#i also like to think that wild creatures also want to have a name so when he's just chilling in the sea there are random fish coming to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellethespaceunicorn · 2 months

Text

The Howling in Claw Creek Forest, Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Marked By The Wolf

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors – DNI

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader

Word Count: ~4.8K (ya waited extra-long; ya get an extra-long chapter)

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true.

Chapter Summary: It’s the night of the full moon. The plan? Invite Sy over to the cabin to keep an eye on him in case he shifts. WCGW?

Warnings: verbal fight, angst

A/N: Thank you for being patient with me, guys! And I see y’all reblogging the masterlist for the series. And I thank you so much for keeping this story alive! A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this. Cuz ya girl was struggling with this chapter for many moons.

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Over the next day or so, you get to know Jace. You’d learned his full first name, but “only ko’u makuahine calls me Jason”. Growing up in Hawaii shaped the man he is today, and he misses home a lot. But with Walter in his pack, and being Faye’s godfather, he’s made his own little family.

For a while, it seems like he may be flirting with you. But that quickly fades into something else. You’re only mildly upset when he refers to you as kaikuahine. Firstly, because you had no idea what it meant. Secondly, because when you found out it meant ‘sister’, you had to remind yourself that you have a perfectly great werewolf boyfriend of your own already.

‘Calm down, girl,’ you thought, thinking of your eager beaver.

Walter notices the way your demeanor changes and takes your hand, leading you upstairs. Your confusion only amuses Jace, who seems to know something you don’t. Once you make it into Walter’s bedroom, you are spun against the door. He attacks your neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive flesh until you tangle your fingers in his chestnut curls. Your mind reels, wondering what’s gotten into him.

And then it hits you.

He’s…jealous!

Oh, this is too good. That’s twice tonight that he’s been struck with jealousy. Earlier with Sy’s thirst trap and now with your flirtatious nature. You are beyond flattered, but you refuse to let this man get too far gone. With your hand in his hair, you tighten your fingers and pry him from your neck.

Once his face is in front of yours, you notice his wild eyes where black replaces blue. He looks ready to eat you, and as much as you would like that, you decide to try and calm the beast within.

“Walter, baby? I need you to calm down for a sec,” you beg, both hands tangling in his hair to soothe his soul, “Come on back to me, baby.”

Blinking once, then twice, his eyes finally focus on you, and the trance is gone. His giant paws rush to your face and then to the tender skin of your neck where his teeth were grazing. He winces when you grimace at the feel of his thumb on your sore flesh.

“Pup, I am so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I was−”

“Jealous?” you supply, already knowing what this was.

“I can’t help it. I haven’t felt this way in a long time. It’s jealousy, sure. But it feels deeper than that. I felt the need to mark you as mine. You’re sort of a natural flirt, you know that?” he probes, a soft smile on his face.

“Well, I mean, I can see that. I guess I’ve never really thought about it. No one has ever brought it up,” you explain, looking back on all the times that men thought you were flirting with them but were just being nice.

“Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to make sure that Jace knew you were taken. He has an effect on women,” he expresses, “But it seems he only sees you as a sister, so I don’t have to worry about you two riding off into the sunset, now do I?”

“Wow, that was kinda bitchy. But also, incredibly hot that you thought I could be influenced by another big pretty werewolf,” you tease, leaning up on your tippy toes to place a kiss on the end of his nose before pushing back from the door so you could open it and leave.

“You think he’s pretty?” Walter shouts after you.

You laugh, swiftly jogging down the stairs to find an equally amused Jace sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, perfectly at home.

Trying to keep yourself from feeling embarrassed, you plop down next to him on the couch. While you are snuggling into his side, he chuckles and jokes that you should watch out for “the big, bad wolf”. Just as the words leave his mouth, Walter appears on the other side of you, having leapt over the couch. You’re officially squeezed in between the two large wolves, and you suddenly feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Between the warmth radiating from both men, the way they commented on the Forged in Fire episode playing in the background, and the long day finally catching up with you, you had no choice but to fall asleep. You remember leaning your head against Jace’s beefy shoulder after he splayed both arms along the back of the couch. At some point during the night, you awake to find yourself sprawled across both of their laps. Your head is in Walter’s lap and your blanket-covered feet are shoved under Jace’s thigh.

The television screen asking if you’re still watching illuminates the faces of the snoring wolves at either side of you. Walter’s hand on your shoulder twitches as he feels you shifting. Shuffling your ankles, Jace sleepily readjusts to give you room before lowering his thigh back over your feet. All of this was done while they were asleep as if it was second nature to want to keep you safe and warm.

And you weren’t going to complain about being in a literal wolf pile. Instead, you snuggle into your blanket and let yourself drift off again.

When you awaken, the mid-morning sun is flooding through the windows. You’re still on the couch, but no longer surrounded by your wolf-shaped furnaces. Getting up from the couch, you wrap the blanket around your shoulders and go in search of coffee.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you brush past where Walter is plating some waffles. You make it to the coffee machine and pour yourself a cup, adding in your sugar and cream and stirring it until it hits that perfect shade. Taking that first sip is nirvana. As the temperature of the hot beverage slides down your throat, you are warmed from the inside out. Now, you can officially say you have woken up.

You turn around to lean against the counter and are surprised to see both wolves looking at you and smiling. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. Just we were trying to get your attention, but I see Walter was right about you loving java. You have your priorities straight, is all,” Jace winks at you before sipping his coffee.

Walter chuckles and shoves a plateful of waffles, bacon, and eggs to one of the empty seats and nods for you to eat. “Don’t worry, Pup. I think it’s cute that you need your morning fuel before intelligent social interaction.”

“Thanks, Wolfie,” you hum, leaning in to peck him on the cheek before sitting down to tuck into your plate.

“And the nicknames are elevating my sugar levels as we speak,” Jace teases, expertly catching the waffle that Walter throws his way.

“Look, Jace and I have an idea. We just need you to put the pieces in motion,” Walter begins, explaining the plan to you while you eat. You stayed mostly silent, letting him lay everything out.

Jace pops in here and there with a few tweaks when he sees you start to feel a bit overwhelmed, “If at any time you feel uncomfortable, don’t hesitate. We’re there in case anything happens.”

“I guess I have a call to make. Oh, and do you fellas think you can go grocery shopping? I need a few things if I wanna make sure I have enough to feed all of you,” you lament, factoring in that Sy used to eat you out of house and home on multiple occasions. Might as well have too much than too little. You give Wolfie and Jace your shopping list and head upstairs to shower and make a very important phone call.

Early evening rolls in and you are relishing the smell of your pot roast with vegetables simmering as it permeates the first floor of the house. Wolfie has been at your side for most of the afternoon and even now because you’ve been like a chicken with your head cut off, anxious nerves making you fuss over every little thing.

And he couldn’t blame you for being on high alert. He did ask you to invite over your ex-fiancé during a full moon, under the guise of getting together for a football game, so that he and Jace could find out if Sy is a werewolf. ‘A simple plan,’ said no one in this situation.

Olivia was invited over to help you set up and possibly help you with cooking. But alas, fair Olivia has found her Prince Charming in Jace. And just as Walter said, he does have an effect on women. You have to stop and giggle to yourself as she throws her head back in laughter and touches his arm, her signature move. Great, those two can swoon each other all night while you try and keep the peace between a wolf and a hard place.

The roast was not going to cook any faster with you standing over the crock pot, so you step away from the kitchen and join the others as they sit in the living room. Jace and Liv sit on the couch as Walter sits in one of the loungers. Just as you sit down to rest your bones in the other chair, you notice the guys exchanging a look.

You hear the rumble of Sy’s old pickup and your heart drops into your stomach. You shoot up from your seat and adjust your turtleneck dress that hugs your body like a glove before walking to the front door. You step outside as Sy is pulling into the driveway. Swallowing your apprehension, you walk across the lawn to meet him.

Smiling as he exits his truck, Sy wraps you up in a bear hug. When he lifts you off the ground, you squeak, and he just laughs before putting you back down. You get a whiff of him, and you feel an instant urge to bury your nose in his neck, or his perfectly trimmed beard. Fighting that urge, you playfully swat at Sy’s meaty, flannel-clad bicep and try not to stare at his veiny forearms.

The man always had great arms; you would have complimented him on them once upon a time. But that was a long time ago, and even though you wanted to devour him where he stood, you weren’t about to let him know that. His head was big enough without you adding your horniness to it.

He steps to the truck bed and reaches a hand in to pick up a case of your favorite beer. He seems pretty pleased with himself and not at all nervous about meeting your new boyfriend. You should’ve known better than to think he would miss the opportunity to annoy your current beau.

You lead him inside where he immediately sniffs the air and exclaims, “Oh, my God! Please tell me that is your pot roast.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and nervously reply, “Um, yeah. It’s probably just about done if you want some.”

“If I want some? Of course, it’s my favorite meal,” Sy earnestly comments, and you can’t help but bashfully thank him.

A throat is cleared, and Walter appears at your side, planting a nuzzling kiss on your neck as he snakes an arm around you, making you giggle.

“Walter, this is Sy. Sy, this is Walter, my boyfriend,” you introduce them, smiling to yourself as they offer a hand for a handshake and exchange pleasantries.

“Pleasure ta meetcha, Walter.” “Likewise, Sy.”

They were still shaking each other’s hands until you realized they were having a staring contest.

“Seriously?!” you gripe, equally mad at both of them, “You’re both grown men, right?” You push through their still-joined hands and go into the kitchen.

Olivia rises from the couch and admonishes them as well, “Good going, guys,” as she follows you into the kitchen.

“What?” they say in unison, looking at the only other man in the room. Jace shakes his head, looking between the two of them and taking a pull off his beer.

Walter walks into the kitchen, already apologizing as he approaches where you are sitting at the table. He takes your hand in his and holds it against his chest. It’s less what he says, and more of how he says it. He sounds genuine and he means every word. You peck him on the cheek, forgiving him. Olivia makes sure to tease you about how cute you two are.

Sy saunters in once Walter exits, placing the case of beer on the kitchen counter before opening it, removing two bottles, and handing one to you. Clinking the neck of his bottle against yours, he uncaps his and takes and takes a long pull. Taking a long look at you, he leans back and surveys your level of anger, trying to assess exactly how mad you are.

“Walter seems nice,” he starts in that fatherly tone that always gets a smile out of you.

You shake your head and laugh despite yourself wanting to be mad at him. “You know, he actually is very nice. Just give him a chance to surprise you before you hate his guts, ok? That’s all I ask.”

“Oh, is that all? Easy peasy lemon squeezy,” he grumbles, pouting for a second. “Look, I’ll be on my best behavior like Church on Sunday if I can get some of that pot roast.” He turns those blue topaz eyes on you, and you’re putty in his hands, suddenly wishing Liv wasn’t in the room to watch that little moment.

You rise from your seat, dishing out some of the roast and potatoes and carrots onto a plate for Sy, and place it in front of him. You light up when he closes his eyes at the first bite. His groan of satisfaction is more than enough to signal that you did a great job. But the pat he gives your knee is so warm and so intimate that your muscles instantly react to his touch, wishing it lingered for a second more.

“Liv, can Sy and I have a second to talk?” you plead, hoping that she would give you some space.

“Sure. I’ll just go back to fawning over Jace. He’s so pretty I wanna cry,” she professes, patting your shoulder as she exits the kitchen.

Your eyes follow Olivia as she leaves, and then they snap back to where Sy is sitting smiling at you. And you know this particular smile well.

“Sy, why are you smiling at me like that? You said you would be on your best behavior and that smile is not your best behavior,” you sigh, rolling your eyes, “I know that smile got me to do a lot of things back in the day.”

“A lot of fun things come to mind,” he murmurs, bringing his beer up to his lips to drain before rising to get another and lean on the counter, “But that is not why I’m here tonight. Don’t worry, I’m only here to make sure my favorite girl’s being taken care of. I will be a perfect gentleman, even to yer old man.”

Rising from your seat, you finally open your beer and stand next to him. Taking a sip, you bump his shoulder with yours. “One question I have for you. Why did you agree to come over? I mean, you could have hung up the phone or cursed me out when I asked you over to spend time with me. At my boyfriend’s cabin. In the woods. Just saying that now makes me wonder what was going through your head.”

“Not gonna lie, I loved seeing you the other day. Even though you weren’t exactly pleased to see me, you still told me to be careful out there in the woods. Look, I like having you in my life. If that means I have you as a friend, it’s much better than not having you at all,” he confesses, and your world shatters around you when you look up into his eyes and see his sincerity.

You open your mouth to speak but the words won’t take shape and you’re left looking for the answer in his face. The eyes you got lost in a million times before. The lips you kissed every chance you got. Standing this close, you can breathe each other’s breath. If you only stood on your tippy-toes and leaned in, you’d be right−

“Am I interrupting something?” Olivia’s voice snaps you back to reality and you put some space between you and Sy. She walks in between you two to grab another beer. She gives Sy a look before turning her attention to you, “Your boyfriend’s wondering where you are, bee-tee-dubs.” She throws out her arm, gesturing for you to lead the way back to the living room instead of finishing your conversation. You miss her giving Sy another pointed stare before following you out.

The night goes on as planned, at first. You all watch a college football game, Walter’s alma mater vs their rivals, who just happen to be Sy’s alma mater. You and Sy met after college, and he mentioned having played lacrosse, but he’s never shown interest in football. Until tonight, of course.

It’s been a long time since you and Sy spent time together, but you know his temperament. And he’s off. He doesn’t look like himself either, as if he’s covering up something. With the way that Walter and Jace keep sharing looks, you see he is on their radar as well.

Olivia and Jace occupy the two loungers, so you are sitting in between Walter and Sy on the couch. How lucky! You’re in the perfect spot to listen to Sy rooting loudly for his team and making snide comments all because he doesn’t wanna sit next to you and your new boyfriend.

Walter, on the other hand, is quiet for the most part but trembling with anger. He’s letting Sy get to him, and you can’t stand it anymore. You’re suddenly jealous of Olivia who fell asleep halfway into the game.

You unwrap yourself from around Walter and turn to Sy. “Kitchen. Now.”

He doesn’t answer and mutely follows you, taken aback when you turn on him once you’re both in the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing? You are being such an ass. I’m trying to hold out an olive branch, but you are not meeting me in the middle, Sy,” you snap, feeling like you could spit fire.

“And why did you even invite me? To parade your new man all over me? I thought maybe we could try and be friends, but now I see all you wanna do is remind me that I wasn’t good enough for you,” Sy erupts, his voice booming and full of rage.

“That’s not fair,” you gasp.

“All’s fair in love, Bug,” he cautions, sweat starting to drip down his forehead, “Look, I’m gonna go before either of us says something we’ll regret.” He turns and storms out of the kitchen before you can step any closer to him, but you are on his tail when he steps out of the front door.

You reach him, putting your hand on his shoulder as you try to stop him. He turns back to you, his eyes closed in a pained expression. His skin is flushed as he rips open his flannel, making it easier for you to see his Adonis belt just above his jeans. The bite mark is nowhere to be seen, having already healed. When he starts to hyperventilate, you try to soothe him by calling his name. Fast as lightning, Walter appears between you and Sy.

“Sy, you have to try and stay calm. You aren’t making this easy on yourself. Let it happen,” Walter holds his hands out, showing he means no harm as he tries to step closer to Sy. Walter starts to shift after removing his sweater and jeans.

“Back off, man,” Sy warns, feeling like he could explode with the heat beneath his skin.

“You can do this, just open your eyes,” Walter replies, before his mouth becomes a snout and talking is impossible.

But when Sy finally opens his eyes, they start to glow. His neck twists at a freakish angle, the sounds of bones crunching has you terrified. Reddish-brown fur sprouts out of his skin as his hands stretch into clawed paws. His confused screams are horrifying. Jace’s booming voice is talking over his cries, talking him through the transformation.

Doubling over, Sy grunts in agony as he falls on all fours. Letting out a howl, his jeans fall away as he transforms for the first time. You scream, taking a step back when he sniffs the air and he takes one step toward you.

Sy paces back and forth in front of Walter, seeming to weigh his options. Walter’s wolf form stands an inch or two taller than Sy as he puts distance between you and the new wolf.

Just as the tension is insurmountable, a throat is cleared, and you all look to see Jace standing in the driveway. Nonchalant, but his eyes keenly take in the scene in front of him as he nods at Walter. Olivia is at Jace’s side, dumbfounded by what she is witnessing. When she notices that rumbling sound coming from Jace is him growling, she throws away fear in place of curiosity.

The two wolves are kicking dust up with their feet, squaring off until Jace steps a bit closer to back up his brother. Sy had a chance of maybe beating Walter. But a new wolf up against two bonded brother wolves? No way in hell.

You step in between the three of them. Holding out your hands, you plead with them not to fight. Walter’s nose nudges at your legs and he huffs in Sy’s face. Walter shifts back, picking up his jeans to put back on, and crossing his arms across his massive chest.

Walter and Jace move closer to Sy as he snarls at them until he sees you, clinging to Olivia. Tears fall from your eyes and something inside of Sy breaks. Looking to you, he can see the fear on your face and you wonder if that is what causes him to want to shift back into human form. The two brothers talk Sy down, telling him how to return to human form.

Once his bones have settled and the whining howls stop, Sy is in the fetal position on the lawn. Shivering, sweaty, and scared. His clothes are ruined, but you think you remember seeing a blanket in the truck bed earlier. You ask Olivia to get the blanket while you caress Sy’s face.

Once the blanket is around his middle, you accept help from Walter to lift him up. Sy uses his last ounce of energy to push Walter away.

Coming back to himself, Sy refocuses his anger on Walter. “This has nothing to do with you. Gonna need you to step aside,” Sy fumes, cranky from the changes he doesn’t understand he’s going through.

“That’s just not gonna happen. Maybe if you weren’t trying to move in on what’s mine, I’d be sorry for what I’ve done,” Walter seethes, “After all, I’m the one that bit you.”

You and Sy are both in a state of shock but for different reasons. Sy just found out werewolves are real, and your boyfriend just referred to you as “what’s his'.

“You did this to me?” Sy’s rage peaks.

“Hey, hey. Focus on my voice, come back. You don’t wanna do this,” you trail off as Sy calms down.

His irises are back to their brilliant blue and you can see recognition in them. He looks tired, but he is no worse for wear.

“Can we get outta here? Go someplace we can just…talk?” Sy insists.

You think for a second about how pissed you are at Walter for being extremely callous about turning Sy, not to mention talking about you as if you were a piece of property to be owned. You turn to look back at Walter before answering Sy.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you affirm, putting one of Sy’s arms around your neck to help him walk back to his truck.

You watch Jace stand in front of Walter to stop him from following after you. “Let her cool off, you did just kinda refer to her as ‘what’s mine’, and generally women don’t like that outside of the bedroom.”

Olivia steps over to Walter, putting a hand on his shoulder, her expression calm and collected. “He won’t hurt her. He cares too much about her to do that.”

You get into the driver’s seat after putting Sy in the passenger side, not allowing him to drive. You caution a glance at Walter, instantly regretting looking at his mournful face. Turning the car on, you back out of the driveway and drive out to Sy’s place.

As you drive there from muscle memory, you look over at Sy now and then. The streetlights of the town dash across his solemn face and bare chest as he sleeps. You almost don’t want to wake him when you make it to his house, he looks so peaceful and not like his life has been turned upside-down. You wake him with the back of your hand smoothing down his face. He grabs it, lost for a moment before he sees your face and where he is.

You help him get inside and suddenly feel exhausted as well. You loiter in the living room while he grabs a glass of water from the kitchen. You didn’t really plan how you were going to get back to Walter’s cabin tonight. And if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t want to go back tonight.

Sy comes back out, gulping down water from his glass while holding the blanket low around his middle.

“Is it okay if we wait to talk? I’m tired as hell. I’ll take the couch if that’s alright?” You ask, sitting down on the couch and starting to move the pillows.

“You’re not staying out here. You’re sleeping in the bedroom. I’ll take the couch. I’ll grab you something to sleep in,” he rattles on, moving to the bedroom as you stand from the couch and look at your feet.

Sy comes back out to the living room. He’s barefoot, shirtless, and in a pair of grey sweatpants. He just can’t help himself, you think.

“I left you a shirt and some shorts on the bed. Let me know if you need anything, alright?” he advises, using a hand on the small of your back to guide you to the bedroom.

You laugh when you see Sy left you his Mötley Crüe shirt. While putting on the shirt and the boxers, you look at the bed and you know that you don’t want to sleep alone. You don’t care that this will only further complicate your relationship, but you need to not be alone right now. Your bare feet pad across the wood floor as you go back out to the living room.

Sy hears you and picks his head up to look at you. “You alright, Bug?”

“I don’t wanna sleep alone. I know that’s probably−”

Sy was already up and ushering you back into the bedroom before you could finish your sentence. You pull back the covers so you both can climb in. You enter first and then he slides under the blanket next to you. He lays on his back, you on your side facing away from him. You wiggle your body backward until you come into contact with his warmth. You reach back for his arm and pull it around you.

“Is this okay?” you hesitate, suddenly afraid that you’re asking too much.

“Yeah. S’ok,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your neck. If he notices the shiver that goes down your spine, you’re grateful that he doesn’t mention it.

“Good night, Sy,” you murmur, yawning at the end of your sentence.

“G’night, Bug,” he breathes.

As you drift off to sleep, you think how different you imagined this day ending. You didn’t expect to be in your ex’s arms tonight instead of Walter’s. But you did expect to be in a werewolf’s embrace. Sy’s breath evens out behind you, the rising and falling of his chest against your back is enough to lull you into a peaceful slumber.

To be continued...

A/N: I would love to know what you think of this chapter!

**Tag List**

@deandoesthingstome @cakesandtom @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @sweetandgentlecreature @foxyjwls007 @art2emily @titty-teetee @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @milknhonies @peyton-warren @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @cardierreh15 @viking-raider @imaslutforcuddles @ilovetaquitosmmmm @warriormirkwood @shellyshellshell @calwitch @meanlilbean @samahenoyrhye @openup-yourmind @juliaorpll78 @princessaxoxo @toooldforobsessions @carrie80reads @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @evansabove1981 @used-to-be-bourbonwithice @hannah9921 @mayloma @inlovewith-books @fluffy-little-demon @caramariehurst @jvanilly @livisss @sofiebstar @posiemax

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁 If your name is crossed out, I couldn't tag you.

159 notes · View notes

kobb4ni2 · 4 months

Text

[ FEM SEA SERPENT! READER + YANDERE KING DRABBLE ]

TW: Alot of blood mentioned, and drunk kissing (not sober so that's bad >:v), SPOILERS FOR KING'S REAL NAME, and implied s3x

I feel like King would be incredibly touchy only to you. King has been deprived of physical touch or any kind of affection, how can he? When he spend most of his days being a lab rat for Vegapunk. King can't even imagine touching someone so affectionately yet when you slowly broke down his walls and how you capture his heart raw, and the many days (aka everyday) he wanted you only to his side, how he wants to hold you close, skin pressed against him tight, he knows the goo goo eyes he notices from other people whenever both of you are hanging out (aka stalking).

Oh how he despise it. If every dead body he had killed because of his fires he could be making a forest a burning one to be exact, but he dares to never even let a single drop of blood be in his rugged up hands when he caress your tail, or your hands.

You've always taught that King only liked to be near you and even touch your tail because he wants you to talk more about his extinct race and if you want stop talking he will make you you by using the fires of his back but how wrong you were. You carefully unravelled him, like a tightly tuned shamisen, your words, touches, voice are like your hand carefully playing with heart like a talented maestro yet when you keep on strumming his feelings you failed to realized the blood dripping out of your fingers when doing so. King's swords is not only covered in the blood of his enemies, or even thinks to be near you but your name also carved in his sword.

He doesn't care about the height difference you guys have, even if your are in your smallest from (16'9) he will always find a way to feel you whole.

May it's the way you make him feel small when you look at him, or how your tail wrap around his waist, maybe the times he allowed you to touch his wings and how much he tried his best not to kiss you when you get near his face, he wants to taste your colored lips and let his face be full of your lipstick stain.

Depravity makes a man or any creature kind, and was that true for Alber when he was under you drunkingly kiss his neck while you hold him up, Alber wants you you maybe one day he can kiss you deeply and passionately after a wild hunt of sheading blood in your name as a infant baby with brown skin, with black feathers that were on your arms as Alber holds the other infant baby that has the same brown skin as his but a tail longer then it's entire body just like their mother.

How I make the yandere character act at my fanfics :3 (NO ONE CAN STOP ME)

(Random tiktok of the day:3)

#making this while listening to tear me apary by she wants revenge was the best thing EVER.#hehe. smex. (anya face)#katakuri punching the air rn SORRY KATAKURI UR NEXT I PROMISE U #KING IS JUST TAKING OVER MY NUTRONS #Sea Serpent! Reader #READ THE FIRST SEA SERPENT READER FIRST TO GET SOME CONTEXT!#one piece #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #one piece x reader #yandere one piece #yandere op #yandere one piece x reader #king the wildfire #king x reader #king #king the congregation

152 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 6 months

Text

I'm on Fire

biker!eddie x fem!artist!reader

Part 17: A creature of love, I can't be tamed

masterlist playlist

18+ONLY, series typical violence, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex with someone other than Eddie and reader, hate-fucking (consensual), oral (m receiving), sexual harassment, biker!steve, biker!billy, protective!eddie, rocker!nancy

word count: 6.4k

songs: I Hate Myself for Loving You by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, Wild Child by W.A.S.P. and Cinnamon Girl by Type O Negative

The second half of your first night back at the Velvet Hammer heats up with Eddie on stage, Charlene on the premises with Billy, and Steve working through his emotions in a moment of carnal desire.

authors note: It has felt so good to get back to writing this story, I missed our biker boys so much. It will probably be another week or two until the next part, but you won't have to wait too long. Thank you for your patience, I love you.

There came the sound of shrill feedback from the stage, and the drummer twisted his stick around his fingers before clapping the high hat. You took your break and met Eddie over by the carpeted hallway. The two of you huddled together, out of view from the front half of the bar, including Charlene and Billy.

“What’s Steve going to do?” You hushed, feeling the familiar anxiety rise inside of you that someone might get hurt again.

“Nothing for now,” Eddie exhaled. You put your hand on his chest, and he held it there. “You let me worry about Steve and Charlene, you have enough to do. I won’t let anything go sideways in here tonight.”

You told him about what you’d just learned from Shana, about Charlene being part owner of the Velvet Hammer, and he gave a slow blink, dragging out a long, ragged breath. “Why does that not surprise me,” you could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning. “She can’t have this place, it’s ours,” he growled, walking you down the hall and clanking open the heavy metal back door to the alley.

“But,” you started. Eddie pulled a pack of smokes out of his front pocket and sparked a flame from his zippo to light the end. “Isn’t it too late for that? It sounds like she already took it?”

You held two fingers like you were making a peace sign for Eddie to pass you a smoke and he raised his eyebrow at you curiously. You gave a nod, answering his unspoken question, and he put a second one between his lips to light it for you before passing it over.

You took a tiny drag and coughed smoke out of your nose at first, but then the second inhale was smoother. Thanks to so many nights at the Hammer, your throat and lungs were sufficiently coated with tar and ready for the challenge.

The other owner of the Hammer was a well known real estate investor and builder named Murray Bauman, and he was a friend of the MC. They’d done several “jobs” for him over the years that were clean by MC standards, but dirty enough to ruin his reputation if they came to light. Murray was also notoriously unfriendly with the Gregson’s, and Eddie wondered how much Charlene had paid, and what kind of scandal she’d dug up on Stephen, to make him give up his share like that.

Eddie tilted his head back, exposing his throat, to take a long, thoughtful drag, looking up at the clear sky that was blinking full of stars. “I wish I could go back in time before I ever met Charlene, and avoid her at all costs.”

“I don’t know,” you looked down and kicked the heel of your shoe against your toe. “She’s awfully determined. I think she would’ve found you anyway. Plus, I don’t think it’s you she wants anymore.”

“I feel responsible though,” Eddie muttered, blowing smoke out through tight lips. “For everything that’s happened to the people around me because of her.”

The sound of Nancy saying something into the mic, followed by the crowd cheering, came muffled through the door, and you really wanted to change the subject, to pull him out of his dark thoughts. “I’d love to see you play tonight,” you told him right before both of your cherries glowed orange at the same time in the dark.

“I don’t have my guitar here,” he stated the obvious, sucking his tongue on the roof on a sharp inhale, angling his head back to blow smoke up while keeping his eyes on you. “But I might sing one or two with her. Just for you.”

“You can sing too?” Your eyes got wide like a little kid watching the twinkling lights on a Christmas tree.

“Hi, baby, have we met?” He scoffed, slipping his bottom lip through his teeth to repress a grin, and then he winked at you and smashed his smoke on the brick wall before throwing it in the dumpster. He caught you by the hips and pulled you flush to him. “I mean, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

—--------

Back on his stool, Steve rolled a toothpick between his lips while he scanned the crowd, and did his best not to look over at Billy and Charlene. He wasn’t sure what was eating at him more; the fact that she had the nerve to show up after everything, or that she was there with Billy.

The crew from Lucifer’s Own were known for doing the dirty deeds no other MC would touch. They ran a high-end escort service on the outskirts of town, and did a lot of blow and opiate smuggling over the border. It was also a front for an underground fighting ring that was dirty and rigged, and sometimes, the fools who participated ended up with broken bones, or had their lights turned out completely.

Billy Hargrove and Steve went way back, and they’d actually been friendly acquaintances for a while back in high school, until Billy had pursued a girl Steve liked at the time just to piss him off. Also, to prove to Steve that he could take whoever he wanted. “Nothing wrong with a little competition, right, Harrington?” Is that what this was? Was Billy escorting Charlene around just to rub it in Steve’s face?

“Yeah, well, you can have her,” Steve mumbled to himself under his breath, thoughts racing so fast that he was starting to talk to himself, head bent to work the end of the toothpick with his fingers. “Good luck with that one, buddy, you’ll need it.”

There was more feedback from the speakers. “Hey there Hawkins, who is ready to rock?” Nancy purred into the microphone, one hand gripping the fretboard of her guitar before she slung the strap around her body. People shouted and cheered, and there were a few high-pitched whistles of encouragement.

The bassist with the band looked like a younger version of Eddie, but with a mane of black hair that was thick with tight curls, and the drummer had a black goatee and long, straight hair way past his shoulders. The backup guitarist looked like he was cut right out of the James Hetfeild playbook.

“We’re gonna start out with a little something familiar to get y’all warmed up,” Nancy said into the mic. “This one is called I Hate Myself for Loving You.”

The crowd roared, pounding their fists on the tables. Nancy said a countdown before she began a slow clap to the beat and the drums kicked in, deep bass vibrating in the walls.

When Steve looked up, he saw Charlene making her way across the room, either for the payphone or the restrooms, and Steve straightened up, wondering if he should say something to her. He went up to the bar and patted Thumper on his broad back, asking him to watch the door for a few minutes. Thumper was three beers and several shots in, but was not yet showing any signs of inebriation. He fisted a handful of his graying beard and told Steve it was no problem.

“Midnight, gettin' uptight, where are you?

You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two

I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you…”

He followed but he hung back, hiding in the crowd until he saw her go into one of the bathrooms. When you and Eddie came out from the alley, you found Steve leaning against the wall that was heavily papered in band flyers, next to the payphone.

Eddie was walking behind you,his hands firm on your hips, moving his legs in time with yours. You both came to a halt at the sight of Steve, and you had to shove off, back to work, but Eddie took your hand to kiss your knuckles before you walked away.

“Everything cool?” Eddie asked his friend, checking around to make sure no chaos had ensued while he’d been outside with you. There was a huge crowd there, packed in like sardines. All of the tables and bar stools were occupied, and plenty of people were taking advantage of the standing room only, blocking most of the walkways.

“I’m not sure yet, man,” Steve put his head back against the wall, Adam’s apple jutting out. “But I’ll let you know.”

“I called Van and told him to get over here with Devlin,” Eddie let him know. “Just in case more of Lucifer’s Own try to cause trouble.”

Steve only nodded, absently, his eyes twitching to the bathroom door every so often. Eddie clapped Steve a few times on the arm before turning to watch the band as he pushed his way through the crowd. Nancy made her fingers into devil horns in the air at him and Eddie returned the gesture, raising his arm high.

“I think of you every night and day

You took my heart and you took my pride away…”

The crowd was stomping their feet to the rhythm and belting out the chorus. Nancy detached the mic from the stand to make her way across the stage.

The second Steve saw the door open, he took long strides across the hallway to keep Charlene from exiting, pushing her back inside the single-person bathroom. She did not protest as he braced the door and locked it behind him, turning to face her with a tight jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Char?”

“What do you think I’m doing here?” She hushed it, dropping her gaze as if suddenly she was afraid to look at him. “I missed you.”

“Jesus Christ, Charlene, you need to stop.” He rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated. “I’m sorry for how I treated you at the hotel, but this needs to end.”

“But what if I don’t want to stop?” She closed in on him, lifting her hands to hold his face, but he blocked the effort, restraining her at the wrists. “What if I want you so bad, it hurts?”

He met her eyes. “You miss me and you thought fucking Billy would be the answer?”

“We’re not fucking, it’s not like that with him. Not like it was with you.” She struggled a little in his grasp just so he would tighten his grip on her.

Steve scoffed. “You mean, not like it was with me and Eddie and your husband and every other dude you’ve spread your legs for in this town?” Steve wasn’t one to judge, not with the amount of pussy he’d run through over the years, but still, showing up with one of his rivals was a low blow.

Charlene slammed forward so that Steve’s back hit the door, her breath hot and urgent on his neck. “No one fills me up like you do. I need your cock to split me open one last time, Stevie, please.”

She sank to her knees, kissing down his chest as she went, and he let her, releasing her wrists so that she could make quick work of unbuttoning his Levi’s. She licked around his balls and nuzzled her face in the hair at the base of his thick shaft, making hungry gasps of need as she did so.

He hissed when the fat head of his cock sank into her mouth. “Juss…just one more time,” he groaned as she lapped him up. She hummed around his length and nodded, looking up at him, agreeing as her lips strained to take the measure of his girth.

“I know you’re angry, Steve,” she flicked her tongue out over the ridge a few times like a poisonous snake about to strike. “I want you to take it out on me.”

He fisted a handful of her hair, tight, so that he controlled the movements of her head, and it made her whimper with pleasure.

—------

The next song Divine Filth sang was an original, a real headbanger that had Nancy growling into the mic and jabbing her devil horn fingers in the air. The bass guitarist’s fingers strummed the keys while the drummer spun his sticks high in the air and caught them. You noticed that a few of the male patrons were choosing to go outside to take a piss, which meant there was another line at the bathrooms again, but you were too busy to go over and check out why.

While Erika was on her break, it was your responsibility to go over and check on Billy, since Jackie was working the other side of the room. Two more of the Coffin Kings had just arrived and Eddie was out in the parking lot having a talk with them, being that it was hard to have a conversation inside with the band playing.

You made your way over to Billy’s table, noticing that Charlene was nowhere to be found. One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin while he watched you approach, and you wondered if he knew who you were and who you belonged to. You also wondered if he gave a shit.

As you got closer, you noticed that he had a pronounced scar from his eye to his jaw, and he didn’t have a ton of tattoos like the other boys, but there was the word “mother” above a heart with a dagger through it just under the sleeve of his t-shirt on his bicep and a Lucifer’s Own insignia on his opposite forearm.

He was slouched down a bit in his seat, knees spread wide, voice raised to be heard over the music. “You must be War Machine’s old lady,” he gave you a lift of his chin.

“You are correct,” you said with your best customer service smile.

“Damn,” his hand made a cage around the pack of smokes on the table so he could pull it toward him. His eyes locked onto your face, unwavering. “That son of a bitch always had good taste.”

“If you say so,” you checked over your shoulder, expecting to see Eddie charging over with that dangerous scowl on his face, but he wasn’t inside yet. You cleared your throat. “Can I get you anything else?”

He ordered another beer for himself and a tequila for Charlene, even though you knew she was much more of a wine drinker.

“Just put it on Charlene’s tab,” he said with a wink, alluding to the fact that she was practically your boss now. “But this is for you,” and before you could reach for the 20 dollar bill he had in his hand, he was stuffing it into the waistband of your shorts, fingers grazing your bare skin, watching the discomfort wash over your face as he did so.

You turned on your heel without another word, bee-lining back to the bar, when Eddie stepped through the main door so abruptly, you almost crashed into him.

Devlin and Van moved around the two of you while Eddie put one hand on your lower back and the other cupped the back of your neck. “You okay, baby?” He mumbled, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You nodded, but then Eddie looked over in the direction you had just come and saw Billy there, flicking the flame on his lighter and watching the interaction between the two of you. You knew what Eddie was looking at by the way his body tensed. “Did Billy say something to you?”

“I had to wait on his table while Erika was on her break,” you were pulling your boyfriend away as you were talking, practically dragging him back to his seat at the bar. “Nothing happened, I’m fine. I just missed you.”

On stage, Nancy lit into a mean guitar solo.

“You sure?” Eddie’s stare was hard.

“Hey,” you grabbed Eddie’s face, making him look at you. “Baby, can’t you see? He wants to start trouble. Just ignore him. Please, for me.”

“Did he touch you?” His jaw muscles bulged and a dark fell over his brown eyes, making them almost black.

“No baby,” you hummed the lie. Eddie had quite a bit of common sense, more so than Steve when it came to affairs of the heart, but you knew that someone would get hurt if you told him about the way Billy had slid that money into your shorts. You had no doubt that Eddie could handle himself, but you didn’t want there to be any more fighting; everyone had already been through enough. Plus, Billy was not the first guy at the Hammer to overstep, and he wouldn’t be the last. Sadly, that was the nature of the work, you’d come to realize.

Eddie took a breath and lowered his forehead to yours, slotting his fingers around your ears so that his thumbs grazed your cheeks. “I’ll be good, sweetheart,” he promised.

Everyone clapped at the end of the song and then you heard Eddie’s name being said over the speakers.

“We’re lucky enough to have the frontman for Corroded Coffin here with us tonight,” Nancy started. “And he said he might get up here for a song or two. What do you say, Munson?”

The crowd went wild at that suggestion, and some even chanted his last name, punching fists into the air. Nancy motioned him on stage with a few scoops of her fingers.

“I guess I’m doing this,” he said, parting your lips with his tongue for a brief but firm kiss before he made his way to the stage. The James Hetfield guy was already taking off his guitar to hand it to Eddie before he could protest, and they clapped hands together in greeting. Your “old man” was adjusting the strap over his shoulder when he looked out over the sea of heads and caught your eye.

“I love you,” Eddie mouthed, taking the pic off of the chain that he had dangling around his neck.

—-------

Five minutes earlier, Steve had Charlene bent over the sink in the bathroom, jeans low on his hips, yanking her head back by the throat as he jackhammered himself inside of her.

“Tighter,” she whined, and his fingers closed in on her windpipe. He’d pushed her thong to the side and was spitting every so often so that he could watch it slide down her slit and mix with the frothing wet mess of her arousal where his cock sank into her. He didn’t need the saliva to lube his brutal pace, but he liked the idea of spitting on her, it helped him work through his hatred.

“God Steve, you’re so fucking good, fuckkk,” she dragged the last word out as hips clapped onto her with rapid, forceful grunts, making her whole body jerk each time he made contact.

He slowed the pace for a few thrusts so that he could spit again, and then he used his thumb to rub the saliva around the pink hole that tightened at his touch. He’d never been with a woman who had every inch of hair removed like her, she looked like some kind of porn star. He wanted to be in her ass one last time, but it felt too tight and warm where he was. He was close.

He let go of her throat and clutched her hips on either side in a way that would bruise, angling to finish himself off.

“You’re such a fucking whore for my cock,” he bit out. He wished she didn’t feel so fucking good. He wished that his disgust for her didn’t also turn him on in a way that made him uncomfortable.

Charlene’s eyes rolled back in her head, orgasm mounting rapidly as he buried himself base deep to a point where the line between pleasure and pain was blurred. She knew this was a farewell reminder, and it made her cry out his name.

“Fuck Steve, I’m cumming,” a few more pumps and she was exploding around his length, legs shaking at the way the wave crashed over her, making her see white.

“Get on your knees,” Steve told her, his hips stuttering. When she was down in front of him, he jerked himself the rest of the way off onto her outstretched tongue, ropes of cum painting her chin and dripping down to her cleavage. He made her lick the rest of him clean, and then she sucked her fingers.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah, hold your fucking horses,” Steve shouted, pulling his jeans up. He helped Charlene get her bodysuit back on and zipped up. He almost kissed her, but then he remembered who she was.

He checked himself in the mirror and slicked his hair back before letting her know she should wait a minute until after he was gone before she followed him out. She was cleaning the mascara that had leaked down her cheeks, and was about to apply more lipstick, when she caught his eyes on her in the reflection.

“What if I told you I had a gift for you?” Her expression was coy.

Steve sighed. “I don’t want anything from you, Char. This was it, I’m done, I mean it.”

She rolled the red lipstick out of its gold tube. “What if it was something that would change your life?”

He thought about that, wetting his lips. “Listen, we’re never gonna fuck again. I don’t care if you buy me a Ferrari.”

“Well, it’s better than a car,” she huffed a small laugh. “Let’s just call it a…parting gift. A way for me to say sorry for everything I put you and Eddie through.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and put his back against the door. “Yeah, well, if this is about to be some grande gesture from you, I’d like to know what the catch is.”

She turned to him, fixing the ends of her hair around her face. “No catch, not this time,” she took a step forward, holding her black clutch in one hand. “Listen, I know it sounds childish and stupid, but I think I…I think I fell in love with you.” She furrowed her brow as if the sentiment didn’t make sense to her, as if she’d never grasped the weight of the words before.

Steve couldn’t help himself, he rolled his eyes and barked a laugh, thoroughly amused.

“I can’t change the past,” she tried to push her chest out, to get her statuesque posture back. “But I can try to make it up to you. To both of you.”

“Yeah?” Steve gave her a bored shrug. “Personally, I think you’re way past the point of redemption.”

“Maybe,” she pressed her lips together and took hold of the door handle. “I guess we’ll see.”

—------

All of your attention was eyes front on Eddie as he leaned over to discuss something with Nancy, lengthening the strap on his guitar as he spoke. You barely noticed someone trying to make their way through the crowd until Steve bumped into your shoulder, making you sway on your feet.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he caught you and helped you find your balance. “I didn’t see you there.”

Steve looked…disheveled, and his face was flushed, as if he’d just run around the block. There were lines in his hair from raking his fingers through it so many times.

“You good?” You called after him, but all he offered was a “thumbs up” over his shoulder.

It was barely a minute before you caught sight of Charlene coming out of the hallway, following in his wake. She had a pink flush to the pale skin of her throat, almost a perfect handprint impression, and your brain was busy putting the pieces together when Nancy got back on the mic.

“This one is called Wild Child,” Nancy started on the guitar and people in the crowd got crazy again. The Hell’s Belle next to you whistled so loud, it almost blew your eardrum out. You weren’t too familiar with the band W.A.S.P. before Eddie, but you knew the song, and waited eagerly to hear his voice as he leaned in, moving his fingers along the strings.

“I ride, I ride the winds that bring the rain

A creature of love, and I can't be tamed

I want you, 'cause I'm gonna take your love from him

And I'll touch your face and hot burning skin

No, he'll never ever touch you like I do…”

He squeezed his eyes shut as he sang the first bit, hair hanging down his shoulders, muscles flexing under the ink that covered his forearms and hands. When his eyes opened, he found you in the crowd, and your heart swelled at the way he cracked a smile around the words at the sight of you.

“So look in my eyes and burn alive, the truth

I'm a wild child, come and love me

I want you…”

God, he was magic up there. He looked like a natural, holding that guitar in his hands, the way his fingers flew deftly to each note.

And he was all yours.

The chorus came and you sang the words, smiling so hard already, your cheeks hurt. You’d never known your eyes to “sparkle” like a cartoon before, but you felt like that’s what they were doing.

“My heart's in exile, I need you to touch me

'Cause I want what you do

I want you”

Someone grabbed your elbow, and you spun around to see who it was.

Jackie had a full tray in her hand, trying to balance it amidst the moving bodies. “Hey, are you on the floor right now? Don’t mean to be a bitch, but I need you. A table full of jarheads just showed up.”

“Oh shit, right,” you’d honestly forgot where you were for a moment, you’d been so caught up in that Munson Magic. You took another glance at the stage, wanting to catch Eddie’s eye, but he was looking down at his hands, concentrating on where they worked the guitar.

The table in your section that Jackie mentioned had seven guys in their mid-twenties sporting that type of “high and tight” haircut that you saw almost exclusively with members of military or law enforcement, and you took a deep breath, because you never knew what the vibe would be for those types of men who visited the Hammer. Either they’d be extremely polite like they just came from church, or they’d be vile and disrespectful.

“What’ll it be tonight, boys?” You asked, sidling up to their table. “Buy one pitcher of draft and get the next half off.”

They all turned to appraise you, not caring that the way their lewd stares locking on your body and tits made you uncomfortable.

“See, I told you,” the dark haired one said to the one in the red and white striped polo shirt. “The bitches here are super hot.”

You gulped, doing your best to restrain from looking as disgusted as you felt while they talked about you like you weren’t even there.

“How much for you to sit in my lap?” One of them asked.

“How much for you to suck me off?” One of them whispered, and the whole table guffawed into the type of laughter that was not warranted for something that was so not funny.

You checked over your shoulder for Steve, and he appeared to be escorting someone out who’d just been cut off. There was a bench outside, and he always had them wait there while he called a member of their family or a taxi to come pick them up. The guy was having a hard time getting his legs to work, and Steve had to practically carry him out.

You glanced up at the stage when the other song ended, and you could tell Eddie was searching for you, and so you stuck your hand up in the air to catch his attention.

“This one is for my girl,” he pushed hair out of his face and the sentiment made you freeze. A goofy grin stretched across your face and you let out an actual giggle. You were very familiar with the opening notes of Cinnamon Girl by Type O Negative.

“So, a pitcher of beer, then?” You asked, distracted, but in a much better mood than you were a few seconds ago. The guys at the table were too busy being crass to decide what they wanted to drink, so you chose for them. They agreed on the pitcher, and ordered a round of shots.

You kept your attention on Eddie as you made your way across the space, and your heart was in your throat at how proud you were to be his. His voice was deep and powerful, and it seemed like no one could pull their eyes away. The air was a bit humid inside, and you could see a sheen of sweat on his skin already glistening, bangs sticking to his forehead. He’d taken off his Coffin Kings cut and shirt, so he was up there in a ribbed, white tank of the Hanes variety, exposing the wash of dark tattoos over his shoulders and arm muscles that bulged from hours upon hours of manual labor.

“I want to live with a cinnamon girl

I could be happy the rest of my life with her

A dreamer of pictures, I run in the night

You see us together, chase the moonlight…”

At the bar, you considered letting Van and Devlin know that there were some guys there who might start trouble now that Steve was distracted, but then you remembered that you were the bad bitch who stabbed Craig in the balls and brought him to his knees—-you could handle a few young douchebags.

You gave Shana the drink order while Eddie’s deep voice bellowed, “my cinnamon girl, my cinnamon girl…” to the collective swooning of the crowd.

You waited on two other couples, lingering in the middle of the room so that you could see Eddie more clearly, dragging your feet before you had to return to the guys with the matching haircuts.

You took a cleansing breath and squared your shoulders before heading back. You tried not to be bothered by the way the dudes checked you out as you put the drinks down. When you were finished, the guy closest to you, with close-set eyes and a thick neck, ran his hand up the back of your leg.

“Hey,” your stare hardened on him and you stepped away, eyebrows pinching together. “No touching.”

The guys all snickered at that, as if it was so funny that they all knew they weren’t supposed to touch the staff, but they still got away with it.

“No he’s sorry, really,” said the tall, skinny one who hadn’t spoken up yet. His face was unreadable, you couldn’t tell if he was being a shitheel or not. The table fell silent for a beat. “But we would really like to know how much it would cost for handjobs, all around. Is there a group price for you girls?”

More idiotic cackling.

You turned to leave them, to go find Steve, to let him know you needed his assistance, but the one with the blonde hair and Limp Bizkit shirt caught you by the arm, digging his fingers in, and yanked you back so that his other hand could roam the curve of your ass. “Just a little feel, baby, we’ll tip good, I promise.”

You pushed him off and were just about to yell for Steve or Thumper when you saw the guy across the round table get his face smashed into the wood, so hard that blood splattered and you could hear the sick crack of breaking bone.

You were surprised to see Billy there, standing behind the one who was clutching his broken nose and wailing. He was smiling, cigarette bobbing between his lips. “I think you bozo’s should apologize to the lady.”

You hadn’t heard the music stop, didn’t realize that the commotion had drawn most of the attention to you.

In a flash, the guy in the Limp Bizkit shirt was ripped from his seat, and there was Eddie, picking him up by the throat to punch him across the face, sending him flying.

The impact made saliva and possibly a tooth go spitting from his mouth and you screamed at the shock of it.

“Eddie look out!” You shouted. The tall one was about to take a cheap shot at Eddie’s ribs while he sank another punch into the guy’s jaw, but you came down with your serving tray as hard as you could and nailed him.

“Holy shit,” Steve cursed when he stuck his head inside to see what the commotion was. Thumper was nowhere to be found, and Steve figured he was taking a piss. Starting brawls inside the Hammer was not protocol. Bouncers were always encouraged to take everything outside, but now it was too late.

“Get her out of here!” you heard Steve’s voice, he was talking to Devlin, and then you were being pulled back by cautious hands, away from the chaos.

One of the jarheads was just about to break a beer glass over Eddie’s head, but Billy showed up out of nowhere and kicked him in the back, sending the asshole flying right into Steve’s awaiting fist. The guy’s body crashed into a table, shattering glasses, and making the other patrons scatter.

“You better leave this one for me, Harrington,” Billy smiled and wiggled his tongue. “Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Billy was helping them, and that was a twist you hadn’t expected. Perhaps it wasn’t so much for them as for himself, since you could tell Billy had been looking for a fight all night.

Steve got one of the other guys in a choke hold and began to drag him outside. Billy made wide eyes at one of the leftover trouble makers and charged after him, making the guy shriek like he was about to pee his pants before running from the building.

While the one Eddie had been punched was babbling at the foot of unconsciousness on the ground, he took hold of the one with the close-set eyes and the thick neck who had rubbed your leg first.

Eddie had been watching, and quick to cut off before the end of the song to jump down from the stage in a blinding rage.

Devlin held you loosely by the arms, but you shook him off, and stood next to Shana and Erika, continuing to keep your distance for the sake of Eddie and Steve’s peace of mind, and wincing each time one of the other dudes took a hard hit from one of the Coffin Kings.

Eddie took the guy by the shirt and sent a punch into his stomach. Mister Thick Neck doubled over but then Eddie took him by the throat and slammed him into the nearest wall. Eddie had his fist winding back for a punch when Steve shouted his name to get his attention.

The rest of the dickheads had been escorted outside by a few Hell’s Belle’s, while the rest of the crowd kept their distance. You saw Charlene in the far corner, touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror, seemingly unphased by it all.

“Not in here,” Steve pleaded with Eddie, breathlessly. “Like you said.”

Eddie’s eyes were black and cold like that of a shark. His mouth trembled with the urge to actually bite into the guy’s face, to mutilate him with his bare teeth and make him beg for mercy.

Eddie banged the guy's body into the brick wall again, locking him there with his forearm. “Apologize to my girl,” he growled.

The buzz cut guy coughed and struggled, having a hard time breathing. “I don’t know who your girl is, man,” he was only able to squeak out a mild protest under the pressure of Eddie’s grip.

“Your waitress,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth.

The guy against the wall tried to turn his head to look for you, but Eddie squeezed his face. “You don’t get to look at her,” Eddie fumed. “Just say you’re sorry.”

Multiple desperate “sorry’s” followed, and then Eddie told Steve to get the guy’s wallet to take all of the cash out. A quick count said there was about a hundred bucks.

“That’ll be her tip,” Eddie announced, dragging him by the shirt collar to take him outside with the rest.

They were all told to empty their wallets of their cash, and Steve made a scene of noting the addresses on their driver’s licenses.

“I have a memory like a steel trap,” Steve lied, pointing to his temple, grabbing the guy in the red and white polo by the side of his neck, getting up in his face. “If you so much as walk by this place ever again, or tell the cops about this, you’ll see me in your nightmares. Now, get the fuck out of here before I call your mommies.”

You sank in next to Eddie’s side just outside the main entrance, and he put his arm around you. “Will things ever calm down around here?” You asked with a heavy sigh, watching the broken group scurry and limp away down the street.

Eddie gave a low laugh and hugged you a bit tighter. “God, I hope so, baby.”

Divine Filth started another song, to try and get things back to normal, and most of the crowd returned to their drinks as if there had not been actual bloodshed just five minutes ago.

No one but Shana heard the phone next to the cash register ring over the sound of the music, but after a few seconds, she shrugged by you and Eddie to stick her head out and scan the sidewalk.

"Steve?" She craned her neck to look for him.

"Yeah, that's me," he came from around the back side of the door, flicking his cigarette, knuckles split and bloody again.

"Some guy named Dustin called," she said, merely passing on a message. "He said Suzie just went into labor."

-----

Love love you all for cheering this story on, hope you enjoyed this one. Your thoughts and reblogs are appreciated and cherished.

-----

Taglist: @notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose

@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724

#I'm on Fire #Eddie munson fic #Eddie Munson series #biker!eddie #biker!steve #Stranger Things fic #Steve Harrington smut #biker au #90's au #Nancy Wheeler #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson fanfic #Spotify #protective!eddie #jealous!eddie

200 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 2 months

Text

Febuwhump Day 18

@nancyheart11 you asked me for a Twilight Whump for this one, so I did my best! He wasn't talking, but it's a little tastier with the spice of another perspective >:)

I hope you enjoy!

Rating: Gen

Wordcount:

Summary: They talked about wandering off alone, but that doesn't exactly stop certain people (AKA Twilight) from not doing it again. Maybe Warriors is taking it too personally, but Mask's pup is giving him a headache. He just wants all his little brothers safe in one place, is that too much to ask?

(Note: I have not proof written this. My apologies, but half my keys aren't working, so typos are probably there.)

They do not run off alone, they just don’t! It’s not so much a rule as something that everyone understands, so why in Hylia’s name is it still so hard for the others to actually do? Warriors resists the urge to hiss at himself; he is not Mask or Wild, he is not a feral little creature that can’t use his words, but by Hylia’s Wings does he wish he could get away with it sometimes!

They’d talked about this! Not at length, and yes, his opinions had been very quickly dismissed in favor of discussing the ability of their enemy to shapeshift, but he’d expressed his disapproval with running off alone in the middle of a battle!

But who really listens to him anyway?

No, the captain stops in his tracks for a moment to shake off that thought, that’s not fair. Most of the other heroes listen. For Wind it’s second nature, and Time too, most days, listens without thinking about it. Even as an adult, the other respects his experience in leadership and knowledge of fighting and working with others. Four, even for his faults when it comes to actually working with and not simply around other people, still hears him out when he speaks. Sky and Hyrule both respect him for his title of knight and the work he’d put in to earn it, and even Legend, who despises soldiers, will respect his decisions and follow the plans he’s set. Yes, there's some disconnect, which is to be expected when working with a new team of people that aren’t accustomed to each other just yet, but they’re trying. Most of them are trying.

Twilight and Wild are their own story.

The captain’s teeth saw against each other as he ducks through the underbrush, following the faint trail left by big paws and the even bigger tracks of a moblin. How can a person be so determined to keep others in line and behaving, to keep others in the group safe and obeying the rules, and yet they themselves trod all over them?

Granted, he is also currently separate from the group, wandering off alone, but he’s not the only one and everyone else knows what he’s doing. He’s tracking Twilight while the rest collect themselves and make camp. Wild had offered to do it, but after the last time, he just can’t trust the kid to actually come back; Wild’s proved where his loyalties lie, and it’s with the rancher, not their group. When asked to make the choice, they all know what it would be.

He told the champion to stay.

He doesn't know if he’ll be listened to, since that’s also the other point of struggle here, but he’s done all he can. He’s a good tracker, used to picking up the slightest sign of enemy activity, and his reasoning of being their current medic and thus the best choice in the case Twilight had gotten injured in some way, seems to be reason enough for most of the rest. There’s offers of course, to have someone go with him as backup, but looking over the tired men and boys in camp, he turns them all down. They need the rest, and time to recover from their own injuries and exhaustion. As a soldier, he’s been trained to push his limits, his exhaustion, his pain, his physical abilities, and ignore all barriers until his assignment is completed. The others may be heroes, ones who’ve faced odds that soldiers could never imagine, but they’re not likely to have experienced that sort of pressure and he wouldn’t want them to.

They need their rest. He can get his once his duty is done.

Now if only Twilight wouldn’t make it so hard by having wandered off to Nayru knows where!

A hand drags through his hair, disrupting it, but it doesn’t matter. Yes, there’s a small voice that hisses to fix it, one that sounds a bit like Proxi, but these heroes care even less for how he looks on any given day than for what he says.

Still being unfair, Link. They aren’t all bad. They’re good kids.

Sure, they’d probably all take offence at being called kids but that’s what they are! The youngest are very young and even Time, their eldest, still looks to him through force of habit for guidance and aid. At most, he’d say the oldest most of them could be is twenty, early twenties for the rancher and skyloftian, but that’s still young enough to still be tripping over themselves in an effort to understand adulthood. They are, in his mind, still kids, and they’re mostly good ones, so he really can’t go lumping them all together as not giving a darn when they very much do. Not about his looks, thank Hylia, but about what he has to say? Most definitely.

Again, it’s just Time’s pups who don’t.

Goddesses, they take after their old man to an extreme level! It feels like just yesterday he was chasing down the little scamp, explaining the importance of comradery, of trust, of teamwork. Just yesterday, he was tilting brilliant blue eyes up to meet tired ones and asking, nearly begging, for the kid to please just give his way a chance.

He sort of doubts such methods will work on his kid’s much older pup though.

Twilight and Wild are similar in that they are stubborn, but they’re also much older than Mask had been, and neither is desperate for the stability the young boy had sought. They have Tie and each otehr, their own little bubble, separate from the rest of the heroes, and while both have an obvious respect for his skill, that’s about where their respect for him ends. They don’t look up to him, don’t admire him, don’t see him as anything more than another hero in their group, which is nice as far as not needing to babysit them goes. He’s glad that they don’t need him to keep an eye on them, that they’re stable enough mentally and in their perception of themselves that they don’t need someone else to support them, and if they do, they’ve already found that in each other. Still, having even the smallest of ways to get through to either of them would be nice.

He’d thought that experience with the army would help connect him with the champion, that maybe a bond with Time could be something he could connect with the rancher about, but so far, no dice.

His feet skid slightly on some leaves, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. Right, he needs to find Twilight. He can worry about driving home the idea of not running off alone when he’s sure the other is still alive. Granted, they didn’t see the black lizalfoes, or anything they think might have been another form of the beast, in this last battle, but it doesn’t take the most powerful of monsters to lay a hero low, especially if they don’t have anyone to watch their backs.

The paw prints change to boot prints with the same seamlessness as they’d become paws at the beginning of the trail, and blood, crimson not black, spatters on the ground in an arc that indicates a swinging blade right where the moblin’s feet shift into a spin to face its pursuer. The trail of blood falls to the left of the trail, which means it could be delt by the left-handed hero or by the opposing monster, but considering the sudden turn, his money is on the rancher being the injured party here.

By habit, his hand falls to his bag, assuring himself he’s got his med kit close at hand.

By the three, these boys could save themselves so much pain if they just covered each others’ asses! Next time they get to the ranch or any place where they can stop for a little, he’s asking Time to help him arrange a training session for these kids. Maybe with their unofficial leader’s support, he can even get the two pups in on the session. As is, he’s sure Wind and four will be willing, and Sky will most definitely be his most valuable asset in teaching them. Good grief, whatever the Knights Academy on Skyloft is teaching, they're doing a great job, because that boy melds seamlessly in with whomever is closest to him!

That may or may not be why he keeps close to the skyloftian, but who can blame him for wanting the assurance of having someone to watch his back when he’s so busy trying to keep an eye on all the others all the time?

Twilight could have used the same, and blood specks along the trail as he goes. The steps become distorted, shuffling over each other in what’s clearly a break from the chase to fight. Here though, seven or eight paces from the initial blood spatter, more footprints join the mix. A bokoblin- no, two of them. The rancher’s steps disappear for a short moment, but with some looking around he finds them again. A flip or a throw landed him behind his foe, but he’s pushed back, heels dragging as they shuffle backwards into the woods as the enemy presses forwards against him.

More tracks join the mix; an ambush.

He grits his teeth, pushing forwards, ignoring, for the most part, the trail of the monsters in favor of following boot prints that press heavily to the dirt at the heel and toe, running, now pursued rather than the pursuer. The rancher will have known to try and limit the area of approach from his foes by darting into the trees. At best, he’d have circled around to pick them off from behind, but the prints don’t indicate as much. The speed of the different monster types will change have changed the tides of the fight though, with the bokoblins moving faster, prints fading out entirely as they likely fell and faded to miasma, leaving behind a moblin trail that continues, joined by more of its kind. He’d estimate at least three, maybe five of the creatures.

Not great odds for one already injured rancher.

He picks up his own pace. There’s no sounds of battle ahead or anywhere close by, not that he can hear. Granted, cannon fire in the war has definitely damaged his hearing enough that he could just be missing it, but he chooses to believe that there’s nothing, if only in the hope that Twilight will somehow be headed back along the trail towards him already, instead of being even further out, still in the middle of a fight.

He doesn’t stumble across the rancher walking along the path though. No, he follows the fight, the footprints, trailing through the trees until there’s nowhere else to go. A wall of earth, steep enough to be a struggle to climb for anyone currently being chased, rises up and the footprints spin about to face those following after. He doesn’t keep track after that though, because the moment he sees fur and brass armor that catches the fading light, he knows his search is done.

“There you are, rancher.”

The urge to steal Time’s thunder and call the other man a pup- not with the affection of the now older man but with all the ire of its original connotation among his own people, is strong, but he resists. That would be considered out of line without context, and he doubts Twilight even knows the source of the nickname he so values from his mentor.

Knowing it means a young person who’s annoying but not yet unbearable, yet, would probably kill some of that magic.

So, he bites his tongue, keeps his impulses to himself, and moves to the side of the younger man, who’s currently slumped against a tree, breath strained but still there as dark eyes, a shade or so darker than Time’s own, flutter slightly with an effort to stay open.

“Cap’n?”

Darker or not, there’s definitely a lot of Time- of Mask, in the rancher’s face, and it makes staying mad with him a bit of a challenge when he’s looking so pathetic. “Got yourself in quite the situation, haven’t you,” he hums, kneeling at the younger’s side and taking his time with a once over. The rancher’s tunic has taken damage, but his concern is where crimson leaks from the tears, not where blades have slashed through only to be halted by chain mail. Yes, the bruising won’t be fun, but his concern is something he can fix, anything that Twilight will actually need help with.

There’s a wince from the other. “Not my intent.”

“Never is,” he unclips the bag from his belt, eyes falling on a nasty looking gash just below the cut off of the chainmail’s sleeves. There are some light scratches over browned features and an injury to the leg that leaks slowly into the earth below, but the rancher’s armor looks to have done its job well.

“The others?”

“Fine.” He keeps his attention on slipping the bracer from his brother’s arm, on unbuckling and sliding away the leather, the underlying glove, and then rolling up the sleeve to get at the injury he needs to treat. Wound care fills his mind, not answers, not talking. That can come once he’s assured that the other is alright. Much as the man drives him mad, he’s still Time’s kid, and still a fellow hero, still a brother, still someone who doesn’t deserve to suffer just because he’s particularly good at being stupid and reckless.

“Wild?”

“Fine.” He repeats, sucking in his cheeks as he sees the damage done without fabric blocking the way. Claws do so much more damage than blades, and the chances of infection are higher too. Not as much as with bites, but it’s still not preferrable.

“The kids?”

He huffs, turning to grab for his kit, looking for anything he might have to quickly clean the wound. “You’d know if you didn’t run away mid battle.”

Hurt crosses sloping features briefly, not for the prodding at the wound site, but from his sharp tongue. Regret stirs briefly at his heart, but like his ire, he pushes it down to keep his head clear and his mind focused on his work as their team’s current medic.

“Yer upset.”

The urge to tell the kid ‘no shit’ is very strong, but he bottles up that too. Instead, he keeps his eyes on the wound, on wiping it down and looking for anything that might have gotten into the cut.

Twilight’s ears flick back, not appreciating having his words ignored. If there’s one thing the rancher is accustomed to, it’s answers when he speaks. Wild always answers, Time too even if it’s not verbal, and the younger ones always respond to. Being met with silence, both verbally and in body language, must be new to him. “Did somethin’ happen?” And when he still doesn't answer, “Wars, what’s goin’ on?”

“They’re fine, now hush.” It’s a deep cut. Not as bad as the axe wound, but not light by any means either, and it will need stitches. He keeps his needles in a bottle, clean and ready for use, for this reason. Mask used to fuss that it was a waste of a good bottle, and the thought lightens his heart just slightly as he pulls it out and grabs the needed supplies to close the wound in the rancher’s arm.

“No, Wars-” there’s a straining from the body beneath his hands, but Twilight doesn’t successfully pull himself up, and his face flashes white for a moment before he slumps again. It seems the mighty rancher has spent all his strength in fighting alone, nothing left to use to so much as sit up by himself.

“Stay still,” he sighs, pushing down, entirely unnecessarily, against a shoulder. It’s for the sake of the man’s pride, he tells himself, to pretend to play along that twilight can get up on his own right now. “Let me work.”

Work and bottle up his frustrations enough that he can talk afterwards.

Twilight, however, has no such intentions of likewise staying silent. “Captain, what’s goin’ on?”

“I said stay still.”

“Are they hurt?” Blue eyes bleed worry, the same desperation his mentor used to let slip, sometimes still does when it’s his pup in trouble or hurt. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you actin’ like this then?”

The urge to growl again rises, and again he shoves it down with pursed lips and clenched teeth, focusing his energy on starting the stitches and hoping the pain of them will be enough to distract the younger man from his line of questioning. It doesn’t work though.

“Wars?”

“Twilight,” his voice snaps without his allowing it, eyes flicking up to meet midnight blue, “I’m trying to focus. Stitches aren’t easy, believe it or not.”

They’re familiar and he’s done more stitches in his life through human flesh and zora scales than his baby sisters have in their needlework projects that Maither gives them. He won’t admit that though, not if it gives him an out from having to talk. Honestly, some days, he really misses having Proxi around to speak for him when he’s stressed. She was always much better at that sort of thing than he was.

Twilight falls quiet at his words though, but he still feels those eyes fixed on him, searching his face even as their gaze is broken with a flinch or a huff of pain as the needle pressed through flesh and pulls the two edges of the cut together. He has to stop a few times to dab away blood and clear the area for the next stitch, but he’s quick about his work. In and out, twisting the thread together to close the wound, moving on to the next stitch and watching as the flesh pulls together again over where blood leaks out.

He's done before he’s ready to talk again, but bandaging is something they’ve all done, and he can’t say that actually takes so much focus as to stop him talking, and Twilight knows it, already pressing again with the questions. “Wars-”

A scoff escapes, puffing hair out of his eyes to clear them, even though having it to hide behind would be much more preferable. “You really are Time’s pup, aren’tcha?”

A tick. “What does that mean?”

He ties off the ends of the linen wrap, tight enough to hold but not so much as to cut off circulation. “You’re a worrier and a fuss pot.”

Heavy brows crease in answer, but Twilight doesn’t actually have a foot to stand on when it comes to opposing his words. Instead, the rancher just stares at him, waiting until Warriors turns his attention to the injured leg, arm finished.

It’s only once he’s gotten a start on treating the cut there (this time from a blade) that the rancher’s voice rises again, guarded and wary. “You’re mad at me,”

He doesn’t answer.

Rather than guess why, Twilight pushes ahead. “I couldn’t let that moblin escape. We don’t know what’s out here, and letting it terrorize a village jist wouldn’t do. You know that, Wars.” When there’s no answer though, the country accent keeps rolling, pitching slightly, straining. “There was a whole ‘nother camp out here, one that might have attacked us in the night!” And then, when still no answer sounds from his lips, “You would have done the same.”

“I would not.” He clips, snipping his thread and briefly glancing over at wide eyes. “I would have attended to my men and then pursued the enemy when we, as a team, were capable of doing so Wandering off on my own is what nearly lost us the war. So, as a rule, I won’t be doing that again unless I absolutely must.”

That shuts the rancher up, recognition dawning in midnight eyes that falter and fall as he turns his attention back to tending wounds.

There’s no more pushing done by either party, and it’s quiet as he works save the hisses and hitches of the younger man’s breath in pain as stitches are laid and bandages wrapped. That done though, the quite is almost overwhelming, even to him, and he finds himself sighing at it, crouching before his pup’s pup and resisting, with a lot of effort, the urge to hook a finger under the other's chin and lift that gaze to meet his own, like he’d done with his own kid what feels like only yesterday. Instead, he keeps his hands to himself, but gentles his gaze all the same. It’s not that hard, not when faced with familiar features drawn up in a soft scowl that, were it Mask, he’d teasingly call a pout. “I’m not mad,” a disbelieving look meets his own at the words, but he pushes his tone a bit firmer with the next ones. “I’m frustrated, but we can work over that later, preferably after we’ve all had dinner and some rest. For now, we should head back to the others, before your cub starts thinking we’ve dropped off the face of the world or something.”

A furrow forms between dark brows, too sharp teeth, wolf teeth he muses to himself, gnawing at the other's cheek lining. It’s a bad habit, and he’s sure the man knows it, but he doesn’t correct it. That’s not his place.

He can guess what’s troubling Twilight though. “Can you stand?”

A huff, a little smile that’s flustered enough he can guess the answer. “Not really.”

He knew it. He doesn’t hold it against the other though, instead, shifting to kneeling at the man’s side, shuffling about as he must before giving a waring of his intent. “I’ll carry you then.”

Alarm flashes clear as day over the rancher’s face. “Cap, I don’t-”

“I’m stronger than I look,” he assures, although it doesn’t seem to do any good. No doubt, twilight’s staring at his slighter frame and remembering his own bulk, but honestly, he’d served for years in the army. If he couldn’t haul an injured soldier any distance, he wouldn’t be worth the rupees he earns.

Getting Twilight up on his back with no help from the weakened rancher or anyone else is a bit of a mess, and there’s some slipping and struggle which the rancher no doubt sees as proof that this is no good, but despite protests, he keeps at it until the other is slung over his back. Twilight is heavy, much more so than the other boys would be, but it’s not his first time hauling an Ordonian to safety, and the bulk of his brother just means he moves a bit slower than he would otherwise.

Twilight’s grip around his neck is weaker than is ideal, but in the long run, it’s probably better that way, because it means his breath doesn't get cut off as he heads back to camp.

Like he said, once they’re there, when they’ve had something to eat, and probably after the rancher downs a potion from his cub’s bag, they’ll need to talk. This time, he will not accept having them change the subject or redirect. This time they will discuss going off alone.

After though. After they’ve had time to catch their breath. And he supposes, shaking his head, after Twilight wakes up again from the doze he’s apparently fallen into.

Good grief, the man even snores as loud as his mentor!

#asks and answers #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu twilight #febuwhump2024 #febuwhump #ketto writes #dad warriors #he is not ready to be a grandpa guys #but is very weak to the puppy children in this group #he will not admit it #but he is #yes i am referencing the update like a madwoman #it's free warriors and twi angst though!#can you blame me?

103 notes · View notes

sukinapan · 6 months

Note

honestly would be pretty interested in hearing about all of them, if thats alright

it's no problem o( ❛ᴗ❛ )o i like talking about this

for context, apart from making personal art i'm also an artist and character designer at Smarto Club, so I don't know if these count as OCs but i have posted art of them here: Haco from >Bubblegum Galaxy and Teacup from >Teacup.

you can check the steam pages on those games for more info if u like. i love all my characters but i don't usually make personal art of these two since i already do it as my job.

my newest Smarto Club character is a bit different since she's more in the style of what i'm doing personally so i want to make more art of her soon. her name is Abigail:

she's a kid who likes reading about bugs and catching them but she never hurts them : ) this is a short game in early development but it's about catching creatures called angels. it's got horrorish vibes but i don't think the end result will be full-out horror, since it's also kinda silly...

then there's Peklo, it's a game for which i created the whole concept and story but the plan is to develop it as a studio at Smarto Club. i wrote more context for it on this post, but for the characters, they're my favorites to make art about at the moment. the main ones are Kiku (the cat) and Mi (the bunny):

i recently created these human forms of them for fun but i'm not sure whether i'll establish them as canon or not... they're trapped in limbo/hell so there's space for them to have a past human form. they don't remember their lives but Kiku feels a deep sense of regret about things unkown to her and wants to break out of Peklo. Mi feels trapped in an eternal sadness, she longs to see the ocean, she can always hear it but has never been able to reach it.

the antagonist in Peklo is a frog entity called Guppy but i haven't really shown him outside of his froggy logo

i also have OCs from my smaller games. there's Hlina that i created specifically for >this game that was commissioned to me for a zine. i don't have any plans to use her again for now but i might make more art of her in the future for fun. she's part of a strange dream realm and is hostile to the player:

there's iro from the >game with the same name who's my oldest game OC. i created that bitsy game for her story but she existed previously in my art degree final project, it was a version of the same story but just a section of it. it's a dream of mine to create a full-fledged 3D game for her some day.

she's a bit of a defective space exploration robot, sent to explore planetoid Iridium-3 in search of human contact. it's set in a future where humanity has dispersed among the whole galaxy so lots of groups have lost contact with each other.

my latest game OC is Michtat, a wizard cat that i created just for this silly zine.

lasty, there’s the characters from my comic that I’m working on, called The most distant planet. the main characters are Victor and Mitya, two 9 year olds whose families end up living together.

i'd say these are the dearest characters to me of all. i don't post as much of them because they're mostly in the shape of comic pages and it doesn't spark as much interest as my games. i love drawing them though.

they’re both little weirdos who isolate themselves and don’t fit in much with other children, so the friendship they develop is very special to them. they have almost opposite personalities where Victor (darker hair) is very shy and dorky but also very sweet to everyone, while Mitya mostly gives 0 fucks about what anyone thinks or says, he blurts out whatever he’s thinking and just wants to run around wild.

the story is mostly slice of life-ish but there’s also a science fiction element ^-^ Victor is obsessed with things like ghosts, aliens, etc but Mitya thinks it’s all just dumb tales.

another important character is Alyosha, Mitya’s 17-18yo brother. he doesn’t know how to talk or relate to his little brother and is kinda weirded out by him. they where very close when they were younger, but when Mitya was 2 he had an accident that Alyosha feels guilty about, and has been somehow different ever since.

he still worries about his little brother and how isolated he is, though. at the beginning of the story the two of them live alone with their grandma who does love them but has kind of a cold and distant personality.

Alyosha was the type of kid to be considered “gifted” but now feels completely burnt out and had to repeat a grade at school. he felt so humiliated by this he eventually stopped going entirely, so he now works part time and just studies at home. he cut contact with his old classmates but he still has 2 best friends from the last few months he spent at school in the grade below, Manon and Min Na. they’re the kind of friends who just show up unannounced at his house and job, and are very involved with his family’s life.

i’ve also included Min Jie in some art, she’s Min Na’s younger cousin and comes into the story later:

i should have like character sheets and stuff for all of these OCs but i’m the kind to just jump head first into drawing/modeling lol, that's why i included all these finished illustrations.

i really wanna publish this comic, i’ve been working on it for a long time and i’m currently waiting for the results of a public funding application here in my country to decide what i'll do next.

hope this could be of interest (^人^) thanks for the ask!

#me #my art #tmdp #peklo #info

242 notes · View notes

sapphicseasapphire · 2 months

Note

You said Twilight has nicknames for everyone. Can we please know what they are, I think that’s so adorable, ah.

Also, your cryptid au lives rent free in my head 24/7, I love it so much!

I had two people asking haha! Sorry!!!

So Twilight’s nicknames for the others will pretty much be comparing them to animals! (My guy really likes animals haha)

I originally had this idea because I wanted an excuse to call Sky “Skybird,” both as a reference to my fanfic but also because it’s wasted on that fanfic and is a name that should 100% be used here. So I thought! Perfect! Because he’s a bird! Following that formula of chosen name+related animal, it should be easy to come up with nicknames!

Sky? Bird.

Wind? Fish.

… yeah no that’s not happening.

I haven’t thought of all the nicknames yet, but here are some of my ideas!

Sky: Skybird, Feathers (for obvious reasons)

Hyrule: Firefly, Rulie (small glowing creature who’s also an arsonist)

Time: Old Man (Twilight respects Time too much to have a teasing nickname or anything super affectionate)

Ravio (eventually) : Bunny boy, Bunny, Bun, etc.

Wind: Kiddo, Pumpkin (in his Aquili form, Wind is bright orange)

Legend: Grumpy Gills (Wind calls him this too)

Wild: Bro I’m so tempted to still call him “Cub” but I don’t know

Four: ???

Warriors: ???

#the legend of zelda #chain as cryptids au #i answered question #I’m still working on this haha #cryptid sky #cryptid wind #cryptid warriors #cryptid time #cryptid Hyrule #cryptid legend #cryptid four #cryptid twilight #cryptid Wild #cryptid Ravio #links meet au

108 notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 1 month

Text

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | six

🐴Chapter summary: The wild horses are captivating creatures. You and Yoongi work together on gentling some of the wild horses, but when Jimin sees something that is truly harmless, but takes it the wrong way… well everything goes to shit. 🐴Chapter title: Wild Horses 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: hahahah, I’m sorry but we’re now approaching angst territory 🥲 This chapter is a lot about Yoongi, because he’s very important (as is almost every character in the story lol, but you’ll understand why later). And something happens that you’re probably gonna hate me for lol. I’m sorry in advance, but stuff has to happen this way for the good stuff to carry weight later (please trust the process!) ✨ 🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!) 🐴Word count: 11k 🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Wild Horses” by Natasha Bedingfield. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: this chapter was tough for me to write, mostly because of the angst. I’m not that good with that, but I’m really trying to do better with angst. Something happens in this chapter that I think you won’t like, but please remember that Jimin and reader are the main pairing and I have promised a happy ending, okay? There’s just gonna be some angst along the way lol, I’m preparing you now, so buckle up! I really hope you still like it! 💜

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

“Wild horses I want to be like you Throwing caution to the wind, I’ll run free too Wish I could recklessly love like I’m longing to I want to run with the wild horses Run with the wild horses” - ’Wild Horses’ by Natasha Bedingfield

As you race across the expansive field, the towering mountains providing a breathtaking backdrop, the thrill of galloping with the wind in your hair never fails to captivate you. En route to the Bell Ranch to speak with Yoongi, you grant Marshmallow the freedom to sprint at full gallop, hooves digging into the earth, creating a dust storm that billows in your wake.

Marshmallow’s powerful gallop sets the rhythm for your heart, the exhilaration of freedom courses through your veins. The wind becomes a playful dance partner, tousling your hair and causing it to cascade behind you, yet obediently secured under the brim of your trusty cowboy hat.

The expanse between the Bora Ranch and the guys’ territory proves surprisingly brief as always, and the vibrant landscape of their ranch unfolds before you.

Urging Marshmallow into a spirited gallop, you cover the ground swiftly, drawing nearer to the bustling yard. The rhythmic gallop propels you towards the lively scene in the yard, where Yoongi is engrossed in his work with a horse in a pen. As Marshmallow intuitively senses the approaching enclosure, his pace decelerates, and a soft whinny escapes him, signaling a seamless transition from a spirited gallop to a gentle, deliberate walk.

Bringing Marshmallow to a halt, you gracefully swing your leg over his back and plant your feet firmly on the ground. With practiced ease, you secure the reins, fastening them securely to the fence surrounding the pen where Yoongi is deeply engrossed in his work.

“Hey, Yoongi!” you call out with a bright smile, waving enthusiastically as you drape yourself over the fence, captivated by the sight of him completely absorbed and engrossed in his work.

He acknowledges you with a subtle nod, a gentle smile playing on his lips as a majestic brown horse gracefully circles him, moving with a natural grace, all without a halter to guide its steps.

You linger there, a silent observer to his craft. The rhythmic dance between Yoongi and the horse unfolds before you—the majestic creature, occasionally curious, edges closer to him, a testament to the unspoken bond between man and horse.

In a mesmerizing dance of trust and connection, the horse inches ever closer to Yoongi, a silent understanding weaving between them. The minutes pass, and you find yourself breathless as the magnificent creature, once wary, now stands still before him, its head bowed low in quiet reverence. The profound bond between man and horse unfolds before your eyes, leaving you spellbound by the unspoken language they share.

In a breathtaking display of trust, the horse tenderly presses its head against Yoongi’s chest, a profound connection resonating in the air. A deep exhale escapes the majestic creature, harmonizing with the gentle strokes of Yoongi’s hand as he caresses its forehead, forging a silent pact of understanding and companionship.

Mesmerized by the enchanting dance between Yoongi and the horse, you can’t help but release a soft “Wow.”

His ability to forge a profound connection with the majestic creature leaves you in awe, a silent yearning echoing within you, wishing you possessed such profound skills.

His eyes twinkle with a warm smile, a shared moment of understanding passing between you two. A gentle chuckle escapes his lips as he leads the horse effortlessly towards the gate, the majestic creature following his every step willingly, a testament to the remarkable bond they share. The word incredible echoes in your mind, witnessing Yoongi’s innate connection with these magnificent animals.

Breaking the serene atmosphere, he finally speaks when he reaches you, his voice carrying a subtle warmth, “Hi.”

With practiced ease, he opens the gate, guiding the horse out as if orchestrating a dance between man and horse.

As he strides past you, effortlessly guiding the brown horse toward the barn without a tether, he casually mentions, “I’ll be back in a moment.” Acknowledging him with a nod, you divert your attention to Marshmallow, tenderly patting his neck while observing Yoongi’s innate connection with the majestic creature.

With the horse comfortably settled in its stall, Yoongi strides back towards you, donning his cowboy hat and sturdy boots, a subtle swagger in his step that mirrors the newfound confidence you’ve gained since acquiring your own pair of boots.

Yoongi leans casually against the fence, his gaze meeting yours as he asks, “What’s up?”

Your eyes widen with fascination as you inquire, “Was that a wild horse?” Your curiosity about his intriguing line of work reflects in both your voice and expression.

His eyes light up with pride as he responds, “Yeah, I’ve been working on her for some time; she’s almost ready to become a stock horse.”

You join him in turning around, casting your eyes over the paddocks where the cattle graze, sharing in the satisfaction of a job well done.

“Why do you catch wild horses? I’ve been curious about that ever since Jimin mentioned it,” you ask, your words tumbling out a bit hastily. A touch of nerves lingers, although you can’t quite fathom why. After all, it’s just Yoongi.

He offers a slight smile. “They’re a menace,” he shrugs nonchalantly, and you shoot him a quizzical look. How can he label those magnificent creatures as anything other than beautiful?

He chuckles at your slightly frantic state. “For one, they have a knack for wreaking havoc on the property, and two, the stallions occasionally swoop in, daringly stealing our mares.”

You give him a nod, feigning understanding of the issue, yet deep down, you’re puzzled. Your sister has never shared this concern before. Could this be the reason they don’t let the wild horses roam freely?

“So we catch some of them and gentle them into reliable working horses,” he explains with an enigmatic gleam in his eyes, as if his gaze conceals something profound, yet elusive, leaving you intrigued but uncertain about the hidden depths.

“That’s fascinating. Do Jimin or Jungkook ever lend a hand with your wild horse endeavors?” you inquire, a lively grin accompanying your question as you pivot to affectionately pat Marshmallow once more.

“Ah, they’re usually tied up with their own stuff. Although, Hoseok does jump in from time to time,” he replies with a grin, and there’s a subtle flicker in his eyes when he mentions Hoseok.

“Too bad they’re busy, but I’ve been thinking, maybe I could lend a hand. It looks like a fascinating and enjoyable experience,” you offer with an eager smile, despite your lack of knowledge about wild horses and the process of taming them.

“You’re welcome to help me. We can even go for a ride right now and see if we can find the herd, just to look at them. No catching today,” he says, chuckling. As his warm brown eyes twinkle with an indescribable gleam, you feel a magnetic pull toward the upcoming adventure.

“Absolutely!” you exclaim with excitement, swiftly unfastening Marshmallow’s reins from the fence. You join Yoongi, walking in tandem towards the barn where he prepares a horse for the upcoming adventure. The air is charged with anticipation, and the rhythmic sounds of hooves echo the promise of a thrilling ride.

You stride into the barn with Marshmallow, the atmosphere filled with the earthy scent of hay and the distant sounds of horses. Observing Yoongi, you note his skilled selection of a brown horse adorned with a sleek black mane and tail. With fluid precision, he secures a saddle and bridle, effortlessly mounting the horse. His actions exude a quiet confidence, leaving you eager to embark on this equine adventure with him.

“Let’s go then,” he muses, a twinkle of anticipation in his eyes. You smoothly mount Marshmallow, ready to join him in a rhythmic trot around the expansive North paddock of the Bell Ranch.

The air carries the promise of adventure, and the rhythmic hoofbeats echo a harmonious melody, creating an atmosphere filled with the thrill of the unknown.

Atop the hill, you unleash your horses into a spirited gallop, immersing yourself in the breathtaking beauty of the land. The lush green grass stretches beneath you, while majestic hills and distant mountains paint a picturesque panorama. The rhythmic beat of hoofs kissing the grass orchestrates a symphony that resonates in your ears, and your heart dances with exhilaration, each thud echoing the thrill of the moment.

Allowing Yoongi to take the lead, you entrust him with setting the pace, confident in his knowledge of where the elusive herd of wild horses is likely to roam.

“This way. This is where I spotted them last,” he deftly guides his horse to the right, and you follow suit in a slow, measured gallop, the anticipation building with each stride.

After a bit more riding, you reach a clearing through some bushes, and there, before you, the herd of wild horses comes into view. They look absolutely magnificent and exude a magical aura that captures your breath.

They graze casually, and both you and Yoongi have brought your horses to a slow walk, now standing still, fully immersed in the captivating sight of the wild horses before you.

“They’re so beautiful,” you murmur in a hushed tone, captivated by the scene unfolding before you. Yoongi, sharing in the enchantment, nods silently with a smile gracing his lips.

Then, amidst the grazing herd, you catch sight of it—a pitch-black horse, its coat glistening like obsidian in the sunlight. Its eyes, as dark as the night, reflect an ethereal beauty. The sun’s rays play upon its sleek coat, turning it into a cosmic spectacle that leaves you in awe.

Wow, it’s beautiful.

An inexplicable yearning stirs within you, drawn to that singular horse. Amidst the entire herd, none captivates your attention like the majestic black horse.

“The black horse is absolutely stunning,” you murmur in a breathless voice, utterly mesmerized by its beauty.

“It is a stunning mare indeed,” he smiles and adds, “maybe we can catch it next time.”

You return his smile, uncertainty lingering within you. The notion of capturing such a majestic creature tugs at your conscience – after all, aren’t wild horses destined to roam the vast expanse of freedom?

As the sun sets on another day, you find yourself back at the Bell Ranch, ready to lend a hand to Yoongi’s tireless efforts in transforming wild spirits into reliable working companions.

It’s enthralling to observe his technique; he operates in silence, an oasis of calm, patiently anticipating the horse’s subtle cues, waiting for that moment when it chooses to connect with him willingly, without coercion.

“Do you want to come and try?” His unexpected question catches you off guard, but a nod of agreement escapes your lips. You gracefully climb over the fence into the pen where he’s immersed in his work, ready to try your hand at the artistry of connecting with these untamed creatures.

Your voice carries a hint of nervous excitement as you inquire, “What should I do?”

The untamed beauty of a wild horse gracefully circles the outer ring of the pen, seemingly oblivious to your presence, and you can’t help but feel a surge of anticipation for the challenge ahead.

As Yoongi imparts his wisdom, he stresses, “The key is earning the horse’s trust. You have to show it that you’re trustworthy.” Absorbing his words, you nod in agreement, ready to embark on the journey of building a connection with the wild creature before you.

“How?” you question, a spark of wonder in your eyes, acknowledging the challenge that lies within the seemingly simple yet profound advice.

“You just have to be consistent in your actions. Don’t let nerves or fear cloud your presence. Be calm, attentive, and just exist in the moment,” he imparts, a casual shrug underscoring the simplicity of his advice, though the weight of its truth lingers in the air.

You observe the horse gracefully navigating the pen, its pace gradually easing into a leisurely stroll.

“I believe in patience and presence. I dedicate substantial time to be with the horse, letting it get to know me, building trust,” he remarks, his gaze fixed on the horse. “There’s a considerable investment in time before I even think about introducing a saddle to the equation.”

Nodding in agreement, you consciously steady your heartbeat. His advice echoes in your mind, urging you to shed the lingering nervousness, and you make a conscious effort to dismiss the slight unease settling within.

As he imparts his wisdom, Yoongi gestures toward the chestnut horse leisurely strolling within the pen, a familiar presence from his earlier endeavors. “I prefer letting the horse choose to come to me, to form that crucial connection. Once it ’joins up,’ a silent understanding unfolds, a testament to the trust we’ve built. Only then do I progress to more intricate training,” he reveals, his eyes focused on the equine companion he’s guided through this intricate dance before.

“I’ve devoted considerable time to this mare,” Yoongi shares, casting a fond gaze at the equine companion that has shared in the nuances of their bond. “Even though she has joined up with me multiple times, I find solace in revisiting the fundamentals.” He gestures toward the mare, a living canvas of equine tranquility.

As you observe, the horse moves with an easy grace, its body language a symphony of relaxation and curiosity. At times, it directs a glance in your direction, an unspoken invitation to engage, before returning to a rhythmic exploration along the fence line.

The overall demeanor is one of serene calm, a testament to the enduring connection fostered through patient dedication.

Your eyes gleam with newfound understanding, a smile playing on your lips as you seek clarification. “So the secret is to patiently wait for the horse to come to you?”

He chuckles, his laughter carrying the warmth of shared wisdom. “Not much of a secret, but it all boils down to patience, trust, and a bit of loyalty,” he confesses.

You flash a smile his way. “So, how long does it typically take for you to work your magic and gentle a horse?”

He lifts his hat, running a hand through his silver hair before settling it back in place. “Each horse is a unique case, so I don’t measure success by the clock. Some might quickly ’join up’ with me, while others are more complex. Horses, like humans, have their distinct personalities.”

You nod in agreement, recognizing the intricate nature of horses, almost as complex as humans. A soft chuckle escapes you, appreciating the way Yoongi speaks of the wild horses, as if they’re cherished friends in his world.

Your gaze shifts to the brown mare, curiosity lighting up your eyes. “Since you’ve already ’joined up’ with this one, what’s the next step in her training?” you inquire, eager to delve deeper into the fascinating world of horse gentling.

His eyes gleam with anticipation as he outlines the next steps in the horse’s training journey. “After establishing trust, I’ll gradually introduce her to the ranch environment—ropes, familiar noises, and gear on her back through gentle massages,” he explains, his voice tinged with hope. “Once she’s comfortable, I’ll proceed to the saddle and bridle, paving the way for the ultimate test—riding. But only when I’m certain she’s fully prepared.”

As you observe the mare approaching, curiosity twinkling in her eyes, you can’t help but smile. “It sounds like quite a journey, but I sense it’s a rewarding one,” you remark, your voice filled with genuine curiosity and anticipation, mirroring the mare’s gradual approach.

His words resonate with a warmth that matches his infectious smile. “You gain a friend for life,” he shares, his gummy grin embodying the depth of connection forged through this intricate process.

As the mare inches closer, a magnetic connection pulls you both into a silent communion. You turn your head slightly toward Yoongi, watching in awe as the graceful creature approaches him, gently resting its head against his back.

A deep sigh escapes the mare, and with a deliberate nudge, it pushes Yoongi forward, creating an unspoken bond that transcends the boundaries between man and horse.

Chuckling softly, he remarks, “She’s feeling a bit playful,” and turns around to tenderly caress the brown mare’s forehead.

As laughter escapes you, you marvel at the scene unfolding before you— the horse nuzzling deeper into Yoongi’s embrace. The profound trust and loyalty displayed in that simple gesture brings a radiant smile to your face.

As the distant sound of hoofbeats serenades your ears, your attention subtly shifts towards the source. A thrilling anticipation grips you, and even before your eyes meet the approaching spectacle, an instinctive certainty tells you—the wild horses are drawing near.

In their untamed grace, those wild horses emerge on the horizon, a breathtaking tapestry of freedom. Their beauty, an untethered symphony, etches itself into your soul. Despite Yoongi’s pragmatic warnings of their wild nature, your heart steadfastly champions their unrestrained beauty and the allure of their untamed spirit.

As the majestic herd gallops across the distant hill, your eyes are drawn to the obsidian grace of the black mare. Strange flutters of anticipation dance within your stomach, and Yoongi catches your gaze, sensing the magnetic pull that the mysterious creature exerts on your senses.

With a glint of curiosity in his eyes, Yoongi continues to tenderly pat the brown mare, and he turns to you with a question that sparks excitement, “Do you want to try and catch the black mare?”

Your gaze locks onto Yoongi, eyes widening with unbridled enthusiasm. Is it even a question?

The desire to capture that elusive black mare courses through your veins, even as a part of you acknowledges its wild spirit. There’s an inexplicable connection, a yearning in your heart for a creature that defies easy description.

It beckons to you, and you’re eager to answer its untamed call.

“We can certainly try,” you declare in a breathy voice, uncertainty mingling with excitement. The prospect of capturing that magnificent black mare hangs in the air, and though doubts linger, the anticipation of a thrilling ride fuels your determination.

With practiced finesse, Yoongi guides the brown mare out of the pen, seamlessly maneuvering it into its stall within the barn. Meanwhile, he deftly prepares his own horse, his movements deliberate and skilled, as you eagerly saddle up on Marshmallow, ready for the adventure.

Side by side, you and Yoongi charge towards the spot where the wild horses disappeared, the thundering hooves creating a symphony of freedom. The wind playfully teases your hair beneath your hat, adding a touch of exhilaration to the chase. Each gallop echoes with the rhythm of nostalgia, transporting you back to carefree days of childhood joy, and you wholeheartedly embrace the familiar melody of hoofbeats resonating through the hills.

Swiftly closing the distance, you and Yoongi seamlessly join the graceful dance of the wild horses, riding in tandem as if becoming one with the spirited herd.

“We’ll try and separate the black mare from the rest, okay?” Weaving through the thundering hooves, Yoongi’s voice pierces the rhythmic beat of galloping, a plan forming between you as you both flank the herd, aiming to isolate the enigmatic black mare from the wild symphony surrounding her.

Navigating the thundering hooves, your focus sharpens on the elusive black mare, a dance of determination and wild grace. As the herd courses through the terrain, a corridor of trees emerges, and with a masterful maneuver, Yoongi surges ahead, skillfully severing the ebony beauty from the chaotic canvas of the herd.

Now, in the quiet aftermath of the thundering herd, the black mare stands solitary between you and Yoongi, a majestic silhouette against the fading echoes of the retreating wild horses. The air is charged with a sense of captured freedom, and you can feel the pulse of anticipation building between you and the untamed beauty before you.

Amidst the stillness, Yoongi’s voice cuts through like a soothing melody, “Steady.”

His hands move with practiced precision, gliding down to the rope coiled at his saddle. In a fluid motion, he unfastens it, the rope dancing gracefully in the air above the ebony beauty standing before you.

In a surprising dance of trust, the mare offers only mild resistance as the rope gracefully settles into a loose circle around its neck. With a calm assurance, Yoongi guides his horse to a halt and approaches the black mare from horseback, step by deliberate step.

His soothing words weave through the air as Yoongi approaches the black mare, a promise of care and understanding. “It’s alright,” he assures, the resonance of his voice echoing a commitment to nurture and protect the newfound connection with the wild beauty before him.

Spellbound by Yoongi’s expertise, you marvel at the seemingly effortless capture of the black mare, a moment etched with both surprise and admiration for his skill in bridging the gap between untamed freedom and the prospect of gentle companionship.

Grinning with a mix of disbelief and triumph, you exclaim, “Well, that felt surprisingly easy,” relishing the moment where the reality of capturing the wild black mare settles in, leaving you in awe of your own accomplishment.

Guiding his horse into a slow trot, Yoongi glances at you and adds, “It isn’t always this smooth,” as he skillfully leads the black mare by the rope, a testament to the unpredictable nature of working with wild horses.

As you ride back to the Bell Ranch at a leisurely pace, the black mare in tow, anticipation courses through you. The prospect of working with the wild beauty, attempting to forge a connection as Yoongi does, fills you with eagerness and a hopeful determination. The challenge ahead, mingled with the thrill of the unknown, propels you forward.

As the ranch unfolds before you, Yoongi guides you to a spacious paddock. “We’ll release her here, let her experience a taste of freedom within these boundaries,” he explains.

“We can commence our efforts to connect with her tomorrow or the day after. Allowing her this time will help her acclimate.”

The thoughtful approach to the black mare’s transition into her new surroundings speaks volumes about the patience and care that defines Yoongi’s approach to his work with these wild spirits.

As Yoongi opens the gate to the paddock, you nod in understanding. Approaching the black mare, he expertly removes the rope from its neck with a gentleness that seems to convey a silent understanding. The mare remains serene throughout the entire process, a testament to the trust beginning to bloom between human and horse, captivating you with its silent beauty.

“Go on,” encouragingly, Yoongi gestures to the horse, and with a sudden burst of energy, the black mare leaps into a swift gallop. It bucks playfully, its powerful strides carrying it effortlessly towards the awaiting company of horses within the enclosure, a breathtaking display of freedom and untamed spirit.

Gratitude fills your voice as you express, “Thank you for capturing it.” You turn toward Yoongi, a warm smile of satisfaction lighting up your face. The joy of successfully corralling the black mare radiates from you, making the moment even more meaningful.

“No problem,” his response carries a friendly assurance, accompanied by a smile that lingers in the air. Together, you pivot, ensuring the gate clicks shut behind you, sealing in the triumphant atmosphere of your joint accomplishment.

As you savor the refreshing embrace of ice-cold water on the terrace, your sister joins you, gracefully claiming the adjacent chair.

You meet her gaze, an unspoken tension lingers in the air, and you instinctively adjust your posture in the chair, sitting taller, ready to listen to the words she’s about to share.

Her fingers thread through the tousled strands of her hair, a subtle sign of unease that sends a ripple of tension through the air. A thoughtful expression crosses her face as she breaks the silence, delving into the delicate topic. “I’ve been thinking about the inheritance,” she begins, and the gravity of her words hangs in the air. “You considered selling it for financial reasons, right?”

Her unexpected revival of the topic catches you off guard, and your eyes widen imperceptibly. “You’re right,” you admit, a touch of vulnerability in your voice. “Financial strain was indeed a factor in considering the sale.”

Her inquiry is direct, and you can sense the underlying concern in her eyes. “So, what’s the situation now? Do you still find yourself in need of money?” she leans in, her expression tinged with a hint of discomfort, acknowledging the sensitivity of the topic.

“No, I actually don’t,” no longer tethered by financial constraints, you respond with a reassuring smile, gently tracing the rim of your chilled cup. The unrelenting heat persists, making the solace of ice-cold refreshments all the more enjoyable.

Her expression morphs into one of confusion, a visible question mark etched on her face, signaling her inability to grasp the underlying meaning of your words.

Chuckles escape you as you take a refreshing sip of water, then leaning in across the table, your eyes alight with excitement. “I’ve been selling my paintings,” you reveal, the joy evident in your voice. “Capturing the essence of the ranch and the breathtaking nature around it has sparked a high demand. Surprisingly, I’ve raked in a considerable sum even before returning to the ranch.”

Jessi’s jaw drops momentarily, but soon her features transform into a mix of astonishment and pride. “Wow, I’m genuinely proud of you!”

Gratitude fills your smile as you respond, “Thank you,” basking in the warmth of her compliment.

A shadow of concern lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I was getting worried you might still sell your share due to money problems…” Her gaze briefly drops to the ground before lifting, locking onto yours. “But I’m relieved that isn’t the case.”

You shake your head, a determined smile playing on your lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll never sell it. We agreed to do this together, right? Sisters running the ranch and all. Our legacy, our story.”

Her face lights up, a radiant smile stretching across her features as she emphatically nods in agreement, a silent understanding passing between you.

In the realm of childhood dreams, this reality surpasses every fleeting vision. Rediscovering the bond with your sister, the slow unraveling of shared memories, has proven to be an unexpectedly enchanting journey, far beyond the scope of your youthful imagination.

“Ease into the moment, let the rhythm of patience guide you,” Yoongi murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips. As the ebony mare gracefully weaves circles around you in the pen, he offers sagely advice, “Today may not be the day of readiness, but that’s part of the journey. Stand your ground, let her spirit unfurl, and witness the magic unfold,” he continues, standing by your side in silent camaraderie.

Implementing Yoongi’s wisdom proves to be a formidable challenge; impatience pulses through your veins as you yearn for an instantaneous connection with the mare. Despite the echoing reminder that patience is the key, a fervent desire to befriend her lingers within you, creating a delicate dance between restraint and eagerness.

As the mare gracefully trots around, a surge of connection prompts you to share, “I’ve given her a name.”

His chuckle resonates beside you as he inquires, “You’ve already given her a name?”

With unwavering certainty, you announce, “Yeah. I’m calling her Mikrokosmos,” your voice carrying a trace of affection for the newfound companion.

Curiosity lighting up his eyes, he inquires, “That’s a cool name, what made you think of that?”

“I just thought she looked like the deep black night sky and space, as if she’s her own universe,” you muse, a small laugh dancing in your voice.

He smiles warmly and chuckles, “Well, it’s cute.”

You chuckle, feeling the impatience gradually dissipate, your shoulders easing into a more relaxed state. Mikrokosmos continues her lively dance, her nose flaring as she snorts audibly, thoroughly examining the fence and her surroundings with a mix of curiosity and untamed energy.

Yoongi pivots to meet your gaze, his expression a curious blend of emotions—is it pain or something else? Without a clear answer, he leans in, encroaching upon your personal space. Surprisingly, you don’t mind; after all, you’re friends.

Your attention shifts beyond him, catching sight of Jimin strolling from the ranch. A smile graces his lips as he approaches, and you reciprocate with a soft smile, a sense of giddiness washing over you at the prospect of reconnecting with him after a few days of silence.

Your assumption that Yoongi is leaning in for a friendly hug causes you to gradually envelop him in your arms. Unexpectedly, his face inches closer to yours—not in the platonic manner of a hug.

Suddenly, his lips meet yours, jolting you into a state of bewilderment, shock, and momentary paralysis.

Shock floods your widened eyes, and Jimin’s gaze mirrors the distaste and anger you feel. Hurt emanates from his eyes, causing your heart to plummet. The ground beneath seems to liquefy, dragging you into a pool of dismay. Yoongi’s unexpected kiss is not welcomed, not when you don’t harbor romantic feelings for him. Reacting swiftly, you push him away, your own eyes revealing a mix of hurt and anger. But as you prepare to address the situation, you catch Jimin turning away, retreating towards the ranch.

Fuck.

Jimin’s displeasure is palpable, a mirrored reflection of your own sentiments. Desperate to convey that the unexpected kiss held no significance, that it wasn’t your intention, your legs propel you toward the fence. Scaling it with urgency, you leave Yoongi and Mikrokosmos to their own devices, racing after Jimin. The wind whistles in your ears, and your heart pounds, driven by the fervent need to bridge the gap between you and Jimin, to unravel the misunderstanding that threatens to shatter the fragile threads of whatever you had going between you.

“Jimin!” Your plea slices through the air, racing to catch up with him. The yard looms ahead, but he remains elusive, navigating the space on his limping leg. Each step feels like a chasm widening between you, a silent testament to the unintended chaos wrought by an unwelcome kiss.

Breathless, you catch up with him, seizing his strong arm and urgently turning him toward you. “Jimin, it’s not what it seems—I need to explain!” The words tumble out, a cascade of sincerity, as you strive to convey the complexity of the moment, hoping to bridge the gap that has abruptly widened between you.

He halts abruptly, an aura of seething anger radiating from him like palpable waves of heat. His voice drips with venom as he accuses, “You kissed Yoongi.”

Your desperate explanation spills forth, the words rushing out like a cascade of untamed emotions. “No, I didn’t! He kissed me, and I didn’t want that. It meant nothing, okay?” Your heart pounds fiercely, echoing the thunderous hooves of a thousand wild horses. It’s suffocating; each breath feels like a struggle.

You yearn for Jimin to grasp the misunderstanding, to understand that you’re as bewildered as he is. The haunting question lingers in your mind: Why the fuck did Yoongi kiss you?

He’s a stark contrast to his usual self; anger consumes him, his breaths quick and labored, and every muscle in his body appears ready to burst with tension.

In those silent moments, he stands like a formidable statue, his thoughts shrouded in mystery. The air around him crackles with anger and disappointment, emotions that hang heavily between you, palpable yet elusive.

Exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh, he visibly attempts to ease the tension in his body, his words carrying an air of indifference, “I don’t care.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief; this wasn’t the reaction you anticipated. While understanding his anger, you had hoped for a chance to discuss it. His face reflects a mix of pain and fury, prompting you to reach out for his arm again. However, the moment your fingers make contact, he flinches, taking a step back as if your touch stings.

It feels as though your touch seared him, igniting a reaction that sends a pang of guilt through you. Desperate to convey that it meant nothing, you yearn to reassure him, yet his unwillingness to listen leaves you grappling with the weight of unspoken words.

His words cut through the air, laden with a hurt that goes beyond the surface. “You’re always into everybody else. It’s never me. I’m never the one,” he utters, his voice heavy with a profound ache. Each word feels like an anchor, dragging you into a sea of emotional turmoil, where you’re left drowning in the depths of his unspoken pain.

The ache lingers, his words a sharp sting that resonates through your being. In that poignant moment, you find yourself paralyzed, the words you long to express caught in the web of your emotions. You yearn to convey that he is the one, the orchestrator of the symphony that makes your heart resonate with love and purpose. Yet, the words remain elusive, trapped within the confines of your unspoken sentiments.

Why won’t they surface when you need them the most?

A torrent of tears threatens to spill from your eyes, and an overwhelming urge to scream builds within you as you witness him walking away, heading towards his house. Yet, your legs betray you, frozen in place as if your feet have fused with the very ground beneath you, rendering you immobile in the wake of your tumultuous emotions.

In a desperate attempt to bridge the widening gap between you, your hand stretches out, aching to grasp onto him. Your voice, a strangled plea, escapes your lips, echoing through the thin air, while tears carve rivers down the contours of your cheeks.

As he reaches for the doorknob, a profound moment unfolds. His gaze, once filled with a lively spark, now appears vacant. His complexion pales, a deep frown etches his features, and the hurt in his eyes sends unsettling tremors through your stomach, as if threatening to unleash a wave of nausea.

The door slams shut, echoing a resounding finality that leaves you hollow.

Your heart constricts, a blend of hurt and sadness flooding through you. Each breath feels slightly labored as you gather the strength to decide whether to confront Jimin once more or turn to Yoongi, demanding an explanation for what the fuck that kiss was about.

You comprehend Jimin’s anger and hurt, yet it was merely a kiss, and you’ve conveyed this to him. Why won’t he lend an ear to your explanation? It’s just a damn kiss. Why does this particular incident shatter him, especially when he’s aware of your past involvement with his brother?

Sensing Jimin’s reluctance to engage in conversation, you let out a sigh, realizing it might be wiser to allow him some time to cool off before attempting to discuss the matter further. Despite having emphasized to him that the kiss was not intentional and stemmed from a misunderstanding, you can’t help but wonder if he truly absorbed your words.

As you release another heavy sigh, the weight on your shoulders seems to lift slightly, and you turn your body toward Yoongi. In this moment of emotional turbulence, with your world feeling like it’s flipped upside down, you resolve to address the issue with Jimin later, once he’s had time to cool off. There’s a determination in your heart to explain, to make him understand that he is undeniably the one who holds a special place in your heart.

Returning to the pen with Mikrokosmos and approaching Yoongi, there’s a palpable tension in the air, both within you and emanating from him. As you ascend the fence, gracefully landing on the sandy ground of the pen, Mikrokosmos continues her playful trot around. You decide to let her roam freely for the moment, turning your attention to the visibly apprehensive Yoongi.

Your hand shoots up, accusatory finger pointed directly at Yoongi. “What on earth was that, Yoongi?” The words carry a mix of frustration and confusion, your voice demanding an explanation for the unexpected kiss that has left you reeling.

Fury courses through you as you confront him, your eyes ablaze with anger. “I can’t believe you did that, Yoongi. What were you thinking?” His pained expression hints at something deeper, and a momentary wave of confusion washes over your anger.

“I’m so sorry, I–,” he stammers, his shoulders slumped, an apologetic look in his eyes that matches the turmoil you feel inside. His deflated demeanor echoes your own, both marred by the chaos of emotions.

You brace yourself, waiting for his words, and he releases a heavy sigh. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” he admits, absentmindedly kicking up the sand beneath his restless feet.

“I...I…” he stammers, and frustration builds within you as the seconds tick away, leaving you increasingly agitated by his apparent reluctance to offer an explanation for why he unexpectedly kissed you.

“I think I’m gay,” he suddenly blurts out, and you’re taken aback. Confusion clouds your expression as you blink, trying to reconcile this revelation with the unexpected kiss, leaving you grappling with a puzzle that refuses to neatly fit together.

He gazes at you, and it’s as if he can decipher the thoughts racing through your mind. Despite the lingering pain etched on his face, a genuine sorrow and deflation accompany his words, “I kissed you because I needed to know if there was a spark between us, as a man and a woman.”

You nod in a semblance of comprehension, though his reasoning feels like a puzzle missing a crucial piece, leaving you with an unresolved sense of confusion.

“For a while now, I’ve found myself drawn to men, but it feels... weird, you know? I thought, perhaps, your sweetness and kindness could kindle a spark of interest in women for me, but it’s all so confusing.” He casts his gaze downward, releasing a sigh of frustration, and you meet his troubled eyes with a profound sense of empathy.

“Oh, Yoongi. Why didn’t you tell me?” you sigh, reaching for his arm and offering a reassuring stroke.

“It wasn’t cool of you to kiss me,” you begin in a soft voice, searching for his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of confusion and understanding.

“There wasn’t even a spark,” he confesses, his voice hiccuping, tears streaming down his face, a raw vulnerability in his eyes that leaves you both exposed and connected in that fragile moment.

You envelop him in a comforting embrace, his tears dampening your shoulder. Despite the lingering frustration over his impulsive kiss, you can’t help but feel a surge of empathy. He’s navigating uncharted emotional waters, and you sense the vulnerability in his tears, making you momentarily set aside your own turmoil.

“I’m sorry. It’s just... I don’t know what came over me. I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers into the fabric of your shoulder, each word carrying the weight of regret, his tears leaving a palpable mark on your shirt.

“Yoongi, it’s okay,” you comfort him with a reassuring pat on his back. Mikrokosmos stands still opposite you both, a silent observer in the emotionally charged moment.

“Listen, you shouldn’t have kissed me. What you’re going through, you should’ve talked to me about it. And, please, there’s nothing wrong with liking men, okay? You can like whoever you want,” you assert, taking a step back to meet his eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”

Even through his tears and sobs, he looks at you with a puzzled expression. “Even with Jimin?”

Honestly, you don’t have all the answers, but you cling to hope. With a reassuring nod, you assert, “Jimin will come around.”

Days have passed, and the rift between you and Jimin remains unhealed. Every attempt to bridge the gap with words has been met with his silent retreat, leaving your pleas hanging in the air, unanswered.

Every passing day, the weight on your heart intensifies as Jimin continues to evade you. Returning to the ranch, the familiar routine with Yoongi feels strange, not because of any discord between you and him – you’ve reassured each other that everything is fine – but the unspoken tension with Jimin casts a shadow over the otherwise familiar landscape.

Diving into the world of wild horses with Yoongi acts as a soothing balm for your restless thoughts though, granting a momentary reprieve from the constant echoes of Jimin in your mind.

Today unfolds with a familiar dance between you and Mikrokosmos, each step a delicate negotiation of trust. Yoongi’s words echo in your mind, a reminder that forging a connection with her is a patient journey, a symphony of moments yet to be composed.

As Mikrokosmos gracefully weaves through the pen, Yoongi perches atop the fence, his keen eyes tracing the intricate dance between you and the wild mare, a silent maestro orchestrating a ballet of trust and understanding.

“Feel the rhythm of the moment, ease into it, and keep that calm composure,” he encourages, affirming your efforts with a reassuring nod.

“How have you been since last time?” you inquire, alluding to that unexpected moment when everything seemed to pivot with that unexpected kiss.

He wears a deflated expression, exhaling a sigh, “I’m still sorry for kissing you.”

“It’s fine. But I’m here for you. It seems like you could use somebody to talk to, don’t you think?” you inquire, wearing a soft smile.

He manages a small smile, though it’s faint. “Yeah, I haven’t really talked to anybody about it. It’s embarrassing,” he admits, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and relief.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of. There’s nothing wrong with liking men, women, transgender persons, non-binary persons, or none at all,” you reassure him with a warm smile, your attention divided between the conversation and the subtle progress with Mikrokosmos inching closer to you.

“A gay cowboy, that ain’t gonna be an easy trail to ride,” he sighs deeply, a sense of deflation settling over him once more.

“I understand, but I believe you’re being too hard on yourself,” you say with a gentle voice, aiming to provide reassurance.

“Is there anyone catching your eye?” you inquire, a note of hope in your voice, as you witness his eyes light up with a sudden sparkle, gradually breaking into a warm smile.

“There is, but I don’t think he reciprocates,” he confesses, a sense of deflation in his tone contrasting with the bright shimmer in his eyes.

“Have you asked him, or shared your feelings with him?” you inquire, turning your gaze toward Mikrokosmos. She ambles around, occasionally snorting at the soft sand.

“No! I’m too afraid to tell him. I don’t want things to change between us because of my feelings,” he confesses, the words tumbling out in an almost frantic shout, briefly startling Mikrokosmos.

You give him a sheepish smile; you truly understand his hesitation. It’s hard putting your heart and feelings on a platter. You don’t know if the other person feels the same or if your heart is going to get scattered. But, deep down, you believe it’s worth putting your heart out there.

Sometimes, the risk is what makes the reward extraordinary.

“When you’re ready, I believe you should tell him,” you say, infusing your words with the hope that resides within you, a hope that everything will unfold into something beautiful.

You sense an additional presence behind you, and as you turn around, you catch Yoongi fixedly gazing at something—or someone—over your shoulder. Intrigued, you pivot to find Jimin leaning against the fence, his gaze locked onto Yoongi.

Jimin’s voice slices through the air, a sharp edge to his tone that matches the intensity etched on his face. “I need you to drive into town and buy some new feed for the horses,” he instructs, the anger palpable in his words and expression.

“Sure boss,” Yoongi responds with a crisp nod, his acknowledgment carrying an undercurrent of tension, an unspoken acknowledgment of the brewing storm between you and Jimin.

Yearning for a chance to talk, you tentatively approach Jimin, hope lacing your voice as you softly inquire, “Hey, Jimin, can I talk to you?”

Your attempt at a warm smile hangs in the air, but he remains distant, his gaze piercing through you as if you’re invisible. Silence greets your plea, his lack of response a profound dismissal as he pivots away, retreating to whatever occupied his attention before.

Stunned and disheartened, you linger in disbelief, the weight of Jimin’s blatant disregard settling heavily on your shoulders. An unsettling sensation creeps in, the palpable silence amplifying the sinking feeling in your chest. Kicking at the sand with your boots, a surge of deflation courses through you, leaving you stranded in a sea of unanswered questions and unspoken tensions.

A somber expression clouds Yoongi’s face as he inquires, “He still hasn’t talked to you?”

Your head shakes in response.

The mystery of Jimin’s continued silence baffles you, each attempt to bridge the gap met with indifference. Despite your persistent efforts, he remains resolute in his avoidance, a clear indication of his desire to keep his distance.

You release a heavy exhale, frustration etching into your words. “It’s as if he’s deliberately ignoring and avoiding me.”

“Do you want me to talk to him? Clarify that the kiss meant nothing, and apologize for my mistake?” Yoongi offers, his willingness to step in as a friend evident. However, you hesitate, not wanting him to fight your battles. You’re convinced that Jimin simply needs more time to come around, right?

“No. I doubt it would make a difference anyway. I’ve already assured him that it was meaningless, so I don’t understand why he’s still so angry…” Your words trail off, spoken in a hushed tone, carrying the weight of your frustration and confusion.

Yearning for a breakthrough, you contemplate slipping into the dress Jimin gifted you back in the city. Maybe, just maybe, it will catch his eye and pave the way for the conversation you so desperately crave.

The unanswered questions weigh on you, leaving you bewildered as to why he won’t grant you a chance to clarify things.

Draped in the dress Jimin gave you, you delicately apply a touch of makeup, accentuating your features according to your own personal style. The anticipation lingers in the air, a silent plea for this subtle effort to break through the walls Jimin has erected.

As you finish preparing, you join the other girls outside the yard. Their outfits exude comfort and beauty, each reflecting their unique styles. Ara’s curly hair complements a simple shirt and knee-length skirt, paired with low heels. Ha-rin gracefully dons a sleek, figure-hugging dress. Your sister embraces a casual vibe with a shirt and jeans, a choice you appreciate. Meanwhile, Soo-ah stands out in a vibrant blue dress, accentuating her blonde hair. It’s just a casual outing to the bar, but the simplicity carries an understated elegance among the group.

Jessi confidently takes the wheel, her hands gripping it with purpose as you all pile into the car. With a decisive turn of the key, the engine roars to life, and she skillfully guides the vehicle down the dusty road, steering towards town.

As the car glides through the landscape, your gaze fixates on the passing scenery outside the window. The lively chatter of the other girls becomes a distant murmur as your thoughts wander into the realm of introspection. The vibrant colors of the world blur into a kaleidoscope, your mind lost in contemplation, oblivious to the conversations swirling around you.

Suddenly, a gentle poke interrupts your introspection, and you pivot to find Soo-ah’s cerulean gaze locked onto yours. Her concern echoes in the soft curve of her brows as she delicately inquires, “What’s troubling you?”

As you release a heavy sigh, frustration coursing through you like an electric current, you run your fingers through your hair. The tangled web of untold secrets and unspoken emotions weighs on your shoulders. The girls remain oblivious to the unspoken turmoil – the unexpected kiss from Yoongi, the revelation of his sexuality, Jimin’s furious reaction, and the ensuing silence that has settled between you and him like an unbreachable chasm.

“Jimin is mad at me,” as the words escape your lips, a heavy admission lingering in the air, you allow your body to slump against the car seat, a profound sense of deflation settling over you. This situation with Jimin is a bitter pill, a taste of discontent that lingers on your tongue.

This sucks.

Soo-ah’s gaze, a curious blend of concern and confusion, locks onto you as she poses the question, “Why is he mad at you? I thought everything was well since their party.”

“He saw Yoongi kiss me,” you sigh, the weight of frustration evident in the sound. A collective hush descends upon the car as the gravity of your revelation captures the attention of the rest of the girls.

“Wait, you kissed Yoongi?” Ha-rin’s eyes widen in surprise, her tone revealing a mixture of shock and curiosity.

“No, I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me. There’s a big difference!” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest with a frustrated huff.

Ara’s voice comes from the front passenger seat, cutting through the tension, “Oh. Do you like Yoongi now, then?”

“No! I still like Jimin. But he doesn’t want to talk to me since he saw that kiss. I tried to explain to him that it meant nothing, but he didn’t want to listen and slammed the door in my face…” you lament, the frustration evident in your voice.

“So he knows it didn’t mean anything?” Soo-ah inquires, her eyes probing for the truth.

“Yeah. I told him,” you respond with a nonchalant shrug, a mix of frustration and resignation lingering in your voice.

Your sister’s soft voice breaks the tension, drawing your attention. “Jimin is a very sensitive guy, you know?” she remarks, her words carrying a touch of understanding for both you and Jimin.

“I’m beginning to understand that, yeah…” you mutter, releasing another heavy sigh that echoes the weight of the situation.

“He’s quick to feel jealousy, especially when it involves his brother,” Jessi chimes in, her gaze fixed on the winding road ahead.

“But it was Yoongi, not Jungkook. I can’t wrap my head around why he’s upset about this but not when I slept with Jungkook,” you express, genuine confusion evident in your words.

“I believe he took time grappling with the fact that you were involved with Jungkook. It hurt him deeply. They have a competitive relationship, and if he can overcome that, it shows he truly cares for you,” your sister suggests, her voice carrying a hopeful tone.

“But why won’t he talk to me then?” Frustration seeps into your voice. All you yearn for is a conversation with Jimin, to express that you desire him, that you need him in your life.

“Did he say anything else?” Soo-ah inquires, her mind working to find a solution that might aid you.

Your mind races, and then it clicks— he did say something! “He did say: ‘You’re always into everybody else. It’s never me. I’m never the one’,” you share, the weight of those words lingering in the air.

A shared understanding seems to envelop everyone else, leaving you on the outskirts as they exchange knowing glances with one another.

“What is it?” you inquire, eager to unravel the undisclosed facets of Jimin’s life that have eluded you.

“I think he’s hurt,” Ara shares, causing you to roll your eyes. The frustration mounts as the question still persists: Why won’t he talk to you?

“Every time Jimin’s been in a relationship, they’ve always left him, whether for his brother or someone else. He’s never the one they pick,” Jessi shares, her voice tinged with sadness. She looks at you through the rearview mirror, her eyes holding a depth of understanding. “I think he’s hurt too, by always being picked last.”

Your heart plummets.

He did express that he’s ’never the one’, but in your heart, he’s ‘the one’ for you.

The realization hits you hard; you didn’t assure him of this crucial truth when he needed to hear it the most. If only you had voiced those feelings, perhaps you wouldn’t be grappling with this gut-wrenching sensation in your stomach.

“But he is the one for me,” you murmur in a hushed and almost imperceptible tone, yet the gravity of your words resonates clearly with the girls.

“Then tell him that,” Soo-ah urges, her hand offering a supportive squeeze on your arm.

You nod, grateful for the girls’ advice and your sister’s insights into Jimin’s past relationships. Determination courses through your veins as you clench your hands. Tonight, you’ve decided, you will talk to Jimin and bare your feelings to him.

How he’s the one who has held a special place in your heart since childhood, a crush that has only deepened with time. You yearn to confess that he’s the one you desire, envisioning a dance of closeness, where his arms envelop you, and your embrace reciprocates the warmth you’ve always craved.

You can do it. Tonight is the night.

As Jessi skillfully parks the car next to Jimin’s unmistakable blue truck, your heart quickens its rhythm. The sight of his vehicle acts as a silent cue, summoning the courage that has been building within you. Tonight, in the embrace of the bar’s glow, you are determined to release the words that have lingered in the depths of your heart, ready to unfold your emotions to Jimin.

Upon entering the bar, the lively scene unfolds before you: Jungkook and Yoongi engage in a fierce game of pool, drawing a crowd that includes Hoseok, Namjoon, and the mysterious guy from the party.

Meanwhile, at the bar, your eyes lock onto Jimin, seated intimately with a woman. Her laughter dances in the air as she leans into his touch, playfully twirling a strand of hair around her finger, while her hands find their way to his biceps, giving a teasing squeeze.

A vice tightens around your heart, squeezing it within the confines of your chest. It plummets, dragging you into an emotional abyss. The sensation is akin to a dizzying free fall, the room spinning uncontrollably before your eyes.

The girls sense your frozen reaction and swiftly grab your arm, forcibly steering you away from the heart-wrenching scene. Your body feels immobilized, as if they need to physically drag you away from the emotional vortex that threatens to consume you.

They usher you towards the pool table, where the mysterious guy introduces himself as Seokjin. As you make eye contact with Yoongi, his expression reflects both concern and sadness. The other guys share similar sentiments, but it’s Jungkook who breaks the silence, his voice heavy with regret, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he would bring a date…”

You feign a smile, attempting to conceal your true emotions behind a façade of forced cheerfulness, though you suspect everyone can easily discern the charade. Yet, you couldn’t care less about that.

Hoseok wraps you in a comforting embrace, whispering reassurances, “It’s gonna be okay.”

However, the words fall on deaf ears as a storm of emotions brews within. Far from feeling okay, you sense a hollowness. The night intended for expressing your feelings to Jimin has taken an unexpected turn, leaving you questioning if he’s truly moved on.

Your voice barely above a whisper, you cautiously inquire, “Is he dating her?”

The vulnerability in your tone reflects the internal struggle, torn between the desire for truth and the fear that it might shatter the fragile pieces of your heart. Despite the apprehension, you steel yourself for the reality you might have to face.

A heavy sigh escapes Jungkook’s lips as he confirms, “He is. It happened only a few days ago.” His words carry the weight of empathy, and his eyes convey a shared sorrow, understanding the depth of the wound that’s just been exposed.

“It’s Deiji, his old physiotherapist.” Jungkook adds with a heavy voice as he lets Yoongi have a turn at the pool table. His eyes reflect a genuine sadness, as does the whole group.

Your heart plummets into an abyss of confusion and hurt. Instead of choosing to communicate with you, he sought solace in someone else’s company. The ache in your chest deepens as you grapple with the unfathomable question of why he couldn’t have just spoken to you, choosing connection over the cold distance that now separates you both.

Your heart clenches, threatening to suffocate you with an overwhelming surge of nausea.

The sight of Jimin and his newfound companion engrossed in tender exchanges and affectionate gestures feels like a relentless assault on your senses. The lovey-dovey expressions, the sweet whispers shared in each other’s ears, and their gentle caresses become an unbearable spectacle, driving you to the edge of discomfort.

Ugh, you can’t take it.

Yoongi steps closer, intertwining his fingers with yours, prompting you to release Hoseok. His words carry a glimmer of hope, “Perhaps he just needs a bit more time to come around?”

Doubt seeps into your thoughts like a bitter poison. His swift transition to move on, without allowing you to explain or talk leaves you with a void, a concoction of sadness and a smoldering ember of anger burning within.

“I don’t think so,” a heavy sigh escapes your lips as you divert your gaze from the sight of Jimin and his new companion at the bar. Nausea knots your stomach, a visceral reaction to the realization that being in this room, in Jimin’s presence, is now a painful experience. The intention to confess your feelings replaced by the stark truth that his heart has found a different destination.

As the guys attempt to lift your spirits with a game of pool and some beers, the once familiar taste of the brew now carries a strange bitterness, unlike its usual comforting flavor. Your focus wavers, and it feels as though you’re observing the scene through distorted glasses, the world around you losing its usual vibrancy.

You believed that you and Jimin shared something unique—sure, you weren’t officially an item, but you were inching your way there, weren’t you?

Once more, you find yourself submerged in the vast ocean of your own emotions. If only you had proclaimed to Jimin that he was the one for you. If only you hadn’t frozen on that fateful day!

’What ifs’ echo loudly in the chambers of your heart.

Your fists tighten involuntarily, the bitter taste in your mouth mirroring the ache within. The past is immutable; all you can do is forge ahead. If Jimin has chosen to let his feelings for you fade, perhaps it’s time to release your own grip and move forward.

Easier said than done, as you find yourself hesitant to relinquish the tether to your emotions, unwilling to surrender to the prospect of letting go.

Throughout the remainder of the night, the guys make a genuine effort to lift your spirits. The once familiar taste of beer now repulses you so much, rendering you the designated driver. As a result, the girls indulge in even more libations, their laughter and banter echoing against the backdrop of your own subdued thoughts.

Amidst the melancholy, you find solace in witnessing their joy, and a genuine laugh escapes you when Yoongi triumphs over Jungkook at the pool table.

Despite the fragility of your heart, you can’t help but steal glances toward Jimin, engrossed in his conversation with this Deiji girl. A conflicted part of you contemplates confessing your feelings, but the shattered remnants of your confidence hold you back. After a week of deliberate avoidance, you doubt he would even spare you a glance.

As Jimin engages in conversation, the subtle traces of irritation etched on his face catch your notice, leaving you with a sinking realization that you might be the source of his vexation.

As you chauffeur the girls home that night, their laughter resonates within the car, yet your heart doesn’t resonate with the joy. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, your fingers mirror the clenching ache in your heart, and the darkness of the night reflects the shadows looming over the what-could-have-been with Jimin.

Engaging in work becomes your refuge, a distraction from the constant reverie of Jimin that clouds your thoughts. Despite your concerted effort, escaping his presence proves challenging, especially on his sprawling property. His distinctive soft locks and infectious laughter ripple through the yard, infiltrating the serene atmosphere where you and Yoongi diligently toil with the wild horses.

The sight of Jimin reveling in happiness with someone else ignites a bitter flame within you, a bitter concoction of disappointment and self-blame. As the waves of resentment crash against your emotional shore, you grapple with the realization that, perhaps, Jimin’s inability to engage in a mature conversation has tarnished the pedestal on which you once held him.

You and Yoongi dedicate your efforts to the brown mare, a patient companion in need of trust. Observing Yoongi’s skilled hands, you witness the delicate dance between man and horse unfold. His fingers caress the mare’s neck, traverse its sturdy body, and gracefully navigate down its legs, weaving a tale of connection and understanding through the language of touch.

With a practiced finesse, he shifts his hands back to the mare’s back, deftly applying his body weight as though securing an invisible saddle. The mare, a silent witness to this equine ballet, stands unperturbed, a testament to the trust forged between horse and human through the gentle language of handling.

“Calling it a day with this one,” he declares, a self-assured grin lighting up his face, even as the horse affectionately nudges his shoulder, sealing the unspoken bond formed in the tranquil dance of understanding.

Turning his attention towards you, he leads the brown mare away into the nearby paddock, asking, “Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos?”

Grateful for the distraction, you nod and reply, “Yes, that would be nice.”

Together, you walk back to the stables, anticipation building as you prepare to face the untamed spirit of Mikrokosmos.

With a sense of accomplishment, he entrusts you with the task.

Gently, you open her stall, and to your delight, Mikrokosmos willingly follows your lead. Lately, her trust in you has grown, allowing you to guide her without the need for a halter or a lead rope. Together, you stroll down to the pen, opening the fence and stepping inside, a testament to the bond you’ve formed.

Yoongi secures the gate behind you, swiftly leaping up to perch on the fence, his eyes keenly fixed on your every move as you begin your task.

As Mikrokosmos ambles around you in a deliberate circle, the rhythmic sound of her snorts fills the air, her curiosity piqued by the familiar scent of the weathered fence.

As Mikrokosmos gradually inches closer, a palpable sense of anticipation builds within you. Your desire for her to ‘join up’ intensifies, a connection you’ve been yearning for, still elusive in her hesitant movements.

Yet, in an unexpected shift, she retreats, leaving you with a subtle sense of deflation. The proximity you felt, a fleeting promise, slips away, and a tinge of disappointment lingers in the air.

From his perch atop the fence, Yoongi’s voice floats down, breaking the quiet, “Relax. Are you stressed or nervous?”

As the realization dawns, a mix of stress, irritation, and sadness swirl within you. A tumultuous cascade of emotions that might not be the best companions when seeking a horse’s trust.

Your head bobs in agreement. “I think I need to clear my head,” you admit, the weight of unspoken turmoil palpable in the air.

Understanding seems to pass silently between you and Yoongi. He gracefully hops down from the fence, offering a reassuring nod and a faint smile as you trudge back to the gate, unlocking it with a heavy heart.

You stride purposefully to where Marshmallow is tethered. Swiftly unfastening him, you deftly place your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the saddle. With a gentle kick to his sides, you urge him into a spirited gallop, the wind whipping through your hair as you both charge forward.

Without a word to Yoongi, you let Marshmallow take charge, giving him free rein to gallop ahead, the rhythmic beat of hooves on the earth harmonizing with the rush of wind in your ears.

As the wind weaves through your hair, the rhythmic gallop of Marshmallow beneath you becomes a soothing cadence, drowning out the tumultuous thoughts of what could have been with Jimin. Instead, you choose the liberating path of a blank canvas, letting your mind mirror the pristine slate before the stroke of a paintbrush. The open expanse before you becomes a metaphorical canvas for new possibilities, each hoofbeat a brushstroke on the masterpiece of your own journey.

Underneath Marshmallow’s rhythmic hooves, you traverse hilltops, wind through enchanting forests, and traverse expansive open lands. The beauty around you serves as a healing balm for your heart.

In the distance, a wild herd of horses captures your attention, prompting you to guide Marshmallow into a steady walk. In silent reverence, you approach, not wanting to disrupt the natural dance of the herd, but to observe them silently.

Before you, the wild horses grace the landscape with their untamed beauty, a sight that never fails to captivate. Gazing upon them, an unspoken yearning echoes within you — a desire to emulate their unbridled freedom, devoid of obligations, untouched by pain, liberated from the weight that burdens your gut.

Your hand gently strokes Marshmallow’s neck, a tender connection in the midst of your emotions. Tears trace silent paths down your face, and the horse, ever understanding, carries you through the ebb and flow of your heartache.

Oh, the weight of regret settles on your heart as you yearn for the courage to have confessed your feelings to Jimin on that fateful day when Yoongi kissed you.

If only the hands of time could rewind, granting you a chance to rewrite the narrative of your heart.

The pang of regret lingers, a bitter aftertaste staining your every thought.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

← previous | s.masterlist | m.masterlist | next →

61 notes · View notes

boundinparchment · 27 days

Note

I love your personality for dottore’s character! I like how he demonstrates his intelligence in a way that is not overbearing and cocky and how his actions have deep meanings behind them and not just for his satisfaction like most interpretations. how do you go about making such a character? Is it from purely your own perspective or is it influenced by other characters,books,philosophy concepts or any other piece of media?

Hi!

Some of his character is a personal interpretation but it’s based on a foundation from several other analyses and canon material that we have from the game.

Namely, some of the following Reddit threads:

Sadist or Scientist?

Dottore as a Villain and Sumeru’s Dysfunction

The Heresies of Il Dottore

There’s also a very long thread in this sub that’s living rent free

Along with the manga where we get a few crumbs for Celestia lore/Dottore’s perspective on allogenes, the Archon quest voicelines and Scara’s character quest, and Zandik’s notes found in the overworld.

@/ellalalala and localplaguenurse and haeresysabound also have their own analyses that prove really helpful and look at different facets of his character.

Most of it is a logical progression of how someone like him would think. He’s rational, observed before he acts, and doesn’t so much predict as follow the logic behind someone’s previous patterns of behavior. He’s arrogant to a fault but it’s posturing; a lot of people display that kind of behavior in the real world.

Most of the time, I start with a situation and, based on all of the above, I play, “what would Dottore do?”

He’s ultimately insatiably curious, chasing knowledge for the sake of it, just to see what happens.

Machines help him to understand the world and his interpretation of it. It goes to show how detached he is to consider a human body is nothing but a machine of its own, capable of surpassing the divine.

He’s more human than anyone because he seeks to understand and push the limitations; humans are naturally curious creatures who long to make the world better and leave a legacy behind.

But it’s not chaotic. It’s not The Joker style of curiosity where it’s bombastic and wild, a twisted version of a joke.

I’d argue that Webtorre is The Joker while Omega and in-game Dottore is Scarecrow.

And this is where myself (and others) differ because I do not think Dottore is a sadist. That he wants to harm people. It’s very obvious in several notes that, while not signed, are written in a manner that you know it’s Dottore. There’s one that lists several subjects and he considers the actions taken by a subordinate (I think it’s torturing one of them? Something drastic, will check) to be a waste of resources.

Is he apathetic? More than likely.

Does he enjoy seeing others suffer? Probably not. Why else would he be looking for a cure for Elezar, even as a byproduct to understanding the Withering?

He would probably actually be a failure at relationships precisely because he doesn’t know how to connect with people. If he would want to pursue a meaningful connection, there’s a lot stacked against him between trust issues built up over centuries, a detached worldview, and more than likely, a skewed sense of self (he’s arrogant but to a fault where he’s clearly still sensitive about how no one but himself sees him as a scholar). So many of the meaningful reasonings to his actions stem from this in particular.

My personal suggestions for additional insight would be:

Most renditions of the Scarecrow from Batman. How he sees fear is how I imagine Dottore understands knowledge. The more you have of it, the less you can fear, the better to understand the world around you.

I’ll put more here as they come to mind, because I’m definitely forgetting others at the moment.

#thank you for this!#dottore #il dottore #one day I will write an essay that additionally condenses all of this #there’s so much lore that needs to be extrapolated lol #but I am under a time crunch rn and this was what my brain spit at me

45 notes · View notes

sidekick-hero · 10 months

Text

You know I'm a show off (I would let you get some)

(steddie | explicit | 6.4k | AO3)

And so begins the longest ten minutes of Eddie Munson's life.

He's standing there, the sun beating down on them, but he's sweating for a completely different reason as he watches Steve contort himself to reach every last inch of his precious BMW. His shorts are riding dangerously high, just barely revealing the curve of his round ass more than once. There are moles all over his skin, like constellations waiting to be explored by adventurous hands and lips. The hair on his legs looks soft, so light it's almost blonde, and Eddie wants to run his fingers over it, scratch the creamy white skin of his inner thighs and leave his mark on that perfect body.

Or: Steve washes his car just for Eddie to get it dirty again.

Eddie was going to die. Death by sexual frustration. Or spontaneous combustion. Maybe a heart-attack. No matter how, his neighbor would be the death of him.

He and his best friend Chrissy just moved into the duplex three weeks ago, but Eddie was already on the brink of insanity. Just last week he had to witness said neighbor — Steve, the most boring name for the most exciting creature he ever laid eyes on — water his garden in nothing but red swimming trunks, his skin glistening in the sun like that creepy vampire Chrissy was so obsessed with. Eddie had wanted to lick every drop of sweat from his body, soothe the blooming sunburn on his shoulders and nose with his spit, and ask him to water something else with his hose.

And to add insult to injury, the guy was not only gorgeous, but nice. Like, super nice. He's always polite, always handing out smiles like candy on Halloween. He never stares at Chrissy in that sleazy way that too many guys do. There are no loud parties. Hell, the guy even separates his garbage. Eddie's pretty sure he also rescues kittens from trees in his spare time.

When they had moved in, Steve had come over and offered his help, just like that. Being a little overwhelmed and a lot exhausted from moving both of their belongings in one day, they had gratefully accepted. Steve had carried box after box, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his polo shirt. Despite the heat and the sweat running down his face and neck, he smelled heavenly every time he walked by Eddie. He would brush up against him or press in close as they both tried to lift something from the moving truck, and Eddie had to close his eyes and will himself to calm down. He was sure he'd get a hard-on every time he smelled Steve's cologne from now on.

Today's special torture was Steve washing his car in front of his garage. Wearing nothing but a white tank top and the shortest jean shorts Eddie has ever seen in his life, which is saying something considering his best friend is an ex-cheerleader. What the fuck was this guy thinking? Does this count as assault?

The top and shorts were already soaked, clinging to Steve's body like a second skin and leaving little to the imagination. Not that Eddie's imagination didn't still run wild with what it was given. So wild, in fact, that Eddie doesn't even notice how he all but drops the groceries he was trying to carry to the house back into his van, and walks over to the godlike creature, who is acting out a scene that could have come straight out of one of Eddie's wet dreams.

He only realizes what he's doing when Steve looks up from where he's been scrubbing the hood of his car with a soapy sponge and asks him, "Uh... can I help you?"

"I noticed you're washing your car," Eddie says dumbly.

The corners of Steve's lips twitch like he's hiding his amusement. "Yup," he says, popping the p. "Want me to wash yours? I already have everything out.”

Eddie glances at Steve's crotch before he can stop himself and thinks, I wish you would.

"Yeah," he says dreamily, licking his lips. He can't remember what Steve asked, but the answer would always be yes, as long as he could stand here and stare at him.

"Great. I'm almost done here, then we can start on your van. Gimme ten."

And so begins the longest ten minutes of Eddie Munson's life.

The tank top is also see-through, revealing spectacular tits that Eddie is dying to get his hands on, and a tantalizing patch of dark chest hair that he needs to bury his face in.

Steve absentmindedly wipes the hair plastered to his forehead away with the hand that’s not holding the sponge. His muscles move under his wet skin, and Eddie thinks back to the easy way he picked up his amp from the moving truck and carried it up the stairs to Eddie's room. He could probably lift Eddie as well and the thought does nothing to relax the situation in his pants. They are getting uncomfortably tight and he prays to whoever is listening that it will go down fast.

"Okay, all done. Looking gorgeous again, sweetheart." Steve says, petting the hood of his car and Eddie chuckles.

Steve looks up at him as if expecting Eddie to mock him, so Eddie raises his hands in a reassuring gesture and says, "Hey, no judgment from me. I got my own sweetheart hanging on my bedroom wall, I get it."

"Oh, your guitar, right?"

"Yeah, it was my first electric guitar. I wrote all the songs for my band’s album on her. She holds a special place in my heart."

Steve smiles at him, his hazel eyes warm and open. "I know what you mean," he says as he watches his fingers dance over the gleaming metal one more time before looking back at Eddie, his gaze wandering along his frame, his eyes subtly widening at the sight of the probably still very obvious bulge in Eddie's pants.

Eddie can feel the heat creeping up his body, embarrassed at being caught, but Steve only swallows once, Adam's apple bobbing, before clearing his throat and throwing his thumb over his shoulder. "Just need to put it in and we're good to go."

"Put it...in?" Eddie chokes out, trying to subtly adjust his pants at the mental image.

Steve smirks at his reaction, and Eddie starts to think that his neighbor isn't such a goodie-two-shoes as he originally thought.

"The car? It needs to go into the garage so we can put your van in my driveway to clean it."

"Oh yeah, absolutely. By all means, put it in." Eddie cringes at his own words. Good God, what is wrong with him?

Steve nods, his appraising eyes still lingering on Eddie for a moment before he gets into the car. He waits for the garage door to slide open before he drives the BMW into the spacious room. Eddie is watching, his brain is still not back online after the show he just witnessed, so he doesn't question it when Steve gets out of the car and calls him over to come in; he has something to show him. He just steps into the garage and walks over to where Steve is standing in front of the hood.

Suddenly, the garage door slides back down, shutting out the outside world and leaving them alone with Steve's car as the only witness to Steve pulling Eddie into a heated kiss.

At first Eddie is too shocked by the firm lips pressing against his to react. Steve's hands are fisted in his shirt and his mouth moves insistently against Eddie's, coaxing him to join their dance, and Eddie wonders if he's dreaming again. Because the last time Steve had kissed him like this, hungry, wanton, perfect, Eddie had woken up hard and lonely, with thoughts of his unattainably gorgeous neighbor.

A sharp nip to his lower lip convinces him that this is real, because it stings, in the best way, and Eddie's breath catches. His eyes open — when did he even close them? — to find Steve looking back at him, the lovely hazel of his eyes almost entirely consumed by the black of his dilated pupils. He licks Eddie's lower lips apologetically, soothing the sting his teeth have caused, before leaning back and watching him intently.

Eddie blinks at him, still processing but already missing Steve's lips on his. "Wha- I mean, why- uh, y'know —" He stumbles over the half-formed words in his head, searching for the right ones, preferably in the right order, but he's never been an overachiever, so he settles for the next best thing. "You kissed me."

Steve snorts. "What if I did?" he asks, looking up at Eddie from under his lashes, and he shouldn't be able to pull this off, they're the same height, but somehow he does. Eddie briefly wonders if his neighbor was designed by the government to eliminate their enemies by rendering them useless with lust. If so, he thinks it definitely works.

"Why? I mean..." Eddie trails off, thinks for a moment before he shrugs, "Yeah, no, I wanna know why."

"Well," Steve begins, suddenly sounding shy, even though the words that follow are anything but. "I noticed you couldn't keep your eyes off me today. In fact, I think you haven't been able to keep your eyes off me for a while now, huh?" His eyelashes flutter and it should look ridiculous, Steve is not one of Chrissy's girlfriends who often come over and flirt with Eddie like they can't believe he's gay and really not interested, batting their long eyelashes and curling their manicured petite hands around his arm.

No, Steve's face is all angles, strong jaw, broad face, prominent nose. His hands aren't petite, they're big and strong. So when he acts all shy, it should look silly, but when he puts his hand on Eddie's chest and bites his lips, Eddie's heart starts racing underneath. "But you never made a move, you just... kept looking. Which is fine, I mean, I like to be looked at, but a guy does have his limits, y'know. Had to take matters into my own hands, just to see if I was imagining things."

It took Eddie three tries to graduate high school, but he’s not dumb. He could basically hear the puzzle pieces fall into place in his head, but his voice is still full of disbelief when he asks, “You- you put on a show? For me?”

Steve snorts again. "Yeah, dude. I could just go to a car wash and get this beauty cleaned up in no time. It's just so much more fun to watch you get hard for me." His hand on Eddie's chest slides down, stopping just short of where Eddie wants it so badly, and he feels the remaining blood leave his brain at a rapid pace. "So what do you say?"

Eddie gulps, his mouth running before his brain can give any input, "You're not afraid of staining your sweetheart?"

Steve just shrugs and flashes Eddie a wolfish grin. "Well, I guess I could just wash it again then. Maybe lick it off. You wouldn't mind watching that, would you?"

And that's it, the thing that makes Eddie snap. He throws an arm around Steve's waist, pulls him close to his chest and grabs his ass with the other to lift him off the ground to lay him down on the hood of his car. "Stay," he almost growls, the hunger in his veins turning to greed as he leans back to take in the sight of Steve all laid out for him.

His hair is fanned out around his head like a halo, the vast expanse of sun-kissed skin ready to be marked and devoured. Eddie can see how turned on Steve already is; the surprise manhandling only adding fuel to the fire between them. His stiff nipples are visible through the now soaked white top, the red flush of arousal staining his chest and throat, and his chest is heaving with his ragged breathing. Eddie sees his hard dick straining against the wet material of his denim shorts and he thinks it must hurt to have the sensitive head rubbing against the stiff material with the way Steve’s hips keep squirming, mindlessly grinding his ass against the heated metal. Eddie wants to ruin him.

Steve seems to be on the same page because he spreads his legs wider and wraps them around Eddie's waist to pull him closer, ignoring Eddie's earlier order. Eddie comes tumbling forward, catching himself with his hands on either side of Steve's head and Steve pulls him down in another kiss, this one even more heated than the first. Steve licks into Eddie's mouth like he owns it and Eddie's head is already spinning from how fast they're going. It feels like the last three weeks have been one long foreplay and they can't wait a second longer. So when Steve starts sucking Eddie's tongue into his mouth, Eddie's arms give way and he crashes down on Steve, never stopping their kissing or the constant grinding of their hips against each other.

Not wasting another second, Steve takes advantage of their new position to get his hands under Eddie's shirt, nails scratching along his back. They're practically dry humping on the shiny hood of a BMW. Eddie's younger, non-conformist, capitalism-hating self would roll his eyes before applauding him for getting down and dirty with the hottest guy he's ever laid eyes on. He begins to put more force into the roll of his hips, pressing Steve harder against the metal beneath him, and Steve wrenches their mouths apart with a loud, drawn out moan.

He starts tugging at Eddie's shirt, grumbling, "Off. Get it off," against Eddie's mouth, and Eddie complies, leaning back just enough to pull his shirt over his head before coming back down to capture Steve's mouth in another kiss. The wet material of Steve's top is nice against Eddie’s heated skin, but he wants to feel Steve, only Steve, so he slips his hand beneath him and pulls him into a sitting position.

His hands make their way to Steve's waist to slip under his top, his fingertips touching Steve's stomach and Eddie feels the muscles flutter against them. He presses his hands down harder and begins to slide them up Steve's body, his eyes drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. There are more moles underneath and Eddie thinks Steve should be shirtless all the time so he can trace them with his fingers or his tongue whenever he wants. Steve giggles when Eddie's hands reach his rips and it's an unexpectedly delightful sound. Ticklish, Eddie notes on his mental list of things he knows about his neighbor. Cute is already there, so he doesn't have to add that one.

"Lift your arms for me, sweetheart," Eddie rasps, his voice already affected by the little they've done so far. Steve obeys easily, pleased to get what he wants, and Eddie has to kiss him. Just a quick press of lips, there and gone.

The gasp that comes from Steve's mouth is music to Eddie's ears as he slides his hands further up, his thumbs grazing Steve's nipples along the way. Steve is so responsive, so obvious and giving with his desire, and if that isn't the hottest thing ever, Eddie doesn't know what is.

He stops the upward slide of his hands at Steve's wrist and twists the material of his shirt around them, effectively tying them together, before placing his hand on the thick patch of dark hair on Steve's chest and pushing him back down onto the hood. Steve looks at Eddie with a dazed look in his eyes, his arms resting on the windshield above his head.

"What —" is all he manages to say, his former cockiness gone for the moment.

Eddie takes his time to look at the beautiful man laid out in front of him. Steve hasn't moved his hands, silent surrender in every line of his body. He's perfect. Steve is perfect.

"You're perfect," Eddie purrs. "Putting on such a hot show, just for me. So let me enjoy what you're offering, yeah?"

With that, Eddie leans down again and bites Steve's jaw, just below his ear. It's such an unexpected move that Steve gasps loudly, his hips shooting up as if Eddie had electrocuted him. He licks the bite mark soothingly before scraping his teeth down the column of Steve's throat to his collarbone, sucking the thin skin just above the bone into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth. As much as Steve tries to hold still and let Eddie explore his body, the need for friction seems to become too much, because Eddie feels the hard, thick line of his cock rubbing against his own crotch in incremental thrusts.

"Eddie, please, please, please," Steve begs, and Eddie thinks he doesn't even know what for. It's intoxicating, almost addictive, and he hopes this won't be the last time he gets high on Steve.

"So impatient," Eddie chides him, biting the firm flesh of his pec in warning.

Steve squirms under him but still manages to sound defiant as he says, "Oh fuck you, been waiting weeks to get your hands on me, I deserve a reward for my —" his words are cut short by a low fuck as Eddie sucks his nipple into his mouth and lets his tongue play with it.

"You deserve a reward for your fuck? I dunno, Stevie. We'll have to see, won't we?" Eddie smirks up at Steve, his chin digging into the nipple he just abused with his mouth.

"How about you get a move on so I can show you?"

Eddie resumes working his mouth down Steve's torso, biting and licking his chest, tracing the constellation of moles and freckles with his tongue, memorizing Steve's body by taste and smell alone. When he pulls his lower body away from Steve's to get a better angle, Steve whines at the loss and Eddie takes pity on him, offering his chest for Steve's dick to rub against instead. The hot flesh feels big, even through the jeans, a thick length that Eddie can't wait to get his mouth on.

"You can't wait to get my mouth on you, huh, big boy?"

Not waiting for an answer, Eddie slides further down and dips his tongue into Steve's navel, relishing the sounds that fall from Steve's mouth. It's like Steve can't keep them in, his body forced to be still, so he has to use his voice to let some of the overflowing feelings out of his body. Eddie decides to test how much longer Steve can keep his hands to himself.

His tongue leaves Steve's belly button and follows the tantalizing trail of dark hair down to the waistband of his shorts. He sucks the tender flesh into his mouth as well, leaving another mark. Looking up at Steve's torso, Eddie thinks he may have gone a bit overboard, because his skin is covered in bruises and bite marks, and something tells him that Steve is going to bitch about it later. For now, they both seem to be enjoying Eddie's more possessive side.

While his mouth is still busy sucking on Steve's skin, his hands begin to work on undoing his pants. The button is a bitch, the wetness makes it hard to move the material enough to pop the button free, but once that's done, he gets to hear the satisfying sound of the zipper going down. Next, his hands hook into the waist and slide the shorts off Steve's long, muscular legs, the material clinging to him and Eddie can't even blame it. They are gorgeous legs and Eddie would never want to be parted from them either, wants to have them around him all the time.

When he's finally pulled them all the way off, Eddie has to pause for a moment to take in the sight before him. He's almost dizzy with want, but frozen in place because there are so many things he wants to do to Steve right now, it's overwhelming. Steve lies there, miles and miles of golden skin, Eddie's marks like new stars born into existing constellations, adding to the sheer beauty of him.

Steve's hands are still above his head, the muscles in his arms bunching with his restraint to keep them there, his broad swimmer's back pushing his torso up in an arch that even Michelangelo could not have done justice. It tapers into a sturdy waist, his hipbones framing his dark crotch hair like a canvas. The thick thighs underneath quiver at the unnatural angle and Eddie wants to wrap them back around him. And he will, any second now. As soon as he is done burning all of this into his memory.

"Take a picture, it would last longer," Steve snarks, and Eddie is honestly impressed by the attitude. Apparently Steve Harrington is a little bitch, even with his cock dripping pre-cum and his hips writhing.

He does have a point though — it would. So Eddie pulls out his phone and snaps a picture.

"That better go in a private folder," Steve bitches, an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks, but Eddie can tell he's turned on, too, by the way more pre-cum drips down on his stomach. Interesting.

"Top of the spank bank, baby," Eddie promises as he drops to his knees in front of Steve.

He takes a second to slide his phone away to keep it safe before focusing all his attention on the cock right in front of him, mouth already flooded with saliva. Placing both of his hands on Steve's hips to hold him in place, he mouths up the hard length, starting at the base, all the way up to the leaking head. With his hands busy he has to use his tongue to lift Steve’s dick from where it's resting against his taut stomach to get it all the way into his mouth.

Eddie doesn't waste another second, sliding down and taking Steve into his throat.

Steve shoots up, his upper body lifting off the metal into a sitting position in one swift motion, his hands sliding out of their confines to bury themselves in Eddie’s hair.

Fuck, if that wasn't the hottest thing Eddie had ever seen. Hot enough that he decides he's done playing for now.

So instead of pulling off and putting Steve back in his place, he just increases his efforts, bobbing his head and making sure to swallow and moan around Steve whenever he hits his fluttering throat. It's uncomfortable with how big Steve is, almost painful, and Eddie loves every second of it. It makes him feel alive, powerful with how he can take Steve apart with just his mouth. There's something so rewarding about choking on a dick, pleasure that hits in a different way.

It's with regret that he pulls off after a few more minutes of indulging himself with the pleasure of Steve's weight on his tongue and the thickness filling his throat. But he has plans; wants to have Steve as addicted as Eddie already is. He needs him to come back for more, because now that he has had a taste, Eddie is not sure he can go back to being just neighbors waving hello to each other.

He kisses the spit-slick flesh down to Steve's balls, full with his need to come, sucks one into his mouth and rolls it around before doing the same to the other.

"You're a fucking - ah - fucking tease, anyone ever tell you that?"

Eddie drops the heavy sack from his mouth and bites into the tender flesh of Steve's inner thigh, earning himself a yelp and a hard yank of his hair from Steve's hands.

"They're usually not coherent enough for that. Looks like I'll have to work harder on you." To make his point, he pushes Steve back into a lying position. "Now hold still and let me ruin you, okay?"

"Fuck. You're going to be the death of me."

Right back at you, Eddie thinks. "But what a way to go."

With that, he slides his hands down the inside of Steve's thighs to his knees, spreading them wider and using the leverage to pull Steve closer to the edge of the hood. That way Eddie's face is exactly where he wants it — level with Steve's rim. He'd planned to give it the same devouring attention as his dick, using his tongue and lips until Steve was a quivering mess above him. Then he would have added his fingers, stretching him on them, fingering him until he came without anything else.

It's a good plan. A great plan even. What isn't part of the plan, though, is the sight of something already spearing Steve open.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie breathes out as he sees the base of a black plug in Steve's ass, his eyes wide in disbelief. If being here in Steve's garage, ready to fuck each other senseless, feels like a fever dream, then this is like being dropped into a porn version of the Twilight Zone.

His eyes are glued to Steve's rim clutching a fucking buttplug, but he doesn't need to see it to hear the smirk in Steve's smug voice. "Cat got your tongue?"

That snaps Eddie out of his stupor and he looks up at Steve, who's leaning on his forearms, actually smirking down at him. "No, but there's a big ass plug where my tongue should be."

The picture Eddie just painted seems to hit Steve exactly where Eddie wanted it to, as he sees him squirm, nudging his ass closer to Eddie's face, wonderfully unashamed in his need. "So do something about it."

Eddie slowly moves his hand up Steve's leg again, letting it follow the same path as before, starting at the knee and working up the inside thigh to the crease of his groin until his thumb can trace the outer edge of the plug. The skin still has traces of lube on it and Eddie smears it around the rim, wedging the tip of his thumb between the silicone and muscle, causing Steve to hiss under his breath.

Eddie watches his finger circle the plug in amazement, consumed by the overwhelmingly hot idea of Steve prepping himself, maybe even bending over the car in his garage, one hand on the hood while the other works in the plug, his dick hanging heavy and neglected between his legs. Let him be smug, Eddie thinks, he deserves it,. Because Steve Harrington just keeps on blowing his goddamn mind.

Still, he has to poke the bear a little, because the cocky, confident side of Steve is really, really working for him.

"Were you really this confident that washing your car would get me in here?"

"If it didn't work, it still made washing it a hell of a lot more exciting," Steve counters, and doesn't that add fuel to the fire that's burning in his veins.

Eddie has no trouble imagining the way the plug would move inside Steve; its heavy weight pulling at his rim, so Steve would have to clench his hole to hold it in place. Steve’s mind would be constantly aware of it, all his senses focused on the thickness inside of him, every little movement igniting sparks of arousal. Eddie can imagine Steve moving just enough to push it against his prostate, his muscles working to suck it in deeper, tightening around it so the pressure against his inner walls would be even more intense.

Eddie is pulled out of the fantasy he's lost in when Steve tells him, "Lube and condoms are on the bench over there," nodding toward the workbench where, among tools and equipment, Eddie sees a bottle of lube and some shiny packages of condoms. He has no idea how he missed them earlier and can only blame the siren call of Steve's body.

Eddie presses a final kiss to Steve's thigh, just above where he bit earlier, and wastes no time getting up and grabbing the things he needs. Before making his way back to where Steve is waiting impatiently with hooded eyes, Eddie makes quick work of taking off his own pants and boxers. Steve's eyes turn even darker at the sight of Eddie's hard dick and Eddie can't help but give it a few tugs, putting on his own show just for Steve.

"If you don't get your ass over here in the next five seconds, I'm doing this without you," Steve almost growls, his hand already moving between his legs.

Eddie is over there in three long strides, slapping Steve's hand away and wrapping his own around Steve's dick. "Uh uh, sweetheart. That's mine today."

He puts the lube and a condom on the hood of the car next to Steve with his other hand and pulls Steve in for another open-mouthed kiss. But as Steve grows impatient, his legs wrap around Eddie's waist again, tight enough to pull him in and urge him to get on with it.

But instead of giving Steve what he wants, Eddie decides to stick to his original plan, adding the plug to torture Steve even more. He grabs Steve's knees to entangle himself from their demanding pull, and drops to his knees again. Who says he can't put his mouth on Steve with the plug still inside him?

So he does just that, bringing his mouth to Steve's rim and licking a wide strip across it before letting his tongue trace the edge of the plug. As he nudges the tip of his tongue under the edge and inside, Steve gasps as he presses his ass more firmly against Eddie's face. It's hard to smirk when your face is buried in someone's ass, but Eddie manages it anyway. Two can play this game.

Eddie brings his fingers into the mix next. He grips the plug and tugs on it, just a little, just enough to watch Steve's rim cling to it as it slowly slides an inch or two out of his ass. "Look at you, so desperate to be full, your ass gripping that plug so tight. I can't wait until it's my dick you're gripping."

Steve squirms at his words, his hips now moving relentlessly, seeking the pleasure Eddie has so far denied him.

"More. Fuck, Eddie. I need more. Come on."

And Eddie gives him more, sort of, pushing the plug back in before tugging again, this time pulling it out even further, twisting it back and forth as it slides out of Steve, glistening with lube. As he pushes it back in, his finger joins, worming its way in as well. It’s a snug fit, the pressure against his finger intense. He slides the plug and his finger in and out a few more times before finally pulling it free, going deliberately slow and reveling in the whine that leaves Steve's lips as he does so.

The plug is dropped on top of Steve's discarded shorts before he dives right back in, fastening his mouth to Steve's empty, twitching hole and pushing his tongue deep inside. Steve yelps in obvious surprise, but it soon turns into a loud, shameless moan.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," he curses, his hips undulating against Eddie's face, "you don't - hnng, yes there, fuck - have t- that's what the plug was for," Steve complains, but there is no heat in it. Or believability. Not with the way he tries to sit up and shove Eddie away, only to clench his hands in Eddie's hair, pulling his face even tighter against his grinding hips as he leans back down. Steve is greedy in his lust and Eddie has never been more turned on in his life.

Eddie keeps eating Steve out like he’s his favorite meal. The thighs clamped tightly around his head tremble and Steve sounds like he's almost crying, his voice reedy as he begs Eddie to just fuck him already. And as much as he loves reducing Steve to this wanton, needy mess, Eddie's dick is so hard it's bordering on painful.

Still, before he plunges into the tight heat that’s waiting for him, Eddie wants to make sure the plug has done its proper job first, so he coats his fingers with lube and rubs them together to warm it up. He sinks two fingers in at once, watching Steve's face intently as they slide in with ease to the last knuckle. There's no sign of discomfort, just a fucked out expression looking back at him. The third he adds is met with a little more resistance, a tiny wrinkle between Steve's eyebrows telling him it stings, but Eddie still thinks it will be fine if he goes slow. At least as slow as their desire-drunk bodies will allow.

As if reading his mind, Steve looks him in the eye and says, "I'm not made of glass, Eddie." It's not bitchy like Eddie expected, but almost soft, reassuring.

He curls his fingers inside Steve one last time, drinking in the whimper Steve can't seem to hold back, before pressing a kiss to the tip of Steve's dick. "Okay, okay, I got you."

Eddie reaches for the condom, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth (Steve's not the only one who likes to put on a show, okay) and puts it on his dick before generously coating it with more lube. It's cold on his overheated flesh, sending a shiver down his spine, but he figures it'll soon warm up once he's inside Steve.

Placing one hand next to Steve's head, he uses the other to line himself up. As he nudges against Steve's entrance, Eddie leans forward to catch Steve's lips in another kiss, sliding his tongue into Steve's mouth at the same time his head breaches Steve's rim. He swallows the gasp from Steve's mouth and pushes forward, sinking deeper and deeper into the tight clutch of Steve's ass.

They both have to catch their breath when Eddie finally bottoms out, Eddie's forehead resting against Steve's, the moment unexpectedly tender.

"Good?"

"Perfect," Steve murmurs, his eyes closing in pleasure as Eddie slowly draws back to thrust again. He's quieter now that Eddie's finally fucking him, little gasps and breathless ah ah ahs escaping him as Eddie's hips pick up speed. Eddie's so close, but he wants Steve to come first, had planned to make that happen without a hand on Steve's dick, only it looks like that won't happen before Eddie loses it himself. But as he reaches down between them to take Steve in his hand, Steve's own hand catches his, lacing their fingers together and placing their hands next to his head.

"So close, don't - don't need it, just keep going, keep going."

Without both hands to hold himself up, Eddie sinks down onto Steve, and Steve squeezes his hand as Eddie fucks into him. He's not prepared for the way this simple, sweet gesture shoots through him, his orgasm taking him completely by surprise.

"Fuck, no- oh, fuck," he moans, his pleasure too intense for words as he spills into the condom, his hips still working as aftershocks run through him.

Eddie buries his face in Steve's neck, his body still twitching but his mind starting to race. He fucked up. He had a plan and he blew it, coming too soon like a teenager just because his crush was holding his hand. Steve went out of his way to get them here, prepped himself, plugged himself, washed his car in the most indecent outfit he could find - washed his car.

Eddie remembers Steve talking about licking his cum off his car and he's struck with an idea.

He gingerly pulls out, all the while kissing Steve to distract him from the sting (and to apologize for seemingly leaving him hanging). As soon as his softening dick slips free, he stands up again, pulling Steve upright with their hands still clasped and an arm around his waist. Steve stumbles against him, catching himself with a hand on Eddie's chest. "What —"

"Oh, we're not done, sweetheart," Eddie purrs, turning Steve over so that Steve's back is to him.

He thrusts three fingers back inside Steve without warning, his other arm still wrapped around Steve's waist to keep him pressed against Eddie. His hand reaches down to grab Steve in a firm grip, spreading the copious amount of pre-cum that has pooled on the head with his thumb before he begins to slowly pump Steve. It's probably too dry, but the wounded sounds Steve makes are only one third pain and two parts pleasure, so he doesn’t stop.

Eddie's fingers fuck Steve relentlessly from behind, pumping in and out, prodding along his walls until he finds that one spot that makes Steve whimper and hump Eddie's hand. Once he’s found it, Eddie keeps his fingers there, massaging the spot until Steve comes with a hoarse scream all over his precious car.

Eddie keeps going until the sounds Steve keeps making become pitiful, the overstimulation obviously turning painful. Only then does he pull his fingers out of Steve and lets go of his dick.

Steve turns around in his arms, his weight sagging against Eddie, who happily holds him against his chest and kisses him.

They're both sticky with cum and lube and sweat but they couldn't care less about it right now. It's a sweet kiss, the softness a stark contrast to what they just did, and Eddie can't get enough. Every time one of them starts to pull away, the other follows for another kiss. It is only when Eddie feels that they are both beginning to shiver that he stops Steve from following him again with a hand that cups his cheek.

"We should get cleaned up."

"Hmmmm," Steve agrees, "we should." But he doesn't make a move to do so, just presses himself closer to Eddie. It's adorable, and Eddie can't help but kiss him on the nose for it.

"Come on, Steve. Let's go inside and clean up. Put on some dry clothes and —"

"Fuck again."

"Jesus Christ."

"Nah, you can call me Steve." Steve winks at him and Eddie wants to reaffirm his earlier thought. His neighbor is going to be the death of him. "And don't worry, we can work on your stamina next time," Steve adds, a mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes.

Eddie can't wait.

________________________________________________________

A heartfelt shout-out and thank you to my two favorite enablers, @legitcookie and @yournowheregirl for their endless support and cheerleading. This story wouldn't be what it is without you. You're the best 💜

#steddie #steddie smut #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #stranger things #modern au #neighbours #steve in indecent denim shorts and a white tank top washing his car - that's the visual #you're welcome #this is nothing but self-indulgent smut born by Alice and me discussing sexy car washing for charity #as it happens #nsft #my writing #thank you to Alice and Jen for delivering encouragement vibes visuals and most of all thirsty headcanons on a daily

184 notes · View notes