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themareverine · 9 days ago

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DESIGNATED DRIVER

—oldman!Logan x namelessfem!OC

SYNOPSIS: “Hey driver!” Tits, yeah—counts two of 'em. What Logan can't quite shake isn't the drunk-off-her ass's $20,000 tit job, or even the way his passengers embarrass themselves with shameless come-ons, stupid amounts of money. something else, entirely—a pretty little thing all done up in makeup and curls, wishing she were anywhere but third-wheeling a drunk hen party. "Sorry about my friend, she's—" "Didn't even notice her, honey."

warnings: this is so offensively long, I'm SORRY. flirting, drunkenness, flashing, maybe some oldman!logan inappropriate thoughts, maybe a kiss, general shyness/awkardness of that girl, language, not proofread, mentions of oral sex, OC has blue eyes.

a/n: and finally, after many weeks, it's here. not entirely sure how i feel about this, it's very self indulgent. let me know what you think, and maybe there needs to be a part two?

There’s a lot of things about this fucking limo that Logan hates.

For one, you couldn’t ask for a shittier lease agreement, and if such a hellish thing dared to exist, Satan holds the pink slip. Two years ago it had seemed like a good fucking idea, leasing some long black experimental piece of Chrysler shit that was heavy off the line and a low fatass—hot as fuck though, with chrome plated lugs. Midnight metal flake showed every piece of God’s earth, the color of sin. Washed the fucker every other day. Couldn’t make green with a dirty rig, and he was an anal retentive sonuvabitch like that to begin with. And the interior, fuck that, it would tell secrets it showed every damn piece of filth that fell into it. Paid or otherwise.

This shitpiece had a tendency to run hot and burn crude, but, she got the groceries—brought home bacon, if that was even still a thing in this century. Toss up between this and the Navigator the color of bad ideas, he’d flipped for the Chrysler. Industry standard, turned heads, attracted the upper echelon. No intention of hauling around fucktards into the suburbs—black paint looked good under Vegas neon on the strip.

But the biggest fucking thing he hated about this rig— fucking privacy partition. Busted worse than a fat lip and had been since the jump. Any serious driver, that would’ve been the first thing to check. Separate him from the sin—hot piece of ass that slid into the backseat looking at him like he’s dinner, a couple too deep in on the red to think straight, the fucker on business hiding his wedding ring in his dick pocket as he picks up an STD.

The first God-awful time he’d went to use it, the damn thing had all but stood up and shrieked in his ear. Grinding gears, the knock of a seized electric motor—scared the shit out of the handsy blonde who’d been trying to get his dick wet since the moment she’d dropped into the back of the Chrysler, tits all but popping from what looked like at least a size too small black—thing. Hadn’t been a dress, he’d seen plenty of them slide in and out—she’d made a spectacle of showing off the little lace number squirreled away for the right price. And it wasn’t that he’d been preening for a look, wasn’t his style—but when it’s right there. Plain as the nose on anyone’s face, and he’s been chaste as a priest for fucking years. It taking up all the glass of his rearview, looking like a felony—the devil had all but welded his attention between her legs.

”Looks like you’re stuck with me, hm?”

Fucking partition. A business-only kiss landed two hundred green ones between his abs and the elastic of his Calvins. A handful of hours of rack and many shotglasses later had put him on the scent to hell, the damn dealership. Four hours from the border, four hours from any kind of work—he’d all but flown the thing into the service bay. Demanded a new partition. And, Logan had been laughed out of a lot of places the last two centuries he’d been sucking air—laughed, jeered, driven out with pitchforks. Circumstances aside, it all ended the same. Vamoose, pissed off his rocker.

An astronomical estimate later, with the fucked-in-the-rear-end isn’t covered by warranty—his fist had collided with the service writer’s nose faster than his patience had evaporated for the blonde. All but jammed the prick’s deviated septum up into his brainspace—Logan had felt it between his knuckles. Only thing keeping his patience held together, keeping the claws in, the man’s crunching cartilage had given him a high not much removed from amphetamine—it had felt good. Feel some asshat’s blood on his hands, staining his skin. See it hit the floor in fat, thick drops. Feel the warmth of it fade as he brushed it away, coppery scent an idea beneath his nose so familiar it may as well pay rent.

Didn’t get his partition, though. Just a bad taste of customer service and the satisfaction of seeing a grown man cry.

Logan isn’t a man to complain—never did change the cards dealt you at the gametable of living. Better to shut up and play, make due with what you’ve got than wish away opportunities. Sure, an almost-lemon of a leased Chrysler with a busted partition wasn’t great, but, it wasn’t that long ago that he’d have given his right nut for the chance to work, much less actual green. Put up and shut up had been the mantra since he’d all but popped out of his mother, and it had, for all intents and purposes, kept him this side of the dirt. Sucking air and feeling, if nothing more—and what was surviving, if not sucking air and feeling?

Doesn’t know. Doesn’t care.

Music that’s been muffled most of the ride tonight suddenly isn’t, the back door of the rig flinging open, a wide arch, revealing the world beyond. Neon bleeds across the black leather of his interior. A smack of humidity rushes in, almost immediately fogs the passenger windows— he keeps it ass-in-winter cold, A/C all but screaming full bore. Likes it that way, keeps him awake. Keeps them awake, he isn’t hauling anyone’s ass anywhere because they fell asleep in his seats.

And while he isn’t startled—there isn’t fucking anything that could scare him, he doesn’t think—Logan’s spine pulls into a straight line against his seat at the sliver of night outside the door. Alarm bells sound off in the back of his head, eyes narrowed on the rearview—hand all but lava, hovering over the gearshift. He’s been here before, on the jump. Ready to rock and roll, ready to kill—should killing need be. He’s lived two centuries on this edge, this cliff. Walking the line between reflex and ready. It’s almost carved into his skin, alarm—comes as naturally as the crest and fall of his chest.

Logan relaxes a little when a peek of skin slips hurriedly into the back seat, familiar stiletto heels. Air in the limo immediately snaps to an all-soldier attention, flustering—like a disturbed hen rustling her chicks. Something isn’t right, isn’t stable—nuclear, almost. Dangerous. The car shifts a little with incoming weight as one of the night’s passengers whisks into the back. Curl and makeup and the familiar whiff of peaches escorts her in as she pulls the door closed, all too quickly for this to be a normal, unbothered arrival.

Her. Muscle in his jaw ticks off, it takes willpower not to wriggle in the front seat, shift his weight a little. Usually it helped shake off the hot weight of sex rolling around the base of his gut, desire. Carnal things he’d learned to live without, suppress. Animalistic and snapping at his spine like frothing wolves. Most times, it was easy to not notice—girls, women, came and went in their short dresses and makeup. Pretty to see, but venomous little things. Maneaters, trouble on stilts. None of them were pretty–pretty in the way that mattered, pretty souls. Ugliness shot behind their eyes like bullets, low and cold. Dimes and dozens, nameless and unnoteworthy as they slipped him tips, batted their lashes, kissed him like he was their plaything because who’s he to fight a pair of tits? Forgettable is understating it.

But her? He hasn’t been able to unglue her piercing eyes from his brain matter. And, he’s tried—like it or not, he’s tried bailing water out of this canoe, a canoe that’s been hallowed and empty for God knew how long. But it’s like emptying water back into the ocean—it only comes back, heavier and heavier.

No dice. Close, but no cigar–unlucky bastard.

She’d slipped into the limo before the night had even been an idea, one of three who’d decided to split fare for a sober ride. Pharmacy, first, for little more than IVs of electrolytes and fluids—never had seen girls guzzle so fast, but, whatever. Mile-a-minute chatter he hadn’t even bothered to pace had kept them busy most of the ride into the metroplex, and Logan should’ve prayed they’d ignored him. Kept his fat trap shut and just let them guide him, but God, no. He’d asked—asked for directions. Where they were going.

Had asked, and fuck him, that had sent things off with a bang. As if they hadn’t realized he’d been there, all three of them had locked eyes with him in the rearview, surprised thrown over the air like a stifling blanket. Heartbeats later, awkward and thick, one of them had leaned forward. Arms over the seat, showing off everything God had given her as she’d all but pumped her bedazzled phone in his face as if it were a shotgun.

He’d clocked her noticing he wasn’t wearing a ring. Was jacked as fuck under an two-undone button shirt and jacket that fit him like sin. Deliberate choice, but–she’d all but started drooling right there on his lap, hungry like a starving man at banquet.

Asking God for some shred of mercy had done little—the look on her face. He’d never forget it, had seen enemies look at him with more mirth and pity. Shit. Hungry, in the eyes. Desperate, like a dying woman choking on her own libidol. After rattling off the address, it would've been faster if he’d just hit the brakes and sent her flying forward through the window. Skulking back into her seat as if it were an X-rated shot, she’d eye fucked him hard until she’d been dragged back into hushed, schoolgirl conversation. Gross.

And that was it, the beginning of the end. Eyes glued to the back of his head like some kind of anchor—Logan could’ve tasted them from here. Was hell trying not to make eye contact in the rearview, feeling their gaze hunting him like wild banshees. Spiking adrenaline, heady plumes of pheromones. Arousal, unlike anything he’d ever wanted to scent—stunk up the air like God knew. Half-starved vixens, all low and bedroom eyes, begging for trouble in all the right little ways that leave men slobbering fools. Had they been parked and out of the Chrysler, the two of them would’ve been on their knees, if not on his cock.

He’d blasted the air again, because the air in the damn car was so thick he would’ve cut it in halves.

Low lashes, smoky eyes. Lips the color of cherries. Tight black dresses and heels higher than heaven, they’d been dressed to kill—maybe a little less. Lobotomize, maybe. Cut out hearts, certainly—blue ball, absolutely.

Pity the bastard who gets the taste of these tarts, pity, and probably mercy.

Bachelorettes, he’d guessed off the gun. Correctly, too—not two blocks from CVS and out came cheap accessories. FUCK ME may as well have been written in lipstick on Stuck-In-the-Middle’s forehead, he assumed she was the future betrothed. By the look of her, much less the smell, she’d been aching for tonight. Primed and desperate, like an oil-starved pistol. Clawing for it, walking the heat of the desert for change. Something else, something new, something dangerous—cock. Dick. Be it Tom, Harry, or some other poor fool—Logan could clock it from anywhere. She’d been sitting on this for a hot minute. Maybe since she’d been born.

And Logan’s uncertain who to pity more—her or the mediocre cock she’s about prowling for—the lopsided tiara, tacky dimestore BRIDE sash out of a CVS bag were just warning signs. Red flags, if you were smart about it. Darkness in her eyes would make any man second guess the two carats on her finger, if men weren’t animals. And they were, every one of them—and she’s far too drop-dead to not demand attention, to not homewreck and ruin some poor, unsuspecting fool’s evening.

Watching her slip those two carats into her handbag, he’d just shook his head.

Silence to stir the dead had followed after they’d eye fucked him into celibacy. Blissful, sweet as the Nile quiet. A creak of movement, the slip of skin on leather—her. Short brunette curls with highlights, icy blues. Defined collarbones in a hardly-strapped dress, big earrings. Sparkles, everywhere, blended into makeup that’s been on awhile but still looks good. And she, she isn’t like the rest—not by a mile. How she moves, the way her lashes flutter. Doe-eyed and sweet. Doesn’t smell like sin, the kiss of color on her cheeks isn’t blush, either.

Peaches, this one smells like fucking peaches. Something floral.

She’s sweet. Saccharine, sugary. Like everything Logan’s forgotten. Pretty, in that girl-next-door kinda way—the way he’s always noticed, the way nobody else ever does. And what a pretty thing like her is doing in the back of his sinwagon, riding with Jezebels, hunting for trouble—he’ll never know.

Hours before this, she’d leaned forward, pretty hands on the back of his seat. Done up nails that looked fake, but not cheap. This close, he could see her contact lenses replacing nine-to-five frames, the permanent little indentations on her nose were unmissable. Ocean eyes smiled at him through the glass of his rearview, as if it were a game. Good at it, she won—he blinked first.

Offered him a little half smile, that dust of color on her nose darkening to an almost strawberry. When his eyes hit hers again from the road, icy blues ramped up like pulsing neon, unlike any he’d ever seen in two fucking centuries. Difficult to think, he’d had to realize he was holding his breath in the pocket of his cheek, hot against his molars. She’d reached across the back of the seat to gently nudge him with her elbow—hey. It should’ve sounded like something you gave to horses, but it was—considerate.

Nearly fucking polite.

You got the address okay, sir? If his tongue hadn’t swollen to the size of his balls he’d have dared to laugh at her. Sir. If he thinks hard, Logan can’t remember the last time he’d been seriously called sir, from a place of consideration, behind the ribs. He’s been alive for hundreds of years, seen a lot of shit and blood, but has been called a professional and crisp sir all but five times in his existence on God’s planet.

Shaking himself out of it, he tells himself she isn’t the first pretty skirt to grace the leathers of his Chrysler. To look pretty and smell good, to stir up his cold blood. Wouldn’t be the last, by far. Part of his marketing was that he was safe. Stuck around, even when the witching hour faded into bleeding colors of morning. Fair & There, as if he were a fucking marketing guru.

She’d slipped out of the limo with her friends even though he’d wanted her to stay. Wanted to smell her and look at her all night, mull over all the things in his life he’d abandoned. Think about how, maybe, in some other world, bend of time, something that sweet could belong to him. But, she’d thanked him. Obviously the designated sober of the night, she’d arranged to text fifteen minutes before they wanted to leave in case he wanted to get a drink or took another gig.

I’ll be here all night, and that wasn’t a lie. The flask burning a hole against his heart had enough whiskey to last him until morning, another bottle tucked under the seat for safekeeping. He was safe, he was there, and too damn tired to even try to think about driving around the city on a time schedule.

It’d been two hours, parked under the neon at the curb. Not even midnight. Normal clients would just be breaking stride, setting paces. At the gate, snorting like stallions in heat. Rutting like animals, working the game. Nothing he didn’t know all too well, he’d lived his wild years a lifetime ago—he knew what sex and booze, a good time smelled like. Could clock it every time, wasn’t daft. Had witnessed his fair share of back-alley fucks, the straightening of a hemline. Crooked buttons and tented-out slacks.

Tonight wouldn’t be different, he assumed—well. Had assumed. Which, as the saying went, made him an ass.

Her heartbeat from the frontseat is almost tangible, hard and fast. Jackrabbit—as if she’d dropped it in his hands, bleeding and raw all over his fingers. Logan’s eyes fall away from the rearview for a beat, ticks back to her when she slides across the seat. Straightening the end of her dress, which hits below the knee–or would, if she were upright, but now pulls at her thighs. And the way she fiddles with it suggests it’s shorter than it was earlier in the evening, when sin was exciting and didn’t slap like a bitch.

Tucked in against the opposite door, looking out tinted glass like it’s a skyline worth seeing, not just a lot of nothing. And something’s off, he can feel it in the little pulses of electricity of the air, the heat in her blood. Anger. The tick tick tick of frustrated fingernails on the edge of the window. Upset. It buzzes in her blood, which he can feel thumping against her bones from here. Slick scent of sweat between her thighs, swirls of alcohol and pyrotechnic smoke mixed with fairy dusting drugs. It’s enough to make him shift, crack the window.

Long gone are the peaches and florals, now she just bleeds with heat and virility enough to stir the gods. Fucking perfect.

How long’s it been, old boy? Dull pangs in his cock make him shift up in his seat, stir some blood into his feet. Eyerolls, gaze hitting the pavement out his window, sick fuck. Just a girl, just like the rest. Reaches inside his breast pocket for a cigar and a light.

And as much as he wishes it isn’t true, Logan can’t quite shake that she ain’t just a girl—not by a shot, long or short. He’s seen a thousand of them, sure—seen and tasted and fucked senseless. Yeah. But—none like this. None that make him burn at the drop of a hat and a smile. None that twist his guts like a corkscrew, rip him open like he’s a fresh kill. He didn’t even know her name, anything about her. He swore to God he wasn’t this type of man, couldn’t be bought with some pretty eyes and cherry lipstick. Happened to wet-behind-the-ears boys only ever hoping their balls dropped into manhood, not guys like him. Not men that had seen a thing or two, not men who had sampled the female sex from every fucking era the last two hundred years had presented.

Not men with demons, not men with metal bones and rust spinning through his cells like Satan’s blood. Not him.

But it doesn’t seem to matter, because her presence in the limo upsets his sensibilities like an earthquake. Seemed to fillet him like a fat bass, pull his ribs back to watch his heart beat. Everything he didn’t know, everything she could be—choked the life out of him, those wicked blues heavy as steel. If he weren’t careful, she’d see through him, like—like memories. And she, like everyone else, wouldn’t like what she saw lurking in his bones, in the organ behind his ribs.

All his life hiding who he is, years hiding from everything the world wanted to label him, only to—

Fuck. Yeah. Something’s off—is his leg bouncing? The fuck is that about? Fuck, fuck. His fingers card through his hair, cough aching in his bronchial tubes. Shit.

Another glance in the glass reveals she isn’t even looking at him, thoughts out the window in the shifting low lights of the limo’s interior. Maybe a million miles from here, but nonetheless—she’s everywhere, every damn where in the space of the Chrysler, this sinwagon that’s messing with his head. Everything about her. Her scent, her pheromones playing him like a fucking game, the heat along her spine. Blood in her veins, ripping through her heart, the pull and push of arteries and cardiovascular muscle. Mesh of her lungs, rising and falling. He’s tuned into it like it’s the fucking evening news.

And everything about this is wrong, his guts swim with it.

Fingering the cigar between two swollen knuckles, Logan ignores pain that zings. Rips through the adamantium in his arm like it’s starving, hunting for air. And Logan is maybe considering that he’s lost his mind, that it’s somehow taken up residence in his dick, when—-a sniffle.

Good fuck. Is she crying? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It’s magic, the little breathy thing girls do when they’ve been crying, but don’t want you to flag it. Witchraft, maybe. Men will never understand how they do it, cry without tears, but—it’s a thing. Definitely, confirmed by science somewhere, some egghead in a lab taking notes on female specimens and how they manage such emotion while still looking like she does. Vaguely his memories spin with all the girls he’s known throughout his life, and how every single one of them have this ability hardwired into their core being, mutations aside.

Biting the cigar between his teeth in the corner of his mouth, he flicks the lighter between his thumb and index finger, holding it up in line of sight. His head angles to look up at the rearview, a rough cough rattling the mesh of his lungs enough to trigger her attention. And sure enough, she has been crying—her knuckle gently brushes at the trails of tears all but neon on her face beneath the limo’s lights, eyes flicking to the rearview to meet his.

Coughing, he eases his back against the seat. Hot muscle burns a little as tension bleeds away, “You care if I smoke?”

And why he asks, Logan isn’t sure—he’s never asked before. Then again, he’s never had to ask, because it’s a standing policy to not smoke on a gig. Tonight, though, he needs something to do with his hands, to calm the magma rushing through his blood, the cold sweat bubbling up on the back of his neck. Staining his white fucking shirt. Even a blush from the grave and exhausted, slowly dying away from whatever is inside of him, he isn’t an idle man. If he doesn’t do something, he won’t be able to help himself—he can barely fight back the urge to not lose whatever sanity’s buried alive and get himself off, right here and now.

Anything to masquerade the scent of whatever’s slick between her legs. You are a sick, perverted fuck, Logan. True, probably. But it’s been years, a lot of years. And he hasn’t wanted a lot of women, hasn’t clocked many that he’d actually enjoy rousting up a fantasy over. And she smells like a good time, something he may not actually regret. That would be a first.

Tucking a little tighter against the door, her eyes close as she gently shakes her head. Curls flick around her features as she does, and she cracks her window before reaching forward to slip off both shoes. Logan had noticed them—yellow, bright highlighter yellow so jovial they may as well have smacked him upside his head. So out of place, but they were sexy as hell—he’d always appreciated a well dressed woman, and as impractical as they were, high heels did add a punch of something that made him a little hard in the dick.

“I do, but go ahead,” it’s a little sigh, one he’s all but five-star VIP familiar. “One of us should enjoy ourselves, anyway.”

In zero to none he flicks the lighter to life, burns the edge of the cigar until it’s hot. Thick, it rides his throat perfectly—chases that gut-twisting urge that’s coiled around the base of his spine like a viper. Through his blood it goes, ramping up the rust and poison and years that kill, and he heaves a sigh—falls back a little rougher against the seat. That ache in his cock twitches, but she retreats.

His eyes fall closed, heart settling down behind his bones. “You wouldn’t happen to sell those little bottles of booze in this rig, would you?” Makes him start a little, and Logan blinks. A little surprised, he angles to look over his shoulder at her, arm lifting to drape over the bench seat. Brow raised, she elaborates, obviously reading his expression. “You know, the luxury part of ‘luxury accomodations’?”

“Not a part of the deal, honey.”

“Ah, you don’t like money, then,” the corner of her mouth ticks up with a smirk when he shifts a little more in his seat to study her. He catches what she lays down, without thinking. “And I ain’t anyone’s ‘honey’, so don’t be an ass and assume. Please.” Blinking, Logan can’t remember the last time he felt his stomach actually lift with amusement—the little way she says her ‘o’s’ is dangerous, suggests the north–either Canada. Minnesota, Wisconsin. North Dakota maybe? Anywhere but this far on the border, the edge of the world. Interesting.

Fucking Calliban. Knew he’d regret the hard copy that albino had suggested, but, it was too little too late. Surprised, he manages a little growl of complaint before he leans forward, hand fumbling against the floorboard carpet of the passenger’s side. Knuckles nudge the bottle of Jack Daniels, and he grabs the neck of it before allowing it to dangle between his fingers. Amber liquid dances like a tornado through the bottle, sloshing against the glass like a dream.

Unstopping it, he pulls back a sharp drink of it. “Have at it,” it’s rough, raw. Irritation peeks through the teeth of it, but it’s more resigned than anything.

Leaning forward, her eyes hold his and she hesitates to snatch the bottle away, hand hanging in the air. She’s got lithe fingers, bigger hands—hands that look strong. His attention cocks slightly when he notices the callouses, the scars on her knuckles. They aren’t polished, nine-to-five office hands like ninety percent of the girls who pass through his service. Briefly he wonders what her fake nails would feel like curled against skin, but dismisses it when she plucks the bottle from between his fingers.

“Thanks,” her chuckle comes from her gut, almost a growl of relief that says finally! as she puts the cool class to her lips. Guzzles back a full shot. Rights, her cherry lips part into a small smile as she hands the bottle back, passing her thumb over left behind lipstick. “Good God that burns,” managing a little cough, Logan replaces the stop and pops it between his thighs. “But it’s good. Takes the edge off.”

I bet it does. He manages a growling mhm, settling back into his seat. Thinking that’s the last of it. Content to look out the window and smoke his cigar, not think about the heat ricocheting off the adamantium in his pelvis. How it stirs up his blood, how her voice is that perfect lilt of low and just high enough.

Head swimming with the mental picture of her beneath him, breathless and hot, he bristles to attention when her arms drape over the front seat. Very suddenly all Logan can smell is the heady smell of woman and sweat rolling off of her like a locomotive.

She mutters under her breath something Logan can’t quite track, bit the way she picks at a nail with her teeth, gaze anywhere but inside the low limo’s lighting, would imply negatives. And she could’ve started reciting the phone book, he wouldn’t have noticed—far too busy noticing cleavage and the valley of her collarbones to be able to think straight.

But his stare gets heavy, she notices the thick air that’s smothering the limo like a wet dream–her eyes find his, a little smile at the corner of her mouth when his flick away. Oh, good fuck. Her eyes bore into him through the rearview. Uncapping the Jack, he takes another sharp pull of it. It chases the warmth in the back of his throat, blooming in his chest like he didn’t know what.

More pregnant silence. She shifts against the leather, hot skin sticky against it. Reaching to put the car in accessory, Logan fiddles with the A/C. He clocks her swiping her heels from the floor, wrangling them back on her feet—hadn’t she just taken the damn things off?

“I should go get them before either of them do something they’ll regret,” her eyes cast to the clock on the dash, which isn’t terribly far from his ID information, which is offensively just there. “It’s late.” It isn’t, not really. Logan thinks this has to be the most conservative hen party in the history of such things, but his jaw clamps shut.

If he can bail them out of his car early, he may be able to catch a few hours of sleep before the early-hour rush. That hour when last call sends boozers into the streets, looking for rides. That’s where the money was, after all—and God knew he could use the dough.

Her hand floating over the handle of the door, as if she’s waiting for his consent. “Paid by the hour, darlin’,” and Logan does not miss the way darlin’ hits her—sharp eyes flick down to his mouth for a fraction of a heartbeat, a little plume of color lifting to the apples of her cheeks that definitely isn’t rouge. Blush, they called it now. She has plenty of it on her face, but it darkens something pretty in a way that, usually, would amuse him.

Instead, now, he just lifts a hand to slot through the openings on the Chrsyler’s steering wheel, ignoring the ache between his knuckles.

He can’t have arthritis, can he? Popping the latch, he twists out of the limo. Crosses around the front through the headlights to her side. A flick of his fingers and he pulls open the door, highlighter yellow heels spilling out to the pavement in that Hollywood way.

He doesn’t do this— he makes a habit not to touch customers. Usually his hand finds his pocket, as a rule. But for some reason, her eyes skating through the dark, panning around the street and the front of the club, lights the mesh of his lungs on fire. Offering her his hand, its appearance before her drops a rod through her spine—she straightens, blinking at it once before her fluttery lashes look up at him.

He wonders if the little flick of muscle in her jaw actually takes muscle memory. Looking at him with a look that’s uncertain, that’s you sure? heartbeats pass and make the moment uncomfortable. Shuffling his weight on his feet, his hand falls from the door and to his pocket, palming the lighter against his thigh. Phlegm and whatever else God created in the human body rattles around the poison in his chest, a low cough echoing off his bones.

It takes her a second to collect, looking between him and his hand. “By the hour. Right,” her eyes skate down his chest, over all of him, as if she’s making sure. Her hand slips into his too lightly to matter, as if she’s making an effort to limit contact—and that’s a good thing, because Logan is fairly sure the world had stopped spinning, the electrical pulses of his body kicking to overdrive at just how alive her skin feels. Senses heightened to infinity. He could count stars, maybe, with the way her nails deliciously press into his palm, rough and hard. Warm, the scent of peaches all but punches his lights out—he can’t even taste his cigar, body enamored with the way she smells, how her hand all but boils in his.

The fuck, Logan.

Stepping out, sharp eyes navigate the front of the club, and a blackhole of the universe suddenly opens between them when her hand falls away. Heels tick against the concrete as she turns to face him batting the door closed. Hands in pockets, he kicks back against the Chrysler. Waiting.

“Thanks,” her smile is small, eyes casting down to the filth of midnight on the concrete, “It shouldn’t be long.”

He shrugs, “‘S your money, honey,” is followed by a grunt as she nods, turns on her heel. Sashays back into the front of the club before flashing a wristband to the bouncer. Between the help eyeballing her in that dress and Logan unable to stop ogling just how it clings, highlights every curve of her, it’s a miracle either of them are still standing.

Reappearing fifteen minutes later with girlfriends in tow, Logan folds them into the limo politely, without incident. Giggling, traces of the night have painted both of her companions—long gone is the bride sash and dimestore plastic tiara. Replaced by smudged-and-attempted-to-be-fixed makeup. Teased hair, ruffled clothes. Nobody could miss that hickey for anything, it would take stock-market shattering amounts of base to cover it up—Mars would have a better time trying to see needles in haystacks. No amount of cigar smoke clinging to his clothes, sweat hanging out as an idea under his nose could cut through that unmistakably sweet musk of sex, sweat.

Before Logan can ask where to point the Chrysler, the other girl pops off an address from her phone to what is most definitely not their hotel, or anywhere remotely in the neighborhood of partylife. Brow raised, Logan peeks the rearview to see his companion whirl so quickly in her seat, he wonders how her head is still attached. Look on her face says everything words don’t, but she asks anyway—”Where the hell is that?”

Trying not to overhear, but it’s impossible, he fiddles with the temperature controls again when the one lifts the hair from the back of her neck. “It’s a hotel,” no shit, it’s the most expensive district in the area. Highbrows stay here—he’d picked them up on the opposite side of the metro, in the middle class accommodations. Sour bile splashes up the back of his throat, jaw setting–he knows what’s about to happen.

“No, really? And here I thought it was the frickin’ monastery,” lunging over her friend stuck in the middle, she plucks the phone from her friend’s hand—laughing hysterically, face flushed with alcohol and tipsy giggles, her jaw opens fully on its hinge. Rapt attention almost has his heart exploding, he nearly misses the stop sign—pops the brake a little hard.

She studies herself against the door, eyes flicking to him for half a second. Phone flipping screen first to her friend, she nods to it. “Who the hell is Mike?” Lowering the phone to her lap, her eyes skate between the two friends, hard. Heavy. Fast. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me—”

“It’s just a fling,” her name rolls off her friend’s tongue sourly, like cold venom. If Logan weren’t so invested in the outcome of this conversation he’d think it was almost melodic, a unique name. Fine and perfect for the sweet little thing currently erupting in his backseat. Too busy pacing traffic, his tongue skates along over his back molars, “don’t get your panties in a twist, honey. It’ll just for a few hours, to have some fun.”

“A few hours?” The actual squeak in her tone was laughable, “You’re joking—you’re actually kidding me. You can’t just go fuck some random guy you met in a bar, you’re getting married.” Offensive hangs in the words like a hot iron, branding itself into the atmosphere with weighty judgment enough to make her chest rise and fall with rapid, uneven breaths. “I won’t let you—”

Eyeroll extreme, Logan could’ve flinched with how much it snaps like a whip. “Oh my god, would you just chill out?” Looking to the other friend, who’s phone is still held captive on her lap, Logan bites the inside of his cheek. Like black cobras their chests fan out, both of them turning to cast frigid judgment to their third, who is pressed against the door to create distance from the very idea of the two of them. For fuck’s sake, “It’s just oral, honey—”

He snorted. All their eyes trip to him, but Logan is nothing if not suave—covering with a cough, he bites back a smile into his lower lip, looking down to his lap. Holy shit, they were actually having this conversation. In the back of his limo. If he weren’t so amused, it could be hot. Smokin’.

But the look on his companion’s face is too horrified, too innocent for him to take any enjoyment out of the topic of conversation flitting beneath the lights of the limo. It’s scandalousm, really. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, but, it just—it didn’t fit. Without knowing anything about much, he knows this isn’t her. Neon Heels, brunette curls. Lipstick barely upset, smelling like peaches of sweat. He could feel it in the very adamantium slowly flogging life out of his body.

Color drains out of her face, milkwhite like a ghost. He’s fairly certain she’d rather cut out her tongue and serve it to him on a silver platter than actually go through with such things. Logan knows a thing or two about life, he’s studied humanity for a lot of fucking years—he knew the good ones when he saw them. Pure, untouched.

Or, at the very least, good.

“Just oral?”

“Would you just stop, ok? Nobody is asking you to come up. Don’t need to be all, all pissy just because nobody noticed you at the bar,” and it’s hot, like acid. Cutting to bone. Logan watches the words cut like knives through the mesh of her chest, and if his collar wasn’t absolutely on fire, he’d have the audacity to smack some decency into whatever the fuck this chick’s problem was. “It’s not your thing. That’s fine. It’ll be just fine,” leaning forward, the bride informs him that once he’d dropped them at the hotel, he can take her back to their hotel. We’ll just Uber back in the morning.

“Fine by me.”

And it makes more sense, the longer he thinks about it. Explained the tears, the fluster in the atmosphere. Pushing the Chrysler through traffic, the tension in the atmosphere snaps like a rubber band—she doesn’t even flinch. In fact, her jaw clenches. Muscles ticks off bone, and she hands back her friend’s phone before falling back into the seat, eyes cast out the window like they’ve been welded to the darkness. Wind out of her sails, her elbow props on the windows ledge, subconsciously her hand covers half of her face. Quiet as death, unmoving as a sarcophagus.

Logan had never seen someone’s soul die while they were still alive, but he figures this was close.

Silence enough to make the dead uncomfortable follows for a few seconds. He focuses his attention on driving the limo rather than looking in the rearview, because noticing the look on her face, actually caring, is so far out of his pay grade that it’s laughable. To her credit, he doesn’t think she’s actually crying—hell would sooner freeze over, he reckons—but her brow is set in such a hard line, that he can almost read the regret on her face in red letter clarity.

Ensuing conversation about how the bride’s tits look in her hardly-there dress has him almost disinterested. Guiding the Chrysler up to the curb of the hotel, he almost misses "Hey driver!" that's more giggle than it is anything else. Eyes tracking to the rearview, Logan isn’t nearly as surprised as he thought he would be when she rips down the front of what was once, probably, an investment dress—tits, yeah. Nice ones, too—bought and paid for by the looks of it. Tits that size don’t just sit up at attention without a calculated surgeon’s hand.

“Like what you see?”

Puffing out a little nervous chuckle, his brow trips up. He shakes his head, amused. Erupting into a fit of snickers and snorts, their cheeks darken with heat. Falling against themselves, the two of them think they’re fucking hilarious as they begin to discuss the course of their adventure. May as well be full fledged pornography in the back of his rig, the things that fly—it sparks up his blood, empties his mouth of any moisture Jack Daniels may have rousted.

God couldn’t have brought up the hotel’s curb any faster, he thinks. Dropping the Chrysler into park, he angles to pop the latch on his door. Misses completely the moan of leather, the little rock of moving bodies shifting around the backseat.

Logan all but jumps when two hands come around him from behind. “Maybe you should come upstairs, driver—bet you could show a young bride a thing or two, huh?” Fuck, fuck fuck—hands that palm down his chest, snake under the buttons of his white shirt are hot. Hot, practiced. Soft and deliberate, one of their nails flick against his nipple, beneath his undershirt—he grunts back a sharp breath, head all but braced against the Chrysler’s hard headrest.

Adamantium kisses the flesh of his knuckles, and it takes effort not to let loose—more brainpower than he wants to admit, fighting back the reflex. Hand shaking on his knee, he inhales an uneasy breath and presses the heel of either hands onto his knees, biting the corner of his chapped lip. Hand drifting lower, almost to his abs, he snatches her wrist with a speed he doesn’t remember. Couldn’t, hadn’t, for as long as he can think back.

“Somethin’ tells me you know plen’y, honey,” his eyes narrow in the rearview. “Plus, I don’t do free fucks.”

She chuckles, pleased. “Who said anything about free?” Lifting her hand away from inside his shirt, he throws her off—cackling like the little witch she is, she folds out of the limo with her friend, “Very professional of you, driver,” he couldn’t miss the darkness in her tone if he’d tried as she winks at him from his window, “drive safe. Precious cargo, back there.”

Could’ve fooled him.

A wiggle of her fingers goodbye to her friend in the backseat, the hotel’s thick doors swallow both of them whole. Vanishing in a twirl of hair and makeup, Logan turns in his seat to consider his last passenger. She hasn’t moved, merely has kicked off her heels—but she has allowed herself to cry. Fresh tears fall down the length of her cheeks, but she doesn’t sniffle. They’re silent, powerful. Say everything words don’t need to—it’s a deep knife, one that bleeds. Logan can see the film reel running through her brain, on repeat. As if it has subtitles. A black and white horror show of just exactly what had happened, how she’d ended up here.

Curling a leg up under herself, Logan watches her shrink into as small of herself as she can, forehead resting against the cool glass of the limo’s window. And it’s tragic, really—someone who looks like that, reduced to a teary, smoldering shell of a person by mere words. Logan knew people were cruel, he’d seen the worst of humanity up close and personal. His own life was hell trapped in bones and flesh, his own history more horrific than anything Hollywood could dream up.

He drives. That’s what he does, that’s who Logan is now. A driver.

It’s another 20 minutes across town. And the ride is ominous, a mummified tomb that’s suffocating no matter how much air whisks into the limo from open windows. Trapped between wanting to say something and unsure of how to react, he relaxes a little when she finally slips earphones in—mindlessly scrolling a cell phone. Swiping at tears that ruin makeup she no longer cares about. Alone in her own little world of music and heartache, he watches the night fall away from her—her hair goes back into clips, away from her face. Earrings come off. Out come the contacts, replaced instead with glasses from the purse she’d left on the floorboards. Gum, more scrolling on her phone. Heels set on the seat beside her–finally her eyes close as she rests against the cool glass.

Gently rolling the Chrysler to a stop at the curb, she sits up. Breathlessly, she stretches a little, lashes fluttering behind frames that accentuate the shape of her face. And Logan doesn’t remember thinking anyone has ever looked good in glasses, but she topples such ideology when she beats him to the punch—she pops the latch on the door and steps out, barefoot. Heels tucked under her arm, purse hanging off her shoulder, she meets him at his door when he slips out of the front seat.

Handling cash had never felt so cold, bitter. She doesn’t look at him as she counts it into his hand, more than they’d agreed. Slipping the remainder of it back into her bag, she steps back, smiling at him softly. Resigned. Apologetic. Light from the overhang of the hotel sets off whatever shine is on her face, tear stains all but left behind—replaced instead with pink cheeks and sad, swollen eyes.

“Should be square,” she nods to the cash in his hand, “you can count it again if you want, I won’t be offended.” Briefly Logan thinks to care if her friends had managed their parts of the fare, but he dismisses it when she bites the inside of her cheek, tongue skating over her bottom lips as she shifts awkwardly on her feet. “Thank you so much for tonight—you have a beautiful limousine. The whiskey was great, thank you.”

Nodding once, he shrugs a shoulder. She’s buying time in that awkward little way people do when they’re not sure what to say, but think they have to say something. She doesn’t, wouldn’t ever—but he wants her to, strangely. Logan could stand here and listen to her come up with things to say the rest of the night, if he knew it wouldn’t deepen the color on her face, drive a little deeper the knife that’s still gutting her in the ribs.

Sucking in a sharp breath, her eyes track up to his from her feet standing on the warm concrete. “Listen, Logan—” she remembered his name, “I’m sorry about my friend. She’s really wasted, and it totally wasn’t alright for her to proposition you like that. It was actually gross—but that’s not who she is, not really. I’m sorry. She’s just—”

“—didn’t even notice her, honey.” He lies. What else is there to do but lie to this pretty little thing, bloodletting her own pride out at his feet? For a long set of years, Logan has believed there’s very little good left in the human species—very few people who are worth giving two fucks about. But she’s so galiant, defending some slut’s non-existent honor, drowning in her own humiliation and everything he can only imagine happened during a hen party gone sideways.

“Oh, uh, well—” oh. How she says it, the little curve of her mouth. That accented “o”. It’s enough to make him insane, honestly. He’s been with her two hours and can hardly think past the twitch of his cock, the little ache that niggles in the back of his head. Behind his eyes. It gets a little hard to fight, the snapping air between the two of them—for a man who knows what it feels like, it’s difficult. She couldn’t be more nonplussed. Which says more than it needs too, makes it all the more sweet. “Sorry, oh my gosh. I’m just a little—I don’t do things like this.”

And that is honorable, even if there’s very little honor left among the thieves of humanity. She is honorable. So saccharine and pretty it physically hurts him, drying out the back of his throat and knocking at his ribs like a damn jackhammer. Her eyes holding his, searching for anything else, are so deep and alive, bright in the way only Polaris could ever challenge—he suddenly forgets where he is, what century it is. How he got here, what he’s doing, reaching for the thin strap of her dress.

The back of his knuckle gently skips over her skin, the strap of the dress. And before Logan can even manage a breath, his hand moves under her chin, tips it up a little. Unmoving, her eyes widen like two bright moons, light catching them and opening them up like oceans fully unpassable to the known universe. From here he can feel her pulse flying through her blood, and couldn't miss the butterflies in her stomach if he’d been on a different planet. And maybe she’s never been appreciated like this—maybe she’s never felt seen.

Fuck, the things he could do to her. “Quit apologizin’ for bein’ sweet,” he manages a low rasp, the corner of his mouth ticking up with a little grin, “very few pretty things left in the world that’re sweet,” tipping her chin up a little further, his lips hover over hers. “And I bet you taste as good as you look, honey.” Tucking some hair behind her ear, he rubs one of her curls between the calluses on his fingers.

He gets back in his car, and Logan drives. Because that's what he does—he drives.

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00 @th3mrskory @blossoming-hotch

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honeybunhottie · 1 month ago

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Oo headcanons for Chris or Josh crushing bad on Alt!reader? maybe like a gothic or metalhead style?

feel like both would be absolutely geeked about some scary looking women!!!

- 🦐

Omg I love this idea! Sorry in advance if this is totally off, I'm not super knowledgeable about the styles or culture but I tried my best! Please keep sending requests!!

Chris and Josh with an Alt! Reader

We’ll do this before the events of the game because I feel like they’d have too much going on otherwise.

Chris

This man LOVES alt baddies and I can say this for a fact

My source? I’ve never known a nerdy man who didn’t like an alt baddie

He and Josh are jokesters through and through. And also lowkey pervs

I can just imagine one day Josh is teasing him about never getting any

And then here walks by you, dressed head to toe in an outfit that’d probably make his mother scream

And he can’t take his eyes off of you.

Immediately his friends catch onto his (frankly, not subtle stare) and start teasing him

Eventually they have some pity and tell him your name at least.

This man makes it his mission to have an interaction with you

Spends at least a month stalking observing you in the hallways

What outfits you wear, what your friends wear, your fav eyeliner brand, how much you hate your lab partner, your plans after school, all of it

One time you bumped into each other and dropped your notebook

Papers flying everywhere and all

He helps you collect them all, and when your fingertips brush his hand feels like it’s evaporated. He didn’t know it was possible for appendages to feel like sparkling water, but here it was happening

When you say a simple “Thanks, Chris” he swears his heart stops

He kicks himself for the gaping stare he gave in response as he stuttered out something unintelligible. Like it seriously keeps him awake at night

He knows he’s bordering on the weird line of things, but there’s literally no chance you guys would cross paths otherwise (in his mind at least)

Because little does he know, the was also a fact about alt baddies

I’ve never met one who didn’t VICERALLY NEED a nerdy man

Yep, you have noticed this blond nerd always around

Yes, you did think he was cute

And yes, your friends absolutely do notice

Eventually, they get tired of your mutual pining because it’s more than obvious that neither of you has enough balls to ask each other out.

They set up a plan with the other squad to set you up, because everyone is tired of these two dorks fumbling around each other

They decide to pull the “make group plans but nobody shows up” card for the new movie coming out

Chris is chilling in the hallway on his phone,anxiously glancing at the door every other minute because why the hell aren’t they here yet?

He freaks out when he sees you walk in, dressed even cooler than usual, all by your lonesome.

You seem lost, looking for something before checking your phone. You sport a flustered look afterwards.

At the same time, Chris feels his phone buzz with a text too

‘Have fun man!’

‘Good luck!!’

‘Take ‘em to the bone zone buddy!’

He rolls his eyes at the last one before realizing what they’re referring to

He looks up from his phone only to get jumpscared by you standing right next to him

“Looks like we’ve been set up”

He immediately starts apologizing before you put a finger to his lips to shush him’

“I’m kinda looking forward to this”

Lord help him

He’s still singing Josh’s praises years later though, so something worked out right!

Josh

I loveeeee Josh

And nothing about this man screams subtle to me

Will he immediately tell you to your face how hot he thinks you are?

Probably not

Will he find every opportunity to hang out and find things in common with you?

Yes, 100%

This man is around every corner, every turn with that bewitching stare and stupid laugh

I feel like he would love your alt style. I mean he’s super into horror movies and the darker side of things, I feel like he’d enjoy someone different.

Flirty jokes galore, he loves making them, he’s kinda weird like that

He loves it if you match his energy too

He’s always asking about what music you’re into, have you seen that new movie? There’s this new haunted house coming soon.

He loves quality time, and he wants to become friends before he makes a move or anything.

Once you guys are FRIENDS, then he starts making moves

This man is playing chess while we are playing checkers

I have a feeling that it’s not too noticeable at first

Lots of jokes still

Lots of “jk jk, unless…”

Nahhhh

Unless…

He’s always getting you the new album for your fav band, or buying you cool stuff when he gets dragged to the mall with his sisters.

Is a firm believer that it’ll happen if it happens

And is very content to just ride along with you.

Overall, 10/10 we love them both

#until dawn #josh washington x reader #until dawn headcanons #until dawn x reader #chris hartley #josh washington #christopher hartley x reader

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femoso-seben · 11 months ago

Text

Livestock AU

Where Cod characters are hybrids living on a farm -------------------

Price and Alejandro were raised together, as guardian livestock animals they were raised together. Alejandro is a Llama hybrid and is trained to attack dog-like creatures he guards over the sheep. When Gaz the young border collie Hybrid was introduced he had to work with a very aggressive Llama that didn’t like his dog shape.

Ghost is a Kangal, like Price but much bigger. Ghost comes from a puppy mill and has to fight to get food. Very quiet dog unless intimidating the coyotes and wolves. Ghost learns quickly and tends to be the most independent but always comes back to check in with his fellow livestock dogs.

Soap is a Great Pyrenees who generally do anything required of him, mostly looking after the ducks, ducks, and goose. Very playful and young still learning the ropes but very good at his job does sleep during the day since he needs to be active at night. If he sees an unattended egg left over night will eat it.

Lastly is Gaz a border collie and very good at his job if he finds anyone miss behaving (most Soap sometimes Roach) he will bite them near the next to correct that behavior.

Laswell and Roach are both Barn cat hybrids. Laswell usually does all the recon missions and gets the boys to then check things out if she finds something suspicious. Roach is a rescue dumpster cat who survives being poisoned a few times. Very rambunctious and follows the guardian dogs around. Ghost is very fond of the silent cat, you will find Roach sneaking bites of Ghost dog food.

Lastly only recently added is an Alpaca. Rudy is situated with the Goats and as their alarm system acts like a less aggressive Alejandro. Alejandro and Rudy do see each other as packmates as well as their individual herd.

Nik is an old police dog who retired as a family dog, and will help out once in awhile when the urge to work hits him.

The livestock guardians’ main rival is a pack of wolves led by Graves. His shadow is a large pack of wolves that tries the farm every once in a while.

Another group is a group of Coyotes led by Valeria. She has gotten a few Birds from Soap which really upsets him.

The farm is currently being invaded by rats Led by Makarov and Laswell is trying her damnest to hunt him down, he and his Konni group are aggravating the farmer.

The farmer decided to get a few more barn cats.

Reader is a small kitten from another farm with too many cats they and their two friends, Farah a brownish cat hybrid, and Alex a big sandy color cat are added. Turns out Alex is the son of Laswell one of her litters.

Reader is treated like an eyesore by the older guardians until they are old enough to train, learn, and join the workforce. Reader mostly wonders around seeing each group and how they work, and finding their spot to rest in. Makarov once scared them and got scolded by Price. -------

It stupid idea idk was inspired a little by @tacticalanklebiter3000 and @frogchiro and the Hybrid side of Cod community

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greycaelum · 1 year ago

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Ok im gonna drop this here for u to write it whenever u want,cause its been hunting me

Royalty au where gojo and reader are living happily,that is until someone poisons his queen when they're having dinner together.

She drinks the wine,and suddenly falls to the ground while throwing up blood and blood running from her eyes. Shoko manages to save her and geto holds gojo back so he doesnt do anything stupid. But when his queen wakes up she's really weak so shoko tells gojo about a flower that'll heal her up,so gojo leaves in order to search for it.

But when he's back,geto leads him to the flower garden the queen loves and he finds her among the flowers,a little better and seeing her not on deadbed has him running toward her,lifting her up and spinning while both of them laugh and kiss

Happy ending

Scribbles & Doodles—Lotus Tears

—Elven Emperor Gojo Satoru X Human Empress Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

His azure orbs stare as you reach to cup his cheeks with a slight understanding frown painting your brows. It doesn't help that you are wearing the other pair of purple robes. It made his belly warm, and his chest swelled with pride. You are pairing... He was the only one who could wear the purple robes since he was born, a lone star, but not anymore. And that was enough to make his heart skip a beat. "Will you be back for dinner?" Your tone carried hope and joy into his day. He doesn't understand why he has to part with you every day... He heaved a sigh hoping the day turns to dusk soon so he can hold you again to his heart's content. "For you, always, My Flower."

𑁍 Genre: historical fantasy, elves/faes, dark magic if you squint, interracial marriage

𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (4.3k)— poison, mad Satoru, elven traditions and cultures, fluff, angst, comfort, implication of major character death, mating bonds, talks of rebirth

𑁍 ✒️☕: Hi to the person who sent this ask. Pardon the very long wait, but I loved writing this one, I just need to say your ask is one of my fave ideas for elf Satoru so I tweaked some things, fantasy tropes are my favorite to write to escape canon~ Grey,

At night when you lay in their bed, your head atop his chest, he cannot sleep a wink for he has forever to spare and only a lifetime with you in his arms. For such a fragile flower, even a man who has grown bleak and untouched over the long passage of time, Satoru cannot help but stroke your head gently, scaring the pixies who would try to sneak in to soak with his mate's presence. He doesn't know if it's a good thing or bad that his mate is loved by the small faes. But one thing is for sure, he doesn't delight that they are trying to pry you awake from his arms. It's no secret he doesn't like sharing... especially when it's about you.

For a human to become the Empress of the High Courts is an unheard thing. Improbable would be the word. And you do not need to know what methods Satoru used to make this happen. Because you already knew that behind his delicate beauty, lies the prickly thorns that wield the absolute power over nature. There is a reason why he was able to rule undisputedly in the indifferent flow of nature over the passage of time.

When he married you, he knew he would uproot the earth and supplant it again and again to give whatever you desired. He is the supreme ruler and Emperor of the High Courts and would only sheath his indifference in the presence of his Empress. He has broken down the millennial walls covering his heart and found himself enthralled by the maiden who never feared the Dark Woods. She found beauty in the mystery of the borders, and he found solace in her presence. She has grown to be his beloved Flower.

Fortunately for you, even as a born human, you have adapted to the faes far quicker. Learning their language and making up for your lack of magic, you learned diplomacy. It was not easy to learn such an intricate affair, but fortune has smiled upon you, with Satoru, who has boundless knowledge of the matter to be your tutor.

"Is this adequate enough?" Satoru hopefully looked at you in the mirror and the craft he had finished for a satisfactory answer.

"Satoru, we are not going to any gathering, are we?" You chuckled as you sat in front of the golden mirror while Satoru stood behind, holding an ivory comb in his hand as he carefully brushed your silky tresses. Small flowers adorned your hair like trinkets as he wove them skillfully into a braid. At this point, your handmaidens have lost their job, with your mate attending to almost everything you need unless he is away for the court.

"At least let me do this before I leave for my duties." He brought the tip of your hair to his lips, kissing it as he stared at you, a longing look on his face. This prompt you to turn the chair and face the elven emperor.

"Will you be back for dinner?" Your tone carried hope and joy into his day.

He doesn't understand why he has to part with you every day... He heaved a sigh hoping the day turns to dusk soon so he can hold you again to his heart's content.

"For you, always, My Flower." Satoru tilted your chin and pressed a kiss on your forehead. "I do not wish to leave." He grumbled and connected your forehead, staring right into your eyes.

Your soft chuckle fluttered through his ears as you reached to cup his cheeks and stare into his eyes. A sense of tranquility floated in your orbs bringing his heart into a puddle of cotton.

"I will wait for you at dinner, Satoru. So the earlier you finish the earlier we see each other. Alright?"

"Alright, as you wish." Satoru sighed and kissed the tip of your nose. "The things you make me do..."

He never thought he would one day sit under the shade of foliage with his Empress on his lap, reading through some parchments while he pilfered some wildflowers to braid her hair. Or to walk while gently pulling the reins of his equine, leading the elk through safe passages whilst you ride on the back. Things he never imagined and things he never thought he would do. But the second you came it all seemed natural for him to indulge you in every way possible.

You are like a brittle glass flower to him that he cannot help but wrap you in the most flawless silks and softest ermine furs. You evoke in him a firm sense of fierce protectiveness.

So imagine the horror and derangement inside him when you were still smiling and talking with him at the dinner table but suddenly blood flowed down your nose, followed by a series of coughs drawing blood from your throat as you dropped to the floor, desperately gasping for air.

If it wasn't for his friend Suguru, a Dragon Lord who he has grown with, who happened to visit the very same day only to pin him down in his rampage of killing the perpetrators hiding in the imperial kitchen staff, perhaps one-fourth of the castle must've already been slaughtered.

All he could see was red. The burning flames consuming the imperial castle and the wilting forest mirrored the despair in his heart. He couldn't hear that his people were wailing for him. All he could ever see was his mate dying each second from the potent poison coursing in her bloodstream.

"Don't touch her!"

He snarled with pure frenzy when Shoko tried to reach out to your unmoving body in his arms.

"Satoru, Shoko is only going to heal her. Your mate needs help." Suguru tried to reason with the livid, elven emperor cradling the unmoving body of his bleeding empress. "She would not do anything to her, only help her."

Suguru could see how unfocused and distraught the dark blue eyes of his friend were, so far from his usual calm and regal sense. Satoru's eyes were bloodshot red. Thankfully, he didn't move when Shoko reached out again to heal his mate.

A faint color of life returned to your face, but you were still as pale as alabaster, still unconscious. The fire consuming the woods slowly died down... A slight sense of sanity returned to Satoru, who held you close, ready to hide you from the world if not for Shoko's words.

"She's in moratorium state... I've only managed to stabilize her body and freeze the poison to stop it from spreading further. Right now, we need to find an antidote... Or else she will only have seven days to live. For now, let's take the Empress to a safe place." Shoko pinched the bridge of her nose as she looked back to the fire slowly dying down, leaving shared trees and ashes. "And fix the chaos you have ignited, Your Majesty, the Emperor."

There are, but severely few times he let his emotions overcome him. He could count it in his hand. But ever since that sight of your throwing up blood, Satoru experienced a myriad of emotions he thought he was never capable of.

Fear... Despair... Uselessness... and most of all heartbreak...

You don't know how many millions of times his soul has shattered in every second he held your cold hand whilst he channeled all healing spell he knows into your body as you sleep on the cradle of the sacred tree cushioned by wildflowers and vines dangling down the archaic branches of the colossal wood. It seems you're merely asleep, but it feels like it's been forever since he last saw your eyes. The reality is that day by day, you are losing your life while all he can do is sit here, rooted in place, too afraid that if he steps away, he might not see you again.

"Your Majesty..." Shoko came forward. The Emperor has been sitting here for three days straight beside his dying mate in silence holding her hand, unmoving, and would attack anyone who dares to step one foot closer to the lying Empress. The court matters have been neglected, with only the elders holding the court together in his absence. The woodlands are closely related to the essence of the Emperor. The depression of his heart manifested in the woods, which gradually lost the green leaves and were replaced by withered branches...

"I have found a possible cure for the Empress."

Shoko had never felt strong empathy, but she did feel a bit of ache for her friend when he raised his head at her, almost pleading with his bloodshot eyes.

"Speak."

"Do you remember the Sacred Tombs of Tvar?"

The sacred burial grounds of the late Empresses. It's deep-seated in the heart of the Mountain of Hanging Tombs, guarded by the mythical beasts his forefathers have created to protect the resting place of the late Imperial Rulers.

"What about it?" Satoru has only been there once when his Imperial Father has taken him to visit his late Mother. It's a mystical mountain filled with ancient elements, from the creatures to the plants, that can only be heard in folklore.

"For high faes like us, the poison the Empress has induced was nothing serious. But to humans, it is lethal." Shoko sighed. "The spell I cast was only a valve to keep the poison at bay until we can find an antidote. On the seventh day, when the sun rises, the spell will cease to exist, and the poison will corrode her bo—"

"Tell me, what should I do? Anything Shoko. I would kill if I had to." The bones on his knuckles protruded with his clenched fists. The Emperor cut her off. He would not hear her say such ominous words about his mate's life.

He would uproot the earth to find anything that can cure you. Anything.

"Killing might be going too far, but it's not impossible." Shoko took out from her robe a parchment containing a sketch of what seemed like a flower and handed it to her Emperor. She never slept over the three days in a desperate search for any cure. "There's a flower that can only be seen in the Sacred Tombs of Tvar that may be able to save the Empress. As we all know, only the direct descendant of the Imperial Family can enter the Mountain of Hanging Tombs."

The Mountain of Hanging Tombs is as ominous as the name implies. It's a mountain range covered with black mist and ferocious mythical animals and exotic plants. It's not that only the direct descendants of the Imperial Elven Bloodline can enter the mountains, but the lower beasts residing on the foot of the mountains refrain from attacking an imperial descendant since they are born from the first Emperor's blood as well. No ordinary fae can survive these mythical beasts, and could only result in death. Thus, it has become known not to venture deep into the mountains.

Satoru, however, wasted no time to cross the valleys leading to the burial grounds. He needs to find that flower.

Lotus Tears...

It is said that the flower can heal any illness. However, it's impossible to scour for the elusive flower, which roots deep only in the burial grounds of the Empresses and leave unscathed from the toxic plants and mythical animals on top of the Mountain of Hanging Tombs that will attack him at any given second.

"Why do you always put the flower on my left ear? I'm not yet married." You asked him during one of the days he stayed longer to watch over you as you searched for some wild, beautiful flowers in the woods.

Satoru stared at the magenta lilacs he conjured from his hands and tucked them into your left ear.

"You look beautiful in any shade of purple..." It matches the color of his robe.

You pursed your lips and huffed clearly not satisfied by his vague answer.

"You didn't answer my question, Satoru."

He chuckled at your angry face, bopping your nose, making you annoyed as you tried to punch him clumsily. The little girl still has the same pout even as she bloomed into a prim and proper lady. It was too adorable even to be called 'angry.' He jumps down the tree and walks up to you, bringing the tip of your hair to his lips for a soft parting salutation.

"Next time... I will tell you, My Precious Flower." With that, he took you to the borders of the human village and the dark woods, as your Mother was already looking for you. He watches you run into the light while slowly walking back into the shadows.

Maybe... He should have never forced this fate on you. You may have called on him in desperation to flee from the humans chasing after you, but he, being the one who knew better, should have returned you to your realm rather than letting his selfishness devour him and claim you as his mate. If he had done so, then you wouldn't have met this predicament.

You wouldn't have been lying in your blood, cold like a corpse...

"Where is she?" Satoru's heart felt like it was dying when he saw that your body was gone from the bed of the sacred tree. "Where is my mate?! Shoko!"

Did he lose you? Did he come too late?

He stared at the blue lotus he so carefully dug out of the perilous mountain despite the throbbing pain on his shoulders after a chimera managed to bite him before he could slay it.

No, you cannot leave him like this... Oxygen left his lungs, and his feet staggered, unable to support the weight of heaven, crushing his soul. His vision is going black, not like this. He barely got to dote on you. Barely got to drown you with the love he has secretly hidden all these years. No, no, no. Satoru's throat ran dry. He wants to scream as if the tearing of his heart wasn't enough to shout his despair.

The forest closely linked to his essence slowly wilted as if joining their Emperor in his mourning. The leaves slowly dried up. The flowers closed, and the vines started shrinking to twigs. His sorrow is mirrored by nature.

His mind went black, his heart slowly crumbled in every passing second that his eyes could not see you. Why did the gods despise him to tear apart the only joy he has ever touched for what seems like an eternity?

"Satoru!" Suguru found him in haste after the forest slowly grew darker and darker.

Who knew that his apathetic friend could have this vast amount of emotions to turn the lush evergreen forest into a barren land? Suguru wasted no time to drag what seemed to be a lifeless Satoru into a maze-like garden.

Shoko was there. She immediately snatched the mystical lotus from the Emperor. Satoru could care. All things pale in comparison to his mate... All things. He dropped to his knees, holding onto your hand.

"Y-Y/n?" Satoru's throat was parched as he saw your sleeping body, with the wilting grass around, as if you were truly taken away into the underworld... This was your favorite garden... All flowers in here, he has grown with his own hands. Not it seems like he has planted those flowers only to send you off to the afterlife. "No, you can't do this to me, My Flower... I would lose my mind." He muttered like a madman, bringing your cold hands to rub against his cheeks, desperately searching for any signs of warmth but finding nothing...

Suguru tried to pry him away from your frail body, but his malevolence met those who tried to separate you from him until the Dragon Lord had no choice but to use all means to knock Satoru out...

The last thing he saw was your sleeping face as he desperately begged his eyes not to close... He needs to see you, to be beside you... to hold you...

"Satoru...?" You were both sitting under the shade of a magnolia tree with his head on your lap, eyes closed from the glaring sun, meanwhile, you intertwined his lustrous hair into a loose braid, tucking little flowers in your masterpiece.

"Hmm?" It was one of the days when he had enough time to traverse the hills with you and meet other fae tribes so you may have time away from the Imperial Courts.

"Promise me that if the memories we have together start to hurt... you will forget me."

His eyes opened in a split second, and he looked back with furrowed brows only to meet your small smile.

"That is nonsense. I would never wish to forget you. You are my mate." Satoru sat straight and took your hand in his. "What led you to this ominous thought, My Flower? Do not think of such things, we are bonded for eternity."

You gently shake your head.

"You're an elf... I'm a human. Our life span runs differently. Some day... You will have to remember me longer than you have held me..." The bitterness of your eyes was quickly concealed as you closed them. "That's simply the order of nature..."

Satoru was tongue-tied... He cannot face that reality yet... Not yet... If ever the Lady of Light is listening to him, he prays that the sun and moon slow down... Forever never seems to be enough...

Forever will never be enough...

"Satoru...?"

He wishes never to wake up. If you're not in the world he opens his eyes to, he may as well live in this fantasy. He has lived such a long time in solitude. So even if it's just a fragment of imagination or make-believe, he would choose that sweet lie rather than face the cold reality you're gone...

"Satoru..."

Your voice... It's sweeter than the sirens and softer than the small faes singing with the birds in early dawn...

A soft touch brushed off the fringes on his temples, shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. Unable to bear the brightness, his eyes opened and looked up to the blue sky...

Slowly, his blurry eyes met your worried ones as you tucked your hair behind your ear while staring at him with his head laying on your lap.

"You're finally awake... Thank goodness!" You sighed and smiled. "Welcome home, Satoru..."

Your hair... It's not the same color as it was... It shone a bright silver like his under the sunlight, which only the imperial descendants can inherit... But he knew it was you... His soul tells him so.

"Y-Y/n?" He reaches out to touch your cheeks that have grown prominent... more elf-like... "This isn't a dream?"

Your sweet chuckle filled his ears as your warm palms held his and pressed it to your cheeks, kissing his wrist.

"I must've worried you so... I'm sorry, but I'm fine now... because of you."

You're really warm... So warm, you melted the millennial thorny wall he built around his heart. Your palms are so dainty compared to him, but they have always been able to soothe him more than anything else.

"You... You look like me..." Satoru slowly sat up as he took in your features. "My Flower... you look like a fae..." Satoru is a bit confused about the sudden transformation. You look just as you are, but the silver hair, pointy ears, and sharper features...

"It must've been because of the flower's healing attributes," Shoko explained, taking a step forward to assess the changes on you, who indeed looks like an elf now.

"Explain, Shoko." Satoru looked at the woman as he was adamant about answers.

"The flowers had healing attributes; it's just a speculation, but aside from healing, we all know that lotus also signifies rebirth. The flower may have deemed it necessary to change the human blood running in the Empress's veins into elven blood for her to heal from the poison fully... As for the silver hair, I can only think that since the Lotus Tears came from the sacred buriel grounds of the late Empresses, it must have absorbed most of their remaining energy and passed it on to the Empress through the flower's healing attributes..."

"Does that mean my Mate is now an elf?" Satoru cannot believe how these events have turned out for you and him. He took your hand and studied your features... You are still you, but indeed, there swirls a more mystical air around you, and only a faint scent of human blood is left lingering in you.

"The Empress is not yet fully an elf at the moment, but I am sure before the fortnight ends, her transformation will be complete, and she will truly be a full-fledged fae, like us." Shoko nodded.

You stared at Satoru... The once wilting forest which you woke up to slowly regained life.

For a man so stoic, he is an open book... You can't help but chuckle as the smaller faes slowly creep out of their homes and rejoice at the blossoming life enveloping the woods again. Shoko and Suguru have left, leaving you and your mate some privacy in the garden.

"I..." Satoru cannot confess enough what he had done out of rage and sorrow when he thought you were gone.

"I know..." You shake your head telling him to speak no more as you took him in your arms... This time, you could feel him ever closer, hear his thoughts louder, and see him clearer. Everything he has done and he has said, you knew and felt in each passing second... But no words were uttered, as you can feel the remorse coursing in his being. What he needs the most is your embrace...

Nature can renew itself as long as it is given care and time...

The trees are once again full of luscious foliage, the grass is back to its evergreen hue, and the different faes have returned to their homes and gone through their duties as usual. Satoru is somehow a bit busier with the court matters, while you, the Empress, needed a little more recuperation before you come back to your court duties.

"Your Majesty... We always knew you smelled sweet even before you became like us."

The smaller sprites sat on your finger as they flapped around you, more drawn than ever. It seems that your new form has made you more captivating to their instincts, just like how they are drawn to the presence of their Emperor.

"Really? Though, I know you just want more sugary treats." You played with their cheeks until they perked up and bowed to someone. "See you tomorrow, Your Majesty!"

You didn't have to guess who made the little sprites flee in haste.

You turned around, and sure enough, you were swept off your feet as a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you off the ground. His sweet sandalwood scent filled your senses, soothing your racing heart.

"I missed you, My Flower... What did my mate get for me?" Satoru looked at the basket you're holding, filled with several flowers from the garden he built for you.

"It's nothing much... It's too loose to be called a crown." You showed him the crown you clumsily made with some lilacs. But Satoru guided your hand to put it on his head, indulging you with anything. You have now fully turned into an elf. Bright silver hair, lucid eyes, and the sweet scent of jasmine and orchid around you with the purple robes that only the Imperial Rulers can wear. Anyone who sees you will immediately recognize you as an Imperial Fae and their Empress.

"I would take anything you offer me, Y/n." Satoru softly kissed her forehead... his lips slowly kissed his way down your nose until he found your lips. "Can I ask for a kiss?"

"What if I say my kisses are not offered?" You raised a brow.

Satoru merely shrugged it off with a smirk.

"I'm pretty sure you can make exceptions for your husband, no?" Satoru chuckled. "Can I have my kiss now?"

Your sweet smile and soft giggle drowned in as he captured your lips for a gentle but passionate kiss.

If the lotus has tears, he will shed it only and only for you...

—GreyCaelum

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

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astermath · 1 year ago

Text

nemesis

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: you made carmen’s life hell in culinary school, except you had no idea. now he finds out you run a restaurant in Chicago, and he’s confronted with the emotions he projected onto you.

word count: 2.9K

notes: kinda got inspired by the lyric "I'm the sweetest girl in town so why are you so mean?" by lana del rey but this was prompted by this ask!!! anyway this starts off in carmy's culinary school era and then goes to somewhere around the start of S1. this will def get a part two!!

♡ LANDING PAGE ♡

warnings: cursing, slight mention of suicidal thoughts, angst

comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content!

You were like the average person's depiction of an angel.

You were so incredibly good at what you did, excelling in every class they got, you were unanimously liked by everyone, always helping out your peers and taste testing, and for all he knew you probably fucking rescued baby polar bears in your spare time too.

You were perfect.

And he couldn't stand it.

Always saying good morning to him, with that sickeningly sweet smile, soft hands easily preparing the dishes he struggled to perfect. And that wasn't even the worst part. Because the teachers loved you too.

"Such an interesting spin on the use of this ingredient."

"I can tell you've really perfected this technique."

"What a unique combination of flavors..."

And they were right. Of course they were right, it's like you were a machine crafted in some kind of lab to outcook him in every way possible.

And it was stupid to be jealous, to almost hate you over it, because he was excelling too. But you were excelling more. His praise seemed worthless compared to yours, and he couldn't even dream of making the kind of connections you seemed to make with the other students.

So he grew to resent you. Even when he went to go work in New York, he couldn't shake the image of you standing in the corner of his kitchen, humming softly while chopping vegetables as you received all the praise he longed for. Some would say his hatred bordered on obsession, he would tell them it’s none of their fucking business.

Over the years, he’d managed to at least slightly shake the image of you in his kitchen, though at his lowest points, he couldn’t help but think of you. Of course Mikey was his primary motivation, but he couldn’t help but feel like possibly surpassing your success spurred him on too. But then again, what success? For all he knew, you quit cooking altogether, he hadn’t heard from you since he left for New York. That was, up until a few days ago.

It had been so busy already, and Carmen was spent trying to keep up with the pace of this business running on its last legs. He groaned into his hands, before going back to chopping tomatoes for his sauce.

“Hi! Can I just get a braised beef sandwich to go?”

Your voice made him flinch. He almost cut into his finger, that honey dripping sweet familiar voice sending a jolt of anxiety over his entire body. No way, no fucking way you were here, in Chicago, in the Beef of all places. He thought he must have hallucinated it, stressed out of his mind from the intense lunch rush they’d just had. But he had to know, he had to find out if you were there, setting foot in his establishment.

So he turned his head to peer over to the counter, and there you were.

Angel of the academy.

Arch nemesis of his nightmares.

Ordering a sandwich from his run down restaurant.

You barely looked any different, and the sight of your smile made his stomach drop. Or flutter. It did something to his stomach at least.

He was just going to let you leave, pretend like he imagined it so he could continue to live his life and believe you were out there pursuing anything besides cooking. But he couldn’t. He had to know, something deep inside him forced him to put his knife down and walk to the counter as you were heading to the door, and call out your name in questioning.

You turned, and when your eyes met he remembered how uncomfortable your eyes made him. How they’d make his face get hot, stutter, think about every mistake he’s made, like he was having an allergic reaction to your eye contact.

“Carmen?” Your voice was soft, unsure, as if you were coaxing a wild animal out of its cage.

Richie looked at Carmen, confused as all hell as to why his colleague was having a nervous staring contest with this random customer. “You know this chick or somethin’?”

He voluntarily ignored Richie’s question, getting from behind the counter and walking up to you. A part of him wanted to bolt, slam the door and tell the others to kick you out. Luckily for him, he’d become the more confrontational type recently.

“Holy shit, it is you!” A bright smile adorned your face, and he swore you were about to go in for a hug when you moved your arms, only to awkwardly cross them when he pulled away a bit. “What are you uh... Doin’ around here?” A stupid question, you were aware, but anything to make conversation with your long lost classmate.

The question made Carmen tense up. Although it was obvious he worked there, the Beef was not... In its prime condition, to say the least. He was a bit embarrassed to admit he owned it, but he wasn’t about to lie to you and make even more of a fool out of him in the long run.

“Makin’ sandwiches.” He sighed, looking down at his shoes for a moment, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. “So uh, what about you?”

“Ah, I run my own place like 25 minutes away from here.”

Ugh.

Of course you fucking did. Of course you, star student that you are, owned your own restaurant in Chicago. He bet it was running so well too, and you didn’t have to worry about half the shit he dealt with on a daily basis.

“Ah, wait, here,” You reached into your purse and pulled out a business card, handing it to him. “We’ve been up and running for only a few months, but it’s going pretty well!” You clutched your hands together, excitedly awaiting his response.

“Cool, cool...” He held the card, carefully reading over every letter. Sunrise diner... Huh. “A breakfast place?”

“You got it!” You chuckled, slightly nervous as you moved back and forth on your heels. You hadn’t seen Carmen in ages, and besides the added tattoos, he truly hadn’t changed that much. He’d matured, surely, but his demeanor remained the same. Curt, bold, something distrusting about it.

“If you want, you could uh... Stop by, maybe?” You fidgeted with the sleeve of your jacket.

Your question made him look up from the card, and a million answers ran through his mind. Did he want to? On one hand, he felt like if he spent any more time with you, he’d start feeling like even more of a failure than he already did. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be bad to scope out the competition, and who knows, maybe the place was shit, and he could sleep at night knowing at least both of your restaurants weren’t doing well.

“Sure, why not.” He shoved the card into his back pocket, crossing his arms. “I’m kinda swamped right now, but I’ll let you know. Maybe this weekend or something.”

“Sure, yeah, totally! My contact info’s on the card!” Your excitement almost made him distrust you even more. Were you planning something? Was this part of some elaborate scheme to drive his business into the ground? Either way, he’d find out sooner or later.

“See you around!” You waved him goodbye, heading outside as he stood there, no reply as the last thing that was heard was the jingly of the bell above the door.

Carmen took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before turning back around, seeing Richie lean against the counter with a shit eating grin. “Ex girlfriend?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows at him.

“Fuck off cousin.”

God, he wished you were just an ex girlfriend.

You were his biggest competition.

Usually when Carmen was up this early, it was to get some preparations done for the restaurant, or if he just hadn’t slept at all during the night.

But now he stood in front of your restaurant, and fuck, he had to admit, it looked good.

From what he could see from outside, the place had a very cozy feel to it. The theme was a mix of a 50′s diner and a casual breakfast spot, and from what he could tell so far, there was no lack of customers either. But that didn’t say much, maybe they were paid actors, right?

He entered and made eye contact with the barista behind the counter who offered him a warm “welcome” and a smile, before looking to the side and waving at someone in the kitchen. Not long after, you walked out, bright smile plastered over your face. He always wondered how you could be so energetic this early in the morning.

“Hey,” he said, hands in his pockets, “nice place.”

“Aw, thanks Carmy!” Your chest warmed at the compliment. “Saved a seat just for you, just follow me.”

He was seated in a booth just for him, and he had to admit, he liked this setup. He could eat his food in peace at least. The vintage feel of the leather cushioning of the benches was pleasant, and the jazz music playing made for a pleasant atmosphere. He’d almost say he would visit a place like this outside of work hours, if you weren’t the one running it.

He looked over the menu, noticing a wide array of breakfast sandwiches, pastries, milkshakes, and the usual coffee arrangement. Nothing too crazy, though he secretly wished he could have chosen something difficult for you to make.

He ordered an eggs benedict sandwich with smoked salmon, a coffee, and a cherry danish. Should be a pretty good test to the culinary quality of the place, he thought.

A waiter came by to drop off his food soon after, and he hated to admit his mouth watered at the sight of it. Everything looked so fresh, and the plating was very pretty too. But cuisine isn’t about how stuff looks, if it was, the Beef would have never existed, that was for sure.

He dug in with his knife and fork, and started eating. He sat through his entire meal in complete silence, simply going through the motions of enjoying a normal breakfast. The barista watched him with careful eyes, as if he was Gordon Ramsey and they were a shitty bakery on the verge of bankruptcy.

He put down his fork, taking a deep breath.

It was fucking delicious.

And every moment he’d spent enjoying it made him angrier and angrier.

So he got up, seemingly in a bit of a hurry, and stormed outside, the door hitting the wall with a loud thud when he exited.

You watched it happen from the doorway to the kitchen, face painted with worry.

“Carmen! Carmen wait!” You started to catch up with him as he walked over to the parking. He didn’t like it, you thought, no, he hated it, he hated it so much he couldn’t even dignify you with a moment of feedback.

Carmen’s face ran red as he could practically hear the blood rushing around his ears, hands starting to reach for his pack of cigarettes as you approached behind him.

“Please, just tell me what was wrong, I-I’ll change it, I can make you something new, off the menu, w-whatever you want, I--”

“God, do you ever shut the fuck up!?” He turned around, yelling loud enough to have you frozen in your tracks. His pack of cigarettes was squeezed tightly in his hand, crumpling the cardboard packaging under his grip.

You felt the paralyzing effect of his loud and furious voice, a cold sweat running over your body now. Before you could even open your mouth to say anything else, he stepped closer, and you didn’t even have the guts to back away.

“Every day in culinary school, you made my life hell! The one thing I have ever fucking excelled at, been noticed at, felt like I should have been alive for, you overtook me in!” His ears rang, and any noise besides his own yelling was muffled.

“You, with your perfect knife skills, endless patience, and your little angel fucking face, always at the back of my heels, the corner of my damn kitchen, making me feel inferior! And then-- then I finally get away from you, think I’ve got some direction in my life, feel a sliver of confidence in my abilities, and what do you fucking do!?” He points at you, finger just an inch away from poking into your sternum.

“You enter my city, my restaurant, and just come and remind me about how much better you’re doing! Because you love to make me feel like I’m worthless, liked I’m always 5 steps behind, don’t you?” He furrows his brows. “Tell me! Tell me that’s why you’re here, because you want to shit on my work, and make me feel worthless!”

You can feel his hot breath on your face, and your knees start to feel weak. You open your mouth, and the tears that had long been building in your eyes start to roll down your cheeks. The first noise that comes out of your mouth is barely half a word, strangled between the knot in your vocal cords that had formed out of fear. You swallow, and finally manage to speak up.

“Carmen, I-I’m... I’m so sorry...” You sob.

The person you’d looked up to since day one of culinary school thought of you as a bully. And you had no clue.

You knew Carmen didn’t like you, but you never knew he hated you this much. You’d noticed the tension in his jaw as you received good critiques, the strengthening grip on his tools when you got close to his station, the lack of eye content he provided when you did briefly talk. Just as much as you noticed his amazing instinct for flavor profiles, his ability to improvise, his insatiable urge to keep going.

It inspired you. So you kept going too. Even though deep down, you’d wish he acknowledged your work.

And now he did, he finally did, but not in the way you’d always hoped for. The man you’d always admired, who was awarded Chef of the Year the same year you considered giving up entirely, was currently inches away from your face, watching you cry.

His expression softened just a bit, and the surrounding sound of cars passing by and distant jazz music finally came back to him. You were sorry. So sorry. You looked like it too, hands clutching the fabric of your apron, shaking slightly, cheeks stained with tears. Shit. Shit, he’d really messed up.

“I-I didn’t... I didn’t know, I swear, I never meant to, I was just--” Your voice broke between sentences, “I was trying to keep going, keep holding on, and you were so... You inspired me, y-you’re...” You swallowed, looking to the side, afraid to face his scowl. “You’re the reason I settled in Chicago. I wanted to-- to work with you, or for you.”

You remembered trying to reach him, but he’d changed numbers, and with his severe lack of social media, trying to find him was damn near impossible. By the time you were ready to start cooking again, the year you heard he won Chef of the Year, you found out he was based in Chicago. You searched online, but to no avail. You figured your best shot was to try and start something in the city, and pray to whatever god would answer that maybe you’d cross paths again.

He stood still, head still reeling and processing what you were saying. This was new information for him, and that changed... A lot. You, the person he’d spent like half of his career trying to catch up to, admired him. He’d almost think you were lying if it wasn’t for the tears streaming down your face, he started to realize just how badly he’d acted out just now.

“I--” He started, taking a step back to get out of your personal space. “Fuck, I should-- I should go.”

You stood there, arms crossed, enveloping yourself and avoiding his eyes like a wounded animal. And the best thing he knew how to do at the moment, was flee the scene. He sucked at his emotions, hell, he could barely even handle his own, how was he going to help you after just cussing you out.

So he backed away, leaving to the nearest metro station to get out, leaving you alone outside.

Carmen got home that same day, back against the door as he sat on the floor of his apartment. He felt horrible, like there was a gaping hole in his chest, and he imagined you felt about a hundred times worse. He couldn’t believe what he did, all because he projected this horrible false narrative onto you, stemming from his own self hatred.

He sighed shakily, pulling out his phone and calling his older sister, Natalie.

“Hey, what’s up Carmy?”

“Hey Sugar-- uhm-- so you remember--”

“Are you okay?” She questioned, clearly worried at the shakiness of his voice.

“I’m fine, I promise, please can you just-- just send me the info for the therapy thing. Please.” He sighed. “I’m uh... I’m startin’ to believe I might actually need it.”

A pause remained for a moment, and he almost thought she hung up.

“...Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

tag list <3

@beebslebobs @thatone-brightstar @spr3id @deadandstill @777iii

#aster writes the bear #carmenmath #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fic #jeremy allen white imagine #jeremy allen white fic #the bear #carmen berzatto writing #carmen berzatto the bear #the bear fic #the bear writing #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto imagine

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phaeton-flier · 3 months ago

Text

How Harris/The Dems should deal with "the border crisis" (nonexistant):

Quietly, do all of the actually good things an even slightly moral government would do. Restart the remain in place policy, let asylum seekers back in, do as much as possible to reduce the horrid idiotic inefficient aspects of the current visa system, etc

Every time anyone is extradited from the US for any reason, call it a deportation. "We're deporting this criminal out of the country." Every time you do this, make a clear distinction between the Innocent Families just trying to fulfill the American Dream, and the Bad Guys, who do bad things to those Innocent Families. Repeat that a lot, Americans love the deserving poor vs. the undeserving poor; the mistake Dems have made for the last 30 years is thinking you need to cut off a large number of people as "undeserving". In reality, you describe all the people you're helping as "deserving" and all the people you arrest as "undeserving". Bad Guys hurt Innocent Families, where Innocent Families encompasses both most migrants and you, the viewer at home.

Make giant immigration bill. Fill it mostly with whatever, maybe reform immigration if you can swing it, but it doesn't matter. Inside, in two small parts, will be: a) some minor provision that expands executive power at the border in some fashion. This doesn't need to actually do anything, probably shouldn't so the next president can't abuse it, maybe it affects some minutia about hiring and firing or what sort of arrests get sentenced first. But it can be spun as "giving the president the power to secure the border". and b) some culture war bullshit that the dumber Rs can flip out about. Make it as asinine as possible. Have a few interns spend a week on Twitter and Gab until they find whatever brain worms are popular on the Dumb Right and put it in. When they go on TV to complain about it, it should look to most viewers like they're insane. When the bill inevitably fails, have some guy go on TV and say the Republicans crushed it and made the border worse because they're obsessed with culture war nonsense. Harris really wanted to use that new thing to secure it! Whenever anything bad happens even tangentially related to the border or immigration, go on TV and say it's because we didn't pass that awesome bill, because the republicans cared more about some culture war bullshit. (If it passes, celebrate whatever you wanted in the bill passing and then say Rs watered down the border thing)

Every so often, when someone somewhere does a real bad violent crime and is an undocumented migrant and gets deported, make a big media circus out of it and tout it as a win. Make sure every new channel is connecting the idea, in viewers' brains, that this is the party that is deporting "the bad guys"

Find someone really sympathetic who was deported under the Trump and bring them back. You should do this anyways because it's the right thing to do, but in this specific case you want to find a religious light-skinned pretty young woman with decent English, who can go in front of the cameras and cry about how much she loves Jesus and America and her family, and how happy she is to be back.

Find an undocumented migrant who came in/overstayed their visa during the Trump who is an undocumented migrant who did a real bad violent crime who came in during the Trump administration. Imply this is the fault of him and his cronies' policies. The general slant you want here is that Republicans etc. cannot tell the difference between the Scary Bad Guys and the Innocent Families. This could be because they are incompetent or racist; describe in terms vague enough the viewer can interpret it themselves. Either way, Republicans cannot protect you because they cannot tell a Bad Guy from a Christian. When they start talking about all the border crossing, imply they think every one of those people is a Bad Guy and not an Innocent Family, because they are (incompetant/stupid/racist/unAmerican) You'll notice all of these things include "Go on TV and talk about it", which should be considered to be repeated three times every time it shows up. If there is one lesson to have learned over the last 15 years, it's that repeating something to the press often enough will change the message, whatever it is. Just keep saying it. Every time there's a win, go on TV and talk about how great it is. if you're having trouble getting your message out, put the pill in a piece of cheese: Have it leak to the press, who will lap it up because they lovvvvvvvve the idea that they're getting Cool Secret Scoops. Frame it as a horserace thing when Rs try and push back, and make it entertaining to have your guy on there talking down to whatever R they brought on for balance. Above all: be entertaining; News media might view themselves as being Guardians of Truth but they're in the business of selling ads and want eyeballs. Flatter the first illusion and feed the second, and they will give you endless free airtime.

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manasseh · 2 years ago

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imagine.:

Ori and the Will of the Wisps playstyle and worldbuilding except it's co-op with Fireboy&Watergirl type puzzles 🤔🤔🤔🤔

#every good idea borders on the stupid #ori and the will of the wisps #ori #fireboy and watergirl #CMGT #game ideas

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e-dubbc11 · 5 months ago

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Ericca, my love. I come to you with a little idea (and challenge) ❤️

We both know how much you love Frank Grillo, so I had an idea for another one of his characters. Leo Barnes from The Purge franchise.

Reader being a sweet waitress at a Cafe where Leo buys his coffee. They always have polite exchanges, bordering on flirting. Maybe some hidden feelings? Then Purge night comes along and by some freak accident she's trapped outside. And of course Leo is there to save the day. And maybe... a little kiss at the end? 🥺👉👈

A little coffee shop meet-cute meets horror. If anyone can do it, you can. I kept it deliberately vague, cause I want you to have artistic freedom 🤣❤️

Sweet Lily,

I love your challenges for me so so much! I’ve been watching a LOT of Frank Grillo lately and yes, you’re right, I love him 🤣🥵 and Leo is obviously a character I haven’t written for before but I loved this idea and I just think he’s so smexy. I know this wasn’t a sleepover ask but it’s been done for a little while so I just wanted to get it out. I hope you like it and thank you again for sending it in! ♥️♥️♥️

A Call for Help

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Sergeant Leo Barnes x F! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, little fluff, little smooching

Word Count: 4.1K-ish

Summary: It’s 2 days before the yearly Purge. You’re working in a coffee shop, and your regular, Sergeant Barnes, comes in just like every morning for his coffee.

A/N: This is my first time writing for Leo and I really really liked it. I’d definitely be willing to write for him again. For those who aren’t aware, Sergeant Leo Barnes is from The Purge: Anarchy.

As always, thank you for reading! I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Los Angeles, March 20, One day before the annual Purge

This was probably one of the worst decisions you’ve ever made. Moving to Los Angeles was a terrible idea and you’ve regretted it every single day since you’ve been out here. Smog, crime, and homelessness were just three of the reasons this was an awful place to live, plus you really missed home on the east coast.

No one put on fake smiles there. You missed the scowls and the open judgement of home and now you were living in a place where the smiles were as fake as the boobs.

But your boyfriend had convinced you it would be a good thing. A fresh start in a new city was just what you needed according to him and stupidly, you agreed with him. What a stupid idea to pick up and leave all of your family and friends behind for a man you’ve known for less than year.

However, about three months after the two of you arrived in L.A., you caught him cheating with bleach blonde bimbo with fake tits, fake hair, and who knows what else was fake on Malibu Barbie.

Feeling ashamed and stupid, you knew you couldn’t go home right away plus you didn’t have enough money to leave. You worked two jobs to make the money you needed so you worked tirelessly in a coffee shop during the day and a few nights a week, you tended bar at an upscale gentleman’s club where the clientele handed you ridiculous tips.

You probably didn’t even need to work at the coffee shop during the day because of the money you made at the club but the more money you brought in, the faster you could get back home and leave Los Angeles far behind.

The aroma of coffee was one of your favorite scents, it made you happy and the veteran owned coffee shop where you worked was welcoming and cozy. You didn’t have to pretend to enjoy working there because you actually did. Sure, you had the occasional rude customer that you had to put a fake smile on for but most of the time, it was a pleasure to work there.

When anyone but your regulars would come in, you and your co-workers would try and make a guess of what kind of coffee they wanted before they arrived at the counter. It was a fun game.

No one really ordered coffee flavored coffee anymore though. It was always a hazelnut concoction, or a touch of chocolate, a pump of this, almond milk, oak milk, or whatever the newest trend was in coffee. They all had to have it…except for him.

He only ever ordered a large black coffee and for that, he was your favorite customer.

Sergeant Barnes had deep brown hair, lightly tanned skin, and his eyes were the color of Tennessee whiskey. His golden amber eyes made your stomach flutter every morning when he came in around 8:30.

His thick fingers scratched at the days old stubble on his cheeks after he walked through the door and the raspy tone to his voice made you weak in the knees every time he said “Mornin’, sweetheart.” Plus, his police uniform really did it for you.

Everyone at work knew you had a crush on Sergeant Barnes. You didn’t really try and hide it. The way you jumped to the front counter whenever he walked through the door was obvious to them, not so much to him though.

Biting back a smile, you saw him walk up to the door while everyone behind the counter scattered so you were the only one available to wait on him.

“Real subtle, you guys.” You said.

Jane chuckled and said sarcastically, “Hey, we know how much you loooooove him. We don’t blame you either, your Sergeant is pretty hot.”

“Alright, keep your voice down.” You said with a slight grin. “He’s coming.”

“Maybe he’s just breathing heavy.” Another one of your co-workers said.

You playfully slapped him. “Tim! Shut it!”

The lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you.

“Mornin’, sweetheart. Anyone give you shit today? I can go arrest them if they did.” He said in a lighthearted tone.

A wide smile stretched across your lips and your voice got caught in your throat as you answered, “Uh, n-no. Not today, Sergeant. The usual?”

“The usual…please.” He replied.

You turned around to fill the cup with black coffee and your friends were looking at you, grinning like idiots. Jane tried to make hand gestures to try and get you to engage in more conversation with him.

It was a little morbid but you started talking about the Purge anyway.

“S-so the Purge is tomorrow night, huh? I imagine it gets pretty brutal in a city like L.A.” You said, your voice shaking a little.

Sergeant Barnes took his wallet from his pants and tapped the machine to pay for his coffee. His expression hardened when he heard the words. The muscles in his face tightened as he clenched his teeth and wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup.

“It is sweetheart and you make sure you’re locked up inside before those sirens go off, understand?” He said in angry tone.

You could feel all of the color in your face disappear and you imagined your face was as white as a marble pillar. You folded your hands together and rested them on the counter to stop them from shaking while staring into his sad eyes.

He could tell he frightened you a little, looking at his body language and hearing the gruff tone to his voice.

“Ah, I’m sorry y/n. I didn’t mean to snap at ya. I just want you to stay safe, is all. Ok?” He said softly.

You nodded and said uneasily as you tried to smile, “Y-yes, I-I understand.”

Sergeant Barnes reached for your hand. His fingers were calloused but his touch was gentle and comforting, almost protective in a way.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He said as his brushed your knuckles with his thumb and gave you a warm smile.

He walked out and you didn’t exhale until he was out of sight. That’s when everyone ran up to you making comments to you about how they could tell the Sergeant likes you.

Imitating the Sergeant, Jane said “’I just want you to stay safe.’ Oh my god, he’s into you too!”

“Nah, maybe he was just being nice. He knows I haven’t been in L.A. long so it’s my first Purge out here.” You said.

Jane rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ok. You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you.” She said.

You replied, “I suppose I will.”

7:00 AM, March 21, 12 Hours Before the Start of The Purge

The morning hours were usually pretty busy and time went by quickly but this morning was different, quieter, slower, which you found rather frightening. Even the air had an eerie feel to it because you knew what was coming…the one night a year where all crime was legal, even murder.

Back home you lived in a small New England town where nothing really happened except in larger cities. The next day, you would see all of the carnage left behind. Vandalism, robberies, burning buildings, the dead bodies…as much as you were hardened by the tough upbringing you had back home, nothing prepared you for what was going to happen 12 hours from now.

And you hated to admit it to yourself but it scared you because you were all alone now. You didn’t have anyone out here to go to feel safe.

It was close to 8:30 and you knew Sergeant Barnes would be in soon so everyone was acting busy, cleaning, preparing online orders, or doing whatever they could to give you space so you could talk to your crush.

Jane checked the time. “It’s almost 8:30, y/n. Hey maybe your Sergeant will ask you to stay with him during Purge hours. He’ll be able to keep you safe then.” She said with a wink.

“Well I doubt it but if you wanna manifest that for me, you’re more than welcome to. My building is pretty secure and I’m high up so I should be ok.” You said.

It didn’t mean you wanted to sit there all night and watch the news because you definitely wouldn’t be able to sleep.

As you wiped down the front counter, you looked up to see Sergeant Barnes getting ready to reach for the door handle. He wasn’t wearing his police uniform though. In place of his uniform, he was wearing a black t-shirt, gray pants, and a black jacket.

You said hello first.

“Good mornin’ Sergeant. You’re not working today?” You asked.

He shook his head, smiled and replied, “Not today, sweetheart. I got some stuff to take care of before tonight. What time are you workin’ until today?”

Warmth spread across your chest and your stomach dropped. Nervously, you replied, “Here? Me? Uh, w-well I’m working until 2 and then I have some errands to run before I go home for the night. Lemme get you your coffee.”

You turned around and poured his coffee into a cup, your hand shaking slightly which he noticed.

“You ok, y/n?” He asked. “Nervous?”

With a hitch in your voice, you replied, “Yeah, well, uh maybe a little.”

“Tell ya what…how bout I check on ya right before the sirens go off, make sure you’re home and all locked up.” He said, sliding his phone across the counter. “Put your number in there and I’ll call you, ok? I promise.”

You felt your shoulders relax and your hands stopped shaking as you typed in your number into his phone. You were feeling better already.

“Thank you, Sergeant Barnes. This is really nice of you. Can I get you anything else for the road? A muffin or a breakfast sandwich, perhaps?” You asked.

“I’m good with just the coffee, sweetheart. Thank you. And y/n?” He said.

You looked up from the register and replied, “Yes?”

“It’s Leo…my first name is Leo.” He said with a wink.

You couldn’t hide the fact you were blushing now. Biting down on your lower lip, you managed to reply with, “Ok…Leo. I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”

Leo brushed your knuckles with his fingers again and replied, “Yes, you will.”

After quickly running to the store for some supplies, mostly food, you headed for home. It was 6:30, plenty of time to walk home and get settled before the sirens went off. But when you arrived at your building, everything was locked up tight. Metal panels were fastened to the side of the building, blocking all of the exits, leaving only the fire escapes open.

You looked at your watch…6:50. There wasn’t any time to find a safe place to go. Looking down the street, you could see figures dressed in dark clothing, sweatshirts with hoods, and wearing creepy face masks, they were just waiting for those sirens to go off indicating the start of the Purge. And you couldn’t be sure but you had the sinking feeling that they were looking right at you.

Suddenly, your phone started to ring. You didn’t recognize the number but remembered Sergeant Barnes said he would call later to make sure you were alright and ready to wait out the next 12 hours. Maybe this was him.

With a shaky finger, you pressed the answer button.

“H-hello?” You said with a hitch in your voice.

He replied, “Hey y/n, it’s Leo. Just callin’ to make sure you’re home and safe.”

There was a long pause because you were trying to regain your composure to answer him, otherwise you were going to burst into tears.

He said your name again.

“Y/n? Hello?”

You finally answered.

“Y-yeah, I’m here Leo. Uh, I’m locked out of my building! I came home and everything was shut up tight, I can’t get in! I don’t know what happened! I can’t get anywhere in five minutes to wait out the next 12 hours, there’s no time!” You said in a scared tone.

Leo barked into the phone. “Where are you?!!”

You told him your address.

“Yeah, ok I know where that is. Try and find a place to hide and I’ll be there in FIVE minutes!” He said.

Tightly hugging the walls of your building, you crept around the corner to the alley. You knew there were a couple of dumpsters you could probably hide behind. He said five minutes which would take you right to 7:00.

You told yourself, “it won’t be for that long…he’ll be here soon.”

There was a small space in between two large dumpsters you managed to wedge yourself into while you impatiently waited for Leo to show up and how was he already so close to where you are? Did he live nearby? Was he participating in the Purge?

A restless shiver shot down your back as goosebumps danced across your skin. The hair on the back of your neck was standing on end as you crouched down low and out of sight while hugging your body to try and stop yourself from shaking uncontrollably.

Just as you heard the sirens, you also heard voices at the end of the alley, none of which were Leo’s.

“I saw her come down here.” One of them said.

Another replied, “You didn’t see shit, there’s no one down here! Let’s go.”

Along with their voices, the sound of a wooden baseball bat being dragged across the pavement could be heard echoing all around you. There was no place left to hide and you could only hope they would get frustrated and leave.

“Wait. She could be hiding around those dumpsters down there. Let’s go check.” He said.

Shit.

You couldn’t make a run for it. There were a lot more people waiting outside the alley than inside plus Leo told you told you to stay there. He was coming for you.

You could hear the footsteps getting closer and your heart was racing as it beat faster and harder against your chest until the sounds of the baseball bat stopped and you heard the voices again.

“You were right. She’s over here and she is a pretty little thing, isn’t she.” He said.

Two of them were wearing these creepy white masks and a third had his face painted white, black circles drawn under his eyes and an upside down cross had been drawn on his forehead. Pointing his machete at you, he silently told you he wanted you to come out.

The ones with the baseball bats began striking the dumpster over and over again, scaring you each time the bats hit against the dumpsters and the loud noises echoed throughout the alley.

The tears came hard and fast. They streaked down your cheeks uncontrollably as you opened your mouth to try and speak to them.

“P-please, y-you don’t wanna do th-this.” You choked out.

One of them that was holding a bat, stopped to look at you. From behind the mask, it had appeared that he had recognized you.

“5C?!” He said.

5C was your apartment number.

You replied, “Yes! Yes! I’m in 5C!”

“She’s always nice to us, man. Come on, leave her alone.” He pleaded.

The leader shoved him out of the way.

“I’ll decide who lives or dies! You got that?!” He yelled.

The other two nodded as the one with the machete started to speak again but was suddenly cut off. You heard three gun shots, then each of them hitting the pavement and crying out in pain. They had all been shot in the knee caps.

“Let’s go! Come on, y/n!” Shouted Leo.

He waved you out from in between the dumpsters, grabbed you by the hand and you started running toward the black car that was parked at the end of the alley.

“Get in the backseat and stay outta sight, understand?!” Commanded Leo.

Out of breath, you managed to choke out, “Y-yes. I understand! But why are you out here, Sergeant? You’re dressed like you’re…Purging!”

Leo didn’t answer you; he just started driving.

“LEO!!” You said, angrily.

“You could just say ‘thank you,’ sweetheart, alright?! I like you but what I’m doing out here is none of your concern.” He said, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

Softly, you replied, “Thank you…thank you for saving me, Sergeant. But you’re stuck with me for the next 12 hours, so can you please tell me why you’re out here, dressed like you are, and why you have a car full of guns? Please, Leo.”

Cowering in the backseat, your eyes met his gaze every time he glanced at you in the mirror. His eyes were the color of amber and right before the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, they reflected in the mirror, matching the gold in the sunset. They were beautiful.

Leo was always very pleasant and nice every single morning when he came in to get his coffee but there was something very sad behind his beautiful eyes. Other than the pleasantries, you didn’t know anything more about him than any other customer of yours…but you wanted to.

He pulled over in an area that seemed pretty safe and parked the car. Making sure the doors were locked, he turned the engine off, and leaned with his back against the window so he could look at you.

Without warning, he told you why he was out tonight.

“My son was killed by a drunk driver but since he technically died on Purge night, the driver got off on that technicality.” He said in a low angry voice and a touch of acid in his tone.

Your heart sank into your stomach and cutting through the silence you said, “Oh Leo…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

That’s why his eyes were so sad.

He replied, “So you said I look like I’m dressed to purge…well, you’re right. I am. I want that son of a bitch dead. He took my son from me and I want him to pay for what he did.”

You placed your hand on top of his. The smooth skin of your palm brushed against the rough dry patches on his knuckles and with your other hand, you slowly and carefully brushed the stubble on his cheek.

“Don’t look at me that way, y/n. I already know what you’re going to say.” He said before you cut him off.

“Well I’m gonna say it anyway, Leo. You’re not gonna feel any better and it’s not going to bring your son back!” You said.

Leo glared at you with his whiskey colored eyes and with a dry bitterness in his throat, he said, “How do you know I won’t feel better?! Huh?!!”

Instead of matching his intensity, you calmly but firmly said, “Because that hole in your heart will still be there when it’s all over. Please don’t do this.”

He didn’t care and he wasn’t hearing what you had to say.

“Listen, I’m gonna drop you off at my apartment. You’ll be safe there ‘til I get back. I disabled one of the security panels at his house so it will be quick, in and out and I’ll be back alright?” He said.

The entire ride back to his apartment, you begged him not to go through with it, to the point where you tried to block him from leaving or at least taking you with him but it was no use.

He left you with a few guns and weapons, just in case but he said he would be back soon and he would take you home in the morning after the Purge was all over.

Leo had secured his place really well so you felt safe but scared for him. You knew it wasn’t going to make anything better, it wouldn’t help him heal, and it wouldn’t bring his son back.

One of the pictures you found of Leo’s son had his name written on the back…Nicholas. He had a very sweet face and he looked a lot like Leo.

Maybe if you had tried harder to keep him from leaving, Leo wouldn’t be out there right now murdering the man who killed his son.

You couldn’t even begin to try and know how he felt but he was in agony and the only way he knew how to deal with it was an eye for an eye. It was too late though and all you could do was sit and wait for him to come back.

You had managed to find some tea and the tv remote control. It was hidden in the couch cushions. Almost every channel was covering the Purge but all you wanted to do was escape from it so you searched until you found a movie that was far from anything that was going on outside.

No matter how many times you’ve seen it, The Wizard of Oz was one of your favorite movies so you watched it whenever it was on tv and no matter where it was in the movie too, you’d still watch it to the end.

At around 12:30 you head keys in the door. You had been too wired to try and sleep so you just drank tea and nervously bit your nails. Obviously, it had to be Leo if he was using keys to get inside but you still didn’t want to take any chances so you positioned yourself in front of the door with one of his guns in your hands.

The door cracked open and you heard a voice from behind it.

“Sweetheart, put the gun down, it’s just me.” He said.

How did he know?

“It’s been hours, Leo. Where have you been?” You asked. “Where does this guy live?! I hope you got what you wanted out of it because—“

Leo interrupted you.

“I didn’t do it.” He said softly.

“What?” You replied in a very surprised tone.

He closed the door behind him and started to walk toward you, stopping inches from your face.

“I could have. I was in the guy’s bedroom, while he and his wife were sleeping. I could have done it but then I kept hearing a voice in my head…your voice saying ‘that hole in your heart will still be there when it’s all over.’ Your voice stopped me from pulling that trigger.” His voice sounded extra raspy.

“Leo—“ You started to say before he cut you off.

He pinched your chin in between his thumb and forefinger, tilted it upward so you were looking into his eyes and he planted a soft kiss on your lips.

“I’m sorry.” Said Leo. “I just wanted to feel something other than hate and sadness. And no one has been able to change my mind once I’ve made up my mind about something but I listened to you.”

You replied, “I imagine that couldn’t have been easy but…I’m glad you did. And I’m not gonna pretend I know what you must be feeling because I don’t but I do know that it wouldn’t have made things any better.”

Closing the gap between your faces, you kissed him. Leo’s lips tasted sweet like caramel and black coffee. His mouth slanted over yours which made your entire body shudder.

Pulling you into an embrace, the two of you stood there in silence for a minute. Leo released a long exhale down the side of your neck, goosebumps erupted across your skin, and he squeezed you tightly against his chest.

“Thank you.” Whispered Leo.

You gave him a warm smile and replied, “You’re welcome, Sergeant Barnes.” Glancing at your watch, you asked, “Well we have about 6 hours left, what do you wanna do?”

As he brushed a stray hair away from your face, he replied, “Well…if you can’t tell, I kinda like ya so I’d love to get to know you better.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks as you bit back a smile.

You felt safe in his arms and deep down you knew Leo would never let anything bad happen to you. He rescued you barely knowing anything about you, only that you poured his coffee every morning but he did it anyway.

And in a way, you rescued him too.

Softly against his chest, you whispered, “I’d like that too.”

Tag List: @gijos

#leo barnes #the purge: anarchy #leo barnes x reader #leo barnes x female reader #leo barnes fanfiction #leo barnes imagine #frank grillo

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httpino · 5 months ago

Text

hiii everyone! this is my opinion on what college majors each of the konoha 11 + sasuke n the sand siblings have :D + my general college headcanons about them. enjoy!!

p.s. this is a non massacre au so everyone is alive and well

Naruto characters in College

Naruto Uzumaki: Political Science

- he’s obvi into the whole politics thing so it seemed obvious to him to go into polisci

- unfortunate frat brother

- he’s not like the annoying weird ones but he does indulge in a bit of excessive drinking

- even when he’s hokage (think of it as like the president of everything i don’t fucking know) he’ll still do the stupid ass frat greeting if he sees a fellow brother

- barely passing but once he starts studying seriously with sakura, he’s on his grind fr

- he was never stupid, he just has adhd and no idea how to ask for help

- graduates at a decent place n continues on the higher education track (to everyone’s surprise)

Sasuke Uchiha: Business with a concentration in Finance

- he plans on taking over the family business from his older brother since he’s sick and needs to focus on his health

- does not engage in frat business no matter how much naruto begs

- he’s above it all

- he’s less fucked in the head (because his whole family was not senselessly murdered!) so he does like partying n is less antisocial

- non massacre au sasuke is a WHORE idgaf

- will entertain whoever he needs to to get laid

- this is before he starts dating sakura and then he’s like a nun, he does not look in people’s direction at all

- model student, graduates with a ridiculously high gpa

Sakura Haruno: Biology + Chemistry Double Major (pre-med)

- did anyone say overachiever

- she was told she just needed to pick a science if she wanted to do the pre-med track but she said fuck it and chose two

- bordering deranged, the constant homework is getting to her

- very efficient at studying so she’s able to have some semblance of a school-life balance but barely

- she’s spent more nights in the library crying over her homework than she cares to admit

- finds it all easier when she’s with her friends so she, naruto, ino, sasuke, shikamaru, neji, and hinata have a little study circle every night

- model student, legit is the student that her professors tell their students about years after she graduates

- goes on to med school (we love you dr.haruno)

Sai: Art

- obviously

- he’s having a good time here

- once he gets to the point where he’s having to do other art (sculpting for example) he’s losing it a bit

- he’s just a little guy who wants to draw pretty little pictures :(

- the mf who says “ugh i have a drawing due at 11:59” and then promptly gets jumped for having the audacity to complain around sakura

- doesn’t really party, if he does get dragged out, he spends the whole time drawing the scene in front of him

- he has so many drawings of drunk naruto doing stupid shit, he’s compiled it in a little booklet n adds to it

- by the end of college, he has a thick ass book of these drawings (naruto, ino, sakura, and lee being most of the drawings)

- graduates with flying colors (see what i did there) to become ino’s house husband who supports her through med school

Shikamaru Nara: International Relations

- bro did not want to go to college

- literally dragged himself through high school, why would he want to do it all over again but it’s harder???

- anyway he settles on international relations n breezes through it

- his friends wanna strangle him every time he complains about his schoolwork

- sakura’s eye is twitching, tenten is planning his untimely demise, ino is calling him a lazy idiot

- in his defense, he doesn’t really know what’s going on at any given moment

- he does his work on time but that’s only after he has to teach himself everything cause he skips class religiously

- high off his ass the entire four years

- is known around campus, not for his smarts, but because he’s been found sleeping in the oddest places

- there’s an instagram page for sightings of his naps in odd places (that was definitely not started by ino)

- graduates with decent grades and gets a job in the hokage’s office with the power of nepotism and his brain

Choji Akimichi: Culinary Arts

- he’s having a grand time really

- he’s a phenomenal cook and he already knows all the cooking techniques since his dad owns the highest rated restaurant in the country

- literally has never complained about anything a day in his life

- his to go meals are the only thing keeping his friends alive, they all have the diet of a college student which is water, tears, and a side of ramen

- always has excess food left from class so he goes around campus delivering it to the different food banks

- random people know about choji akimichi’s legendary hangover meal

- graduates with flying colors and goes on to take over his father’s restaurant and open one of his own!

Ino Yamanaka: Psychology (pre-med)

- annoying psych major who psychoanalyzes her friends

- drunk off her ass and she’s asking kiba if his attachment to his dogs comes from trying to make up for his terrible relationship with his mother

- is literally always out, no one has no idea how considering all the other psych students are fighting for their lives

- when she meets sai, she’s excited as fuck, she loves a fine ass man with a brain she can pick apart

- a little crazy

- graduates top of her major but it’s a mystery how she did such a thing

Kiba Inuzuka: Vet science

- picked this because his dog got sick once n he was like bro what the fuck i need to never let this happen again

- actually a really good student contrary to popular belief! (hinata asked him to study with her one time n then it became a routine)

- who said FRAT BOY KIBA!!! (it’s me, i said frat boy kiba)

- chronic day drinker (bro needs to attend a.a meetings)

- gets an internship in the local vet office and he has deep beef with all the cats there

- he thinks they’re evil but the cats just smell dog on him n they do not fuck with it

- graduates at a decent place n goes to vet school (idk how that works, just pretend i do)

Shino Aburame: Entomology

- DUH!!

- bro might as well be a professor, he’s so good with the whole thing

- which is why he becomes a TA by the end of his first year (unheard of btw)

- out of everyone, he’s having the easiest time

- literally goes to class, does his little science classes, studies his little bugs, then comes home to his apartment n thinks about bugs

- he’s attended every seminar about environment so he can pipe up n say that preserving the bugs in each ecosystem could help

- graduates n goes on to get an offer to teach entomology at konoha university

Hinata Hyuga: Communication

- she has no idea what she wants to do

- this was mainly a placeholder till she figured something out

- the required public speaking course nearly took something out of her

- but after all her friends gathered to listen to her speech n cheer her on, she felt so much confidence that she got an amazing grade

- this led to her sticking with comm!

- she picks a focus on media so she ends up working at the tv station (behind the scenes, she’s not a in front of the camera type of girl)

- does great n has study circles with her friends :D

- doesn’t party, doesn’t drink, doesn’t do much of anything but she’ll go out to make sure kiba doesn’t get into a bar fight or something

Neji Hyuga: Physics

- not so sure about this one but idkkk something in my heart says he’s a physics major

- he’s not sure what he wants to do with it but it makes him sound smart when his dad brags to the other parents

- extremely paranoid about missing assignments so he does everything the moment he gets it

- has never been relaxed ever

- time management king

- he got pulled into a study circle and though he’ll NEVER admit it, it’s helped him a lot

- graduates in three years instead of four and goes on to grad school (he’s trying to avoid finding a job)

Rock Lee: Sports science

- DUH!!

- he wants to help injured athletes so why not study how a healthy body is supposed to work while exercising?

- he gets an internship with guy, who’s the athletic trainer of konoha university n he’s everyone’s favorite

- had learned not to complain about his workload around tenten (she broke down and started bawling over her homework and he freaked out)

- graduates with a good gpa and then gets a job with the athletic trainers office

Tenten: Business with a concentration in Entrepreneurship + Engineering Double Major

- this determined ass mf

- she’s been dreaming of creating a weapon that will allow for easy usage while also being tailored to the needs of the user

- so she decides on the business major part to create a business out of it and engineering so she can figure out how to do it herself

- she’s fighting for her life the entire four years of college

- turns down so many parties and invites because her homework is literally a stack the size of her

Kankuro: Political Science + Art History Double Major

- he wanted badly to do art history alone

- but he decides that maybe he does want to be employed in the future

- so he picks up political science as a side thing

- he cheats off gaara so he doesn’t have to focus too much on the polisci portion of his degree

- exchange student (obvi) n he’s indulging in konoha culture

- which is just getting black out drunk on a wednesday evening!

- finishes out college as a decent student, not exceptional but also he’s not terrible

Gaara: Political Science

- literally decides he’s gonna become the kazekage and picks up polisci immediately

- like his siblings he’s an exchange student

- literally doesn’t do any “stereotypical” college things

- doesn’t drink a drop of alcohol, doesn’t dabble in drugs, his most wild weekend is him indulging in TWO red bulls instead of one

- which is why no one is surprised when he graduates top of his class n immediately gets a job in the kazekage’s office where he works his way up

Temari: Meteorology

- just walk with me here

- exchange student from suna

- always found interest in weather patterns considering she lived in a place with such predictable patterns

- like day after day it was all sun, no rain until one random day, there was an absolute downpour before everything went back to normal

- she absolutely went WILDDDD she needed to know what had happened to cause such a thing

- she has no interest in smiling in front of the camera n giving the forecast, she wants to just study what the fuck goes on with the weather

- has a decent workload but she really doesn’t mind it, it gives her an excuse to avoid ino’s constant invites to go out

- one time, she went out n got hammered n slept with shikamaru n then she literally never did that again

- it worked cause she started dating him soon after but still… you can never be too safe

- graduates with a perfect gpa n goes on to become the best meteorologist in the world

131 notes · View notes

hippiegoth97 · 7 months ago

Text

Cum On Feel the Noize: Eddie Munson x Reader

Collage by Me :)

Master List

Tag List: @rafescurtainbangz @voyeurmunson @xxbimbobunnyxx @taintedcigs @mediocredreams

@slowandsteddie @angel-munson @eldermayfield @munsonsbtch @babygorewhore

@rattkween86 @violetpixiedust @bimbobaggins69 @purplehazed-h @morning-rituals

@eddie-van-munson @msgexymunson @munsoneightysixx @impmunson @mysticalstar30

@jenniquinn @oneforthemunny @succubusmunson @ddeadly-succubus @prettyboyeddiemunson

@sanctumdemunson @stalactitekilla @s6raphic @hellfirenacht @birdysaturne

@ohmeg @h-ness1944 @pretendthisnameisclever @ahoyyharrington @micheledawn1975

@costellation-hunter @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @yourdailymemedelivery @spacedoutdaydreamer

Description: Robin brings you to see Eddie's band play. His performance blows you away, in more ways than one. After the show, you and Eddie have some fun on your own...

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: smut, swearing, female reader, fingering, praise/degradation, alcohol use, smoking, public sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4.6k

Divider by @strangergraphics

Cum On Feel the Noize

"So, what do you think? You wanna go to this tonight?" Robin says as she shoves a bright orange flier in your face. You take it from her grasp, looking it over. It reads: Corroded Coffin at the Hideout. 8pm 2nite. $5 cover. Be there, or fuck off! It also has some crudely drawn bats, skulls, and devils all around the border. A metal band. Great.

"You're sure this is how we should spend a perfectly good Saturday night? What happened to rewatching Sixteen Candles and stuffing our lonely faces?" You ask her. It's been your long-standing tradition every weekend to stick together in your singleness and lust over John Hughes characters.

"Yes! I think we need some variety in our friendship activities! Plus, the lead singer/guitarist is super cute. At least, for you he is. I'm still working on Vicki." She rubs her neck shyly at the last part. You take a moment to contemplate this idea. But all you come up with is more questions.

"Do you know him? Do I know him? And how cute are we talking?" You can't help but be a bit intrigued with whoever this mystery metalhead is that Robin wants to set you up with.

"His name is Eddie. He's really cool, I met him a while back and he's friends with a lot of my friends. And he's got long hair, tattoos, and he wears this nice, um, jean jacket." Your eyes go wide as Robin describes the man. You think you know exactly who she's talking about.

"You are NOT talking about Eddie Munson, are you? That creep, really? The one that always made a scene in the cafeteria? The DRUG DEALER? You think that's my type?" You toss the flier to the side, and cross your arms in defiance. You are sure there's nothing she can say to convince you to go to that stupid show to see that stupid band with that stupid man in it.

"Yes, I mean that Eddie. But he's not what you think! He's nice, and kind, and he's been a good friend to all of us. I can introduce you, and I swear you'll hit it off! It's guaranteed to happen! And besides, I've already told him we'd go and that he can talk to you and-" Robin explains herself, her words coming out in a manic fashion. You cut her off, you know she wouldn't babble on this way if she didn't fully believe in what she was saying.

"FINE! I'll go, dammit! Just shut up already! And there are NO promises that I won't smack him if he steps out of line!" You shout, crossing your arms stubbornly.

“Okay.” She nods in quiet agreement.

"So, what the fuck does one wear to one of these things?" You ask as you go over to your closet. You and Robin spend the next couple hours perfecting your look. Teased hair, red lips, smudged eyeliner, check. Fishnets, a torn t-shirt, and a just-a-bit-too-short denim skirt, check. You debate on wearing heels as well, but decide on Converse as you'll be standing for a considerable amount of time. You want to potentially draw Eddie's attention, but you aren't going to wreck your feet for him. He has to prove himself worthy first.

Robin drives you both to the Hideout, a seedy little music venue on the edge of Hawkins. Old brick, holes in the roof, and a secondhand sound system, all pasted together by posters of rock shows past. Charming, you think to yourself as Robin puts the car in park. You both exit the vehicle, hearing the band has already begun their set. Robin curses you both being late. Oh well, this way Eddie can take notice of your arrival. You walk inside, giving the bulging man at the door the $5 cover. You make your way past some drunks clad in leather. You go to buy a couple beers at the bar, thankfully it's served in the bottle. You shudder to think what drinking from the glasses in this place might do to you. You pay, grab the bottles, and meet Robin at the back of the crowd. You hand her a one, which she quickly takes a swig of.

You both squish your way through sweating bodies and hairspray fumes, until you're smack dab in front of the stage. It's here that you see him in all his glory. And he's so much cuter than you remembered. The hair, the tats, the tight jeans and t-shirt. It worked so well on him back then, as much as you hate to admit it. And it sure as fuck works really well for him now. Robin was right, this was a good idea. He has yet to take notice of you, though.

Eddie's POV

You’ve taken small moments during the beginning of the set to search the crowd for Robin, and for Y/N. You’re a bit worried they won’t show up at all, as your band has played all your original songs already. You transition into the first of four covers you’d rehearsed for this evening, still waiting to see the girls. You figured Y/N would say no, telling Robin you were just the school freak. You’re nothing special to her. Oh well, you can just find some random chick to fuck later if you’re so inclined.

You almost set your sights on one when you see Robin push through the crowd and wave at you. You nod back as you continue to sing, at least she showed up for you. But then you see Y/N, breaching the sea of bodies behind her. Your breath stops for a moment, but you keep playing, not missing a single note. He has to keep his cool, but damn you've really dressed for the occasion. You look her up and down, smirking as her gaze meets yours. You drink in the sight of her, and that sexy outfit. That short skirt, the fishnets underneath, her bra strap peeking out from the top of her shirt. You want nothing more than to jump off the stage and run to her. You want to pull her close, and mess up all that pretty makeup of hers. Hell, you want to mess her up in general. And given how out of character she looks tonight, you know she'll be yours in an instant.

Y/N POV

Did he just check me out? You think to yourself. Of course he did, how could he not? You've dolled yourself all slutty for him, with the kind help of Robin. You just stare in his eyes, transfixed by him. He plays really well, but you wished you'd been here for the beginning of the show. He just keeps looking at you while he expertly plays on his guitar. His voice sounds sexy as hell, and he's singing the final song of the night to you now. It's like everyone else in the room disappears and it's just you and him all alone. You feel your cheeks heat up as Eddie's singing about sex while gazing into your eyes, winking at you. The words are so filthy, it’s having a very strong effect on you.

You suddenly feel so turned on, wanting to jump onto the stage and throw yourself at him. He seems to sense your arousal and proceeds to shred on a massive guitar solo. Every note he hits sends a shock to your core, you feel like he's put a spell on you. He's nearing the end of the song, going as hard as he can, and all you can do is watch him with wide eyes. You're almost panting, feeling the anticipation of the final note of the song building up. You have no idea how he's made you feel like this, it must be all in your head. Maybe you're just feeling the vibrations from the speakers, right? There's no way he can make you come undone by playing a song, that would be ridiculous. Or would it?

You squeeze your thighs together, unbearably close to losing control in front of everyone. He looks at you again, his smile so devilishly handsome. When he hits that final note, your knees buckle as you're rocked by an unexpected orgasm. You almost fall to the floor when Robin catches you.

Eddie’s POV

Holy shit, did I just make her cum? You think to yourself as Y/N falls to her knees once you hit the final note of your last song of the evening. Her eyes meet yours, wide and dilated with lust, Her mouth sits open as she rides out the orgasm you’ve given her. Your cock twitches inside your jeans, this has to be one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen. It’s taking every ounce of your willpower to not get an erection while you’re up here on the stage. “Thank you, everyone! We have been Corroded Coffin, have a good night!” You shout out to the crowd, before bringing your guitar strap over your head and setting the instrument down. You jog off the stage, letting the guys know you’ll be a minute. You make a beeline for the bathroom, pushing the paint-chipped door open. You go over to the sink, running some cold water to splash on your face. You’re soaked in sweat from performing, and extremely hot under the collar from what you just did to Y/N. You didn’t mean to, obviously, as attractive as it was. But you suppose there’s a first for everything. “Jesus christ, this night is gonna be interesting.” You say to your own reflection, smirking at the thought of actually speaking to her, picking her brain about how good it was…Slow down, you’re getting hard again. You exhale deeply, puffing your cheeks. You give your face a couple good smacks, and head for the door. You imagine your friends are waiting for you in the green room. But first, some celebratory beers.

Y/N’s POV

"Are you okay?" Robin asks, seemingly unaware of what just happened to you. "Was it too loud? I know it can be pretty intense." She's worried, she really has no idea.

"Yeah, I'm fine. More than fine. Just drank my beer too quickly." You lie, embarrassed about having an orgasm from goddamn metal music. You take a moment for it to pass, regaining composure. You look up to see Eddie again, but he’s already left the stage. You wonder where he went, hoping your little experience hasn’t scared him off. Even more so, you kind of hope he’s flattered.

"Okay well, we can go to the back and sit with the band if you want. And you can finally talk to Eddie!" She wags her eyebrows at you suggestively. You laugh lightly, temporarily forgetting about what Eddie made you do. Robin holds your hand as you both walk to the makeshift green room. You see most of the band putting their instruments into carrying cases. But their frontman has yet to make an appearance. "Hey guys! This is my friend, Y/N. It's actually her first metal show, so please play nice!" She says as you both make your way to a tattered leather couch in the middle of the room. You take a seat, sinking into the cushions.

"No promises, Robin. You know I like it a little rough." Eddie quips from the doorway. His hands are full of beer bottles, one for everybody. He introduces everyone briefly as he passes the beers around. He winks at you again as he hands you yours. "So, this is the famous Y/N I've been hearing about." He bows to you playfully, reaching out his hand. You place your hand into his, and he kisses it, causing your skin to burn with lust. You gasp slightly, and he looks into your eyes, and winks again. He lets your hand go, and slumps right beside you onto the couch. "So, how was it, princess?" He asks as you're taking a swig of your beer. His phrasing makes you choke on it. He chuckles lowly and puts his hand on your back, patting gently to help you. "Oh come now, I'm sure it isn't your first time." Your gaze snaps to him, eyes wide. He knows exactly what he did. "You have had a beer before, right?" He smirks, clarifying himself. But you know damn well that he meant something else.

"Obviously. It just went down the wrong pipe is all." You brush off his innuendo. You have half a mind to move his hand off your back, but it feels nice. Gentle, warm, but suggestive. "But to answer your first question, I actually really enjoyed it. It's not my typical taste, but you guys were great up there, really." You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Well it certainly means a lot, getting such a glowing review from you, Y/N. Who knew that Little Miss Priss from homeroom would turn out so fun, huh?" He teases, moving his hand from your back to your shoulder, shaking it playfully. The others snicker a bit at that. Robin stifles a giggle.

"Hey! I was not a priss! I was just...focused." You reply, playing up your annoyance. He isn't wrong, but does he need to be so smug about it?

"You were so!" He retorts. "A sexy priss, but a priss nonetheless. It's nice to see you've grown a bit since then." He leans in to whisper in your ear. "And it's nice to see you focused on something other than studying for once." He leans back to his original position, still smirking as he does. Your cheeks flare up again, your whole body has slowly been simmering with all his touches and teasing remarks. It seems the others in the room are sensing the heat as well.

"Jesus, Eddie. Take it outside." Gareth pipes up. "We have actual work to do before Ol' Vick locks up the place. We'll meet you at the van." The others nod in agreement.

Robin stands, offering to help. "I'll meet you at the car, Y/N. Don't do anything I wouldn't do! On second thought, that doesn't eliminate much!" She jokes. You stand to give her a hug. You mouth 'thank you' to her as Eddie leads you by the hand to the back exit. Most of the crowd has headed off for the night. Eddie acknowledges the bartender, before pushing the heavy door open, moving to hold it for you. It shuts with a slam, and you're both standing under the lone street lamp in the alley. It's cooler outside, but you still feel like you're boiling. It's so quiet, save for a few drunks blasting their car radio in the parking lot. You don't know what to say now. And Eddie seems stumped as well.

"So, uh..." You decide to break the silence. "Are we gonna talk about what happened earlier?" You say quietly. Eddie's silence leaves you unsure that he heard you at all. He takes his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, putting one in his mouth. He motions the box at you, offering you one. You nod, taking it from the box, and placing it between your lips. He reaches forward and lights it for you, and lights his own after. You take in a puff, exhaling shakily. You don't smoke often, but enough to not cough and look dumb in front of Eddie.

"Jeez, she drinks, she smokes, she dresses like the girl from my wet dreams. What don't you do?" He laughs, almost in disbelief. It seems clear he wants you to say what happened.

His last remark emboldened you. "Well, I don't usually have an orgasm from live music in front of everybody. But there's a first time for everything, I guess." You take another drag, your head falling to look at your feet.

"I don't see why you're embarrassed. It's actually pretty hot." He says, you look up to see him much closer to you now. He reaches a hand up to brush your hair behind your ear. You blush again. "To think I have that kind of effect on you when I haven't even touched you yet. Christ, I had to try my damndest not to go rock hard on stage." Your eyes meet, and you see a mutual fire of lust. He slowly brings his lips to yours. You kiss him back, softly. Your lips move in sync for a moment, every move feels so good but also like not enough. The kiss becomes rougher, you've both dropped your cigarettes and tangled your hands into each other's hair. You turn him around and push him against the brick wall. He groans slightly at this, letting your tongue go into his mouth. He breaks the kiss, and you see your lipstick smudged all over his face. You giggle at the sight. "What so funny, Y/N?" He cocks an eyebrow.

"Nothing. Just my lipstick is all over you now."

"It's all part of my plan, sweetheart." He smiles.

"And what plan is that?" You ask tentatively.

"To absolutely wreck you before the night is over." He pulls you back to him, smashing his lips on yours. His hands move down your back to your ass. He squeezes it roughly, making you moan. "I'm really glad you wore a skirt by the way. It'll make things much easier." He says breathily. "Not to mention, it looks very sexy on you." He flips you around so you're against the wall now. He starts kissing your neck, his lips and tongue and teeth working the skin perfectly to form plenty of hickeys. You moan his name many times while he does this, tugging slightly on his hair as he nips at your throat. He groans, letting you know he likes that. He massages your breasts over your shirt, kissing what he can of your chest. You reach down and start palming him through his jeans. He moans into your chest, and lifts his face to meet your eyes again. "You’re so needy for me, sweetheart. You want me to make you cum again?" His ringed hand slips under your skirt, squeezing your thigh. You want him to go higher, to touch you where you need him most. But he stays put. "You gotta tell me what you want, darling."

"Touch me, Eddie. Finger me. Fuck me. Wreck me." You almost whine, begging him to do something, anything.

"You got it, princess." His hand goes between your legs, rubbing your clothed heat. He can feel your arousal through the fabric, and he kisses you while smirking. "You're so wet for me, you little slut." You moan at his words. "You like when I call you that?" You simply nod, and he chuckles. "Damn, you really aren't a priss after all." He uses both hands now to pull your fishnet tights and panties down to your ankles. He starts rubbing your slick folds with two fingers, slowly making circles around your clit.

"Oh, fuck. Eddie, more. Please." You beg. Every touch he makes feels like hellfire. He obeys your wish, slipping a finger in, curling it just so to stroke your g spot with ease. Another moan escapes you, your head pressing back against the brick wall. He attacks your neck again, hoping to draw more noises and dirty confessions from your lips. You feel a knot building in your belly, Eddie's touches tightening it more and more. "Add another one, please." You plead, and he obliges. You're palming his length again, hoping to gain some reaction from him. But he's too focused on you. Your moans and curses fuel his fire. He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy, his thumb begins rubbing circles on your clit. You almost scream at the combined sensations. "Eddie, oh fuck!" You feel the knot getting ready to snap, so close to the edge. Eddie stops and pulls his fingers from you. You glare at him, annoyed that he would deny you like this.

"Calm down, and open." He brings the hand from under your skirt to your lips. You open your mouth and he puts one of his fingers in. You suck it clean, moaning at the taste of yourself. He takes the other one in his own mouth, groaning at how sweet it is. "Fuck, you taste so good." He kisses you again, the taste of cigarettes and your cunt mixing together deliciously. You start fiddling with his belt, struggling to undo it on your own. He gently moves your hands and quickly gets it loose. He lets your hands return to position, you pull down the zipper, and slip your hand inside to grip his length over his boxers. He moans into your mouth, and you go under the boxers to truly feel him. You grasp him, pumping him inside his pants. He gasps slightly, breaking the kiss. "Jesus, Y/N. You're so hungry for my cock, aren't you?" He's breathing hard as you move your hand up and down, his forehead pressed against yours. You're both lightly slicked in sweat. You stop stroking him, giving him a chance to slightly lower his pants and boxers. His cock springs free, the head red and swollen. He's just as needy for you as you are for him.

You bend down slightly to pull one foot out of your shoe, pulling your panties and fishnets down. They dangle from your other foot, and you put your shoe back on. You pull Eddie by his jacket, crushing his lips with yours. He grips your waist roughly, his rings digging into your side. He lifts your skirt so the denim is bunched at your waist. He lifts you up slightly to wrap your legs around him, and you lace your arms around his neck to hold on. He strokes his cock through your folds slowly, mixing the wetness around. You both moan at this, but you want more. He needs to stop teasing you already. "Eddie, please. I'm ready for you, just fuck me. I need you." You whine. He grips your thighs firmly, and presses himself into you. Groans fall from both your lips as he slowly pushes his length in. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size, and peppers some gentle kisses on your neck. "You can move now, Eddie." You state simply. He starts to pump himself in and out of you slowly, savoring the feeling of your velvet walls around him. "Go faster. Please?" You look into his eyes, on the verge of tears from how good it all feels. But you want him to wreck you, and fast.

"Of course, Y/N. I'm at your mercy." He snaps his hips once, slamming himself into your g spot. You moan loudly. He repeats the action, loving the noises he can draw from you. "Fuck, those noises you make could make me cum all on their own. You look so pretty like this. A total mess, and all for me." Eddie picks up the pace, pounding into you over and over, slamming you against the brick. Your moans fill the air, but you don't care if anyone hears you. You want everyone to know who you belong to. And you belong to Eddie, at least in this moment.

"All yours." You moan out, tears pricking your eyes. It's all so much, his lips, his cock, his words. The knot is fully tightened at this point, waiting to snap. "I'm so close, Eddie. Please don't stop." Tears are running down your cheeks from pleasure, ruining your makeup. He stops assaulting your neck to look at you.

"Me too, darling. You feel so fucking fantastic. Cum with me." He moans, lowering a hand to rub your clit again. You feel yourself lose control, making you scream his name. Your pussy clamps down on him, setting off his orgasm. Your legs shake in his grip as he lets the thick white ropes fill you up. His thrusts slowly come to a stop as you ride out your highs. He just holds you for a moment, still inside you. You both look into each other's eyes. "Fuck, princess. I really did a number on you." He chuckles, wiping a tear from your cheek. He gently pulls out of you, your collective cum dripping out onto the pavement. You both moan slightly at the sight. He puts your legs down, but they feel like jelly so you almost fall. "Whoa, I got you." He catches you, helping you steady yourself. He puts his cock away, and closes his pants, refastening the belt. He helps you bring your tights and panties back up, smoothing your skirt down over them. He steps back, looking you over. He's unsure of what to say now. "Well, I had a nice time. I guess Robin's probably waiting for you." He says casually, hands clasped behind his back.

"So that's it then? You're just gonna fuck me and dismiss me?" You feel used now, dirty.

"No, that's not what I'm trying to do." He sighs, pulling his hands down his face in slight frustration. "I just figured, you know. You just wanted to play badass for a night. You'd have the best sex of your life and then go back to normal." Is that really what he thinks of you? You just wanted to use him for a little fun and then leave him in the dust? He couldn't be more wrong.

"I don't know what the fuck gave you that idea! Did I say that, or did you just assume?" You're genuinely pissed now. You stare at him, eyes blazing with anger. You cross your arms. "You know, for a minute there, I actually liked you. And then you go and say that?” You scoff. “You're an asshole, Eddie." You turn to walk away from him, eyes burning with fresh, angry tears. You just want to find Robin and go home. He grabs your arm to stop you, turning you to face him.

"Y/N, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just thought you wouldn't actually want to spend a lot of your spare time with a guy like me. You have a lot more going for you than I do. You're smart, and capable, you have the world at your feet. And I'm just an asshole who plays in a shitty rock band." He says, pleading at you with his eyes to understand. " Look, I shouldn't have assumed anything, that was wrong of me. That's just how this kind of thing usually turns out. One and done. But I'd really like to see you again, if I haven't already blown my chances. I really like you, I always have. I’d like to have a chance to really get to know you. But only if you let me." He takes your hands in his, stroking your fingers gently with his thumbs. It's so gentle and innocent. He really means what he's saying. You take a second to think it over, perhaps you've also judged him too quickly.

"I suppose I shouldn't have assumed you were just using me either. I really like you too. I guess I wouldn't be opposed to a real date." You say quietly. Your eyes meet again and you both smile at each other.

"Sounds like a plan, sweetheart." He smirks again, leaning in to kiss you. You meet him in the middle. The kiss is so much softer now, apprehensive almost. You're both a bit scared of what the future holds, but you're willing to take the risk if it means you'd have each other in it.

The end.

#hippiegoth97 #fanfiction #smut #eddie munson #stranger things #hawkins #1980s #corroded coffin #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut

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