#fem oc pov

[girl8890]

R Town | Ch.19

Jungkook x FemOc

3.3k

POV: M

Warnings: Vaginal sex, Forced sex, Rape/Non-con, Emotional abuse, Domestic violence, Threatens murder, Confessions.

Index | CH20

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

"You filthy! ... Fucking! ... Whore!" Felix spaces out each of his words as he thrusts into me.

Felix's presence hurts me emotionally, but the things he does to my body hurt my soul. But there's nothing that hurts me more, physically and emotionally, than when Felix decides to use my body, but when he's jealous.

The thing is, Felix doesn't even know who he's jealous about! He's just been hearing around that I've been going out late at night, and that's enough of an excuse for him to fuck me until I can't walk.

The tears stain my cheeks as Felix continues to strangle me and fuck me at the same time. I'm clawing at his hand to let me go, but he just fucks into me harder.

"You really think you could get away with it, huh? You fucking someone else. Your mine, and mine only!"

With one more squeeze of my neck that has me close to blacking out and a violent thrust into me, Felix spills his toxic seed inside of me.

He's breathing heavily, and I'm not only exhausted but completely defeated at this point. It's been three hours since Felix dragged me out of our club and brought me here to our shared bedroom to fuck me into submission. The bruises from last time just started to fade too.

Felix pulls out of me and then pushes my face away from him as he rolls over onto the other side of the bed. I guess he's finally done with calling me a whore on repeat and using my body like one.

I feel more tears fall, but I don't make a single noise. Not wanting Felix to even recognize my presence.

The thing is, I haven't been sleeping with other people besides Felix. Not that I've been wanting to sleep with him at all. HIM, on the other hand, he's been cheating on me with the girls and guys at his clubs since we first got married. But I could give a shit less about it. Why would I give a shit if someone I hate fucks around? The only thing I worry about in this is the girls in that situation.

But still, I told Felix a week ago that I haven't been sleeping around and that the people telling him I have been are delusional. I thought he left it alone after that conversation at the club, but I guess not. I just don't understand why he decided to take it out on me now.

"You really thought you could get away with it. You stupid whore."

I clench my eyes shut and feel rage bloom within me. My energy and spunk finally coming back. I think more than anything, I hate the word whore, especially coming from him. It's degrading and is only ever directed to women in a negative light. It's only ever directed to me from Felix in a negative light.

I sit right up and yell without a care about the repercussions, "I'm not a fucking whore, Felix! I haven't slept with anyone, and if anything your the fucking whore!"

Felix's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse a fucken me? I'm a fucking saint compared to you!"

I laugh. I actually laugh at him because that's a load of crap. I get out of bed, somehow not sore, and find the closes pair of clothing to put on myself. A flowy dress is all I can grab at the moment, but hopefully, Felix doesn't think I'm putting it on to look good for him.

"Yeah, maybe a saint to a coven for Satan! I know you fuck around with all the girls and guys at the club, Felix. Do you think I'm stupid!"

Felix looks nervous for a second, but it quickly turns into a smirk, making me roll my eyes. "But you know they mean nothing to me, baby. I use condoms and none of them have ever been as tight as you."

I blanch at Felix's version of a compliment. "Your disgusting."

I begin to walk to the bedroom door, wanting to get as far away from Felix as possible, but he somehow beats me to the door. Stopping me from exiting the bedroom.

"Not so fast, my dear wife." I begin to cower at his words. His voice is deeper than usual, and he only talks that way when instead of fucking me into submission, he's going to beat me into submission. I back up as Felix steps forward. "Your not going anywhere tonight."

I back up until my back hits a wall, and Felix cages me between the wall and him. He slams his fist above my head, and I jump in response. "So, you can tell your precious Jungkook goodbye."

My eyes widen. I don't know why I'm not surprised, though. His "friends" did tell him I was sneaking around town at night, but I guess I was too distracted with being with Jungkook to think Felix would ever find out about him. There's no way he knows exactly what went down a week ago with Jungkook and me, but I also haven't let the opportunity happen again since that day. Me to afraid of what Jungkook will say the next time I see him.

Felix nods his head and uses my reaction as proof enough of his stupid way of thinking. "That's right. You really thought I wouldn't find out you've been sleeping with some nerd? God, you are so stupid. I found out about your's and his relationship before we even got into this town. You really thought I wouldn't realize we opened a business in my wife's hometown?"

I am stupid. For not realizing Felix would put two and two together about this town and me, on top of the fact that my childhood best friend lives here still and is a guy. I feel so flabbergasted all I can say is, "I-I haven't been sleeping with him."

Felix gives me a look that shows he doesn't believe me. "Sure, you haven't. And I haven't been sleeping with the girls at the club." He fake laughs and then says words that turn my blood to ice, "Stay away from the gamer geek, M. If you don't, not only will you have to deal with me, but your brother too. This is your only warning."

Then Felix walks away. I watch him walk out the door, and I don't move from my spot until I hear his car drive away. Then I fall to the ground and cry. I cry because now not only is my life in danger, but Jimin's life too. I know Jimin has some form of protection, though. Seeing Taehyung run after him a week ago was proof enough that Jimin was talking about him when he was crying to me drunk.

But I also cry because now I really can never see Jungkook again. I know I've been ignoring him, but truthfully my feelings have been only growing fonder for him since then. He's the complete opposite of Felix. He's sweet and kind, and our history together is just a bonus. Jungkook is the type of guy I used to dream of being with when I was younger. Not to mention how he made me feel a week ago. I've never felt such passion from a person before. I only ever slept with Felix, so I never knew what it was like to be touched with such care and devotion as Jungkoom did. It felt so nice, and it had me craving more.

"Fuck!" I scream into the empty mansion.

I miss Jungkook. Even when Felix threatened my life, I miss the man he tells me to stay away from. All I want to do is be with him now. Jungkook seems like the type of guy to see a girl like me and just want to hold her. I want to be held in that special way I've only heard about from girls with their boyfriends. I want to be held like being in that person's arms means protection. Like nothing can hurt you as long as you are with that person.

I felt that way about Jungkook that night. I feel that way about Jungkook now. I know it's not right to assume Jungkook is okay with being that type of person to me. A person I can rely on to love me and want to protect me at all costs. It was years before I saw him when I left at the age of eight, but since coming here and being with him again, it feels like no time has passed.

I don't want time to pass anymore. I don't want to wallow on the ground every time Felix gets jealous and takes it out on me. Just for once in my terrible life, I want to feel loved and cared for. Is that really too much to ask? Is it too much to ask to feel safe with somebody? Anybody?

I feel safe with Jungkook. I feel wanted by Jungkook, and even though all we shared was one intimate moment, something about the way he touched me and handled me so gently has me thinking there's more to Jungkook's feelings for me than just friendship.

I know he thinks I'm attractive. The constant flirting and the shy blushes his face grows when I flirt with him back is proof of that enough, but now that I've kissed him... now that he's kissed me... I want him to have feelings for me. I want him to have this longing feeling in his heart as I have.

I want to be loved by him. I no longer want to be scared of my husband and be set that this is my life. I don't want to be fearful for my life and worry about other people's lives. I hate keeping secrets about how my marriage truly is and why I'm in it in the first place.

I know it's selfish. I know my feelings and the way I'm thinking right now could put myself and others in danger, but for once, I just don't want to care. I want to be truthful about myself, and even if it's just for a night, feel free. I want to be free to be myself. Jungkook has allowed me to do this... so I stand up.

I guess I'm turning into one of those people that do the opposite of what they are told.

I stand up off the floor and wipe my tears. With one last sniffle, I let it all go. I ignore Felix's threats and do something for myself. I don't worry about what will happen after the fact, and only about the present.

I shower, put the dress back on with a pair of panties, and walk out the door. Planning to go and see the only person I've ever felt truly safe with all my life.

。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。 。・°°・°°・。

When I get to Jungkook's game store, I'm surprised to find him not inside. Since we reunited, he's always been in the store. That's where we would always hang out, after all. I was to worried Felix would find out and do something reckless if he saw Jungkook and I together, so we just always stayed in the game store, but tonight I'm not caring. If Jungkook wants to fly to fucking Canada tonight, I'll say yes.

Just for tonight, I don't want to worry about anything else. But I first have to find him. I even check his office, and he's not there. I stand there, in the middle of his game store, and try to think about where he could be right now. I know he's friends with this one guy, Suga, but for a reason, he didn't explain to me why he hasn't been talking to him lately, so I don't think he would be with him.

I think and think... then I snap my fingers in realization. Although I've never been there, I remember Jungkook told me he lives in the apartment above the game store. I walk to the back of the store and exit through the back door. Once I'm outside in the back of the store, I see the black metal stairs leading to a single door. It looks like a plain maintenance door, but as Jungkook explained to me before, he made that space a place for him to live so he didn't have to be away from his games for too long.

I actually crack a smile when I think about this information. Some girls would find it weird or even annoying that a guy is that obsessed with gaming, but there's never been a time where Jungkook's seemed to pick video games over me. I hope this fact adds proof to my thinking that he has feelings for me and I'm not just delusional.

I walk up the metal stairs, and before I knock on the door, I take a deep breath. Once I see Jungkook, I'm telling him everything, so knowing I'm about to spill every single one of my secrets is kinda nerve-racking.

How Felix and I's marriage came about, how he's been treating me, my feelings for Jungkook, everything! I want to be free tonight, and the only person I trust to be free with is him, so... I knock on the door.

No one answers at first, so I go to knock again, but then in the corner of my eye, I see a little camera above the door wiggle around. I look at it curiously, but I don't get to look at it long because then the door flies open, making me jump in my spot.

I see Jungkook for the first time in a week, and I actually start to blush when I see him. His hair is a mess like he just woke up from a nap, and he's shirtless. Wearing only a pair of plaid sleeping pants. I realize now he was probably sleeping, but what really catches my eye is the sleeve of tattoos. I know he has hand tattoos, which I complimented after I saw them for the first time, but this is the first time I've seen Jungkook's entire set of tattoos. Then there's the obvious part that's made me blush and some parts of me tingle... my childhood best friend has a six-pack.

I actually have to fucking swallow to keep myself from drooling over him. Before he hopefully notices, I look back up at his wide eyes.

"M! W-what are you- where have you been?"

It's obvious by his stutter that he was worried about me, and I feel bad about making him worry. It also doesn't help that I haven't seen him in a week, and I decide to come and see him again in the middle of the night at his home.

"I'm sorry I haven't been coming to see you, but - um..." I glance at the Lee club, suddenly realizing I'm right near where Felix is most likely at right now. "Can I come in, please?"

Jungkook's eyes widen again, him realizing he hasn't asked me to come in yet. "Oh! Yeah - Yes, of course!"

I giggle out my thanks because it's adorable how he gets all flustered. I walk into his home for the first time, and the first thing I notice is how big the space is. Right at the entrance is two big, fluffy, black couches, and because I can't help myself, I skim my fingers across the fake fur. There's a flat-screen tv across from the couches with, of course, a bunch of video game consoles hooked up to it. There's also a pretty decent size dining room area with just two chairs and a small table. That's right in front of his big, all-stainless steal kitchen. I'm not sure if Jungkook likes to cook, but by the looks of his kitchen, I can tell it's definitely used.

I then see two doors, and I swallow thickly when I realize one of those rooms is Jungkook's bedroom. I wonder if he's ever brought another girl into his house... into that room...

"I know it's not much, but it's good enough for me." I look back over to Jungkook and realize he put on a shirt. I secretly wished he didn't, but I'm not here to drool over him.

"What do you mean? Your place looks great!" I spread my arms out and spin to show my excitement about it, and I'm happy to see Jungkook smile because of it. His smile is so adorable with the way all his teeth show.

"Thanks, M. I don't think I've even had anyone else up here before, so that makes you special." I fold my lips over my teeth, trying not to smile with knowing this information and the compliment he gave me.

Suddenly, Jungkook looks worried again, probably just now remembering the last time we saw each other. "As much I love seeing you again, and I don't want to scare you away, but I can't just ignore what I saw last time I saw you."

My smile falls, but I nod my head because that's fair. Me running out his office after he saw my bruises wasn't fair on him, and truthfully I was just scared of him asking questions but tonight is different. I want to come clean... I just hope he accepts the truth about me.

Jungkook steps forward, and my eyes widen when he takes my face in his hand. "And I can't just ignore what happened between us either."

I feel my smile start to form with the remainder of us kissing the last time we saw each other. Jungkook bites his lip, equally happy about this reminder.

"I didn't expect you to ignore it. My life's just... complicated."

"Tell me how then!" I'm surprised by Jungkook's sudden rise in voice, but he quickly calms down. "I'm sorry, it's just... those bruises." Jungkook shakes in rage as he mentions the bruises. "Did your husband do that to you?"

I start to cry. Not full-on wailing and falling on the floor crying, but tears do fall from my eyes. Something about the way Jungkook is talking and looking at me. He must be thinking I'm sad, but I'm not. I'm not because he sounds like he wants to kill the man who did this to me. Like he doesn't want to let me out of his sight again because of the chance of Felix hurting me. I cry because he cares. He cares about me.

I can't form words, but I do nod my head. Confirming Jungkook's question. Which ends up forming even more questions from him.

"Fuck, M , I -... why are you with him? Why do you stay with him? Why don't you leave him and find someone that will actually love you?  Bruises like that are not love!"

"I know, Kookie. I know, but-"

"Do you? Fuck - like... I can treat you better then that." I knew it. Jungkook has feelings for me, but what I didn't know was...

"I love you, better then that."

Jungkook backs up, not expecting his own words to come out as or when they did.

"W-what?" I say, utterly shocked and not expecting this type of confession. Jungkook glances around, hoping I didn't hear his exact words, but he knows it's too late for him to backtrack.

Then he says, "Fuck it!" And admits, "Yeah, I love you, M! I have since we were kids. Let me love you better then him. Let me treat you better then that fucker ever has and ever fucking will!"

Jungkook holds my face in his hands again, and I see it in his eyes that everything he's saying is 100% true. And now I'm thinking...

How could this handsome, smart, kind, protective, beautiful soul of a man love a broken person like me?

-

-

-

If you are experiencing the same or similar situation to the one above, you’re not alone. Call this toll free national domestic violence hotline [phone]) or the one in your area. The first call is just the start to recovery and rehabilitation. 

Index | CH20

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[crookedgalaxycandy]

I swear "x reader" fanfic writers save lives. You feel lonely and touch starved? Get some cuddle content! Everything kinda sucks right now? This character want nothing more than to comfort you! And they do requests, FOR FREE?! They are some of the most creative creators I've seen. I always feel better reading yalls content. Makes me feel less alone. And for the people who are like "that's so cringe," you know what's more cringe? Criticising people having harmless fun.

"x reader" author appreciation!

#x reader #character x reader #character x you #character x y/n #oc x reader #reader insert #gn reader #fem reader #male reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin x gender neutral reader #2nd person pov #fluff #comfort #love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #zane x reader #rafayel x reader #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #mha x gender neutral reader #izuku x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you

[moonbeammist]

The Peasant's Secret (Part 1)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

PAIRINGS: Feyd Rautha x Fem!Fighter!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: I drew heavy inspiration from the Dune Soundtrack, especially the Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Suite by Hans Zimmer (avail on youtube atm)- truly sets the mood and tone for the story if you wanna have a listen. I appreciate this community of writers/readers! Any feedback and thoughts are most welcome! This is going to be a multi-chapter fic.

WARNINGS: (Mostly for 2nd Chapter): (Adults only 18+) profanity, extreme violence, gore, sadism, masochism, dubious consent, erotic undertones, heavy petting, reader is a fighter who get's extremly hurt, bigotry against the poor, very immersive, intimacy, touching, feyd-rautha is his sick self, public humiliation

SYNOPSIS: Hailing from the Planet Caladan as a rice cultivator who somehow ended up at the Harkonnen Arena, You know two things to be true.. 1. You are peasant scum and 2. You are going to try something that's never been done on the battlefield.

WORD COUNT: 2.2k words

You were in a colorless oasis. It wasn't really an oasis in the scenery sense; it was an oasis in the sense that it felt like a bottomless void, a strange, deafening dream. It was an oasis because it didn't feel like reality. A desolate vision to where no judging eyes would befall you as you threw your whole self, your body, into its ultimate test. That’s how they all made their mark here, isn’t it?

You reflect on Giedi Prime's obscure, bone-dry alternate reality to your home planet of Caladan - you were of peasant descent in the lush, grassy, biodiverse settlements. You and your mother had strengths in labour as rice planters, trading their services to the wealthy nobles in exchange for military protection. A life of labour and sweat in the rice fields, the economy depended on their work, as such, they had little free time.

Stepping foot into the outdoors, the crunch of your cheaply-made, scraggly brown boots is heard as you line up with the rest of the prisoners. The earth smelled of crust, rot, and blood. You somewhat know where you're supposed to end up as Harkonnen soldiers round you up, but at the same time, you haven’t got a clue where you’ll be settling before battle. Wide, dark tunnels arch over the sand like a protective roof against the beating black sun.  You've been given the finest privilege to represent your low-status family members in a brutal and bloody ceremony where this pale, ghostly Harkonnen House cuts you down, down into the dirt. A death deemed worthy. 

A death is worthy when you die with passion because you’re trying - kicking and screaming. It's a beautiful way to go because you feel everything.

The height of your human complexities is shown at the forefront - pushing yourself, testing yourself.. You who initially thought fighting was for those who have a reason to fight, like for political gain and power, defending your home and planets among the stars. However, you have never felt so alive, representing the absolute bottom of the barrel. What joy it would be to see an enemy fall from not hand-to-hand combat, not brute force, but peasant trickery. 

This is worth something.

That’s what you tell yourself. What else can you cling to? You were living for the cultivation of rice before you came here.

Horns erupt in a deep, haunting bass. The ground is shaking. Shaking with such strength that your feet stumble forward, knees scraping the grainy, white sand. Your hands bite into the sand. A guttural song emits from the speakers suddenly, the force of it hitting your chest like a bang. Your body stutters.

Your fellow no-name fighters eyes snap at your movements. Hushed chuckles erupt over the heavy bass. You feel slightly embarrassed as you quickly stumble back up and rub the grainy sand away from your knees and palms. Your eyes narrow.

This is all of your first times, all of your fellow fighters' first essential phases into proving yourself worthy to Harkonnens. Granted, you were vermin first, something to gawk at, something like cattle. As far as you heard from your briefing on the way here, this whole spectacle was based on a test round. If you pass your initial testing round, then - maybe, just maybe, you can live in comfort. There was not much more elaboration than that. Either get cut down, sliced down, gutted down -  or prosper. So why do you feel like you're the only one on edge? You’re in your head too much.

Because I might fucking die.

You swallow that thought down, burying it deep in your stomach, where it should stay.

Underneath the arena, there is a place where the Harkonnen soldiers stop - a small, enclosed burrow tucked away from sight, away from the audience members that fill the seats of the large dome-like sphere of the arena. Through the dark, enclosed area you can make out the bleached atmosphere stretched and rounded out, seeing several egg-like craniums darting up and down in the stands. Their eyes were like inky, beady pools of onyx - almost insect-like. They were thrashing in excitement, the low murmur of chatter and whooping heard.

You look around to your peers. There is nothing really notable about any of you. Dressed in meek wool, burlap, or loin cloth. Prepped with various weapon satchels latched onto waists or knees. You have no advanced shields or armour, that is true. As suicidal as that may seem against these elite brutes, It’s what you represent that really matters. The peasant trickery you have up your sleeve.

You were an only child born to common people. In the small moments, you would take to the hills with your mother and run and play. Your mother's long, flowing hair would crack like a whip against the wind behind her, in a game of “cat and mouse," as she would call it. You would try to grasp at the ends of her hair - your mother's high, sing-songy laughter echoing in the distance as you chased her.

You did not know your father - just that he was a passing tradesman who fell in love with your mother’s quirks and tenacity for adventure; in the odd breaks she could have them between planting rice grain. They spent 6 months together, you heard, and it was passionate. But he could not stay on this planet.

Your mother did not know if he was alive. But despite him leaving, she spoke fondly of him.  “He defied appearances. They thought of him as a simple, dull man in the trades, a grunt. But his intellect was his greatest secret.”

You supposed that maybe you were that small reminder of him to her, as her description of your father shadowed your mother’s slow moulding of your personality over the years. A weak, feeble rice labourer by appearances, always dressed in brown, murky colours to disappear. She did not want anyone to notice you at first glance; let that be your first safety. If they must stumble on you or pester your forgettable existence, you must keep up the act at first glance. You were scared, you were begging for your life like a common peasant. If they continue to prod and seek to damage or harm you, they would pry open the bottle of secrets that came spilling out of you in this fight-or-flight scenario.

You had a lot to learn and a lot to process as Caladan civilians. The threat of Caladan’s as well as other planets' potential hostile nature was something you were keenly aware of, a foot on your back of sorts, as you couldn’t do anything formidle to stop an enemy. 

The peasants, not permitted to use weapons or obtain shields or anything of the sort, could only offer you certain wisdom that was passed among the peoples. One they passed to your mother’s watchful eye and then onto you. They call it the peasant’s secret.

The art of dodging.

“Remember the game of cat and mouse?” You remember your mother’s voice barely over a whisper as she lay beside you one night in woolly sleeping bags on the soft greenery beneath you. The weather was hot enough to enjoy a night outside.  The flow of the river’s stream is heard against her.

You haven’t used the peasant’s secret in awhile. You primarily used it against your mother and your fellow people, as they would take turns throwing you into mock battles. They didn’t have any weapons, but they did collide, push, and throw themselves into your body at full speed, so you had to react quickly. 

They did push you to the limit. Bless them. Until you were an exhausted heap of limbs on the ground and had the wind knocked out of you.

You knew that wasn’t as valuable as practicing it against someone who genuinely wanted to kill you. You didn’t know if the peasant’s secret had successfully saved someone’s life against a brutal attack or if it was just used as a quick get-away.

So yes, you could fall into the trap of thinking you knew what you were doing when, in reality, it was based on instinct. Of course, the arena was a circle. A never-ending loop. Eventually, even though your stamina was now crafted to be well above average, you would eventually get tired. The peasant community of Caladan had a careful, pinpoint focus on the art of dodging rather than hand-to-hand combat or brute force, which made for a very interesting opponent, if you could even call it that. Most of the time, if you could, you were told to outrun them first. So your speed heavily improved. If they were just as fast, then you could begin your dance.

Now, you could finally put it to the test. To see how you fare, to see if it could actually prevent you from getting sliced and diced by the Harkonnens in the arena—albeit for a while. The main thing to keep in mind, as your mother had warned, was to keep your opponent on their toes, snapping not only their mental state but their body. Then, when the time is right, you steal their weapon and use it against them. Today you were permitted a small dagger, strapped and holstered on the outside of your thigh. Although you weren’t concerned about it, you told yourself you would use it as a last resort when they weren’t suspecting you to. You didn’t know how to dance with a weapon; you only knew how to bob and weave without one.

Count Fenring, the Siridar-Absentia of your homeworld Caladan, while the Atreides occupy the planet Arrakis, had dealings with the Harkonnens prior to your descent here. You were never meant to come here. But Count Fenring had called upon the rice labourers one day for a strange proposal. Gathering in the high-esteemed buildings and feeling out of place, your people had looked upon Count Fenring’s narrow, proud face. You knew him to be conniving and manipulative in nature, a renowned assassin, and the Emperor Shaddam’s right-hand man. He was neutral toward the labourers; as long as they kept up on the plantation of their planet’s rice, he had no issues. He would often make dealings with the noblemen and women of Caladan; it was very rare that the rice labourers were added to any conversation.

“House Harkonnen of Giedi Prime is seeking entertainment, to those willing-"  Count Fenring’s voice boomed, sitting atop his makeshift throne. 

His voice is cut off by your thoughts at the Planet’s name. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen of Giedi Prime, called your Count “The ambassador to the smugglers” in spice production. 

He continues. “I know you do not get to leave your trusted duties among the fields very often, but consider this a gift of sorts - whoever is able, and willing to be “battle entertainment” to the Na-barron of House Harkonnen, Feyd-Rautha, will be permitted to win your chance at freedom to travel to a new planet, a new experience.. You don’t ever have to return.”

An audible chorus of gasps are heard amongst your peoples. Hushed angry whispers fill the room. You gape at the vagrant display of lack of remorse for human life. You knew little, but House Harkonnen enjoyed pleasures in gore and sadism, is what you did know. What’s in it for your Count? This has to do with spice dealings.

“Freedom to die?”  a male voice questioned loudly. “You dangle freedom in the air as if House Harkonnen has any, and to dangle us in front of the Harkonnen brutes like meat!”

The crowd got louder and louder in frustration and opposition. The Count’s voice bellows as his army hits their swords to the ground in a clang to signify the rice labourers to quiet their naysayers. “Enough. To those who are not interested, you may leave. You are not forced to stay. To those that are, please remain.”

A number of your people shuffled out in a hurry, their bodies a large mass squeezing through the royal entryway. You blink. This is downright morbid.  You had never considered such a thing before, as you only knew your planet to be worthy of laying down your roots until the end of time.

You feel your mother reach for your hands. They are warm, and so is her eyes as she peers into the core of your being.

Your planet is beautiful -  access to bodies of lakes, rocky mountains, majestic trees and budding flowers, delicious rice... 

“You should go.” she mutters. “Live for us.”

Her words a grim truth. Brutal honesty. And that was enough for you.

A handful of the peasants stay alongside you. Your mother places her lips upon your cheek in a chaste kiss.  Your tear ducts well with water as her hand leaves your grasp. Somehow, you know it’s too late to turn back now. You don’t know what made you follow Count Fenring onto the ship and not look back. A chaotic chance for something other than field work? A plunge into absurdity?

You could try absurdity for a while, you decided.

#feyd rautha harkonnen #2nd pov #feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #dune fanfiction #house harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd #dune x reader #dune x you #pov second person #feyd rautha imagine #feyd rautha fanfic #dune fanfic #dune imagine #fanfic #my writing #dune part 2 #dune part two #x reader #female reader #oc reader #feyd x oc #feyd rautha x oc #feyd rautha x y/n #fanfiction #feyd rautha x fem!reader #feyd rautha harkonnen x reader

[bishicat]

"V placed her chin on the side of the tub, looking over at him. He could’ve leaned forward and kissed her if he wanted."

...so I wanted to illustrate the chapter 2 bathtub scene from silkspecter's fanfic, just like honey (the first fanfic that got me feral for this ship). And since the author left V's appearance pretty ambiguous, I drew my V instead :)

Edit: the author is the wonderful @t-virusvaccine 💖

#“just like honey” was THE fanfic that made me a silverV shipper #it's just so good 😭 #the characterization was amazing and the smut was impeccable #sidenote: i dont like this piece too much from an artistic pov haha i couldnt get their skin right and i need more background practice fr #anyways i wanted this to feel like a hazy romantic snapshot of a memory #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk 2077 fanart #cp2077 #cp77 #fem v #cyberpunk 2077 v #silverV #johnny silverhand #just like honey #my art #digital art #bishiart #oc: vivienne

[megamindsecretlair]

Just One Taste

Pairing: Tyrone x Black!Fem!OC!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH! PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (fem and male receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, Dom fem, all consensual. Heavy use of n-word. Disrespectful Tyrone. Drug use. Tyrone POV. Mild Sub Tyrone.

Summary: Tyrone gets lost in a deserted town with his friends. The only place open is the library. They head inside and receive quite the surprise.

Word Count: 5,642k

A/N: Trying something new! Happy spooky Halloweek. I hope this fit the bill. It was majorly fun to shake it up a bit, do something a little new I hope! Listen, I need to go lay down myself!! Because sweet lawdt! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! I blocked over a hundred people today for no ages!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @8ttached @judymfmoody @wakandas-vibranium @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @notapradagurl7 @mcotton0928 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer

“Man, pull the fuck over,” Tyrone snapped. The car pulled over to the closest sidewalk and his friend put it in park. 

Tyrone climbed out of the car. The first thing he noticed was the chill. Burrowing cold whipped against his skin and he fought off a shiver. He sparked up, inhaling the weed and exhaling the stressful drive.

“Told ya’ll niggas which way to go and now we lost,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He was pissed. They were supposed to mob up in Vegas for the weekend, get out of the city and into something a little strange for the upcoming Halloween weekend.

But you can’t trust non-reading ass niggas. Tyrone knew it and, yet, he let them drive because he wasn’t feeling it today. He searched the area around him, noting the darkened buildings and dim streetlights. There was an eerie lack of cars around.

“Where the fuck did you take us to?” Tyrone leaned down into the open passenger side. His friend, Paul, was on his phone finagling with the GPS. 

“Ion know, nigga! I was on the 15!” 

Their other friend, Mike, who sat in the back seat slapped the back of Paul’s head. “You got us lost mu’fucka!” 

The two men got into a playful slapping match, calling each other names and cursing at each other. Tyrone stood up straight and took a hit. He rolled his shoulders and looked up into the darkened sky. He thought there were supposed to be stars and shit out here in the desert, without pollution from the light.

He scanned the area once more. It looked like some Scooby-Doo shit. There appeared to be a main street with a hardware store, general store, local restaurant, and a souvenir shop. There were buildings further beyond that, but the cruel California/Nevada night gave no indication of life.

The air felt empty yet tangible. Like there was an invisible screen just in front of his face. “Corny ass, niggas,” Tyrone muttered and took off down the street. Maybe if he found someone’s house, he could knock and get some help. He only hoped this wasn’t one of them racist in-between towns that’d shoot him on sight.

It’d be just his mu’fuckin’ luck to get shot in the boonies on his way to Vegas. Instead of getting shot back in LA. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?

Car doors slammed behind Tyrone and his friends called after him. “Aye, where you goin’?” 

“To mind my business, nigga,” Tyrone bit out. He wanted some sleep. He was so fuckin’ tired and the weed wasn’t hitting like usual. 

The streetlights overhead were spaced out so far apart that he was entrenched in shadow every time he made it past a beam of light. He sighed as he walked, wondering what the hell they were supposed to do with no service in a town like this. If they slept in the car, would they wake up to some old white mu’fucka with a shot gun?

Hell, maybe he watched too much TV. 

“Aye, what’s that?” Mike pointed a meaty finger towards the distance. At the end of the block, the streets rounded off. There was a tall, brick building on the corner with a lonely light over the doorstep. They were too far away to read the sign overhead. 

“Hopefully someone who can help ya’ll dumbasses,” Tyrone said. He passed the blunt to Paul and took off down the street, wishing he had a jacket.

This was the type of cold that sunk down into the bones as soon as you acknowledged it. And it was hard to shake. 

Tyrone made a beeline for that lonely beacon of hope, praying for someone to be inside and willing to help. Mike lumbered after him while Paul kept time with Tyrone’s quick strides. No one spoke. 

As they got closer, Tyrone noticed the sign. It was a library. 

“What’s a library doing open so late?” Paul asked. 

“Let’s just hope it’s warm. And they got food or somethin’. I’m hungry,” Mike complained.

“Yo fatass always hungry. I’m surprised you weren’t munchin’ on the car seat,” Paul said and snickered. He put out the blunt on the side of the building.

Tyrone cracked a smile. Mike pushed Paul who went jumping a few feet sideways. “Can ya’ll shut the fuck up? Damn.” Tyrone huffed and pushed into the library.

Inside, there was ambient lighting and no one at the front desk. A little bell rung from the open door and the trio whipped their heads to it, huffing quick and nervous laughs. 

“Scared, little nigga?” Mike asked.

“Nah, all I gotta do is hide behind yo fatass ‘till I can dip,” Paul said and laughed. He danced out of the way of Mike’s big paws. Tyrone stood in the entryway and raised his eyes to the ceiling. 

If he made it out of this bumfuck town, he was getting new friends. The library was decent and less cold than outside. There were tables spread out in front of the info desk, books scattered on them. There were shelves and rows of books stretching the length of the space and those little sorting carts he thought were only in movies.

There was the same sense of emptiness here that was just like outside. Perhaps the town was just that small that it didn’t have a presence or personality like in a bigger town or city. Whatever it was, it set Tyrone on edge as he looked around. He moved closer to the info desk, scanning it for anything he could use. 

Maybe it was just that kind of town. Maybe all of the doors were left open. Car doors too. Because who the fuck would steal from this empty ass town? 

Mike and Paul were still fussing at each other, slinging insults back and forth. Tyrone turned around, already annoyed and approaching irritated. “Can ya’ll shut the fuck up? And help?” 

Mike and Paul gave each other one last shove. Tyrone scoffed and took a step forward.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” 

Mike and Paul screamed. Tyrone flinched and turned to the source of the sound. To his right, a woman stood there dressed like someone’s fantasy of a librarian. She wore a button up white shirt, skin-tight black skirt, complete with a loose mini tie. The collar of the shirt was open, a few buttons loose down to show her generous cleavage. 

And she was thick as hell, straining the material of her outfit to near sinful levels. If she breathed too hard, the rest of the buttons would go flying everywhere and reveal the rest of the bra that poked out beneath the shirt. Her button down was tucked into the skirt with a skinny belt and non-flashy buckle. 

Her hair was tucked up into a high bun and she wore glasses loose on her nose. She was so fuckin’ cute and sexy at the same time. The stirrings of desire tightened Tyrone’s gut and his dick twitched. He flexed his fists at his side, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Damn lady! You fuckin’ scared us!” Paul yelled. He shoved Mike off of him, the two getting close after being so scared. Tyrone kept his eyes on the woman. She pursed her lips at the boys and shook her head.

“Have some manners when you come in here,” she snapped. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Paul said instantly. Mike and Tyrone stared at him. Paul has never said anything like that in all his life. Whatever spell Tyrone had been under looking at the woman, it seemed to have caught Mike and Paul as well. No one could resist glancing away from her for long.

The woman took a deep breath and finally turned beautiful eyes towards him. “Can I help you?” She asked.

“We’re turned around. We were heading up to Vegas,” Tyrone explained. He moved closer, wanting to be in her orbit. Nervousness crept up his spine. He scowled. The fuck did he have to feel nervous for? 

She looked at the girly watch on her wrist and then raised an eyebrow at him. “A little late isn’t it?” She asked. 

“Better than stuck in traffic tryin’ to get there for the weekend,” he said. 

She conceded the point with a twist of her juicy lips. Red lipstick drew his eyes to her mouth. There was a sudden vision in his head of kissing her and smearing it. He imagined red lip prints on his skin. He imagined licking it off of her.

The images were so vivid, he got hornier. Gettin’ bricked up by the minute. He cleared his throat and shook his head. 

“Um, we just want to know where we are so we can get movin’,” Tyrone said. 

“And get to food,” Mike said right next to Tyrone’s ear. He flinched and turned to see that Mike and Paul had moved without him noticing. They stood in a near perfect line, transfixed on the librarian. 

That comment seemed to soften her. She shook her head at the boys. “Have a seat, I’ll see if I can find something. May as well rest up before heading back on the road,” she said. “Do you want to help me look?” 

A secret smile played about her carmine lips. He took a step forward but her eyes weren’t on him, it was on Mike. Mike grinned from ear to ear and nodded his head. Swift disappointment hit Tyrone in the gut.

That was his boy, but what the fuck did she see in him and not Tyrone? He scowled as Mike disappeared down the stacks with the librarian, murmuring softly to each other. As soon as the woman was gone, Tyrone could think more clearly.

Paul shook his head and sucked his teeth. “The fuck she want with that greedy mu’fucka?” Paul flopped down into the nearest seat. Tyrone sighed and joined him, looking around at the space. 

Tyrone and Paul shot the shit as they waited for Mike and the librarian to return. While he wasn’t starving, he could eat. His buzz was faint but still there and it made his head go pleasantly funny. 

“I bet his ass eatin’ all the snacks and tryin’ to get her number,” Paul said. 

Tyrone huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Dawg, I’m just ready to go,” he said. He ran a hand down his face. How long had he been there? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? How long did it take to round up some crackers? 

“Nigga, shut up. You know fuck well you’d hit that given the chance,” Paul said. He fidgeted in his seat. He leaned forward, then back. Put his elbows behind him on the desk. Stretched out his legs. 

“Stop movin’ damn,” Tyrone said. He sighed and shook his head. He was definitely getting new friends after this. 

Shuffling near the back made Paul sit up straight, like a dog excited to see its owner. Tyrone gave him a weird look before catching the confused look on his face. Tyrone turned towards the sound. Mike had a dopey grin on his face, walking zombie-like towards them. 

The librarian trailed behind him, looking more or less happier than when she found three strange men in the library late at night. “No snacks for us?” Paul asked. “Did yo fatass eat it all?” 

Mike continued walking and sat down in the next available seat on their side of the table. Tyrone was the closest and shook Mike. He only kept the goofy smile on his face, hands placed flat on the table, and stared straight ahead. 

“Aye, what you do to him?” Tyrone asked.

“Excuse me?” The Librarian asked.

“Why he look like that?” Tyrone asked. He shoved Mike once more, but there was no one home behind Mike’s eyes. 

“Aye what the fuck, lady!” Paul yelled. He jumped up from the chair he sat in and rounded Tyrone to get to Mike. He shook Mike, pulling at his oversized T-shirt. Mike blinked a few times and looked down at his stretched shirt in Paul’s hands.

“What the fuck man!” Mike yelled and shoved Paul. 

“We thought she did something to you!” 

Mike adjusted his shirt with a scowl and shook his head. “What could she do? We had a muffin. Gonna make fun of me for that too, little nigga?” 

Paul looked between Mike and Tyrone. Tyrone trained his eyes on the Librarian who watched the whole thing like something was funny. Her lips were turned up like she and Mike knew a dirty secret.

Tyrone stood up and approached her. His head grew fuzzier as he approached, but he pushed on. Pushed past that feeling. He got into her face and stared down at her. He wasn’t a tall man but she also wasn’t a tall woman. And her small heels didn’t give her an advantage.

“We not here for games. Where the hell are we?” He demanded. 

The Librarian sighed and it was like he smelled the greatest scent in the world. It was something dark, alluring, like pomegranates. He leaned in, wanting to smell more of it. 

“You’re not far from the 15, I promise. You probably didn’t catch the turn off driving in this type of darkness.” 

“The hell you do to him?” Tyrone asked and cocked his head to the side.

“What are you talking about?” 

“What took you so long to come back out? Don’t take that fuckin’ long for a muffin,” he said.

The Librarian rolled her eyes. “I’m going to assume it’s the weed that’s making you paranoid. I asked for Michael’s help with some boxes that needed lifting. Some men like to help,” she said and pointedly looked at Tyrone. 

He caught the challenge, a burning in his chest to defend himself. “I ain’t know you needed help,” he said.

“There’s still a few things I need to move. Can you help me before you go on our way, screaming that I’m the devil?” She lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow and Tyrone looked at Mike. 

Maybe she was right. But Tyrone didn’t trust it. He looked to Paul who shook his head. Mike just stared at him blankly. The smell of pomegranate hit him again and his mouth watered. He looked back at the Librarian.

“I help you, you help me, that sort of thing?” He asked.

The Librarian shrugged. “I’m a librarian. I’ll help you anyway,” she said. “Won’t take as long as I did with Michael. I promise,” she said.

The way she kept saying his name made Tyrone scowl. He wanted to hear his name on her lips. He wanted her to scream it while he was balls deep inside of her. He blinked and shook his head. Where did that come from?

He found himself nodding anyway, following behind the Librarian. He watched her ass in that skirt that looked painted on. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she didn’t have any panties on. He didn’t see any panty lines as she walked. 

She moved fast, disappearing down a few stacks. Towards the back, there was a door marked for employees only. She went inside and held the door open for him. It led to a dingy hallway with a few doors on either side. To their immediate left, there was a small kitchenette with a basket of muffins on the table. 

The Librarian walked past, heading down the hallway. “I’m Tyrone, by the way,” he said.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

He huffed, thinking he was going to hear his name from her voice. He followed her to an office. It was cramped, one lonely and neat desk surrounded by stacks of books and notebooks, papers, and a sorting cart. 

She pointed to a few boxes on top of a high bookshelf. “Can you please get these down for me? The last librarian was a giant and they’re too heavy for me,” she said. 

He nodded and used a step ladder to climb up and get the boxes. She was right, they were heavy. Probably filled with books and shit. He got to work, climbing up and down the ladder and moving boxes. He worked up a nice sweat in the office. A single drip of sweat slid down his neck and down his chest.

They made small talk while he worked. He learned that she was new to town and he asked her what made her move to some place like this.

“It’s quiet and the people are nice. That’s what I was looking for,” she said.

“Bad ex?” He asked. He huffed as he strained under the heaviest box yet. 

“No, just wanted a change. If that’s too heavy, don’t hurt yourself trying to move it. I can ask the shop owner to help. He’s a giant too,” she said.

Tyrone scoffed and worked even harder to scoot the box from the top of the shelf. Fuck that. If anyone was going to help her, it was going to be him. He made a sound as he got the box down and descended the ladder. Thank fuck it was the last box.

He set it down on top of the others with a smug smirk and looked at her. She returned his smirk and she leaned on one side, calling attention back to her figure.

Tyrone licked his lips and thought, fuck it. “If you need more help, we got time,” he said.

“Don’t think I’m the devil anymore?” She teased. 

He stepped closer, closer than he ought to. That pomegranate smell hit him again and he leaned in. “Never thought you were the devil. Just sayin’. I can help with anything,” he said. He cast his eyes all over her body, his fingers tingling with the urge to touch her. To see if he could peel her skirt off and lick what’s left behind. 

“Anything huh?” She asked. She laughed and trailed her long red nails across his chest. A shudder ran through him, desire spiking higher. His dick twitched, getting thicker. She moved from around him and fiddled with things on her desk.

Tyrone approached her, trying not to spook her. He pressed into her back, placing his hands on either side of her on top of her desk. He inhaled the heavenly scent of her, his nose pressed to the back of her neck. He didn’t know why he was being so bold. But he knew that if he didn’t at least try, if he didn’t shoot his shot, he’d forever regret it.

There was no way he was coming back to this town. But he couldn’t leave without a taste of her. Just one taste.

“Must get lonely in this town,” he whispered.

“What makes you say that?” 

“‘Cause you in this library instead of at home, letting some idiot fuck you to sleep,” Tyrone said.

The Librarian chuckled. “You always talk so nasty to strangers?” She asked.

Tyrone placed a kiss against her neck since she wasn’t stopping him. “Mhm, no ma’am. Just hate the thought of you here all alone,” he said.

“Why, you want to fix it?” She asked. She turned around, turning mischievous eyes to him. She laughed and for a split second…nah, that can’t be right. Her eyes didn’t flash red. Impossible.

He licked his lips and nodded, drawn once more to her lips. “Do you really want to fix it?” Her voice turned sultry and she drew her pink tongue across her lips. He followed the movement, undone by it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. 

“Sit down, Tyrone,” she commanded. 

Tyrone’s legs bent without any thought to if there was a chair behind him or not. Luckily there was and he sank into the plush chair with a quiet sigh. 

She sank down to her knees and he was mesmerized by the way her skirt moved with her. How it didn’t rip or tear on the way down. He widened his legs and she smirked at him, running her hands up and down his solid thighs.

His dick tented his sweats, obviously showing his desire for her. He was near mad with it. Lustful. He ached to bury his dick somewhere warm and wet. She had the same idea as she eyed it. 

She moved her hands to the waistband of his sweats and started to shimmy them down far enough to free his dick. She palmed him, stroking him, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning. He was not going to bust off of a hand job. The fuck he looked like? 

She wasted no time leaning onto her knees and taking him deep. “Oh fuck,” he said and his hips jerked off of the chair. 

She took him to the base, suckling him and moaning around his dick. She played with the tip, swirling her tongue around the head and licking up any drop of pre-cum. She slurped as she released him and then ran her hand up and down his length.

“Wait, put yo mouth back on me,” he said.

“Did you like it?” She asked. 

“Fuck yes,” he said.

She did not return her mouth to his dick. She stroked him, driving him insane with the right amount of pressure and speed. But it was nothing like her mouth. He reached up to pull her head back down. He didn’t know why women wanted to be cute when he just wanted to bust.

She moved her head out of the way. “Put your hands down or I stop,” she snapped. 

Tyrone’s hands froze in mid air. His mind stuttered as her voice was equal parts erotic and scary. There it was again. That same flash of red in her eyes. She grinned but it was like a slash across her face. Still hot. Still a little scary. 

He was no stranger to a girl taking control in the bedroom. He didn’t always like it, but he wasn’t always the cool and calm mu’fucka he projected around LA. He fumbled the first time he had sex. A few times after that as well. 

He lowered his hands back to the arm rests and she ran her tongue across her teeth. “Good boy,” she said. 

She stroked him and stared at him, waiting to see if he’d try something else. When she was satisfied, she dipped her head and really got to work. Her mouth sucked him down like she was trying to eat him alive. Burning pleasure seeped into him and he threw his head back against the back of the chair.

“Won’t you moan for me, Tyrone? I like to know I’m doing a good job too,” she said and then returned to sucking the soul out of him. That’s exactly what it felt like. Like she was drinking from the very essence of him. 

“Goddamn,” he groaned, twisting his hips. Trying to push more of himself into her mouth. He licked his lips and made himself sit up. Made himself watch as his dick slipped in and out of her mouth. His hands gripped the rough fabric of the chair, dying to grab her. Hold her.

Saliva gathered on his dick. Her mouth was hot and perfect on his velvety dick. She added her hands, stroking as she slobbered. The room filled with wet suckling noises. Garbled saliva noises. She slurped him up and his climax hit the base of his spine. His balls grew heavier. The need to cum was overpowering but he did not want this to go too fast.

He wanted to stay in the moment. Stay with her mouth on him. Her hands on him. Her eyes fixed in absolute pleasure. He was used to women doing this shit as if it were a chore. As if it were something they thought he wanted in order to please them back. He wasn’t selfish. He didn’t want them to do anything they didn’t want to do.

But what a fuckin’ difference when he got with a real head hunter. He gave her all of his moans, all of his encouragement. Sweat poured down his temple. He watched and felt her work him, a near feeding frenzy.

He thought about baseball, the DMV, LA traffic, anything to keep this climax at bay. But then she sucked hard enough to sting and he threw his head back once more. “Shiiit,” he groaned.

His powerful climax hit the back of her throat. She hummed around it, swallowing every last drop. She continued to suck him, wringing it all. He fed her and wished he could cum again just to the sound of her humming around his dick. 

He heaved as she released him, inch by slow inch, and finally let him go with a wet pop. Her eyes were closed as she licked her lips. The lipstick was a little smudged and he groaned. Fuck. He wanted to go again already. But he’d never quite had the soul sucked out of him like that. He needed a moment to calm down, to get his bearings. 

“You beautiful boy,” she whispered, more to herself. He watched the emotions play out on her face as she wiped the corners of her mouth and sucked on her finger. 

“You talk about me being nasty,” he said.

The librarians didn’t do it like this back in LA. Maybe he needed to frequent the bookstore more. Find the quiet girls. Those were some closet freaks. Shy as hell though. Still might be worth looking into.

The Librarian chuckled and got to her feet. She moved away but Tyrone grabbed her hand. “Wait, lemme return the favor,” he said.

“That’s okay, baby. I got what I wanted,” she said. Her eyes were too narrow for him to catch her meaning. She caressed his face, those long nails sending arrows of lust straight to his dick. 

“Please,” he said and licked his lips. It wasn’t in him to leave a woman unsatisfied while he got off scott-free. He ain’t never begged for pussy. But dammit he wanted it. If her pussy was anything like her head game, he’d have to consider moving here. Maybe getting out of the game would be worth it. 

“That’s okay, baby. Really,” she said. She moved her hand from his face and he grabbed her again. He kissed the back of it and then flipped it over to kiss her palm. He left wet kisses on her wrist and up her forearm.

“Let me taste you,” he said. “Please?” 

She smirked at him. “What about your friends?” 

“Fuck ‘em. They ain’t my kids,” Tyrone said.

She chuckled and raised her eyebrow at him. He shook with restraint. Anyone else and he’d bulldoze his way in. Talk all kinds of nasty shit in their ear to get them to spread their legs. But she was different. She drove him wild. 

His skin was feverish. Desperate. He had to have her. There was no way he would leave without tasting her and seeing what made her squirm. What made her scream.

“Come on then,” she said. She said it like she didn’t believe him. That he couldn’t pleasure her. He wondered if some boonie fuck got to fuck her. If she was comparing them. He’d make sure she remembered him.

Tyrone stood up from the chair as she stood facing him, inching her skirt up her thighs and revealing that she, in fact, did not wear panties. He groaned as he watched her. She sat on the desk and spread her legs for him. For him.

He sauntered closer, running his fingers through her soaking folds. He dropped his head to his shoulder and groaned.

“You gon’ kill me,” he said.

She chuckled and ran her hands across his shoulders. She kissed his cheek. “Never,” she said. 

He lifted his head high enough to kiss her. The smell and taste of her made him bolder. He slipped his fingers inside of her, pumping her, seeing how much of him she can take. He slipped in with ease and he felt her clench around his fingers. 

Pride swept through him that she was so wet for him. He kneeled down, placing one of her legs over his shoulder. He kissed her pussy, inhaled the scent of her. He groaned in satisfaction and feasted on her.

He went in fast, flicking her clit. “Oh shit,” she said. Her hands gripped his shoulder. Her thighs squeezed his head and he went faster, flicking that little nub until it was nice and swollen. 

“Right there, right there,” she panted. Her voice rose in octaves. He kept it up, giving her exactly what she needed. He used his thumbs to open her up wider. Her juices coated the entire lower half of his face.

He dug in, licking and flicking, sucking, and moaning. She tasted so damn good, so damn divine. “That’s right, eat it, baby,” she encouraged. 

The praise hit him like a sack of bricks. It spurned him on, wanting to please her. He slipped his fingers back into her pussy, curling them and rubbing her spongy wet walls until she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but murmur and coo and grip his cornrows roughly.

She tensed before orgasming, twitching and jerking beneath him. He licked up what she gushed out, not ready to give up the ghost. All of her sounds were in the back of her throat. Animalistic, guttural.

He stood up, wiped his mouth, and then entered her before she could draw breath. Her eyes flashed red once more but it was just a trick of the light. He pounded into her ruthlessly.

He moaned and kept going. She was a welcome sheath for his straining dick. Her heated core felt so good, so right, that he became more animalistic himself. He pulled her by the legs to the edge of the desk, supporting her weight, and spearing her. 

He wanted to split her in half. He fucked her and her pussy gripped his dick like it had a mind of its own. He’d never met a woman like her. Will never meet another.

She only grew wetter and he slipped and sputtered as he pounded. He kept going, searching and reaching for the deepest part of her. 

“Goddamn, you feel so good. So - uh- good,” he said. 

She cried every time he went in, her face twisted in that perfect mix of ecstasy and pain. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Deep-mm-deeper,” she moaned. 

He angled his hips and pulled her closer, giving all of himself to her. Her hand was on his chest as if to push him away. But she grabbed his shirt and pulled him close, kissing him. She licked his lips and he lost his rhythm. If she kept shit like that up, he wasn’t going to last.

“Let me cum in this pussy,” he begged. “Let me cum in it.” It was a desperate need. That same primal need to mark her or claim her. To fill her up. Humans lost their super sense of smell many evolutions ago. But he wished that anyone who came across her in the future would be able to smell him on her, in her. 

She wheezed as he finally hit a spot deep enough for her. She rocked on his dick as she moaned. Her teeth grew a bit sharper, her nails a little longer, and her eyes a wicked deep shade of red.

Her head was thrown back as he watched the transformation, watched as she seemed to swell with energy. “Fuck me, Tyrone. Fuck me,” she said. Her desk made scraping noises as he pounded into her.

His heartbeat was in tune with his strokes. He wanted to stop, needed to stop, but she felt so good bouncing on his dick. She trained those red eyes on him and smirked.

“Cum in this pussy,” she commanded.

He let go, his climax making his eyes cross. He shouted his release into her, pumping her full of his biggest load yet. He stuffed her full and it triggered her own orgasm. She squeezed his dick and he cried out, hoarse, losing his voice to her. Losing his mind to her.

He slipped out while she laughed and settled onto the desk. “Oh, I could gorge myself on you for years,” she said and cackled, throwing her hands across her chest and hugging herself.

He wasn’t tripping. Her eyes really were fucking red. He pulled his pants back up and backed out of the room. Her cackles followed him.

“Come back any time and see me, Tyrone!” 

Tyrone ran down the hallway, her cackling laughter seeming to follow him. He didn’t dare risk a look back. He flew past the door, past Mike and Paul. 

“What the fuck!” Paul yelled. No need to be told a thing, Mike and Paul raced after Tyrone. He didn’t stop running. Her laughter was in his head. In his skin. 

He ran to the car and hopped in the driver’s side. He yelled for the keys. Paul threw it to him and slipped into the passenger side while Mike just made it into the back. 

It was pitch black, not even the street lamps enough to pierce the darkness.

“Anytime.” Tyrone heard in his head. The tires squealed against the pavement as he threw the car in reverse.

Fuck Vegas! If there was one thing he knew, it was how to get the fuck home. He put his foot to the floor of the car and peeled off down the road. He was confused, still a little horny, but all around freaked out.

He swerved onto the freeway and put the night and that crazy bitch out of his mind. But the laughter still followed him all the way home.

&&&

You need some more in your life? There's more! The Secret Tyrone Files

#megaminds secret files #The Secret Tyrone Files #They Cloned Tyrone smut #Tyrone smut #Tyrone x Black!OC #Tyrone POV #Tyrone x Fem!OC #x Black OC #Halloweek #Happy Halloweek #Spooky smut #Black writers #Black writers of Tumblr

[theviridianbunny]

💎A NIGHT AT THE BLACK SAPPHIRE 💎

#pov: shes looking at kurt from across the balcony outside the black sapphire ;u; #otp: all this and heaven too #oc: M0CK1NGJAY #bunny takes virtual photography #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #fem v #female v #videogamewomen #dailygaming #cyberpunk2077edit #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #cyberpunk 2077 oc #cp2077edit #kurt hansen

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 10

10 - Maybe Both, Maybe Neither

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc [vallie]

masterlist/intro: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 5.8k

summary: after waking up next to each other vallie & nicholas go their separate ways. vallie goes to visit an old friend who may be more than friendly. nicholas goes to sober up noah but doesn’t expect him to pull the curtain back on his resentment.

warnings: mentions about alcoholism/AA meetings/cheating, arguing, noah being annoying but what's new, tea is spilled !!, vallie is vulnerable for once in her life, lots of dialogue, alternating POVs sorry 🥲

A/N: Sorry it's been like 2 months since I’ve updated, it literally did not feel like it 🥲 school & life are kicking my ass lol + this chapter ended up being so complicated / difficult

Also! This chapter introduces a very mild crossover with Christian 'Kras' Anthony from the band Chase Atlantic - he's being used as a fun little temporary reoccurring side character. Don't worry, knowing who he is isn't necessary to understand his character lol i just think he's cute🥰

don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

-NICHOLAS-

A jarring buzzing jolts me awake. I sit up a bit with scrunched eyes trying to follow the noise with a wandering patting hand. The noise leads to Vallie’s phone rattling on my bedside table next to her. I grab it and sleepily ignore the call out of habit.

In my still half-sleep state, I don’t want to be anywhere else besides where my body was curled up against her. I return to my spot with my arm around the brunette, tugging her closer. Her scent fills my nostrils when I nuzzle into her neck. The smell of her hair is peppermint-y and the scent on her skin reminds me of marshmallows and… matcha?

Whatever it is, it’s warm, cozy, and smells so yummy it makes me want to eat her again.

Before I have the pleasure of manifesting that thought into reality, her phone goes off vibrating again, this time making me significantly more aggravated.

I snatch the phone looking at her caller ID – the name plastered across the screen:

Christian

with some emojis I’m far too sleepy to decipher.

Christian?

I decide not to ignore her phone call from an evidently urgent caller.

“Hey, Hey.” I gently nudge her shoulder. “Your phone has been going off.”

She lets out a sleepy groan that is probably the cutest noise I’ve ever heard.

She takes one look at the ID and immediately ignores it and shoves it under the pillow.  

Odd.

She yawns and rubs her eye, “What time is it?”

“I’m not sure.” I try to look at the edges of my window covered with blackout curtains trying to gauge even the time of day. “You have your phone, check it?”

Her fingers tap against the mattress. “It’s not that important.”

“Who’s Christian?” I blurt out without thinking.

From the angle I’m at, I can see her eyes widen a bit at the question.

She clears her throat. “What?”

“The person who kept calling you. It was someone named Christian?”

“Oh um,” She bites down on my lip, seemingly contemplating her answer. “He’s a friend.”

I’m filled with a feeling I’m not sure I enjoy nor one I should be feeling.

“A friend?” I ask, unconvinced.

It’s none of my business. It doesn’t matter who he is.

“Yeah, a friend.” She scrunches her brows at the wall. “Why do you care who’s calling me?”

“I-I don’t.” I reply but I know I’m a shit liar and I probably don’t sound very convinced. “I was just wondering.”

“Right.” She yawns then gets up in a panic like she just realized where she is. “Oh my god we fell asleep.”

“Yeah…I figured you gathered that by now.” I said falling down flat beside her.

“Fuck Nick, how am I gonna get out of here?” She scrambles for her phone beneath the pillow to finally check the time. “Fuck, fuck, I have to leave.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Let me just check out the house, I can take you to get your car.” I pull myself out of bed and let myself stretch out my arms above my head.

“Fuck.” She mutters, readjusting her entire torso in her tight top. “Remind me to never sleep in a corset ever again. I need to get out of this, can I borrow something?”

Her attention lands on me and at first, her forest greens are inquisitive and calm but when she actually looks at me, they widen. Her eyes slowly trail down my body and land where my shirt hangs above the exposed skin of my hips.

Watching her tongue slide between her lips makes my heart thump in my ear drums so loud I can barely hear what she’s saying.

 “Also, can you um,” She clears her throat and looks back up at me, “Help me get this off?”

“Sure.” I nod and drop my arms back down.

She shifts in the bed so the zipper in the back of the faux-corset faces me. My fingers delicately gather her dark chocolate locks and drape them over her shoulder to get them out of my way. Her tan skin curves so beautifully from her neck to her shoulder that I feel as though if I don’t kiss her there it would somehow be insulting.

The need to kiss her there feels as necessary as air, so lean down and press a hesitant kiss to the crook of her neck as I begin unzipping her top.

She doesn’t stop me, which I was sure she would stop me now in the daylight.

Another kiss up, I linger more there.

Then another in the same spot, then another, and another, and another – until I am fully peppering her skin with open mouth kisses and my hands roam her curves.

She lets out little noises the closer I get to her ear that remind me of the ones she gave me when my tongue was inside her.

It’s not until I’m nipping and sucking at her skin that she speaks.

“Nick…” She whines in a tone that says ‘you know better’.

I tug down the rest of her zipper.

My lips still lazily drag up her neck.

I hum against her and let my hands wander down her sides to her hips. “Let me make you feel good.”

She lets out a shuddered whine but not a red or green light.

My hands round her hips giving them a gentle back and forth rub, “I need to taste you again.” I press another kiss against the sensitive skin below her ear and I can feel goosebumps erupt all over her skin.

My fingers burn everywhere they meet her skin and beg to be everywhere  they shouldn’t be.

She closes her eyes and lets herself breathe for a second.

“Nicholas.” She repeats, more sternly this time. “I have to leave before anyone sees me.”

“I know.” I say simply and pull away, strategically resting both hands over my semi.

I know I shouldn’t press more. I know shouldn’t try to convince more. But god do I want to. All I’m thinking about is fucking her senseless.

She keeps a hand on the front of the corset to keep it flush on her skin. “Could I please borrow something?” She reminds me of her original request.

“Oh yeah sure, sorry.” I quickly scan the room for the closest item.

I spot a barely worn Deftones shirt and hand it to her.

“Thanks.”

 She just sort of stares at me then makes a ‘turn-around’ motion with her hand.

“Oh, sorry.” I shift away from her. “It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Shut up.”

I hear her let out a sigh of relief, probably from finally being freed from the constricting top.

“Okay you can turn around now.”

I turn back to her and find what I expected: her in my shirt.

What I didn’t expect was to somehow find her even more attractive in my shirt than even a lace corset.

As much as I’d like for her to stay, I fear that if I don’t get her out now, I’ll devour her whole.

“I’ll just… go scope out the area.” I thumb over my shoulder towards the door.

“Good idea.” She nods.

I very quietly sneak out of my room into the empty hallway, gently closing the bedroom door behind me.

After tiptoeing around the house, I find everyone asleep as it seems still quite early, at least for them.  

The drive back to the bar is quiet and somewhat awkward. I’m not sure if it’s because of what we did or if I crossed some sort of invisible line and made her upset.

Or maybe both,

Maybe neither.

Maybe I’m over thinking it.

We haven’t talked about anything, no rules, no boundaries. I don’t know how I would bring that up to begin with. What the hell are we doing? And how do I feel about it. How do I want to feel about it? 

We say goodbye and it’s stiff and odd. I’m not sure if I should kiss her? Or treat her like my colleague?

Maybe both,

Maybe neither.

That one feels more like a maybe neither.

The way she acted this morning makes me think that whatever… this is, is over.

I know it should be done, but there is a part of me that doesn’t want to stop. At least not yet. Maybe if I got one more fix.

Regardless how I feel about it, it was a mistake. I knew that the first time, I knew it last night and I know it now.

Why did I let this happen. How did I let this happen?

I tap my fingers anxiously against the steering wheel once I’ve parked at home.

I know Folio wouldn’t really care but if Noah or Jolly found out about this?

Oh my god.

I don’t even want to think about what would happen.

All I know is two things.

One, I can’t keep fucking thinking about this – I can’t keep thinking about her.

Two, I unfortunately know what I need to do when I walk back through our front door.

-VALLIE-

As soon as my car door shuts behind me, I let out a long sigh that I wasn’t aware I was holding.

I fold my arms around my steering wheel and rest my forehead against it.

“Fuck.”

The entire ride home there was this nausea festering in the pit of my stomach.

I like being with Nicholas.

I like being with Nicholas too much.

And this stupid fucking Deftones shirt is too comfortable and smells too much like him – and I like it more than I should. And I need to get home as soon as possible to get it off me.

This is absolutely the last thing I needed – catching feelings or whatever the fuck is filling my chest with butterflies from someone I’m representing.

This is the band that I shouldn’t have even taken on in the first place, and now I’m here on the verge of vomiting because I miss the way his bed feels. This was not the plan.

I shake my head from the the thoughts as I walk through my front door. It’s just the dickmatization talking. That’s it. I like his dick and that’s all.

His huge fucking…

No.

No.

And god his fucking tongue...

No.

No.

This absolutely cannot be happening.

I won’t let this happen.

I need to nip this in the bud before it goes any further.

I chuck my phone and keys on my dresser and use my palms to lean against the edge.

An abrupt buzzing of my iPhone against the hard wood shocks me from my dissociation.

Christian

Christian

Christian

…could be exactly what I need.

I slide the answer bar across the screen and bring the phone to my ear.

“Hey Kras.” I smile, using his nickname.

“Val!” He chimes cheerfully on the other line. “I’ve been trying to get ya all day!”

“I’m busy Kras, you know that.” I roll my eyes playfully. “What’s up, what do you want so badly?”

“Tour ended last week and I’m staying in LA for a bit for some band stuff before I head back home to Sydney.” He pauses. “I wanna see you. I need to talk to you about something.”

I press my lips together and take a deep breath, suddenly stressed about what exactly that meant.

“Okay. When and where do you wanna meet up?”

“Today? My place?”

“Okay, see you then.”

After a much-needed shower I’m finally at the door of his temporary apartment. I smooth out my outfit, which wasn’t much really, just some sweats with a cropped tank. With as long as I’ve known Kras, it didn’t really matter what I looked like, but I still wanted to look cute. I use my hand to flatten my tied up hair to make sure there’s no ridges before I knock on his door. It doesn’t take long for him to answer it.

“Val.” He greets with his signature big goofy smile.

The tall, long-haired blonde envelopes me into giant hug and I embrace it. His scent fills my nose with memories; it’s soft, comforting, and most of all, fun.

Christian and I have always been close, he’s the closest thing I have to a best friend. Our friendship has always been…interesting to say the least. I think most people would consider our dynamic complicated, but to us it’s quite simple.

I give him a good, hard squeeze around his midsection. “Augh, Kras I’ve missed you.”

He reciprocates the squeeze and places a kiss atop my head. “I missed you too.”

I pull away with a smile and smack his arm, “You don’t text me enough! I didn’t even know your tour ended.”

“Me? The phone works both ways Miss ‘You know I’m busy’” He mocks me jokingly.

“God, I forget how strong your Aussie accent is in person.” I chuckle, diverting the conversation.

I shiver at the ice-cold chill I get from his AC and rub my arms for warmth.

“Fuck it’s cold as shit in here.” It’s so frigid even my teeth chatter.

“Yeah, sorry I like it freezing. You want a jacket or something?” He offers then crosses the room when I nod.

He picks through some clothes in an open suitcase and hands me a multicolored flannel. I pull the flannel over my arms letting the material engulf my body.

After a brief catching up about tour and life, I lean against the wall and cross my arms.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk about.” I cut straight to it.

He bites down on his lip, and I can’t tell if he’s excited or nervous.

Maybe both, maybe neither.

“We need a manager.” He blurts out.

“Oh? I thought you were working with-”

“We want you Val.”

I laugh, because surely, he can’t be serious. I don’t belong to an agency and work my two clients freelance, all on my own. There’s no way I could take on another band, especially one as successful as Chase on top of the other two.

“What? No, no, I absolutely couldn’t manage you guys…”

He steps towards me and trails his fingers down my arms and hooks onto my hands. “Sure you can. You used to, remember?”

I shake my head, “Oh, you know that doesn’t count Christian. We were nobodies – you were nobodies. Of course I could manage your measly little 10,000 Instagram followers.”

He squeezes my hands and tugs on my arms. “C’mon Val. It’ll be like the good old days. It’ll be fun!”

“I don’t know about you, but living in a tiny LA apartment with three men struggling to afford food wasn’t really that good or fun.”

He rolls his eyes and tugs on my arms again. “For old times’ sake?”

I shake my head, “No, no, I already have enough on my plate. I just took on another band not that long ago.”

“Please Val, for us?” His brows curve up, and he gives me the biggest hazel puppy dog eyes that he knows I can’t say no to. “For me?”

I groan and rest my head back against the wall. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

His hands leave mine and find their way to my hips, slipping under the flannel so his hands are holding onto bare skin between my tank and my sweats. His forehead presses against mine.

“Is there anything I can do to help change that answer?” He asks between the small space separating us while his finger traces my jaw line tilting my chin up a bit.

I tug at my lip – this is partially why I came here right? To nip my Nick problem in the bud, to break the dickmatization spell.

“I don’t know, maybe.” I tease up at him with round eyes.

“Hm.” He hums and leans in, pressing a kiss to my lips and I freeze.

Even though we’ve done this a million times before, it just feels wrong now. Nicholas and I aren’t even… anything, we’re just fucking, right? But it still feels odd.

I know this feeling.

And I know what it means.

Fuck.

I pull away and give a little head shake.

“Plum?” He asks using our code word for when we’re interested in or dating someone else.

I groan loudly, shuffle past him to his bed in the studio apartment and dramatically fall flat, face down onto it. Then let out an even louder, longer groan.

He walks over and gently sits criss-cross on the bed next to me.

“Must be a pretty good Plum to have you like this.”

Our friendship was simple. We’re the rare example that a friends-with-benefits can be truly, purely platonic and casual. Kras is a generally affectionate guy, even with his bandmates. And he is one of the only people I feel comfortable being affectionate with, so I let myself be affectionate with him.

We are platonically affectionate best friends who fuck when we’re single. It sounds impossible but it’s who we are and who we have been for almost 10 years. 

It’s nice, cozy, and convenient. Easy.

He’s safe, familiar, and reliable.

Which is more than I can say for any friendship or relationship I’ve ever had.

I turn my head towards him still flat against the bed.

“It’s bad Kras.”

“How bad?”

I chew on my bottom lip. “I work with him.”

His eyes widen. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“…In the band you were talking about?”

I turn back to hide my face in his duvet. “Oh yeah.”

“Val noooo.”

I chuckle at how his ‘no’s sound like ‘naaauur’s.

“I knooow.” I whine into the sheets.

“Singer?”

I shake my head against the duvet.

“Guitarist?”

“Bassist.” I reply muffled in bedding.

“Oof.”

A laugh escapes me at his reaction. I pop my head up at him, “Stop, I know.”

I pull myself up and cross the bed to sit next to him and lay my head on his shoulder.

“Maybe I just really like his dick.” I state confidently staring out the large window across the room. I blankly watch the daytime city lights flicker across the highrise-littered skyline.

“You think so?” He asks looking down at me a little. “I’ve never seen you get like this over just good dick. You’re pretty cut and dry about like…emotions. You’re good at separating sex from feelings.” He laughs and nudges me. “That’s why we work so well.”

I groan and hide my face in his shoulder because I know he’s right. He’s always right when it comes to shit like this.

“He sang to me Kras.”

“Oh god…was he any good?”

I feel my cheeks heat up and I nod against his arm, “It was so pretty.”

He laughs and tickles my side, “Look at you! You’re smitten! I never thought I’d see the day.”

I grab the nearest pillow and smack him with it, “Shut up!” then fall back flat and cover my face with it.

There’s a silence between us for a bit, a million things running through my mind, but Kras speaks for me.

“You know you can’t love him, right?” He says gently.

My brows furrow immediately, I slam the pillow down and shoot straight up.

“WHOA, whoa whoa.” I cut through the air with my hand. “Nobody ever said anything about…the L word. I do not…love him.” I can barely get the word out as if it’s something forbidden. “I barely fucking know him. I just like his dick.”

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in defense. “You can’t like him. You know that right?”

“I don’t even know if I like him. We’re just fucking. That’s all.”

He glares at me with a face that screams, ‘yeah right’. “Well, fine, you know you can’t keep fucking him.”

I let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, I know. I thought coming here to fuck you would help.”

He laughs then tapers off in thought.

“Maybe we don’t actually have to fuck in order to help.” He suggests.

I raise a brow at him, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean… guys normally don’t just sing to girls they’re casually hooking up with.”

“Okay…?” I motion for him to keep going.

“So, if it comes up or anything, you could just lie.” He shrugs.

“Lie about what?”                             

“About like, fucking someone else. If he likes you enough to sing to you, he probably won’t be happy if you tell him you’re fucking someone else. So, he’ll stop trying to fuck you.”

I chew on my thumbnail in thought, he’s right. Like always.

“Maybe. I don’t really know if he’d even care. We never really talking about anything… I thought we just had a silent agreement about just fucking, he never said anything about-”

“He sang to you Val.”

I anxiously twirl the ends of my ponytail and chew on my bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

He gives me the most ‘are you for real’ glare.

“Okay, okay.” I deflate. “IF it comes up, I’ll mention something.”

“Just don’t say who I am. I don’t know him, he could beat my ass." He laughs. "Plus, it would be pretty awkward for him to find out that you’re fucking a hot guitarist from your other band.” He smirks cheekily.

“Shut up.” I elbow his side playfully, “I never said yes.”

“But you will.”

I chew on my lip thinking it over.

On one hand, I’m already insanely busy and overworked with the two artists I’m already managing.

On the other hand, as odd as they are, they are old and close friends of mine. It wouldn’t be like managing strangers or learning a whole new fanbase, I helped build the foundation of the one they have now back in 2014.

And it would be a good distraction.

If this plan works out with Nick, maybe I could move on from Plum status and I can actually focus on my job.

“Fine. I’ll do it. BUT,” I hold a finger pointed towards him menacingly, “ONLY temporarily.”

“Ah yes! I knew you would!” He exclaims, wrapping his arms around me and tackling me to the bed, pressing various ‘thank you’ kisses to my cheek.

“Okay, okay enough.” I chuckle trying to escape his grasp.

-NICHOLAS-

I let a long sigh at the bottom of the stairs, shifting my weight between both feet. I tap my fingers on the wooden railing anxiously. I probably shouldn’t be this rattled over something I’ve done a million times before. But it doesn’t get any easier.

I push myself up the stairs in one driving force knowing that it has to be me. It’s always me.

Never Folio. Never Jolly.

It’s always been my job.

There’s no response when I knock on Noah’s bedroom door.

I knock again, no answer.

I knock again, no answer.

So, I let myself in.

As expected, Noah’s passed out with a fresh bottle of whiskey half drank on his nightstand. His room still in as much filth as it’s been for a while. For as long as I’ve known him, I’ve only ever seen his room even remotely messy a handful of times, and this is the worst I’ve ever seen it. In the past I’ve known the reasons behind the mess or the drinking – usually over a breakup or some depression spell – but this time he kept me in the dark. I have no fucking clue what's going on with him.

If I wasn’t so aggravated with him already, the mess of the room would worry me even more than I already am.

I cross the threshold of garbage between the door and his bed and pat his cheek awake.

“Noah.”

Sleepy snores tumble from his mouth and while one might find them endearing, right now, they’re pissing me the fuck off.

“Noah.” I say more sternly, nudging him more. No luck.

I try various other ways, and nothing works. He’s out cold.

So, I try a tried-and-true classic.

I climb on top of him and straddle his waist over the duvet, one knee at each side of his hips. His boney exposed shoulders offer a great anchor so I grab them, shaking him awake.

He comes-to slowly, droopy heavy lids struggling to open. His fist goes to rub his tired eye but winces when he’s reminded of the swollen black and blue that surrounds it.  

“The fuck are you doing?” He groans, stealing a pillow from beside him to cover his face. “Get off of me.”

I snatch the pillow from his grasp and toss it across the room. “No. You’re going to get up. You’re going to shower. And I’m taking you to a meeting.”

He shields his eyes with his arm. “I’m-I’m fine Nick, don’t need a meeting.” His words slurring together.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” I correct.

“I don’t need a meeting.” He hiccups and I can smell the alcohol radiating off him, seeping through his skin. “I’m not going. I'm just gonna sleep.”

I grab his wrists, pin them to the bed and get low to his face. “Oh you’re going. We’re gonna sober you up, starting with a shower.” I pull off him and stand beside the bed.

“Let’s go. C’mon.”

“No.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way has the same result. Let’s go.”

“No.”

I sigh, even though I knew it would end up like this. “Fine. Hard way it is.”

I yank the sheets off him and use two arms to scoop up his body by his midsection and throw him over my shoulder. He’s thin enough to where even I can lift and carry him easily – or maybe I’ve just gotten used to the weight of him in my arms.

“Nick let me fucking go.” He whines but doesn’t try to wiggle out of my grasp, probably too hungover to move that much.

With every bit of my strength, I carry his thin body to his guest bathroom.

I all but toss him into the shower, start the water, and fling the curtain closed.

“Hey! What the fuck!” He yells and shuts off the water immediately.

He slings the curtain open and snatches a towel off the nearest rack, wrapping it around his shirtless torso.

“What the fuck is your problem, Nicholas!” His hands frantically wipe the water from his face. 

I let out a frustrated groan and turn to leave. "Stop being a baby." 

He steps out of the tub and calls after me, “Hey, I’m not fucking done talking to you!”

The shower shock did exactly what I needed it to do, sober him up, but now I regret even waking him up.

“My problem is that you’re a fucking drunk Noah.” I snap turning back to him.

“I’m not a fucking drunk, I have it under control. You’re just fucking paranoid!” He steps into the hallway dripping water all over the carpet.

“I’m not fucking paranoid, Noah. I’m not letting you drink yourself to oblivion.”

His brows lift in offense, “Let me? What the fuck are you, my fucking keeper?”

“Sometimes it sure fucking feels like I am!” The words escape me before I can stop them.

He chuckles in disbelief, “Well, nobody fucking asked you to be.”

“It doesn’t matter if anyone asked me to, I have to because who the fuck else is gonna pick your sorry, bruised ass off a bar floor in the middle of the fucking day?” My hand helps exaggerate each word.

“Jolly or Folio would’ve.” He sasses, crossing his arms.

“Oh yeah? And how long you think they’d put up with that?” I step closer to him. “Not for as long as I have, that’s for fucking sure.”

His eyes scrunch together like he’s hurt or offended.

Maybe both,

Maybe neither.

“I won’t let you push out everyone in our lives Noah.”

His eyes land on me and he cocks his head to the right a bit like a dog processing a foreign noise.

“‘Push out everyone in our lives’ is that what this is actually about? Alice?”

My gaze locks on him and my hands curl into tight fists at my sides. There are many words I want to say but none seem able to leave my tongue.

“Oh my god. You can’t be serious.” He steps back and points defensively at me. "I didn't push her out, you did!" 

My blood boils and burns as it courses through my veins. My eyes narrow at him.

“I know you fucked her Noah.” I shove my finger so hard into his chest that it nearly knocks him back.

“I didn’t even like her Nick! Why the fuck would I fuck her?” He immediately denies.

“Because you always have to have everything you want, including the things that aren’t yours.”

“‘Things’” He scoffs. “Funny how you’re so upset about someone you only see as a thing.”

My teeth grind so hard it makes my jaw clench, “You know she was never a thing to me until you fucked her.”

“Oh, give it a break Nicholas! Stop blaming me for her leaving.” His hands exaggerate his words then points straight at me. “You are the reason your relationship failed. You are the reason she left.”

My eyes narrow as I step closer to his soaked body. “I would really watch what you fucking say if I were you.”

“Or what?” He asks but I have no answer. “When are you going to stop punishing me for something I never fucking did?”

I watch his eyes: dark brown, heavy, bloodshot, and one lined with a dark bruise from the bar fight. His words sound genuine, but I know his eyes, I know them like the back of my hand.

I know when he’s lying, and he’s lying to me right now. I can’t prove it, I haven’t been able to, but I know he’s been lying to me for the past year.

“For the love of god Noah, can you just stop fucking lying?” I snap. "You don't even have enough respect for me to tell me the truth?"

“Wow.” He presses his lips together for a moment. “You must think so low of me to really believe that I would do something like that.”

“I don’t have to think low of you to believe the truth.” I hiss, stepping towards him. “But you’re going to keep denying it so it’s irrelevant what I believe did or didn’t happen. What I do know, is that you have a fucking problem, and you need help.”

He steps towards me with low brows and narrow beady eyes, “I didn’t fuck Alice and I don’t need a fucking alcohol anonymous meeting just because I still like to get drunk sometimes. I am a fucking adult, and I don’t need you to ‘save me’.” He scoffs and runs his tongue across his teeth. “You know? Maybe that’s what actually drove Alice away, you and your fucking high-and-mighty, savior complex bullshit.”

Every inch of skin on my body feels like its burning and my heart races so loud I can barely even think clearly. I tighten my fists so tight that my nails dig into my palms painfully. I know that if I do anything, it will make me look like the villain.

“I can’t fucking hit you because if I do, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.” I growl lowly. “Get sober or don’t, I don’t fucking care anymore – but we have a chance, a real chance at making it now and if you ruin this for us Noah, I will never fucking forgive you. Do you understand me? I will fucking destroy you if you fuck this up for us.”

His brows curve up and he looks at me like I’m insane for insinuating that he would. “I won’t.” He replies through gritted teeth.

I glance over the railing when I hear the house beginning to stir with Jolly and Folio starting to wake up, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I don’t need them getting involved.

“Just,” I lower my voice between us. “Make it to rehearsals, meetings, shows – the rest I don’t give a fuck. Just make it to work. Sober.”

“Fine.” He says quickly, "If that will keep you out of my fucking business and leave me the fuck alone."

"Fine."

"Fine." He repeats, because of course he has to have the last word, before storming off to his room and slamming the door behind him.

I mirror him, making it to my room and slamming the door.

Once alone, the feeling that courses through my body is nauseating, painful and overwhelming. It is a visceral ache, I feel it twisting in my chest first, in my ribs, then flows and pools in the pit of my stomach.

I thought I moved on from the Alice situation. I tried to force myself to believe him, I tried to forget and push it so far down that it wouldn’t hurt. Tried to rationalize, maybe he didn’t sleep with her. Maybe he didn’t betray me. Maybe it really is just me projecting the weaknesses of our relationship onto him. But no matter how hard I push it down, it always bubbles back up.

And in my gut, I know he did it. Everything adds up, the timelines, the behavior, all of it.

I was just never prepared for a girlfriend to cheat on me with my best friend. I was never prepared to have him sleep with my girlfriend. Not after everything we’ve been through.

I was never prepared to have my heart broken by the two people I trusted and loved more than anything in my life.

In retrospect, I guess, I should’ve expected it. For as long as I can remember Noah always had girls fawning all over him. He always had that lead singer charm even though he never planned on being a frontman. Girls were never an issue for him, he seemed to get anyone he ever wanted.

Is it really that far-fetched that the one I had wanted him too?

Is that all that this is going to be from now on? Any girl the rest of us want, would just want Noah first?

I never pictured that this would be our future.

I never pictured my best friend of over a decade fucking my girlfriend then lying about it to my face.

I never pictured having to drag said lying, alcoholic best friend out of bed trying to get him to an AA meeting just so he could be sober enough for rehearsals.

I never imagined that out of the four of us, it would be me having to hold it all together. I never signed up for that. I signed up to play an instrument, to sign CDs, sleep in busses and sit in interviews. I never signed up to play manager, I never signed up to secretly scrape Noah off bar floors, be his personal caretaker and tentative AA sponsor. Doing all of that just to have it thrown in my face, to stand next to him – every day in rehearsals, in photoshoots, on stage, across the fucking dining table – knowing what he did and pretending that I’m okay with it.

I never thought I’d feel stuck in this band, this thing Noah and I have worked on and dreamed about since we were 15. I’ve poured so much of my life into this fucking band.

I can’t just up and leave. I’d have nothing left. I’d be nothing without them and I can’t be the bomb to blow us up. Especially not now when everything is just starting to take off. All this work would’ve been for nothing.

It’s not just my livelihood and dream, but theirs as well. I can’t do that to them.

And as much as I want to, as much as I’ve tried, I can’t leave Noah. We both know I’m right whether he wants to admit it or not. Nobody else would do what I do, nobody knows what I do, and nobody knows how to take care of him the way I do. He’s stubborn and stupid and won’t let anyone else in the way he’s let me in.

I don’t know why I’m the only one who has gotten the curse of his trust, but I have it and I can’t hand it off or set it down – no matter how heavy or suffocating it is.

Next Chapter -> 11 - Peak Fashion

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @kingdomof-omens @persuasivus @strawberryruffilo @thebadchic @the-hell-i-overcame @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @cncohshit @dominuslunae [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N: The love for this story has honestly been so overwhelming (in a good way obv) and I couldn't be more grateful. I really thought this would flop lol so, thank you so much for every like, reblog, ask, or comment. It means the world to me truly. Thank you.

i love hearing your thoughts so feel free to share! (i'm really bad at responding to comments/asks but i still love them 🥺)

#2 POVs bc i was feeling SILLY #& by silly i mean the characters were not cooperating with the assignment #sorry if this chapter is all over the place i was having so much trouble with this one #this is the first time i’ve ever had multiple POVs in one chapter & i can’t tell if i like it or not #vallie wears princess by kilian perfume #i love how vallie's character is developing #i think vallie & kras' friendship came out so cute 😭 #nicholas ruffilo fanfic #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nick ruffilo fanfic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo x oc #nick ruffilo x oc #nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc #bad omens x oc #noah sebastian x oc #noah sebastian x fem!oc #virality series #virality #christian anthony #christian kras anthony #christian anthony fanfic #kras anthony fanfic #chase atlantic #chase atlantic fanfic #concreteburialplot works

[starqueensthings]

Foreword | Prev | Next | ao3

WARNINGS: brief allusions to a traumatic past (June), but no detail provided. Moderate medical anxiety (Howzer). Moderately graphic descriptions of medical injuries. Repeated mentions of blood and discomfort/pain. RATING: 16+ for mature themes and mild to moderate whump. WC: 4500ish. (This chapter and the next were never intended to be separated, but it accumulated to nearly 8k words, and pruning certain aspects of this encounter in the name of brevity would only do a disservice to this story, so I apologize for the somewhat abrupt way this chapter ends). PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD BEFORE PROCEEDING FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY.

“Uh… yeah?”

The responding voice was barely discernible over the cacophony radiating down that bustling hall, though was both unmistakably bathed in the accented intonation of a clone soldier, and seemingly quite confused by the civility of her gesture.

With a preparatory sigh, June prodded the control panel on the wall adjacent to the door and stepped back for it to permit her entry. Immediately apparent directly opposite that threshold, and sitting somewhat stooped atop that pathetic excuse of a paper bed sheet, was CT-5863.

If the Gods of technology were to ever bless it with the power of human deduction, the chrono on the wall behind him would have asserted that those blue eyes locked on his for the span of only a second; barely half of an inhale, a torpid blink at most. But, surely, too much had happened in that moment of unprecedented placidity for a mere “second” to have been all that passed.

Those armoured legs, wholly encrusted with the evidence of several rotations in grueling action, instantly ceased their absentminded swing over the long edge of that uncomfortably rigid gurney. The way his brows softened only enough for those gleaming brown eyes to widen in unrestrained surprise had her famined stomach plummeting near-painfully toward her toes in a sensation she was both unfamiliar with and unprepared for, and had the highly polished durasteel floor beneath her sneakers not continued to reflect the abhorrent fluorescent light overhead, that feeling only would have her entirely convinced she was now freefalling toward the cobblestone courtyard some eight stories below.

“Hi,” she squeaked as his expression continued to soften, that unprofessionally casual address escaping her tongue completely void of intention and thought, and had she not felt her jaw shift to let it pass through her lips, it could have been entirely feasible to believe that the salutation came from a third party.

If there was any semblance of a response waiting atop his tongue, it remained inhibited by the stupefaction still working its way across that tanned face. Lips initially contracted against the relentless gnaw of pain, now parting enough to expose their ragged and wind burnt nature and convey his unbridled bewilderment; those brows once furrowed beneath the act of being left to wallow for hours in the virile discomfort of a neglected wound, shifting to diminish that charming crease between them.

“Hi,” he echoed, reddened lips drawn slowly toward his ear ahead the beginnings of a one-sided smile that promised to only intensify her already befuddling paralysis.

June swallowed, that brief constriction of the throat reorienting the contents of her stomach momentarily granting her the abeyance to wrench her gaze from his, a gesture worthy of recognition based solely on how absurdly arduous of a task it seemed. ‘What am I doing here again?’ she asked herself, right hand thoughtlessly moving to retrieve the datapad from its clamp beneath her arm and bringing that lifeless screen toward her nose.

“Right,” she whispered to the sight of her distorted reflection, before clearing her throat and unsticking her sneakers from the floor.

The holocomputer, set atop a rolling desk at the foot of the bed, rose to life upon the frenetic poke of her finger. Though June had always been what her brother had previously deemed “embarrassingly deficient in stature”, that monitor sat just shy of successfully hiding him from view, and her composure was once again diminished by the heat surging to her cheeks upon the quick affirmation that his gaze had followed her every step across the room.

“You’re not a droid,” the soldier offered slowly, eyes narrowing under a perplexed sense of intrigue as a blood stained finger trailed to and fro across his chapped lip. “I mean��� I don’t think so. Not like any I’ve ever seen…”

The acceptable reply would have been to offer him a laugh, a small scoff. Kriff, even an unsupported snort would have been sufficient to humour such an unintentionally comical assertion, but the continued prickle atop her skin and the nascent disquiet in her mind quickly devoured all potential for a moment of light-hearted banter.

“Nope,” she agreed, immediately thankful that her tone had forgone the shrill squawk of her first greeting and returned to her normal tambre. “They called the big guns in for you.”

“Uh oh. Why do I feel like that might not be a good thing?”

She risked another peek over the shield of her holoscreen, instantly and regretfully noting the delightfully sharp angle of where his jaw met his ear, that contour accentuated by the expanse of a bashful smile now doming both cheeks.

‘What the hell,’ she demanded silently as she failed, again, to offer him the titter he deserved. Aghast that the professionalism and charismatic bedside manner she’d spent long years and countless tears mastering had been ripped from her by something as immaterial as basic eye contact, she flicked her ponytail petulantly off her shoulder and refocussed her attention to the task at hand: logging into the Hospital’s charting software.

‘He’s just a soldier,’ she reminded herself with a snort of self-directed derision, desperately trying to extract her password from the depths of her distracted brain.

And he was. There was nothing overtly different or unusual about CT–5863 in relation to the hundred-or-so other clones that had passed in and out of her care since the war began. Quite frankly, there couldn’t be anything different about him, it was genetically impossible. So why had one look from this set of honeyed eyes seen her stomach careening into the next dimension and her nerves prickling as if every shift of his gaze left a trail atop her skin?

Thrice she tried and failed to enter her secure information into that software, yet its repeated beeps toward the inevitable system lock-out fell on entirely deaf ears, and it wasn’t until the screen strobed that she’d near-reached the maximum login attempts did some glimmer of awareness surge back to her.

“I’m Dr. Kiore,” June told him, attempting to banish that myriad of improper thoughts by corralling every cooperating neuron into entering her password, and the breath she’d unintentionally held in her lungs was granted their escape atop a sigh of relief as that familiar landing screen emerged in front of her. “What’s your name?”

“CT–58—”

“No, Captain, your name.”

“My name?” A puzzled pause preceded her answer, that brief second of hesitation having failed to lessen any of the obvious confusion behind those two words, and the notion that she may have to formally explain such a simple concept was the first to pull a smile to June’s lips.

But, “Howzer.” He recovered quickly, offering his name in the same tone he’d used upon hearing her tap on the door, and the small creases now wreathing those twinkling eyes as they narrowed in something close to suspicion entirely laid bare his continued bewilderment at her behaviour.

“Howzer,” she repeated, offering him a casual smile as she swiped her finger across the monitor and entered the information next to his designation number. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A moment’s innocent silence fell between them as she typed, masterfully toggling between different pages of his medical chart and familiarizing herself with the details of his treatment history. For an active soldier, particularly one that appeared as if he’d spent several respite-free rotations laying in the foreign dirt of a distant planet, his chart was remarkably vacant, the only few noted injuries being quickly treated in the field and recorded somewhat haphazardly by the trio of different medics who had seen him.

“I– I think that might be the first time a civilian’s asked me that,” he contemplated under his breath, eyes unfocussing as he rubbed that dirty palm across the stubble on his chin

“Yeah, well… they were supposed to ask downstairs,” June scoffed, the grumble swaddling her tone readily exposing the disdain for the repeated shortcomings of her colleagues. “I’ve asked them four billion times to try and remember, but of course no one listens to the youngest.”

While his lungs expanded to utter what was undoubtedly going to be another humorous quip, the sentiment was stolen off his tongue by a sudden and salient cringe of discomfort. In that otherwise banal motion of sitting up straight, hand reaching upward to thoughtlessly push those dark waves further back from his forehead, a spasm of pain quickly froze his actions, that sharp jaw quickly clenching behind olive cheeks as a muted grunt rumbled in his chest.

Harrowingly familiar with the discomfited sounds of a trooper in agony, June darted from behind the computer without a second glance, feet taking her earnestly to his bedside where Howzer continued to grit his teeth against the pain of attempting to lower his elbow back down.

She stopped when she reached his beside, and too determined to somehow minimize his discomfort, her focussed eyes entirely missed the way shame had forced his gaze away from her. In a gesture that inexplicably attuned her concentration nearly as thoroughly as it further chilled her skin, she tugged the sleeves of her labcoat toward her elbows.

It took barely a breath of being within arms-length of the stranger for the pathetic remnants of his shirt, and the implications of its destruction, to resonate; that typically tight compression top now sliced into misshapen shards thanks to the expanse of an immense gash in the material. Yet more gruesome than the soaked integrity of that metallic cloth— its creation having once promised to prevent such wounds from occurring —was a piteous patch of gauze so saturated with blood that it had begun to leak a small cataract down his side, that seemingly limitless river of blood having already stained the exposed skin of which it bordered.

“Sheesh,” June mumbled under her breath, reaching slowly toward him until her fingers wrapped carefully around the elbow he was subconsciously attempting to use as a protective barrier.

Howzer’s breath hitched sharply in his throat as her fingers found their mark, though despite that unintentional huff of trepidation, he offered no resistance as she began to cautiously lift that arm back upward mere millimeters at a time until the sight of that grisly gash reappeared. The sheer size of that weeping laceration, stretching across the anatomically labelled “quadrant 6”, and reaching all the way from central rib cage to interior scapula, made ascertaining the true degree of the injury quite a challenge from her standing position in front of him. As June battled the need for a better vantage against attempting to prevent causing Howzer can any extraneous pain, it became apparent nothing short of clambering onto the bed beside him and simply straddling his left hip could allot her the unobstructed view she needed to formulate an appropriate treatment plan.

“I can’t get a great look from here,” she admitted with an apologetic grimace, now cautiously redirecting his arm forward in an effort to ascertain precisely how far back this horrid laceration reached from its inception below his left armpit. “Bear with me just for a sec… it’s gonna hurt a smidge.”

“It’s fine,” he answered, though wrapped in little more than a tight-lipped mumble, his reassurances fell flat in their task of convincing her. “It doesn’t hurt. I jus– ugh…”

A series of murmured apologies left her lips as something near a jolt of pain robbed his tongue of that white lie, and she tactfully refrained from commenting as she watched that silly cotton square fail to contain another surging red waterfall.

“You know,” she started as his jaw rutted forward to repress another hum of discomfort. “If you had just let them give you an NBA injection downstairs, this wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Don’t need one,” he grunted back as she flicked away those soaked and frayed fabric shards and began to pluck that impetuously placed patch of medical gauze from his side. “I told you, it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt, but you couldn’t get your shirt off?”

That delicate accusation left her lips before the gates of professional restraint could corral it. The implications of second-guessing both a patient’s feedback and their subjective symptoms was highly unprincipled, yet despite his continued refusals, there was no ignoring the fact that, while half of his battered and abused armament sat stacked in one of the chairs by the door, he’d been unable to pull that snug garment from his torso.

To her relief, that same lop-sided smirk inched back across those dehydrated lips, eyes softening as they danced lightly across her features, and June was immediately grateful for the trivial need to extract an unopened sterile gauze pack from her pocket as her cheeks tingled anew.

“Alright, smartypants, you got me,” he admitted, the tips of his ears reddening under the unfamiliar vulnerability of his confession. “Maybe I just don’t like injections. Maybe they freak me out… a little.”

An ephemeral glance was all it took to identify the nature of his budding embarrassment; the reaffixture of his gaze upon his lap, the tiny flitter of his cheek as he chewed on whether he ought to defend his admission or not, the horrid clicking of his molars as discomfort had them relentlessly grinding against each other. Yet it was not the professional obligation to advocate for a medicinal intervention that saw June’s hands hesitate on their way to fully rid him of that incapacitated bandage, but an inexplicable and damn-near irrepressible urge to console him.

“Hold this here for me,” she instructed delicately as if she hadn’t heard him, indicating her need with a small tap of the finger whilst pressing that new fresh fabric to his wound in the void of its sodden counterpart. “Just for a minute while I grab some goodies, but firm pressure— hold it like you mean it.”

He shifted instantly on his seat to assent to her request, right hand forgoing its docile perch atop his thigh to cross his torso and clamp that material into place; those grimy fingers momentarily weaving their way into hers in his haste to comply.

That inadvertent touch set her very nerves alight, the ceaseless prickle lurking behind every inch of her skin intensifying to a degree that promised to expropriate the floor from beneath her feet again, and having been largely unable to resurrect her stomach from the depths of her toes where it had buried itself at first sight of him, June hurried to snatch her fingers from his and depart his bedside. The unprecedented euphoria of his skin brushing atop her own amidst that otherwise innocuous motion had virtually supplanted all evidence of the preceding sympathy, and replaced it with a moment of attraction so potent, she’d failed to digest any of the apology he’d quickly stammered during her retreat.

‘Maker have mercy, would you get a grip…’ she silently scolded, eyes scanning the assortment of supplies on the shelves in front of her as she forced a slow breath through pursed lips. ‘You’re being ridiculous. So he’s a little pretty… You just feel bad for him. It’s just pity. He’s been sitting here a long time, and he’s obviously uncomfortable… that’s all.’

But that weak justification had barely gained any potential momentum before it was squashed by the reality she could not deny. Attributing the peculiar undulation of this interaction to pity alone was both ignorant and ludicrous, as Howzer was not the first soldier to admit having a distaste for injections; the majority of her combat patients shirked from even the mention of that so-dreaded injector. In fact, most were deeply suspicious of anything even distantly related to the field of medicine, many turning pugnacious in their discomfort, and eyeing Lumi with a powerful mistrust as if that hovering medical assistant was concealing a murderous motive behind those yellow oculars. Others flinched at the mere thought of sedation, often demanding to hear any and all available treatment alternatives before consenting to whatever procedural route they deemed most tolerable regardless of its diminished efficacy, and it was this perpetual argument, this consistent mentality, that had June entirely convinced the clones in her care harboured significant trauma from their Kaminoan upbringing.

So if pity was to blame for the tingle atop her skin as the music of his familiar accent danced in her ears, why today? Why this ailing soldier, and not one of the hundred or so others she’d previously treated and discharged without pause. Why not Bolts, whose cheeks became stained with uncontrollable tears during those brief moments of lucidity when he awoke to be scanned at tragically frequent intervals? Why not the Commander from three rotations ago who’d begged her to falsify a clean bill of health so he could return to the front lines where his brothers were undoubtedly being slaughtered in his absence? What was it about this man… this objectively meaningless encounter… that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright as if there was something lingering in the next second? Why was this set of brown eyes imbued with the power to lasso her lungs into her stomach? Steal the floor from beneath her feet? Freeze time as if the universe itself had held its breath at first sight of him?

‘You’re better than this,’ she told herself as she rustled noisily around those laden shelves, heaping an array of various supplies into her arms. ‘Swallow whatever this weird attraction is and get on with it so you can go home. You’re tired and starving.’

Sighing heavily through her nose, she pulled the cauterizing pen from the top shelf and added it to the pile of tools clamped against her chest atop an small tub of her preferred burn salve, a USI injection tool, a single-use bottle of saline for wound disinfection purposes, and a handful of the standard 4 x 8 inch dermabacta patches.

Keeping her eyes deliberately downward, she nudged that locker door closed with her hip and started back toward the bed. After pausing briefly to power on and deposit the cauterizing pen beside the computer, June tipped forward and dumped the remaining products onto the paper sheet beside his waiting figure, attempting to ignore the return of his warm gaze by reaffixing her eyes to the tattered vestiges of his top.

“Shirt’s gotta come off,” she advised him, placing her hands on her hips and gesturing with a small nod to the garment he’d deferred removing as long as possible. “Contamination risk is too high if it stays flapping around the wound after I disinfect the area. Think you can pull it off without too much… ouchie?”

Those ensanguined fingers drummed nervously against the gauze he continued to press in place, a contemplative hum issuing from his nose as his lips shifted to a grimace. “I can give it a shot,” he finally assented amid a doubtful chuckle. “Unless maybe cutting it off is an option, and I can try to preserve what’s left of my dignity?”

“I mean– I could,” she agreed half-heartedly, though the image of her hands drifting carefully atop his skin whilst snipping that cloth from his bare chest nearly overpowered the awareness of that option being the least practical. “But we’d be sending you out of here shirtless afterward and it’s not exactly the warmest time of year.”

“Fair point,” he apprehensively agreed. “Maybe there’s a hospital gown or something that could pass as blacks until I can sneak my way into barracks?”

“Not unless blacks are covered in purple cogs and tied together behind your neck,” June scoffed. “And, honestly, if that doesn't send your dignity to the grave, I don’t know what would.”

Had such a disappointed huff not left his nose in that subsequent moment, the mental image of him trying to awkwardly stuff the excess material of that scratchy, violet gown behind his chest plate likely would have had a small snicker escape her lips, yet the unease dominating his expression instead resurrected that mystifying need to commiserate with this alluring stranger.

“We can handle this,” she asserted, watching him thoughtfully chew the inside of his cheek while picking uselessly at a blemish in the teal paint on his thigh plate. “If I help, you won’t even need to lift your arms. Plus– once it’s off, I can throw it in the Cleanser Tube and get it washed while I’m patching you up. That way the purple robe can stay in the cupboard, and you’ll have your shirt back to walk outta here dignity intact. Deal?”

His gaze shifted upward, darting back and forth between her eyes as if searching their depths for any semblance of the ulterior motive he’d seemingly grown to expect.

“Okay,” he agreed a sigh later, evidently failing to find anything other than quiet confidence behind that sapphire blue. “But if I start weeping, do your best not to laugh.”

“I’ll try,” she answered in mock intensity, waiting for his timorous gaze to meet hers again before offering a jesting smile. “Though in all honesty, Captain, just wait until you feel my hands. I’ll be more surprised if you don’t start weeping.”

Stepping intentionally around his armoured knees toward the head of the bed, she watched him steel himself by straightening his posture and taking a deep breath. “I’ll pull on your sleeve,” she told him, permitting herself only a moment to appreciate the endearing quartet of freckles on the right side of his neck. “You pull your arm.”

She guided her thumbs under the elastic cuff of his top, that deceivingly thin fabric instantly reminding her of the wetsuit she’d once donned during a diving trip on Naboo, though there was something significantly more tutelary about this injected material, as if the microthreads used to create it had been fibers of some pliable steel.

“I appreciate you being so… helpful,” he spoke, wincing slightly as his hand disappeared into the darkness of his sleeve and redirected itself downward through the trunk of the garment. “I guess I did need the big guns.”

June hesitated, barely able to repress the small smile promising to peel across her lips as she rolled and bunched the hem of his shirt in her fists, waiting until his palm had firmly planted itself beside his hip before proceeding.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked him in what she hoped was a casual tone despite her heart pounding loudly in her ears at his indirect laudation.

“‘Course,” he answered, squeezing his eyes closed as she began to stretch and guide that narrow collar past his ear and over his meticulously cropped hair.

“You’re not the only soldier who hates injections. You’re one of very many, actually… and one of even more that tries to hide it under this very unnecessary ‘tough guy’ attitude. While I don’t personally understand the fear behind a microdose of medication, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand being very wary of something, and that by no means makes you a wuss.”

He emerged from the depths of his shirt with a smoldering look that she’d never seen adorn the eyes of a soldier before, and the intensity of how he gazed sternly yet somewhat reverently into hers near-forced a paralytic shiver down her spine.

She near-cowered under its magnitude, and growing increasingly aware of how her body continued to betray her demand for professionalism by relentlessly inflaming her cheeks, she stepped carefully back around his knees and stuffed her fingers under the cuff of the other sleeve.

“Ready?” she asked as he upheld a pensive silence, waiting for him to consent before hooking one hand under the hem of that top now draped over his shoulder, and directing it carefully down the muscular arm he shifted to grant the garments removal.

She didn’t wait to see if he’d further acknowledge her expostulation before wadding up that soaked and soiled fabric and departing the bedside, crossing the room to where the Cleanser Tube sat recessed into the wall. After opening the door and shoving the clothing inside, she activated a sonic cycle with a quick poke of a button and turned to the adjacent Hand Sanitary Station.

Both pieces of machinery were considered to be state of the art medical technology, and were proprietary pieces licensed to only this medical facility while the patent approval process remained clogged behind far more consequential senatorial matters. The Cleanser Tube, designed to wash, sanitize and dry textiles in a fraction of the time that a traditional washing machine took, was installed on every floor, ensuring the sanitation droids could efficiently reuse the ludicrous amount of bedding the hospital exploited daily. Its pseudo-partner in technological advancement, the Sanitary Station, had demanded significantly more adaptability from the medical staff upon its installation, most of whom had spent several expensive years learning to meticulously disinfect their hands prior to any patient contact. While not all that different in concept to the Cleanser beside it, the absence of friction in hand washing was a foreign concept for a surgeon used to scrubbing their skin to within an inch of its already shoddy integrity before initiating a procedure. Nevertheless, the benefit of its efficiency had proved largely pivotal for those increasingly numerous days where surgeries were booked back to back.

Its familiar ion aroma wafted upward into June’s nose the second she approached and forced her fists through each of the two side-by-side valves. Sensing the new additions in its chamber, the machine activated automatically, tightening the silicone grip around each wrist to near-discomfort while cool, damp air began to circulate between her fingers. An inappropriately loud chime moments later alerted what felt like the entire hospital that the disinfection cycle had completed, and the machine ceased its vibration for only a moment before those sophisticated motors kicked back into life, preparing to swaddle her hands in a thin layer of purple nitrile. When all ten of her fingers had been appropriately coated, the valves released their complete encirclement of her wrists, and she pulled her hands from the tubes, fingers flexing habitually against the irksome constriction.

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[sinisterexaggerator]

Beauty and the Bounty Hunter

Chapter 5: Hungry and Hot to Trot

(Cad Bane x Fem! Reader/OC)

*This is a second person POV (reader) fic / OC fic. It's both. I forgo physical descriptions as much as possible, though yes, you/she has a name, and a personality.

This chapter: Our dear reader wakes up hungry, but Todo doesn't know what to do! Cad Bane has left you stranded on his ship, and with a lack of any food. But it's for your own good; he's gone to find the man that kidnapped you.

Warnings: 18+ for dirty humor, nudity, mention of female anatomy, death, murder, gunfights, dismemberment, reference to fertile cycles and alien biology aka horny old man Bane headcanon, and one sassy droid.

Word count: 7.6k

Notes: I could have kept writing as I have so much ground to cover, and it has been nearly a year since I've updated. SORRY ABOUT THAT. Life got a bit in the way. I hope you enjoy this chapter, however, and I plan to keep this series going until the end, no matter how long it takes.

BATBH: Masterpost

Ao3

THIS IS A CRACK FIC! Or, as I like to call it: Slapstick Smut.

You are Aurora Ordel and you awoke with a start; you were faced with a face you could not see clearly. You screamed pure, unadulterated murder, then you were promptly gassed; you passed back out again.

“Ah, shit-”

Cad Bane palmed his face. He had acted on impulse; he had released a cloud capable of putting you to sleep; there was a hidden valve residing beneath his wrist gauntlet.

That had not been his intention, though he did not mind that you were quiet, however considering the circumstances he found himself wanting to know if he should have kept those sleemo’s breathing – torture, after all, was not outside his wheelhouse, and intel in this case was priceless.

“Mister Bane, maybe I should be in charge of the prisoner-”

“She ain’t a priss’ner!”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Be out a’couple hours now. Exspectin’ Ah be back b’fore dhen,”

“You are leaving?”

The Duros had paused to lean in close; he could still smell those blasted hooligans all over your damn clothes. A rumble was emitted, the sound tantamount to a displeased grumble; Bane proceeded to rub his rostrum across your neck, chest, and the remnants of your dress.

He had taken to marking you, wanting to replace that putrid stench with his own fragrance without so much as an explanation.

Todo watched on idle, blinking his yellow eyes. All of this was beyond interesting, Bane’s behavioral response absorbed by his many microprocessors.

Cad cleared his throat; he pushed up off you, leaving you to lie there. His brow ridge stitched before he addressed the small metal man off to his left.

“Gonna find dhis Green Hair. Somethin’ don’t add up,” the hunter commented.

“Whatever do you mean? They just seemed like a gang of thugs to me,” Todo followed up.

“She’s too high-profile; jerks like dhat don’t go fer Imps widdout plannin’ on a high payout,” Bane enunciated dryly.

“You mean you think he was coerced to kidnap her, or perhaps even hired?”

Todo looked up as his master checked his gas carts; a quick once over of his gear was common. Even in the middle of a mission, Bane would habitually assess his ammunition, or lack thereof; being put in a tough spot was not something he was fond of.

“Yep,” he affirmed, turning to walk out the door.

“Wait! But Bane, what if-”

“Keep an eye on ‘er!” he interrupted. “Don’t let ‘er out of yer sight,” the Duros finalized, “or it’ll be yer metallic hide.”

Todo groaned; it was a sound usually reserved for humans and other beings. Still, it expressed his feelings, as he was not sure what to do should you wake up.

“This job is among the weirdest yet,” he complained.

Then, he did all he could do; he sat down and stayed watch, ever vigilant.

---

Two standard hours had ticked on by; you heard a few mumbled words as you once more opened up your eyes. This time, you were faced with a droid. You gasped as you scrounged for purchase.

You backed up far enough that you met with the closest wall. Unfortunately, there was nowhere left for you to go. You cursed, wondering what else you had gotten yourself into.

“There is no need to be afraid, we have already met,” Todo articulated, “but just in case: I am Todo 360, techno-service droid, and accomplice to Cad Bane.”

If nothing else, you recognized his voice; your glasses were long-gone. Your vision was blurred at best, though it was difficult to see past his gigantic head.

“Where am I?” you asked, your nails digging diligently into surprisingly soft bedsheets.

“You are aboard the Justifier, and this is where you will remain. Mister Bane has ordered that you stay put until he comes bac-”

You squealed; your voice was shrill. “You mean he’s not here?!”

The frazzled droid zipped a pace away, clearing himself of your immature display. You had begun to shake, or vibrate, trembling of all things.

“Where is he?” you asked desperately.

“He is away,” he replied simply.

“But what if they come back!” you whined, disconcerted.

“Rest assured, you are perfectly secure,” said the twitchy service droid. “There is no safer place for you than on Bane’s ship.”

You looked around, though you could barely make out your surroundings. “Are-are you sure?” you asked more quietly.

Todo chirped, irritated. “Yes, I am sure. Now, just sit still and wait patiently. I am positive Bane will be back any— Excuse me! Where are you going?” he demanded of you as you had risen to your feet.

“I feel faint,” you admitted, not seeming to remember that you hadn’t eaten in nearly three whole days; your stomach had begun to gnaw at you, craving food.

“Then why are you standing?” Todo argued, tugging at the edge of your torn and sullied dress.

“You have something, don’t you?” you inquired weakly as you stumbled across the room.

Todo sighed a human-sounding sigh, releasing his slight grip. He had to think about it. “I do not believe you will be interested in what Bane has to eat,” he explained succinctly.

“I don’t care, anything—” you managed, walking out into the hall. You were faced with a row of doors. You were not sure which to try, so you went by one at a time.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Todo scolded you as you entered what looked like a workshop of some kind; it contained within a mixed assortment of odds and ends. You wondered how he had acquired all of this. If you squinted, you could just make out what looked like clone trooper helmets; among those you thought was a Jedi’s lightsaber.

You opened your mouth to speak; Todo was not having it. “This way, please,” he said, chaperoning you like he might a helpless child.

You weaved to another entry of some sort, this one with locked tight doors. Todo was quick to apprehend you; his weensy body became a barrier. He pushed against your thighs with his tiny hands; they were cold, and the droid was adamant. “No, no! Definitely not in here. This is Bane’s private quarters! He would have both our heads.”

You huffed, exasperated. “Just take me to the kitchen!” Even so, you could not deny you wanted to know what was just on the other side…

“We do not have a kitchen-” Todo corrected you, “-we have a galley, and I am trying!”

“Whatever! Food is food!” you rationalized.

“Yes, so I have heard,” Bane’s droid tittered wryly. “Mister Bane also shares those sentiments, as you will find.”

“Well, good!” you answered in a mood. You would not concern yourself with reading between the lines. Hells, you would take a ration bar; anything was fine!

You continued on your bumbling misadventure; Todo directed you toward an abnormally large lift; you wondered what Bane carried in it. Once inside, you thought that you could smell yourself. Luckily for your inorganic tour guide, he could not tell the difference.

“Oh my God—” you began, hoisting up your arm to take a whiff. Todo shifted, gazing up at you, emotionless.

“What is it now?” he queried.

“I smell awful!” you admitted.

“That must be why Mister Bane rubbed himself all over you,” Todo conjectured.

“He what?!” 

“Truly fascinating, Duros. Although, you ought to know,” the droid complained with attitude.

You gawked at him, not believing you were being sassed by Cad Bane’s companion. Was he angry? Jealous? Protective of his master?

“I’m sorry?”

“You should be!” he explained. “He has been behaving quite differently with you around.”

The door to the lift flew open; Todo hovered out and onward. You had no choice but to follow him.

“How is that my fault?” you dared to ask.

“Well, it is, and it isn’t, you see,” Todo knew there was more to it than that.

You glanced about, finding yourself to be in the bowels of the ship. This was a part of the Justifier you had not seen previously. Not even on the day Cad Bane had dragged you in, keen on being mean, but it had backfired – you were still here.

This area seemed mostly unused, or like a storage space. Every corner was home to an oversized cargo crate. They were quite possibly chock-full of weapons, supplies. Then, on the other hand, there could be ration bars. Your thoughts drifted as did your feet; you were once more cutoff by Cad Bane’s little confidant.

“This way, this way! Do not go snooping. That is one surefire way to get Mister Bane to despise you,” Todo spoke from experience; he often wondered how young Boba Fett was doing.

“It seems like he already despises me,” you mumbled, hungrily marching forward as you finally approached another set of doors; these were double.

“To the contrary,” Todo proffered, causing your eyes to dart in his direction. He ignored the rise in your attention span, passing through into what you had called a “kitchen.”

It was full of pots and pans, plates, bowls, and numerous utensils. Most seemed unused, set to sparkling as Todo was the one who diligently polished them. There were knives, forks, spoons; there was everything but food.

“It’s so clean,” you marveled.

“You may thank me for that,” Todo retorted.

“But what does he even eat?” you whined, traipsing forward, flinging cabinets open and pulling out all the drawers. There was nothing there! Your mind reeled and your stomach growled. That’s when you finally noticed the conservator.

“Meat mostly,” Todo said offhand. “I assumed you knew everything about Mister Bane,” the feisty droid remarked, “though he also consumes what he likes to call ‘roughage.’”

You could only hope that meant salad; you could do with one right now. Or hells, even a steak would be nice, something big and juicy to suffice you. Though, on the other hand, what Todo had said kept nagging. You spouted off a question just as you pulled the door wide open.

“What did you mean ‘to the contrar-’” There was something wrapped in what looked like foil; you made your move, a bold one, to steal the scraps of Bane’s last meal.

“I would not do that!” Todo blurted out.

You pulled the wrapper back; its contents had a face, and worse yet, eyes. The only thing missing was its fur and guts; it was a chunk of flesh, raw, and oozing blood.

“What the fuck!” you exclaimed as you promptly dropped it.

“I did try to warn you,” Todo highlighted, as if he needed to.

You nearly puked, your diaphragm contracting. “That’s disgusting!” you announced.

“Maybe to you-” Todo rebuked “-but Mister Bane quite likes it.”

“Well, Mister Bane is a weirdo!” you retaliated.

“You are one to talk!” the droid rejoined.

Your hand had risen to cover your own mouth, but for what you were not sure; it wasn’t as if you had anything in your stomach to throw up. In doing so, you smelled your armpits. That in and of itself reactivated your gag reflex.

You pouted, stomping down your bare foot. The floors were duralloy and provided full resistance. However, you stepped on something squishy. You protested as you almost slipped and fell, your body nearly crumpling.

“Grossssss!” you lamented, having come into contact with whatever that dead thing was.

“I need a shower! Shower. Shower. Shower! Right now!” you demanded, beginning to scamper off without so much as knowing where you were headed. You were in such a rush you collided with a wall; you started crying at the injustice of it all.

“Oh my, oh dear,” Todo said as he came forward, prowling around you as he balanced on his thrusters. “Yes, that might do you some good. Mister Bane always feels better after a long stint in the shower. But it is back upstairs, I am afraid.”

“Take me there,” you pleaded, a hand cupping your bruised shoulder. Todo complied with your request; soon you were back on the lift.

For once, you were silent. You were tired and oh, so hungry. Your body needed energy; you moved more slowly. Todo noticed your decreased speed; he puttered around you in small circles – doing as he was ordered – yet not having the ability to meet your every need. He could only hope Bane would come back soon, as he was not sure what to do for this human woman.

You found yourself once more near Bane’s quarters, being directed to a small refresher. You nearly collapsed just inside the entrance, trying your best to undress yourself.

“Oh, uh—” Todo began, tapping metal against metal as his fingers joined together, obviously somewhat perplexed or even agitated, “—I’ll just be over here,” he stated, leaving.

You had paid the droid no mind, tugging the shreds of your clothes off that remained. You discarded your bra, then the dress as well – straight into the trash bin. Your panties were MIA, but you would burn in hell before you ever wore those things again. Besides, they smelled like others and not just you; you had put two and two together at Todo’s mention.

In theory, it was endearing. It brought you back to Todo’s comment of “to the contrary.” You hummed a little to yourself as you turned the shower on, relaxing against the wall as real liquid started streaming over you.

“Thank fuck,” you mumbled; at least he had the good stuff, sonic vibrations never did quite cut it as per your preference; he must have had a tank of water on reserve.

You let your body slide down, down, until you sat right in it. It was the most luxurious, blissful thing to happen to you in the last three days. You closed your eyes as you tried to regain your peace, but then a thought occurred to you; you had no more clothes to change into. What were you supposed to do?

For the moment, you tried not to let it worry you; the water felt too good. You breathed out a laggard sigh as you finally opened up your eyes.

You stood; your hunger was once more overpowering; you let the water stream down your face and hair, wanting to just stay there, yet the rumbling in your stomach was not a thing to be ignored. Truth be told, you still felt nauseous, finally calling out to Todo whom you thought was just outside the room.

“Excuse me, little droid? Are you there?”

It took him hardly any time to answer you. “I am afraid so,” he said sourly.

You quirked a brow; his tone abruptly changed. He now seemed eager, his programming dictating he was happiest when serving others in some capacity. “How may I be of assistance?”

You attention had been diverted; you were examining some kind of cleaning substance. It was meant to help slough off dry, dead scales; you would not use it for fear of what might happen to you. Your only hope was for some soap. That, or whatever you could find in terms of clothes; as long as they were clean and somewhat fit, you did not care one bit.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk around naked if you can’t find something for me to wear,” you called out to him, your voice being carried beyond the sound of running water and the boundary of the door.

Something sparked in Todo’s droid brain, causing gears to whorl and whirl; he knew just the thing! Something he thought might be more your size, as his master was tall and gangly. “Just a moment! Wait right here,” he insisted.

You heard him buzz off down the hall, then there was total silence. You allowed yourself a nice long soak, taking your time beneath the warm spray of the water. You drank from it to quench your thirst by leaving your mouth wide open; you were sure you were dehydrated. Then, you allowed it to saturate your tangled strands; it ran through all your nooks and crannies.

This would have to do until you could get back to your roost; the penthouse you called your home, seated in the lap of luxury right here on Coruscant. Or at least you thought…

As a matter of fact, you had no idea where you were or where you’d been; you were now trapped here on Cad Bane’s starship. Wherever it happened to be, that is. You had no way of knowing your coordinates, and the refresher had no viewports; it was just as well so people couldn’t spy on you.

You waited for what you felt was much too long; you turned the water off. You attained a towel, though it seemed used. You gingerly rubbed your nose in it; it smelled like Duros.

“Ummmph,” you vocalized, happy, horny, distraught, and needy all at the same time. His scent was heady. You felt you couldn’t think straight, having a wicked and troubling idea tickle your jumbled brain.

“Todo?” you tried for the droid once more; he did not answer. You opened the refresher and tiptoed out, buck naked, into the narrow corridor.

You were relieved to get no response, slinking like a tooka toward Bane’s living quarters; Todo had made it very clear to not go in here, but you only knew one thing, the thing that drove you: inside this room behind the door were Cad Bane’s extra clothes.

It did not take much effort; you pried a panel loose. Even without your glasses, this was elementary; you could rewire an automated entry with your eyes closed – too easy.

Once inside, the door again shut tight; you did not pay it any mind, as your eyes went wide, mesmerized by a plethora of mishmash things, and even trinkets. Everywhere you looked was something pretty, shiny, or otherwise unique; Cad Bane had expensive tastes for a rough and tumble mercenary.

There were unmarked credits on the bed, gold coins of unknown origin, an extra hat – which you picked up and put right on your head – and loads of other fascinating stuff.

His blankets were pristine and plush, his pillows fluffy and silky smooth. Off to one side was a box full of random treasures, one you recognized as Durosian if you squinted; you wondered if he collected artifacts from his species’ culture as a hobby, or just because it was worth something.

You blindly plundered through his drawers; there were stolen bounty fobs and palm-sized holoprojectors with secret messages. There was a datapad or two, and a box of toothpicks. You were tempted to snoop more thoroughly, but after what Todo said… You did not want Cad Bane to have your head; you wanted him in bed.

Finally, you found what you came here for -  something belonging to the man that you could wear. You had located what appeared to be a dress shirt with long sleeves; it was white with buttons down the front and hit just above your knees. You at once adorned it, inspecting yourself in a full-length mirror; you wondered if Bane often stood right here when admiring himself; you could not blame him.

You sniffed your prize and nearly melted on the spot. Satisfied, you turned around to exit. The moment your hand touched durasteel a loud noise sent you reeling. You covered up your ears as you had triggered an alarm, a screen descending from the ceiling as a recording of Bane himself played automatically before your bleary eyes.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” the Duros drawled; your breath was heavy as the sirens refused to stop their bleating. You tugged at another access hatch; you began to dislocate and mismatch wires, whining audibly.

“Bane, I’m sorry!”

The recording snickered as if he had heard you through the viewscreen, leaning forward to threaten you with the little piece of wood that perpetually lived between his teeth. “And yer about as stupid as dhey come.”

You found your mouth agape as two more things emerged: loaded blaster rifles, snuggly sequestered on either side of the Duros’ depraved yet smiling face. “Say yer prayers,” he directed.

“Oh, please, oh no. No, no!” you pleaded, bending low to shield yourself. You threw your arms above your head and squatted down till you touched the ground, pulling up a chair to act as a makeshift impediment. Blaster shots rang out, rebounding about the room and all of your surroundings. You screamed as if you were being murdered, because you were, then everything went silent.   

You gasped, feeling yourself up; you were all still in one piece, unbelievably. Standing before the now open door was that pesky, life-saving service-droid; within his hands was some kind of drab colored garment.

“What have you done?!” he wailed. “Mister Bane is going to be absolutely furious!” he proclaimed, golden eyes wide in horror and disbelief.

Todo dropped what he was holding, coming around to push against your back. He shoved with all his might, despite you still being on the floor bent down. You tried to come to terms with what just happened, and all due to a shirt; your eyes watered as you let the little robot escort you out.

“And give me that!” he griped, reclaiming the hat upon your head that now suffered a distinctive scorch mark. “Do you have any idea what this cost?!”

“A-a lot?” you asked with a quaver to your voice.

“Yes!” he retorted.

The droid stopped to pick up what had fallen, scooping it up within his arms. He stayed his fury to look at you, tilting his large cranium. “And what is that you are wearing?”

“A shirt I found,” you whispered.

“No, no, you must take that off this instant. I brought you this,” he explained, holding out something worn, brown, and understated. Despite being still terrified and near to tears, you took it to appease him.

“What is it?” you asked sheepishly.

“It is a robe, a Jedi robe, and part of Bane’s collection; he has worn it in the past when needed, and it is a wonderful disguise!”

You gave a little start, looking the thing over. “How did he get it?”

“Surely you know Bane is a Jedi-killer,” Todo quipped, leering at you. “And a most successful one at that. It is his – was – his specialty. They are all dead now, you see.”

“O-oh,” you conceded, then made a face that displayed your distress. “I’m not wearing this!” you contested suddenly.

“And why not?” he fought back, metal hands akimbo on his hips.

“What if I’m mistaken for a Jedi?” you whimpered. “What if someone else tries to kill me?” You dropped the robe, not caring that your – Bane’s shirt - was open. Todo got an eyeful as you retrieved the one thing you could use, a belt that was rather rope-like; you inspected it as Todo gawked, though he didn’t have a mouth.

He made a throaty sound, having seen the outline of your form, the curves and dips, the shape of your bare hips. “Yes, you will do quite nicely,” he commented offhand.

“Excuse me?” you snapped, beginning to button up. You fastened each closure one by one, traveling all the way up to the very top; the belt came next. You soon had fashioned the bounty hunter’s shirt into a dress.

“Well, it seems you are rather good at that! Nearly getting killed, that is, why if it weren’t for Mister Bane—”

“—No, finish that other thought,” you demanded.

Todo sighed for the second or third time, thinking he should have kept his nonexistence lips shut, but it was too late now; he settled down, then began a rather short but interesting tale.

“Duros have a finite reproductive window, and Mister Bane is getting older by the day,” he explained. You cocked a brow but kept on listening. You tried to give him your full attention, but your stomach growled; you needed food right now.

“Walk and talk,” you said.

Todo followed you as you made your way back toward the lift, this time setting course for the location of the boarding ramp; it was at the Justifier’s rear, but you were all ears.

The only thing you didn’t have was your glasses or a pair of shoes; you would make do and go barefoot; you were too hungry to give a damn.

“Well, Mister Bane has been rather grumpy as of late – grumpier than usual – and especially since coming into contact with you,” he remarked.

“I see,” you interjected, yet quite fond of this engrossing notion.

“Therefore, I have come to the conclusion it is best that he mates with you. Once he gets it out of his system, I believe that—”

You burst out laughing; that had already been your plan. “Don’t worry your big head,” you grinned. “Now, wait here.”

Todo looked around, realizing you had dropped the ramp. He had lost track of your destination, instantaneously switching gears as was his very nature, if you could call it that; he was just a culmination of ones and zeros, but it still felt like he had feelings.

“Where do you think you are going? Bane instructed us to both wait here.”

“To the market,” you answered back, having come to the conclusion you were parked somewhere near CoCo Town at a rundown spaceport.

“Come back! You should not disregard what Mister—”

“What’s he going to do, shoot me?” you jested, feeling a teensy bit more like your old self.

“Yes!” he responded, trailing close behind. “Wait! Oh, you—we’re going to be in so much trouble when he gets back!” the droid complained as he endeavored to keep you company.

“Just come with me,” you offered.

Todo bellyached, indignant. “What do you think it is I am doing? He did tell me to keep an eye on you.”

Then, he glared at you. It was rather cute. “I will make sure to tell him I tried to stop you.”

“Mhm, yes, of course,” you simpered, nonplussed, though finding his last confession had warmed your heart; he did care somewhat after all.

---

Cad Bane had assured that you were safe, but at the cost of backtracking, one of his least favorite things. He once more made his way through the Crimson Corridor, headed for the Tusken Oasis as per the Gotal he had killed. He had parked his ship far from this squalid high-crime district, thinking if you stayed aboard the Justifier nothing could go awry - that’s where he was wrong - he had underestimated the power of your stupidity, for however smart you were.

He passed the Green Glowstone Tavern; Bane knew the Bothan bartender who owned the place, yet he would not stop to chat; he had business to attend to, business regarding you.

Still, he tipped his hat; the Bothan waved right back. It was a silent interchange between two men, both busy.

The hunter continued trudging forward; crowds parted for him. Those who scurried he kept an eye on as he traversed the infamous Barsoom Boulevard.

Prostitutes tried flirting with him; a few scoundrels attempted to sell their wares. It was the ones who watched that warranted his attention; they were not clever; the Duros had dealt with all types and kinds of people, and street thugs were no different. He had an inkling that sneaking would be impossible, as these degenerates would most likely run and tell their boss; there was no use hiding –- Cad Bane was on the prowl.

This area of town was the Raptor Gang’s main hideout; he had heard from word of mouth, steadily stalking onward, eyes forward, as he could sense something sinister afoot -- an ambush.

Bane stalled, stopping dead, slowly but surely turning his hat and head. There was an eerie silence the hunter did not trust, fingers loitering above the holster of one LL-30 BlasTech pistol.

“May as well come out, cahn smell ye’ from a klick,” the gunslinger taunted.

Three bodies emerged from behind trash and refuse, big and burly, weapons drawn and at the ready, as if they thought they had anything on him. Bane grinned a sadistic grin. “Let’s make dhis quick.”

Plasma flew as shots were discharged; Cad Bane dodged it all, rolling to take up residence behind the nearest wall. He returned his own deluge of blaster fire; his aim was true. Ignorance had been their downfall; the Duros would persist in his pursuit.

“Better luck next life,” he jeered to the corpses at his feet; he stepped over them, disrespectfully. But there was one person that he did not want to disrespect if he could help it: Yanth the Hutt, owner of the prestigious nightclub for which his course was set. Though there would be no stopping him, even if that meant killing all of Green Hair’s men. Bane would try not to demolish the whole bar, but if he did? So be it.

The Crimson Corridor was empty now due to the pathetic gunmen he had encountered, its residents scared away back into their homes or other dens, places of debauchery and sin. Places Cad Bane rarely frequented except for occasions such as this; he preferred the quiet confines of his ship.

He could hear the music from a hundred yards; a Bith quartet had taken center stage. Lately, they seemed to be all the rage, but Cad Bane could care less; he approached the entrance.

A bouncer tried to guard the way, but the Duros was infamous and greatly feared; it did not take him much convincing. All the hunter did was glare until he took the hint and scrammed, the green Gamorrean deciding he desired to live and fight another day thanks to such little pay.

Bane regarded him as he up and left; he tipped his hat again. He strolled on through, being met with colored lights and statuettes of varying hues and species, some mythological in the form of beasts; the Hutt spared no expense for his well-kept business. It was quite impressive if Bane could be impressed; the only thing that had that affect on him were credits, and you had a lot of them.

There were dejarik boards and tables for sabacc, gambling men and dancing girls. There were women dressed to the nines alongside scum and villainy; all manner of people came here, including those that Cad Bane now searched out.

Twi’leks, Rodians, and Zeltrons batted their lashes at him, trying to distract him if he didn’t know better. He slipped on by, giving a flirtatious squeeze to varying rumps and waists; while he was tempted, everything had a time and place. He left a gaggle of smitten ladies in his wake.

Then, the heat was on. Green Hair sat amongst a slew of bodyguards. There was no doubt that it was him; he was a human male, lean with a wiry build. But he also sported the most ludicrous hairstyle Bane had ever seen; his green hair was kept upright by an electrostatic field. 

The Duros suppressed a laugh, coming off as composed and stoic though inside he was dying. It looked like he had stuck his finger in a socket, the man assuming he was the epitome of style; word around these parts was he was nicknamed “Fashion Plate.”

“Kids dhese days,” Bane mulled internally.

As he descended upon their table - each step slow and full of purpose - Green Hair’s men decided to act like the brutes they were, boxing the Duros inside their little circle. It there was one thing Bane did not like, it was being cornered; his hand returned to rest upon one blaster’s holster. One H'nemthe in particular got right in his face; Bane kept his cool, but cockily insulted him.

“Ah’d say ye’ must be plumb weak north of yer ears-” he heckled, “-but it don’t look like ye’ got any.”

Cad Bane sneered; he had to be one of the most hideous sleemo’s he had ever seen. A reptilian-humanoid as was his ilk, but still— at least he didn’t have three fingers or ridges on his face. He figured he had never mated; their women were said to kill them once they did –- this one was a virgin.

“Couldn’ get laid so ye’ took up clownin’, did ye’?” Bane insinuated.

That was all it took; the H'nemthe drew his pistol. Cad Bane laid him out; one shot and he would precede his brethren in death, but only by mere minutes, seconds - others were ready to avenge his name - but their green-haired leader finally said his piece.

“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?”

“Tell dhat to yer men, dipshit.”

The punk in charge smiled cordially, pretending to welcome Bane with open arms. Reluctantly, his hired guns made room for him to pass, wary, and with scowls upon their ugly mugs.

“The notorious Cad Bane,” Green Hair began. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut de kark,” the Duros seethed. “Who hired ye’.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

The man motioned with one arm as an introduction. “We are the Raptor Gang. This is our turf,” he said more firmly. “We work for no one but ourselves.”

“Dhen yer de one who ordered Ordel captured,” Bane growled with a curl of his upper lip.

“Oh, her,” the bottom-feeder said dismissively. “She’s just some Imp who works for the Empire. Why do you care?”

The hunter grit his fangs, remembering the state in which he found you. While it could be said Bane had done much worse, it still was not a good enough excuse.

“Dhat’s my business—” he glowered, “—but Ah’m about t’make it yers.”

Green Hair side-eyed one of the henchmen to his right; the tension was so thick it could be cut clean through with a vibroknife. The very air was pregnant with unease and animosity, the Duros’ fathomless red eyes studying his adversary. His intent was mal, Bane past the point of being patient. The human could sense his unwavering hostility, mentally preparing for if and when he would have to flee the scene.

The man who had received his subtle signal placed himself between Bane and Green Hair, as was his duty. Bane snidely smiled, taking this opportunity to bruise him; hiding behind a lackey was cowardly. “Didn’ realize Green Hair was so yello’-bellied,” the hunter mocked him.

Green Hair ignored his comment, not allowing it to get the best of him. “We were holding her for ransom,” he explained. “But no one came to collect—except for you,” he clarified.

Then, to add insult to injury, the scuzzball kept on talking; he must have thought he was safe and sound behind the blanket of some odd ten men at his disposal.

“The way I see it, you owe me for damages, bounty hunter. You got the girl, but not without destroying one of my properties and killing several of my crew-” Smugly, he took a drink to wet his tongue before he continued. “-a million credits, and I’ll let you walk away. I just know you’re good for it,” he speculated.

Bane laughed; it was dry and lustless. He had a word of his own to say, hand ever at the ready to pull his weapon should the need arise.

Green Hair had frowned at his response, or the lack of one, knowing that his horde was all eyes and ears and judging him for this; to misstep or slip-up during an interaction could be grounds for reevaluation of his leadership.

“Draw,” Bane said with strong contempt.

Green Hair sat up straight; if his mop didn’t already stand on end, it most assuredly would have. He knew who held his audience and the reputation of this dodgy Duros; it did not ease his fears as Cad Bane stood transfixed, and very serious.

“It’s only fair; I was told she was valuable,” he quickly stated, trying to keep the panic from wholly overtaking him.

Cad Bane’s austere red eyes narrowed. “Told by whom,” he barked the question.

The man dared to shrug, “heard it through the grape vine,” he said simply, so far remaining calm and collected with all his wits about him, but not for long.

“Draw,” the gunslinger echoed.

Green Hair stood up on his dais, one level above the plane on which Cad Bane watched, attentive. He had the nerve to brandish his pointer-finger, extending it to put the blame to Bane.

“Now, wait a minute! You don’t give orders around here, I’m the one who—” That finger was blown clean-off, the Raptor’s leader staring on in shock. The wound was already cauterized; the intense heat of the plasma shot had staunched the flow of blood.

“Don’ got de patience fer no lily-livered, nuna-hearted, blackguard, disssrespectful sssleazebag,” Bane rasped harshly.

“Get him!!!”  Green Hair screeched shrilly, holding his wounded hand with the one that still had all its digits. Bane was closed back in; multiple blaster bolts flew in his direction. The Duros soared sky-high per the activation of his rocket boots; this in turn caused several to drop down dead; they had gone and done his job for him.

“Too slow,” he hissed.

His taunting caused more blasters to start blazing, Bane zipping and zigzagging as he easily avoided their pathetic excuse for aim. He withdrew his second pistol; this was the end game. Not for him, but for the whole of Green Hair’s men.

Multiple rounds were fired; they were continuous. Bane’s LL-30 BlasTech pistols had been modified to suit his needs; they would never overheat. One man went down, and then another; they were dropping like Bahl flies, straight down onto the ornate carpet.

People screamed; innocents, supposedly, though this place was a rumpus room full of crooks and thieves. They dashed about like nunas with their heads cut off, knocking one another over as they scrambled to get out. Still, they had no need to worry; Bane never missed his target, and currently his sights were set on one particular maggot trying to escape his wrath.

Green Hair ran opposite, toward the back of the establishment. Bane assumed there was a hidden exit, or a tunnel he was privy to. With all his enforcers dead, the gutless sack of bantha dung had high-tailed it -- too bad for him he wasn’t faster than Cad Bane’s lariat.

With the actuation of his wrist gauntlet, he let his whipcord launch. It wound around the slimy bastard's ankles, causing him to trip over his own two feet. Bane landed gracefully; he reeled him in, the nails of Green Hair’s remaining fingers digging into the fancy rug.

It was no use; Cad Bane tugged and hauled him back. His quarry hemmed and hawed as he tried to switch his story.

“I don’t know anything!” Green Hair proclaimed to ears now deaf, hidden beneath Bane’s insulated cap and his overly large hat.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Bane snorted as he used his other arm to shoot a stream of grisly flames; they ignited the perps pants, setting them ablaze.

Green Hair screamed and yelled, twisting and turning, although he was still lassoed. He managed to bat the flames out, panting, swearing, and now met face to face with Bane as he dragged him to square up.

“Who sent ye’ afta’ Ordel,” Bane asked again.

“I don’t know, I don’t—”

Bane prepared for the smell of burning flesh. “Liar, liar, face on—” 

“WAIT!”  the asshole bellowed, deciding to change his tune to one more favorable. He breathed in and out, trying to settle himself down as two red eyes, bright as starlight, radiated hatred; this bastard’s luck had just run out-- Cad Bane was not merciful.

“Some guy, old guy. Talked with a funny accent.”

“Ah wanna name,” Bane sizzed angrily.

“Don’t have one— he said she was an engineer! Told us to watch the news. Said she’s valuable to the Empire and they would pay hefty credits to get her back! She’s a brainiac!” he explained hurriedly.

“Yer right stupid, ain’cha. Ye’ think de Empire ain’t gonna just storm yer lil’ hideout if dhey want ‘er?”

Bane glared deep into his eyes; he would both see and sense his fear. People who were scared often withheld information without the proper motivation, but the bounty hunter found he could be quite persuasive.

“Ye’ suppose dhey take kindly to extortion?”

The Duros retrieved one holstered pistol, planting it against the side of Green Hair’s spiky head. He bared his fangs; he had no qualms with offing him.

“And she’s ah brainiac yer men used an’ abused,” he hissed. “Dhere ain’t no lady who deserves dhat, not even an Imp,’ he spat.

“Now—” Bane’s words took on a darker tone, “—give me’a name, or Ah’ll assume yer de one t’answer fer all. dhose. sins,” he finished.

Green Hair truly didn’t have one, just a pseudo he had given him, and what he could remember of his unremarkable appearance.

“I dunno, man! He reached out to me; his frequency was encrypted. I shoulda known this shit was a trap!”

Bane shook and rattled him, a threat to do him in. “Now he’s gettin’ it.”

“Said I could call him-- call him Willy,” Green Hair imparted. “Maybe, he—”

“Maybe he jus’ couldn’ do it ‘imself and knew ye’ were an idiot,” Bane filled in the blanks, throwing the so-called leader of the Raptor’s back down upon the ground. If you took the time to put two and two together, it all made sense; it was an inside job, the suggestion made by one of your trusted colleagues.

“Please, don’t kill me,” the white-livered Green Hair begged.

Bane glanced down at him as if he forgot that he was there. About that time they had a visitor. One unhappy Hutt came slipping and sliding down the carpet, Yanth, the owner of the Tusken Oasis nightclub.

“Explain this!” he thundered in Galactic Basic.

Bane knew Yanth was a Vigo, one of nine, and part of Black Sun’s leadership. He was wealthy and held in high esteem. He oversaw the organization’s operations in this sector of the galaxy. He reported directly to the Underlord; it paid off to know your stuff, as Cad Bane did not want to piss him off.

“Dhis one ‘ere started it,” Bane began, yanking Green Hair up again to toss directly into the hands of one of his two men.

“Was gonna haul him in,” the Duros said all calm and casual, glancing at the shed that lined his fingertips.

“Reckon he owes ye’ some money,” Bane finalized.

“I know you,” the Hutt informed him. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

“Cad Bane, at yer service,” the gunslinger rejoined.

“Hey, that’s not—” Green Hair interrupted.

One of Yanth the Hutt’s men backhanded him across the face; he was nearly knocked out cold, blood spewing from his lips. He now hung limply in the arms of a four-limbed Besalisk. Bane grinned as Green Hair groaned; he couldn’t help it.

“Then I suppose I should thank you for getting the situation under control before it got out of hand,” the slimy Hutt-lord said.

“Tweren’t nothin’,” Bane said with a tip of his wide hat. “Consider it a gift,” he proffered, pulling out a toothpick from the inside pocket of his jacket. “So’ry ‘bout de bodies,” he added, placing his wooden chew toy in his mouth; the Hutt finally took one long glance around.

“I’ve seen worse,” he commented.

“Ah’m sure ye’ have,” Bane quipped offhand. Then, he produced a copy of his calling card; he offered it to Yanth as a way to keep the peace between them.

“If ye’ ever find yerself needin’ a bounty hunta’, give me a buzz,” Bane stated, twirling on his heel for his coat to swirl; he loved making a grand exit; he was known for his showmanship.

Bane walked, alert. He kept his eyes forward, but he was focused on his rear. His ears were sharp and his senses were perceptive. If Yanth tried to turn on him as he made his way, he would be ready, but the only thing he heard was Green Hair yelling as he was dragged along the floor.

With the Hutt in charge, he was in for his comeuppance; Bane did not pity him.

---

Once outside, Bane was unaware his worries would intensify. His first order of business had been to comm his ship and his little droid, but there had been no answer.

“Todo, how’s de lil’ hellcat doin’. Finished ‘ere,” he started, waiting patiently before he became impatient. He could not think of an excuse to be ignored, unless there was a heap of trouble brewing.

“Todo, where are ye’? Answer de comm,” Bane demanded of his companion.

For a few moments, he stopped to wonder; just who among your ranks had it out to kill you? Truth be told, this job was getting out of hand. He had a mind to leave it all behind.

Then, he remembered your annoyingly attractive face, your buxom tits, and all your assets. He would not admit it to himself, but he had somehow formed a slight attachment; he wanted to see you safe if nothing else, you had paid him to do no less.

“Todo…”  He rang his ship a second time, his droid’s name spoken with mild panic. He should have known better than to leave the two of you alone; his scales prickled as he thought of all the things that could go wrong. He had no idea about your hunger, or the lengths that you would go to get a meal, nor did he realize you had solicited his addled sidekick to go somewhere against his will.

“Ye’ gotta be shittin’ me,” Cad Bane declared, igniting his repulsor boots again. This time his aim was for his speeder, parked some few blocks off. He only hoped when he made it to the Justifier that you weren’t dead, or worse.

#Cad Bane x Reader #Cad Bane #Cad Bane x OC #2nd person pov #Star Wars #Duros #x reader #x you #fem reader #imperial reader #rise of the empire era #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #Clone Wars #Bad Batch #Book of Boba Fett #Star Wars Fanfiction #Comedy #Crackfic #evil scientist #superweapons #Todo 360 #slapstick smut

[whoahoney]

A Girl Called Honey Pt. 2

Eddie Munson x Trailer Trash!Reader

Part 1

Summary: Eddie begins to see through the cracks in the walls Honey built around herself, little by little

CW: 18+ mature themes & language, mentions of abuse, depictions of poverty, trauma, drug use, Juniors got a gun, slight angst, a little fluff, and Eddie’s pervy thoughts

A/N: this took me forever to finish, this chapter has been so many things before this final form, so Im posting it before I decide I hate it 💀 we’re gonna get into their backstory soon, I promise! Thank you to my pal @boomhauer for inspiring this story, go check out her masterlist bc Disjointed is a MUST READ!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“HONEY!” Jun called to the house one evening as he arrived home from work with the kids. He was the first one out of the truck, bolting to the porch and almost running into his sister who burst out of the house, shushing him profusely.

Eddie stuck his head out the door, passing it off as if he were checking on Wayne who smoked a cigarette on the porch couch. The old man held out his pack of cigarettes, wordlessly inviting him to sit next to him.

“I swear ta God—If you wake up the babies, I’m gonna—“

“—They needa wake up, anyway, or they ain’t gonna sleep later! ‘sides, look at what I picked up off the side of the road!”

“Please don’t tell me you found another deer, I don’t wanna do that again.” Honey whined defeatedly.

“S’not a deer!” Aaron called from the back of the pickup, Junior made Honey cover her eyes before joining him. Honey peeked from behind her fingers, glancing over to Eddie’s porch and blushing at his gaze on hers as he smoked. He smiled, sending her a wink that almost had her weak in the knees.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “What is it, Jun, I got dinner on the stove!”

Cal ran around the front of the vehicle with wide eager eyes ready to explain, “Jun worked on a roof in Loch Nora, the fanciest neighborhood here, and the owners had this—“

“What did y’all take?!” She shrilled, eyes popping open as she tried to get off the porch before they could unload the mystery object.

“They were gettin’ rid of it—it had a sign and all, right Jun?” Aaron hollered over the top of the truck as he strained and the ear piercing screech of metal against metal reverberated throughout the lot. The smaller kids clamped their hands over their ears until it stopped.

Cal finally let Honey down the steps so she could see from the side of the yard, her eyes widening as it hit her, her hands flew over her mouth as she began to practically bounce in excitement. “Oh my god!”

“Your very own dryer!” Jun tapped the top lovingly.

“Wha—Jack! Jack are you messin? Does it really work? Don’t fuck with me, I mean it— if this is just another one of those jokes—“ She pleaded as her eyes stayed glued to the seemingly untouched machine.

“—Yeah, yeah, it works and everything! The owner lady said she wanted a different color for her house, can you believe it? I went and got the vent hook up and everything. Now we just gotta… figure out how the hell we’re s’ppossd to get it down...” He put his hands on his head and tried to figure out from his options of Cal or Janie which would be the most useful.

Aaron’s eyes shifted to Eddie the same moment Wayne tapped his shoulder and stood. “C’mon, boy, time to be neighborly.” Eddie followed without hesitation. Honey turned quickly at her siblings' gazes falling on the approaching figures behind her.

“We can lend a hand.” Wayne nodded at Junior, who nodded back respectfully.

Honey watched them with eager eyes raking over the pristine powder coated white. The knobs were intact and the labels were clear as day! No dents, no scratches— it looked like it came right out of a store. To Honey, it might as well have been.

Eddie hopped up in the bed of the pickup with Aaron while Jun and Wayne surveyed the situation from the sides and found the best spots to grab. “Alright, boys,” Jun started, “If y’all will just scoot it till ‘bout midway, then jump down to help us ease it offa there?”

Honey made her way back up to the porch, thankful she didn’t get roped into doing the heavy lifting again. It had been so long since she had a dryer, sometimes not having the washer at her disposal either. Gone were the days of scrubbing at the blood and mud stains on their clothes in the old sink back home. Gone were the days of frozen britches standing up against the wall in the winter time.

She looked into the house, only having to worry about clearing the way to the laundry room.

After lots of cussing and smashed fingers, the men got the dryer in the house, and all hooked up.

Wayne, being more lithe than Jun, settled himself between the two machines and the wall to cut the hole in the drywall for the vent. Eddie watched from the door way, seeing Honey’s giddy eyes watching them as they worked.

Eddie took the opportunity to take in the home, smiling at the ways it resembled his own; an ugly old couch, stained carpet, peeling linoleum in the kitchen, and smoke stains lining the walls. The little fridge was covered in magnets, art work and graded homework displayed for all to see. It all made his heart warm.

The plates in the sink didn’t match, some of which were chipped at the edges. But they were all beautiful with the floral patterns ringing the edges. Eddie turned his attention to the stove, a smoking pot of Mac and cheese sat burning on the burner.

“Uh, Honey?” He asked calmly, turning to the eager girl sitting on the washer as they worked.

“Yeah?” She asked with an easiness in her voice he hadn’t heard yet. And he was about to ruin it.

“Uh, your maca—“

“MY MACARONI!” She cried, jumping off the washer and flying past Eddie to turn off the burner and assess the damage as she attempted to stir the blackened Mac. “Fuck.” She let her head thud against the cabinet in defeat.

“Y’know, it isn’t all that bad.” Eddie tried to say assuringly, peeking into the pot and spotting the hardened shells. “Shit, maybe it is.” He mumbled, a chortle slipping from Honey as she nodded.

“Is it done yet?” Janie hollered from the other room.

“Oh, yeah, it’s done. For sure.” She joked, making Eddie smile, “It’s like a casserole in a way.” She shrugged, straining as she tried to stir the solid blocks of pasta and cheese.

Eddie snorted and took the pot from her, “Allow me.” He walked it outside, Honey following closely behind until he walked down the porch steps and went behind his trailer. She stopped at the corner of her house and cocked her head.

Eddie turned to her when he noticed she was no longer walking with him, “C’mon, I’ll show you.” Her feet moved before she could think about it, walking around the back of his house to see a few mismatched bowls laying around the concrete slab. Eddie flipped the pot over and the giant block plopped onto the ground with a wet thud. They shared a look and wrinkled their noses before they laughed.

Eddie walked back to stand with Honey, the girl turning to leave before he caught her arm. “Wait.” He said quietly. She scrunched her brows at him and looked back to the pile of pasta. In a few moments, one by one, cats crawled out from the tall grass or out from under his trailer, licking at the offering. Honey smiled at the sight, a few kittens milling around the larger cats.

“Aren’t they cute? The most I’ve counted out here at once is 20! People really need to spay and neuter their pets, man. But these guys are pretty cool, I think.”

“I’ve always liked the strays.” She mentioned, leaning against the house and looking to the west, the sun was setting. Tonight it threw magical gradients of orange and pink, half the sky already shrouded in gray blue. The clouds were massive, the colors breaking through the cracks in beaming rays. Honey sighed contently and took it in.

“Me too.” Eddie agreed. “The strays are always the best.”

Eddie looked at her again, glancing to the sunset she admired before looking back to her, his gaze going unnoticed for a few moments much to his delight. This light made her golden. Her eyes were even more spectacular in this moment, like shining, melting ice. Then she looked at him. “What?” She asked.

Eddie shook his head, not bothering to look anywhere else. “Nothing. Just looking at you.” He said.

Honey chuckled and shook her head with pink cheeks. “Alright then.” She stared back at him, noticing how pretty his eyes were in the light too.

“Want me to stop?” He asked. She tried to place the color of his eyes in the sunshine. She used to think his eyes were black, too dark to be brown. But now she knows she was mistaken.

She shook her head, “No.” she said simply.

Eddie’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Good, cause I’m not gonna.” His smile widened when he saw how she rolled her eyes and blushed deeper. He loved how he could make her change colors.

She stared at him a moment longer before it hit her, his eyes reminded her of raw honey right from the pot. She averted her eyes to the ground beneath her bare feet. “C’mon, I gotta fix new supper.” She said, easing back toward the house. Eddie followed her without question.

Before they could make it around the front, they heard Aaron calling for Honey. “Where’d they go?” He muttered.

“Ran off to Mexico.” Honey answered as she turned the corner, making Eddie chuckle as he carried the pot limply at his side.

Aaron chuckled, “Yeah, like you’d ever go back down south.” he said as he went back through the door. Honey rolled her eyes and climbed the steps.

“Next time I burn something, I’ll be sure to feed your cats.” She said without turning around. Eddie smiled as he followed her back inside.

“I think they’d like that a lot.” He said with a smile, placing the pot in the sink and watching her start anew.

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Munson.” Jun said when they were done, offering the old man a glass of ice water and a handshake.

“Anytime, and jus’ call me Wayne.” The older man smiled with his tobacco stained teeth. Honey smiled right back at him, giving him an eager handshake of her own, “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” She said giddily before running off to start the laundry.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Another day, Aaron walked over and knocked on the screen door, knowing Eddie and Wayne were inside. “Come in!” The old man hollered.

“Hey there, Aaron.” Wayne said as he tied his work boot laces on the coffee table. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just coming to see if you and Eddie—“

“What about Eddie?” Eddie exited the bathroom, looking at Wayne first before he saw Aaron. “Hey, man.”

“Howdy. Honey wanted me to see if y’all wanted to eat supper at our’s tonight.” Eddie’s heart leapt at the offer.

“Oh, I’m about to head out to work, but Ed’s free.” Wayne clapped the boy on the shoulder. “I’m headin out. Be good.” He said like he always did. The screen door snapped shut behind him.

“You wanna eat?” Aaron asked.

“Is that even a real question?” Eddie answered as he headed towards the door.

When he crossed the threshold, Eddie took it all in; the wood paneling, the long worn couch that looked so tempting to sink into, eyeing the long table in the center of the room, pillows thrown around it where they’d sit to eat their meals. He could smell the cheesy hamburger helper simmering on the stove, his mouth watering. Honey stirred the large pots, then checked the oven for her roasted vegetables and dinner rolls.

He smiled when he saw how wild hairs escaped the bandana and bun atop her head, then shifted his gaze to the way she bent over to open the fridge for the butter dish, his favorite part of her greeting him from under her red shorts. He bit back his smirk at the sight.

Before he walked in here, he was looking forward to the canned ravioli he set out. But now all he could think about is the way Honey had something cooking on every burner of the stove, large portions with spices that he’d only describe as homey tickling his senses.

He looked back at the table, traces of the dark brown wood showed through the worn paint. But the green was still prominent and beautiful.

If they were in a larger house, like the Harringtons, a table like this would’ve been compared to one of those traditional Japanese dinner tables, and would perhaps be presented with a sushi spread across the top complete with saki and matching decor. Something rich people would’ve loved to see and experience.

Here, it was just an old table with the legs cut down, but Eddie hadn’t seen a sight that made his heart feel the way it did right now, his heart’s smile reaching his mouth.

Aaron took two couch cushions and tossed them down on two spaces near the end of the table. “S’not much, but, uh, we try to eat together. Honey said something about it keeping us out of jail or somethin’” he shrugged as he settled himself on the floor, Cal joining them on the other side of Aaron with his own bed pillow acting as his seat.

“She said she read a magazine with a statistic that said having family dinners decreases the risk of kids engaging in sexual activity and drugs, so for the past year she makes us all sit down together and eat.” Cal explained easily. Eddie raised his brows at the thought, thinking of how long ago Wayne started the night shift and then tried to remember if he ever ate with his parents.

“Janie! Would you put out the plates, please?” Honey hollered from the other room.

Janie rolled her eyes from the chair she always seemed to occupy and tossed her book back on the shelf. “I guess.” She said exasperatedly, walking to the counter and grabbing the large stack of mismatched plates.

“It’s not like you do it every day, or anything.” Cal said with an eye roll as he joined her to scoop up the tin of forks and knives and set them out behind her as she went.

Honey’s voice rang out once more, “Cal, could you—“

“I got it.” The boy called back.

Honey finally reappeared from the bedrooms, Frankie walking in front of her, stark naked, with a blanket trailing behind him, Randy on one hip, and a baby on the other. Eddie remembered the baby from the first day, though he couldn’t remember ever seeing or hearing it since.

Terry and Tommy ran out of the hallway behind her, arguing about who was at fault for the broken mobile above the baby’s crib, Honey biting back her thoughts as she worried her lips and set the baby in the play pen.

“Jesus Christ, Honey, get his pants on!” Janie whined at the sight of the feral child. Aaron rolled his eyes and pulled Frankie over to his lap, covering him up with the blanket he brought with him from his sleep, smelling faintly of detergent and… urine maybe?

“Fuck off, Janine.” Honey mumbled from the laundry room, tossing a load of clothes into the new dryer. Eddie and Aaron stifled their laughter, Cal disappearing for a moment before returning with a pair of small briefs, and tossing them at Aaron’s head.

Frankie stood, shamelessly naked and looked at Eddie as he worked on putting his feet in the leg holes. Eddie noticed the marred burn scars trailing down the boy’s shoulder and arm. Eddie averted his eyes to the tabletop, an etched face in the wood staring back at him with a downturned mouth. Frankie, now properly covered, then turned to Aaron. “Will you read me later?” He asked with difficulty in his R and L sounds.

Aaron feigned a groan as he stretched, “Oh? I s’ppose.” He drawled, and ruffling the boy's brown hair that stuck out every which way, resembling Junior’s, now that he thought about it.

Terry and Tommy were shaggy little menaces, their bushy bangs reaching well below their eyes, their smiles wide and silver capped. They were currently turned towards the staticky television, their hands pushing their bangs back to see the screen.

Eddie assumed Junior looked like their dad, the youngest boys resembling him the most, while the older kids favored Honey. But it was obvious they all belonged to the same people.

Aaron and Janie were the only two with deep dark hair, resembling each other the most at first glance.

Cal favored his oldest sister the most, through and through. His eyes were the same shade of gray while Aarons were brighter and bluer like Janie’s.

Honey’s eyes always seemed gray and heavy, though they never lacked depth, containing a story to be told about whoever had stolen the light from behind them. Nevertheless, Eddie always loved the color gray.

It was then her eyes fell on him, and his place at her table. “Hi.” She said in her southern drawl, managing a shy smile in his direction.

Eddie smiled back unabashedly, fighting the urge to stand up to greet her properly. “Hey, Honey.” Is all he managed, too enthralled with her eyes on him to realize how gooey and dreamy he might’ve looked himself.

Cal noticed before Aaron as he settled back down in the seat next to him, nudging his brother with his elbow and nodding to the scene. Aaron glanced at Eddie, who was still smiling dumbly at his sister, too wrapped up in her attention to notice when he turned to share a snicker with Cal.

Janie kneeled in her seat next to Cal, setting various cups of ice onto the table. “S’there tea and lemonade?” She asked her sister, though Honey didn’t notice, still stuck on Eddie as she stepped through to the kitchen.

“Honey!”

“What??” She bumped into the cabinets and finally looked at Janie. “—yeah, in the fridge, Y’know that.” She ducked down into the fridge to pull out the two pitchers and set them on the counter. Cal and Aaron picked up their cups and walked to the pitchers, Eddie following suit.

“I’ve been lookin’ forward to this tea all day.” Junior groaned as he entered the room with a wet head and clean clothes, a towel still slung around his shoulders as he walked past the table and grabbed a cup, joining the crowd gathered by the refreshments.

Aaron and Cal fell into conversation that blended in with the rest of the chatter as Eddie found Honey again, except she was setting the food out on the table and getting the youngest kids back in their seats— or cushions. Frankie and Randy sat in their places across from Janie and Cal, sword fighting with their forks as Honey settled the baby next to her place at the end of the table.

Next to Eddie.

He blushed at the realization, and smiled at her when she glanced at him with her own flushed cheeks.

“Y’all knock it off.” Junior said from the kitchen, Terry and Tommy dropping their forks on their plates with stifled smiles that showed they weren’t afraid of a little trouble. Eddie and Honey chuckled and met eyes again, the moment feeling shorter than it really was.

Cal cleared his throat, twice, before his sister looked up at his and his siblings expectant and waiting faces. Honey crinkled her brow and shook her head, “What?” She whispered, clueless.

Junior takes a seat on a short stool at the other end of the table and sets down Frankie and Randy’s plates, stirring the pasta and meat entree and blowing as if he were the big bad wolf, oblivious to the googly eyes set on his sister.

“Can we… eat?” Aaron asked with raised brows, his eyes flickering between his friend and his sister. Honey’s shock was gone in a second, only flashing across her face briefly before nodding profusely, “Yeah! Yes—eat. There’s enough to go ‘round but don’t get greedy.” She looked at Aaron, piling three dinner rolls on his plate before he passed the basket to Eddie. Honey reached over and snatched one off her brother's plate, leaning over Eddie as she did.

“Oh, c’mon!” Aaron whined, mouth full of roll as he whined. Eddie snickered and snuck a glance at Honey, her eyes shining playfully in a way he hadn’t seen before, her smile parting to lick the top of the roll and then bite into the buttery fluff she'd been dying to eat since she popped them out of the can.

Eddie couldn’t help but notice how long her tongue was. Or how white her teeth were. And the way her lips bunched when she chewed.

How he wanted to see her lips do different things.

Eddie took a generous sip of his tea, not noticing how Honey’s eyes lingered on his bobbing adams apple. He filled his plate as the dishes came around, not having a home cooked meal like this as far as he could remember. Sure, he’d had hamburger helper, but he never had it served with mashed potatoes and gravy, roasted vegetables, and warm oven baked rolls. The sweet tea was ice cold and so sweet he thought he might fall into a sugar coma later.

Honey had made enough food for every belly to be filled. She waited until the scrapes of silverware against the ceramic plates sounded to scoop her servings. Eddie glanced over to see her portions so measly he wrinkled his nose at it.

Junior asked the kids to tell him something good about their day and something they learned about at school. Honey turned to the baby, spooning mashed potato’s into their mouth. Janie launched into a story about the new friend she made at the library, while Eddie scooped up a mouthful of pasta and plopped it onto her plate. Honey just missed it, checking her plate and then looking at Eddie with suspicion before turning her attention back to Janie’s story.

“Her names Erica! She’s in my grade but we don’t have any classes together, well, we have lunch! So maybe I’ll have someone to sit with now!” Janie shined. Honey smiled at that and nodded, ready to say something until she heard it again, another plop.

Her eyes darted to his in shock as he repeated the action, another mouthful onto her plate. “What’d’ya think you’re doin?” She whispered, turning as the baby fussed for another bite. “Bi! Bi!” They urged with an open mouth leaning towards the spoon before successfully wrapping their mouth around it.

“Your plate is pitiful.” He remarked, another mouthful on her plate.

She gaped at him. Eddie scooped a mouthful of potatoes onto his fork and took a bite, meeting her eye again before he rolled his eyes dramatically. “So freaking good—you should try some.” He garbled. Honey giggled at him, Janie giving Honey the side-eye for giggling out of turn as she talked.

“—and we were assigned our books for the semester, but I dunno about it all that much.” She stabbed her roast carrots on her fork.

“What is it?” Cal asked.

“S’called The Hobbit by some guy—“

“Tolkien! That’s my favorite book! You have Mr. Freeman?” He asked, nodding with her when she did, “He was awesome, he made us read it back in middle school, it’s really good. I’ve read it like 7 times since but that’s probably down playing it.” Eddie smiled, looking around the table as he spoke before he looked over at Honey. Her eyes sparkled as she listened to him, taking a bite of the food he insisted she eat more of.

Janie looked more hopeful about the assignment after Eddie’s review of the book, the conversation falling onto Terry and Tommy as they spoke about rock wars at recess, cleaning chalkboards and erasers for their rock wars, and long division.

“I’s just mindin’ my business when Jacob come walkin’ up to us and kicked my tower over.” Terry explained.

“Yeah, and I didn’t like that shit.” Tommy added.

“Thomas!” Honey scolded with red cheeks.

“M sorry, please don’t whoop me!” He whined.

“Boy, I ain’t gonna hit you, jus—eat your dinner.” She clipped, stabbing another carrot onto her fork. The boys turned their faces back to their plates, scooping up mouthfuls of food to clean their plates.

The baby shoved every piece of food into their mouth, a ring of potatoes and cheese on their cheeks and nose. Eddie smiled at the baby’s light eyes. To his surprise, the baby smiled back with milky teeth and a throaty laugh, smearing their messy hands around their belly.

“Look at ‘em.” Janie muttered to Cal and nodded to the baby, “James Harrison, what’re you doin? Gettin all messy for the bath?” She asked in a small voice that made Baby James cackle. The whole table giggled.

Honey used her napkin and wiped James’s mouth the best she could before cleaning his hands. “Janie will you run his bath, please.” Honey asked without asking. Surprisingly, Janie was compliant and scooped the baby up to take to the other room.

Aaron used his last roll to wipe his plate clean before biting chunks out of it. Honey sat with her knees to her chest as she listened to Cal talk about his first weeks as the youngest freshman, meeting a group of nice kids that were in the A.V. Club that invited him to sit at their table for lunch.

“You think I could hang out with them after school sometime?” Cal looked at Jun first before Honey, though he kept his hopeful eyes locked on his sister. They sat for a moment as she thought for a minute before nodding.

“I guess so. They seem alright?” She asked, looking at her plate again. Cal nodded earnestly, “Total nerds, all of ‘em.” He insisted. Honey chuckled and nodded. “Okay, then. You can hang out with the nerds. Just call me to tell me where you are and when it’s time to come pick you up.”

Cal nodded and ate a few more bites of pasta before launching into a new formula he learned in math. Eddie didn’t miss the way Honey’s eyes lit up the way they did. She leaned forward on her fist to listen intently, nodding along when Cals eyes fell on hers as he talked about algebra I and letters mingling with numbers and how it fascinated him.

Honey shook her head in proud disbelief, looking down into her empty cup as Aaron began talking about their time in Mr. Gregory’s shop class.

“A kid nearly took his eye out with a nail gun today! Who was that guy, Ed, Richard somethin?”

“Ritchie—“

“Ritchie! Yeah! That guy don’t know up from down. Nail when clear through the ceiling, it was awesome.” He chuckled as Jun rolled his eyes.

“I said something you learned, dumbass.” Jun chided.

“Duh, I learned nail gun safety!”

She stood to fill her glass, listening as Aaron mentioned the class giggling at his accent in English when he was called to read aloud. “It was embarrassing at first, but this girl—this beautiful, beautiful girl, Pamela DiSantis— turns to me and tells me she thinks it’s cute.” He gushed to Honey, sinking into his chair with pink cheeks.

Eddie chuckled and nudged the boy's arm, “I heard from Carla and Chrissy that she was talking about you at practice too.” He smirked as Aaron clutched his heart and swooned, the table erupting with giggles.

Honey chuckled weakly before picking up her clean plate and taking it to the sink, slipping out the front door without a word.

It took Eddie a moment to notice she wasn’t sitting next to him anymore, let alone not in the house. Aaron had begun picking up all the plates and scraping them off when Eddie joined him, placing his own cleared dishes in the sink and grabbing the last few. Junior walked over to the middle of the table, reaching under and unlatching a clasp before it popped apart into the two pieces Eddie saw them carrying in about a month ago.

Aaron started running hot water into the sink, eying the pots on the stove as Eddie spoke, “Think I’m gonna step out for a smoke, s’that alright?”

Aaron raised his brows and glanced out the open door and back to his friend with a smile. “Sure, man. Go for it! Hold on—“ Aaron fluffed Eddie’s hair and dusted off his shoulders until he swatted his hands away and rolled his eyes to hide his blushing cheeks.

“Okay, okay!” He fussed, weakly slapping Aaron’s hands away.

“Go get her, slick.” Aaron said, flicking soapy water at Eddie’s back as he walked away.

Junior watched the exchange wearily, his jaw clenched as he debated taking a smoke break himself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Honey hated that she was feeling this way again.

She hated how sensitive she could be.

It was beyond her that physical pain didn’t ache this deeply. Blows to the head didn’t make her this dizzy. It bothered her, that she had no idea what to call this feeling. Or how to make it go away.

She lit her cigarette as soon as she stepped out onto the porch, puffing three quick times and not wincing away when the smoke stung her eyes and made them water up.

She plopped down on the step and ran a hand over her face with a deep sigh, resisting the urge to dig her nails into her palms or thighs the way she had as an angry child.

She settled for biting her nails as she stared at the grass and thought about what pretty girls Carla and Chrissy must be. She wondered how they did their hair, if they wore the skirts she wishes she could afford, if they went to the mall after school to look at clothes and boys. If they were smart.

She wondered how many girls talked to Eddie every day at school. And how many of them he said the same sweet things to. How many of them he shared cigarettes with and called sweetheart.

He only said their names, that they were talking about Aaron. She reminded herself, taking a drag and wiping her eyes as she heard the familiar pop and clank of Junior taking apart the dinner table, and the squeak of Aaron turning on the faucet.

She sighed in relief at the thought of him cleaning up without being asked, hoping he doesn’t throw out the leftovers again, but was too tired to care enough to rush back in to set out the Tupperware.

The tired screen door jolted Honey from her thoughts, “Hey, there.” Eddie said softly as he stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him. Honey turned in an instant, his footfalls growing nearer until he sat in a chair on the porch to light a cigarette.

“Hi.” She smiled, the ache fading. He pulled the chair next to him closer and patted it. She obliged immediately, which Eddie loved.

She looked him over as she got comfortable, his long legs somehow looked sexier as he sat, his knees slightly bent and spread. He must’ve caught her looking cause the next thing out of his mouth was, “See something you like?”

She was stunned at the question, her mouth trying to form all the defenses she could, but none came to mind.

What's so wrong with a little flirting? She wondered. He is flirting with me right?

She nodded instead and averted her gaze to her hands. Eddie scooted his chair closer to her with a lit cigarette between his lips. He took it away and exhaled. “Oh, I see… tell me about it then.” He nodded and waited for her answer as she puffed a couple times. “Clamming up on me now? Cat got your tongue?” He teased.

Honey glowered with a smile nagging at her lips, “No, I just—I uh, I like… your clothes.” She muttered.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek to conceal his growing smile. “Thanks, babe—like yours too.” He said more cooly than he felt and winked. He stole a long look at her legs stretched out in front of her, scarred and bruised in some places.

“Y’know, letting me stay for dinner is just about the same as feeding a feral cat? I’m just gonna keep coming back now.” He nudged her shoulder, his dimpled smile coaxing her own out of her.

Honey shook her head and took a drag. “Well, whenever you wanna meal.”

“Don’t tell me that, Honey, I’m a weak and hungry man.” He chuckled at the lift of the corners of her mouth before they fell again. He glanced down to her hands, her cigarette cradled between her little fingers, her once healthy and polished nails now short, chipped and jagged. He knitted his brow.

“You okay, Honey?” He asked quietly.

“Mhm!” She nodded around her cigarette, “I’m good! It’s been a good week. A really good week.” She reminded herself with another nod. A tether tugging in Eddie’s gut told him she was lying, but didn’t have any reason to believe otherwise so he nodded.

“That’s great.” He nodded.

This is so stupid. He whined internally.

“How was school?” She asked.

Eddie groaned and leaned back, “The usual torture, y’know, iambic pentameter, decimals and fractions, the ever stupid and useless Pythagorean theorem.” He rolled his eyes.

Honey tilted her head in confusion, her eyes seemingly vacant though she was panicking behind those beautiful eyes. Eddie’s eyes widened before he leaned forward, “English and math are hard for me. Along with science and history and everything else. I’m barely scraping by, actually.” He felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

She nodded her head as the tension eased. She put out her cigarette and for a moment he worried she would leave again. Instead she turned in her chair to face him better. “Could you tell me?”

“What?” Eddie asked with quiet alarm.

“What’s.. iambic pentameter mean?” She asked quietly.

Eddie could only stare back for a moment before clearing his throat and answering. “Uh, well, it’s uh… S’like…” he took a puff to buffer and blushed when she chuckled. He smiled, comfortable in embarrassment, “—See I told you, I’m not good at school!” He shook his head and continued to struggle for the right words, but met her eye when he heard the sound of her soft laughter. Immediately his thoughts stopped, his heart pinching when her eyes flicked to him behind the cigarette.

He felt the dumb smile tug on his lips as he stared unashamed. She pulled her knees to her chest as her cheeks flushed. “What?” Her smile still lingered as she ducked to hide a little behind her bent knees.

“Oh, uh.. nothin’— just uh—” He shrugged it off casually as he lost all remaining bits of his facade, flaking apart the longer she smiled at him and laughed at his foolishness. Being laughed at never felt so good before.

“—Saw something you like?” She asked daringly just above a whisper. Eddie chuckled and blushed, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling as wide as he wanted to. He failed as he nodded and leaned forward.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She took a long breath in and out to steady herself and bit back her smile. “Tell me more.. about school.”

“Tell me more about you.” He countered. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You didn’t answer my question yet!” She shot back, leaning back in her seat and taking a drag. Eddie’s eyes gleamed at her playfulness.

“Iambic pentameter…” he thought with searching eyes, “It’s…like a way to write poetry. Like a rhythm you follow or something.” He shrugged, “Your turn.”

“I… uhm,” she sighed, suddenly rigid. Eddie softened, the playfulness fading away.

“You said you like to be outside?” He offered. Her eyes caught his, questions forming behind glossy crystalline eyes. She nodded, “Yeah, yeah, of course.” She chuckled.

Eddie smiled, “What else do you do outside?” He handed her his cigarette.

She smiled as a thought hit her, “I like to garden, plant flowers an’ all.” She nodded and smoked. Eddie smiled, because of course she would.

“Ooh, are you gonna have flowers in the spring?” He asked with an interested smile. He could already picture her long hair tied up while she spent time weeding and mulching— bare knees on the grass and hands stained with soil clinging to her fingernails.

“I sure hope so!” She smiled in wonder, “Tulips, begonias, marigolds, roses, ugh. And all the colors!” She gushed.

For a moment Honey forgot about the girls and even the worries following her from Oklahoma. Eddie listened intently and asked little questions about planting just to see her eyes widen and make more words come out of her mouth.

But then a white Pontiac pulled up to Eddie’s trailer, the top down and stuffed full of cheerleaders and letterman’s.

Eddie sighed, “Shit.” and stamped out his cigarette. “I have some business to attend to, sweetheart, but will you be here when I get back?” Eddie asked with a small pout and puppy dog eyes. She looked nervously from him to the waiting car, Eddie whined and gave a pathetic “Pwease?” that made her grin until her eyes almost closed. She pushed his shoulder with her hand.

“Yeah, I will. Go on now.” She answered softly with a tensed smile, unable to look at him and looking ahead at the trailer across from their lot instead. Eddie’s eyes softened as he nodded at her, “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and took large strides towards his home with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Honey didn’t miss the way two cheerleaders hopped out of the car, smiles on their faces as they bounced over to Eddie with eager greetings. She glanced to the rest of group in the backseat, the remaining boys looking at her shamelessly and exchanging murmurs.

She knew their kind, too well. She hardened her face and took another heavy drag on Eddie’s cigarette before closing her knees and drawing them to her chest, suddenly aware of how short her shorts were.

Her eyes darted back to Eddie, hearing his easy laughter as he held the door open for the girls walking inside. He didn’t spare her a glance as he followed them, the ache in her chest blooming again.

“Hey, cutie!” The boys whooped and hollered to Honey. She didn’t look their way at first, opting to take a drag instead. “What’s a pretty little thing like you hanging around the likes of the freak?” A blond boy hollered, catching her attention at the mention of Eddie. The guy hopped out of the car, two more of him following as he approached her.

Honey hopped up and turned to walk back inside, “Oh, c’mon, I just wanna talk! How come I haven’t seen you around before?” He asked before she spun around, letting the door snap shut before she grabbed the abandoned shovel from Terry and Tommy’s hole digging.

The boys let out amused chuckles, staying on the grass before the first step to the porch. She clenched her jaw and stared the boy down. “I’m new.” She gritted.

The boy nodded, “You, uh, you goin’ to Hawkins High?” He asked as his eyes raked her over again, his friends snickering behind him.

She shook her head no, looking to Eddie’s door again, willing it to open any second. “You should come hang out with us.” The boy said, the other boys agreeing. “Got some drinks, some snacks, getting some party favors from Munson… gonna go down to the lake to swim later. Do you like to swim?”

He seemed almost genuine, Honey almost answered his question, but before she could answer, the screen door behind her busted open, Aaron charging outside with Jun hot on his heels. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Aaron asked with bile on his tongue.

The boy looked surprised when he saw Aaron behind Honey. “Oh my gosh, Aaron Haller! Why am I not surprised to see you here of all places?” The jocks snickered yet again, the scene being good fun for the likes of them.

“I asked ya a question, Jason.” Aaron took a step forward before Honey blocked the way and Jun placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Nope, nope.” Jun muttered quietly, as if to say ‘not yet.’

Jason turned his attention back to Honey, “To answer your question, Aaron, I’m here to pick up from Munson. But you should know all about that don’t you, farm boy?” He asked, mocking his accent.

Honey scrunched her brows and looked to Eddie’s trailer, where the girls were emerging with a fairly large brown paper bag in hand, Eddie behind them, smiling until he followed their line of sight. His eyes were wide when he saw her, clutching her shovel and looking like a wild animal backed into a corner.

“Jason!” The blondest girl shouted from the car, “Quit messing around, we got the stuff.” The two girls looked at Honey once more before exchanging words and smiling to one another, it made Honey’s stomach churn. Jun sighed and turned to the door, disappearing inside.

“That’s enough.” Eddie muttered, shoving his way between Jason and Honey on the stairs, the boys retreated slowly as if they didn’t even want to risk touching him, except Jason.

“Why don’t you let her tell me that?” Jason asked, his eyes back on Honey.

Her mouth opened to respond, but Eddie was faster, a mocking chuckle leaving his smile before he said, “You think she’s holding a shovel for fun? Get outta here, man, you got your stuff, now get lost.” Eddie’s jaw was clenched as he waited, wondering if this was about to turn as bad as he suspected it would.

“Last time I checked this isn’t your property, freak.” He spat.

Just as Eddie was going to speak, the door burst open, hitting the side of the house to reveal Jun looking more tired than anything as he held a broken over shotgun at his waist, casually sliding shells inside, “Yeah? Well, it’s mine,” he racked it, Aaron yanked Cal and Janie backwards against the house at the sound, “—so get the fuck out.”

“—Honey?” Terry rasped through the screen as he rubbed his tired eyes. Janie made a break for the door, scooping up the boy and wordlessly running into the house to lock the door behind her. The sound made Jason almost shiver.

Jason stared at him with wide eyes, fear filling them before they eased as of a realization came to him, making him chuckle half heartedly. “D-Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t care who your daddy is, you little shit.” He raised the gun, “I ain’t afraid of another charge. I suggest you get a move on.” Jun warned one last time. “One…” He started.

Jason stood, the only one still left on the patchy lawn. Jun cocked his brow at him daringly.

“Jason, come ON!” Another girl shrilled.

Jason swallowed hard at the vague threat. “Just trying to be friendly, sir, that’s all.” He raised his hands as he retreated to the car.

“I’ll see you around.” Jason muttered, his eyes not leaving Honey’s until he was in the car, driving away.

No one moved until the car turned onto the main road, then Honey sighed and dropped the shovel with a heavy clunk.

“Fuck, Jun, you didn’t have to pull a gun on em!” Honey scolded at her brothers back, the man knocking in a set rhythm before the locks clicked and the door opened back up to reveal Janie’s tear stained cheeks. “You really wanna be that family here too? You want people to think you’re a criminal??”

“And what, let ‘em get comfortable on the porch? Not everyone that turns up on our step is the welcome wagon, Honey!” Jun hollered as he unloaded the gun, letting the shells clatter to the floor.

“I didn’t say that—I coulda handled it!” She followed him as he went to hang up the gun on the wall.

“Yeah, sure looked like it, were you planning on using that shovel or?”

“If you would’ve given me a chance to—“

“Jason Carver doesn’t take no for an answer.” Eddie piped up by the open door, his arms crossed in front of him as he leaned against the frame. Aaron nodded. Everyone’s eyes were on Eddie.

“He may seem real nice and all, but when he isn’t with his girlfriend,” Eddie stared into Honey’s eyes, “He’s with anyone else.” The words were sour even at the sound. The phrase burned Honey’s chest.

Anyone else.

“Thanks.” She said dryly, her tone cutting through Eddie and making him almost flinch. “Janie, will you put Terry back in bed?”

“Aaron’s gonna read to all us.” Terry said into his sisters shoulder as she walked, the older boy sighing and walking along reluctantly, tossing Eddie a ‘be right back.’

“I’m gonna hit the hay.” Jun said, walking down the hall to his room.

Then it was just Honey, Eddie, and Cal, standing in thick silence. Cal cleared his throat and made an excuse about homework before escaping to his room with the boys.

Honey sighed when she heard the door shut and finally took a peek back up at Eddie. His eyes were already on hers with concern. “Are you okay?” He asked.

She nodded unconvincingly, “Yep. ‘M fine.” She unfolded her arms taking a couple steps back, Eddie spying the slight tremor she had in her hands.

“I don’t believe you.” He whispered, taking a step closer, daring to catch her hand as she turned. Her eyes snapped to his again, her heart pounding in her throat. “Those guys—those guys can get very scary, very fast, you know what I mean?” He asked gently. Honey’s eyes softened as she nodded understandingly.

“I know you’re tough, Honey.” He stepped closer again, still not dropping her hand, “I know you can handle your own. Hell, if I needed someone to fight, you’re the first person I’d think of— don’t tell Aaron I said that.” He joked, smiling a bit when her frown cracked from its place. “But I don’t want, uh, I don’t want Jason Carver—or anyone else— messing with you—guys. So if anyone starts shit with you, you tell me. Okay? You tell me.” He nodded, moving to bring his hand up to her cheek until she flinched away.

Eddie’s mouth parted with a gasp before she yanked her hand back, stepping into the kitchen and wiping her face with her hands as she assessed the dinner mess. She nodded, “Yeah, uh, I will. I’ll let you know, Eddie. Thanks.” She glanced at him as she opened the fridge, putting on a semi-convincing smile before she ducked to grab the lunch meat, bending at the waist.

Eddie watched the fabric stretch over her ass as she did, but the sight didn’t bring him joy the same way it always did. A heavy sigh escaped him before she shut the fridge and opened a cabinet, pulling out stacks of Tupperware and brown paper bags. “Thanks.” He said dejectedly.

He watched her work in silence before walking up behind her, closer than he’d ever been before. He placed his hand on the counter next to hers. She smelled him before she felt him behind her, the heady sweet smoke following him and making the back of her mouth tingle with want. “Honey, are—are we okay?”

Honey looked at his hand first, debating on slipping her fingers through his right there to tell him what was on her mind. About the pretty girls that made her feel bad about herself, about the weird, scary way Jason looked at her. She wanted to tell him a lot of things. She put down the spoon but didn’t turn, their fingers brushing but not overlapping just yet. She sighed as words failed her and settled for “Course we are.” instead.

Eddie’s eyes looked sad when she finally peeked up at him. He shook his head ever so slightly, “I don’t—“ the sound of a bedroom door opening jolted them apart, Eddie stepping back to lean against the sink while Honey returned to her leftovers, boxing the last of it up for Jun’s lunch.

Aaron came out of the hallway with a sigh, “Dr. Seuss never lets me down. S’like magic sometimes, don’t you—” He stopped just short of the kitchen, looking at his sister and then Eddie, “What’s up? We good?”

The pair nodded and confirmed, “Yeah! Great!”

“Absolutely.”

Aaron looked less than convinced before he flopped on the couch, “Alright, weirdos.”

“I’m gonna go.” Eddie said, turning for the door.

“See ya, man.” Aaron said as he looked around for the remote. Honey was setting out all the bread she’d need for the kids sandwiches when she looked back to sneak a peek.

When her eyes landed on the door, she found him waiting for her with one foot in and the other on the porch, his eyes set on her, “Bye, Honey.” He said in the quiet, dreamy way he always did sending a little wave her way. He waited for her to say something back— for that assurance.

She sighed before her face softened, “Bye, Eddie.” She wiggled her fingers the way he did, turning back around before he could spot the blush and smile blooming again on her face no matter how much she bit it back. She shook her head at herself as the warmth faded into that ache again, and slapped some mayonnaise on the white bread.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The next day at lunch, Aaron flopped down in his chair next to Gareth, digging out his sack lunch from his bag as he voiced his loud opinion on the schools ‘no hats’ policy, then tossed another to Eddie at the end of the table.

Eddie looked at the boy like he had two heads, “What’s this?” He opened the top and peered inside.

“Sister sent it for you.” Aaron said through a garbled mouthful of sandwich, bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. Eddie dumped the contents out on the table, a ham and cheese sandwich, a ziploc bag of chips, a small red apple and a Twinkie. He smiled to himself before he noticed the yellow sticky note still stuck inside the bag.

“No fair! She gave you a Twinkie and I got a ding-dong, what the fuck!” Aaron complained, looking at his own lunch. The guys chuckled and made awful ding-dong jokes as Eddie carefully extracted the note from the bag without drawing attention. He took a bite out of the apple and looked to the paper in his lap, only to find a simple smiley face looking back at him.

-

-

-

💖Taglist darlins (please lmk if you wanna be added or taken off!) 💖

@gaysludge @feminist-mina-harker @superbcoffeedrinkersubparwriter @superbreblogger @dylanmunson @miarosso @madmaxoolitchi @bimbobaggins69 @cherrycolas-things @big-ope-vibes @k8loo @loving-and-dreaming @jadequeen88 @josephfakingquinn @v0relino @newshade

#a girl called honey #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x anxious!reader #Eddie munson x neighbor!reader #neighbor!eddie #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson au #eddie munson pov #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff

[vayneoc]

#oc: vayne #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #fem v #cyberpunk v #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #cyberpunk photomode #cyberpunk 2077 screenshots #bitch! i just noticed. why is tumblr eating my reds and contrast?! (ಠ益ಠ) #she's still cool but wtf #pov: you are a three-time heavyweight nightcity champion with elite corpo sponsors and prototype implants #about to be one-punch k.o'd by a random ex-corpo who's pulling through solely on gorilla arms and voices in her head #cyberpunk oc #my stuff #my stuff: vp

[anonymouse1312437]

Fanfiction

I am curious as to how many people would want like a real storyline for smut. Is anyone interested in that? It doesn't matter the person or character but, I would be happy to put something together.

Also how would you feel about a song directed fanfiction story?

Like for example:

Scene: Garden restraunt

Song: Those Eyes by New West

Person/Character: (Whoever is decided on)

Like is that something anyone would be interested in. Maybe even small playlist?

Could be anything. Smut, Angst, Breakup, First meet, Love at first sight, The end of a friendship/relationship.

I am also not limiting the people or characters. You could ask for some mythical creature from harry potter for all I care. I just want something to write that would interest more people.

#fanfic #fluff #smut #william afton #pov #pedro pascal #pedropascal #age difference #stu macher #harry potter #severus snape #severus x oc #professor snape #snape community #x reader #fem reader #x you #gender neutral reader #characters #pedro pascal characters #lord of the rings #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #lucius malfoy

[neverfadesaway]

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077edit #cp2077edit #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #fem v friday #female v friday #oc #oc: valencia #my screenshots #pov she's touching your arm #valencia girlfriend experience #she's not really a pink fan but damn does she look good in it 😤

[voidgenesis]

I may or may not be writing a Namor x Filipina oc/reader who is revered as the reincarnation & avatar of the Tagalog-Visayan sea goddess Amansinaya because of her mutant water based abilities (basically how K'uk'ulkan is to the people of Talokan)

She's born during the early days of the Spanish colonization as a child of a babaylan who refused to abandoned their traditional faith & practices. Along with other surviving shamans they prayed to the heavens for salvation from the colonizers.

So when the reader's abilities as mutant came out in her puberty they saw her as a saviour sent by the gods.

👀 my filo namor enjoyers what do we think...

#im very conflicted whether to write this on 2nd or 3rd pov #i had this idea since i saw bp2 but didn't push it #then i saw multiple namor x filo reader works here and it encouraged me to work on this 🥺🥺🥺 #namor x reader #namor x fem!reader #namor x you #namor x filipino!reader #namor x filo!reader #namor x oc #namor x original character #k'uk'ulkan x reader #namor x poc!reader #namor x asian!reader

[lost-eternity]

~~~~~~

Alright. I have been seeing a lot of “x Miguel O’Hara” spiderverse content recently so I decided to add my measly contribution to the pile. 

Although, I have to wonder if anyone will be interested because this is “x OC” and not “x Y/N” so I guess we will find out lmaooooo. 

This takes place about a year-ish prior to the events of ATSV (honestly the timeline is extremely unclear). So without further ado, this is the story of how my spidersona joined the spider society. lmk if you want part two...

~~~~~

(she looks so wonderfully judgmental, I love her)

TW: gore mostly. Cyberpunk 2077 vibes (is that a TW? idk). Canon compliant (I think). Is bad Spanish a TW? Look, I’m trying my best. 

Miguel is investigating an anomalous occurrence on Earth 1342 but encounters some unexpected interference in the form of a spider-person who seems to be working for the bad guy. Witty banter and hijinks ensue. Not sure if this qualifies as enemies to lovers because the flirting is pretty mild. But sure.

A Hero For Hire : Part One of (?)

It was supposed to be an open and shut case.

Get in, secure the anomaly, get out.

Unfortunately, fate is a cruel mistress and things seldom work out according to plan. 

Earth - 1342. 

Year - 2089.

Miguel was scouting the expansive, sterile building from a balcony a few terraces away. The astringent odors of antiseptics bathed his tongue, detectable from the large Alchemax laboratory even at this distance. 

Despite this dimension's proximity in year and technological prowess to his own, the two could not be any more unlike each other. 

While Miguel's home world was a pristine, shining beacon of scientific innovation and social progression, this world bore unmistakable signs of untempered capitalism and corporate corruption. Neon-lit arteries pulsed with vibrant lucidity, casting an iridescent glow upon the restless streets below. The sleepless silhouettes of humanity hurried amidst a symphony of flickering lights and perpetually wailing sirens. The cityscape stretched before him like a mesmerizing tapestry of steel, glass, and unfettered product placement. Futuristic advertisements flickered and morphed upon gigantic holographic billboards, selling the empty promise of personal fulfillment via unregulated consumerism.

Unlike the brisk, clean atmosphere of his home dimension, the air here felt heavy and dirty in his lungs. The pungent odor of gasoline and pollution plagued each inhale, causing a discomforting rattling within his chest. 

Beneath its flashy, neon veneer, the city of Novus York masked a much darker underbelly. Corporate giants loomed like monolithic gods, their towers piercing the skyline. Here, power and greed walk hand in hand, and morality often yields to the whims of the corporations. 

It was one of the more dangerous universes currently on his radar. And as such, Miguel had insisted on this retrieval being a solo mission, unwilling to risk the safety of the others. Even so, this universe hadn't quite figured out the fundamentals of multiversal travel. Alchemax was experimenting on the anomalies they find by chance following the super collider accident in universe 1610. Miguel couldn't allow this line of experimentation to continue lest he risk another accident. It shouldn't have happened in the first place and therefore cannot be allowed to persist.

The retrieval of the captive anomaly and the subsequent destruction of any data collected should have been easy enough. 

Should have.

It wasn't. 

It never is.

Miguel heard the mechanical whirring of robotic limbs before he saw their approach. With sudden ferocity, a tremendous force struck his chest, propelling him through a nearby window. The shattering of glass created a whirlwind of sharp-edged fragments that tore into his suit, leaving a trail of crimson in their wake. His back found resistance against the brick wall within the building behind him, slamming into the weathered stones with a powerful thud. His shoulder clipped against the fire alarm, smashing through the box and triggering the loud droning ring. Misters overhead deployed, sending a spray of water showering down into the hall. Pain surged through him as the shards of glass burrowed into his clothing, each inflicting relentless stings that jolted up his spine.

Desperation fueled his reflexes and he managed to seize one of the menacing mechanical spider limbs that loomed above him. Blood leaked through his hand as the bladed weapon punctured his suit, causing a static fizzle of colored particles to glitch along his fingertips. 

He could feel her breath ghosting across his cheek as his assaulter pushed him harder against the wall. One of her mechanical limbs impaled straight through the stone by his left shoulder, gaining purchase among the concrete. Her lips were peeled back in an awful hiss. The mask hiding Miguel's face concealed the intensity of his emotions, but he knew that the same fierce determination reflected in his opponent's visage mirrored his own. A third mechanical limb raised above her head, poised to strike through his heart. Miguel yanked down on the limb within his grasp, jerking her toward him. He slammed his head against her face, causing her grip on him to slacken. Momentarily disoriented, she stumbled backward. In one swift motion, Miguel seized the opportunity, delivering a powerful kick that sent her hurtling through a nearby door and tumbling into the hallway beyond.

Without hesitation, Miguel leaped through the fractured doorway. He tucked into a roll as his shoulder came in contact with the linoleum below, allowing the momentum to assist him in regaining his footing. His arm blades glinted malevolently in the dim light, and with decisive precision, he brought them crashing down upon her. The collision was cataclysmic, shattering her body into hundreds of reflective shards that scattered and dispersed into the night.

What the hell?!

That was not normal.

Agonizing, fiery pain surged through Miguel's shoulder, eliciting a guttural howl that echoed in the corridor. A substance that looked suspiciously like webbing had been set ablaze and attached to his back. Desperately, he tried to dislodge the fiery webbing, his hands futilely grappling with the sticky, burning mass. Even the water raining from above did little to avail the fire. Instead, it further exacerbated the situation. The water caused molten flames to drip down the contours in his muscles, singing the unstable molecule fabric of his suit. Despite glitching, the suit adapted quickly, actively repairing itself in the process. 

“I'm afraid that water isn't going to do much for you here, darling.”  Her taunting tone hardly registered in Miguel's pain-stricken mind. “ Thermite causes class D fires."

Miguel slammed his back into the wall, peeling off the webbing and smothering the flames at the cost of scorching his suit even further. He finally had a moment of reprieve, his head snapping up to her. 

She sat leisurely on the ceiling, adhering to its water-slick surface with her fingertips. All of this confirmed his suspicions. She was a kindred spirit, a spiderman variant like himself, yet this newfound knowledge left him with more questions than answers.

 She tilted her head at him, her full lips parting into an easy grin. Elsewise, her face was entirely obscured by an enigmatic mask that perched delicately on the bridge of her nose. Neatly tucking her mechanical bladed limbs at her sides, she spoke with a casual tone, “you’re new. I haven’t seen you around before.”

Miguel's frustration boiled over, exasperated by the apparent lack of injury on her pristine suit. "How are you... I stabbed you!" 

“Yeah, that was rude.” She purred, dismissing his concern with an almost playful disregard.

“You’re the rude one. You attacked me!” Miguel’s eye markings narrowed in annoyance. 

Her tone was nonchalant as she replied. "And you're trespassing on company property, in employee housing no less. I'm just doing my job, dearest. No hard feelings." Rising to her feet, her cascading russet brown locks fell gently in front of Miguel’s face, emanating a scent of vanilla and cinnamon shampoo that mingled in the air.

“Yeah.” Miguel scoffed. “No hard feelings.” The uppercut came with little warning, but just as before, the second his hand made contact with her, she shattered into fragmented pieces and vanished. 

“Ay, coño!” Miguel cursed loudly and spun around, haunted by the sound of her laughter. He whirled around, desperately searching for his attacker. He noticed her skirting by at the edges of his vision. And then again across the ceiling. And again by the door. How many of her were there?

His eyes darted around, trying to track her multiple doppelgangers dancing along the periphery of his vision. Suddenly, flames erupted once more, and searing pain erupted through his suit as the webbing landed across his shoulders once again. 

 He didn’t have time for this. 

With an enraged scream, he tore at the webbing, lobbing it into the hallway beyond.

His movements, now frenzied, mirrored the untamed fury of a wild beast unleashed. Laser webs surged forth, seeking their true target—the spider woman herself—. There were numerous misses as many of them instead flew through her illusory dopplegangers. His claws quickly followed as he attacked with the ferality of a wild animal. Eventually, one of his webs found the true spider woman, wrapping around her ankles, she fell under the might of his retaliatory strikes. With lightning speed, he shot a web, anchoring it to a nearby wall, then propelled himself with a tremendous force, soaring across the room in a single bound. His descent was swift and unyielding, as he slammed his feet onto her form with fierce determination. She crumpled under the assault, her voice strained with pain.

He wasted no time in digging his claws into her shoulders. His talons pierced clean through her suit, causing blood to well up along her skin which stained the edges of the white fabric. The water pelting down upon them from the sprinkler system mixed with blood, pooling beneath her in trickles of dark maroon.

With an abrupt hiss, the spider woman retaliated. One of her robotic limbs raised above her head and struck down on Miguel, just below his calf. There was a loud, resounding popping sound that sounded akin to a gunshot followed by a sensation of blinding hot pain. But Miguel was too far gone to be deterred, he grabbed her by the throat. 

“You’re supposed to be one of the good guys!” He snarled and slammed her into the ground.

She clawed helplessly at his wrists. “Ugh, you hero types and your binary ethics." Her voice sounded strained under the pressure of his palm digging into her trachea. Miguel was courteous enough to ease up on her windpipe to allow her to formulate a complete sentence: an action which he would quickly come to regret. 

"You must be so naive if you think that the world is truly that black and white." She coughed and tilted her head back. Her lips parted with an eerie creaking sound. Her jaw unhinged, distorting her previously delicate features. The skin alongside her cheeks split, blood oozing up from the freshly torn wounds which curled up in a vile, bloody grin. Thousands of needle-like fangs protruded from her red-stained gums and she lunged forward. 

Miguel instinctively recoiled in aversion, his hands slipping from their ironclad grip. This sudden displacement of weight allowed the woman to shift underneath him; her hips snapped upwards, unbalancing him. He pitched forward, rolling across the floor on his shoulder to swiftly regain his footing. However, as he attempted to stand firmly, his knee betrayed him, buckling under the strain. Hissing in pain, he braced himself against a wall, turning to meet the gaze of his attacker. 

It was as if nothing had happened.

She leaned lackadaisically against the wall, her demeanor composed and unblemished, not a trace of injury marring her pristine appearance. Her perfectly manicured smile exuded an eerie poise. Her coat draped gracefully around her, defying the onslaught of water that surrounded them by remaining completely dry. Her hands rested gracefully in by her lap, exuding an air of serene composure.

"What are you?" Miguel seethed. 

He couldn't tell what was real and wasn't around her. Reality itself seemed to bend and warp around her, collapsing upon itself in a writhing net of twisting delusion. However, she never registered as an anomaly. She was not the one he was after. It made no sense. Why was she protecting it? 

 "I'm no less human than you are." She countered evenly, tilting her head. "And I'm not your villain."

"You sure?" Miguel commented dryly. "Because delaying me while the company you work for unravels reality itself seems like a pretty villainous thing to do."

"Wait." The smile fell from her lips. "Come again?" 

"Is that not what you're doing here? Working for Alchemax?" Miguel's patience was running thin. He crouched low, muscles tensing as he prepared to attack. 

"Whoa. Hold on. Time out here, big fella." The woman's robotic limbs sheathed themselves into a small metallic pack located between her shoulder blades. A gesture of peace. "Why are you here again?"

Miguel hesitated, uncertainty plaguing his movements. "I am here to detain and remove an anomalous asset from this universe to preserve the integrity of the multiverse."

"You're aware of how you sound right now, right?" The woman's tone was incredibly dry and disbelieving. 

"I don't have time for this." Growing more frustrated, Miguel attempted to brush past her, but his body betrayed him. His right foot met the floor, and with searing pain, his ankle gave way, causing him to stumble and crash against the hard ground with a loud grunt.

The woman’s smile was semi-apologetic. "Yeah. Uhm. I severed your calcaneal tendon. You're not going to be walking anytime soon, dearest." The woman crouched by him, her auburn hair cascading over her shoulders, enveloping her in a soft, halo-like glow beneath the humming fluorescent lights. "Means you have plenty of time to explain to me exactly what you are trying to achieve here."

Miguel glared up at her. As much as he hated to admit it.... he needed backup. Pushing himself up against the wall, he reached for his wrist only to find the metal gizmo absent from its usual location. 

"Looking for this?" The woman chided softly, holding up the precious technology tauntingly between two fingers. "I copped it off you when you were choking me out. Thanks for that, by the way. Everyone's going to believe I'm into some very kinky shit when the bruises surface." 

Miguel lurched forward, extending a desperate hand toward the device. "Give that ba-" He could hardly even finish the sentence. Searing, white-hot agony shocked through his entire system, frying his nerves in a splattering of bright colors. His arm twitched grotesquely as the glitching ravaged his body, sending his head abuzz with prickling needles of torment.

"Oh. That looks painful." The woman mused, a curious tilt to her head. 

Groaning, Miguel pushed himself up once more from the floor. "You don't say." 

The spider woman cooed, flipping the device over in her fingers. "Does this doohickey stop you from doing that?"

"It's a gizmo." Miguel corrected.

Her smirk took on a cautionary edge, "it's going to get smashed if you keep talking back."

"No!" Miguel attempted to lunge for it again, but she deftly darted out of the way. 

"I'll give it back if you behave." The flirtatious lilt in her voice was unmistakable. "Tell me who you are and what you meant by the whole multiverse spiel." She tossed the cuff up in the air, catching it with ease.

Miguel glared at her, the half-moon markings on his mask narrowing into hate-filled slits. "Why would I bother with some common Alchemax goon?"

"Goon?" The woman echoed. She chuckled. "oh, no, hun. I don't work for Alchemax specifically. I'm an independent contractor. They hired me to secure the perimeter."

Miguel stared at her incredulously. A hero for hire? The concept was unbelievably laughable.

"I can feel your judgment from here." The woman acknowledged, her smile faltering. "My student loans aren't going to pay themselves off."

"But Alchemax?! Of all the shady, obviously evil corporations-"

"Look. I'm not proud of it either." She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. "But moneys really tight right now."

Miguel rolled his eyes. "I hope the money is worth the destruction of the universe."

"Yeah okay. About that. Why is that happening again?" She continued to fiddle with the watch, easily slipping her small hand through the opening and settling it across her wrist. 

"Stop that!" Miguel snapped and launched a web at the device. The glowing thread projected straight through the woman's abdomen and affixed itself to the wall behind her. 

She paused and looked down at the laser webbing that still remained within her incorporeal form. "Oh. Well that's embarrassing." She chuckled. 

Miguel practically quivered from ill-suppresssed rage. "Where are you?!" 

The woman's illusory form flickered and then reappeared a few feet in front of him. 

"I'm around." She reached out. Miguel instinctively flinched away from her touch, however, it phased right through him without so much of a tickle. "But as near as I can tell, you have an expiration date without this little watch thingy and I can sit here all day. So. Talk."

Miguel resented everything about this situation. He sighed, shoulders slumping. "My name is Miguel O'Hara and I lead an elite taskforce dedicated to the security of the multiverse-"

"Love that for you." She cooed. "But what does that have to do with me and Alchemax?"

"Will you just.... stop talking and let me finish?" Miguel bit back.

Amidst the rhythmic cascade of water from the sprinkler system, her illusory persona drifted upwards, giggling softly. At that moment, the relentless stream of water ceased, finally allowing a small moment of reprieve from the incessant pounding of water from the sprinkler system. 

The wailing of sirens drew even closer, signaling that the time frame of sanctuary here was rapidly dwindling. 

Miguel exhaled in irritation. "When a being is pulled from one dimension into another they don't belong in, their mere existence threatens the canon."

"Canon?" The woman echoed. 

"Established events required for preserving the integrity of the timeline."

"Oh. Fate." She mused softly, still fidgeting with the gizmo. 

"A drastic oversimplification, but sure." 

"Doesn't predestination have severe negative implications on the existence of freewill?" She questioned. 

"I-" Miguel groaned, "do you want an explanation or do you want to philosophize?"

"Alright. Putting that existential crisis on the back burner." The spider woman shrugged. "How do you know that breaking canon causes universal collapse?"

"Because it happened to me." Miguel's head tilted forward slightly, the tension along his shoulder easing. 

"You did what now?" 

"That doesn't matter.” Miguel’s tone was brisk as he evaded delving into the specifics. “All that matters is that I broke too many canon events and now it's gone. An entire universe. It's all gone." 

"Holy shit." A frown tinged the edges of her lips. "That's really traumatic.... I'm sorry that happened to you."

"Astute observation." Miguel commented with a deadpan tone. 

"No, I mean it." Her usually humorous tone fell into a sympathetic murmur. Miguel found it unsettling, as if her empathy threatened cut through his defenses. She was an enemy. “And now you're going around making sure that it doesn't happen again."

"Yes. Which is why I need-" once again, the glitching racked his body, causing him to contort and contract, battered by the rolling waves of pain. "-the gizmo." 

The woman didn't seem to be considering his words. "How long have you been doing this?”

“About six months now.” Miguel answered boredly.

She paused, looking contemplative. “And these people in the wrong dimensions"

"Anomalies."

"-yes, sure. These anomalies. Do you kill them? Or do you have a way to send them back?"

"We send them back."

"And Alchemax has one. Which is why you're here."

"Almost burst a vein figuring out that one, didn't you?" Miguel commented impassively. 

The woman huffed, placing her hands on her hips. "That's a lot of smack talk coming from the man with a severed achilles.”

"Yeah. Thanks for that,” Miguel quipped sarcastically.  

"Consider it payment for choking me out."

Miguel regarded her with a deadpan stare. "Those two things don't even remotely equate.”

She barked out a laugh. "Stop making me like you." 

"No. You stop-” He didn’t allow himself to finish that sentence. “Fine. Just give me back the gizmo." He extended a hand out toward her, despite knowing that both she and the gizmo she currently possessed were illusory. The meaning behind the gesture remained the same. 

The woman hummed softly. "I will. But then what do we do next?"

"I apprehend the anomaly. You stay out of my way." Miguel dug his talons into the wall, using the extra purchase to heave himself up right. 

The illusion did not look impressed. "Limping like that? You won't get really far. I'll deal with it. It's my mess. I'll clean it up."

"You're untrained and sloppy. You will be doing no such thing." Miguel pushed forward, using contact against the wall to pull himself along. 

She chortled. "If I'm the sloppy one, then you must be really embarrassed right now." 

"Cállate!" Miguel growled. "You fight dirty."

"I fight to survive." She replied softly, her sudden seriousness in her tone drew Miguel to a brief standstill. "I got this. I'll bring back your doohickey as soon as I am able."

"It's a gizmo!" 

"Yeah. Okay." The illusion flickered and then vanished. 

Miguel let out an outraged roar, slamming his fist against the wall "La chica estúpida se va a matar a sí misma." He grumbled.

#miguel o'hara #miguel #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #atsv #atsv spoilers #no beta we die like miguels daughter #miguel x oc #miguel o hara x oc #fem oc x miguel o hara #miguel o hara x yn #across the spiderverse #spider-man: across the spider-verse #miguel o hara imagine #miguel o hara drabble #miguel o hara POV

[theviridianbunny]

I think we're doomed, and now there's no way back

#oc: viridian #jackie welles #otp: to this #cyberpunk 2077 #virtual photography #cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 photomode #cp2077 screenshots #cyberpunk screenshots #corpo v #bunny takes virtual photography #cyberpunk photomode #female v #fem v #cyberpunk oc #cyberpunk 2077 oc #jackie x female v #jackie x v #cyberpunk 2077 screenshots #pov: its act 3- Viridian knows shes dying and resigned herself to her fate- but her lover is trying to help her through it- #they will find a way