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Graves Fabrication offers custom bumpers for trucks of all makes and models. Our bumpers are designed to provide maximum protection and style, and are built to last. Check out our selection of custom-built truck bumpers today!
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local man haunts (me) open practise yet again more news at 11
#txt#what an experience#i didnt go alone this time which means shenanigans heightened by 20#and by that i mean we were by the glass drinking mate (that security thankfully let us bring in)#and ___ kept going (lifts mate up to the glass) quieres? to all the players that skated by#and i had to just go STOP THAT#and they went they dont want our mate hmph what do they know about mate and i went. well thats the thing. they dont 😭😭#theres was a bunch of kids next to me which meant a lot players over to our side and ekky trucked over#and knocked the glass w his stick on a driveby and scared the shit out of me I ALMOST DROPPED MY MATE he had this shit eating grin#maffhew also kept doing little toodle-loo waves at the kids behind him it was so cute 😭😭😭#but anyways i think its so funny ___ kept focusing on ekky too and i didnt realise why until they just drop the bombshell of#“they remind me of your brother” and i went “DONT FUCKING SAY THAT WHAT THE FUCK MAN DONT SAY SUCH SACRILEGE”#the rest of the convo was in spanish and i dont know how to like fully convey 🇦🇷 banter in eng but it roughly went#“no he does. he has the same dumb face when he starts shit (because he kept bodily bumping into boqy and forsy)#the same 'was that me? did i do that?' troublemaker face. hes a shit stirrer but never answers to it. hes sleazy in that way.#he has the same beard too dont you see it“#and then i promptly spent the whole time going god he is just like my older brother oh this is a horrifying revelation oh god#anyways they kept saying look at his dumb face look at it just like your brother the whole time in spanish when he crept near#and i had to go SHUT UP PLEASE HE CAN HEAR YOU to which they snorted and went you said its fine if we spoke spanish here theyre not gonna#understand us and i was like OKAY BUT IM SURE 11 YEARS HERE HES GONNA PICK UP#SOMETHING AND WE KEEP CURSING SO FOR MY SAKE CAN YOU SHUT UP#mikksy and schmidty were super playful with eo. tuomo ruutu kept messing w mikksy. and ekky was like a damn bumper car bumpin everyone#maffhew ofc was very dramatic when he couldnt get a goal in against knighter and he did the horse headshake in front of us#and i went “you can tell whos number 19 because hes the most dramatic person on the ice always”#ekky was super vocal i know he wanted to practise against the empty net but aj was practising tipins and he goes#MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. and aj so confused just moves like ???#and ekky notches one in goes over to him and waves his glove at him to move#also dmen + lundy were practising on my side of the ice afterwards (lundy ekky uvis kuli. kuli was practising solo. lundy was feeding ekky#for some slapshots uvis got some passes in with them) and anyways i did not fucking realise swaggy was still out because i was so focused on#the dmen until he shot a puck straight at my face and like man i know its not personal but damn did it feel personal with the lookback
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catching up on well there’s your problem podcast bonus episodes, thinking about cars a lot, and a fucking fiat would serve 99.999% of my car needs perfectly well. i would be perfectly happy driving a little tiny fiat! they’re fun to drive! i got a subaru hatchback bc i knew i was moving cross country soon and wanted reasonable cargo space, and i wanted a four wheel drive vehicle for the rest of my time in w mass. i have needed to rent or borrow a truck Twice outside of major apartment moves.
however! with all these fucking pavement princess trucks in houston, where the hoods of these giant fuckoff trucks are a full head above my car’s roof, im genuinely afraid that an entire fiat would fit completely within their front blind spot and i would be squished!!!
#i miss the 94 toyota rav 4 i had in high#school every fucking day. tall enough to feel safe around trucks. great fuel economy. could fit So much from the feed store in there.#i don’t remember what the wood shaving bale record was but i used to drive home with that thing Packed and two more bales in the front seat#the subuwu is doing pretty okay but making a Noise and we don’t have Mysterious Noise money rn#no lights are on i hope it is simply a belt or the loose bumper#ALSO!!! i can get 300 miles to the tank on the subuwu and that’s with fairly inefficient city driving#cannot begin to imagine what the trucks cost to fill up#do i feel superior for having a small car? yes#do i feel Safe? no
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yall weren't fuckijg kidding being 23 feels like im being shredded alive
#image.txt#my brain is so broken and mudh and messed up#im so uniquely awful says every 23 year old ever#im just gettign worse at driving and not bringing petty into it#almost rearended some truck bc he pulled out ij front kf me while i was cruising and i didnt slow down enough#he was turning left and i guess didnt want to cut off ANOTHER car so he hit his breaks#i had to break so hard my breaks fucking crunched#like who fucking does that#i know i was half the problem i need to slow down faster but GOD#i blew out my voice screaming#didnt even check if we collided i dont fucking care if we did#my bumper will be worse off than his#RRARGH i hate driving and i hate having to do therapy work WHILE driving#'calm down dont rage its fine its fine its fine' WHILE DRIVING#exhausting. im exhausted
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hate driving in new york
#limon talks#i cant imagine ever living there#idk how millions of people manage it#i almost got hit by a truck twice#once on the highway some jackass passed me not even caring that at that moment his bigass truck didnt fit#had to slowdown#then later another truck almost clipped me when the lanes merged#god if theres one thing having spent almost a full day driving has taught me#its that people are insane on the highway#ill do anywhere from 4-10 over the speed limit#and regularly get passed by other drivers#like my guy! i'm already speeding! you want me to speed MORE?!!#i also hated the bumper to bumper driving in nyc#people will just full on stop in the middle of an intersection#only further prolonging traffic jams#like bro why do you think we're inching forward the way we are#its because some dipshits dont understand the concept of leaving a reasonable amount of space between you and the driver in front of you#anyways uh to cap off on a happier note#like right in front of where i parked was a march for palestine#that was nice#wonderful to see so many people come out in support of that
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when a country person has a lifted truck i can’t argue with that. you gotta go off da road i understand. through the mud and stuff. when fucking jeff next door lifts his truck it’s like whatcha gonna do with that jeff. put the fear of your front bumper into everybody in this trader joe’s parking lot ?
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𝜗𝜚 Down the Rabbit Hole 𝜗𝜚
━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━
Captain John Price x Fem!Reader
Work Count: 4.9k (I don't know what happened...)
Summary: Reader wanders a little too far off the path. Good thing such a nice older man came to help.
A/N: It's halloween y'all!! I freaking love halloween and all things spooky and scary. So I thought maybe I should write something really scary to fit the occasion. Okay so technically yesterday was halloween but better late than never. Let me know what you guys think. I don't think I have any smut out yet?? So please let me know any feedback or thoughts you have. I love you all so much!! 𝜗𝜚
Warnings: This story contain dark themes. Not to spoil but this one does contain DUBCON/NONCON elements, intoxicated reader, drugging, light bondage, kidnapping, forced impregnation. If you are not in the headspace the read this please scroll on. I will write some nicer things in the future.
━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━
With a sigh you pull out your phone, the blue light illuminating your face in the dark night. Just to find you have no cell signal this far out, of course. You try calling a few people but not a single call would go through. A simple dial tone rang out much to your dismay. Leaning back against the bumper of your car, you can feel the heat radiating off your exposed engine. You look towards the propped open hood of your tired vehicle.
The hissing machinery creates a pillar of steam when mixing with the chilled October air. Your leg bounces nervously while your eyes scan the surrounding forest. There are no street lights, no houses, not even the sound of cars whizzing by on a nearby roadway. Just dark woods and the crickets chirping. You mentally curse yourself and your friends for convincing you to drive so far out on your own.
You spend a long twenty minutes going back and forth between trying to find service along the road way and seeking warmth in the shelter of your car. Your costume doesn't provide much cover against the autumn cold. Clad only in a restricting corset top, tiny ruffled shorts, fishnet stocking, and shiny white heels. Topped off with a pair of fuzzy bunny ears fixed to a headband and a little white tail attached right above your butt. It looked better in your mirror at home when you were imagining sitting in a hot crowded house party surrounded by familiar faces.
Your focus breaks from the car's owner manual when you hear a distant rumbling. You hop out of the driver's side seat and look to see a blinding set of headlights coming your way. As the lights come closer at a rapid speed you wave and step closer to the asphalt to catch the driver's attention.
Thankfully it begins to slow and rumbles to a stop a few feet short of your car. The driver kills the engine along with the annoyingly bright LEDs. Thet turn their hazard lights on, bathing the area in a blinking orange glow. You are stunned for a moment while your sight adjusts back to the dim night. You make out the shape of a large pickup truck through spotted vision. Its boxy silhouette shows a vehicle past its prime and out of style. You take that as a good sign thinking the owner must know something about taking care of cars.
The driver's side door creaks open and out comes a pair of boots dropping onto the roadside. When they slam the door you see a large shadow saunter towards you. Heavy steps crunch on the earth below.
"Thanks for stopping" You cross your exposed arms over your chest hoping they don't see the way you're shaking. You pretend like this isn't a total horror movie scene right now. Telling yourself the shivers are from the frigid air, not fear.
"You alright?" A thickly accented english voice asks. The figure finally reaches you. You have to crane your neck up to look him in the face, his broadness could swallow your quivering frame.
"Yeah, I'm fine. My car not so much" you gesture back to the front of your lifeless automobile. He looks over you and hums in understanding.
"I can take a look for you," He steps past and takes in the sight under your hood. “What happened?” He takes a moment to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt and scrunch up the sleeves.
“I don't know. I was just driving and then I heard some weird sounds then it started driving funny.” you attempt to explain.
“What kind of sounds?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” you shrug.
“Like a rattling, a pop, what?”
“If I am being completely honest I had the radio up kinda loud so I can’t really remember. I just know I heard something then it started to shake and slow down.”
You watch as he leans forward, large hands braced against the low bumper. "Do you have a flashlight?" his tone is flat, is he mad at you?
"Yeah," you pull your phone and click on the flashlight. You stand on the side of the car and try to hold it steady with both of your shaking hands.
"You can come a little closer," he looks up and smiles. "I don't bite"
You give a nervous chuckle and step around to the front of the car. Still careful to keep a good amount of distance from the stranger.
"Can you- here let me just," his large hand wraps around your wrist and gently draws your hand further out until you're almost bent over reaching across the space. "That's better."
He checks different areas, twisting and tapping on a few parts. Checking the levels of the various fluids. Occasionally repositioning the angle of your flashlight with a firm yet polite adjustment of your arm.
"Have you called anyone yet?" His gentle eyes look up from underneath his thick brow.
You hesitate for a moment considering the implication of your answer. He holds your stare as you try not to appear nervous. "Yes, I called roadside assistance but they won't be here for a while. They know I'm here though." You rush out a lie.
"Hm, yeah we're pretty out" he looks back at the machinery. He stands up straight, brushes his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. "Looks like you're not going anywhere."
Your stomach tightens and you pull back your flashlight leaving you both in the darkness.
"I can fix it but I'm going to need to go back to my place and grab some tools" He pulls the hood of your car down and slams it shut. "Or you can wait for the guy to get here. You'll be waiting for a while though"
You hold your phone tight in your palm feeling torn between trusting this stranger or going back to being stranded. "Um," it's hard to think with the constant waves of shivers going through you.
"Or you can stay here in the middle of the woods by yourself. Up to you," He pulls his keys from his pocket with a jingle and walks around you, back in the direction of his truck.
You look between your own car, the dark tree line, and the tall man getting further away.
"Okay!" You call to him. He turns and watches as you reach into your open car door to grab your purse and keys. You lock the door behind you and walk towards him.
You hear his door squeak open then his truck rev to life you. You quicken your pace to reach the passenger side, not wanting to be left alone here for another second. Before you can grab the handle he is reached over the long bench seat pushing to open from the inside.
"Glad you could make it," his cheeky smile causes his eyes to crinkle in the corners.
"Better than getting mauled by a bear" You haul yourself up and into the seat. The interior is still warm which allows you to relax a bit while your shiver subside. You take in the roomy cab of his truck. Nice leather seat, very clean, smells good. Surely he is just a kind older man wanting ti help out a stranded, clueless woman.
"You'd be alright. Bears normally hunt in the mornings. Bobcats on the other hand, that's what you've got to watch out for." He places his hand on the gear shifter, "Seatbelt," and nods down towards the unclipped buckle.
"Okay but first, can you promise you're not going to kidnap or kill me?" You stare him down as he holds a faint smile.
"I'm not going to kill you," he chuckles
"You see, that's exactly what a murderer would say," you are only half joking with that statement but buckle yourself in anyways.
"I guess you're going to have to trust me then" He focuses his eyes forward and pulls onto the road.
"I don't even know your name."
"I don't know yours either" he counters
"Fair enough," you consider it for a moment before telling him your name, and he tells you his.
"I don’t mean to be rude but, what's with the outfit?" he glanced your way for a moment. You don't miss the way his eyes trace down your figure.
"I'm a bunny, duh." You point to the fluffy ears fixed to your headband. His brows remains drawn in confusion. "It's halloween," you continue stating the obvious.
"Is it?" he finally puts it together. "My work has been hectic. It's easy to lose track of time. Heading to a party, then?" he asks.
"Was. I think I took a wrong turn a few miles back but I lost my cell signal so, I couldn’t get the map to load. Then my car died."
"That's some bad luck. Maybe you should look into getting a lucky rabbit's foot." He raises his eyebrows and chuckles.
"Ha ha," you respond humorlessly. "Look, the costume would've been a lot better with my friend. She's supposed to be a magician. Y'know like a magician pulls the white rabbit out of the hat."
"Right," he nods.
"Yeah, but it looks like I won't be making it tonight. I'm not too upset though. I'm not much of a party person."
"No?"
"No way, I'm a homebody. I hardly ever leave my house if I'm being honest. I work from home too so that keeps me pretty busy. Wow, sorry I didn’t mean to tell you my whole life story," you chuckle nervously.
"’S alright, I don’t mind. Your boyfriend doesn't take you out?" he asks.
"Boyfriend? No, I don't have a boyfriend."
"Sorry, I just assumed. I mean, you're a pretty girl. Hard to believe you don't have someone to look after you."
"Oh, thanks" a bashful blush rises up your cheeks. "Like I said, I don't get out much. Not many opportunities to meet people. Which is part of the reason my friend gets so mad at me. I've canceled on her the past three times she has asked me to hang out. She had to beg me to come tonight. I kind of feel bad though. She's probably going to think I bailed again."
"When we get back to my place you can use my phone to give her a call if you'd like," he offered.
"Yeah, I probably should."
Looking out the windshield you can make out speckles of light ahead, breaking up the dense forest. John makes a final turn and you find yourself pulling up to a very nice cabin. Wood paneling lined the exterior framing several expansive windows which emit a warm yellow light behind the closed curtains. The glass panels stretch high to the sloped asymmetrical ceiling. The architecture looks straight out of the seventies.
"Wow, this is your place?" you ask in amazement. "What do you do for work?"
"I work for the government," he states simply before turning off the truck and exiting. He walks around to your side and opens your door. He offers his hand to you which you shyly take as you hop down from the elevated cab. "Your hands are cold," he gives your hand a small squeeze fully enveloping it in his palm. "Let's get you warmed up inside."
He ushers you up the driveway, his hand now transitioned to your lower back. You can't deny the way his touch makes your stomach flip. He opens the door and you step into the cozy home.
You are greeted by a vast living room. A long espresso colored leather sofa sits among matching chairs all facing towards a large stone fireplace. The space is washed in varying shades of warm browns and oranges. A beautiful thick rug lays across the glossy hardwood.
"Sit, let me get you a drink. Would you like some tea, coffee, a beer?"
"I'll have a coffee," with your confirmation he stepped through the living room to the connecting kitchen. Your eyes follow him as he disappears through the doorway. "Government job, huh? You must be very important." You step to one of the bookshelves that sit on either side of the fireplace. Scanning the many titles there.
"I guess you could say that." He laughs. "Do you take cream and sugar?"
"Yes, please." Your finger grazes the spines of the books. Many biographies and historical nonfiction among his collection sprinkled in with survival guides and warfare tactics.
"How about some Bailey's?"
"Sure,” you shrug. Maybe a little spiked coffee and make you relax a little.
He reappears with two steaming mugs in each hand. He offers one to you which you happily accept. Wrapping both hands around the cup, allowing the hot drink to unfreeze your fingers. He holds his gaze while he takes a sip and then releases a gravelly groan in satisfaction. You follow suit taking a sip, feeling the warmth descend in your throat and radiate in your chest.
"Not bad?"
"No, not at all, thank you,” you smile sweetly.
"How about a fire? Get you warmed up and then I'll go grab those tools, ay?" He doesn't allow you to answer before he sets his mug on the coffee table and kneels in front of the fireplace.
You sit on the couch and watch while he makes quick work of getting the fire started. It's not long until he nurses the little flame into a roaring fire. He grabs a few fresh logs to throw on top before getting up and taking a seat next to you.
"Feeling better?" He asks as grabs his drink once more and settles into the cushions, arm slung across the back of the couch behind you.
"Much" With your cup now half empty you begin to feel the alcohol go straight to your head. You aren't surprised though. You haven't eaten all day in order to fit into this strangling outfit.
"I like your costume, by the way. I don't think I said that earlier. Not sure if I would've stopped if you didn't look so cute" His hand reaches from behind you and flicks your artificial ears.
"Hey" You adjust the head piece back in place. "This was a lot of work to put together, I'll have you know." You attempt to convey your seriousness but can't help the giggle that escapes.
"Oh, I can tell." His hand slips down from the back cushion to brush across your bare shoulder. The light touch makes your skin erupt in a flurry of goosebumps. "You're still pretty cold, bunny. Let me get you something warmer to put on."
"I'm okay, really. I'll warm up." You take another long sip on your hot beverage. "I feel fine."
"I insist" He rises from the couch and politely holds a hand out for you.
You are hesitant for a moment but seeing the persistence settled on his face you accept. "Alright," you relent.
He leads you down a dim corridor to the last room on the right. He pushes open the cracked door to reveal his neat bedroom. Very much resembling the rest of the house. A giant perfectly made bed sits in the center of the clean area. Makes sense considering the large man that sleeps in it. A lone lamp illuminates the room giving it a hazy appearance. Or maybe that's just your clouded mind.
He steps past you towards his dresser and pulls open one of the drawers. He pulls out a large shirt then a pair of pajama pants and hands them to you. "Not sure how well these will fit but it'll be more comfortable, I'm sure"
"Too bad" You look down at the folded clothes in your hand. "Feels like a total waste of a costume."
His eyes scan down your body once more. "I don't think so" He walks past you towards the door. "I sure got a kick out of it" He smiles and turns to close the door on his way out.
"John," you rush out before he goes.
"Hm?"
"Can you, um-" You look over your shoulder at him. Still facing away from him. "Can you untie me?" gesturing to the lace up back to your corset.
"Yeah, uh,” he clears his throat. “I can do that" he takes measured steps towards you. As though a hunter may quietly stalk up to its prey.
You look forward again and stand up a little straighter when his warm hands rest on your shoulders. They slowly slide down your back and onto the dense fabric. Fingers trailing over the layer of ribbon and boning. Finally he reaches the large bow at the base of your back. You feel the ribbon unwind to hang limply. Edges skimming the back of your thighs.
His strong fingers wedge themselves in the gaps between the laces. Tugging each intersection with meticulous movements so as not to throw you off balance. Your hands rush to press the front of your corset to your chest when you feel it begin to slip. At last you can take a full breath.
Feeling his touch retreat after finishing the task you turn back towards him. Neck craning up to meet his eyes. The height difference was much more apparent from this close proximity.
"Thank you,” your voice coming out just over a whisper.
"It's no trouble" He matches your hushed tone.
Your heart is beating out of your chest. Maybe it was the drink, or the fact that you were touch starved, perhaps even the fact that it was halloween but you felt bold. Bold enough to release your hands and allow the undone corset to fall to the ground below.
Without a moment's hesitation John harshly grabs the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours as if thats the sign he’s been waiting for. Lips collide in a hot rush. His stong arms pull you flush against his broad frame. Deep groans rumble from his chest.
Your sluggish movements make you struggle to keep up with his hectic pace. Your hands sliding up his neck to tug at his cropped hair. One particular harsh tug draws a growl from him.
He walks you backwards across the room until the back of your tight clad legs meet the soft comforter. He releases his hold and you fall backwards onto the mattress.
He towers over you. His chest heaves with each breath as he stares you down. Your stomach flutters, unsure if it is due to excitement or fear. You begin scoot backwards up the bed but as you make your way towards the pillows his hand encircles one of your ankles.
"Not so fast little, bunny," he tugs your leg harshly and pulls you back towards him. He doesn't waste time as he dips his fingers into your tiny ruffled shorts yanking them down in one swift motion.
He climbs over you, wedging his thigh between your legs. His hand maneuvers around your lower back and behind your neck. He pulls you back into a heated kiss.
You feel the pressure from his muscular thigh press against you. You unconsciously grind your hips into his leg while he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip. He assists in your movements as he grips your hips, rocking you back and forth.
"That's it, pretty," he leans down to mumble in your ear. "I can feel you soaking through those little panties," then giving your earlobe a nip.
Moans slip from you with each movement. Rutting pathetically, unable to stop yourself as you near closer to your edge. He dips down to your neck expertly finding your sensitive points. Biting your pulse then soothing it with his tongue. The friction from his jeans rubs against your little cotton underwear and fishnets.
"John, please," you whine, unsure of what you're asking.
"Go ahead sweet girl, cum for me." His powerful grip digging into your waist.
With his words of approval paired with his hot mouth moving along your throat, you begin to unwind. Tipping over the edge, your legs tightening around his own. The knot in your stomach finally snaps. Back arching into him and loud moans pouring from you. A rush of heat fills you and until you finally slump back into the bedding.
John loosened his hold around you. A hand coming up to move hair away from your face. "You're a dirty little girl, aren't you? Humping my leg to get off. Nasty thing, you are."
A blush of embarrassment rising across your already flushed face. The shame morphs back into lust as you feel a tightness reform in your stomach.
John sits back on his knees and begins to unbutton his shirt. Your eyes can't help but to land on the massive bulge formed in his pants. A thick outline straining against the restricting denim. He finishes stripping off his shirt revealing his burly chest. You sit up to run your hands down his bare skin. Leaving kisses along the line of hair leading from his chest into his happy trail.
Your hands skim lower to find the buckle of his belt. You make quick work unbuckling and unfastening of his jeans. Hurriedly yanking down the offending material just enough to give way to his tight boxers. Your mouth salivates at the sight of his hard cock straining through the thin material.
Before you can rip away the final layer he grabs your wrists. “Not so fast,” he chuckled. Gathering both your wrist into one of his hands easily he uses the other to swiftly pull his belt from it loops. He takes the belt and wraps it around your wrists, securing them tightly together.
“Needy girl,” he mumbles. His rough palms traced down your arms then along your waist. “Taking whatever you want,” his fingers skim along the pattern of your fishnets. “It’s my turn now, bunny,” once he reaches your still clothed center. Finger grip the threads of your tights and rip them open. Completely tearing the flimsy strands to fully expose your panties.
He slides his fingers across your sensitive clothed cunt making your hips thrust into him. “Oh, bunny. You’re soaked,” his eyes flick back up to meet yours. The black of his pupil now blown out almost completely consuming the previously blue iris.
He takes your bound wrists and pulls them over his head. Your arms now wrapped around his neck, your bare chest flush against his. He pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling his hips. Not bothered enough to fully undress he jerks down the waistband of his boxers. Allowing his thick cock to spring out. Fingers frantically pulling aside the drenched material of your panties, exposing your throbbing heat.
He grinds his hips up to meet yours. Sliding his cock easily through your wet folds.
“Oh god,” you whimpered as his head rubs against your sensitive clit. “Please, fuck me”
Needing no more prompting he pulls your hips back and lines himself up with your needy hole but not yet entering. “You want this?” He dips just the tip of his head in, teasing your dripping entrance.
“Yes, please,” you beg, looking at him through your lashes. You desperately try to grind your hips down but he holds you in place.
“What good manners you have,” he continues to tease and thrusts the tiniest movements, never fully entering.
“John, I can’t wait anymore, please, just- please. I need it. I-” Your string of pitiful begging is interrupted when he finally yanks your hips down. His length fills you completely in one smooth thrust. Your eyes roll back at the sensation as he fills you to the hilt.
He lets out a guttural moan once he is fully inside of you. “You’re so fucking tight,” he groans. His head dropped in the crook of your neck, biting the soft skin there. Mustache and stubble scratching along your collarbone. You yelp at the pain of his bite but he doesn't relent. Your pussy tightens around him as his teeth sink into the tender flesh.
His arms move from their grip on your hips and fully wrap around your back. He begins to thrust up into you. Not easing into the movement as he immediately drives his hips up at a brutal pace. As if he were unable to wait another second.
Unable to grip into anything with your bound hands, you find purchase digging your nails into the leather of the belt. Your head tipping back limply as you can only take his cruel ministrations.
“Is this what you wanted?” He grits out through his teeth, each word punctuated by his hips driving up into you. His cock pounds into your cervix making a flurry or stars burst behind your eyelids at every hit. “Is this what you’ve been needing? A good fucking?”
You mumble out a pathetic, “Mhm,” unable to fully process his words. His fingers dig into your shoulder and back. You are fully engulfed by this giant brute of a man.
“I know you do. I knew from the moment I saw you. Looking so sweet on the side of the road.” He chuckles darkly. Continuing to hold you tight against him he leans forward until your back hits the comforter. Your legs lock around his back while he holds your hips in place. The new angle has him pounding into your sweet spot over and over. The friction of his hair rubbing onto your clit creates the building of renewed heat in your stomach.
“You gonna cum again, pretty? Let me see you do it,” his thrusts slow from the frantic pace to a slower harder stroke. His arms lay on either side of your head while he studies your features. Hard length easing out of you slow enough for you to feel each ridge and vein. Then jerking his hip harshly back in.
Your head was feeling fuzzy. A drop of salvia trailed out of your lips and down your cheek. Your high was getting closer with each thrust. Eyelids fluttering shut as you feel the knot tighten in your stomach. So close to release. Your walls contract around him causing your legs to tighten, toes curling.
“Hey,” John snaps harshly. When he receives no response he gives you a light smack on the cheek. Hard enough to make your eyes pop open in shock. “Look at me, pretty girl. I need to see those eyes,” his words sound warm but he grips your jaw in place with a stern hold.
Your eyes flutter while you struggle to keep them focused on him. Coming closer to the edge. “Come on, you can do it. Don’t make you give you another smack. I don’t want to hit you, pretty girl. Don’t make me” his tone dripping in condensation. “That’s it, give it to me. I wanna see you come undone, bunny.”
Then you snap. A series of shockwaves ravages your tired body. Shooting sparks of electricity race through your limbs. Your unfocused eyes stayed fixed on him throughout your climax. Your back arches high into his chest. Fingers ball up tight, desperate for something to grip. Your mouth drop open agape in a silent cry. Tear form in the corners of your eyes threatening to spill from the over stimulation. His harsh movements not granting you mercy in your fraile state.
“God, I can feel you squeezing me. Oh, pretty girl, I'm gonna fill your sweet cunt,” he moans. Hips increase in pace as your tense muscle loosen in exhaustion.
“Wait-” You murmur, hardly able to get your words out. Only a string of incoherent mumblings follow. Your brain is completely clouded. You know you can’t let him finish inside. “Please, no,” you whimper. “Can’t”
“It’s gonna be okay, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’m gonna fill you up and maybe I’ll get you pregnant.” He says with a wicked smile. “You want to be my little house bunny? Fuck you until you get big and round. Walk around pregnant barefoot,”
Alarm bells ring in your ears but you aren’t able to fight against his strong hold. Your limbs remain weak. Useless to pull away from his embrace “Please” you whine, “I can’t”
“You can, bunny.” His thrusts grow erratic, losing their rhythm. “Gonna be such a pretty mommy,” His hand slipped underneath your head allowing thick fingers to tangle into your hair. His hands closing into a fist giving the strands a sharp tug. The other hand wanders down to your hips. Holding you firmly in place with a bruising grip.
With one final thrust he releases a loud, guttural groan. Teeth bared in exertion as he reaches his own climax. Cock pulsing inside of you, draining his seed into your weeping womb. All you can do is tighten your jaw as you attempt to push, kick, scream, anything but you just lie there. The faintest gasp leaves you when you feel his warm load pool inside of you.
“You made it so easy for me,” he laughs. “You just got in my truck. Walked into my house. Silly girl, you don’t even know me. Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to talk to strangers.”
He gives a few more gentle pumps before pulling out completely. Leaving your aching cunt feeling empty. He leans back and stares down, watching him cum drip out of your still quivering cunt.
“You know, I put something in your drink. Took a little while to take, though. Got to you just in time I think. I was going to wait but you wanted it, didn’t you? I like seeing that dumb look in your eyes.” He grabs your jaw and moves your head back and forth while you stare blankly back at him.
“Couldn’t let a little bunny like you get away, could I?
━━━━⊱♡⊰━━━━
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HEY QUEEN! i had this idea for a fic… angsty, could also be fluffy and maybe smutty? 👀 anyway, like in the original twisters, reader goes to try and get tyler to sign divorce papers and ends up chasing him around with tornadoes. then maybe she almost dies in one with him, like the pool scene, or she gets hurt? either way, they fall in love again, etc etc. !!!
Sign Your Life Away (Tyler Owens x Reader)
Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of sex, Tyler Owens (need I say more?)
It had been a while since you'd last visited your home state of Oklahoma, and it wasn't without trying, your life has just been a whirlwind of drama for the last few months. Your job had been even more demanding than usual with all of the unforeseen tornadoes smattering the map, one after another.
You are expecting this visit to be short and sweet, in and out, back to your apartment in Los Angeles. The divorce papers you have been carrying with you for quite some time, tightly fisted in your hand as you approach the growing mass of tornado chasers. Despite hoping that your soon to be ex-husband would be here upon your arrival, you soon realise that his little media circus is still awaiting the appearance of the world famous "Tornado Wrangler".
With a racing heart, you perch yourself onto the bonnet of your rented truck, boots balancing on the bumper guard. It may have been months since you last wore your wedding band but you still feel the ghost of the metal that once adorned your left hand whenever you think of Tyler Owens. Tears long dried out for the man, you take a deep breath as you prepare to see him for the first time in a long time, and hopefully for the last, you're ready for a new, fresh start in LA.
The rev of an engine brings you out of your thoughts, the blaring sound of a rock country track blaring through the air familiar to your ears. This was yours and Tyler's song. Keeping your position on your truck you watch as the Tyler's Ram speeds into the lot. You let the media crowd have their fun, surging and cheering for the arrival of their 'star'. Music still playing loudly you can't help but smile as you watch the one and only Tyler Owens soaking in the spotlight. Yet what surprises you is the false smile on his face, there's a dullness in his eyes that you can see from just watching from afar.
As you take in the sight of him, he notices you. He freezes as he makes eye contact, the smile completely disappearing from his face. A quick whisper to Boone and his crew has the crowd disperse with the promise of T-Shirts, signed merch and food to encourage them. Tyler makes a beeline for you, his confidence stride has you nervous.
"It's been a while, Baby Girl." He tips the brim of his Stetson towards you, a sad yet welcoming smile crossing his face.
"I'm not your Baby Girl anymore, Owens." You jump down from the hood, quick to press the worn papers into his chest. "Sign 'em." Before you can pull away, he has his hand around yours, holding you close to his body.
"You know neither of us want that, right?" Swallowing back a retort you meet his eyes, drowning in his hazel pools. "C'mon, Y/N." The pleading in his voice and face have your heart questioning everything.
"Tyler, it'll never work."
He breaks the eye-contact first and you swear you see the glisten of tears in his eyes. "It was good while it lasted, Owens. But we both want very different things."
"Ju-"
"Sign the papers, please. I'm staying in El Reno, come by the motel tomorrow and drop them off."
Without another word you turn your back on the man you used to love, truck door now between you both, you take one more look at Tyler as you see his heart breaking in front of you all over again.
"Okay. If this is what you want."
*The Next Evening*
You're not shocked that Tyler is late to drop off the divorce papers but why do you not feel disappointed that he never showed? Just as you are about to leave to set off back for home, there's a loud knocking at the door. With a sigh you open the door to be suddenly met with Tyler standing dishevelled and soaking with rain in front of you.
"We need to leave, now!"
The panic in his voice is enough to put your trust in him.
"Ty?"
"We need to move, now! I'm serious, let's go." He holds his hand out to you and without a second thought you place yours in his. As you make your way out of the motel room, you notice the chaos erupting around you.
"What the fuck? Tyler, where did this come from?"
With a rambled and short explanation you know just from his tone and demeanour that you're really in trouble if you don't get moving. The tornado is unmissable as it covers the horizon, debris flying across the sky, tearing apart everything in its path.
"We need to find somewhere low."
Immediately your mind goes to the empty swimming pool across the lot, you pull on Tyler's hand, guiding him in the right direction. Over all the destruction you make out the sound of a woman screaming and a young child crying. "Ty!" With one swift nod he runs across the lot to help, carrying the little girl carefully in his arms, never letting the mother out of sight.
The wind speed ratchets up quicker than you expect, this isn't your first experience with a tornado but this is the closest you've ever been to one outside the protection of the Ram. You loved storm chasing with Tyler, long before you were married and during those blissful few years that you were still in that honeymoon stage. A scream leaves your chest as you watch a truck somersault mere inches from crushing him to death. And you know if that moment that those divorce papers were a mistake. You were still madly, irrevocably in love with Tyler Owens, you'd just been in denial for all this time.
As he keeps your shielded from most of the force of mother nature, his arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe, you pray that you both make it through this to work things out.
Seconds feel like hours before the tornado passes. You can't help but shiver violently with fear, exhaustion and the effects of the rain seeping into your skin. Yet as you take in the destruction around you, your mind is on only one thing - Tyler Owens. Without taking a second thought you grab him by the collars of his shirt and pull him towards you. As you press your lips to his own, you can't help regret leaving him behind all those months ago, what an idiot you had been. But you know here and now is where you belong, in his arms.
Part 2 Coming Soon
#requests are open#send requests#tyler owens x reader#tyler owens#tyler owens imagine#tyler owens fanfic#buy me a coffee#buy me a kofi
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american summer | logan sargeant
pairing: logan sargeant x european!reader note: inspired by all the pictures of logan being all american in st. tropez
somewhat an reverse version of this
the moment you step off the plane, the humid florida air wraps around you like a warm blanket, thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen. it’s your first time in the u.s., and everything feels both familiar and entirely foreign at once. logan is at your side, his excitement contagious as he rests his hand comfortably on the small of your back, steering you towards the baggage claim.
“welcome to america!” he grins, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. you can’t help but smile back, even as the loud voices and fast-paced energy of the airport overwhelm you a bit.
"yeah, thank you," you reply, trying to take it all in. it’s just an airport, but it feels so different. maybe it’s the accents, or the way everyone seems to be in such a hurry, yet they somehow appear relaxed, like they’re used to the chaos.
as you leave the airport, logan points out the massive suvs and trucks in the parking lot. “see those? classic american cars. none of your tiny european things here.”
you laugh, shaking your head. “they’re so big! do you need a ladder to get into one?”
he chuckles, squeezing your hand. “you get used to it. and you’ll get used to a lot of things over the summer. like this.” he stops by a sleek black pickup, and before you know it, he’s lifting you into the passenger seat as if you weigh nothing. you let out a surprised laugh, feeling a little silly for not being able to climb up on your own, but logan’s grin tells you he finds it endearing.
the drive to his family’s house is an experience in itself. you watch as the scenery whizzes by, the highways lined with palm trees and billboards advertising everything from fast food to theme parks. everything seems bigger, louder, more colorful than back home.
“you’re going to love it here,” logan says as he drives, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching over to rest on your knee. “florida’s got everything—beaches, sunshine, and my mom’s cooking.”
you smile at his enthusiasm, trying to imagine what the next few weeks will be like. the thought of meeting his family makes you a little nervous, but logan’s confidence and good mood is contagious.
when you arrive at his parents' home, a sprawling house with a neatly trimmed lawn and an american flag flapping in the breeze, you can’t help but feel a bit of culture shock. the flag is everywhere—on bumper stickers, hanging from porches, even on clothing. it’s something you’ve seen in movies, but seeing it in person, so prominently displayed, is a different experience.
logan notices your wide-eyed look and laughs softly. “americans love their flags. you’ll see them all over. i can give you a history lesson if you want.”
you roll your eyes playfully. “i think i’ll manage without the lecture, thanks.”
his family welcomes you with open arms, his mom pulling you into a tight hug, his dad giving you a firm handshake. they’re warm and friendly, their accents thick and twangy, and you find yourself trying to decipher their quick speech as they talk about the plans they have for your visit.
the next few days are a whirlwind of new experiences. logan takes you out on his family’s yacht, a sleek vessel adorned with—you guessed it—another american flag. as the boat cuts through the sparkling blue water, you can’t help but feel a bit out of place, unsure of the boating terms and etiquette. but logan is patient, guiding you through the basics with that easy smile of his.
“see, that’s the bow, and that’s the stern,” he explains, pointing to the front and back of the boat. “and don’t worry, you’ll be a pro by the end of the summer.”
you nod, trying to absorb it all, but it’s hard to focus when logan’s standing there in his swim trunks, his hair tousled by the wind, looking every bit like a scene out of a movie. he catches you staring and smirks. “what’s that look for?”
“just . . . appreciating the view,” you tease, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.
he laughs, pulling you into his arms. “you’re adorable, you know that?”
“yeah, yeah.” you smile to yourself as you snuggle yourself into his bare chest.
his arms stays around your bikini clad figure, the skin to skin contact raising your spirits as high as his friends’. they’re all in a good mood, tipsy on rosé, throwing out slangs and phrases that leaves you looking at logan quizzically.
he laughs at your expression, leaning down to give you a sweet kiss and you think to yourself, this whole american summer thing might not be so bad.
#f1#f1 x reader#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#f1 imagine#williams formula 1#williams racing#williams f1#logan sargeant#ls2 x you#ls2 fluff#ls2 imagine#ls2 x reader#ls2#logan sargeant x y/n#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant fluff#logan sargeant fic#logan sargeant fanfiction#divider by cafekitsune#f1 blurb
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Country Rose 1
Warnings: age gap, power dynamics, creep behaviour, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.
I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!
Enjoy, my loverlies.
The train ride leaves you stiff and sleepy. You couldn’t sleep on the long trek, your eyes devouring the scenery as it shifted from urban to rural, from the grim hues of morning to the pale tones of a stolid afternoon. Time and distance skews together and you step onto the platform thoroughly disoriented. If you can call it that.
The country dust tickles your nose as the lazy winds stir. The station is old, its wooden panel outdated and crooked, and the slats beneath your feet are splintering. You’re the only passenger to depart at that outpost. You’re not surprised.
What surprises you is that you’re all alone. The station is empty and the landscape is flat and sprawling. The train chugs away without a care. You give a sheepish cringe and look back and forth aimlessly. Well, then.
You take out your phone and shield the screen from the sun. You’re a bit paranoid you got the wrong stop. You turn this way and that as the bars in the corner flicker. Great, no signal.
An engine rumbles from afar and you squint as you lower your cell. Down the grey road, rolls a large blue pickup truck. As it pulls up, you spot the scatter of dirt across the paint and the dents in the bumper. It’s a farm truck if you ever saw one.
You stare at it as the gears crank and the vehicle shakes as it idles. A man pokes his head out the window and calls your name. You bat your lashes as you perk up. His dark hair is neatly trimmed yet the lock at the front can’t help but spiral over his forehead. His blue eyes compete with the shining coat on the truck.
“That’s me,” you hitch up your pack and cross the dirt.
“Sorry, there was a cow in the road,” he snorts as he hops out and approaches, hand out, “I’m Clark.”
“Right, Clark,” you smile as you shake his hand. When your aunt said he was her friend, you expected someone older. Especially with that name.
“You’ll have to call Jeanette when we get to the farm,” he says as he stops before you, staring expectantly, “I’ll take your bag.”
“Oh, right, thanks,” you swing it off your arm and hand it over. He takes it effortlessly and carries it to the bed of the truck. You’ve heard that farmers are wellbuilt but damn, he’s huge. “So, how did you know my Aunt?”
“Funny, I bought a quilt off of her. She came down this way with a quilting show. You know, I have a bunch my ma made me,” he drops your bag over the side into the back of the truck, “but she’s got arthritis and can’t do much sewing anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say.
“Not your fault,” he rounds the hood and beckons you after him. He’s as old-fashioned as everything else around here as he opens the door at your approach, “she’s doing well otherwise.”
“Hm, well, thanks for... having me,” you grab onto the door and lift yourself into the cabin, “oof, uh,” you fall into the seat and look at him, “I know it’s kinda of... awkward.”
“Stars align is how I see it,” he shrugs. “My farmhand took off to get married to some gal in the city and you need a job.”
“Well, that’s a nice way of putting it,” you snicker.
He smiles and nods, “watch yourself.”
You tuck your limbs in as he shuts the door. He strides around to the driver’s side and gets in easily. He shifts into gear and spins the wheel to back away from the tracks, “well, what’s the not nice way of putting it?”
“Ah, uh, I... my parents told me I need to figure out what to do with myself and Aunt Jeanette overheard so... guess you got the call.”
“No school?” He wonders as he straightens the wheel and steers back to the road.
“Not anymore,” you exhale, “I liked it, really, but my grades weren’t... exceptional.”
“Don’t need school to make a living. Not if you can find a good skill,” he assures. “I got a journalism degree, you know? Lotta good it does me on the bookshelf.”
“Journalism?” You echo, “that’s... exciting. I was trying to do biology but think I may have done better as an arts student.”
“Biology, wow,” he comments. “Well, you know, you’re young, you got time to figure it out.”
“Yeah, I hope...” you murmur, “so, ahem, what exactly am I doing? I don’t know if I’m built to throw hay bales.”
He laughs, “you leave that to me. As long as you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, you’ll do just fine. I mean, if you came all the way down here, I take that as a good sign. That’s dedication. A step in the right direction.”
“That’s very optimistic of you,” you give a brittle chuckle.
“You city girls, you’re all so cynical,” he muses. “Take everything so serious. Things don’t move fast enough to be serious around here.”
“Mm, I guess not,” you sniff, “so, erm, your mom, she live with you?”
“She does,” he answers, “she needs a lot of help. I’m sorry, er, did Jeanette not explain--”
“Explain? She said I’d be helping out with your farm.”
He smiles, tight-lipped as he drives into the sunlight, “you will be, yeah. Mostly, with my mom, she needs company.”
“Makes sense,” you nod. “That’s fine. I mean, I’m kinda relieved. I don’t know about horses. They look like they bite.”
“They can,” he scoffs, “just keep your hands flat.”
#clark kent#dark clark kent#dark!clark kent#clark kent x reader#summer rose#series#drabble#superman#dc#dcu
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All I Really Want Is You
older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap one/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday
Welcome To The Neighborhood
—> chapter two
summary: There’s a Bandit on the loose.
wc: 3.6k
warnings: 18+ series for eventual smut, 12 year age gap, reader is 30 and Steve is 42 otherwise none for this first installment :) it’s a meet cute baby.
author’s note: Here it is! chapter one of this little slow burn series with your painfully hot and confusing older!neighbor!widower!steve. This story will take place over the course of one summer, told in mostly blurbs of your chance encounters and run in’s with Steve. This series will have lots of pining, flirting, mild angst and eventual smut. Most chapters will range from 1-2k each except for a few. I hope you guys like reading about these two as much as I liked writing it & I hope to see you back next Wednesday! 🥹♥️
Series Masterlist // Playlist // The tune:
End of May —
Highways and state lines blur together like the buzzing of cicadas into busy Chicago streets. A fresh start. A new life. No plan - that was the promise you made to yourself ten years ago almost down to the date.
The excitement outweighs the embarrassment of how long it takes you to parallel park the Uhaul when you find that one in a million spot in front of your new home. Your hands are numb from the constant battle between the wind and your steering wheel. The breeze from the lake testing your strength for the last hour of your drive. The machine creaks loudly when you slam it into park, your legs wobbling like jello when your converse hit the pavement and out of your truck.
The city hits your ears like the humidity on your skin. The exposed parts of your thighs stick together when the thick air wraps around you like an unwanted blanket. Taking a deep breath, exhaust stings your lungs. Far away from the only place you’d ever known, it’s comforting the feeling that washes over you. You didn’t come here with an agenda. A fresh start with nothing to lose. You came here just to be you.
It seems like everyone is on their way to do something, going somewhere they have to be. They brush past you without even a glance in your direction, air pods buried deep in their ears caught up in their own little world. The sounds of dogs barking mingle with cars honking and loud conversations from patio bars the next block over. The city is alive with summer hanging fresh in the air.
The trees that line both sides of your street are lush and green from the moisture. They drape over phone lines, weeping under the heat of the sun. Bumper to bumper cars from all kinds of walks of life make the one way street even smaller. Mini gardens in front of mismatched houses only inches apart. This was your new home.
The three story townhouse is covered in dark green wooden paneling, the floors split up into separate apartments, and you managed to bag the top floor with protruding bay windows. Dumb luck mixed with being on craigslist minutes after they posted, you found the one mom and pop place in the city that fit your budget.
The chipped black metal gate that blocks off the front steps lands at your waist, and runs as a property line against an even nicer house next to yours. One that looks like it belongs to someone, not rented out to a bunch of someones. The bright red brick looks new, and the dark wood steps and patio freshly stained. An oriental rug that matches the house has chew toys with missing limbs littering the front entrance. A porch swing faces you and it sways gently with the wind. Your eyes catch the silhouette of someone on the other side of the stained glass in the middle of the thick mahogany door, and it reminds you to stop being so nosy.
Keys dangling in your hand, you take your first steps through the gate. The metal groans loudly before slamming closed behind you. You jog up the less polished, salt worn steps to your front door and the faint sound of a deep voice catches your ears from next door as you jiggle the lock open. Crossing through the threshold of the entryway you’re not surprised when there’s no reprieve to the heat, but disappointed just the same as you pull at our tank top that starts clinging to your skin. You eye the narrow staircase that curves up leading to your apartment, immediately regretting doing this alone.
It takes you less time to unload than it did to load up, at least that's what you tell yourself as you round to the back of the open trailer. Sweat is slick against your skin and you thank yourself for keeping the previous owner's couch even if you thought it was an ugly shade of green.You stare pointedly at the four heaviest boxes left and you swear they mock you while you try to catch your breath from pushing your mattress to your room. The words ‘winter clothes’ scribbled sloppily in bright red marker make your face twist up.
“God dammit,”you breathe out running the back of your hand across your forehead trying to rally. Your A/C was already in the window and the cool air inside becomes your motivation.
You aren’t expecting the abrupt shove forward or the feeling of paws on your butt, sharp nails digging into the soft material of your shorts. Then you hear it, his voice.
“Bandit! Bandit - no! Down!”
Your hands hit the metal of the trailer stopping your fall under the weight of what you’re now realizing is an over excited fully grown German Shepherd. Pink tongue out with spit flying everywhere, you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you when you turn around and he starts sniffing all over with a tail that wags a mile a minute. High pitched whines leave him when he realizes how much he wants you to play, but he accepts the scratches you offer behind his ears just the same. Body wiggling while also trying to stay still.
“Hi buddy!” you coo, your voice instantly slipping into the embarrassing one you only use for animals.
That’s when you see him.
He has a few years on you, that part is obvious with the pepper that spots the sides of his honey colored hair and the scruff that lines his sharp jaw, but it only makes him look better. His broad shoulders are wrapped up tight in a white undershirt, the thick cotton telling you it was the kind that cost more than your phone bill. The black shorts he wears have a hem high enough to almost be inappropriate when you swear you see the outline of what’s underneath. The Nike swoosh near the slit at the top of his hairy thighs. His shoes match the color of his shorts, the On Cloud symbol etched on the side flashes in the light. Two hundred dollars on just his feet.
The trained muscles in his arm flex when he runs a hand through his hair, catching the stray that flops over his forehead when he comes to a halt in front of you. The bright red leash clutched in his fist matches the color of his cheeks. Big hazel eyes meet yours after lingering on your curves a little too long, making you realize you’re showing off just as much skin as him. Clearing your throat, you tug at the bottom of your yoga shorts, willing them to grow just an inch longer with cheeks burning and not because of the sun.
“Sorry, I have a bad habit of getting him excited before I leash him up. I swear he’s friendly, are you okay? He didn’t scratch you or anything right?”
You’re too distracted by his hands to comprehend his words, tendons moving under taut skin as he hooks Bandit’s hardness. The heat, the move, and the man all getting the best of you.
“Hey -“
His voice brings you back to reality, his brows furrowing over perfect features when he looks at you with genuine concern.
“Yes! Sorry, I’m fine. Honestly! I love dogs. The move in the heat, I think, I think it’s just getting to me.” You smile doing your best to calm the worried look on his face, and you swear you see him flush deeper because of it.
It’s his turn to clear his throat, left hand flexing like he’s looking for a ring that isn’t there. The skin is a lighter shade than the rest of him like there used to be. There’s a beat and an awkward silence before he finally notices the mostly empty trailer behind you.
“Looks like you’re almost done though, top floor?” He questions rocking on his heels a little, pointing over his shoulder to your window. Your A/C is already dripping water onto the pavement.
“Yeah! You live in the building?” Please say yes.
“Me? No.” He coughs a little uncomfortable, while you fight to stop the disappointment from showing on your face. “I umm, I actually live next door.” He winces, almost like he’s embarrassed.
“Anyway, sorry about Bandit. Your boyfriend is probably wondering where you’re at.” You don’t miss the way he assumes with a secret hope he’s wrong hidden behind the mossy greens of his eyes.
“Probably,” you pause, ego boosting when you see him squirm, “If I had one.” You giggle and you hate the way your hips twist a little.
That’s when he does it, he smiles, with all of his teeth. It’s just as blinding as it is contagious, and it makes your skin tingle, giddiness dripping from your limbs. It’s short lived though, like pieces of a puzzle clicking together you watch it disappear. It’s replaced by the same concern from before only with a new layer of disbelief.
“Wait, honey, who’s helping you move in then?” He looks at you stunned like he can’t fathom the answer he knows you're gonna give.
“The same person that drove here - me.” You grin a little proud with your chin pushed up and it makes his lips twitch, the same smile from before itching to come back.
“Let me at least help with these last few.” He peeks behind you, eyes scanning over your messy writing, “They look like they might be heavy.”
He teases you just enough to earn a roll of your eyes, but the grin on your face makes him huff out a relieved laugh. Nerves like a first date twist in his gut when he sees the way you look at him from under your lashes.
“I mean, if you insist…?” you trail off, fishing for his name.
“Steve, sorry! It's Steve, Steve Harrington.” He runs one of his big hands through his hair again, a nervous tell of his you pick up on instantly, before offering it out for you to take.
“I don’t think I caught that, can you repeat your name one more time for me?” Biting your lip into a smile, he narrows his eyes playfully, cheeks blooming, flustered from your words.
Sliding your hand into his, it disappears completely when he wraps his fingers around yours. The softness of his palm is warm like the sun that beat down on you all day and it sends electric currents running through your veins, heart thumping loudly in your chest and you wonder if he can hear the way he can hear it. Minutes pass before either of you make the first move to let go, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s not until Bandit whines at your feet that Steve finally caves.
“Let me go put him back inside real quick, it’s still a little too hot out anyway and I’ll help you bring the last of this up, tough girl.” He winks with the kind of casualness that makes you question whether you saw it at all and you have to hold in the sigh that begs to slip past your lips.
“I’ll be waiting,” your voice cracks, your confidence slowly disappearing like the sun behind the hazed skyline.
You try to cover it up by swooping down to give Bandit a kiss between the eyes. Only it backfires, making it worse when you realize how weirdly personal that was to do to someone else’s dog, despite the more than pleased wag of his tail.
“That - that was, oh god. I don’t know why I kissed your dog like I knew him. Or you. I’m - I’m sorry.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, embarrassment rolling off of you in waves.
It’s not until you hear his laugh, and god is it pretty too, that you finally look up.
“It’s understandable, he’s a handsome guy.” Steve smirks with flirty eyes and it makes you dizzy.
You can’t stop your giggle, the back of your hand doing little to hide your smile from him. Butterflies breaking from cocoons in your stomach as you watch him walk away to that big house right next to yours.
“What exactly do you have in these boxes?” Steve grunts as he follows you up the narrow staircase with two in tow despite your multiple warnings.
“Winter coats, sweaters, maybe some boots...” you trail off trying to think, your disorganization more than evident when you open up your front door to even more boxes and bags spread out in disarray.
“You packed your coats and your boots in the same box?” His voice is muffled behind cardboard as the cool air hits, sending goosebumps across sweat-kissed skin. The low hum does something to dull your nerves when you work up the courage to turn around and finally face him.
“Maybe! Who knows, I’ll find out tonight when I open it.”
He huffs out a breathy laugh as his broad shoulders almost brush the sides of your door frame. Stepping one expensive sneaker in front of the other into your more than humble apartment, there’s a fleeting moment of regret about taking him up on his offer when your eyes dart around the mess.
“Where am I puttin’ this boss?” His eyes meet yours from around the side of the boxes, playfulness filling the greens and browns like before.
The muscles in his arm flex when he re-establishes his hold on the box, the sleeves of his shirt getting tighter and the whites of his knuckles start to show. The simple brown leather band of his watch strains, and it makes your throat dry up.
“Ummm.” You shake your head, willing your brain to regain its normal function as you start a clumsy walk towards the direction of your bedroom. “We can put them in my -“
Your shoe hits something hard and you don’t have enough time to realize what’s happening until you're already on the ground. Palms flat against the scratched wooden floor and a sharp pain in your ankle. The culprit, an already half opened box labeled KITCHEN you must’ve left in the hallway when you got distracted by something else.
“Jesus, are you okay?” Steve sets the boxes down, pushing them against the wall and out of the way raking his hand through his hair again, it must be a stressed habit too.
“Yeah, yeah, my ego is a little bruised but I think I’m gonna survive.” You try to smile, but only end up wincing when you go to push yourself up.
“Here, let's get you on the couch, let me take a look.” He doesn’t wait for your reply, both of his hands coming out to you in an offering. Stubbornness losing for once, you take them.
He lifts you up like you’re weightless, moving you around with ease as he tucks you into his side. His fingers wrap around the curve of your hip to steady you. He’s warm, the pine of his body wash mixing with the spice of his cologne and it surrounds you in a strong hold. It's a short trip to your couch, his abs moving with each step, and you secretly wish it took just a little longer.
He’s gentle when he untangles himself from you. Soft palms on your elbows to hold your balance as you sit down. There’s a hint of his aftershave that hits your nose as your muscles melt into the softness of the cushions, the day quickly catching up to you. Eyelids going droopy.
“Sitting was a mistake Steve,” you groan with a light stretch of your limbs, and another subtle wince.
“Well good thing you conned me into helping you with the last of your boxes then.” He waits a second before meeting your eyes as he pulls one of your many boxes over to sit on, his lips twisting up when he sees the way you scoff.
“Conned you?! You practically begged me to let you help.” Your head bobs with attitude dripping from each word and it makes him grin. He nods furrowing his brows like he’s hearing you, but despite the limited time you’ve spent with him you knew whatever he was about to say was just going to egg you on more.
“I mean, if that’s what you need to tell yourself sweetheart. I remember it a little differently.” He can’t hold in his laugh when you roll your eyes hard at him trying to ignore the newest nickname.
His knees brush against yours when he finally takes his seat, the hem of his shorts rising higher, running tight against the muscle of his thigh. The cinnamon hair that covers his legs tickles you while the sun hits your bay window with just the right light to reveal an expanse of freckles and moles you didn’t see before under his five o’clock shadow and across the bridge of his nose. God, he’s handsome.
His eyes catch yours like he can hear your thoughts, and for a moment you wonder if he actually can.
“Do you mind?” The teasing edge is gone, his eyes a little more soft when the tips of his fingers tap against your leg.
Your voice is lost in the shift in energy, static filling in the air between you when you shake your head ‘no’.’’ His touch is feather light when his fingers wrap gingerly around your ankle bringing your foot to his lap. He makes quick work of your laces, using extra care when he pulls off your shoe. The pad of his thumb rubs over the bruising bone and you notice the way he licks his lips.
“Does this hurt?” He applies a little bit of pressure to the spot just below your calf, his gaze making you nervous as he gauges your reactions.
“No,” it comes out a little breathless and he exhales deep through his nose because of it.
“How about here?” He does the same thing as before, only this time closer to your heel and you wince. “There it is,” he hums to himself, rubbing soothing circles as an apology.
“Like on a pain scale of one to ten, I’d give it a three and a half or four” you tell him, when really you’re too proud to admit it’s actually a five.
“Three and a half? You can’t use that. Solid number only,” he scoffs meeting your eyes from under his lashes, the forest inside them turning black.
“I actually think I can do whatever I want,” you laugh incredulously, your toes wiggling under black socks in his lap.
“I guess it is your house, I stand corrected.” Steve admits defeat with an exaggerated sigh before showing you his teeth in a wide grin, his thumb still rubbing circles because it never actually stopped. “Do you have an ice pack?”
Your finger drums against your bottom lip as you think about everything you had packed, his eyes fixated on the way you lightly pull it down with each tap.
“I don’t remember and if I’m being completely honest I don’t think so.” You look sheepish when you admit your lack of first aid supplies to him.
He chuckles lightly, hot breath fanning against your skin with a shake of his head.
“I think I have one, I’ll grab it and bring those other two boxes up. Keep your foot elevated for me tonight tough girl. Unpack your chaos tomorrow.” He mocks the way your jaw drops at his teasing.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take care of me Steve.” The joke is innocent, at least that’s what you thought.
Something clicks behind his eyes, the warmth draining from his smile when it falls. His brows furrow and he won’t look at you anymore, his thumb stops rubbing those circles, and your foot is placed gently back on the ground. He’s standing up faster than you can catch your breath, faster than you can comprehend. The energy shifts to something distant and the warm summer is replaced with frigid winter. He clears his throat with glassy eyes scratching the back of his neck, and you have no idea what you did.
“Hey I’m sorry if I -“
He cuts you off before you can finish.
“You didn’t do anything, It’s me - look, I’m just gonna go get those things. I’ll leave it at your door, please just elevate your foot. You should be okay by tomorrow.” He doesn’t let you respond, long legs taking him out of your place and leaving you to wonder what you did wrong.
Your head lulls against the back of the couch, staring fixated on the old popcorn ceiling of your living room for what feels like twenty minutes as you replay everything back. Over analyzing his tones and body language coming up empty every time. This was going to drive you crazy.
There’s three raps on your front door, one coming down hard followed by two quick knocks. When you stand up this time, it hurts less, more true to the pain level you gave him as you slightly hobble to answer.
When you open it, your two boxes are stacked where he promised. A dark blue ice pack with a yellow sticky note that says:
beta’d by @superblysubpar 💕 (also made the cute post it for me 🥹)
dividers by @newlips 💗
chapter two
#my wrtitng#all i really want is you series#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington angst#steve harrington slow burn#steve harrington fanfiction#older!steve#steve harrington x y/n
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Okay okay okay. Lulu and I were talking. About who would be a bad driver and what not and I was gonna write about ALL of them. But I specifically need to talk about Rei.
But I'll give a lil rundown first
Eiden: okay driver. Goes over the speed limit but follows road laws.
Aster: clearly a passenger princess
Morvay: he can't even read road signs lbr
Yakumo: no, well he can, but he rather be a passanger. Too much anxiety. Had a bumper sticker saying 'do t honk I'll cry'
Edmond: following ALL the laws. 100% model driver but you also hate him bc he will drive 5 under the speed limit
Olivine: he's gay and hitting the curb
Quincy: he has a truck but the back is 100% filled with the most random shit and it's never cleaned. Bonus: Topper has really bad road rage and makes Quincy roll down the window so he can cuss at others
Kuya: cannot and will not drive. Is Quincy's passenger princess but he's forced to sit in the bed of the truck.
Garu/Karu: don't you dare put him in the driver's seat. Can't reach the pedals.
Blade: he can...but that doesn't mean he should
Dante: he's a passenger princess. But he has the ability to drive. Doesn't mean he's good
OKAY NOW REI
God he drives a mini van. You know. One of the ones that has third row seating. The destination is 20 minutes away? He's getting there in 14.
The doors are different colors. It's so old..you aren't sure how it doesn't break down. Half of the dash board doesn't work. Every light is on.
Oh. And he doesn't have a license.
Scenario:
Eiden is freaking out because they have to be somewhere in 15 minutes but it's a 35 minute drive. And Rei is like 'oh don't worry I got this' and shove everyone in his van.
The set up:
Rei, driving obvs.
Kuya is in the passenger seat bc princess.
Quincy is in the seat behind Rei
Dante is in the seat behind Kuya, and Garu is on his lap, no working seatbelt.
Olivine is on the floor between the two
Back row is Eiden Yakumo and Edmond, they have one of those lap seatbelt that goes across the whole seat. Eiden is holding Aster (in lil guy form)
Blade somehow squeezed in the now tiny trunk part and is holding Morvay (also in lil guy form)
Rei looks at Kuya and tells him to put his seatbelt on, and Kuya is like "don't tell me what to do" and doesn't... Which Rei planned... because Rei doesn't know how to slow down. His foot is either from the gas or the break. Quincy knows this and is death gripping the seatbelt and making sure Topper is safe.
Rei slams on the breaks and Kuya slams his head off the dash just as Rei intended. This happens at least twice.
Dante is holding onto Garu for dear life who keeps asking to roll the window down.
Edmond is in the back, being held down by Olivine and Eiden
Edmond: KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD
Rei: *holding a mirror to do his make up*
He is the one who somehow is using a hair dryer in his car. Father is actually driving. Rei just uses the pedals.
Dante: your Holiness. Can you start a prayer
Olivine: *already started*
Edmond: I'M MAKING SURE YOUR LICENSE IS SUSPENDED
Rei: if I had a license
Edmond is having a fit
Dante is hoping Garu weighs enough to keep him safe in his seat.
Topper is now up front squeaking out the window and Quincy is telling him to be nice.
Rei: I know a shortcut
It's through the woods where there is no road
BUT. They made it with 2 minutes to spare.
Dante falls out of the car and throws up.
Blade and Garu are the only ones who had fun.
Rei is like "told you I could get us here on time"
Edmond has not stopped yelling for 8 minutes. Kuya's forehead is red from hitting the dashboard. Dante rather stay where they are and walk back then get in that van. Eiden and Edmond are offering to drive back but Rei won't let anyone drive his van. It's literally falling apart. Nothing works. Only he knows how to work it.
#nu carnival#nu carnival eiden#nu carnival yakumo#nu carnival edmond#nu carnival olivine#nu carnival quincy#nu carnival kuya#nu carnival garu#nu carnival blade#nu carnival dante#nu carnival rei#nu carnival aster#nu carnival morvay
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Now Kiss
@118dailydrabble Day 28: Ladder
bucktommy
Merry Kissmas & Happy Holidays 😘😘😘
Evan stands before Tommy, in front of the Christmas tree, hiding something behind his back. “I’m going to give you something, with one condition. They are a pair and they can never ever be apart.”
“Okay, got it.”
Tommy closes his eyes as instructed, only opening them when Evan places something on each of his palms. Tommy smiles at the glass ladder truck ornaments, identical except for their respective station numbers painted on them. “Evan, I love them.”
Tommy puts his ornament on the tree, followed by Evan who presses the front bumpers together. He grins at Tommy. “They should always be kissing.”
Tommy laughs. “I agree.” Then he takes Evan’s face in his hands and kisses him.
Also on AO3
You can read the rest here
#118dailydrabble#bucktommy fic#bucktommy#tommy kinard#evan buckley#sad-girl-hours23 118 daily drabble#if you saw this before the edit no you didn't
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OUT OF THE SHADOWS I || SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X SHADOW!GN!READER
Word counter – ~6.9k words
Tags/Warnings – Gn!Reader, Shadow!Reader (it’s not for long lol, don’t get your hopes up), murder of civilians/corpses/blood mentioned, physical fights, reader likes to throw fists, Reader’s callsign is Bug to pay tribute to my original idea.
Summary – After the betrayal of Task Force 141 and the slaughter of civilians in Las Almas you decide to leave Shadow Company on the spot, which works out sideways, leaving you with simmering hate towards the man whom you used to look up to and new interesting figures in your life.
also available on my ao3!
a/n after the fic because they’re too long. but just know that this is the first chapter of the series, feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part. enjoy!
Everything was calm. The sound of rain covering up the murmur of trucks helped you wind down after the adrenaline rush, and a sense of accomplishment for a job well done swelled in your chest. You already anticipated a long sleep and maybe a night out with your friends when you’re back home from the job. Maybe you’d even get a bonus from Graves and buy something nice for yourself.
In all honesty, you didn’t even mind being crammed into the backseat along with those 141 guys. Working with them was a pleasure and they seemed like an interesting sort of crowd. Especially that man with the skull mask. Ghost, was it? He certainly attracted your attention the most, with his huge size, booming voice, and undeniable skill in what he did. You were willing to admit that the way he took out the enemies with ease and swiftness was mesmerizing. And…your train of thought that consisted of pure fascination was interrupted by the abrupt stop of the convoy in front of the base gate.
Everything was calm until you were surrounded by shouting and then eventual gunshots, along with muffled screams of your brothers in arms. You didn’t understand how it all escalated so fast. One moment you were sure about Shadow Company and Task Force 141 being on the same side, but now you didn’t know what to think of it all. And from Graves' words, it was apparent that Shepherd was behind this too. So naturally you, and many other shadows, the lower ranks, had no fucking clue what all of this was about. One would care to tell a mindless weapon where to shoot, but not why. Blood rushed through your veins and pulsed in your ears, turning the pleasant buzz in your body into strained sharpness. You hurriedly pulled up the rear sight to your eye level. Two bodies dropped to the wet asphalt with soft thuds right in front of you. You felt your heart sink right down to your feet. Instead of firing your shots, you hesitated, backing out to hide behind the bumper of the truck, while hearing agitated, aggressive shouts. You weren’t able to tell who was shouting. So, you leaned out and felt yourself freeze in place.
And there he is. Ghost, eyes locked right on you. He sure has a…strong presence. And instead of shooting you he just…looks. You don’t like the stupid flowery language, but in this split second, it really feels like he is staring right into your soul. Or like someone is sticking metal rods right through your chest, with how hard breathing becomes in an instant.
You knew that if you were to shoot him right now, you’d never forgive yourself, all because you were kept in the dark about the whole thing Graves had planned. And you were not willing to get blood on your hands because of some “mistake”. If you pull the trigger, there will be one less person who’s able to make a change. One less person who’ll be willing to get their hands dirty and save people.
So, you lower the muzzle of your rifle and nod to the side, urging him to start his getaway, before other Shadows and Graves decide to check the perimeter. You see his dark eyes blink, or at least you think you do before he disappears into the darkness. Like he was never there in the first place.
In the end, you didn’t get even a single scratch. Three other Shadows were K.I.A.
Your head buzzed with so many different questions you wanted to ask Graves, and more importantly, the guilt you felt from whatever happened in front of the threshold. You had no idea what happened with that Los Vaqueros base or what was up with your CO, while you were escorting him and those 141 guys along with several other Shadows for this mission. Why was he taking it? What was he even thinking? You wanted to pull out your hair and claw out your eyes just thinking about all of it. Which, you weren’t paid to do, but that didn’t mean you weren’t concerned with the moral side of things. Unlike the majority of the Shadows, as you came to find out.
Confusion bubbled up inside of your mind, eyes burned by the white synthetic light of the gate when you looked up at it just to feel something aside from sheer distress and bewilderment. You didn’t want to believe that your Commander was the type of person to sell himself out, and you didn’t expect him to be, from all the time spent working with him. The man was nothing short of likable and friendly, with his beaming smile, confident attitude, and outgoing way of communicating… a natural-born leader, that was the first thing that came to mind when you thought about your boss. And with how Graves treated you and all other Shadows like you were more than just his employees, the realization was even more painful. Of course, you didn’t want to think about how he could so easily turn his back on people who trusted him.
It raised many questions in your mind about the price of his word, as well as made your stomach churn with acidic, flesh-eating poison full of doubt and suspicion. If it was so easy for your CO to cut out the men someone he told you all to think of as your brothers, then how long will it be before he sells you and other shadows out for…whatever was offered to him?
“Find ‘em!” Graves barks and your chest swells with bitter disappointment. You thought you knew him before (as much as a subordinate can know their superior), but how can you even begin to understand him now?
You hear Shadows mutter a quiet “Yup-yup”, more to themselves than to your CO, and you could almost feel the doubt settle over them in a thick, transparent blanket. From the conversations you can pick up on while Graves is out of earshot, you guess that some of them don’t think betraying the 141 guys and trying to hunt the two of them down is the right thing to do. But it didn’t seem like they were going to do anything about it though. You, however, want to help. You know that it’s not right, so…screw it. You can always find another job, and if it comes down to it, 141 seem like an okay sort of people, the type that would have your back if you had theirs. At least, you have hope for it.
So maybe you could hold out until they come back for Los Vaqueros. And you were certain they’d do that, no way they’d abandon all these men. You haven’t seen how the things were on said base that was taken from them, but you were certain you could do more on the inside than if you were to leave right now. Maybe you could break Colonel out of there, or help the Task Force sneak in, you were sure they could use any help from you.
That was the plan before you saw what Shadow Company did to Las Almas.
The picture that Shadows were painting with innocent blood on the rainy landscape was horrifying, to say the least. The metallic smell hit your nose the moment you jumped out of the truck right onto the flooded pavement. That was the exact moment when you realized you couldn’t stay with Shadows any longer. You were supposed to help these people. It was your job. Instead, you felt filthier than the dirt on your boots. Traitor. Backstabber. You choked on your breath behind the mask each time you noticed the bodies of the victims in every dark corner of the city, nausea coming up your throat when you could see rivers of crimson streaming down the road and right into the sewers. Your Shadow Company patch felt like the mark of a killer, etched into your skin permanently, instead of just being part of your uniform.
Limp bodies that didn’t even have the time to grow cold yet, scattered around warm homes. Some of the killed were probably already in their beds sleeping, coming back from work, watching TV, or cooking dinner when they got dragged out under the rain and massacred…Everything felt like a blur, your thoughts were a jumbled mess of whys, while you were led further into the town, to continue the revolting, disgusting crimes of your brothers-in-arms. You couldn’t stand to spend another minute in here. You need to get out before you do something you’ll never be able to forgive yourself for. You were many things, but you were not willing to go that far. Not here, not anywhere.
“Hey. Where’s Graves?” You tap another Shadow, your “close colleague” with a callsign Kruk, on the shoulder. He turns to you, while you see several other soldiers passing by, yellow streetlights barely illuminating their swiftly moving figures. You knew why it was hard for you to even look in their direction. Kruk points towards the building to the left of you two and croaks something about “briefing the rookies”. You nod and thank him, stumbling in the general direction he pointed you to.
“Commander, with all due respect, I think it’s time for you to discharge me.” You only came to your senses when you stood in front of your CO in the cramped space of someone’s living room. Wallpaper, creamy in color, dulled lights, tons of decorative cushions on the couch… Your voice is quiet, but firm, not leaving any space for compromise when you speak up to the blond man, and your politeness is as fake as this copy of “Guernica” you could see hanging on the wall. Blood pulses in your ears. You want to leave, you want out. Out of here.
“Bug, now’s not the time for jokes, I need you on the field now. We’ve got our orders.” Graves barely raises his eyes from tapping something on the tablet, that usual scowl that you got used to present on his face. His actions are as ugly as he is. Him not taking you seriously sure does a number on your confidence. But that only reassures you in your decision. You need out.
“Do I look like I’m joking? I’m leaving, because I don’t think what we’re doing is right.” You try to stay calm, you really do. But how can you, when out of something so vile he makes a joke? Makes all these people a sick joke.
A crease lies between your brows, and shadows falling over your eyes make your face look similar to a carved statue. Before talking to Graves, you decided to take off the eyewear that obscures your face and pull down the thin mask, the signatures for Shadows who are lower in the chain of command. You’re the faceless sort, after all. “And I don’t think you know your place.” You’re instantly taken aback by his sudden outburst, but you don’t let it show. “I point and you shoot. I sign your paychecks, Bug, and you take them.” You feel something inside of you flinch at the way he mutters your callsign. “I’m in charge. You don’t have a say in what we do.” With each statement, his gloved finger points from him to you, making the rage and frustration boil inside of your chest. You trusted Graves and he led all of your colleagues, along with you to dragging out unarmed, innocent people in the dead of night out of their houses on their streets and executing them. Hell of a leader he is.
“Well, I’m stepping down. If that’s what we do, I don’t want to take part in it.” You wanted to tell him a lot more, give Graves a piece of your mind on war crimes and killing people in their own homes. On how drowning Las Almas in blood won’t fix whatever the fuck he was trying to fix right now. Instead, you kept it to yourself, tightening your fists just so you didn’t spit in his face or punch him.
“You’re putting a target on your back. Do you not understand how what you’re saying makes you look?” Graves leans in closer to you, the low volume of his voice making it even more threatening, similar to the hissing of a snake. Give him a minute and he will start spewing real venom right in your face.
“You know that whatever you’re thinking is not true.” To be completely honest, you didn’t care what he thought right now. Graves’ mind and morals were clearly in the wrong place if he considered all this bloodshed justified.
“Do I really? A moment ago I was sure that you were my subordinate, now I’m not even sure what to make of you.” You’re barely able to resist rolling your eyes at this. Your heart is picking up the pace with each minute. Getting more and more desperate to leave your body altogether, just so you don’t have to listen to his bullshit any longer. You wish it was that easy.
“I’m not taking orders from you. Not anymore.” Saying this took a lot more out of you than you expected, you felt your chest tremble when you met your CO’s eyes.
“Well, would you just look at that, you happen to be a fan of our local drug lord too?” If eyes could kill, Graves would’ve dropped dead right this moment. He smiles, his sharp canines peeking from under his top lip. He knows he’s making your skin crawl and your stomach flip from this interaction, which, if you’re lucky, would be the last for the two of you. “Helping the cartel and corrupt police won’t look too good on your resume”
“I see you’re just making it up as you go.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in your chest. Shaky. Uneven. Infuriated. Your eyes are drilling Graves’, a deep frown between them as proof of how much you despise him now, for the baseless assumption too. After a moment of silence, you add. “You know what my stance on this is. Whether I get your approval or not, I’m leaving.” Graves finally withdraws from your personal space, sliding the palm over his face with a heavy sigh, as his lips tighten into a thin line. You knew that this combination meant he was trying to calm down. After a moment of silence, he speaks up again.
“Look, Bug, you’re a smart kid and frankly, I like you.” he makes a short pause, sighing. ���So, I’ll give you a fighting chance. Five minutes – if you’re not out of the city, then you’re a target.” He wasn’t that fucking courteous with the civilians that lay dead a few meters away. Shot on sight. Without any questions. You grit your teeth.
What are you supposed to do with that? Those five minutes didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, most likely, you’ll be rotting in the ditch somewhere shortly after your time runs out - too little to get out of the city or find the Task Force you so desperately wanted to help. Graves won’t leave any witnesses. And you are one. He knows it’s not going to be easy for you to just turn on the Shadows like that too, even though you despised what they were doing while following his orders. They still were your family. Dysfunctional and disproportionately big, but family, nonetheless. Even if they deserved it for their lack of action to prevent what was happening now, you don’t turn on your family like that. What he’s doing is forcing your hand.
Regardless, you have no choice but to take Graves up on his last “generous” offer.
“What are you waiting for, hm? Get out of here while you can.” You didn’t need to be told that twice. So, still balancing your rifle on your arm, your free hand reaches for that patch on your shoulder. Tearing it off in a quick motion makes the sound of Velcro strips snapping open almost echo from how quiet it is. It felt like a whole mountain dropped off of your shoulders when you threw the patch on the ground and stormed out of the building right into the pouring rain.
You felt goosebumps and tremors creeping up your spine as you ran through the dark streets, getting more and more soaked with each second. You didn’t feel much better though. The resentment for Graves grew each second, with all the steps that sent ripples on the surface of the deep puddles, and every raindrop that fell from the copper-colored clouds. But now wasn’t the time to wallow in your misery. Although you wanted to. It did feel like the loss of a person you used to know, of someone you looked up to. The only thing is, he was still living and breathing, and the only thing that died was that idealized image of him in your head.
There was a cold hollowness somewhere in your chest. Gaping with the darkness that, and you were sure of it, will eat you alive soon enough. Even though you backed out of the Shadow company, it won’t bring back all the people who are not here anymore. You won’t fix it, no matter how hard you try. That bitter guilt snaked its way into the back of your mind and it was there to help stay.
You managed to pull yourself out of this to make things right. But why do you feel so helpless still?
Your footsteps get faster and faster, as you maneuver through the narrow alleyways, staying out of the range your former colleagues were in. It was easy to hear them, gunshots and voices echoed throughout the city in a weird cacophony that your ears got used to after a long time working for the Shadow Company. They were not afraid, probably feeling like masters here. Somebody has to give them a scare, you thought. So they know better in the future. But it wasn’t your job at the moment. Right now, you needed to get out and do it as soon as possible.
Stopping and coming up with any sort of plan that would help you was not an option - hang in somewhere for too long and you’ll be found. And you were sure you wouldn’t be shown any mercy.
So instead of staying on the street, where you can be easily spotted with the help of the dim light of a flashlight, you decide to alternate between the corridors of empty homes, with doors wide open for anyone seeking shelter, and the maze of alleyways crawling with Shadows. It felt wrong, invading someone’s homes like this, but you knew if they were unlocked and lights beamed around them, giving out a warm glow the inhabitants were most likely not coming back.
You felt that tingle on the nape of your neck, ready to hide or flee in case you heard any sudden movement from any direction. It’s dead quiet, except for occasional radio talk from the shadows, which you tried to listen in on when you could. It didn’t give you much on where 141 could be. You would start losing hope if you had any left after Graves. But you continue your search nonetheless, reflexes instead of thinking, pure determination instead of hope, and fire in your veins, instead of blood.
That is until you quietly step inside another warm hallway, and you’re met with a wide-eyed stare from another Shadow that makes you freeze like a deer in the headlights. Something inside of you starts to churn with terror from the looming understanding – only one of you will walk out of here alive. Your eyes trail down to the raven patch on his tac vest. It’s Kruk. You want to ask what he is doing here, but you already feel his gaze studying you too. And as soon as he sees that the Shadow Company patch is missing from your uniform, the muzzle of his rifle points right at you. Fucking shit.
“Drop your gun, Kruk!” You warn the man, pointing the weapon in his direction too. He only shakes his head, refusing to stand down. With each second air is laced with tension more and more, you were sure that soon enough it’ll be so thick even a knife wouldn’t cut through it.
“You drop yours first.” His voice is shaky and unsure like he can’t believe what he’s doing right now either. “Commander gave us an order. You’re an enemy now too, Bug. Better get used to it.” Kruk started slowly approaching you, while pulling something out of the bag, strapped on his hip.
“Oh, fuck that!” You swing towards Kruk, trying to approach him in your momentary rage, but you’re immediately met with the warning “Don’t” from Kruk, who doesn’t stand down. “You know what they’re doing here. It doesn’t matter to you?” The man is silent. You don’t see his face behind his mask, so you’re left with even more questions instead of answers. Regardless of what he was thinking right now, you didn’t want to hurt him. So, you bend down and put your rifle on the ground with a quiet clack. If he needs a gesture of goodwill, he can have it. “Your turn.” Kruk only shakes his head.
“Turn around.” So, it was a mistake to trust him. Naturally. Your gullibility will be your downfall. You can almost feel the bitter taste spread inside of your mouth when you look at Kruk. Fucking asshole. But you comply, although reluctantly. He grabs you roughly by the wrists with one hand and by the neck with another, leading you toward what looks like a kitchen in the dim lights falling through the doorway. You get lowered on your knees and then pressed into the dirty floor. And it hits right then and there. He’s going to execute you. Oh, shit, shit, shit.
“You know that I don’t want to do this.” He says quietly so that any shadows passing by don’t hear him. You feel your heartbeat shake your whole body and nausea so intense like you are on the verge of throwing up all of your internal organs, but giving up is just not an option right now. So, you try to prevent him from tying your hands together with all the strength you have.
“Then don’t fucking do it!” He does not answer this as you continue squirming in his hold, trying to make it as hard as possible for him to restrain you. He only grunts but keeps a firm grip. Your head was a mess, you thought Shadows were a family. But all it took was one order from Graves, now they’re scouring the town like damn bloodhounds for you too.
“Get…off of me!” You grit through your teeth. You feel a zip tie slide over your hands and turn your head. The rifle he previously held in his hands was gone, probably so he could tie you up properly, so you take your chance and deliver a hard kick to Kruk’s stomach. He chokes out a pained gasp and finally lets go of your hands. You scurry to get up from the floor with wide smears of rainwater and dirt decorating it, but you get grabbed by the leg, which causes you to stumble and fall once again. You turn your head and kick Kruk with all your might, while attempting to take off the zip tie off your wrists, which, thankfully, he didn’t have the time to close.
You manage to shake the man off of you, as you scramble to your feet, knocking over a corner table with some decorations on it. Yet when you see Kruk fumbling with his hip holster you immediately tackle him to the ground, which causes him to drop the handgun. The whole fight is just a mess, nothing but blinding rage is pulsing in your temples, melting your bones and muscles into something no better than an animal. You get up again, while Kruk is on the floor, searching for the handgun in the darkness. You feel the heavy metal press against your boot and you kick it behind you. You hear it slide across the floor and here it is. Kruk’s eyes, are directed right at you. His hands claw at your leg, trying to drag you down to the floor. And then you black out completely. Kicking, punching, pained wheezes and screams are all you hear, a stuffy abyss with little to no specks of light surrounding you.
You come back to your senses when you don’t feel the familiar weight of your handgun pressing against your hip and then you see it again. Kruk managed to grab it while you were in your anger-induced frenzy. Everything around you slows down. His shaky fingers pull on the safety, but you reach out and grab his hands, pulling them up, not letting him aim at you. Kruk grunts and you see his eyes focused on you in fear, and desperation, as he tries to overpower you in the struggle. You see his weakened state, but the self-preservation is stronger than any compassion towards him at the moment. Kruk will take your life if you don’t take his. That’s just the gist of it. You can’t let him walk away.
Your hands tremble when he manages to overpower you momentarily, but it’s all in vain when you press the handgun harder and harder into his frame, feeling his hands start to yield more and more with each second, strength leaving him. The fear in his eyes is directed at you and only you, but you try not to look. The muzzle of your gun is pressed snugly under his chin. Your gaze trails to his eyes once again. They burn you with terror. Your fingers hook around the trigger guard. You hear a faint whisper.
“Please…”
Gunshot rings in your ears for another second, despite the earmuffs in your helmet.
“Fuck! Fuck…I’m so sorry…I’m sorry.” It all came crashing down on you in one moment. You wouldn’t feel guilty if it was the enemy, you wouldn’t care. He was an enemy now, so why do you feel so guilty, why is it starting to corrode and eat you alive even more? Your palms cover the profusely bleeding gunshot wound, going through his neck and cranium, hot blood pouring out with impossible speed, staining your hands, gear, and skin. Staining your whole being. How could you do something like this? Shadows are family. Killing an unarmed man who’s pleading for his life?
You’re no better than Graves.
The gunshot alerts the Shadows and they start scurrying around on the street. You have no time to mourn Kruk or search for your rifle in the dark, so you yank your handgun out of his hands which only started succumbing to rigor mortis, and sprint out the backdoor, desperately attempting to get away. You can feel your heartbeat booming in your ears, wet hair sticking to the nape of your neck, as you hear distant commotion and a chase stirring behind you, as you dart inside another building and run through the hallways, searching for a way out.
Back on the street, rain droplets are so cold that it feels like they’re splitting your skin open, you can barely feel the pain in your ankle from adrenaline pumping through your blood flow. You start slipping on the slick pavement, but you still refuse to stop, diving inside another doorway. Your head hurts, your lungs feel like they are about to explode, and you think you stepped into a puddle of someone’s blood. No time to ram through the locked door, so you jumped out of the second-story window and landed on your foot, twisting it in the process and swallowing the sob that welled up in your throat. You needed to move.
That bought you some time to get up and dip into the dark alleyway before you heard the loud footsteps approaching the window that you used to escape. You let out a heavy exhale, propping your back against the cold stone. You’re not completely safe, but…that’s better than nothing. The commotion of shadows quiets down and you hear it become more and more distant with each second.
After a moment of silence, you continue moving, albeit slowly, trying to get used to the hot pulsing in your leg, that shot up right through your nerves with each step you tried to take. You wince and whine in pain, dragging your leg behind, grabbing at the moist stone walls, clinging to them for any sort of support. However, it’s not much of a help.
Your escape is cut short when your legs finally give out, causing you to stumble and fall while crossing the church garden. Although it probably looked magical in the daylight, right now it was far from it, the smell of metal and smoke still lacing the darkness. You already feel your ankle swelling and some bruises forming under all your gear. You see the lights on the exterior of the church blend into the ribbon of lights and shadows and the thought crosses your mind. You can hide there.
You almost fly up the stairs despite the hurting leg, fumbling with the door for a second, before it creaks open. You shuffle inside with light steps and close the door behind you as quietly as you can. Your knees tremble as you slide down the cold wall and crawl further inside the building, barely feeling any strength left in you. God, you are so drained. Strained gasps are ripped out of your throat every second. You want nothing more than to lie down right there in this church and just let the darkness overtake you in a peaceful slumber. That would be so easy.
Your calm moment is interrupted by someone yanking you up on your feet, to which you let out a surprised yelp. You can’t see the person, but you can feel their hands tugging on your gear roughly and dragging you somewhere. It takes you a second to weigh your pretty limited options given the fact it’s so dark that you are barely able to make out your surroundings. So, you decide to take this fight head on and your heavy boot comes down right on their foot, which prompts the person to grunt, revealing a pretty low male voice, and let go of you.
You tear out from his grasp and almost tumble down to the church floor, bunching up dust with your loud, uneven footsteps. Your back is hunched as you look up at the dark figure from under your eyebrows, ready to deflect any blows if he decides to attack first. You stay silent, feeling like a cornered animal in his presence, small, feeble. Weak. Of course, you were at a disadvantage here, taking a beating, running from Shadows, twisting your ankle, and losing your rifle certainly didn’t help your chances to win, but you were ready to claw your way out of here with your bare hands, breaking your nails and skinning your hands if you had to.
But any punches or kicks you try to land the man easily deflects or blocks, not trying to attack or overpower you however, opting to just take up the defensive position in the fight. Which is, admittedly, a lot easier than taking the offensive one. Maybe he was aiming to exhaust you and then, when you are at your lowest point, he would attack. That seemed like a solid tactic, but you don’t want to let that happen. However, before you can think of anything you end up rolling with the man on the floor. You can hear him huff in frustration and exertion, the wood pressing harshly against your ribs and all the bruises on your lower body pulsing with pain.
After some struggle, however, you managed to tackle the man to the ground, pressing him down to the floor with your weight. Your hands snaked their way onto his neck as you glared at him, resisting the urge to bare your teeth akin to a stray, abused, and betrayed dog, crawling with fleas and parasites. Choking him out obviously wasn’t a nice thing to do, but you were trying to send a message here, that if you continue being followed, you will use your strength. If violence was the only language Shadows understood (and that’s who you believe the man was) then you were ready to become fluent.
“I swear, I’ll fucking kill you!” You press him into the floor harder, hands squeezing the man’s throat, your vision going blurry. You feel his hands grasp at your wrists, but he does not resist. Why is he not trying to shake you off? Why is he letting you choke him like this? Why is he not fighting back?
“Let go, Bug.” The man’s voice is strained, but familiar, he whispers through his closed jaw. You can hear the way his throat tenses up, or his Adam’s apple bobs under your thick gloves, the warmth of his skin, and the moisture that seeped into the mask. Mask. More light falls through the window thanks to the momentary flicker of the streetlight. Skull. Eight lines on his chin, two on the forehead. Dark brown eyes.
Your hands shoot up like his neck is on fire. Guilt settles in your gut and your throat, pulling you in like you’re some puppet with no free will. You try to get up from the man’s midsection but tumble down on your side from trying to do it too quickly. It’s Ghost. How the hell did you not recognize Ghost?
“I’m sorry. I’m not…myself right now.” You were now sitting on the floor, palms resting on your face, wet from the rain, skin burning up, either trying to regulate the temperature or from all the exertion. Either way, it didn’t matter right now.
“Yeah, you made it pretty obvious.” Ghost coughs, trying to shake off your attempt to cut off his air circulation just seconds ago, as he gets up from his lying position. “At least now I know you’ve got a good grip.” He lets out a deep chuckle which only earns him an eyebrow raise from you. He was joking at a time like this? Must’ve hit his head pretty hard too.
“I could’ve choked you. Why did you not fight back more?” You were royally confused about that. He could’ve stopped the fight before it even began and avoided some bruises along with the sore neck if he just told you who he was or fought back. But he didn’t.
Ghost wants to say something, but stops himself right after opening his mouth. You see it in the way he looks at you. The pause stretches for an endless amount of time and you feel your skin crawling with anxiety while his eyes study your face.
“I was going easy on ya.” Ghost says in a rather blunt manner, which didn’t answer that many of your questions. Well, if he was going easy, he should’ve been at least going at you, which wasn’t true – you saw him only defending himself and blocking some of your blows. Did he?.. Was he trying not to hurt you? Okay, the more you thought about it, the wilder it sounded. Maybe you should just drop it. “I don’t suppose you came here to wash your sins away.” You want to scoff from the bad taste. “Lil’ birdie told me you ditched the Shadows. Any particular reason why?” The man inquires, turning to you. Sitting like this on the floor with him felt unusual, like some sort of weird church sleepover. Give Ghost a minute and he’ll bring you some ice cream so you two can watch some wacky TV shows together.
“Did your little birdie also tell you that Graves is hunting me down too?” You ask while pulling your drenched mask over your face. It brought some comfort and familiarity that were gone the moment you spoke to your CO in that living room. And, well, it would be awkward if Ghost was the only one in the mask.
“I guessed by the gunshots, some racket, and a horde of Shadows taking a night run through the neighborhood close by.” The man chuckles and you feel your face burn up in embarrassment under your mask. You try not to let it show, however. You knew that it wasn’t a very sleek move that you pulled with Kruk, but you were desperate and you didn’t need motherfucking Ghost telling you it was stupid.
“You’re just hilarious. Is that how you became a lieutenant, by cracking jokes left and right?” You roll your eyes and hope he won’t notice it in the darkness. This banter was pointless, you knew it but…you needed it. It was not easy losing something familiar, so you desperately wanted to feel that camaraderie you experienced in the Shadows.
“You’ll find out once you’re a lieutenant yourself.” And Ghost indulges you. Which, you are thankful for. Isn’t such a scary guy after all, huh?
“Yeah, if I’m alive long enough.” You scoff at his concealed attempt to comfort and reassure you, but you can’t help that warm feeling in your chest. Weird.
“Well, you’ve already surpassed my expectations by staying alive until now.” The man stands up from the floor with a low grunt, pressing an arm around his midsection, right around where you might’ve pinned him to the floor with your body. “Let’s make sure it lasts, eh?” He extends a gloved hand toward you in an open, inviting gesture. Your eyes trail over his huge figure and land on specks of light in his eyes.
His eye black is all smudged and messy.
You have to shake off the sudden thought, observation too close and intimate for your liking, as you grab him by the forearm, trying to ignore the way your skin burns up when you feel his warmth through his gear. Ghost pulls you up to your feet, but doesn’t let go of your arm once you’re up. You don’t let go either. The silence rings in your ears. God, he’s so warm.
“Are you like a human furnace or something?” You joke to fill the excruciating silence. Which you immediately regret. You wish it wasn’t so dark so you could see just how his face stretched the fabric of a skull mask, which you clearly heard happen by a small shuffle very close to you. Who knows, maybe he cracked a smile?
“Why? Need someone to warm you up at night?” Okay, this is terrible and stupid, and so damn corny, and why do you feel your cheeks grow hot and breath get stuck in your chest? Maybe that’s just how awful his jokes are. Ghost clears his throat and reluctantly lets go of your forearm, fingers still clinging to your sleeve as he pulls himself away too quickly for it to be something nonchalant or casual.
“So, are you answering my question, or do I have to use torture?” Fucking hell, his jokes are morbid. You almost forgot in those several hours you haven’t interacted with him. Although that would be quite hard, he leaves quite an impression, after all.
“Well, I suppose you’ve seen the…the civilians?” You can’t call them anything besides that. To call them corpses is to take away from their whole being. To call them dead would just be a lie. They were still alive in the walls of their homes, in the memories of their breathing relatives and friends, and in the pictures, their traces are everywhere. Ghost silently nods to your question, prompting you to continue. “Then here’s your reason.” You didn’t want to explain your feelings in great detail. And you didn’t feel the need to; you saw the compassion in his eyes. “Plus, the whole thing with the Los Vaqueros base.” If you saw Ghost’s face now you’d note how the expression darkened in a single moment. However, you do feel the temperature in the room fall several degrees lower, so you decide to joke again. “Pay wasn’t that good anyway, so…”
“Fair enough.” The man chuckles while rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll keep an eye on you though. Don’t think you can just waltz in here like this and be completely trusted.” Well, that’s understandable. If you were him you wouldn’t trust yourself either. Although you did hope that the mercy you’ve shown him earlier would influence his decision making. At least a little bit. “And you better toss that thing. Or else.” He points to the radio, still strapped to your tactical vest. You unclasp the device, detaching the small microphone that was holding on by a thread, and hand it to Ghost.
“You’re welcome to get rid of it for me.” And he doesn’t waste any time, dropping the radio on the ground, stomping on it so hard that the sound of it breaking echoes through the church. You assess the scraps of wires and plastic on the floor with a pitiful gaze, coming to a conclusion that you wouldn’t want to end up under Ghost’s boot. Or maybe you would, but under different circumstances. “Well, that’s…effective.”
“You good with the sniper rifle?” The man ignores your previous remark, immediately firing back with the question.
“Decent.” You were a lot better in close quarters and preferred a more hands-on approach. But a sniper rifle wasn’t that bad. As long as he doesn’t ask you to use it without a scope.
“You’re on the lookout with me then. Don’t screw it up.”
Oh, you’re absolutely not going to.
check out my masterlist or send me a request!
a/n – first of all, thank you for reading this fic, and if you enjoyed it, consider dropping me a comment, i’ll really appreciate it! SECOND OF ALL. I’M NOT A GRAVES HATER, DON’T COME @ ME. segment with him also was written before the campaign release, so in case there are some inaccuracies with the plot/his character – let me know, so I can fix it. all of this is a huge rework of the series that I started but never posted. Originally, it was supposed to be Graves x Reader, but for multiple reasons, moral mostly, it didn’t quite sit right with me. So instead of letting 6k words first part that I’ve written and abandoned go to waste, I decided to remake it into something else here, based on the idea of @mockerycrow (ily you have such a big brain)! so yeah, that’s it for now!
#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty mwii#call of duty x reader#cod mwii#ghost x reader#modern warfare ii#cod#mw2022#mw2 2022#simon ghost riley x gn!reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#mw2 ghost#ghost mw2#ghost#ghost cod#simon riley x gn!reader#ghost angst#simon riley angst
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Mine is Yours
Written for @corrodedcoffinfest
Day #23 - Prompt: Up And Coming | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Pairing: None | Tags: Fluff, good Uncle Wayne, good nephew Eddie, the Munsons
It’s been a year since Eddie’s been home.
He pulls up outside the trailer in Forest Hills. Wayne’s truck is more beat to shit than he remembers, but the thing was on its last legs when he left for Indy in ‘87. Theres gaffer tape holding up the rusting rear bumper, and the tires are near bald.
He let’s himself inside, careful not to wake Wayne; the one blessing that came from all the shit of 1986 was that the government gave them a double wide and the old man finally got a bedroom again. That was the one thing Eddie could never quite shake the shame of, especially when he was a high school senior seemingly unable to graduate. He’s hoping today’s visit will make up for it a little.
He takes his sneakers off, new ones he only bought a few weeks ago, lines them up neatly next to Wayne’s work boots, then heads into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He had an early start, and what with the flight from LA (a flight!) and the drive from Indy, he’s aching for sleep.
He takes his coffee over to the couch, the red pleather one they picked up for a steal (because it was ugly as shit, Robin had said), puts his feet up and closes his eyes. Just for a minute.
“—die. Eddie. Hey, rise and shine.”
He wakes with a gasp, wisps of a memory, of leathery skin and tails and razor teeth.
“Wayne?”
“There he is.” Wayne straightens up, back cracking as he does. “You never said you were coming, or am I going senile?”
“Both,” Eddie says around a yawn.
Wayne sticks his hand in Eddie’s curls, ruffling them gently. “If you want breakfast and a place to stay, be nice.”
Eddie rolls off the couch, giving Wayne a hug before following him into the kitchen, perching himself on a stool to watch as Wayne sets about making them breakfast at five in the afternoon.
“Is everything okay? Not that I’m not happy to see you, just a long way to drive for a catch up.”
Eddie grins. “Actually, I flew.”
“Flew?” He whistles. “My boy, the rockstar.”
They sit at the table together, bacon, eggs and toast laid out in front of them, Wayne catching him up on the comings and goings of the plant and Forest Hills; old Rose Hannigan still being a nosey bitch as usual, and Dougie has a new dog and god the damn thing won’t stop barking during the day. It’s nice. It’s so different from LA, so small in the best way, and even though his relationship with home, with Hawkins, is so complex, cut through with slithers of painful memories, he misses it. He does. It doesn’t make all that much sense.
Or is it just Wayne he misses? The man who loved him and protected him when his father couldn’t (wouldn’t). The man who gave him everything and more, who was working himself to an early grave to look after a boy that wasn’t his own.
Eddie grabs his bag from the floor and slides the white envelope out, still neat and crisp. He pushes it across the table.
“What’s this?”
Eddie huffs a laugh. “Open it and find out.”
He gets a raised eyebrow back for his trouble, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Wayne. Doesn’t want to miss this.
Wayne grumbles about envelopes being too sticky these days and then he pulls out the slip of paper tucked inside and comes to a stop.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s a check, Uncle Wayne.”
He shoots Eddie a scowl. “I can see it’s a check. Where— I don’t understand.”
Eddie fold his arms on the table in front of him. “The album is selling. It’s doing good, actually. We’re big in Germany, the UK, I think we’re doing pretty good in Japan too. You know I wrote most of those songs, right?”
Wayne gives him a little nod.
“Well I got a nice royalty check for that. Just came through a few weeks ago.” He gestures at the paper in Wayne’s hands. “And this is for you.”
“Eddie this is… Jesus Christ. Ten thousand dollars? You can’t be serious?”
And Eddie is full on smiling now, grinning ear to ear. “I got thirty thousand.” He laughs. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Eddie, I can’t take this.”
“You can and you’re gonna.” He’s deadly serious now. “These come quarterly, this one’s the second. They’re getting bigger. Sales are growing, so, there’s more coming. And even if there wasn’t, doesn’t matter. I want you to have this—“
“No—“
“Wayne—“
“No!“
“Jesus Christ, you stubborn old fart. I have money now, which means we have money now. I’m not in LA busting my ass for me, I’m doing it for us! And this is the start. That truck should have been put out to pasture before I started high school. You’ve never had a vacation. I’ve never seen you spend a dollar on yourself.”
“Never needed anything.”
“How about wanting? You get to want, Wayne. You deserve to want. And how about not having to worry where the money’s coming from when the roof leaks, or the boiler breaks? I don’t want you to have to worry anymore.”
Wayne shakes his head, but the fight is leaving him. “Ed…” he says, a little choked. He reaches his hand across the table and Eddie grabs it.
“I love you, old man. I want you to have this. Please?”
“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that? Even before this,” he waves the check in the air. “I’ve always been proud of you.”
“I know. So, you going to take it? Get a new fucking truck?”
Eddie can see the pride on his uncle’s face, but he doesn’t need to; he’s always known. Always felt it.
Wayne squeezes Eddie’s hand, still looking a little shell shocked but smiling. Happy.
“Reckon I might.”
#corrodedcoffinfest#corroded coffin fic#eddie munson#wayne munson#good uncle wayne#good nephew Eddie#stranger things#the munsons#Fluff
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