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metalhoops · 1 year

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“I think I’m seeing things, man,” Eddie spoke from his spot on the Harrington’s couch. His white skin appeared paler still against the brown leather.

Steve didn’t blame him. He was on all kinds of painkillers. It’d been two weeks since the world fell apart. Two weeks since Vecna disappeared. Two weeks since Eddie almost died.

Steve liked to treat those memories as others treated head-on collisions. It was better not to look at them directly. It was better to treat it like it’d never happened.

“What’re we looking at?” Steve asked from his spot on the floor, following Eddie’s line of sight to the gap in the curtains.

“Don’t know. Thought I saw somebody outside,” Eddie confessed.

The Harrington house had always been filled with spectres, whether that of partygoers, like front lawn flamingos in need of an exorcism or the body in the backyard pool. But those were Steve’s hang-ups, not Eddie’s.

If all it took to be a ghost was to haunt, Eddie might be included in the ranks of his own private phantasmagoria. He kept checking each night to make sure the boy was really there, that he’d really gotten out. People shouldn’t have that much blood in them, and they definitely shouldn’t have that much blood out of them.

Steve went to the window because that was something he could do for Eddie. He wasn’t sure why he kept feeling the need to apologise. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but hell if Steve knew if he’d done anything right either. He’d gotten Eddie out of the Upside Down. He’d put his hands inside the boy’s body, shoved his shirt beneath his skin and held it in the dark cavity that oozed and throbbed warm blood like the rise and fall of the tide.

Don’t think about it. Check the window. His hands at his side felt cold. He wondered if they’d ever be warm again. There was a figure across the street.

A boy in a basketball jersey circled passed the house.

Things never ended smoothly. Steve liked to think once Jason went down the rest of the vigilante crew would stop looking for Eddie, but there were some stragglers who hadn’t got the message.

Hopper had his hands full trying to clear Eddie’s name. Eddie’s uncle was still looking for him. The whole town was holding their breath in the midst of destruction, waiting for someone to blame. Steve shut the curtains, turned the lights off and moved to Eddie’s side in the darkness.

“Hounds of hell still circling then?” Eddie guessed after one glimpse at Steve’s face.

“I’ll call Hopper,” Steve reasoned, reaching up to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe to make sure he was real. Maybe to tell him he was sorry.

“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” Eddie spoke, reaching out and snagging the hem of Steve’s sweater.

“No one thinks I’m here. If the cops show up at the Harringtons’ it’s going to turn some heads,” Eddie reasoned, and he was right.

So where did that leave them? Sitting alone in the dark with Eddie fading in and out of sleep and Steve watching car headlights dance across the curtains, waiting for the moment everything went wrong.

“Steve?” Eddie breathed beside Steve’s ear in the blackness. He hadn’t realised they were so close.

“Yeah?” Steve moved his eyes from the window to look at Eddie.

“I think I’m crashing,” he noted, a grimace dancing across his face. Steve had never felt smaller.

“Doc said we’ve gotta wait six hours,” Steve replied, hoping he didn’t sound as worried as he felt.

“How long’s it been?”

“Three.”

Steve always wanted to appear cool in times of crisis, but he had no idea what he was doing. Some of the government agents Steve had signed countless NDAs for over the past four years had patched Eddie up as best they could and had started scrambling for a cover-up.

In the meantime, Eddie would stay at Steve’s place. It made the most sense. Eddie was nobody to Steve. No one would go looking for Eddie at the Harringtons’, and unlike the other older teens, he didn’t have parents to answer to. Big house. No parents. Perfect place to lie low.

Steve was nobody to Eddie and yet for the past week, they’d been an island unto themselves, trapped indoors together, watching shadows on the walls and trying to keep each other alive and sane. He felt completely unprepared.

“Alright. Come on. Let’s go to bed,” Steve muttered, kneeling in front of Eddie. He watched the boy rise to a sitting position over his shoulder. Eddie snorted.

“What exactly is the plan here, Steve?”

Eddie had been stuck oscillating between the living room, kitchen, and downstairs bathroom for days. They could both use a change of scenery.

“Piggyback,” Steve spoke, trying not to think about the connotations that the word had garnered. He wasn’t going to think about Vecna. Not today.

He expected the boy to argue, but instead, he felt Eddie’s arms snake around his throat. He held tight, but not as tight as he should. Steve had to hold on to his forearms like backpack straps as he stood. Eddie’s legs were stronger. They held firm around Steve’s waist.

Eddie’s head flopped against Steve’s shoulder blade, nuzzling into the space. He was warm as the sun. Too warm. He was running a temperature. Steve tried not to think of the last time he carried Eddie. The boy was uncharacteristically quiet. Steve needed to do something.

“Saddle up, buckeroo,” Steve spoke, hoisting Eddie further up his back. He felt a puff of air against his neck, a barely there laugh.

“Hi-yo, Silver,” Eddie grumbled against Steve’s skin.

Steve moved deftly through the dark, taking the staircase slowly and methodically. The last thing either of them needed was another broken bone.

“I think I owe you one once all this is over,” Eddie noted. Steve was already shaking his head.

“You stick around, and I’ll call it a favour. I think Henderson would kick my ass if you died.”

“The kid’s got spunk. I’ll give him that,” Eddie noted as the two reached the top of the stairs.

“He’s got an attitude and a problem with authority,” Steve corrected, taking Eddie to his bedroom.

He moved to the edge of his bed and let Eddie extract himself. When they broke apart, Steve felt cold again.

“That’s our boy,” Eddie chuckled, shooting Steve a lopsided smirk. He was definitely still high on painkillers.

Steve rolled his eyes and helped lower Eddie down onto his favourite pillow, the one worn down with age but all the more comfortable for it. He pulled the covers up around the boy’s shoulders.

“Yeah, our boy,” Steve echoed in a too-fond tone.

He’d never let Henderson hear the term of affection. The kid had a big enough head as it was, but in the too-quiet world of just himself and Eddie, he felt okay admitting it. Once it looked like Eddie was settled in, Steve sat on the edge of his bed, feeling as he always did, like a stranger in his own home.

“When did you last get some shut-eye, boy wonder?” Eddie asked, his foot tucking beneath Steve’s thigh.

Friday. What day was it? Sunday. Not good.

“Well, come on then, don’t make a guy beg. Lay down, Steve. It’s your bed. I could sleep in the spare room if it’s a problem.” There was something cautious about the offer Steve didn’t understand.

He flopped down beside Eddie, so close the two shared a pillow. It changed the shape of the thing. It made the familiar strange.

“You know, I had this dream last night,” Eddie began, his dark eyes still open, glued to the ceiling. He cringed, knowing all the ways dreams could go bad, but Eddie shook his head.

“Not that kind of dream,” He insisted, his hands balling into fists on the bedsheets.

“I had a dream I was a pinball machine,” the boy stated plainly. The absurdity of the statement shocked a laugh out of Steve.

“These painkillers are legit, Harrington,” Eddie spoke, shooting Steve a sidelong glance.

“What kind of pinball machine?”

“You know the Centaur one? It’s black and white, mostly. The arts got this topless guy who’s half man, half motorbike,” Eddie explained.

Steve had no idea what he was saying, but it was nice to hear him talk.

“Wait, if you were the pinball machine, how did you know what you looked like?”

“Great question Steven. I’ve got no clue. Dream logic,” Eddie reasoned.

Steve screwed up his nose at the use of his full name. Only his dad called him Steven. Eddie raised a brow, seeming to take note. One of them had shifted closer. Steve wasn’t sure who. Eddie’s hand brushed against his side as he played with the sheets.

“Remind me again why I needed to know about your pinball dream?” Steve asked. The sound of the wind in the trees outside his bedroom window set his teeth on edge.

“Because you’re too damn serious and I thought it’d make you smile... Which it did.” Eddie added the last part in quietly and Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie craned his head to look around Steve’s room before screwing up his nose.

“Anyone ever told you your wallpaper is gaudy as hell? Your curtains match your walls. Dude, I thought rich people were meant to have taste,” he observed, the boys’ shoulders pressed together.

“This coming from the guy who eats cereal out of the box with his hands,” Steve countered, no heat in his voice.

“Are you still mad I used to stand on your lunch table?” Eddie muttered, shoving Steve’s shoulder before tensing. When had Steve last checked his dressings?

He flipped the bedside lamp on, leaning over Eddie to do so. He’d been helping the guy shower for days now. Privacy was a word reserved for other people. Intimacy was a necessity.

“Once you stood in my mashed potatoes. It was disgusting,” Steve uttered, gently peeling up the hem of Eddie’s tee shirt. Really, it was Steve’s, but it seemed strange to make distinctions.

Eddie’s eyes trailed down to Steve’s fingers, half-hooded and slowed with sleep or inebriation, Steve didn’t know which. He wondered how much of all this Eddie would remember when he got better. He would get better.

“You never ate the potatoes. You’d bring your stupid bagels from home,” Eddie remarked, as Steve carefully unwound the bandage and gauze. It was stained brown with dried blood, but it looked better than it’d been a few days before, no longer as red or swollen.

The bagel comment made Steve look up. Seemed like Robin wasn’t the only one that’d been watching him. Maybe Eddie had a crush on Tammy Thompson, too. Maybe it was something else. Steve’s friends had crappy taste in women. Eddie could do better.

“What’s the verdict, doc?” Eddie questioned, noticing Steve’s sudden silence.

He cleaned the wounds as best he could. Eddie’s fingers had found their way to Steve’s thigh, gripping so tight he thought it would bruise. It would be another to add to the collection. Steve hadn’t been thinking of how his battle wounds were healing. He was in triage mode. Eddie’s wounds were worse than his.

“We're going to have to amputate,” Steve deadpanned as he found the first aid kit he’d hidden beneath his bed years before, starting to redress the wound.

“How the hell can you amputate a side?” Eddie asked with a shaky laugh, his breathing more ragged again.

“Well, you see, there’s this new experimental procedure that lets you transplant your brain into a pinball machine,” Steve began and felt Eddie’s elbow in his side.

“Screw you.”

Steve laid back beside Eddie, less space between them than before, if it was at all possible. They braced against each other, the contact grounding Steve. Eddie was alive. He was alive. Maybe one day they could look at each other and not think about death. That day wasn’t today, but Steve could hope for it.

As Eddie drifted to sleep, his head fell on Steve’s shoulder. He wouldn’t sleep for long that night, but he was used to that. He knew the weeks and months after a run-in with the Upside Down were full of fitful sleep and nightmares, but they never lasted.

On a long enough timeline, you could get used to anything. It was strange how short that timeline was when it came to getting used to Eddie.

More days came and went with the same imperfect routines. The two boys woke at all hours of the night and spent the daylight hours behind closed curtains, trying to heal.

By the third day, Steve got sick of the quiet. A sombre mood hung over them, shifting and changing like the phases of the moon. It never entirely disappeared, but there were moments it seemed almost absent.

One of these such moments arose when Steve hijacked the boombox from the living room and dragged it upstairs to his bedroom, where a slowly healing Eddie sat bored out of his mind, aching and itchy. Steve knew the feeling. The wound on his neck had scabbed and begun to fade into a scar.

“Hey, Munson?” Steve spoke, sitting beside Eddie, spreading his tape collection between them.

“You wanna hear some real music?” He asked, watching Eddie’s nose scrunch and his teeth worry away at his bottom lip.

“These are all horrible, Harrington.”

Eddie turned over several cassettes in his hand, treating them gently as though they were something special.

“You have every WHAM! album, dude. The Outfield. Halls & Oats. Tears for Fears,” Eddie listed off, his tone one of disgust.

“You’re going to have to pick something, or I’ll pick WHAM! out of spite.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and shuffled through the tapes, tossing one Steve’s way.

“Bowie isn’t horrible,” Eddie mumbled as Steve placed The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, into the player.

The two sat shoulder to shoulder, as always, listening to the quiet swell of drums. Steve realised too late it was a song about the end of the world. He realised, later still, that it was a love song. Eddie’s fingers drummed against his knee. Steve tried to ignore the way the action made his heart swell.

Steve couldn’t sit still any longer as Moonaged Daydream began. He remembered another life in Nancy Wheeler’s garage, asking her to pretend things were normal for a couple of hours. God, he wanted that. He needed a few normal hours.

He wasn’t the same person he’d been back then, but parts of him had stayed the same. He didn’t know how to change them. Nancy Wheeler faced problems head-on, but Steve? The passage of time had taught him how to stand his ground in the face of danger, but he hadn’t yet learned how to stop being chased.

He caught Eddie’s eye and watched as a wicked grin spread across his face. Without words, he knew exactly what Steve was about to do. He grabbed the nail bat he kept by the bed, the same one from the Wheeler’s garage and sang, using the gnarly weapon as his makeshift microphone. He was a little too loud and a little off-tune. He sang about alligators and space invaders, lyrics he knew off by heart, without understanding them.

He watched as a grin threatened to crack Eddie’s face in two. There was a reckless abandon to his smile. It was different from the glazed-eyed, half-high smiles of the past week. His eyes were keen and sharp as he watched Steve fling himself across the room in the way only someone who’d learned to dance drunk could.

By the time the album finished, he’d worked up a sweat. Eddie joined in, singing a couple of lines when he could before tugging Steve back to bed, his hand in Steve’s hair, smoothing it back in place. The action was intimate, yet familiar.

“Alright, Starman. Maybe Bowie doesn’t suck so hard, but when I’m not on the run from the law, I’m going to show you what real music sounds like.”

“Promise?” Steve asked, his chest heaving.

Then, Eddie did something so unlike anything the populous of Hawkins would expect. To them, he was a Satanist and a murderer. Steve had always known better, but he’d seen Eddie as a wildcard. He was loud and rough around the edges, but he also had the capability of being endearing when the moment called for it. Still, Steve had never expected Eddie to roll over, extend his pinkie and link their little fingers together.

“I promise,” He assured, placing his lips to the knuckle of his thumb as though sealing the deal.

The action was equal parts childlike and intense. Steve looked down at their interlaced fingers and knew he was in over his head. Warmth pooled in Steve’s fingertips.

“Eds, I—,” A knock at the downstairs door made the words die on Steve’s lips. The boys pulled apart. Steve was cold.

“I’ll get it,” Steve spoke, picking up the discarded nail bat and trudging down the stairs.

He hoped it was one of the door-knocking jocks. Some primal part of him felt like hitting something. Years before, he would have questioned if he was the kind of person who could do it, but now he knew he could.

Steve clutched at the bat hidden behind his back as he swung open the door, coming face-to-face with an older man dressed in too-short jean shorts, holding an armful of paper bags. He looked familiar. He’d seen the man with Hopper. A furrow etched its way onto his brow.

“Aren’t you going to let your beloved uncle in, Steve?” The man spoke, loud enough for the people in the next neighbourhood to hear.

“Right,” Steve mumbled, pushing the door open and stepping to the side.

The man walked through the house as though he’d grown up within their walls, dropping the paper bags on the countertop, switching on the lights and examining the space.

“Hopper sent me with supplies. It’d draw too much attention having the feds at your front door, but a visit from your favourite Uncle Murray? That’s incognito. I’ve got groceries and painkillers, slipped in some vodka too, on the house. Personally, I was thinking of making my homemade ravioli for dinner. Trust me, it’s to die for. Where’s the other one by the way?” The man, Murray, breathed, spinning on his heels to examine the interior of the house. Steve let his nail bat fall to the floor.

“You really should invest in a gun, kid...Was I interrupting something?” The older man asked, gesturing absentmindedly to his balding head. Steve touched his hair and found it still out of place. He ran his fingers through it in an attempt to tame it.

“No, we... I was sleeping. Eddie’s upstairs. I think he’s okay, but I could use another set of eyes. I don’t know exactly what I’m doing here. Are you staying?”

“I’m just staying for dinner. It’d look strange if your uncle only showed up for a few minutes, wouldn’t it?” Steve didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“There’s the man of the hour,” Murray spoke, glancing up at the top of the staircase where Eddie stood, leaning heavily on the banister.

“What happened to staying up there?” Steve spoke through gritted teeth, making his way back up the stairs.

“You were taking too long,” Eddie muttered with an unbothered shrug.

“And if it’d been one of Jason’s asshole friends, we’d have been screwed,” Steve rebutted, letting Eddie lean on him as they made their way to Murray in the kitchen. At least he could walk.

“But it wasn’t,” Eddie huffed, his breath warm on Steve’s neck.

Steve kicked out one of the kitchen chairs and lowered Eddie into it. The older man watched them as a scientist observes a specimen. There was a morbid fascination to it.

“I see you two are getting along well,” He spoke.

He’d found where Steve’s mother had stored their pots and had begun some strange kitchen alchemy. Steve had made risotto. This guy looked like he was completing a summoning ritual. The ingredients were splayed out on the countertop like objects of adoration.

Steve sat down in the chair beside Eddie. It felt strange having someone else in the house. For what seemed like a lifetime, his world had consisted of one other person. He missed Robin, Dustin, and the rest of the kids, but he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. He’d known their isolation couldn’t last forever, but he’d never have guessed Murray would be the first person he’d see.

“Tense mood. Why is it I always end up in the middle of couples in denial?” Murray breathed to himself.

Eddie’s head snapped up with a speed Steve hadn’t seen him manage all week. Steve didn’t look at Murray, he was too busy trying to unpick the pained look on Eddie’s face. His eyes searched the boy’s body for some torn open wound he’d missed.

“What? Don’t look so surprised. Contrary to what kids these days think, we did have homosexuality in the sixties,” Murray informed before pausing. He gave Steve a once-over that made his skin crawl. He felt as though he were a bug, pinned beneath a glass plate.

“And bisexuality,” He clarified.

Steve averted his eyes and reached over to squeeze Eddie’s knee. He was hopelessly lost in the conversation, but he knew something was wrong with Eddie. The boy jumped at the sudden contact and Steve pulled his hand away as though burnt.

“So, what’s the problem? Still in denial?” Murray asked, levelling Steve with a knowing look. He scowled back at the man, ready for him to leave.

“No. I think you know how you feel, maybe even how he feels.” Steve didn’t know how to respond.

“You, however,” Murray continued, turning his attention to Eddie, the boiling pot on the stove, forgotten.

“I don’t think you have a clue. Self-esteem issues, maybe. You try to hide it, but you couldn’t imagine that someone in a house like this would look at you twice.”

“What the hell, man?” Eddie breathed with a huff of indignation. Murray showed no signs of stopping. His eyes were back on Steve.

“So, what’s holding you back? You got your heart broken after Nancy Wheeler. Let me guess, you keep saying how much you want commitment, but you keep dating the wrong people, people who don’t want to be tied down. That, my boy, is self-sabotage and him,” Murray spoke, indicating Eddie with a wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the rice.

“He looks like a long-haul kind of guy.”

“Dude,” Eddie interjected.

“What? You’re both obviously attracted to one another. Don’t lie. I have eyes. You’re telling me that all this near-death stuff hasn’t made you re-evaluate your life a little? It’s just been you two, locked away together at the end of the world, helping each other heal. Seeking comfort in one another. You’ve got shared trauma. That kind of thing bonds you for life.”

“Leave it alone,” Steve said, standing as he spoke. The chair scraped on the tile floor. A nails on a chalkboard kind of sound.

Steve pushed past the older man, pulled the pot off the stove, and let a tense silence settle over the three of them. The subsequent dinner dragged on in uncomfortable silence. Steve and Eddie kept their eyes glued to their plates. Murray talked but neither paid attention. He gave Eddie’s wounds a once over, appearing as lost as Steve. He didn’t seem concerned, so Steve took it as a good thing.

He thought he’d known what tense silence between himself, and Eddie felt like, but he’d known nothing compared to the moment Murray left. His whole body was on edge. Eddie wouldn’t meet his eyes. They needed to talk, but neither wanted to be the first to cave.

“I was thinking of turning in early,” Steve spoke, not knowing what else to say.

“Yeah. Me too.”

The boys lay side by side, but sleep didn’t come. Eddie’s body was wound tight as a tourniquet. This time, Steve was the one bleeding out.

He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. Maybe that he was sorry. Murray was right. Steve had known Eddie liked him and he hadn’t said anything because it wasn’t a problem he could throw himself in front of. It’d be easier if he thought telling Eddie would end up with him getting hit. There were worse things.

Eddie’s feelings had become more apparent as their time together wore on, but on some level, Steve had known long before. When Eddie had leaned over into his space smelling of cigarette ash, dried earth and sweat and called Steve some god-awful pet name, he’d known. He also knew the feelings weren’t one-sided.

That revelation came later. Eddie had been fading in and out of consciousness. Steve had shaken him awake to redress his wounds when it happened. The boy awoke, shooting him a lopsided grin, gazing at Steve with his drowsy, doe eyes.

He’d crooned, ‘Good morning sunshine’. And that had been enough.

Steve’s heart had stuttered to a halt as it had all the times before when a pretty girl had called him a prettier name.

As much as Steve hated to admit it, Murray had been right about a lot of things. There was one thing Steve desperately wanted him to be wrong about.

He and Eddie were bonded because of what they’d been through. That’s what the man had said. Shared trauma. Was that all they were?

Steve was back in the bathroom with Nancy, her white shirt, red. The whites of his eyes the moment she left, red.

He knew where shared trauma got him. He’d try to bury it. To move past it. He wanted to be more than what was done to him. People would say he was running. He was bullshit.

How was he meant to sit with the kind of stuff he and Eddie had been through? How was he meant to fight it? Would Steve always look at Eddie and see his death? Would Eddie always look at Steve and feel like dying?

“I wished I’d met you later,” Steve spoke to the dark room. Eddie’s locked body loosened, and as it did, he started to shake. In a moment, he’d start to bleed too.

“You know, normally people say they wished they’d met you sooner.”

“I mean... I wish we’d met after everything with The Upside Down. That you hadn’t gotten dragged into it. I wish that we’d gotten to know each other the normal way,” Steve explained. Eddie snorted.

“Can you imagine me doing anything the normal way?” He had a point.

Steve didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. The silence was back, looming large as a lunar eclipse.

“You aren’t... weirded out by what he said? About me liking you?” Eddie’s voice was small. The only time Steve heard Eddie whisper was when he was dying.

“I think he also said something about me liking you back,” Steve replied, glancing at Eddie’s profile only to find the man was already watching him. His face was contorted in confusion.

“Then... what’s the problem here, Stevie?”

Steve had never been good with his words.

“What if we’ve ruined it?” He tried. At seeing a frown cross Eddie’s face, he knew he hadn’t done a good enough job at explaining.

“With what’s happened between me and you. You never would’ve looked at me twice if I hadn’t saved you, and what if that’s all we’ve got? Shared trauma.”

Bullshit. What if all they had was bullshit? Eddie finally understood.

“I don’t like you because you saved me, Steve. I like you because despite all the terrible shit you make me want to laugh. I love that you’re shit at dancing, but you do it anyway. Also, screw that guy your risotto is better than his. You’re a good cook. Your stupid hair makes me want to slam my head in a car door and before you say anything, that’s a compliment. You care so damn much about everyone.” To Steve’s surprise, Eddie’s hand reached up to touch his cheek.

“I don’t like you because we’ve been through bad shit together. I like you because you make me feel like one day, we’re going to get out on the other side of it, that things aren’t going to be like this forever,” Eddie finished.

Steve’s heart was a cardinal, beating itself bloody against a windowpane.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve breathed. For the first time in a long time, he was nervous.

Eddie’s smile was a lightning strike, bright, beautiful and something they’d shape gods after.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Eddie’s lips were warm.

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iamasaddie · 10 months

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a hungry dog on a very short leash

paring: dark!bfd!Joel x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 4k~ summary: one time you decide to cheat on your boyfriend is obviously the time his dad catches you a/n: I don't know how and why this happened, but I feel like this might turn into a series if it gets enough love! Special thanks to my beta for this work @multiversed-daydreamer <;3 warnings: dead dove do not eat; dub-con; no-outbreak; PWP (for real, no plot at all); manipulation; infidelity; explicit sexual content; oral sex (m receiving); degradation/praise; unsafe PinV; face slapping (barely); dirty talk; mention of anal; pain kink; no use of y/n MY MASTERLIST PART TWO ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪʀʟ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ, ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴏʀɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏᴛ ᴅɪᴄᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘᴏʟɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴜᴍᴇ. ꜱᴛᴀʏ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ, ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ꜱᴇx ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴘʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.

You wished you had a better excuse for yourself when a towering figure of your boyfriend's dad tapped you on the shoulder, taking you away from the embrace of some cute stranger whose tongue was halfway kissing your glands, but you didn't. When you saw the furrowed brow of your might-be father-in-law the only thing on your tongue was a sticky 'oh fuck'.

You jumped up from the boy's lap so fast your head went dizzy and the man in front of you grabbed you by the shoulder to keep you steady.

"Mr. Miller," you stuttered, "it's not -"

"Please, don't insult me by saying it's not what I think it is."

No, it was exactly what he thought it was. You, his son's girlfriend, having fun with a guy who most definitely was not his son. The reason was not that important, not to him, at least.

You wanted to start explaining right away, how you've had a rough patch, how you seemed to only fight, how every fucking thing he did begin to drive you insane. How you couldn't even fuck him without getting irritated. How you just wanted… And that was where you were stuck. You had no fucking idea what you wanted. You had no idea what to tell Jason's pleading eyes when he asked you what should he do to make you happy. The only answer you had was 'don't be you', but it was too cruel to say out loud. So you decided to find out what it was you were looking for and somehow it made you end up where you were. In a shady club on the outskirts of town, where the music was too loud and the drinks too watered down, with your boyfriend's dad staring at you disapprovingly.

The stream of excuses and almost spilled tears flow out of you and the next thing you know is you're being enveloped in a bear hug, large hands swiping up and down your back in an comforting motion.

"I know, baby, I know." Joel's voice was deep in your ears, his usual green flannel was soft as you fisted the material on his sides, still shaking. "But I have to tell him, you know that, right?"

You shook your head, face still pressed into his broad chest, begging him against it, telling him you'd fix everything, you'd tell him yourself. You didn't even know why you cared that much, you were close to breaking your two-year relationship yourself, but the thought of Joel telling him mortified you. He let you go, studying your face and swiping a tear that escaped your eye.

"Let's go somewhere more quiet to talk, okay?"

You nodded in agreement and let him lead you to the area with private rooms. The space looked vulgar: there was no way the brown leather couch was clean, but you couldn't see it under the glitching red lights. The music filling the place was quieter and definitely was not meant to be danced to. You sat on the couch when he patted a place next to him.

"Now, I know Jason's a bit... immature when it comes to life, all of its' aspects. And I know that a girl like you must have desires, needs my son can't meet." His face looked different in red, you didn't want to see it, but it almost seemed demonic.

You hurried to oppose him.

"He's - -"

Joel raised his hand not letting you continue. "But if only you came to me, sugar, I wouldn't have the need to tell him, y'know? Since I know you're being safe and ain't gonna give my boy anything, ain't gonna break his heart, when it's just physical... It wouldn't hurt him. But when you go around the bars like that," he vaguely motioned on a tight silver dress hugging your body like a second skin, "whoring yourself out - -"

"I - - " You tried again, ignoring his bluntness and an endearment lost between condescending words, he huffed, and it sounded irritated.

"I didn't ask, sweetheart, I just call it how I see it. Let's make it a mutually pleasurable experience, hm? I'll help you way more, of course, but you can just owe me a thanks."

At that moment, when your head welcomed the gravity in a form of a nod, you couldn't explain to yourself why you cared about Jason so much that you were ready for any perverted thing his dad would demand. Was it even about Jason?

"Good girl. Come 'ere, darlin’"

You shuffled closer, your thighs flush against each other, but Joel tsk’d and in a flash of light his massive hand enveloped your thighs, pulling you on top of him to straddle his lap. You squeaked and he lightly slapped your thighs, rough palms creeping further and sliding up your already bunched up dress, fully exposing your legs and neon pink thongs.

"This thing here," he swiped his finger along the band of your panties, barely touching what was hidden with them. "It is like a neon sign 'fuck me, please'. Not a thing you'd wear if you weren't planning on having sex tonight, is it?"

You shook your head, not knowing if you're agreeing with him or the opposite.

"It's okay, baby," he took his right hand from your thigh and brought your face close to his by the chin. His left hand kept on your waist, thumb pressing a bit lower than your belly button. "I understand." His whisper was hot on your lips and when you once again opened your mouth to explain, or say sorry or anything, he used the moment to dive into you, crashing your mouths together. His beard prickled your chin and his lips were anything but gentle. Molding you to fit him, biting your lower lip so you would open your mouth further and let him inside, which you did. You hoped to taste alcohol - preferably a lot of it - on his tongue, something that would give a better explanation to what was happening, but the best you could find on his tongue was a hint of beer and cigarettes.

His hands slowly mapped your body, meeting around your neck. You were hot, your brain was melting from the lack of oxygen and the terrifying knowledge that Joel Miller was an excellent kisser and your body recognized it against all morals.

His tongue caressed you just right, teeth biting your soft flesh a bit too rough, but instead of pained, the moan that erupted from you was satisfied.

"Are you enjoying this, baby?" He looked amused, his eyes blinking with perverted pleasure. You were silent, your unsteady breathing betraying you. He lifted his hips a little, his clothed bulge hitting the wet spot on your panties roughly. "Come on now, get on your knees, I want you to kiss me somewhere else."

Your eyes widened, arousal being put on halt as the reality of what was happening overwhelmed your senses.

"Don't make me repeat myself." Patience seemed to run thin in Joel, opening the gates to something way more dark as his grip on your neck tightened. You felt if he squeezed you a bit more he'd leave a bruising handprint on your neck. Slowly slipping from his tense thighs you settled on your knees between his widely spread legs. "Go on." His eyes pointed to his ever growing bulge and you could swear you saw fire dancing in his pupils as your shaking hands started undoing his jeans.

He let out a sigh of relief as your hands let his cock spring free, the massive size of him intimidating to say the least. The last thing you wanted to do is compare him to your boyfriend - his son - but a rapid thought of how Jason had nothing on his father neither in terms of size nor girth still ran through your mind. His shaft was thick, you knew you wouldn't be able to wrap your hand around it and your insides clenched. He was veiny and tan, dark tip glistening with precum, inviting you to wrap your lips around it. You stared at it for a good minute, calculating how the fuck you're going to fit inside you - mouth or cunt - all good seven inches of him. You doubted he actually wanted to just kiss it.

"I know my cock's impressive, but stop fucking staring at it and get to sucking.

The polite, almost gentle Mr. Miller was nowhere to be seen, and he grabbed the back of your head, fingers tangling your hair as he guided you to his cock.

You did kiss it at first, getting to know the feeling of his hot skin under your lips, the salty taste of him on your tongue, the odor of his sweat and cologne - did he fucking sprayed perfume on his balls? - invading your lungs.

"I hoped you knew that 'kissing' was a euphemism." He quite literally took the matters in his own hands, squeezing your cheeks painfully and forcing his dick inside your hot mouth. Joel was too wound up or cared too little, going as hard as he did, shoving as much of his length inside you as he could - which wasn't a lot before you started gagging and gasping for air. Your hands went to his thighs, nails digging in the coarse material of his jeans as you tried to push away against his deadly grip.

"Now, now, baby, I know you can do better than that. Didn't my boy train that little throat of yours?" You moaned in protest, saliva dripping from the corners of your stretched lips and the man above you groaned in pleasure as another inch of his cock slipped inside. "I guess not."

You couldn't do anything but let him use your mouth as he pleased, bobbing your head up and down. "Come on, you need to take every inch, love. You're already doing great for me."

Something wild stirred your insides as a familiar wave of need dampened your panties further and you squeezed your thighs together either to get some relief. yourself or to suffocate your pleasure. You didn't notice when Mr. Miller's grip on your head loosened and you started to willingly force his cock down your throat.

You felt tears streaming down your cheeks in constant black waterfalls. Your eyes stung and your throat was full of his cock, but you continued inching further, the desire to touch the base of his cock with your lips ripping at your insides. You tried to see Joel through the tears, even with the blurred vision you saw his smile.

It was asymmetric and thin, almost maniacal.

"I love when you suffer for me, baby girl. You look so good crying on my cock." You gasped and as soon as your front teeth barely touched the sensitive skin of his cock you felt a slap burning on your left cheek.

"Careful, you don't wanna hurt me," the caress of his rough palm felt more painful, when he whispered a barely-audible "darling."

You nodded as much as you could, full of his flesh that somehow continued growing in you no matter how you tried to get used to it. He was close, you knew it by the breaths that were colored with little growls now, by the fact that he didn't say much more besides moans interrupted by occasional 'good slut, baby, such a good cockwhore' that made you squirm and press the heel of your foot harder into your aching core. The rough pull of hand that tugged you by your hair off his saliva coated cock took you by surprise, though. You were ready to feel his hot cum trickle down your throat, almost anticipating it, but when his hard angry length stared at you and he forcefully evened his breathing you knew how mistaken you were. Your eyes traveled back to his face in time to see him open his previously tightly shut eyes. He gave you another one of his smiles and patted your cheek, not caring about saliva and his precum covering your flesh.

"Good fucking girl," he exhaled, "but I have something else in mind."

You shivered when he got up, cock still free and bobbing, almost hypnotizing you to follow it with your gaze. You didn't get a chance, though, as he gripped your shoulders and brought you to your shaking feet. He looked you up and down, twisting his head to the side as his eyes stopped at your thongs. Without so much as a word, his large hand palmed your whole pussy, his fingers thick and warm against your aching core when he pressed into your still covered hole. "I see you're having as much fun as I am, baby. Good to know."

An involuntary moan escaped your throat before you could kill it when his palm pressed on your clit that by now was begging for any kind of attention.

He nodded to the couch. He didn't need to tell you what to do as you obediently climbed on it, draping yourself on the backseat, your pussy on the display for him.

He landed on the seat, his body half turned to you as his palm caressed your naked ass. The guilt filled your senses because at that moment you wanted nothing more than for his fingers to stray further, touch your dripping pussy no matter how wrong this all was. Be careful what you wish for, or whatever that bullshit saying was, you thought, as his fingers roughly yanked your panties down, a string of your arousal following with the garment.

"Fuck, now this pretty pussy just looks sinfully juicy." Joel hummed approvingly as he slid two of his thick fingers up and down your slit, spreading your wetness around. He spread your lips and you gasped at the feeling of being so exposed.

"What a gorgeous hole, screaming to be filled, isn't it?" Apparently the question was rhetorical, because he immediately pushed both digits inside you, the stretch not yet painful but intense. He pumped into you a couple of times before letting out a whistle. "Damn, baby, you want my cock so bad your cunt is practically crying all over my fingers."

His fingers continued his twisted caresses, kissing and stretching your walls, sending a shameful shiver down your ass. "I love how needy you are, must've been neglected for so long."

Joel took his fingers out and you heard a slurping sound. 'He's fucking licking his fingers,’ you clenched your butt at the thought of it and felt the couch shift as he stood up, standing behind you with one leg still pressing into the couch to the left of you for more balance. "Don't worry, baby, I won't let this pussy starve." The tip of his cock grazed your opening and you held your breath in twisted anticipation. He'd more to take than you ever had and you panicked, preparing for the pain. Joel continued swiping his cock through your sleek pussy, covering himself in your juices and letting your anticipation grow. When his tip kissed your clit you moaned, shifting closer to him and he chuckled. "Ready, baby."

It wasn't a question.

In one swift motion his cock split your pussy open and he sheathed himself in your tight heat, splitting you open. The burning stretch felt like he was ripping you in half, exactly what you were preparing for. The thing you didn't prepare for was the feeling it left in the pit of your stomach as his tip kissed the deepest part of you. Your cry was pathetic, just what he wanted to hear as his cock hid inside you.

It was too much. "Too much. Too much. Too much."

You didn't notice how you started chanting the words out, suffocating either on your tears, or was his cock choking you from the inside?

His hands on your hips as he pushed you up and down his cock were nothing but a welcoming distraction from the ever-growing sensation. "No, baby, not too much, just the right amount for that greedy cunt."

He didn't laugh but you could hear the smile tainting his lips. Did you actually like it? Did you like the pain? Was your pussy gushing all around him just a defensive mechanism? You couldn't think about it as a new wave of arousal enslaved every nerve ending in your body and your pussy clenched around Joel's cock, the fact that he didn't dare to miss.

"Tell me how good it feels, baby. It feels good, doesn't it?" And it did. Goddamn you hated yourself for it, but being stretched on his cock on a leather covered couch in a sweat smelling room with vulgar red lights dancing on your skin was as close to being satisfied as you ever felt in your life.

"Feels good, da... Mr. Miller."

You prayed he didn't hear the little slip you allowed yourself. You didn't know where it came from, you never said anything like that to Jason, not him, not any of your other partners. Luck wasn't on your side when you heard the man behind you bark a laugh.

"Daddy, hm?" He brought his hand to your neck, squeezing it and bringing your back flush against chest as he bit your ear before whispering, "I think I like the sound of it, baby. Don't be shy. Knew you needed a daddy since the moment I saw ya."

You whined, cheeks burning with shame from what the words flowing out of his mouth did to you. Your pussy clenched around him and his hand landed on your asscheek, "goddamn, you perfect little slut, you actually like it."

His surprise wasn't there for long as he continued stretching you out on his cock.

Joel leaned away, dropping your upper-body to its initial place over the backseat of the couch. The zipper of his opened jeans scraped the burning flesh of your ass and the button must've left an imprint, he didn't care one bit, fascinated by the look of your cunt around his cock. You felt him move a little, one of his hands disappearing from its place on your hips.

"Should we send a little video message to Jason, hm? See if he recognizes your ass bouncing so sweetly on my cock? Or should I send him a picture of you pretty gaping hole and see if he recognizes that?"

He pulled out for the briefest of moments, lowering his head to see your empty pussy flutter, begging to be filled without words. Joel licked his lips, a new desire igniting in him, but he quickly shut it down, shoving his cock back into your wet warmth and sighing.

"I recon he won't. Good boy he is, but he never had that in him. He could never use you to the fullest of your potential." You heard the telltale blip of the iPhone starting to record a video and put your head lower hiding your face in your hands and hair. Joel didn't notice, he was too enraptured by the vision of your abused pussy swallowing the thickness of his cock with little to no resistance at all. "Good thing I'm here now, baby. Now daddy's gonna take good care of you." He smacked your ass lightly. "So, should we send him a little wanking present?" You understood that now most likely he had a video and it sent anxiety shivers down your spine, you felt you were on the edge of tears again and did the only thing you could do - started begging.

"No, Mr Miller, please, don't." You turned your head just in time to see him raise his hand highly and slap your ass once more, this time it was painful enough that you knew you'd have a bruise.

"What did I tell you to call me?"

You gulped down the fantom rock that was blocking your breath way. "No, daddy, please." You didn't hear anything besides his hips continuing to snap and create a wet sound between your sweat slicked bodies.

And there it was, a little 'whoosh' of a message being sent and then the voice of the man who was finding new ways to ruin you.

"Oops, my finger was so wet it slipped, so I guess that's your fault, isn't it?" He was met with silence filled only with the sultry music of the club.

Joel stopped fucking you and squeezed your asscheeks painfully, warning like poisonous honey filling his voice. "I asked you a question, girl!"

"Yes, daddy, yes, it's my fault, I'm sorry." Your eyes welled with tears but you couldn't say they were all from pain or humiliation. The way he manhandled you, the way he forced you to take what you didn't know you were craving made you feel lightheaded. You didn't think about what this would bring, submerging into the feelings of his body overtaking yours in the most primal way.

"You're not yet, but you're getting there, sweetheart."

He resumed the punishing pace, stuffing his cock so deep inside you it made you think you'll forever have the imprint of his veiny shaft and prominent tip on your insides. He was growling, pressing his sweat soaked shirt to your back as his hand found your throbbing clit. You whimpered, shame enhancing your pleasure as you bucked your hips to meet the rapid movements of his fingertips. Your need added fire to his desire as he let out animalistic sounds right in your ear.

"That's right baby girl, don't need to fight it. Take it, I know you like this fat cock stuffing you."

Tears streamed down your face, your body a rigid sex doll in his hands, made for his pleasure. Your orgasm punched you in your stomach and your lips parted in a silent scream. It was good, it was so fucking terrible, but goddamn would you be a liar if that wasn't the best orgasm of your life. Fear, shame, need and pleasure made an intoxicating cocktail that was now gushing down your legs and all around Joel's cock.

"F-fuck, fuck that cunt is choking me. Fucking hell," his growl was almost scary as his hips shuddered. You whined, your swollen walls cried in overstimulation as he continued pounding you, chasing his own pleasure with no care to your comfort.

There was something sickeningly grounding in it. You felt free of everything, thoughts, feelings even desire to move. You just let him use you however he pleased, your wasted body just a container for his pleasure. "Gonna fill you up real good, baby. Gonna stuff you so full, you'll feel it for days to come." It was the last thing he whispered before he let you take every last drop of his cum, covering your insides in him. With a heavy exhale he fell on top of you, pressing you in the sticky leather of the couch. You both just laid like that, your breathing mingling together as his cock softened inside you, still keeping his seed inside.

You whimpered as he stood up, finally taking his cock out and slapping your bruised ass with a surprising gentleness.

"Come on, baby, turn around."

It took you all the strength that was left in you to turn around, limbs heavy, head barely supported by your neck. Joel looked as fucked out as you felt, face and temples drenching with sweat, shirt crinkled and his cock out, glistening with all kinds of fluids.

"Now, be a grateful girl and clean my cock, will ya? I can't walk around with your cum all over it, can l? It'd be downright filthy."

You shuffled around, finding a good position kneeling on the couch so his dick was on the level with your mouth. Joel brought his hand to your neck and squeeze, pushing you lower. He didn't need to press hard, you went willingly, swiping your tongue at the soft flesh that now finally fit into your mouth without chocking you.

"That's it, darlin'" he sighed, looking at you with a mix of perverted pride and adoration. "Next time we'll see if that pretty ass of yours stretches for me as good as your lips do."

Next time...

#joel miller x reader #serenaxpedro writes #serenaxpedro gif #tlou fanfiction #bfd joel #iamasaddie fic

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bettyfrommars · 3 months

Text

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

masterlist playlist

Part 2: The Hideout

You follow Robin over the resort property line to a place where guests are forbidden and get a glimpse of what goes on behind the scenes.

word count: 3.6k

My blog is 18+ONLY, mature themes, violence, alcohol consumption, eventual smut, fighting, mention of blood, reader is called Bird as a nickname, reader plays the cello. Reader is 21, Eddie is late 20's.

Songs for this chapter: Animal (fuck like a beast)//W.A.S.P. No one like you//Scorpions Mental Health (bang your head)//Quiet Riot Wasted Years//Iron Maiden

a/n: it has been so much fun to pull this out of the rubble and jump back into this world for a rewrite, I hope you enjoy. To my I'm on Fire peeps, there will be a scene in this chapter that feels very similar to something that happened in IOF, and that's because I originally stole it from this fic, thinking I'd never post it, lmao. Thought about changing it, but it's just too perfect. Plus, there will always be a hint of biker Eddie in all of my Eddies.

Sticking close behind Robin, you crossed the arc of a walking bridge over a creek and disappeared on a worn path through the trees. It was only then that you could finally make out the building where the loud music was coming from.

It had corrugated metal sides and roof, like a structure you might see on a farm that housed large equipment. There was a picnic table out front where a few people were seated, and the shell of a vintage automobile with bullet holes in it sat in the weeds.

A little more than a city block away was a modest cabin made from actual logs with an old truck, a van, and a motorcycle parked out front.

“Who lives there?” You nudged Robin.

She stopped to see where you were looking first, and then, “oh yeah, that’s Wayne’s place. The head maintenance guy. This is his too,” she gestured to the metal building where the music and shouts were coming from. “Both him and his nephew Eddie. Have you met Eddie?”

You absolutely knew who he was, but didn’t want to come off as a stalker, so you shook your head.

The large sliding door entrance to the building was open about a foot, letting out wafts of smoke and a hazy, golden light. From over Robin’s shoulder, you could see quite a few bodies moving around in there, and just then came the sound of a glass breaking.

“Ready?” She smiled back at you, struggling to hold everything in her arms as she reached for the handle to slide the door open the rest of the way.

“Let me?” You lurched forward.

“I got it,” she insisted, fumbling one of the guitars before catching it again with a gasp of relief.

You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting to see when she eased the door open the rest of the way, but a topless woman dancing on a table top was not one of them.

Her hair was bleached blonde, frizzy and teased around her face. She was tan with a prominent bikini line over her pert breasts, and it looked like she’d just pulled the top of her leopard print spandex dress down to give a little show.

The song Animal (Fuck like a beast) by W.A.S.P. was blaring and the guys around the table cheered while the woman flipped her hair and worked her hips in a circle. You were sure you recognized her as one of the waitresses from earlier that night.

Metalheads of all kinds were crowded together, mingling, and you feared that you stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Some were in leather; some wore jean vests with pins and patches all over them. A handful had long hair that they must��ve tied back or wore under hats while they worked at the resort, but a few of them, like Steve, kept theirs short and tidy, for the most part. Overhead string lights swayed from high wooden beams, and a chandelier that looked like it was made out of wrenches. An old, pea green Kelvinator refrigerator and a small kitchenette was to your left, as if someone had lived there at one point, and two couches sat against the wall that were mismatched and worn.

Most of the crowd of people seemed to be lingering together in the middle, standing there as if waiting for something. Taking shots, smoking blunts, and making out with each other, blocking you from seeing beyond them.

Robin signaled to follow her, and you were hesitant to start moving through the masses, holding the guitar case flush to your body, feeling like it was something to hide behind. You noticed posters on the walls for bands like Judas Priest and Metallica, and on the concrete floor you saw smudges from white chalk markings, dark splotches the color of dried blood, but that was ridiculous.

You pushed between a girl with a blue mohawk and a guy with a shaved head that was covered in tattoos in a hurry to keep up with your escort, and the two shot you a hard glare. When you could finally see the far wall, there was an oval, threadbare carpet in the corner with a drum kit set up, three microphones, two amps, and some other equipment that suggested live music would soon be happening.

“This is where they practice!” Robin shouted over the music, directing you where to put Eddie guitar down. “We call it The Hideout.”

“'Where who practices?’ You set Eddie’s baby near the wall where she told you to.

“Eddie and Chrissy’s band,” she motioned for you to stand over at the wall with her.

“Oh,” you turned to look at the instruments again, heart flopping a little at the idea he would show up at any moment. “They're playing tonight?”

There was a commotion up ahead and you both turned to look. "Later maybe! The fights are tonight,” again, yelling over the growl of the music. Now the song was No One Like You by Scorpions, and it sounded like people were cheering at someone who’d just come through the door.

“Fights?” You leaned in to get more information when everyone started pushing back to make room for whatever was about to happen. You remembered that one of the guys on the porch earlier that day with Chrissy and Steve had a black eye, and you’d noticed another worker at the resort who had a busted lip, but you hadn’t paused to think that maybe they were somehow connected.

It was then that you saw Eddie appear from out of the sea of bodies, and took a sharp intake of breath, holding it in, afraid to let it out for fear you might whimper.

He was so beautiful, it made you dizzy. You stood up straight, adjusting yourself, covertly checking to make sure you weren’t perspiring too badly.

He was wearing the tux he’d had on for the show earlier, but the tie and cummerbund were both gone, and his white shirt was unbuttoned almost to his stomach. You caught a glimpse of tattoos on his chest, and a necklace of some sort. Someone handed him a beer and he threw back a generous gulp.

“There’s going to be boxing? Here? Tonight?” You were trying to act casual and not stare at him the whole time, but it was hard to tear your attention away.

“Nothing professional,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest, putting her shoulder blades against the wall. “Just your average bare knuckle street fighting, basically. The guys were doing it to blow off steam, but then some others got involved and people started placing bets, so a whole thing started.”

Eddie unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and took it off, passing it to someone in the crowd. Your mouth went dry at the sight of his lean muscles under the scattered ink. He kept his hair tied back and started wrapping white tape around one of his hands while Steve said something in his ear.

“How do they choose who fights who?” You were invested now, wringing Robin out for any information she had.

“I don’t know how they figure it out, but the new guys usually fight each other, and then a winner challenges Eddie or Steve or Alex,” she pushed off the wall to get a better look at the center of the room. “But it looks like Eddie is up first.” And then with a smirk she added, “all of the new hotshots at the resort think they can beat Eddie.”

“Can they?” Your voice cracked, eyes locked on the scene. A guy shorter than Eddie but muscular in a football player type of way, was also shirtless in the circle now, with taped hands and wearing a pair of sweats with the name of a university down the leg. The guy was hopping from foot to foot to keep himself hyped up, punching the air in front of him.

“No one beats Eddie,” there was pride in her voice. “Looks like the guy he’s fighting tonight is Lance, one of the new ski instructors. Totally full of himself.”

Steve was wearing a white wife beater and jeans, and he raked a hand through his mop of hair just before pointing in your direction. Eddie’s gaze followed the line of his finger directly to your stunned face, and then it lingered there.

He seemed to contemplate, wetting his lips, and then he nodded to Steve and was on his way over.

He didn’t have to push people out of the way because they were all quick to part to make room for him. It wasn’t long before he was standing right in front of you. You tried not to let your gaze linger on the full curve of his slightly chapped lips, or the way his wavy bangs framed his cherrywood eyes. On closer inspection, you could see that the necklace he wore was a ball chain with a guitar pick hanging from it.

Robin opened her mouth to say something, possibly introduce you, but Eddie cut her off.

“What the hell are you doing here, Princess?” His voice was low with an edge of irritation. He pulled the chunky metal rings off his fingers one by one as he spoke.

Robin cleared her throat, stepping forward. “She’s with me,” she stuttered a bit nervously, knowing full well she shouldn’t have brought you there. “She came with me, she’s cool.”

Eddie collected all of the rings in his fist and kept staring at you as if he wanted to hear it from your mouth, not Robin’s.

Your brain short-circuited for a second and you forgot how to form words when he was so close you could see the detail of the dragon tattoo on his chest. But then, finally, it came to you:

“I-I carried your baby.”

The second it slipped out, you knew how stupid it sounded.

Unblinking, he gave his rings to Robin, and then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he no longer stood, flushed with embarrassment.

“I carried your baby?” You repeated in a whisper, covering your face with your hands.

Someone turned the music down so that Steve’s voice could be heard, and he waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention.

“I don’t have to explain the rules to you, because there are none,” his announcement was met with screams and cheers. Robin tugged at your arm, signaling for the two of you to get a bit closer to the action. “First one to hit the ground for whatever reason is the loser. Just fists, no blades or other stupid tricks.”

At one side of the circle of bodies, Lance the ski instructor was practicing some tight punches, and at the other end, Eddie rolled his neck while Chrissy finished taping the knuckles of his other hand. It was then that the chalk and the stains on the concrete you saw earlier made sense.

“You two ready?” Steve put his arm up between them, waiting for their nods, and then, at their signal, he chopped his hand down between them as if he were slicing the air.

Lance was hopping from foot to foot, trying his best to look like some fancy footwork he saw in a Rocky movie, while Eddie walked casually, giving the guy a hooded, bored stare.

Eddie could read Lance like a book. A fight was a lot more than just a mindless throwing of hands, there was a mental prowess and skill needed that a lot of the punks busing in from suburbia did not have. Street smarts was one thing, and Eddie surely had that, but he’d been fighting bullies off since he was a kid, and Wayne taught him to fight like it was a game of chess.

Eddie could tell where Lance was going to go a second before he made the move. He saw the guy was amped up, letting his emotions fight for him, and that was only one of his first mistakes.

Lance charged at him and swung, but Eddie was already steps away; relaxed and agile, holding his guard up. The ski instructor came at him aggressively, again and again, until Eddie pushed him, making his opponent stumble back.

Keeping his form, Eddie caught you standing there out of the corner of his eye.

…what were you doing there at the Hideout?

He let himself ponder that question for too long and Lance was on him again, aiming a left jab to his ribs, and Eddie absorbed the blow with a grunt, arching to the side.

You were not supposed to be there. What was Robin thinking?

Mostly, Brenner and Joyce stayed out of their business, as long as whatever they did was off resort property, but if they found out one of the guests was somehow involved, there would be hell to pay.

Lance charged again and Eddie dodged, angry at himself for not being able to focus .

“C’mon Lance, stomp that freak,” someone yelled from the crowd.

And that was all it took

For Eddie to get tired of dragging it out for betting purposes.

Lance charged forward with a cry and Eddie socked an uppercut into his unsuspecting jaw.

The surfer boy went down

Hard.

Saliva and blood flew from his mouth as he flailed back, arms going ragdoll.

It felt like it happened in slow motion but soon enough, Lance was splayed out like a starfish on the concrete floor.

“Goodnight sweet prince,” Steve said sarcastically as he collected bets over the ski instructor’s limp body.

Robin cheered with her hands over her head, and you gave a few slow claps, your brain barely able to register where you were or what you were seeing.

“You want a beer?” She asked as you watched Lance numbly get to his feet with the help of two friends and attempt to shake it off.

Robin motioned for you to follow her around to the refrigerator which was stocked from top to bottom with nothing but beer cans. She handed you one and then went to lean against the side of the appliance, cracking open the tab with a hiss.

With your back to the crowd, you prepared to follow suit, listening to Steve introduce two more fighters.

But then there was someone at your side,

“Not like that,” a voice said.

Eddie had come up behind you, wearing his white shirt unbuttoned, skin still glistening with sweat. Mental Health (Bang Your Head) by Quiet Riot came over the speakers, eliciting a wave of yelps and screams from the group.

“Wait,” he put his hand on top of yours to keep you from opening your beer while he motioned for another guy to toss him one. You turned to seek comfort or guidance from Robin, but she was absorbed in conversation with a girl in a platinum pixie cut who’d just walked up.

“Like this,” he brushed his bangs to the side, and winked as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket. He used the serrated metal edge of one to punch a hole at the bottom of the can.

It was the wink that made your skin flush hot, and then your jaw went slack as you watched him wrap his lips around the newly made hole in the can. He made eye contact with you one more time before tipping his head back, and cracking the tab of the beer open with his thumb so that the liquid when squirting down his throat.

The muscles in his throat jerked as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing.

It wasn’t three seconds before he lowered his head and crushed the can in his hand to show it was empty. He let out a refreshing, “ahhhh,” and darted his tongue out to lick a droplet from his chin.

You were still holding your unopened beer, waiting for him, mouth dry. “I-I’m not sure I—”

Yes, you knew what shotgunning a beer was, you’d seen it done plenty of times at college parties and in movies, but had never been tempted to try it yourself.

Ignoring your hesitation, Eddie motioned with the crook of his finger for you to come closer. You shuffled to be within reach of him as if your knees were locked in place.

With a gentle touch, fingers brushing yours, he took your beer from you, wiped it off with his shirt, and then proceeded to make the same hole with his key in the aluminum. Some of the beer sprayed up and misted your face.

“Here we go,” he tipped your chin with his finger and butterflies swarmed in your stomach as his eyes searched yours. “Just let it shoot into the back of your throat.”

You swallowed nervously to make sure your throat was working, and then wrapped your lips around the can at his instruction.

“Easy, just like that, hold it there,” Eddie was so close now that your elbow was touching his bare chest. He put a hand on the back of your head. “When I say, tip your head back all the way, and I’ll flip the tab for you.”

You swiped your tongue over the hole in the can, thinking about how embarrassing it would be if you messed it up and beer went shooting out of your nose.

Robin offered a few words of encouragement and you noticed a tendril of hair clinging to the sweat on Eddie’s neck, right over the heartbeat in his throat.

“You ready?”

You weren’t but—-

“Okay, now.”

You closed your eyes, slammed your head back, and prayed, even though you weren’t at all religious. Some lukewarm beer leaked onto your tongue, and then Eddie pulled the tab, keeping one hand over yours to hold the can steady.

The gush of liquid hissed and exploded down your throat, and for a second you thought you would choke, but then your swallowing reflex bolted into action and it was over so fast.

You gasped and swiped beer from your chin when you pulled away to look at the empty can, amazed.

Eddie cupped his warm hand around the back of your neck, and you felt him shift closer until his mouth was at your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

An actual chill ran down your spine.

Robin put up her hand and you gave you a high five. “Not bad for a first timer,” she joked. “Now crush it on your forehead and grunt.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You turned to Eddie, “that was fun maybe he should—”

You were about to say the two of you should do another one,

but he was gone.

—----

The next night, Eddie couldn’t sleep, so he decided to head to the property to finish up some work at the pool house.

The place he shared with Wayne was close enough to walk to the Hawkins Landing property, but that night, he drove. He wanted to roll the window down on the van and blast Wasted Years by Iron Maiden and belt out the lyrics.

He slipped into the parking lot for visitors and employees, turning the music down so that it wouldn’t be heard by any of the nearby cabins. There were two street lamps on, but a third one he noticed was out, and made a mental note that he’d have to get Jamie to fix it tomorrow. The sidewalks along the manicured lawn were also lined with lights that came out of the ground like little mushrooms, and the boat dock far off to his left was lit, but other than that, he was in the dark.

Grabbing his red toolbox from the passenger seat, he put a flashlight in his tool belt holster, and the van door creaked on its hinges just before it banged shut. His ribs still ached from the punch he took the night before, but he only allowed himself to cringe and curse in private. Luckily, his only companions at that moment were the crickets and the lapping of the water against the bank.

It wasn’t until he was a few yards down the sidewalk, head down, lost in thought, that the din of classical music made him halt in his tracks.

It was definitely strings, possibly a violin? No, it was too deep.

He looked up at the main house, but the sound was much too close to be coming from way up there.

He cut to the right and up the grass.

Then he saw the attic light on in cabin #11.

He told himself not to bother, but as the passion of the playing increased, curiosity got the better of him.

He came right up to your driveway, staying half obscured by a tree trunk, and watched you.

The cello, of course that’s what you were playing. He was no expert on the classics, but he’d always learned music by ear and had a unique sense for identifying instruments.

You weren’t reading from sheet music, you were just playing while you stared out at the sky.

Playing something by heart, or making it up as you went along, he wasn’t sure.

In his mind, you were so far out of league, it was criminal.

Your attention broke when a sudden movement down on the road startled you.

The bow zipped clumsily across the strings one last time, and you stood up to get closer to the open window.

But, your eyes must’ve been playing tricks on you.

There was no one there.

-----

Hi hello! thank you so much for reading! For those wondering, this fic will still be centered around music, not boxing, but the little fight club they have has a lot to do with the spin of the plot soon.

thank you all so much for the suppport! we are getting to the juicy parts now! give me those hungry eyes. comments and reblogs are cherished!! like, I live for them.

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taglist: @tlclick73@micheledawn1975@kurdtbean@katethetank@elvendria@spookysqaush86@somethingvicked@stylesxmunson@laurenlokirby@sapphire4082 @kellsck @motherfckerrr @emxxblog @justdamnpeachy @dashingdeb16 @corrodedcoffincumslut @bexreadstoomuch

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson series #Dirty Metal Summer #Eddie Munson fic #dirty dancing au #eddie munson x reader

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luv4fandoms · 3 months

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Knight in shining armor (Marko x Fem!Reader)

I found the first part of this in my notes and decided to finally finish it lol.

Pairing: Marko x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2,776

Warnings: PURE SMUT!!! MINORS DNI

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Ko-Fi

"Hurry up already" Marko huffed, arms outstretched along the back of the couch as he stared down at you, his legs spread with you in between them, hands gliding up his jean and leather covered thighs while you pressed kisses to his clothed bulge.

"Now why would I do that? You love to tease me" you told him as you grabbed him through his pants, earning a hiss from the blonde.

"Keep it up and you won't be able to walk by the end of the night" he warned, which only brought a smirk to your lips.

"Is that a threat of a promise?" You asked, keeping eye contact as you licked over the bulge, earning a deep growl from him.

"Babe" he dragged out through clenched teeth.

"You're no fun" you giggled, reaching up to unbutton and unzip his pants, his eyes never leaving you while you gently pulled down his pants enough to release him. Marko rarely wore underwear, and sometimes you wondered if they all decided to forgo the article of clothing, or if he just hated them, either way, it always made this sort of thing easier.

Giving him an experimental stroke you heard him hiss again, eyes closing as you ran your thumb over the tip, collecting the pre-cum that beaded out. Leaning forward to lick over the slit while you ran your hand down to his base he groaned at the contact, pleasure beginning to wash over his tense form. This was what you were hoping for, to get him to finally relax after last night.

It started out as a typical night at the boardwalk, the boys had gone off to hunt and you had decided to simply walk around until they returned, something you had done plenty of times. Each time Marko would tell you to be safe, and if you needed anything to run towards the beach and he would come find you. You had been minding your own business, eating an ice cream as you walked around and enjoyed the music and current festival that was happening, but of course, that came to an end when the surf Nazis showed up. You were used to them by now, having encountered them plenty of times with the boys, but they seemed to have sought you out like sharks with blood when they saw that you were alone.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” You heard the one speak, and you didn't even have to turn from the vendor stall to see the smirk on his lips, his tone making your skin crawl.

“Piss off” you stated, going back to looking at the patches, trying to find ones that Marko would like.

“Well that's not very nice, your little boyfriends didn't teach you any manners?” Another one asked, you simply rolled your eyes and paid for the few patches you found, shoving them in your bag before beginning to walk away, you hadn't gotten three steps when a hand grabbed your arm.

“Now come on, we just wanna talk” you finally turned towards the, what you now realized, were three men, and gave them your best death glare before snatching your arm out of his grip.

“Well I don't, so piss.off” you replied, turning and walking away. You thought maybe they had gotten the hint since they didn't grab you again…but of course, you were wrong, you could hear the insults they were throwing even from as far back as they were, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you realized they were pushing past people to get to you. Quickening your speed you began to weave in and out of the crowd hoping that you wouldn't have to take off towards the beach and interrupt Marko's hunt…Though they would just make meals out of the three clowns chasing you. You turned a corner and quickly ran into something rather immobile, or rather, someone. Looking up from where you now sat on the ground you realized it was a man, around your age, medium length black hair and the most friendly eyes, from the look of his clothes he wasn't from Santa Carla, just another tourist who you had sadly been brought into your mess as you heard the voices grow louder.

“Are you ok? Didn't mean to run into you” he smiled, offering you his hand that you gladly took.

“Yeah, sorry I was-” you were cut off as the three you had been running from rounded the corner, coming to a halt upon seeing you.

“There you are you little bitch” the one sneered.

“Friends?” The guy asked as he pulled you closer.

“Ha, they wish”

“You don't need to be involved, just hand over the little whore and we'll be good” the second one stated, but the guy gently pushed you behind him.

“I think I'll pass on doing that, sorry” he told them, which only angered them more.

“You wanna fuckin die dude? Just run along and let us have her, we ain't got any beef with you” the third one snapped. The guy looked back at you, your eyes meeting for a moment before he turned back to them.

“Or you all could fuck off” he shrugged, and that seemed to be the final straw as the guys jumped at him, he quickly pushed you aside, causing you to slightly catch yourself on the wall, the brick scraping your arm and causing a small amount of blood to bead up. You watched with wide eyes as the man easily beat up all three guys with moves you had only seen in martial art movies, it honestly made you stare in awe at the man, who was now staring down at three groaning surf Nazis.

“Are you ok?” He asked, meeting your eyes before seeing the small amount of blood on your arm.

“Shit I'm sorry” he apologized, quickly grabbing a tissue out of his pocket and going to press it to your wound, when a hand grabbed his wrist…A gloved hand you knew all too well.

“Touch her and die” Marko all but growled as he stared the man down, you knew even though the man was taller than him, Marko was far more deadly.

“I'm sorry?” The man questioned.

“Marko baby, it's ok, he helped me” you tried to reassure your boyfriend, who immediately looked down at your arm.

“Yeah, looks like it”

“It was an accident, he pushed me out of the way” Marko's eyes left the man and looked down at the three groaning men.

“Why didn't you come get me?”

“I didn't want to be a burden” the look he gave you after that sentence was both of annoyance, and hurt.

“It's ok though, I'm fine” you tried to reassure him, putting your hand on his which still held the man's wrist, you felt his grip slowly loosen enough for the man's wrist to fall.

“Thanks to your knight in shining armor” he muttered, but you caught it, caught the tone, the hurt that lingered on his words.

He has been in that mood since then, but you'd be damned if you let him stay in it for another night. He was your boyfriend, your mate, the only one you wanted…And you were going to make that known. So you had coerced him onto the couch with kisses, and were determined to right a wrong in his mind.

“Fuck” he sighed, one hand reaching down to thread through your hair, the other now gripping the back of the couch. Your hands pulled his pants lower, allowing him to spread his legs wider as you took more of him in, a low, almost purr sounding in the back of his throat as his hips lifted slightly.

“all of it” he groaned, and you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes meeting his, noticing his pupils were already blown wide.

“Take all of it” he panted, other hand reaching down to grip your hair, guiding your head down further, you had only done this a handful of times, but you knew how much he liked it, so with a deep breath you relaxed your throat, allowing him deeper.

“That's it” he sighed, head falling forward to watch you.

“Good girl” he groaned, letting you just sit there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your hot throat flexing around him before he slowly pulled you back up, allowing you to take a breath before he guided you back down. After the fifth time you gently grabbed his hands and put them on the couch, letting him fall out of your mouth before grabbing him and stroking.

“thought this was supposed to be about me” he tried to joke but it ended in a hiss and you leaned down and sucked for a moment.

“It is” you replied once you let him go, mouth leaving him but hand never stopping.

“But I have to breathe,” you joked. Watching has his eyes slowly opened, looking down at you with an unreadable gaze for a moment before he spoke.

“Bet you'd choke for your knight in shining armor” he muttered, and there it was, what was still putting him in a bad mood-when you had been in danger, he wasn't the one who saved you. You rolled your eyes and lowered your head, his own falling back on the couch as he figured you were going to take him back into your mouth, what he wasn't expecting was feeling your teeth sinking into his thigh. A started shout/groan fell from his lips as his hand shot back into your hand, unsure if he wanted to pull you off or beg you to do it again.

“Cazzo! (Fuck!)” He quickly looked down, eyes meeting yours as you licked over the wound, watching as his cock twitched near your cheek.

“Wanna say something stupid like that again?” you asked, kissing up the side of his cock before taking him in again, bobbing your head as you listened to him try to form words, you had never bit him before, but from the looks of it, you'd have to start.

“I s-said” he groaned, hating that he stuttered, but fuck! You had never done something like that before, and now you were going at him, your head bobbing quickly, you hands rubbing what you weren't taking in…Fuck why was he upset again?

“Divieto di sosta (do not stop)” he groaned, body leaning forward, both of his hands resting on your head now, not trying to move you but trying to anchor himself. You grabbed the top of his jeans which rested at his knees and pulled them down to his ankles, before letting him fall out of your mouth and kissing along his thighs, he groaned at the loss but waited to see what you would do. You started at his knee, slowly kissing upwards as you spoke.

“if you ever, for a moment” you started, only stopping to bite into his flesh again, earning another groan, his hand tightening in your hair while you moved over to his other leg, kissing upwards.

“think that I would want someone else” you bit down again.

“Cazzo! Dio sì (Fuck! God yes)”

“Then you” you bit near his hip bone, watching as his hips shot up, chasing the feeling.

“Are very much” you bit near his other hip bone, listening as his groans became murmurs of Italian.

“An idiot” you ended, leaving the last bite on his stomach, a place you knew was sensitive, and a place where everyone would be able to see it, and maybe that was what set him off, the thought of you marking him, or maybe he had just had it, but quickly you were eye level with him-his hand gripping the back of your head, fist tangled in your hair.

“cazzo ingoiami, o ti spezzerò (fucking swallow me, or I will break you)” he growled, eyes gaining a bit of a goldish hue as he looked at you, his body lightly shaking as he gripped the couch with his other hand.

“promessa o minaccia?(promise or threat?)” You asked, watching as his eyes widened for a moment, you had never spoken Italian before, never had told him you were even learning it since you wanted to surprise him, you quickly leaned in a stole a kiss while he was in his shocked state before falling back to your knees, you mouth swallowing him down before he could say anything else, though what did tumble out of his mouth was nothing but sighed and groaned Italian as he leaned back again and let you work, you could tell he was starting to get close though when his hips began to buck upwards more often, and his hand tightened in your hair again.

“Più veloce (faster)” he panted, eyes opening to look down at you, you doubled your efforts, tongue running along the underside before you flicked it over the slit which now steadily leaked precum.

“proprio così (just like that)” he groaned, struggling to keep his eyes on you as you worked, he watched your hand leave him, instead reaching down and cupping his balls, he groaned at the feeling, his end coming closer at your touch.

“brava ragazza-cazzo, così buono (good girl-fuck, so good)” he moaned, his body beginning to lean forward, wanting to get closer to your touch.

“Divieto di sosta (do not stop)”he panted again, feeling himself rushing towards his peak, all he would need would be a little more, a little more of your hot mouth swallowing him down, your hands cupping him, stroking him. The sounds of you slurping the mixture of his cum and your own saliva that ran down his length as you worked, it was all music to his ears and he could feel himself starting to tense, his boots digging into the stone floor of the cave…When your nails scratched down his legs, digging into them he lost it.

“CAZZO!” He all but screamed, eyes rolling back as both of his fists locked into your hair, holding your head down as he came. Luckily you had done this before and knew what to expect, Marko always liked to make sure you got every last drop, but from how he was slightly shaking and the look on his face, eyes rolled back and mouth opened in a silent moan, you think this may be because of a new reason.

His hips lifted off of the couch in shallow thrusts, soft gunts and whispered “cazzo”s fell from his lips as his body slowly came down from its high. You felt his grip loosen before his hands left your hair, falling beside him on the couch. You quickly pulled off of him, swallowing what you could and wiping off the rest before you gently straddled his lap, being careful of him in case he was a bit sensitive, though knowing Marko he would probably enjoy it. You gently kissed his neck, cheeks, before landing on his lips, smiling when you felt him kiss back, hands coming up to lightly hold your waist. When you broke apart your eyes once again met hazel, and you smiled at your boyfriend.

“ti amo (I love you)” you whispered, watching as the smile spread across his own lips.

“Anch'io ti amo. per l'eternità (I love you too. For eternity)” he whispered, hand coming up to cup your cheek and pull you back in for another kiss, a kiss that turned into a slow make out session. When the two of you finally broke apart you cupped his cheeks in your hands and looked at him.

“Now, no more foolishness ok? You're my knight in shining armor, no one else, got it” you told him, watching as he looked away for a moment before looking back at you and nodding.

“Fine, but the next guy that tries to play that role…I'm killing” he told you, shutting you up with a kiss before you could protest.

“Now, in the meantime” he started, grabbing your thighs and standing up, causing you to let out a shout and wrap your legs around his waist. He quickly toed off his boots and kicked off his pants before he headed towards your shared nest.

“You started something you need to finish” he explained, and when you gave him a confused look he simply smirked.

“You marked me, it's only fair I return the favor, and besides, I need to show you how I truly speak my mother tongue,” he replied, tossing you onto the mattress…you were in for a long night.

There it is! I hope everyone enjoys it lol.

Also the guy who helps her I pictured looking like

#the lost boys #tlb #the lost boys 1987 #tlb 1987 #marko tlb #marko the lost boys #marko x fem reader #marko x Reader #marko x reader #marko smut #marko tlb smut

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leatherrepair123 · 4 months

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#leather patch for couch #Leather Repairs Atherstone #Leather Repair Leicester

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leatherrepairs123 · 4 months

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#Leather Repairs Bexhill #leather furniture repair near me #leather sofa repair near me #leather patch for couch

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 4 months

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the cleansing

lilac, chapter nineteen

a/n: second to last chapter of this entire series!! aahhh! the final chapter will be posted in exactly one week, so get ready!

summary: “I’m gonna ask you one last time, are you sure you wanna do this?”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, hurt/comfort, angst, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, cuddling, blood and gore

word count: 751

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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Shivering slightly as you layed on the couch, your pyjama pants kicked off and crumbled by your feet, you absentmindedly counted the small, spiral knots on the wooden ceiling where branches once grew, back when they weren’t panels of lumber but mighty trees reaching up towards the clouds.

“I’m gonna ask you one last time, are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Yes,” you breathed, glancing down at Frank who kneeled on the floor next to you, the warm light from the fireplace catching the blade in his palm and glinting back at you, “please just do it. If you don’t then I’ll probably just get up in the middle of the night and do it myself and I don’t know if I trust myself enough not to do it wrong and hurt myself more than necessary.”

Even though the brand wasn’t much bigger than a small coin, it somehow still felt like it covered your entire body.

“Alright,” he exhaled, placing a steady palm just above your knee, “but it’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker.”

“I can take it, I don’t care if it hurts, I don’t care if I’ll have a scar there for the rest of my life, I just want it off me.”

“You want another swig?” he lifted up the glass bottle of whiskey he’d encouraged you to drink from since he didn’t have narcotics lying around the cabin to numb the pain.

“No, just do it,” you rested your head back down and stared up at the ceiling, “I’m ready.”

“I’m gonna try and be quick, okay?”

“Okay,” you felt your body tremble in anticipation.

Holding up a folded leather belt, he urged, “bite down on this so that you don’t chew off your tongue.”

Accepting it between your teeth, you exchanged one last round of confirming nods before he offered you his free hand to squeeze.

As he pierced the knife into the edge of the marked skin on your upper thigh, your nails dug into his palm as you let out muffled screams of agony. The pain was nearly too excruciating to endure, your other fist slammed down against the couch cushion as he sliced the scorched scar clean off.

“Done,” Frank swiftly pressed a clean rag against the wound to soak up the blood, “that’s it, you did it, you did it.”

Letting go of his hand, you ripped the belt away and dropped it to the floor, as you filled up the cabin with your shuttering shrieks, briefly redirecting your beating of the couch to a few that collided with his shoulder, an impact that didn’t even make Frank flinch.

“Hey, hey,” his fingers found the side of your face and urged you to meet his brown eyes, “breathe, breathe,” and he offered you a few clear examples for you to copy, “good, good, there you go, that’s it,” his thumb gently swiped over your cheekbone as you found a slower and deeper pattern of breaths that helped you deal with the pain.

You tried your best to keep it up as he then carefully began to patch you up. Before every stitch he gave you, even though it wasn’t that many, he nevertheless warned you every time by asking you to take a deep breath and exhale just as he pierced the tender flesh.

When a broad band-aid soon covered up the wound, you felt his hand once again find your cheek and you peeled your stare away from the ceiling to gaze back into his eyes.

“Let’s go to bed,” he uttered softly before you offered him a nod in return.

Scooping you up into his arms, one behind your knees and the other along your shoulder blades as if you were some fair maiden, he carried you the short distance into the bedroom, gently helping you down onto the mattress and tugging the soft duvet half over you before he rounded to the other side of the bed and slipped in as well.

Rolling over to face him, you couldn’t help but notice how you still trembled. You actually weren’t sure if you’d completely stopped yet, even though nearly a week had passed, but as you reached for him and he in return scooted a bit closer, letting you curl into his warmth, the sensation seemed to ever so slightly fade away as you found yourself in the tangle of his safe arms.

Nuzzling your face further into his burly chest, you murmured against his t-shirt, “thank you…”

#lea’s writing #lilac series #lumberjack!frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #frank castle series #lumberjack au #frank castle hurt/comfort #frank castle angst #frank castle fluff

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lovelyhan · 1 year

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— bad habits ⟢

pairing: joshua x reader

summary: it’s common practice to not sleep around with your ex months after you broke up. too bad you and joshua are terrible at doing things by the book.

word count: 1.3k words

tags: exes with benefits, pining, mild angst, smut

warnings: graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: this is shorter than my usual work, bc i really just wanted to get shua out of my system..... smut tags are under the cut!

smut tags: car sex, fingering, protected sex, praise kink, soft dom joshua

It's Friday night when you tell Seungkwan that you're going out for a quick grocery run. When he asks if you're going alone, you don't really see any benefit in skirting around the truth.

"They're just errands," you say when you catch him glaring daggers at you from his comfortable nest on the couch. "I had my car fixed the other day, remember? He just happened to be in the area and offered to give me a ride to and from the supermarket."

Your best friend-slash-roommate scoffs. "When has it ever been just errands when you're left alone with him for more than five minutes?"

You love Seungkwan—really, you do. But there's something about his too-appraising stare and too-critical words that makes you want to do the things you aren't supposed to even more.

Then, you remember you're not that petulant. Of course you aren't constantly keeping in touch with your ex-boyfriend for the sole reason of going against what Seungkwan tells you. If that were the case, things would be much, much easier.

But life doesn't always turn up daisies, things don't always go as planned, and part of you doesn't always think it's a bad thing to fuck Joshua Hong in the backseat of his SUV.

"Jisoo," you whisper, a name he only ever lets those closest to his heart address him with. Half a year later, it seems that you're still on the list. "More, please."

You're perched on his lap, thighs splayed wide right atop his own as he loosens you up with lithe fingers. You can't see the way Joshua smirks, but you can feel how his lips twitch against the column of your throat, pressing a featherlight kiss across your fever-pitched skin.

"Always so good for me," he murmurs, thumbing at your clit in a way that has you squirming in his grasp. "You're so worked up today, baby. Have you been thinking of this? Of me?"

"Yes—" you gasp when he curls his digits inside you, the pads of his fingers grazing a spongy patch of flesh that makes sparks of electricity crackle beneath your skin.

Joshua catches on to your reaction quickly, letting out a soft chuckle before he increases the intensity of his thrusts. You feel like you should be ashamed of how your pussy squelches with each pass of his long fingers, but instead, you cant your hips in time with the rhythm he's set. Your head has soared right into the clouds, as you sigh out breathless whispers of please, so close, more, more, more—

Then, you topple over the edge—free-falling from the height of release because, just as good as you are to Joshua, he's just as good to you.

Never one to tease too much; always giving you the satisfaction that you constantly crave without expecting anything in return.

A hint of rationality prickles the back of your mind—saying that perhaps the reason you keep coming back for more is because Joshua is all too willing to give it to you. But the thought is lost in the tidal wave of your orgasm, washed away at sea before you can even spot it from the shore.

Your body tingles with oversensitivity, yet the spot where Joshua is holding you steady by the hips burns with need. Your clothes suddenly feel ten times more stifling, and you gaze down at Joshua like you want him to leave no inch of skin untouched.

But even in the midst of post-orgasmic bliss, you're not foolish enough to think this is more than just a quick fuck to him.

Joshua maneuvers you onto your back, laying you down on the leather seats as gently as he always does. Your heart aches at the way he looks at you—soft, with a hint of reverence that has no place in the setting you're currently in—and you forcefully tamp down the visceral emotions threatening to spill out of your chest.

You don't know when he even undid his jeans, but Joshua is already slipping on a rubber when you snap out of it—sighing as he glides the head of his cock along your glistening slit. You have half the mind to remind him that he doesn't need to use condoms, but you know he's doing this for a different purpose entirely.

A boundary. A tangible reminder that you and him only belong to each other in this moment, and nowhere else.

"So beautiful," he sighs once he slips himself inside you—pressing your knees to your chest before surging ever-so forward. "So perfect."

Sometimes, you wish he was as into degrading you as he is with praising you. If everything that came out of Joshua's mouth during sex was filthier than what you could take, it might've been easier to walk away from such a fucked up arrangement.

But all that spills from his lips and into your ears are honeyed words that make you forget every reason why you shouldn't be tangled up in the first place.

You're afraid that you'll never get tired of how he deliciously bucks his hips into yours—spreading your cunt open with each inch of his perfect cock. It doesn't help that he's such a talker. Each unforgiving thrust, he times with the sweetest of words. Taking me so well. Baby, you're just made for me, aren't you?

From the start, it was already a losing battle, and you'll gladly give Joshua all the spoils.

There's always something calculated in how Joshua pulls you apart every time. He never comes first—always wanting to feel your pussy squeeze the release out of him in the riptide of your orgasm.

It's no different now, when he reaches between your two slotted bodies—already cramped in the limited space of his car—and rubs your oversensitive clit in quick, precise circles. Your teeth catch on the curve of his shoulder, right over his shirt, to muffle the moan he inevitably rips out of you.

"Good fucking girl," he half-moans, half-growls before his vigorous thrusts come to a halt.

You try to ignore the sinking sensation that comes with feeling Joshua fill up the condom with white-hot release. You try not to remind yourself of the strict boundary he's maintained.

Most importantly, you avoid thinking about why he hasn't once tried to kiss you since you started fucking around all those months ago.

By the time you're both sated and dressed, the supermarket was already closed, and Joshua makes an off-hand comment about your misplaced priorities. You laugh with him for the sake of laughing with him, but deep down, you can't help but agree.

He drops you off in front of your apartment, smiling like he didn't just wreck you in more ways than one. You roll your eyes, pointing out that his ride reeks of sex, and that he should air it out before giving anyone else a ride.

"Then let's just take it somewhere else next time," he says so casually, you nearly trip on your own feet on the way out.

The two of you exchange goodbyes like two, well-meaning friends before he pulls up the window of the passenger seat and speeds away. You wonder if Joshua's heart twists the same way as yours.

Seungkwan is still awake when you make it back home—munching on a bag of baby carrots with a whole lecture about making better life decisions locked and loaded. But he never gets to present it when you collapse right next to him on the sofa, sobbing into his arms just like the day you broke up with Joshua.

He sighs, putting his food away before offering solace that you probably, definitely don't deserve.

But you have a bad habit of taking everything that's freely given to you, and you don't think you'll stop anytime soon.

#seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #svt smut #svt fanfic #joshua #seventeen joshua #hong jisoo #exes with benefits #joshua x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan #joshua smut #🐇 500 #full length fic 📚

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imaginesandbandfiction · 3 months

Text

Triad Part 7 — Trouble in Paradise

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

A/N: MFW the silly little smut drabble series I started over winter break starts developing a plot :o

Lmaooo I should have seen this coming. Be patient with me, I'm in a creative writing MFA program so fanfic isn't my priority rn but this series is begging to be written so I'm going to follow those vibes as far as they take me, just bear with me if updates are sporadic.

Click here to be added to the taglist so you never miss an update!

Warnings: Angst, some smut

Of course, there’s a learning curve that comes with a Triad Bond. Sex is the easy part—being in a relationship with two bullheaded Illyrian males is more complicated.

Rhys tried his best not to send any of you on solo missions but, inevitably, something came up and Azriel had to go undercover in the Court of Nightmares. It’s a top-secret mission and he has to block you and Cassian out the entire time he’s there, lest someone learn the true reason for his visit.

And… it was a lot easier to be a spy without two mates waiting for him back home. His mental shields are ironclad, trapping all the frustration and sadness behind closed doors, but it seeps out in other ways. His shadows are way more vicious than they normally are and, after long days spent playing nice with Keir and his cronies, as soon as his bedroom door locks behind him, he fists his cock in quick strokes. It takes a matter of minutes for him to spill himself into the mattress with how pent-up he is.

Things aren’t much better in Velaris. Sure, you and Cas have each other, but the bond hates the dark hole where Az should be and no matter how hard you try to soothe the ache, it never goes away.

Cassian throws himself into training; on days he doesn’t have other work to do, he flies out to Windhaven and spends the day beating the shit out of anyone who dares challenge him. When he comes home late at night, you patch him up with soft, delicate touches and hold him until his tears dry up.

Sex isn’t the same without Azriel there, either. You try to hold out; it feels wrong without him, but everything boils over a week into his absence.

Cassian spent the day in Windhaven, again, and you wait up with a book and a cup of tea but it’s morning when he slams through the door drenched in blood and reeking like the mixed-together contents of a liquor cabinet.

“Cas?” You mumble, lifting your head off the couch cushion and rubbing your eyes as you push yourself into a sitting position. He stomps past you into the bedroom and you hear the water running as he fills the bath. Stifling a yawn, you push through the nausea swirling in your gut and follow him on your tiptoes.

When you push the washroom door open, you see his broad shoulders bent over the edge of the half-filled tub, bloodied and shaking with the force of his sobs.

You surge forward and fall to your knees next to him, wrapping your arms around his middle.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” you whisper, rubbing his back. His head drops to your chest and you feel his rumbling anger in your soul.

Y/N? It’s Rhys’ voice in your head, tentative and sheepish. Is he okay?

No, you snarl back, immediately feeling guilt for the harshness of your words. But Ariel is gone, Cassian is broken, and your heart is torn in two. You force yourself to be gentler as you ask: Is there something I should know?

Rhys hesitates. Devlon called me in to fetch him this morning and… it wasn’t pretty. I’ll send word to Madja and tell her you’re going to be out for a few days.

Before you can protest, he continues. I know you’ve been working overtime. You’re running yourself ragged, Y/N. You need a break just as much as he does.

Rhysand cuts off the mental connection in the middle of your indignant huff, but the gears in your mind are turning. Instead of turning to each other in Az’s absence, you’ve been burying yourselves in solitude and work. Clearly, something has to change.

You loosen the strip of leather holding Cas’s hair up and sprinkle deep purple healing magic into it as you run your fingers through his thick locks. It’s just enough to calm him down, sobs tapering off into shuddering breaths.

“Cas?” You ask when he finally stills, slumping boneless against you. “Whose blood is this?”

He tilts his head back, guilt filling in every line on his face, and your heart clenches. No wonder Rhys offered to talk to Madja for you; he probably needed her to fix whatever damage Cassian’s misplaced anger had caused.

“‘M sorry,” Cas whispers, burying his face in your neck again. “I didn’t mean to, I just…”

“Shhh,” you shushed him, curling one arm to cradle his head. “I know you didn’t, baby. Rhys does too. This is new territory for all of us, and there were bound to be some kinks to work out.” Cas nods against you and you squeeze him as tight as you can, channeling love and healing magic through the bond. Behind you, the tub is full of steamy hot water, so you wave your hand to get rid of Cas’s clothes and help him into the bath.

When he’s settled, you shed your nightgown and get in with him. He rests his head against the side of the tub and lets you run a bar of soap over the planes of his muscles, healing bruises and scrapes as you find them.

"Thank you," he whispers once you’ve finished. He reaches one hand out and pulls you against his chest without opening his eyes.

The bond settles as much as it can without a third anchor to tether itself to. You lay there, basking in the soft glow of your mingling magic, until suddenly Cassian stands up, pushing you off him.

“Sorry,” he grunts when you fall forward, splashing into the water. “I just…” You follow his gesturing hand down the V of his hips and the problem stares out at you—long, thick, and hard. “I dunno, it feels wrong without Az.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, torn between the mouth-watering sight of him on display, just inches from your face, and the guilt bubbling up inside you. In the end, the bond makes the decision for you, practically shoving you forward to pull Cas’s cock in between your lips.

His protests are dead on arrival; you don’t even hear them, too focused on pouring all your pent-up sexual frustration out onto him.

After just a few minutes, his hips are bucking wildly and he forces himself to pull back. You look up at him with wide eyes and saliva dripping down your chin, and he growls, tugging you out of the tub so he can shove you against the wall. He drops to his knees and drapes one of your legs over his shoulder, devouring you like a man starved.

With no patience left for teasing, he fucks you with his tongue, plunging deep into your core until you’re writhing against him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, tumbles out of your head and into his as the pleasure builds and builds.

That's it, baby, he sends back down the bond, digging into your sweet spot with one of his fingers. Let go for me.

Your body follows his command, the tightly wound coil inside of you snapping as soon as you have permission. He grins against you as you fuck his face, riding out your high.

As soon as he pulls away, he’s got his hands under your ass, hauling you up into his arms as he presses his cock into your slick folds. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as your head drops back against the wall.

It’s quick and dirty. Without Azriel there to force you to slow down and savor each other, you’re teetering on the edge of a second orgasm before you’ve fully recovered from the first. Cassian’s thrusts grow sloppier and you feel through the bond that his release is looming.

When he ducks his head to pull one of your nipples between his teeth, both of you lose the last of your self-control. Cas drives his hips into you and fills you up, tipping you over the cliff. You clench your walls around him as your release comes gushing out.

Meanwhile, in one of the training rooms under the mountain, a wave of something washes over Az as he’s running through drills against a training dummy with Truth Teller. At first, he thinks it’s nausea and regrets not stopping by the kitchens to grab a bite earlier, but the ache is too low to be coming from his stomach.

When he reaches one gloved hand to palm himself through his leathers, he’s shocked to find his cock solid and straining against the fabric. He thanks the Mother that he’s training alone today and makes quick work of it.

Three weeks into Az’s mission, Mor heads under the mountain to check on him under the guise of visiting her father. She enters the dining room and immediately realizes that something is wrong. There’s a woman sitting to Kier’s right, and Az is on her other side. His shadows nip at Mor’s toes like she’s the enemy as she takes her seat on her father’s left.

He refuses to speak to her, but when they make eye contact during dessert, his eyes are dark and stormy, filled with shadows of their own.

When she retires to her room later that night, she reports back to Rhys who orders her to pull Az out as soon as she can.

Despite the fact that they haven’t slept together in decades, it’s easy to slip back into old habits. The next morning at breakfast, she lays it on thick. By dinner time, her father merely waves them off when she requests the Shadowsinger for her own personal reasons.

“Go on then,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll let the High Lord know when I require your presence next.”

As soon as they’ve both gathered their belongings, Mor winnows them away. When his feet touch solid ground, Az shoves her away with a snarl. His shadows surge forward to cushion her back and prevent her from falling; even blinded by his anger, he doesn't want to hurt her.

“What the fuck,” he growls. “I wasn’t done!”

“I have orders to pull you out of there. Rhys thinks you’ve gone in too deep.” Az growls like a feral animal being forced into a cage.

“Rhysand needs me in there now more than ever. Something’s happening, Mor. Something big, and I was working my way in, I—“

Mor cuts him off, holding a hand up to silence him.

“You think I don’t know that? Whether I like it or not, that’s my father. I know something’s up, but Rhys needs you in there, Azriel. And you’re not you right now. You’re cold and ruthless, not thinking clearly after too much time away from your mates.”

Az deflates and drops onto the sofa behind him. It’s the worn old leather one in Rhys’s mother’s cottage, in Windhaven. Mor sits down next to him, rubbing a hand across his shoulders, careful to avoid brushing against his wings which are rigid and full of tension.

“It’s not your sole responsibility to save the world, Az. You’re an excellent spy, but you’re more than that, too. Don’t let the tunnel vision take over.”

Az drops his head into his hands, letting out all of the air in his lungs with one deep sigh. He knows she’s right, that the bond should be a strength and not a weakness, but he’s terrified that something will happen to his mates. He couldn’t risk it, not when he was down there.

But that wasn’t his decision to make alone. The more he fought against the bond, the more it fought back, rattling his brain and tugging at every one of his senses. The effort to keep it bottled up drained his energy until all he could see was the mission, his purpose. Gathering information about the woman, Amarantha, became the most important thing in his life.

So he feels like a bit of an asshole when he turns up on your doorstep with his rucksack slung over one shoulder and only a faint shimmer of the bond left flickering inside his chest. It’s not enough to keep him tethered to the two of you, so he has no idea how you're feeling, but he forces himself to knock on the door, anyway.

“Hi,” you whisper, letting your arm drop from the doorknob to your side. On your end, the bond bursts into bright golden flames that shoot down, making a beeline for Azriel.

It tugs at Cas’s side, too, and then his head pops up behind your shoulder.

“Hi,” he says, flashing the dopiest grin that Azriel has ever seen.

Taglist: @wallacewillow0773638 @hnyclover

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