made his way around the corner. The blood splashed quietly under his boots. He had found not the source of the blood trail, but a maze. More corners, more destroyed walls with bullet shells scattering the pavement.  Ghost signed again, cursing. “Can’t someone please wake me up?”

Leaned against a wall, a hole in his chest gushing liters of blood with a rhythmic beating. Ghost stepped closer to the man, swallowing a curse. It’s the bloody mohawk again. As he stood in front of the stranger, he slowly kneeled down to him. His jeans immediately socked up the blood, but that didn’t bother Ghost too much. His entire attention was on the chest, bleeding but moving. He was breathing, alive.

“…end me already, feardie-!” Weakly the stranger moved his head, making eye contact with Ghost, who wordlessly sat there. Scottish dialect. He swallowed. Without thinking he scooted closer to the man, Soap?, and pressed his hands against the wound. A curse, flinching. Feeble hands tried to push Ghost away but the stranger stopped resisting quickly.

“What happened?” Ghost wanted information, and finally finding someone alive in this Ghost town was like a blessing. Even, alive might’ve been a too big of a word. Glassy grey eyes looked at him, a gently stubbled beard caressed the sharp features of the, once again, dying man.

He looked like Soap, but older. Sadder. He looked absolutely torn and every piece of hope shredded. As if Soap went through hell and back, but hell seemed to claim this version of Soap again.

“Shepherd.”

“Shepherd?” Ghost felt himself gripping the man by the shoulders. Carefully he tried to bring him closer, his hand drenched in warm thick blood as he tried to shield the wounded form … yea, of what was he shielding him? What danger was ahead of him?

I'm really feeling motivated to write this rn cause I just am so down bad for og Soap and 2022 Ghost meeting. Ghost looking at Captain MacTavish, all light and warmth, what he loved and adored about his Johnny, gone. Left was a man shaped by war. BAMMM!

back to part 1 ;) ->

[envihellbender]

ANDERS DROWNING MALCOLM HAWKE

Characters: Anders, Carver Hawke, Malcolm Hawke Jr, Fenris

Fandom: Dragon Age

Ship: Fenris x Carver x Anders

Content: abusive, Templar sympathiser Hawke, r/pe mention

Anders, Carver, and Fenris stopped for a moment when they got to the docks. They took a turn towards the edge of the water near the boats, ensuring they were hidden from sight as they stopped. Carver’s chest was heaving, feeling embarrassed with Fenris next to him who had barely broken a sweat. Anders was a shaking, dishevelled wreck, but Carver was supposed to be just like Fenris, the hero. He tried not to think about it as he considered what their next move could be. It seemed as if most of the boats were abandoned, they could probably take one with no problems. Suddenly, a voice threw him from his mind and back into the cold hard stone of the docks.

“Well, well,” Hawke smirked as he swung his staff with each step. Carver’s snapped upwards and he saw his older brother arrogantly descending the stairs with an infuriating swagger. “It seems the rats couldn’t find a ship fast enough.”

“Brother,” Carver spat. He instinctively jumped in front of Anders gripping his sword, and baring his teeth. Hawke spluttered and cackled, a sinister joy in his snarling lips.

“Would you look at that, it’s like a duckling trying to face off against a bull,” Hawke mocked. “Your still wearing the Templar plate, Carver. You really going to use it to protect a murdering apostate?”

“Strange coming from a blood mage and a hypocrite,” Fenris growled. He stepped forward covering Anders, his hands glowing blue as he kept an unwavering stare on Hawke’s staff.

“Carver, you really shouldn’t be associating with a feral dog, you might catch something.”

“Shut your mouth! Traitor. Bastard. Evil piece of shit,” Carver spluttered. “What did the Templars offer you to side with them? Do you get to use the mages they’re going to execute in a blood ritual?”

“You wouldn’t understand the finer arts of business. Look, Carver, we know how this ends. I beat you into a bloody pulp, you cry and hand me the prisoner. Then when I’m done I’ll rape your pretty little-”

“Enough!” A dark, croaking voice interrupted. “You will not harm him.” The tone was like an explosion, me that sent an icy crawling sensation up Carver’s spine. Sure enough he saw the sparking blue flames in the corner of his eye. Anders had been over taken by vengeance.

“The abomination is finally out in the open.”

“Anders- Anders- leave him to us-”

Vengeance had clouded Anders’ mind, he was using his thin, angular body like a puppet as he pushed past Carver and Fenris.

“Your quarrel is with me, Hawke,” the uneven voice of Vengeance said. “You will never lay a finger on Carver or Fenris or anyone else ever again.”

“And how do you intend to stop me, demon?” Hawke asked. Before Carver or Fenris could run to Anders’ defence, his hands grabbed Hawke by the collar of his robes and with an unknown strength dragged him from his feet and over the side into the docks. Hawke struggled, and Anders yelled unintelligibly. He held him down, Carver just stared as he saw his brother desperately try to grab onto the rope and pull himself onto the concrete.

“You- will- never- ever- hurt- Carver- or- Fenris- again!” Anders gasped, growing exhausted from the exertion. His robes and hair grew soaking wet with the filthy dock water but his honey coloured eyes were turned an electric blue and they were burning into Hawke’s body. His limbs shook, and his chest heaved up and down. After what felt like the longest moment of Carver’s life Hawke stopped struggling, Anders kept him underwater for even longer, making sure he was dead. Eventually Anders slowly got to his feet, the angry fire soothing, the blue magic dulling as Anders slowly returned.

“What- what did I do?” Anders asked blearily as he turned to Carver and Fenris, his body soaking wet and aching.

“You protected us,” Carver said quietly, a small smile spread over his face.

“Would’ve preferred it without the demon but he’s right,” Fenris grunted. “Come on. Let’s leave before someone comes looking for him.”

[onepilogues]

@audaciiae liked for a starter: ARES

Ares, Ares, manslaughtering, blood-stained, stormer of strong walls, is there no way you can go and hold back this man from the fighting, Tydeus' son, who would now do battle against Zeus father? Even now he stabbed in her hand by the wrist the lady of Kypros, and again, like more than a man, charged even against me.

Ares eyes are suffocation, a cataclysmic cyclone of unshed ichor and the white of his eyes nearly swallowed by the deep dark of his pupils. His anger had branded a seam into his side, a hot knife steadily dripping his indignation in a telltale trail of puce on the floor behind him with each step. In fact, he is practically spuming at the mouth like a dog, burning burning burning in his fury, only no— something is not quite right.

There is not rage left when he loads his weight against the threshold of Apollo's domain, steam billowing off his shoulders and the treble of his lower lip, though sewn into a snarl betrayed a deeper agony. He hopes Apollo knows the difference.

"I have done as you asked."

His voices resigns, casts his eyes up behind the blood wet of his hair. The mortal wounds were inconsequential, Diomedes spear still broken off in his side. Only the purple of his eye, blackened shut and the weeping gash along his jaw were god inflicted, his mother. He coveted no one more— did he?— and he had deceived her. Her love had been the only steadfast affection since his birth, and her abandonment upon his betrayal twisted violently inside him. So why did he want nothing more than for Apollo to look at him?