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majestyeverlasting · 3 months ago

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𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the trust and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

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Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well.

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine.

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are.

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.

“No help today?” you ask.

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.”

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days.

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?”

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip.

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all.

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?”

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?”

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.”

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue.

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—”

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in.

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.”

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead.

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?”

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.”

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.”

“Imagine that,” you murmur.

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears.

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart.

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor.

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon.

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside.

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table.

“Special delivery.”

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful.

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder.

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table.

“Everything alright?”

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?”

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.”

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.”

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.”

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind.

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks.

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered.

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms.

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks.

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone.

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye.

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart.

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place.

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle.

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light.

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared.

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin.

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room.

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock.

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand.

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening.

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light.

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.”

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché.

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?”

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you.

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart.

You finally look over at him.

“Please talk to me,” he says.

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask.

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?”

“At Quick Mart,” you say.

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway.

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.”

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence.

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—”

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand.

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?”

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry.

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.”

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.”

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest. “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.”

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.

“No more secrets,” he promises.

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward.

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips.

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch.

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?”

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.”

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug.

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you.

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t.

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades.

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer.

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room.

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.”

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read.

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.”

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?”

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.”

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.”

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed.

“That means we let each other in,” you continue.

“You’re in, baby.”

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.”

“I sketch you all the time.”

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.”

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb.

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow.

“They caught me off guard,” you admit.

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration.

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?”

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—”

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction.

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.”

You nod for him to continue.

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.”

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.”

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.

“So help me understand,” you insist.

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax.

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.”

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.”

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are.

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.”

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours.

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.”

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured.

•••

Just relax.

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him.

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath.

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base.

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut.

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft.

A selfish part of him wants more.

“Angel…” he sighs.

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter.

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs.

“That’s so hot,” he grouses.

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly.

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power.

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself.

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.”

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?”

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter.

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves.

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge.

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away.

“Easy,” he coos.

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too.

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks.

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.”

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely.

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory.

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused.

“But I need you,” you murmur.

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out.

As it turns out, life imitates art too.

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?”

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel.

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.”

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?”

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him.

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—”

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears.

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.”

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur.

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies.

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?”

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything.

And with him, you wanted it all.

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #joseph quinn

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yandere-daydreams · 2 months ago

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tw - kidnapping, stalking, symptoms of depression, and obsessive behavior. reader's not doing great in this one and dick's doing worse.

Dick Grayson gets around.

Whatever you're thinking, it's not like that - except when it is. He's just the people person, the golden child, the performer. He's everything that Bruce pretends to be whenever he takes off the cowl and plays socialite. He remembers names, calls on birthdays, sends out Christmas cards the second snow hits the ground. He knows everyone, and he gets what he wants.

You get around... less.

Not that you don't show you face. No, someone committed to staying totally anonymous would never make it to one of a hundred annual galas held by Wayne Enterprises, stocked to bursting with reporters and celebrities and wealthy Gotham transplants, eager to make a good impression with local royalty. He spots you sticking close to the wall, moving between polite conversations, careful never to stay long enough to make a lasting impression. When you're not busy, your eyes dart from wall to wall, tracking waiters and taking stock of the exits. Every now and then, the light catches on a diamond ring you hadn't been wearing a second ago, a sapphire necklace too expensive to hang so sloppily from your neck.

You're transparent, if a bit out of place. Even pickpockets usually had the decency to skip charity events.

His course of action is swift, surgical. He corners you next to the bar, offers to buy you a drink. You counter, explain with a smile that you couldn't take a stranger's money. He adopts a new tactic - asks you to dance with one, instead. Another parry, now you're looking for your date. After fishing for a description, he mentions he might've seen them on the balcony. His scalpel run through your throat, you take his arm and let him lead you outside.

The routine is standard, practiced to the point of perfection. Find a corner away from the other guests, apologize for ending your night so early, then produce enough cash to pay half a year's worth of rent for Gotham's most expensive high-rise - just like he has a million times before with a thousand other petty thieves. Dead-eyed, you card through the bills slowly. Finally, you look to him.

"This isn't really my line of work."

Dick grins. "I can tell."

"Is there a closet we can use, or...?"

He blinks once, then twice. You stare at the money in your hands, eyes glassy and expression hollow. It doesn't take long to clear up the miscommunication. You leave with your stolen treasures and a well-earned tip, and Dick neglects to mention the incident in his status report later that night.

The next day, he seeks you out on instinct, tells himself it's no different than a follow-up for any other case. You are not a people person. You don't smile at strangers, or greet your neighbors by name, or let your eyes leave the sidewalk as you make your way through the rush-hour crowd, your pockets a little heavier with every step. Your apartment is a testament to your separation - no pictures, no creature comforts, no spare tooth brush left by the sink in case of overnight guests. There's only one cup in the entirety of your kitchen, a little black mug with white paw prints painted around the center. He leaves a second on your doorstep - this one decorated rim to base with blue jays.

You aren't from Gotham. That's clear enough, but it's cemented by the phone calls he overhears from your windowsill every Sunday morning, all reassurances to a faceless recipient that you're doing fine, that you have plenty of friends, that your stressful-but-rewarding corporate job is keeping you busy enough. You have younger siblings - a lot of younger siblings. He got to know them as he went through your phone, perched on the edge of your twin-sized mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest in stolen glances. The most recent picture was taken more than two years ago, but he can't judge. He knows what it's like to be the trial run, the practice round, the disappointment. At least you have the self-awareness to keep your distance from the people you love, to make sure the only thing you can hurt is yourself. He's never been so strong.

And you do hurt yourself, don't you? He's seen the drawer of treasures you can't bring yourself to sell, the collection of unopened bills on your dining room table, the strung-together days you go without letting yourself so much as see another person. He knows why you want to be left alone, but even you can't go on like that, not forever. Everyone needs someone. No one can completely resist the urge to leave their mark on something else - anything else, even if they really ought to know better.

And you know that, too. You don't even scream when you wake up in Dick's bed, hands bound and body curled up against his chest. It could just be the lingering sedatives in your system, sure, but he'd like to think that you remember him, that you know you and him are two of a kind, birds of a feather. You ruin everything you touch, but maybe, you won't ruin him.

Maybe, just maybe, you won't ruin each other.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere dc #dc x reader #dc #dc imagines #yandere dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #yandere nightwing #nightwing x reader

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riskylittleturtle · 23 days ago

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Tendencies - Dragon Sylus

Dragons sleep on their treasures, it's a way of guarding it, keeping it safe from other's and being sure no one can get to it without waking them up. Sylus is that way too, has a little box of his favourite gems and such tucked away under his bed. His greatest treasure though, is you. He sleeps best with his head in your lap or pinning you under his weight as he lays over you. His favourite place to nap is on you, head on your stomach and arms wrapped around your back, your laptop settled on his back as you type up reports. Will stay there all day if you'd let him.

Dragons rarely share their hoards and treasures, in fact they're known to be very protective and territorial over them. When a dragon allows someone access to their hoard it can be seen as a sign of respect and acceptance, but it is most often a sign of courtship. Sylus gives you his black card and tells you to go crazy. With bank systems it's strange to have cash and change on hand, gems and jewelry aside, and so giving you his black card is his way of sharing his hoard with you.

Dragons view having territory and hoards as a sign of power. The more treasures a dragon has, the more territory that belongs to them, the stronger and more respect worthy the dragon is. Sylus is filthy rich. He's the leader of Onychinus and by extension he rules the N109 zone. On top of the Onychinus base he has safe houses all around, places that belong just to him (and now to you). When he tells you to go crazy with his black card it is not only his start to court you through offering you his hoard, it is his way of showing you that he has plenty and that he'd be a good mate for you.

Dragons present gifts and offerings to please their mates. Sylus pampers you. He offers you new weapons almost constantly. If you've ever played the claw machines with him you know if he fails to get a plushie he refuses to switch with you until he's gotten you one. When you return from showering after working out he's replaced your clothes with newly bought of the same thing. He has his chef prepare a full course meal for you, and buys you breakfast. The list goes on.

Dragons take promises very seriously, the idea of breaking a promise to them is worse than almost any crime. Words are an extension of their existence. Sylus also takes promises really seriously. You say "I'll be done in five, promise." and he stares at you like you've just sold off all of his gems and thrown his black card back in his face when it takes you six. Promises don't have to include the word, you tell him "I'll text you tonight." and he's spending the entire night waiting for his phone to ring with that silly little ringtone you picked out.

To a dragon, falling for lies is one of the worst things that can happen to them. Sylus doesn't realise you're lying to him once, as you tell him you aren't injured after a mission - you really aren't, the only evidence of your pursuit a single tiny scratch on your arm that barely even draw blood - but as he see's the cut later, fingers ghosting over the scratch and expression absolutely wrecked because you were injured and he didn't know, because you lied that you weren't and he couldn't tell you were lying to him.

Dragons have very different morals than humans. They're more focused on instinct and self interest. Their morals are very important to them, though dragons have been known to change their morals to better fit those of their mates. Sylus has no problem killing when he needs to, and he doesn't believe too much in the ideas of redemption or people changing. You however, as a hunter, have at least some belief that people can change - you also know that this doesn't apply to everyone, that multiple things have to be taken into account if someone is trying to redeem themselves. You also believe that some people are better dead, but that for some murder is too easy of a way out of things. Sylus doesn't change outright, he still firmly believes most people aren't worthy of second changes. But he starts considering which of his business partners to kill and which to give other punishments to, starts to leave people he might have killed to prevent future problems be as long as they don't intervene with his own plans.

Dragons are (violently) protective of their hoards, mates, and young. They will do anything to protect what is theirs. Sylus originally only had his gems and money (hoards), but then he took in Luke and Kieran (young), and finally he had you (mate). Any slight against what's his is absolutely unacceptable to him. Someone makes a comment about Luke and Kieran's masks? They're never seen again. A thief breaks in to try and steal his jewels? No one who enters the Onychinus base with bad intentions makes it out. A hunter from a different team made a bad comment about you during a mission? They apologize profusely the next day and aren't part of any future mission collaborations with your team.

Dragons view their scales very highly, for a dragon to give someone it's scale means they trust them wholeheartedly. It's a sign of respect, that they are acknowledging you as worthy. A dragon giving you it's scale can be a sign that they view you as an equal, or even that they view you as one of theirs and that they will protect you and answer their call. Sylus doesn't have scales now, but he's given MC both a brooch (from the main storyline) and a feather (the gift interaction).

#love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #dragon sylus #sylus qin #sylus x mc #kind of #some of my thoughts on dragon sylus #some of these have probably been said before by others #never had an original thought in my life actually #sylus x reader #some of these are based on media descriptions of dragons and others are based on my own more personal theories for dragons #dragons from multiple myths and ideaologies #didn't think this would become so long oops #let me know if you want more i guess

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felassan · 18 days ago

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Stephen Totilo reports: 'EA CEO’s pay is up, as EA worker median income drops'

Behold, the tallest chart in Game File history. PLUS: EA execs were paid (a little) more for boosting generative AI

Excerpt:

"EA CEO Andrew Wilson received $30.5 million in cash and stock pay for the 12 months ending March 31, 2025, nearly $5 million up from the year before, according to EA’s most recent proxy filing, which was issued earlier this week. That’s a significant boost for the long-time CEO of the studio behind Battlefield, Dragon Age and Madden. It also went in the opposite direction as the EA worker pay to which the company annually compares Wilson’s take. EA reported that the median income for its full-time employees in 2024 was $117,000, down from $149,000 the year before. Note that EA’s tally for worker pay is disappointingly imprecise. It’s ostensibly based on a median average, not the mean (median = pulling the middle number from a stack of salaries; mean = adding the salary stack together, then dividing by the number of salaries in that stack). Confusingly, EA says it used “the same median employee” in 2025 that it used to compare compensation with Wilson in 2023 and 2024. It does not explain that workers’ 2025 pay drop, but says its figures for CEO and worker pay both include bonuses and stock grants, which can rise and fall in a given year. Nevertheless, Wilson’s compensation is up; EA’s chosen comparison figure for worker pay is down."

[source and full article]

edit:

For perspective as a visualization, this is a screen recording of the graph in the article linked above. [recording by Ghil Dirthalen]

#video games #dragon age #bioware #😶😔

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neverthebabysitter · 7 months ago

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Adding to this post, imagine them being famous in the future.

Eddie becoming a rising star as soon as he gets out of Hawkins, his band corroded coffin entering the music scene and having massively popular songs. People are getting more intrigue for his past murder charges, but he gets easily defended once he gets a solid fan base (and the fact that he was absolved of those charges).

And Steve entering the acting scene at the same time, him and Robin being just some extras in a movie for the extra cash, but the director falls in love with the sibling-like duo, making them a cameo where Steve acts like a buffer, making the male character jealous so he can make a move.

It was a simple role, just a few minutes of screen with one-liners of dialogue, but to the surprise of everybody—except for Robin—Steve killed the role. Maybe it was his eyes that enamored everyone, his kicked puppy look or his smile, but he became the nation's sweetheart.

After that, he got cast for more minor roles, and little by little established himself as an actor, to the point of being the lead more frequently.

With that, the two of them are well established in their own fields, working hard and being well-known. So it's not rare that at some point they end up in the same event.

It could be anything, a festival, some awards, just a party of famous people—the point is, they are in a public space, surrounded by people that have no idea they know each other, and like an instinct, they act like swore enemies.

Their minds are so used to associate:

"being in public" + "hide true relationship and have fun" = "fake hate each other"

Becuase years of pulling that stunt in their teenagehood that like reflex they spit second-hand insults.

Like– they lock eyes on each other and instantly looked up and down in the bitchiest way possible. Honestly, at this point it has become their own weird way of flirting, the more vicious the comment the more they will drive the other crazy.

Of course, neither of them realize what they were doing until they both were making out in the bathroom, squirreling away from the vent, going to the closest hotel and waking up the next day with friends/acquaintances from their own jobs field asking for the latest gossip of the industry.

The way Robin would laugh her ass off, only to act like a toddler, pointing fingers and giggling at the two dinguses when they realize what they have done.

It was not intentional, and now everyone who was in the event thinks they hate each other's guts like old times.

The public doesn’t know yet, the reporters still not hearing about this until well-respected journalist, Nancy Wheeler (who has already written about each of them, one for Eddie and one for Steve), makes an article about their long complicated story.

(No, she isn't being petty, Mike, she just thinks it’s funny, and it’s not like she is lying, they do have a long and complicated story, it’s just a little to the left, she just isn't saying some things)

The next time someone interviews one of them, they are asking about the other, why they hate each other, if there’s some drama, why they didn't know they knew the other, etc.

Long story short, they pulled the same bit they did in school, but now by accident and to the whole country (and the world when they start getting more international).

They tried to clarify but fell on deaf ears, people thinking is just to safe face or keep appearances, after all the habit doesn’t quite go and they always ended up flirting with insults in every event they are together.

They definitely start to enjoying it and play along after a while.

Not only that, but they enjoyed it even more when years later, in a random day, they posted their X years wedding anniversary photos with their family.

Everyone lost their shit after that.

#steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #platonic stobin #i went insane #famous #celebrity #actor steve harrington #rockstar eddie munson #listen i love the hc that steve has a prise kink but hear me out

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feminist-space · 4 months ago

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(Important to take this seriously even if you're not currently in an affected zip code -- they could always expand the affected areas)

"Beginning in April, the Department of the Treasury's Financial Crimes Enforcement Network (FinCEN) will require persons in those ZIP codes—estimated to be more than one million Americans—to be reported if they try to spend more than $200 in cash or cash equivalent on items like money orders and traveler's checks. That’s a dramatic expansion of the standard $10,000 cash reporting requirement.

The new Geographic Targeting Order (GTO), which has, as its stated purpose, "to further combat the illicit activities and money laundering of Mexico-based cartels and other criminal actors along the southwest border of the United States," was quietly introduced this week. The GTO requires all money services businesses (MSBs) located in 30 ZIP codes across California and Texas to file Currency Transaction Reports (CTRs) with FinCEN at a $200 threshold for cash transactions. The threshold for all other areas remains $10,000.

...

While the goal of the GTO is allegedly to target cartels (who knew that drug cartels relied on Western Union?), the new rule has the potential to ensnare those who rely on MSBs more heavily than traditional financial institutions, including the unbanked. According to the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC), a household is considered unbanked if no one in the household has a checking or savings account at a bank or credit union. In 2023, 4.2 percent of U.S. households—about 5.6 million households— were unbanked.

Unbanked rates are higher for certain populations, including lower-income and single-parent households. Rates are also higher for minority populations, including Black, Hispanic, and American Indian or Alaska Native households, and working-age households with a disability. For working-age households with a disability, the unbanked rate in 2023 was 11.2%—that's three times higher than the unbanked rate among working-age households without a disability. For single-parent households, the unbanked rate was 12.3%—more than five times higher than the unbanked rate among married-couple households with one or more children."

...

So far, no one has sounded the alarm on the GTO. That may be because not many people are talking about it. Those that are, including the Cato Institute, worry about the erosion of privacy guardrails. There is also a concern that this is just a first step—and expanded reporting requirements could be in the cards for any organization, ZIP code, or geographic area.

When asked specific questions about the Order, including how the ZIP codes and limit were selected and whether the reporting requirements might simply drive more financial transactions underground, FinCEN declined further comment beyond pointing to the press release and Order."

#important #financial monitoring #fincen #atm #atm withdrawal

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drst · 3 months ago

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Stock up time, Americans

OK this is not fear mongering, folks, this is for real. If you live in the US, you need to start stocking up on supplies right now, especially anything that is imported from China.

There is a major drop in freight shipping from China happening right now (late April 2025). Even if someone with two brain cells got into a room with Trump today and convinced him to back down on the tariffs against China, it's too late. There are going to be shortages and empty shelves. It's a question of how long they will last now.

It will take a few more weeks to be felt across the US, but as cargo ceases to arrive on the west coast, you have around 3-4 weeks for the effects to fully reach the east coast depending on the items. People are already reporting price hikes just on orders from China due to the tariffs, but this is going to be a void where things we normally expect to be able to buy will no longer be available.

There could also be major ripple effects from this as the trucking industry gets hit with either layoffs or firings. A lot of people could be thrown out of work, on top of the cuts to federal and government-adjacent jobs. This will push the instability in the economy even harder. And who knows what catastrophes could come up next.

So what can you do now, at the end of April 2025? All of this advice should be considered based on your financial situation. Don't put yourself in debt to do any of these things, but maybe look at your budget and your savings and see what you can afford to do right now.

Stock up on medications. As we know from 2020, a lot of components of our medicines are made in China. Buy extra supplies of anything over the counter you rely on. See if you can get bulk refills on prescriptions. I know it's tough with insurance companies but check with the pharmacy and see if you can fill early, or see what the out of pocket cost is for a refill and if you can afford it.

Personal care and hygiene products too - buy extra soap, shampoo, toothpaste, etc. Feminine care products (diapers if you've got little ones).

Electronics. Almost everything we use is made in China or relies on components made in China. If you've been thinking of getting a new phone or your laptop is failing, now is the time before the prices go even higher.

Same deal with cars, although that's a major expense to replace and interest rates on loans are high right now. We assemble cars here in the US but every car manufacturer makes parts overseas. Take your car to a mechanic ASAP, get it checked out, make sure it's in good working order. Replace anything that needs replacing.

Paper products like toilet paper are not imported from China. As I understand it, the shortages in 2020 were due to other factors, buuuuut, let's be real. People are going to see bare shelves and panic. They're going to start hoarding and since we all remember the TP shortages 5 years ago, it would be a good idea to stock up now so you're not fighting the panic buyers.

Tools - weirdly a large percentage of scissors sold in the US are imported from China. Make sure you have a basic set of household tools. This is a list of 15 basics for handling a house. There's also the ready.gov list of what you need for an emergency kit. Also a basic sewing kit is a very good idea to have available.

Food-wise, again, while direct imports from China may not make a huge impact, if people begin to panic, you want to be prepared to deal with other people hoarding. If you have space and your electric bill can handle it, this is a good time to pick up a chest freezer. You can get a small one for under $200. You can buy the value sized bags of frozen stuff you like to eat (particularly important if you have food issues or if you've got kids who love their chicken nuggets). Grab extras of shelf-stable things like cereal, pasta, rice, and canned goods. If this feels paranoid, you don't have to go crazy, but buy at least some extras.

Get cash from your bank just in case. This is good practice in any circumstances, but don't assume your cards or your Apple Pay are going to work in an emergency. Hit the ATM, squirrel at least $100 away at home. Try to get small bills if you can, it's easier to carry some with you and leave the rest at home.

Lastly think through things you use daily, check where they come from, resupply or replace anything coming from China ASAP. Some folks already did this at the end of last year (durable goods purchases were up over 10% above average in December because people were worried about the tariff shit back then), but if you can afford it, get replacements or new supplies right now.

I sincerely hope 6 months from now this looks like panic and overreaction, but a lot of people smarter than me are giving this advice. It feels very much like February of 2020 again, where people watching the news closely could see something really bad on the horizon, but the majority had no idea. Better to be prepared.

#us politics #disaster preparedness #tariffs #may I not be hit by the dodgeball of prophecy

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silkenwinger · 5 months ago

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natural predator

ghost x reader, shifter x shifter. strangers to friends to lovers with a little push. based on this and this. MDNI. cw: stalking, implied manipulation, scent kink, mating cycles/in heat, the slightest dubious consent, biting, implied knotting (it's still rather vanilla). dividers by @/strangergraphics

There are many ways to pass the time.

You can walk around the block once, twice, until the winter frostiness gives out. Clean your one room apartment from top to bottom, taking care in picking soft scents not to overwhelm your nose. Enter the same shop every Wednesday, never buying anything because it is expensive. It’s a way of living. Perhaps not the best. You wouldn’t know any other, now.

It wasn’t always like this. You used to have parents and friends. Shared dinners. Warm faces by your neck and vice versa. It was scary, seeing it all change. And not being able to do anything about it but flee, thinking it’d be fine somewhere else. A space for your kind doesn’t exist anywhere. You make one by picking a corner and sitting there. And you’re fine here. These past months have gone by smoothly, if a little lifeless.

The one light from the canopy outside keeps flickering beat by beat through the glass doors as you check the register.

“Real issue, that one,” says your manager, Joe. Joe is nice. He lets you do as you please as long as you do the bare minimum. It’s just the two of you, most evening and night shifts in this gas station, and he takes frequent naps he calls resting his eyes.

“When did the repair man say he’d come?”

“Between tomorrow and Friday.” It’s Monday. “I swear my eyes are about to pop open. It’s always just behind them.” He says, making a gesture towards his head.

You close the register. The shop’s jingle plays while you bend over to fix the leg of your pants. When you rise to your full height again, you see him.

Imposing. Dressed in black. Silent and overbearing. He’s wearing the usual surgical black mask, and a cap. Outside, he wears the sweatshirt’s hood on the latter, but he has the sense to take it off inside.

“Good evening,” says Joe, throwing the man a suspicious look. Joe is wary of anyone he can’t get a full report of age and provenience out of, not to mention someone who doesn’t entertain his small talk. Bar you, since you’re a great listener.

The man doesn’t answer. Just lingers on the “sports and health” section for a minute, before grabbing a powdered protein bottle and taking it straight to the counter. You grab it without even looking at him in the eye. Scanning it, you chance a look. His black eyes are focused on your hands, a scar runs on his temple, jagged. His hair looks almost white in the cold, artificial light, his hands in the sweatshirt’s pocket. His eyes leave your hands and meet yours. A sensation crawls on top of you: the need to run. You ignore it and unlock your elbows. Prey instinct isn’t well received in human society.

There’s no nicer way of saying he has a smell. It’s not unpleasant, not at all. But it’s not quite a scent you can name either. Not vanilla, nor a spicy breeze. Not even a heavy musk. It’s just… odd.

You drop the bottle on the counter and tell him his total. He pays cash. Always. His nails brush against your palm as he drops it in your hand, and your breath is quivering. You snatch off your hand in a rush. In the corner of your eye, you can see Joe glaring at the both of you. He must be thinking you’re loony. You more than him, since you’re neglecting basic customer service pleasantries.

He leaves. Your shoulders relax. But you can still smell him all around.

You take a walk to the storage room.

—

You skip around, the limited space hindering your jumps. In the distance cars speed and drive away, the sound muted by the rustling of foliage around your legs. The full moon shows your way through the arms of the trees, silver rays making a stone path on the green high grass. Your ear tickles to the left when you hear a sound, some sort of raspy screeching that has you raise your head. Unsettled, you turn back from where you came from, the meat in your thighs turning sour.

Joe is still asleep, his shiny head falling over his chest. When he wakes and sees you sitting at the counter, he makes an off comment about your hair being messy, voice still slurred by sleep. You fix yourself through the metal reflection on the fridges’ handles and clean the dirt from your nose.

—

Two teenage girls keep shoving their phones in your face. So far from their conversation and monologue towards you, it seems they’re on the lookout for something they call a “dupe”— a lipstick or something. You tell them all the makeout you hold is by the register, on their left. Their expressions clearly show their dissatisfaction with the selection, hands slapping to their sides when they let go of something.

“Girls! We have to go!” Yells the children’s mother from near the exit, and the twins huff in perfect synchrony. They give the makeout shelf a final disparaging look and exit the store, not minding you one bit. You finish stacking up the bandaids, the sunset outside flooding the enclosed space in orange. You go back to the register when you hear someone entering, so used to the shop’s jingle it’s not annoying anymore.

When the hooded man comes to stand before you, you don’t even think twice. There’s something weird in the air, and he hasn’t come in two days. Maybe he was busy. But the eyes and face you find aren’t of the blonde man, and the fabric covering his mouth isn’t that of a surgical mask. The startling blue colour of his irises freezes your mind. The barrel of a gun is pointed straight at you, an extension of the man’s long arm.

The first instinct is always to run. But you find yourself stuck to the place, the thump of your heart resounding in your ears. The man is yelling at you, demanding you to open the register, the glossy finishing of the weapon almost blinding. Your right hand twitches, flexes. You’re sure he’s going to shoot you in the head. The muzzle of the gun is moving side to side, diagonally, shifting lightly enough that it would be almost imperceptible to less acute eyes. The man is shaking. The scent is that of fear.

He shifts as if hit by a train. An unstoppable force. The robber falls to the ground, his body making a loud thunk, the gun dropping from his hold. The spell broken, you lean over the counter, your sweaty hands holding the edge of it. On the ground, the man is on his belly, a bigger body over him. You recognize the cold shine of blond hair.

The police come after you finally call them. You think the blond man might have knocked the robber out, because he’s still prone on the ground while he sits on his legs. He hasn’t said a word to you. Just sent you a glare that said call the cops. While the police take the man away, you call Joe and tell him everything, still looking at the mystery man through the glass doors. Joe says you can close the shop, his voice worried.

You find him still smoking outside. Shifting on your feet, you take his appearance in more carefully. The scent is less intense now, covered by the smoke and dispersed in the open air. The only lights are that of the canopy and the lit cigarette. He’s regarding it as if it’s an ancient book worth revering, the stick looking dwarfed in between his fingers. Tapping your heels, you tuck your nose inside the neck of your coat.

“Thank you,” you let out.

He looks at you like you’ve told him to go jump off a bridge. The blood in your vein chills.

“Common where you’re from?” He asks, his voice even more rough than you’ve expected. You swallow and take a step back.

“Excuse me?”

He makes a vague gesture towards the station, the woods behind. You follow his hand with your eyes and tilt your head to the right, confused.

“Putting your smell all over. Calling everyone to come here.” He then takes a long look, up and down your body, that makes you want to crawl back inside your skin. “Don’t look like the type to enjoy the attention.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, offended, but don’t move from where you’re standing. He is smelling you, as well? That can’t mean… His expression is annoyed, like he’s had this conversation with you a hundred times and more. Your nose twitches. He doesn’t reply to you, choosing instead to put out the cigarette on the ground and walk back to his car. You’re left, speechless, looking at his back.

—

It’s your free day. You can do everything you want during your free day.

You go running, of course. Choose a little spot off the running track, a clearing with tall grass. You take a few bites, but you’re never really satisfied when you eat in this form. It’s only instinct that makes you do so.

All of the sudden, the air changes. The needles on your back multiply, as do your look backs. At some point, you’re certain you’re being stared at. Your hind legs kick, the jump propelling you inside the trees, and you disappear among the foliage.

—

“You should use this.”

A green container is dropped in front of you on the counter. It’s not something you sell in the shop. You look up to the blond man with a dubious face.

“To hide your scent.” He says nonchalantly. You scrunch your face and ignore the unasked gift. You get to the heart of it.

“What’s your name?”

“Simon,” he answers flatly, while his eyes shift to look at the blue plate on your chest. “That your real one?” He says pointing to it with a long finger.

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“These,” you say, taking the container in your hand. It’s full of white, small pills, “work… for our kind?”

“Yeah. More for territory issues than anything else.”

“But you still smell.” You shake the bottle in front of him. From above the mask, one of his eyebrows shifts.

“Better than nothing.” His tone is ironic. Ugh, no one wants to be told they reek all the time. You pout, but pocket the pills. His eyebrow is still quirked.

“Just like that?” He says, surprised.

“Uh? You told me to take them.”

“You don’t know me.”

You roll your eyes. You can’t read him at all, but you suppose he’s made you a pet case of his, a new shifter who needs help in his turf. So why preach stranger danger now?

“You already saved me once.” You lower your eyes. “Does that mean there’s a lot of us here, in this city?” You try to keep your tone neutral, but you fear it sounds more hopeful than it ought to be.

He looks uncomfortable now. Like a mother who promised her son a new toy and can’t buy it for Christmas.

“I know a couple of people,” he scratches the back of his neck. “John Price, good man. Big.” He pauses. “I’ll give you my phone number. If anyone else but him pops up here, or at your house, you call me.”

That’s when Joe makes his entrance. His face tells you that he’s not thrilled you two are having this conversation.

“Everything alright here?” He asks you as he spreads his hands on the counter, and you realize he’s worried Simon’s bothering you. His figure, small and round, pales against the solidity of the taller man’s body, but he holds his head high. And Simon, maybe now conscious of how he’s coming across, shrinks.

“Yes, don’t worry,” you smile shyly to Joe, happy he’s worried about you. But Simon is not necessarily bothering you. You enjoy having someone to talk to about that. Someone who is just like you.

—

He offers to take you home when your car won’t start one rainy night. You tell him you can wait for the tow truck beneath the canopy but he’s unremovable. You don’t question why he was waiting for you to finish your shift. In his car, you just keep your hands in between your thighs, the warmth of the heater thawing your toes. He fiddles with the radio, big fingers turning the dial, the slightest amount of light hair on them. His face is neutral, but you wouldn’t call it relaxed.

“You've been taking them? The suppressants,” he adds, while he turns for what seems the tenth time.

“Yes. Does it not seem so?” You ask, now self conscious.

He doesn’t answer your question. A bit put off by his lack of politeness, you cross your arms and look outside of the car window, limiting your indications to one word replies. He doesn’t seem to need them anyway. When he stops at your house, you put a hand on the door handle and look at him. Something is missing.

“... Do you want to come upstairs?” You ask, voice trembling less than you’d expect from yourself. Again, he doesn’t answer. He just exits the car, long limbs getting out the seat and into the drizzle. You scramble to get out as well. He feels even bigger at your shoulders as you guide him up the stairs. When you enter your apartment, you’re embarrassed by the state you left it in that morning. Simon doesn’t seem to mind, still looking around the space like it might reveal some great conspiracy. Then, he lifts his gaze at you, implicit question in his brown eyes. You look down, biting your lower lip in anxiety.

“This is all I could find on my budget,” you try to justify your living situation, like he’s owed an explanation. He shakes his head.

“It’s nice,” he says, maybe not completely genuinely. But you’re so surprised by a compliment coming from him you almost stutter.

“Please sit,” you say, gesturing to the small table. You make tea in your electric kettle, feeling his eyes behind you all the time. Uncomfortable with his staring and the silence, you try to make small talk, the way Joe has taught you makes customers feel at ease.

“Does it always rain so much here?” You ask, while bringing the mugs to the table. Simon grabs his by the main part instead of the handle, uncaring of the heat. Probably just to do something. He looks huge at your table, the size of the apartment not matching the size of his body.

“Yes. The whole region is rainy.”

“Alright.” You fiddle with the teabag in your cup by its string. Unprompted, you attempt to find the answer to something you’ve suspected for a while.

“Have you been watching me while I’m changed?” You ask, the words flowing out of your mouth like a river in full. He doesn’t answer at first, his whole figure completely still, and you think he’s going to start yelling at you. Maybe you’ve offended him greatly, and the way his kind goes about it, he’ll tear your throat apart. But you don’t even know what kind he is, really. Then, his lips part.

“Just keeping an eye on you,” he says, looking you in the eye, the warm light of the ceiling fan casting shadows on his face. His voice is earnest, and honest, and you want to ask a thousand questions but you think you might already know the answer to some. You tilt your head to the left.

“Worried I’ll commit a crime?” You joke, remembering the way he subdued the robber.

“Worried about others, more like.” He answers flatly, and a flame stokes in the center of your chest.

“Come say hi next time,” you whisper, the blood in your cheeks scorching hot.

He really does scowl at that, as if he’s tasted something rotten.

“Don’t think that’s wise, pet.”

—

He digs a place for himself in your life and sits there quietly. Always in the vicinity.

The days he comes to the station are more than the ones he does not. He buys mundane stuff, necessities he could easily get when he gets groceries, and starts even getting his gas from you. Requests your service specifically. Joe only looks at you with knowing eyes nowadays, and you’re victim to an unstoppable rush of implicating jokes once you leave Simon.

“You’re the only client I’ve gotten the whole month for gas, you know,” you tell him while he sits in the car, the window lowered. His face is even harder to read with sunglasses on.

“Pity. I find myself well serviced,” he says, and your hackles rise at the friendly, even flirting tone of his. You smile to yourself as you pump the gas, tapping your nails on the black varnished trunk.

With the gas in his tank, he drives you around. Actually, he helps you buy a new table. He says the other one makes his back hurt, so you pick a taller version and he pays. He sticks to your side even when the majority of your time together is spent in silence, or with you recounting your shift at work. He points to you clearings nearby you can shift in more covertly, big places where hunting is always forbidden. The itch to know more about him is always at the back of your throat, but you never ask Simon anything that would stab in too deep.

You meet John Price. He’s been itching to see you, Simon says– and they’re ex coworkers, too, so Simon trusts him implicitly. The moment you see him, you think he must be a bear, his long moustache, the slope of his brow bone. He tells you as much himself, freely, after taking a big sip of his beer.

“You’re a deer, right lassie?” You nod demure at the question. “Only ruminant of the area. Can’t say the green spaces are ample, but,” he smiles, eyes crinkling, “it’s a quiet city thanks to us.” He shoves at Simon’s chest, the latter staying still. The shadow of a smile plays on Simon’s mouth.

It’s not like you don’t know there can be animosity between shifters. You remember there being scuffles back home too– but it’s just little old you here. You doubt anyone would even notice you. When you say as much, the look you receive from the two men is focused and sharp, and it tells you all you need to know. No more of that talk.

You start smelling the others in some parts of the city, and immediately draw back when it happens. When you tell Simon as much, that you’re being careful after his and John’s advice, he smiles a full smile, his canines sharply white, his hand coming to pat your head.

In this idyllic moment of your life, when things aren’t just fine but great– a small sense of community again, a stable good job, and a budding link–

Your heat comes.

It’s not your first. Back then, you had your options. Taking care of each other was the norm. But lately, as stressed as you’ve been, you’d forgotten that this, too, is part of your nature. And you didn’t prepare accurately– including having some relief the days before the actual heat comes. Before you pass out, you have the sense to call sick at work. After that your finger hovers on Simon’s name, but you abandon the idea. He can’t always come to help you.

Hazily, you think back on the pills Simon gave to you. You ran out some weeks ago, but didn’t think about asking for more. After all, you’d lived for long without, and he couldn’t even tell the difference himself, as shown by his silence on the matter. Maybe he grew too dulled to your smell.

Maybe he knew that they were finished. Maybe he did it on purpose.

You cough. The slick between your legs doesn’t have time to cool down before a new fresh wave comes, and you curse your animal side as you writhe on the bed. Through the sound of the blood rushing in your ears, you hear your door opening. Panicking, your eyes cross to watch the entrance, the tall, dark figure making its way inside with familiarity.

“Simon,” you pant, “what are you doing here?” You ask, voice rough, when you recognize him. How did he even open the door? You try to stand on your elbows, but fall back over your face in the pillow. You hear his footsteps coming closer and closer to you. He sits on your bed, hand coming to pet your hair, and you muffle a groan, fabric between your teeth.

“Y-you need to leave. I’m not well–”

“Shh,” he just says, still petting your hair. When you raise your head again and turn to look at him, he’s looking at you curiously. You swallow your saliva and try to keep your eyes straight, but it’s growing incredibly harder.

“Why didn’t you call me? I had to ask around…” He says, voice quiet and reproaching. You lean your head into his palm, hands covering your face.

“Didn’t want to bother you…” you whisper, eyes peeking from behind your fingers. “Did you bring the pills?”

He doesn't answer your question. When you’re about to ask again, you feel his body move, his chest coming to press against your back. His arm stirs, makes contact with his head, which then moves. You hear an inhale, his big chest rumbling.

Is… Is he smelling you?

“Simon… I’m really unwell, but I’ll be alright, so you can-” Your voice trembles, but you get interrupted. The tone of his voice is harsh enough to make you cry.

“No. I’m staying here. I know how to handle this,” he says, decisively, but his eyes soften when he sees your scared expression.

“Hey. It’s alright. You know me, right? And I know you. This is just what happens to our kind. I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, hand holding your neck and face buried in your hair.

And just like that, you surrender.

He takes off your clothes calmly, with clear intent, lays them orderly on your chair when he’s done with each part. The moan that comes out of you when he takes off your pajama pants is almost vulgar. Before you turn your head in embarrassment, you see a flash of something else but determination in his eyes. An hunger, even.

“Come. All fours,” he orders, and you follow his words blindly. You’re in no state to oppose him truly, and anyway, this is what your body wants. And the mind is not far to follow. He guides you, rough hands on your waist and hips, and positions you the way he wants.

“Look at that,” he remarks, once he has the full view of your aroused cunt in his face. You mutter an offended remark in your elbow that turns into a yelp when he starts spreading your lips, examining you to his heart’s content. One of his fingers comes to brush at the edges of your hole, bringing some of the wetness lower, on your clit.

“Built for it,” he hisses, fiddling with it, your hips grinding against his finger with their own mind, chasing that limb numbing feeling. Once your moans are getting high enough for his judgment, he adds two fingers into your pussy, his reach far better than any you could have by yourself. You move in tandem, a wave of power that starts from him and crashes into you. He starts curling his fingers into you, his palm still grinding against your clit, that’s the moment you let go. You come with a muffled scream into the pillow, your back arched, your pussy trying desperately to milk his fingers. You fall prone, momentarily exhausted, and catch your breath for about ten seconds when you feel Simon’s arms encompassing your waist.

“Up. C’mon now,” he says, and you let yourself be manhandled. His arm brushes against your stomach. Has… has his arm hair always been so long?

You hear rustling and movement behind you, but you’re still in the aftershocks of your orgasm that you just keep your eyes shut and enjoy the closeness with Simon. When your thigh comes into contact with something, though, your eyes open wide. You try to turn your head to look at his body, but he won’t let you, he just keeps your head firmly into the pillow. At least he shifts it a bit so that you can breathe with your mouth.

“Just enjoy this,” he says, a bit peeved, but with an undertone of shame. What could he possibly be ashamed of, when he’s helped you so much?

“Thank you, Simon,” you let out breathlessly, and he groans, the sound reverberating through your whole body. The blunt head of his cock breaches inside, finds a clear way from your previous orgasm and the hormones. He starts fucking you with with a punishing rhythm, the snap of his abs against your ass resounding in the room, your slick rendering his shoves almost liquid. Whenever you try to shift a bit you’re hurriedly moved back against him, no chance of moving somewhere else. His mouth moves against your ear, muttering something intelligible, more groan than speech. More animal than human. The sounds, the smell of Simon, the warm air, it’s all getting to your head, filling it with foam. When you start moving back against him, a second climax descending upon you, his thrusts become more sloppy, and you feel his legs tensing, shifting in preparation.

“Take it all now,” he grunts out, and you feel a rush of heat by your entrance, and– and–

With a snarl, long teeth bite into the meat of your shoulder, breaking skin. You moan in pain and pleasure both, the heading sensation going straight to your pussy, a trickle of blood running down your flushed breasts and on the mattress. You feel twitching and an unmistakable wet sensation inside you, and the feeling is so overwhelming you try to twitch away from his imposing body but find yourself stuck to him. Simon retracts his maw from your shoulder and licks the wound he caused with long, careful swipes, an apology of his own. Once he’s satisfied with his care, his tongue licks the salty residues of your tears on your cheeks, leaving a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth.

“You’re mine,” he whispers huskily, just as you pass out.

When you wake up again, to the warm and damp touch of a towel, you whimper in pain. The movement stops then, and you open your eyes to Simon pondering what to do next, his hands on his hips. You cough out a laugh at the sight in front of you. When he sees you are awake, Simon’s mouth quirks down in mock scorn, but you read the implicit laugh behind his lips. He bandages your wound and you fall asleep again, worn out by your vulnerable state.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a wolf?” You break the silence later, leaning on your good side while he spoons you from behind. His sharp nails brush against the skin of your stomach.

“You never asked.” He says, almost bored, but it’s a farce, and you both know it. You roll your eyes, grateful he can’t see you. There’s probably an ancient taboo regarding shifters of different species being together, but then again, you hold the very human belief that you can do what you want as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else.

After all, being in the middle between animals and humans means you always have two ways to approach things.

taglist: @rafaelacallinybbay

#he spent most of this in silence as he ought #cod #call of duty #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #yours truly

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weeping-treee · 1 month ago

Text

Hell and Back

Dean Winchester went to hell and came back. What's on this mans mind? Burgers. and you

Dean Winchester x You

1,410 words

(Based on Season 4 eps 2.. just had to get this lil story out. Correlates with a bot I made on C.AI if any of you are interested:))

AU: Lisa is non-existent, cuz fuck her. He's mine.

Dean Winchester.

The lover. The player. He’d never want to settle down. Or so he thought.

You stumbled into his life and turned it upside down in the best way possible. Saved his ass on a hunt, were there for him when Sam died—there for him through it all.

Hell, you had to be held back when he came out with the deal he made to bring Sammy back in the first place.

You argued for hours before you slapped him—and he kissed you.

You two have been inseparable ever since.

The time he has left gets shorter and shorter. Despite the ache in your chest, despite knowing it’s inevitable, you make the most of it.

Even when you can’t sleep. Even when you slip out of bed in the middle of the night to hit the books, searching for anything—anything at all—that might keep him alive.

That might keep him with you.

Every night, it’s the same. He falls asleep, and you make sure he’s out cold before sneaking out of bed. You study, you search, and you crawl back in before he ever stirs.

You’re exhausted. But you never show it.

You hate how damn fond of this cocky asshole you’ve become.

Those eyes? That stupid smirk he gives you when you’re annoyed or pissed off?

You’re absolutely smitten with this man. And you’d do anything to keep him in this shit-ridden world a little longer.

But it proves to be futile as the clock ticks down.

You’re helpless. You and Sam both—forced to watch him get torn to pieces.

Literally.

You’re forced to watch Sam lose his older brother. His rock.

And Lilith gets away, making it all so much worse.

You try to be strong. And you are—for the first week.

But then you leave. You leave Sam and Bobby a note before disappearing off the grid.

They try to find you. But you’ve vanished. Changed your phone, started using cash only—hell, you’re living under a different name.

Four months.

Dean comes back from Hell.

An angel pulled him out—supposedly God called for it.

After the initial shock and reunion with Bobby and Sam, Dean asks about you.

Where you are. If you’re safe.

His questions are met with silence.

They tell him how you just disappeared without a trace. Despite their best efforts, you were impossible to find.

Dean doesn’t accept that.

They carry on—hunting, traveling, working—but Dean stays glued to laptops, police reports, surveillance. Searching for a trace of you. Just one.

And when the ghosts of people they’ve saved come back for revenge?

He knows he needs to find you.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the laptop even when he, Sam, and Bobby bunker down in the panic room. He’s resorted to traffic cams now. Watching. Waiting. Scanning.

Bobby eventually cracks the case, finds the curse, and performs the ritual to reverse it.

The second it’s over, Dean’s back on the computer.

Sleepless. Restless. Obsessive.

Until that feathery bastard shows up.

Castiel.

Dean’s annoyed—naturally—but listens as the angel explains. The witnesses were part of the 66 seals. Lilith is breaking them. And if they all fall?

Lucifer walks free.

He stews as Castiel talks. Then cuts him off.

“Can you find her?”

He means you.

All he gets is a name. A city.

Kansas City, Missouri.

He wakes from the dream with that one piece of information. Doesn’t explain a damn thing to Bobby or Sam before hitting the road.

300 miles.

Nearly 5 and a half hours.

He and Sam get there in less than three.

They scour the city. Asking around. Showing photos. Asking about anyone who looks like you.

Finally—someone says the name of the motel you’re staying at.

Dean’s in the Impala, driving way past the speed limit.

He has to know you’re okay. That you’re still alive. That the witnesses didn’t get to you before he did.

He bribes the front desk and bolts up to your room.

Knocks—no answer. He resorts to picking the lock and enters.

And there you are.

Fresh out of the shower, still drying your hair with a towel.

He drinks you in like a man dying of thirst.

Eyes scanning you head to toe.

You’re wearing his flannel over an old band tee, and black skinny jeans that hang low on your hips.

To him, you’ve never looked more perfect.

His gaze finally meets your eyes—just before you dive for your bag and your gun.

Expected. You still think he’s dead.

He catches you. Tosses the weapon away.

“Hey, hey—don’t do that,” he says, holding you as you struggle. “It’s me, sweetheart.”

“I’ll fucking kill you—think this is some joke? Wearing his skin like a suit?”

You fight him, panic rising—until Sam enters behind him.

“Stop,” Sam says. “It’s really him.”

You go still. Shocked. Disbelieving.

Dean gently turns you in his arms and cups your cheeks.

His brow furrows as he brushes his thumb along the new scar on your left cheekbone.

“It’s really me,” he whispers.

“I’m back.”

Your breath hitches. His hands are warm. Real. The callouses on his thumbs are the same ones that used to trace your jaw when you couldn’t sleep.

"That's impossible..."

And his voice… God, you’d dreamed about it. Tortured yourself with it.

You search his face for any flaw. Any tell that he’s not real. That this is some cruel joke, some hallucination brought on by grief and guilt and the endless nights you spent hunting ghosts and running from your past.

But he doesn’t fade.

Doesn’t disappear.

He’s still there, holding your face like he’s afraid to let go.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “Dean...”

He nods. Just once. And it breaks you.

Your knees buckle and he catches you before you hit the floor, wrapping his arms around you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth. You fist his shirt in your hands, burying your face into the hollow of his neck as a soft sob escapes you. You don’t cry pretty—but he doesn’t seem to care.

He just holds you tighter.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper, barely audible. “I watched you die.”

Dean’s voice is rough, full of emotion. “I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Your hands shake as you pull back just enough to see him. “How?”

“Angel,” he says. “Name’s Castiel. Pulled me out.”

You blink, disbelieving. “An angel?”

He nods. “Yeah. Said I had shit to do.”

You laugh—sharp, bitter. “There’s always shit to do.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah, but right now? You’re my priority.”

You can’t help it—you press your forehead to his, tears still streaking your face. You breathe him in. The scent of him, the warmth of him, the strength you’ve missed like oxygen.

He pulls back slightly. “You disappeared. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I couldn’t stay,” you admit. “I couldn’t stay around knowing you were really gone. I couldn’t look at Sam. I couldn’t breathe.”

Dean's jaw clenches, but he nods. “I get it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t look for you. Every damn day.”

That hits you hard. Your breath stutters again. “You looked for me?”

“Of course I did,” he says. “You think I was gonna come back from hell and not find you? You’re one of the reasons I survived it in the first place.”

You both fall silent for a moment. The kind of silence that’s full. Heavy with everything you haven’t said.

His thumb brushes under your eye, wiping a tear away. “You got a scar.”

“Demon caught me by surprise. It happens.”

“I hate that you had to go through that alone.”

You shrug, but your fingers tighten around the hem of his shirt. “I didn’t want anyone to see me break.”

Dean leans in, presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re allowed to break. You lost me. Hell, I lost me.”

You let out a shaky breath, resting your head against his chest. “What now?”

Dean glances over your shoulder at Sam, who’s been silently watching from the doorway. Then his hand finds yours.

“Now?” he says softly. “You coming back with us. I'm not letting you disappear. I'm not letting you out of my damn sight."

You hesitate. You’ve built a whole new identity in the last four months. Learned how to vanish. How to be no one.

But looking at him now?

You know damn well who you are.

You’re his.

“Okay,” you whisper with a soft nod.

And then? He finally kisses you. Deep. Real. Grounding.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #supernatural #dean winchester smut #spn #supernatural cw #team free will #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles

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cllightning81 · 1 year ago

Text

Ferrari World Champion

Summary: Max was your best friend since you were little kids but then you swapped teams and Max cut you off

Pairing/s: Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader, Logan Sargeant x sister!reader, Charles Leclerc x Sargeant!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning/s: Swearing

Based on this request Masterlist Max Verstappen Masterlist Taglist

After moving to Europe with her brother, she decided that racing was still something that she wanted to continue doing. Being able to find sponsors helped your family as they couldn’t afford both you and Logan to continue karting. Logan also managed to get a few sponsors, which helped even more.

Being a couple years older than Logan meant that you spent most of your childhood racing alongside the likes of Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, and Lando Norris. It meant that you grew up beside some of the current best drivers in the world.

You’d been taken into Alpha Tauri in 2021 alongside Yuki Tsunoda. They’d taken a huge risk in two rookies much like Haas had done the same year. Finishing in the top ten in most races except where there were mechanical issues, there was a huge chance you’d be offered the second seat in Red Bull beside Max.

You and Max had been stuck at the hip for many years. You started on the Red Bull junior team before moving up to being a reserve driver and finally taking the Alpha Tauri team. You and Max were still joined at the hip going to team events together, doing team challenges together.

But now, in 2024, your contract with Alpha Tauri , newly Visa Cash App RB, was over for the twenty-twenty five seasons and beyond. There was a huge chance that you’d be in the Red Bull seat except for when you were called into Franz’s office to see Christian standing there.

“You’ve worked really well in the seat for the last three years, but unfortunately we’re not giving you the Red Bull seat” That was all you heard along with Daniel's name. Your heart shattered knowing that you were just being offered a contract extension for VCARB and not a new contract with Red Bull. Just as well, your manager had told you that there were other offers waiting for you after you found out what was happening with your current seat.

After your meeting with Christian and Franz, you got on the phone to your manager talking through all the offers that were awaiting your decision when he stopped at Ferrari. That was your choice. All these mid table teams wanted you, but Ferrari was leaning for the new top position, and you wanted to win.

Except that may have been the worst choice ever. Max cut off your relationship, and you avoided each other around Monaco and the paddocks. That was from the end of last season. Now it was the middle of this season, and normally, on your way to the Monaco Grand Prix, you and Max would go together.

This year, Charles had offered to drive you to the Paddock, which you had accepted because you drove alone once, and it was terrifying. This year alone felt different. It felt like your rookie year except worse. Feeling out of place as a rookie felt completely different to feeling out of place as the person currently leading the drivers championship.

Walking through the paddock, Charles tried to cheer you up as he had been for many of the races. Logan had also tried his best to cheer up his older sister, but nothing was working. You were missing a part of yourself - Max - your other half, your funnier half. Now, he wouldn’t even defend you during drivers conferences when a reporter said something highly untrue. Charles or Logan being the only ones to defend you.

Max avoided your eyes as he walked through the Paddock, and you just dipped in between the motorhomes to avoid him, knowing that if you were to look at him you’d cry. Even fans had noticed that you were no longer as close as you used to be as your celebrations on the podiums never involved each other.

A few months later, you were still winning the Drivers Championship, and it was a championship that was going to go down to the final race. Max is only two or three points behind you. Bets were through the roof and not only between fans, but the drivers had started their own pool in the grid.

Many drivers did not want a part within the bet with the risk of losing a friend. However, Logan had found you sitting on the ground behind the Ferrari hospitality to avoid cameras. A body sitting next to you, causing you to turn and see who it was turning back to look at the ground when you saw the Williams shirt.

“Oh so you’re not even looking at your little brother now?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes

“Logan please. I’m not in the mood” you huffed, and he chuckled a little

“Tough. I don’t care. Let’s go” He hummed, dragging you to your feet and through to the ice cream stand he had found.

“This isn’t on my diet. I don’t want it” You turned around, walking back to the Ferrari motorhome without him.

Life hurts, your heart hurts, and more importantly, you feel really alone in this world. It was hard being the only female driver on the grid, but that wasn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part is that most people stuck with Max and stopped talking to you.

It was now the last race of the F1 season. You needed to win this to win the championship, but Max was in the same position. Starting on pole meant you had that little extra boost, and with a bad qualifying for Max, he meant he was starting P3 behind Charles, who was under the orders to keep Max behind him for as long as possible. Normally he’d go against team orders like that, but he wanted you to win the championship. To see your smile again. The one he saw for so many years as you karted together.

The race started brilliantly, gaining a 14-second lead by the last turn as Charles kept everyone in a DRS chain or two

“Verstappen behind” your engineer told you

“Fuck” You muttered back and suddenly your enginner was back in your ear just as you took a sip of water

“VSC. Virtual Safety Car. Bottas off the track” He explained

“Fuck sake” You exclaimed probably a little too loudly

“Sorry Y/N” Before you knew it, a full safety car was behind you with only a couple laps left after it went into the pits. You knew you had to get away quicker than Max. Everyone in motorsports wants to win the Drivers Championship, but when you’re this close without a championship, it would make you even more upset to lose it to Max when you’re winning by such few points.

And then it was in front of you. The chequered flag except Max was right next to you, passing the line at the same point as you to the human eye.

“Did we do it? Please tell me we did it” you begged

“They’re checking Y/N. But for now we’re being told for you to complete your cooldown lap” you groaned, waving as you drove around the track on your cooldown lap. You took a drink as you waited for the FIA to come back with the results. Did Max really finish that close to you?

“That’s P1 Y/N. Pull into Parc Ferme” He calmly said as you cheered very loudly

“We did it! Oh my god. I’m going to cry. We won!” You shouted across the radio as your engineer laughed

“I think Fred might be crying on his way there” You laughed as you pulled up in the P1 spot. Getting out of the car after removing the wheel, you didn’t even put the wheel back in the correct spot before you crouched on the front of your car crying.

Not only had you won the race, but you’d won the drivers championship. Never in a million years did you think you’d win the championship. Walking over to get weighed, it felt like a dream until you jumped into the arms of your team who were all cheering loudly, some even crying with you. You looked over at Max, who had finished P2 before Charles wrapped his arms around you

“Congrats Champ. You deserve the win. You’ve been through so much, and I couldn’t think of a better world champion for this year” Charles helped to take your helmet off as he stopped your hands due to how much they were shaking

“Y/N/N. Don’t cry” Logan whispered, wrapping his arms around you tightly. Your family couldn’t make the race, but having Logan here was all you needed. He’d been there through the highs and lows of not only your racing career but life.

After your interviews, you ended up stepping onto the first place podium. Charles and Fred sprayed you with whatever liquid was in the bottles due to it being Abu Dhabi as the tears fell down your face again. Charles is taking your bottle and wrapping you in a hug.

Being sat in your hotel room with a hangover, you didn’t expect anyone to be knocking on your door today. Having spent most of the night partying with your team and most of the grid, you didn’t want much social interaction. Expecting it to be Charles or Logan, you didn’t look before opening the door.

You almost threw the door shut as you saw Max standing on the other side of it. His foot stopped the door as you pushed it shut

“Y/N please listen to me. I need you to hear me out” He sighed, and you shook your head

“It’s been over a year, and I’m hungover. I’m not listening to anyone, especially you” You spat

“Seeing you so upset over something I did killed me. I couldn’t look you in the eyes, knowing that you were hurting because of what I did. You’re the champion of the world now Y/N and I’m so sorry about everything I’ve done. I was just too stubborn to apologise because I never thought I’d have to imagine a day that I wasn’t racing on the same team as you. I know VCARB and Alpha Tauri aren’t exactly the same team, but it was close enough. Then Daniel took back the Red Bull seat, and then the next day, you were with Ferrari, and I was hurt. I have no reason to be hurt because it’s your life and not mine, but Liefde, you have been the most important person in my life since we were little kids. Having Logan shout at me most days because you were hurting that’s something I never want to have to go through again. He’s kinda scary for an American” He explained, and you wiped your eyes as you cried, laughing a little at Max’s American comment.

Max’s arms wrapped around you as soon as he realised you were crying again because of him. He realised that he never wanted to ever make you cry again, and he’d make sure you never did because of him.

“Congrats World Champ. Don’t cry, I got you” He whispered as his head ducked next to you. His words made you cry more as you realised that they were the words you said to him all those years ago when he won his first World Champion.

“If anyone else was to take that number one I’d forever want it to be you. You’re such an inspiration to so many women and little girls around the world and to me. Staying strong even though I was being a prick I’d never forgive myself if I was in your position but I do know that this past year has been hell without you and I’d love to have you back as my best friend” You pulled away from Max looking up at him.

“You’ve got to work for it, Max. You really hurt me and I’ve missed you just as much but I can’t just let you go back into that number one spot in my life again just as easily as you’ve let me into that spot for you” You sighed and he nodded

“I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back to being my best friend” He smiled

Y/NSargeant

Y/NSargeant I don't have any words, honestly. Thank you to everyone who has supported me over the last few years. @ Scuderiaferrari , thank you so much for giving me the chance to even compete this season.

tagged : charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari liked by maxverstappen1, charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari and 6,234,135 others

view all 1,234,212 comments

LoganSargeant: I love you so much. Thank you for being the best older sister someone could ask for and such an inspiration to so many people, including me ↳ Y/NSargeant: Oh, Logs, you're making me cry

maxverstappen1: Congrats, world champ. Don't cry, I got you. Liked by Y/NSargeant

charlesleclerc: We make a great team. Congrats champion ↳ Y/NSargeant: Thank you so much, Charles. I appreciate you making me so welcome this year even if I wasn't the best teammate most of the year.

user1: Y/N you are so inspirational to so many people. I'm freaking out not only about your win but Max commenting

user2: Y/N, you're so inspirational to so many people, including myself. I started karting when you were a rookie, and I'm so glad I got to see you make history in so many ways.

user3: OH MY GOD. MAX COMMENTED I'M CRYING ARE THE BEST FRIENDS BACK TOGETHER AGAIN?!?!!

user4: CONGRATS WORLD CHAMP. I'M CRYING. I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SEE THE DAY

Taglist

@bearryyy @thewannabewriter @lozzamen3 @barcelonaloverf1life @hiireadstuff @mxdi0 @f1kenzzz @evie-119 @ahgase99

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tanadrin · 8 months ago

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@misanthropymademe Breaking this out so as not to get sidetracked, but the statistic on "78% of Americans live paycheck to paycheck" is wildly wrong, and is based on really bad surveys by for-profit companies using them to advertise their services. They also never define exactly what "paycheck to paycheck" means, which leaves room for that to include anyone who would be ruined by an unexpected $200 expense or the people who complain about how after private school tuition, music lessons, annual European vacations, and topping up their savings they have barely any money left over.

As of 2021, about 40% of Americans "would struggle to come up with $400 for an unexpected expense." According to this report from 2019, "75% of Americans [are] doping okay or are comfortable financially." About 10% of adults struggled to pay bills because changes to monthly income; 16% were not able to pay all their expenses in the time covered by the survey period; 63% of adults said if they had an unexpected $400 expense they could cover it completely in cash, or could put it on a credit card and pay that credit card off by the end of the month.

If you have seen the "78%" statistic, you're not stupid, or gullible; it's a deliberate lie that plays to people's priors that are pessimistic about the world, which social media is naturally inclined to engage because of how it tickles our limbic system. But it is false, and I think it is evidence that people get a large chunk of their impression about the state of the world from social media.

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justinspoliticalcorner · 13 days ago

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Lauren Egan at The Bulwark:

The Shadow (Docket) Campaign

DEMOCRATIC LEADERS ARE CONFIDENT they can retake the House in the 2026 midterms. But that optimism is increasingly clouded by fear that a blitz of legal challenges from Republicans could complicate or even upend their wins. In conversations with leading campaign operatives and Democratic-allied lawyers, there is a growing concern that the party is not effectively focused on—and resourced-up for—the legal fights ahead around voting rights, election laws, and election certifications.

Such legal warfare has popped up in every recent election cycle. But these Democrats warn that Republicans’ post-election legal challenges in 2026 could be substantially more aggressive than in the past. Already, the party has seen how that could play out. North Carolina Democrats have been quietly struggling to regain their financial footing after the contentious legal battle to defend Justice Allison Riggs’s November election to the state supreme court. Riggs’s GOP opponent, Judge Jefferson Griffin, spent six months attempting to get thousands of votes tossed out in order to reverse his loss. Riggs ultimately prevailed when Griffin finally conceded in May. But that win—celebrated as a positive sign that the legal system would ultimately protect the integrity of elections—came at a cost.

Riggs’s campaign alone spent over $1 million on legal fees, according to a person close to her campaign. And the state party is still sorting out how to pay off its own bills related to defending the court seat. Party officials accused Griffin and allied Republicans of deliberately using the legal challenge to try and bankrupt them. “I absolutely believe that one of the strategies in the Riggs case was to try and reduce the amount of resources that the party had to work with because if you’re spending money on lawsuits, you can’t spend money on other things that are just as important,” said Reyna Walters-Morgan, a North Carolina-based member of the Democratic National Committee who serves as the vice chair for civic engagement and voter participation.

Incumbent GOP Sen. Thom Tillis’s announcement on Sunday that he would not run for re-election in 2026 underscored that point. The midterms in the state would be contentious no matter what, but with Tillis’s seat now up for grabs, there will be a spotlight on races further down the ballot, too. Yet state Democrats have been slow to get moving: Despite Riggs’s victory, the legal challenge ultimately limited Democrats from being able to get a headstart on raising money for the midterm cycle. The fear among some Democratic officials is that Republicans will attempt similar challenges on a mass scale next year—and that the national party won’t be able to underwrite the defenses against them. The North Carolina Democratic Party received very little financial help from the Democratic National Committee, according to an operative in the state. And the future prospects for a cash infusion from the national party appear even bleaker. The Republican National Committee reported entering June with $72 million on hand, nearly five times the DNC’s $15 million stockpile. “I don’t think that [DNC officials] are fully prepared to help states even do the basic litigation prep work that it takes,” said the operative. “We are going to lose a lot of races probably in states where if they had the money, they could contest what Republicans are doing.”

Beyond the DNC’s coffers, there are additional fears about the election law battles to come. Among them is that the party is too reliant on one big law firm—Elias Law Group—to handle the bulk of the legal strategy and hasn’t invested enough in creating a network of lawyers in the states most likely to see GOP challenges. (ELG, it should be noted, did not represent Riggs in the post-election contest.) There is also fear that the incumbent president will go to extraordinary lengths to hold on to power. And not without reason: The country is only four-and-a-half years removed from January 6th.

[...] The DNC also recently created a new litigation department, hiring Dan Freeman, a veteran of the Justice Department’s civil rights division, to lead a team of three lawyers. Freeman, who started in his role last week, told The Bulwark he plans to hire more lawyers in the coming months—describing it as a significant investment compared to just a few years ago, when the DNC did not employ any lawyers in-house. “The law requires free and fair elections. I think we are well positioned to successfully protect them, but it’s going to require a lot of work—and that’s exactly why we are staffing up inside the DNC in a way that we have not done for at least thirty years,” Freeman said. He added that a more foolproof way to avoid getting bogged down in fraught legal disputes would be to take back the House by such a decisive victory as to make those GOP challenges frivolous. “If we win by wide margins, it makes it very hard to try to knock out votes in court,” said Freeman. “If all of our elections are outside the ‘margin of litigation,’ we will have a restful November and December next year, but I’m not expecting that that will be the case in every election that counts, in every election that matters to us.” Other voting rights advocacy organizations said they are getting better at coordinating across groups and with state parties, putting a particular emphasis on streamlining their operations in anticipation of the midterms. They worked together to raise national attention during Riggs’s case and were still focused on holding Griffin accountable well after the fact. One of the groups involved in Riggs’s defense, the Justice Project, is planning to run ads attacking other justices on the state supreme court who issued legal decisions helpful to Griffin’s challenge.

[...] But private conversations among Democrats about the need to invest more in legal operations have grown more urgent as Trump has ramped up his targeting of his perceived political opponents, including big law firms, universities, and Democratic campaign groups like the fundraising platform ActBlue. While some party officials are bracing for a dark turn from Trump next year should it become clear that Democrats will retake the House, other voting-rights experts say that the election threats are already happening. They point to reports that Trump’s political team has pressured Republican officials in Texas to redraw their district lines (which typically only happens at the start of each decade) to make it harder for Democrats to pick up congressional seats there next year. Republicans in Ohio are also considering redrawing their maps to knock out Democratic seats.

The Dems are fearing a GOP legal blitz around the 2026 midterm elections to prevent shenanigans like we saw in North Carolina.

#2026 Elections #Democratic Party #ActBlue #Allison Riggs #Elias Law Group #Marc Elias

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thereyouarewhereveryougo · 2 months ago

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Trump's record on military and vets

Trump can fuck off and die, Semper Fi

Only 1 Trump in America has served in the military (Fred Trump, Don's brother, served in the Air National Guard); this spans 5 generations, and every branch of the family tree. In fact, the reason his grandfather immigrated to America was to avoid military service.

Children of deployed US troops will no longer get automatic American citizenship if born overseas during deployment. This includes US troops posted abroad for years at a time (August 28, 2019)

On August 2, 2019, Trump requisitioned military retirement funds towards border wall

On July 31, 2019, Trump ordered the Navy rescind medals to prosecutors who were prosecuting war criminals

In July 2019, Trump denied a United States Marine of 6 years entry into the United States for his scheduled citizenship interview (Reported July 17, 2019)

Trump made the U.S. Navy Blue Angels violate ethics rules by having them fly at his July 4th political campaign (July 4, 2019)

Trump demanded US military chiefs stand next to him at 4th of July parade (reported July 2, 2019)

In June, 2019, Trump sent troops to the border to paint the fence for a better "aesthetic appearance" (June 7, 2019)

Trump used his D-Day interview at a cemetery commemorating fallen US soldiers to attack a Vietnam veteran (June 6, 2019)

Trump started his D-Day commemoration speech by attacking a private citizen (Bette Midler, of all people) (reported on June 4th, 2019)

Trump made his 2nd wife, Marla Maples, sign a prenup that would have cut off all child support if Tiffany joined the military (reported on June 4th, 2019)

On May 27, 2019, Trump turned away US military from his Memorial Day speech because they were from the destroyer USS John S. McCain

Trump ordered the USS John McCain out of sight during his visit to Japan (May 15, 2019). The ship's name was subsequently covered. (May 27, 2019)

Trump pardoned war criminals (May, 2019)

Trump purged 200,000 veterans healthcare applications (due to known administrative errors within VA’s enrollment process and enrollment system) (reported on May 13, 2019)

Trump deported a spouse of fallen Army soldier killed in Afghanistan, leaving their daughter parentless (April 16, 2019)

On March 20, 2019, Trump complained that a deceased war hero didn't thank him for his funeral

He refused to sign his party's funding bill, which shut down the government, and forced a branch of the military to go without pay. This branch of military was forced to work without pay, otherwise they would be AWOL. However, his appointees got a $10,000 pay raise (Dec 22, 2018 – Jan 25, 2019)

He didn't pay the Coast Guard, forcing service members to rely on food pantries (Jan 23, 2019)

He banned service members from serving based on gender identity (Jan 22, 2019)

He denied female troops access to birth control to limit sexual activity (on-going. Published Jan 18, 2019)

He tried to deport a marine vet who is a U.S.-born citizen (Jan 16, 2019)

When a man was caught swindling veterans pensions for high-interest “cash advances," Trump's Consumer Financial Protection Bureau fined him $1. As a reminder, the Trump administration's goal was to dismantle the CFPB, installing Mick Mulvaney as the director, who publicly stated the bureau should be disbanded. (Jan 26, 2019)

He called a retired general a 'dog' with a 'big, dumb mouth' (Jan 1, 2019)

He increased privatization of the VA, leading to longer waits and higher taxpayer cost (2018)

He finally visited troops 2 years after taking office, but only after 154 vacation days at his properties (Dec 26, 2018)

He revealed a covert Seal Team 5 deployment, including names and faces, on Twitter during his visit to Iraq (Dec 26, 2018)

Trump lied to deployed troops that he gave them a 10% raise. He didn't give them a 10% raise (Dec 26, 2018). He initially tried to give the military a raise that was lower than the standard living adjustment. This was before Congress told him that idea wasn't going to work. Then after giving them the raise that Congress made him, he lied about it pretending that it was larger than Obama's. It wasn't.

He fired service members living with HIV just before the 2018 holidays (Dec 19, 2018-present)

He tried to slash disability and unemployment benefits for Veterans to $0, and eliminate the unemployability extrascheduler rating (Dec 17, 2018)

He got three Mar-a-Lago guests to run the VA (unknown start - present, made well-known in 2018)

He called troops on Thanksgiving and told them he's most thankful for himself (Thanksgiving, 2018)

He urged Florida to not count deployed military votes (Nov 12, 2018)

While in Europe commemorating the end of WWI, he didn't attend the ceremony at a US cemetery due to the rain - but other world leaders went anyway (Nov 10, 2018)

He used troops as a political prop by sending them on a phantom mission to the border and made them miss Thanksgiving with their families (Oct-Dec, 2018)

He stopped using troops as a political prop immediately after the election. However, the troops remained in muddy camps on the border (Nov 7, 2018)

Trump changed the GI Bill through his Forever GI Act, causing the VA to miss veteran benefits, including housing allowances. This caused many veterans to run out of food and rent. “You can count on us to serve, but we can’t count on the VA to make a deadline,” one veteran said. (reported October 7, 2018)

Trump doubled the rejection rate for veterans requesting family deportation protections (July 5, 2018)

Trump deported active-duty spouses (11,800 military families face this problem as of April 2018)

He forgot a fallen soldier's name (below) during a call to his pregnant widow, then attacked her the next day (Oct 23-24, 2017)

He sent commandos into an ambush due to a lack of intel, and sends contractors to pick them up, resulting in a commando being left behind, tortured, and executed. (Trump approved the mission because Bannon told him Obama didn't have the guts to do it) (Oct 4, 2017)

He blocked a veteran group on Twitter (June 2017)

He ordered the discharge of active-duty immigrant troops with good records (2017-present)

He deported veterans (2017-present)

He said he knows more about ISIS than American generals (Oct 2016)

He said vets get PTSD because they aren't strong (Oct 3, 2016) (note: yes, he said it's 'because they aren't strong.' He didn't say it's 'because they're weak.' This distinction is important because of Snopes)

Trump accepted a Purple Heart from a fan at one of his rallies and said: “I always wanted to get the Purple Heart. This was much easier.” (Aug 2, 2016)

Trump attacks Gold Star families - Myeshia Johnson--gold star widow, Khan family--gold star parents, etc. (2016-present)

Trump sent funds raised from a January 2016 veterans benefit to the Donald J Trump Foundation instead of veterans charities (the foundation has since been ordered shut because of fraud) (Jan, 2016)

Trump said "I felt that I was in the military in the true sense because I dealt with those people" because he went to a military-style academy and that he has "more training militarily than a lot of the guys that go into the military". (2015 biography)

For a decade, Trump sought to kick veterans off of Fifth Avenue because he found them unsightly nuisances outside of Trump Tower. “While disabled veterans should be given every opportunity to earn a living, is it fair to do so to the detriment of the city as a whole or its tax paying citizens and businesses?” - 1991

Trump dodged the draft 5 times by having a doctor diagnose him with bone spurs.

#trump #MAGA #republicans #politics #donald trump

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