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strangersteddierthings · 10 months

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The Conversation

Final Part of The Interview [Part One] [Part Two] [Ao3]

Steve finishes putting on his boots, shoves a beanie on his head, and grabs his thermos of coffee before heading outside. Robin had texted when they left Pendleton so they should be arriving soon, and he wants to make sure the dogs stay clear of the driveway, and also finish some of the chores he is being lazy about. The mountain air is cold in February, and the snow is deep, but it's still warm for a winter day in Eastern Oregon.

His childhood house had been at the edge of a little forest. His current home is tucked away in the woods, trees for miles, and the nearest neighbor farther still than that. He's lived a lot of places, been able to see the whole of America almost, and in the process, he's learned that he'll always be a small-town boy. The real revelation is how at home he feels in this two-bedroom cabin sequestered away from any town at all. Sure, he's got to drive a little over half an hour to get to the nearest grocery store, but he's learned he likes that.

He's got 1600 acres of woods all to himself and the dogs. He's owned this property for almost four years, but recent events made him finally move out here. Originally, he'd bought it to make it as another flip project, but something in his gut told him to make it a vacation home / safe haven for his family instead. Robin, mainly, as a getaway from the LA life and overwhelming spotlight she'd started to face as her music career took off. He might be turning it into his permanent home and base of operations, but everyone knows they're still welcome.

Anyway, the day might be warm for winter, but the night won't be, so Steve sets his thermos on the top of the wooden railing of the porch and heads down the steps to the woodshed. The plan in the summer is to update the cabin, which includes adding central air and a good heating system, but until then, portable heaters are in the bedrooms and the wood stove gets the rest of the cabin. There's also plans to start the construction on the guest house. It's going to be a busy summer.

He replenishes the woodpile on the porch from the woodshed and debates chopping more but decides against it. That can be a tomorrow chore. Next is cleaning up the snow paths he's made previously. Doesn't want anyone falling on their ass on the way to the house, no matter how funny that'll be to watch. As usual, Pancake makes the task difficult because she wants to play with the snow shovel. Melody cries until he throws snow into the air by the shovel full for her to play in. Chowder, old man that he is, supervises from the porch, front paws hanging just off the top step.

It's rough going but he manages to complete the few chores, even with two dogs underfoot.

Steve is on the front porch, forearms holding his weight as he leans against the railing, thermos of coffee between his hands, taking in the afternoon sun and enjoying the silence when Dustin's work truck slides into the driveway. Almost literally, given the foot and a half of snow still on the ground. The driveway is long, okay. Steve's doesn't have enough time in his day to keep up with salting it all.

It'll be strange to see Eddie after all these years. He still can't believe Robin got him to come. When he'd asked how she did it, she brushed him off with an it's not important.

Speaking of Robin, she's the first person out of the truck, sliding out of the passenger seat and then cursing when she drops right into the snow. She shoots an accusatory look towards the cabin, and therefore Steve, like he placed the snow there himself, when the fault is Dustin, who has left the driver side with plenty of room between the truck and the snowbank.

Dustin gets out of the truck and Steve faintly hears him say this side, man, less snow before pushing his door closed and turning to brace himself as Pancake and Melody rush from the porch to circle like sharks, barely restraining themselves from jumping up. Chowder follows after slowly, taking his sweet time getting to Robin, his favorite human. Steve can't even be jealous about that because Robin is his favorite human, too.

The back driver side door opens, and he watches as Eddie Munson all but falls out of the truck. It's the least graceful anyone's looked getting out of the back of the truck and that's counting Chowder and his old man hips. Seeing Eddie again is- well, it's a lot of emotions all at once, but they're are all overshadowed at the moment by how Eddie looks... well, bad. His hair is longer than Steve's ever seen it, a little longer than mid-back length, but it looks like it hasn't seen a proper hair brush in a couple of days. Even from this distance Steve can see the bags under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.

He pushes himself off the railing and meanders down the two steps, waiting for them to notice he's waiting. Robin trudges out of the snow berm and to the front of the truck, where Chowder is waiting patiently for his pets and kisses. Dustin has managed to get Melody to stop hopping in front of him so she can get her side scratches, and Pancake has realized there is a new, third person with a set of hands currently not petting her, and is circling Eddie, waiting for him to reach down and pet her but he just stands completely still, heading tracking her in her circles.

"She's friendly, I promise," Steve calls out, which makes Eddie's head snap up to look for the source of the voice. Well, everyone looks, but Eddie looks like he's seeing a ghost, which. Fair. Steve kind of feels the same way.

"Hello, Dingus," Robin calls as she stands from her crouched position, where she's been cuddling Chowder. As soon as she stands, he starts making his way back to the porch. "I have delivered one Edward Keaton Munson. You are not allowed to ask anything of me for, at minimum, a year."

"Steve! Why didn't you tell me you knew the Eddie Munson?" Dustin shouts.

Robin is scoffing, clearly offended. "Am I not famous enough for you Henderson!?"

"Get back to me when you've run a 24-hour Dungeons and Dragons live stream for charity!" Dustin shoots back, then has to dodge Robin's half-hearted punch aimed for his arm.

Eddie stays silent, looking more pale than when he got out of the truck. Steve's a little concerned he's going to faint.

"You been living under a rock, Dustin?" Steve asks. "My knowing him is apparently the only thing on the internet currently."

Dustin puts his whole head into the eye roll. "You spend a month backpacking with your girlfriend in the southern hemisphere and you never get to hear the end of it. I told you I'd catch up on your drama after I catch up on my DnD Live Plays."

"You also missed me winning a Grammy, you know."

"I thought Steve's thing was more important?"

"You are impossible, Henderson."

"You guys going to argue in the snow all afternoon, or do you want to come inside?" Steve says then places his fingers in his mouth and whistles. Melody and Pancake dash for the front door, where Chowder is already waiting. Dustin, Robin, and a still eerily quiet Eddie fall into line to walk the trail to the porch Steve had cleared.

Steve jumps the steps, grabs his thermos, lets the dogs in, and then holds the door for everyone else. Robin and Dustin breeze past, but Eddie slows, eyes jumping around Steve's face as they just look at each other for a moment. Eddie opens, then closes, then opens, then closes his mouth.

"Hi," Steve offers up, shifting a foot to hold the door open so he can wave his fingers at Eddie.

Eddie swallows thickly, then whispers back, "hey."

"In the house, Eddie. Don't want to let too much cold in," Steve tilts his head towards the doorway.

"Oh, right, sorry," that kick starts Eddie again and he crosses the threshold, Steve close behind.

Robin and Dustin are currently occupying the bench just inside the door, taking off their shoes. Once Dustin has his boots off, he leaves the bench, heading to the kitchen. Eddie seems lost, just standing in the entryway, so Steve takes the spot Dustin just left and proceeds to undo the laces on his boots. He gets one boot done by the time Robin stands, wandering after Dustin once she's hung up her coat, scarf, and gloves. Eddie doesn't move still, so Steve pats the empty spot beside him.

"No shoes in the cabin. Dogs track in enough snow, don't need us doing it too," Steve says, then busies himself with his other boot.

He sees Eddie sit and begin to untie his- jesus, he's not even wearing boots. Just a black pair of sneakers. Eddie unties his shoes in silence, sitting rather stiffly next to Steve.

This quiet, obedient Eddie is not what he expected.

"You want something to drink?" Steve asks, once both of them are free of their shoes.

"No, thank you."

"Alright. Have a seat, then," he gestures towards the couch. The cabin door opens up directly into the living area, which Steve has set up as 3/4th a living room and 1/4th dining room, in that a small kitchen table is along the far wall. Beyond that wall is the kitchen, where Robin and Dustin are undoubtedly helping themselves to his coffee or hot chocolate.

Eddie shuffles off to sit on the edge of the couch, as close to the armrest as he can get. Now that Steve can see him closer, he can see he's added more piercing to his face than just the eyebrow ring he wore in high school. Snake bites, a septum piercing, and a second eyebrow ring next to the original. He's sure that if Eddie's hair wasn't covering his ears, he'd see more metal there. Eddie had hung up the coat he'd been wearing but under that is a hoodie he didn't take off, so Steve can only guess if he ever got those tattoos he'd been planning in high school. His entire outfit is black, which just makes him look sickly in the cabin lighting.

Steve drops himself into the chair facing the couch. It's Melody's favorite chair to curl up in, but Steve thinks she'll forgive him for taking it. There's tension in the room, so he tries to break it. "You look like you've seen a ghost, dude."

Eddie makes a weird nose, almost a whimper or a whine, but before he can say anything, Robin rounds the wall, holding a mug of hot liquid and she says, "Oh, I'm sure he feels that he has. I didn't tell me we were coming to see you."

"Robin!" Steve is shocked.

"What? You said you wouldn't mind getting some closure, so I got him here. Does it matter how?" She takes a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Eddie, making a show of how comfortable she is in the space by sitting cross-legged and leaning back against the couch, in comparison to Eddie who is sitting up completely straight, barely on the couch with how close to the edge he's sitting.

"Yeah, it does! If he's not here voluntarily- if Eddie doesn't want to talk to me you can't-"

"I do," Eddie says. It grabs Steve and Robin's attention and Steve sees Eddie almost wilt under their twin stares. He clears his throat before continuing, "I mean, I would have come still, if she'd told me. I do want to talk to you. Apologize for.... for everything. So much I don't even know where to begin, or how."

"Uhh, this feels like something personal," Dustin says from where he's standing with his own mug, hovering nearby. "Should I be here for this?"

Good question. Steve doesn't care if Robin and Dustin hear what they talk about, but Eddie might. "How about we just relax a bit. How was the drive?"

Eddie scrunches his face, a half confused expression on his face.

"Fine," Robin says at the same time Dustin says, "Tense as fuck."

"Those two things don't seem like they match," Steve says.

Dustin moves to plop himself on the couch in between Eddie and Robin, then quietly curses as his drink sloshes over the edge of the mug. He starts mopping at it with the sleeve of his shirt as he says, "Robin is a liar. The tension in the truck is going to linger that's how bad it was. I'll be feeling the tension every time I get in the rig. Clients will feel the tension when I pull up to their curbs!"

"It was not that bad!" Robin swats Dustin. Successfully this time, since there's no way for him to dodge unless he wants to spill his drink again.

Steve just laughs. "Robs, light of my life, mate of my soul, knowing you and your grudges, Dustin's probably going easy on the description of the tension here."

"Well, there wouldn't be tension if I was allowed to say what I want to say."

"Can we go, like, five minutes without your negativity?"

"My negativity!? I'm not negative, I'm rational and level-headed!"

"You are not sounding very level-headed right now."

Dustin chimes in, "Steve's right. Level-headed people don't have to shout that they're level-headed."

"What say you, Eds?" Steve asks, the old nickname slipping out. He doesn't have time to be embarrassed about it though.

Eddie stands quickly and flings his hands in the air, having reached an invisible limit Steve is unaware of, pacing about the living room as he basically shouts, "Why don't you hate me!? You should hate me! I hate me! I can't- why are you just sitting there, trying to have a-a decent conversation with me? You should be screaming at me! You should be mad! Why aren't you? My fuckin' song ruined your life!"

The silence in the living room is heavy following that, all eyes on Eddie. Even the dogs, who had been in various states of sleep, lift their heads and look in Eddie's direction.

He looks mortified by the out burst, and his face turns red. "I-I'm sorry. I- I'm just, I'm sorry. I need air."

They all watch silently as Eddie jams his shoes back on and goes out the front door without tying them or grabbing his coat.

Steve sighs, deep and annoyed. At Robin and himself. He looks to Robin and she looks shocked by Eddie's outburst. She was watching the door, but turns her head to meet Steve's eye, a small frown on her face.

"Well, it's not like he's going far," Dustin says. "You going after him?"

"I don't know if I should."

Dustin scoffs. "Don't be an idiot, of course you should. We drug that guy to the middle of nowhere to talk to you. He agreed to come to the middle of nowhere even though I could have been a hit man hired by Robin to off him in the woods and he didn't even complain. Didn't even question. I don't know what happened, but I think you two need talk it over."

Steve blinks at Dustin. "Since when did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise. You just refuse to see it with your ageism. Go. Robin can fill me in on the beef, here in the toasty, cozy cabin, while you two chat in the cold, and freeze your asses off."

"I don't have ageism-"

"Wrong argument to be having, Steve!" Dustin interrupts. "And take another cup of coffee with you. Even if he doesn't drink it, dude doesn't have gloves either so y'know, warm the hands."

Steve does just that. Fills his other thermos with coffee, taking a chance by adding cream and sugar, before putting his boots, coat, and beanie back on. He throws Eddie's coat over his arm and tucks both thermos' against his body with that same arm so he can have a free hand to open the door.

Eddie isn't far. He's pacing back and forth in front of the truck, talking to himself.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Steve steps off the porch and makes his way to Eddie. "Hey."

The pacing stops and Eddie turns to look at Steve. They just look at each other as Steve approaches. Steve doesn't stop until he's close enough to reach out and touch before he shuffles the two thermos's to his other arm and extends the one with Eddie's coat on it out.

"Thank you," Eddie says, taking the coat and shoving himself into it quickly.

"Brought you coffee, too," Steve holds out one thermos and after a pause, Eddie takes it, too, then almost instantly brings his other hand up to cradle it, warming his fingers.

He looks up from the thermos and meets Steve's eye. "I am sorry, Steve. I'm sorry for how things ended between us, and for the song I wrote, and for-for not thinking about how people would be able to work out that you were the Steve from Hey Steve. You should hate me for that alone. I'm so sorry for everything that's happened because I didn't think of the consequences."

"I don't- I don't hate you man. Not... not anymore. Not for a long time."

"Well, you should!"

Steve frowns. He wants to argue because who is Eddie to tell him how he should feel? But that's not going to help anything. "When Robin called me. During her interview after the Grammy's and asked if she could tell the truth I never- I didn't know what she meant by the truth. But. Well, nothing she said was a lie, but it wasn't the full story."

Eddie stays silent, seemingly waiting for Steve to continue.

"Those first two years after our breakup were- I'm not going to lie, they were fucking awful. I think I received my first bit of hate mail the very same day Hey Steve released. It was harsh. All from the same person, but sent to my Facebook and my Twitter and Instagram. Guess they really wanted me to read it.

"And then, with each passing day, a new person, new message, just as awful. After three days I deleted Instagram and Twitter. Then I locked down Facebook but like- physical letters showed up at my house. I can't lie, it certainly felt like you'd ruined my life."

Eddie makes a wounded sound at that. "That's because I did! What I did was unforgivable and-"

"You don't get to decide for me if I forgive you or not!" Steve snaps. "I haven't actually said I did forgive you, did I? All I've said is I don't hate you."

That gets Eddie quiet again for a moment, then he says, "you ended up hospitalized because of me."

"Robin said I ended up hospitalized, and that's true, but it wasn't- It was more complicated that just being your, and your fans', fault. For people who were supposedly on 'your side' of our breakup, they used a lot of homophobic language. That's how my mom found out. The letters were easy enough to just get rid of because all the bad shit was on the inside, but someone sent a post card, and mom collected the mail that day. It's... I don't like talking about this."

"Then don't," Eddie is quick to say, "you don't have to explain anything to me, or make yourself relive these events. It's- you don't owe that to me."

"I think I need to. I wrote you a song, said I'd do it all again, and I meant that. I want you to understand why. Just. Just give me a minute."

Eddie nods and takes a sip of his coffee. He looks pleasantly surprised and takes bigger drink before his face falls into a frown as he stares down at the thermos and Steve has to look away. He turns and squeezes his eyes shut to continue. "Mom showed the postcard to my father, and he confronted me that evening. It was.... it didn't start off bad. He asked if it was true. That I was gay. I made a choice, then. I didn't have to; I could have lied. I could have told him I was straight and that I didn't understand what the postcard was saying, but I didn't.

"I knew how he felt about queer people, and I told him the truth anyway. I was bisexual. I thought it was a miracle that he didn't kick me out instantly. Instead, he calmly asked me if that meant I liked woman. I said it meant I liked more than just woman.

"Then he told me that didn't matter. That so long as I liked woman, I would be with a woman, and that we never had to speak of this again. And I told him no. He didn't get to decide that for me. He said that he would rather have a dead son than a faggot one. And I thought- I never- surely he was just meaning, like, metaphorically, right? Like, he'd disown me, kick me out or something so I scoffed and said- God, I was so stupid. I knew it wasn't safe, but I was so angry at him, I shouted 'dead or alive, I'm your faggot son so deal with it.' And he- he said 'dead it is' and he attacked me."

He hears Eddie suck in a breath, hears the crunch of snow in what could only be Eddie taking a step towards him but stopping after just one step. Steve doesn't know if he wants Eddie to close the distance and give him the hug he knows Eddie wants to do. Steve doesn't know if he'd welcome the embrace or not. He sucks in his own shaky breath, and continues, "He almost beat me to death that night. The only reason he didn't was because mom dialed 911," Steve turns around, looks at Eddie and sees the tears falling down his own face reflected on Eddie. "As far as I know, dad's still serving time for his attempted murder, so like, at least I don't have to worry about him. And mom... I don't even know what to think of that.

"She called 911, didn't want to see me die, I guess, but also couldn't have a gay son. She sold the house, and everything in it, while I was still in the hospital, and just... disappeared. Robin's family took me in. She told that story during the interview, you knoe, but I wasn't even at the house when that guy with the gun showed up. I was meeting with a lawyer.

"She-Mom was- I don't know what she was trying to do but she gave me the family business. The whole company! It felt like she was trying to buy my forgiveness, except she didn't ask for it and still hasn't contacted me. It's like... she felt guilty about what happened but hated me at the same time. Felt she needed to do something to alleviate her guilt? Or maybe she just wanted to cut herself free of the whole Harrington name; free herself from me and my father. I don't think I'll ever get closure for that one."

Steve quits talking, needs to take another moment. He'd already rambled on about more than he meant to but talking to Eddie had always done that to him. Afterall, before they dated, they'd been friends. He sips at his coffee, not knowing what else to say.

"Jesus, Stevie, I'm so sorry. I didn't know- It's no excuse but I'm just so sorry."

He doesn't think Eddie knows he called him Stevie, but it's nice to hear. "So, see, it wasn't your fault. Your song set things into motion, for sure, so it's nice to hear an apology, but like, if anyone is the bad guy in this situation, it's Richard Harrington."

"But Robin said she just had to help you move to here. That you still get hate mail, and doxxed. That's on me. I saw your list of addresses, Steve! You've had to move, like, eight times a year!"

Steve can't help the cackle that springs from him. He surprises himself with the laugh, and Eddie, too, if his wide eyes and eyebrows hidden behind his bangs are any indication. "I- yeah, I move a lot. And yes, this most recent move was because of a brick with Hey Steve scratched into it broke my living room window, but like, I've only had to move because of harassment like, four times, if I'm counting the whole mom-selling-the-house thing."

"What?"

Steve holds up a finger, adding a new one as he counts them out. "Mom sold house. Scary gun guy at Robin's. The year anniversary of your first album's release. I was still in Hawkins, figuring out what to do with all the money I'd, uhh, inherited I guess, so I was easy to find. And the most recent one. Not sure what inspired it this time. Usually, the hate mail resurges when you go on tour, but it's less and less every time. Anyway, none of those other moves are because of crazy fans."

Eddie blinks at him, a picture of confusion. "But I found a YouTube video and that guy- he showed all your old addresses. He said- I thought..."

"Well, there are a lot of addresses. But not because of your fans. I move for my job. Do you... did you even read the truck?" Steve gestures to Dustin's truck and Eddie steps around to see the printed H&H Project Flip and below that is their website.

Eddie looks back to Steve like that answers nothing. Which, fair, but it would answer a lot of questions if Eddie had looked up the website. "After that surge of anniversary hate, I knew I needed to get out of Hawkins. Robin was graduated, then, and headed to college. I decided I wanted to see more than just Hawkins. I followed Robin to college in Chicago, and uh, bought a house. A real fixer upper but that was fine. I had plenty of money to throw into it. On a whim I thought, what if I try to fix it. I had a lot of free time and if it ended up badly, I could afford to pay a professional to fix whatever I broke. I found that I loved doing that."

He's still just being looked at like he's not making sense.

Steve rolls his eyes, "I flip houses, dude. Me and Dustin. Harrington and Henderson Project Flip. I was in Chicago for three years, lots of addresses for that city. But then Robin pointed out there were a lot of states. That I should see all 50 of 'em by renovating a house in each. She'd moved in with her then-girlfriend by this time, so she said I should go. See the States at the least. So, I did. I find it easier to just live in the house I'm renovating, so I'm not paying mortgage and then rent somewhere else in the same city."

Eddie looks like he's had a rug pulled out from under him and he lets out a laugh that's a little hysterical.

"And moving so much has allowed me to meet so many amazing people, y'know? I got friends in all the states. So, like, yeah, you did ruin my life, but like, just my life from 18 to 20. So, yeah, I'd do it all again. Did you think I've been living in perpetual misery for the last ten years?"

"Robin certainly made it easy to assume that, so yeah!"

"I think she did that on purpose. To hurt you back."

"I deserve it," Eddie says. "I didn't even try to check in on you. Well, once, but when I couldn't find you on any socials I just. Gave up."

Steve shrugs. "I didn't reach out either. And if you'll remember, I broke up with you. Screamed in your face that we were over and went home."

"I don't know when, or even if, Corroded Coffin will tour again, but I swear to you, we'll never play or release Hey Steve again. And I'll release a statement, or go on camera, or something, and address this. I can't make it right, but I can make a change starting now, to do better and be better," Eddie says this while gripping his thermos to death.

"I believe you, and I forgive you."

Eddie nods grimly, then looks from Steve to the cabin, and back to Steve. "Do you think Robin will ever forgive me?"

"I don't know. You hurt her pretty badly, too. We were all best friends in school and when we broke up, you cut off Robin, too. And then, when she started to gain her own fame- I think when she first moved to LA, she thought you'd try to reach out. But you never did."

A silence falls over them, and Steve refuses to break it. He's done enough talking. They drink their coffees 'til they're empty before Eddie speaks.

"Where does this leave us?"

Steve thinks about it before answering. "You were my best friend before you were my boyfriend. You'd been in my life longer than you've been out of it. We don't have to be anything. We can have our closure and go our separate ways, if you'd prefer. But, I think I'd like another chance at being your friend."

"I can do friend," Eddie says slowly, like he's picking his words carefully. "I can. But, full transparency, I think I still love you."

It hurts to hear, after all the pain and the time, and it's a bittersweet kind of hurt. "I'll always love you, Eds. I meant it, you know, every word of the song. But I don't know if we can, or should, try again. We were so good until we weren't."

Tears spring from Eddie's eyes when Steve says he loves him, and they don't stop falling even as he's nodding along with everything Steve says. "No, I know. I know. I just, I needed you to know. Friend is, it's so fucking great. More than I ever expected, and certainly more than I dared hope."

"Come on. Let's go inside where it's warm and chat with Dustin and Robin like civilized people. I need a break from the heavy talk."

"Yeah. Me too. Thank you, Steve. For the chance."

Steve shrugs and shoots him a crooked grin. "Yeah, well, ruin this a second time and Robin will rip you to shreds on live TV, probably."

There's more to talk about. More hurts to heal and things to discuss, Steve knows. And maybe after all the talking, they'll learn they've changed too much to even be friends. But that'll be okay, because if that's how it goes, it'll be because they talked it out instead of screaming at each other in a living room.

If they've changed too much, this time, it'll end gently.

It doesn't stop Steve from letting a little bit of hope in. That this won't end, that they can find a way to be in each other's lives again.

As friends, or more.

#steddie #my fic #the interview #prepare yourself for the whiplash of a full tonal shift in the story as we switch to steves POV #tw: homophobia #tw: assault #Steve discusses his assault/subsequent hospitalization. I tried to not go into too much detail but proceed with caution if thats a trigger #there is also the use of the word faggot as a slur #also! there is a point where steve casually says robin has a girlfriend #this is NOT an accidental outing. Robin is an out and proud lesbian singer/song writer/grammy winner #also.... maybe there will be an epilogue? I am debating.#if you wanna be informed on the epilogue #subscribe to the fic on ao3 cause it'll alert you if i add another chapter

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pythonees · 4 months

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ GUTS — johnny slaughter

WARNINGS: 18+, you're shorter than johnny in this (wiki says he's 6ft), f!soft-bodied!reader, sadistic!johnny (this man thrives off of other peoples pain he would enjoy it in bed too), light knife play, blood play, kidnapping, coercion, crying, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, creampie, typical tcm shit

A/N: please do not flag this for no reason, just block me. flagging my work as mature means it isn't seen by as many people in the tags when searched. Also!!!!, this is really long for no reason (4k words) AND I already have a multi part no slasher!AU in the works that's gonna be bordering on 10 chapters, knowing me it'll eternally be a wip tho...

Taking in a shaky breath, you hold it, willing the pounding of your heart to calm down as you listen for any movement around you. All you hear is the sounds of the forest, but still you sit and wait. You had been separated from the others that you had escaped with, though you suppose separated is the wrong word to use in this situation.

One of the girls that had been captured with you, a tall girl with matted brown hair and milky, bruise covered skin, had shoved you the second she had heard a noise from one of your kidnappers as they gained up on you. You had fallen down a pretty steep slope, thankfully lost in the heavy foliage that covered the ground and shrouded you instead of becoming the bait she wanted you to be.

It takes you more time than you would like to admit to get your bearings back, unable to see anything from under a bush. It hurts to breathe, and your vision is hazy from hitting your head on the way down. There's the sound of a too close chainsaw revving up above you, making the pounding of your head worsen, followed by the screams of the traitor that shoved you down the slope.

"Please, please, don't do this. I haven't done anything wrong!" She cries, as if she didn't just try to trade your life in for her own. You wince when you hear her scream again, drowned out by the chainsaw cutting through her flesh and blood splattering onto every nearby surface. The sound has your stomach curling, but a part of you feels that she had it coming for what she did to you.

When the stomping of the mask wearing man's feet are a distant, you allow yourself to breathe more comfortably, loosening up your death grip on the old piece of pipe you had grabbed as a weapon when you got out of your restraints. Your fingers ache, knuckles popping as they relax for the first time in what has felt like hours.

"That's what you get, twig ass bitch," you mutter under your breath. When your heart beat finally goes back to a more normal level, and you don't feel like you're about to shake out of your skin, you slowly drag yourself out from the brush, looking around the slowly darkening woods for a way to go.

Readjusting your grip on the pipe, you slowly make your way away from the chaos, hoping that they don't look down here for you.

You don't know where you're going or how far you've gotten, all you know is that you greatly regret putting on a skirt yesterday morning. Not only has it gotten caught on just about everything while you've been running for your life, but the humid Texas heat has caused your thighs to chafe something fierce, and it's starting to sting more than the cuts that litter your arms and torso.

Eventually, you find a shallow stream, and you quickly stumble your way to it. Dipping your fingers in, you sigh at the cool water against your sweaty skin. You carefully scoop some up into your hands, not wanting to make any noise as you press your face into your cupped hands.

There's a faint ribbon of red that you watch slowly get mixed into the water, and you dump it into the stream, watching it quickly disappear. You scoop up another cool batch of water, careful to keep any from spilling through your shaking fingers. It's as you're bringing your hands up to sip from the water that you feel all the hair on your body stand up on end, heart racing.

Looking into the trees, you slowly stand up, turning in place. You can't really see anything, but you know you're not crazy. You also know that you're absolutely fucked. The forest is not something you find yourself in often, or at all, really, and considering it borders onto these crazy fuckers property... they probably knew where you were the whole time.

You want to yell, to scream out your frustrations onto whoever it is that's following you. But your voice is dry, and even breathing has started to feel like too much, your voice cracking around the whispered words, "I-" you swallow roughly, eyes frantically looking around, "I know you're there."

You hear nothing around you, but you know. There are eyes on you. Just how close... you have no idea.

The next breath you take is shaky, eyes watering as you hop over the little stream. Taking another look around you and still finding nothing, you continue on your way.

Crickets jump around you as you carefully make your way to what you hope is safety, spooking you every time they jump in front of your vision. You're struggling for air as the mounting panic starts to cloud your senses, breaths coming in rushed puffs. Your heart is pounding in your ears, so loud that you don't hear the sound of someone walking behind you.

You let out a scream when the back of your shirt is grabbed and yanked, thrusting your elbow back as hard as possible and hitting them in the stomach. There isn't any give, a hard plane of muscle that probably hurts you more than them.

"Well! Look who we've got here!" The man says, a laugh coating his voice. His hand twists in your shirt, the collar of it tightening around your throat. With a rough yank your back is flush against his chest, and you catch the glint of his knife as he presses his fist into your stomach, the tip of the blade nicking the underside of your breast.

You hiss in pain, flinching away from the blade and bumping into his chest. The nearly too tight grip he has on your shirt disappears, but you aren't able to take a breath before that hand has come around to grip at your throat. The thick expanse of his calloused fingers press into your smooth skin, the pressure your neck a warning that has you freezing on the spot.

His fingers flutter, pressing into the sides of your throat, and the breathy sound you let out has both of you freezing in place. His chest pushes against your back as he takes in a deep breath, the exhale painting goosebumps along your damp neck. The man's grip loosens just slightly, before squeezing again. Another moan is pulled from you, and you can feel the man laugh against your back, the low tone sending shivers down your spine.

"Oh, am I gonna 'ave fun with you." The man drops the hand from around your throat, using it to grip your upper arm, steering you back the way you came. The tip of his blade is still scraping your skin, the constant pain seeming to send shocks all over your body. He takes a sharp turn that you aren't prepared for, a gasp leaving you as he shoves you up against a particularly thick tree.

The blade in his hand is dropped to the forest floor, his left hand cupping your cheek roughly as he directs your face up to his. His brown eyes are impossibly dark as they take you in, free hand palming your waist. He’s hiked up your flowy, flower patterned shirt, his big hand sliding up your torso to thumb at the cut under your breast.

You hiss in pain, but that only seems to excite him, the man bringing his blood covered thumb up to his lips, tongue poking out to guide the appendage into his mouth. The low moan that escapes him has you clenching your thighs together, eyes wide as you watch his thumb slide out of his mouth, traces of your bright red blood left on his tongue.

“Fuck, best thing 've ever tasted,” he mutters, hands moving to collect more of the slow trickling blood. Your hands are shaky as they grip onto his blood stained tank top, watching his face as he stares down at his hand, thick fingers disappearing into the meat of your breast instead of swiping up more of your blood.

He dips his head down to mouth at your neck, teeth unforgiving against your skin. His tight grip on you and the tree at your back keeps you from flinching away, at his mercy as his teeth work at your flesh. He doesn't break skin, but it's a near thing, a bruise no doubt starting to form already.

“Ah, hurts,” you whine, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. Despite the pain, you don't try to push him away, hands steadily holding his black tank. Hot puffs of breath dance over your damp skin as he laughs, running his tongue over the bruised flesh before pulling back to look at you.

“That so?” Hesitantly, you nod, heart pounding as you let your weight fully rest up against the tree, breathing shaky as his previously idle hand starts to palm at your breast. His large hand seems to engulf you, and you can't help but push into his touch. He's rough with this too, as you suspect he is with all things, groping you while he watches on with a satisfied look on his face.

Slowly, your fingers unclench from his shirt, and you press your hand flat against his chest. You can feel his warmth even through his shirt, hands trailing absently over his defined pecs. You watch your hands move as he chuckles, eyes flicking up to find him smirking down at you.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he starts, thumb running along your cheekbone, “bet you're sweet all over, ain't ya?"

The next breath you take is shaky, eyes wide and glassy as you stare up at him. He hums, head tilting as he observes you.

“Wanna know what I think?” He whispers, head dipping down again. This time he doesn't bite you, though there's still a twinge of pain as he sucks over the bruises his teeth had made. Your response is lost in your gasp, knees buckling at the unexpected current of pleasure that wracks through you. If it weren't for him pressing you against the tree, you would probably be on the ground right now.

“Think I'm gonna keep you all to myself. You'd be my good girl, won't you?” He moves up to mouth at your jaw, wet open mouthed kisses following his path to your mouth, “Whaddya say, think you could be Johnny's good girl?”

Through the fear pumping through you at the thought of what would happen to you if you said no, there's a part of you, a sick and twisted part, that really, desperately wants to succumb to this sadistic man's whims. You know saying yes would be just as bad as what will happen if you say no. There's no knowing what he would do to you, but that part of you frankly doesn't care.

“Please,” you whisper, letting your hands wrap around his broad torso, palms flat against his back as you press his muscular body against yours, as if he could get any closer, “so good. I'll be your good girl.”

You don't fight the hand on your face as he guides you, eyes fluttering at the close proximity of your faces. Johnny's eyes are crinkled at the corners, his smirk pressed against the corner of your mouth, “Good.”

Johnny's lips are aggressive as they press against yours, seeming to consume you as his tongue bullies its way into your mouth. There's nothing you can do but endure the attack, moaning and gasping into his mouth as his other hand continues to grope you.

Overwhelmed by the force of his kiss, you can't keep yourself still. Tree bark scrapes your skin with every shudder his skillful tongue pulls from you, but you barely feel it. All you feel is him, his all encompassing presence that looms over you and threatens to consume your very being.

Through his jeans and your skirt, you can feel his erection pressing into your lower stomach as you shift against him. The feeling of it seems to awaken something in you, a primal urge you've never felt before, your hands dropping from his back to pathetically fumble at the bottom of his tank. Once you get your hands on his skin you can't keep them still, running them up and down the warm expanse of his back.

You can feel slight imperfections on his skin, long lines of damaged flesh that match the scars on his face. You trace over them, letting your nails trail over his skin in your exploration. There's barely enough space between you to breathe, but somehow you're able to wedge your arms between the two of you to trace over his stomach.

The skin there is soft, though you can still feel the faint definition of the muscles beneath. You continue to run your hands up, though just as your fingers dance along his pecks the hand groping you is instantly grabbing your wrist, yanking it out and pressing your hand roughly against the tree next to your head.

“Not yet, I ‘ain't had my fun,” he mumbles against your neck, giving your bottom lip a little nip before he pulls away completely. He lets go of your hand, the other dropping from your face to pull up the bottom of your skirt. His big hands palm at your ass, fingers harsh as they squeeze.

All too soon he's stepping back from you, arms crossed as his eyes drag over your form. You feel squirmy under his gaze, fingers fidgeting with each other as you wait for him to say or do anything.

“Y’look like you have too much clothes on,” he says, and you can hear the hidden command in his words. You're quick to ruck your shirt over your head, the thin lace bra sticking to your sweaty skin. Trembling fingers take longer than you'd like to work the button of your skirt, though once that's open you're able to shove it down over plush thighs, letting it fall to the forest floor.

“That's it darlin’, why don't you get laid out real nice for me, huh?” He's leering at you, watching the way your body moves as you sit down on the forest floor. He seems to enjoy watching you follow his every command, hand absently palming his erection the whole time.

You're careful as you lay down, making sure to stuff your now dirt covered clothes underneath you as some sort of padding. There's still rocks and sticks that make it uncomfortably uneven, but at least they won't be cutting into your skin. Once you're settled, thighs clenched tight and hands fidgeting on your stomach, you look up at Johnny as you wait for instructions.

He hums, taking the few steps needed to stand at your feet, “Good girl.”

You can't keep the pleased hum down, watching him with wide eyes as he start's unbuckling his belt. He doesn't bother to take it off though, undoing the button and zipper before he's kneeling at your feet.

He plants both hands on your knees, pushing them open to stare down at you. You know you're wet, you can feel the fabric of your panties sticking to your skin uncomfortably. There's probably a wet spot too, and you turn your head away when you notice the smug look on his face.

A thick finger presses right over your hole, going as deep as the fabric can allow. Your pussy clenched at the intrusion, desperate for him to fill you. Rolling your hips up, you try to force the finger deeper, huffing when he pulls away.

“What a desperate little thing, hmm?” He slips a finger through the crotch of your panties, pulling them off of you roughly. You lift your hips to help aid the process, hands falling between your legs to cover yourself up.

"Thought you wanted to be my good girl," Johnny says, hand coming up to gently cradle the side of your face, a sharp contrast to his mean glare and condescending tone that he directs at you. Your heart pounds in your chest, legs falling open to allow him enough space to shuffle forward.

"I do. I- I am," you manage to choke out, slowly pulling your hands away from where you were covering yourself. Instead you fist them in his dirty shirt to try and bring his mouth down to yours, whining when he doesn't budge at your insistent tugging.

The smirk that spreads over his face sends a shiver down your spine, and his thumb glides down your cheek to prod at your kiss swollen lips. He tugs the bottom lip down, pressing the pad of his thumb roughly against your tender flesh.

"Open," he commands, and you do so without a thought. He's slow as he eases his thumb into your mouth, letting you lave your tongue over his calloused skin before it's easing further into your mouth. His thumb, thick and long and big like the rest of his fingers, teases at the back of your throat, and you feel tears collecting as you fight back the urge to gag at the intrusion.

He takes pity on you, slowly pulling his thick thumb from your mouth to then harshly press it against your clit. The rough pressure has your hips bucking, not knowing if you want to roll up against the touch or pull away. Johnny doesn't give you an option either way, thick fingers practically disappearing into your thigh to keep you still, gripping so hard you're surprised they haven't torn through your flesh.

You can't stop the desperate sounds that fall from your lips, your pleas garbled as your legs fall further open. His blunt nails scrape the delicate flesh above your clit as he abuses your sex, drawing loud, drawn out whines as you writhe on the forest floor. Johnny only seems to thrive on your suffering, shifting so that he can press two fingers into you at the same time. You're embarrassingly wet, so they easily slide in despite how thick his fingers are, relieving the empty feeling that has settled over you.

“Fuck, woman, you're wetter than all hell,” he's sat back to watch the way your cunt greedily sucks his fingers in, hips rolling down to match the thrusting of his fingers. Wet squelching fills the forest, your soft, breathy gasps barely heard over the sound.

Johnny crowds into your space, leaving a trail of bites up your neck and to your lips. The kiss is rough, teeth clicking together from the rough treatment before he comes in at a better angle. It's dirty and sloppy and wet, teeth biting at your bottom lip every time he pulls back to take a breath.

It's too much, a sensory overload that has your brain turning to mush. His fingers curl aggressively inside you, thumb rubbing painful circles on your clit. Slowly, your hands release the death grip they have on his shirt, unsteady as they move to thread through his short hair. The tight grip you have on his hair has him growling out a warning, the nip he gives to your lip drawing blood.

You hastily grab onto the back of his shirt, tears blurring your vision as you pull back from his lips with a desperate gasp. Heaving breaths escape your lips, moans and whines tumbling into pleas as you beg him not to stop. He presses a kiss to your forehead that's more teeth than lips because of his wide grin, a dark chuckle following soon after.

Hips rolling desperately into his touch, you chase the orgasm you can feel building.

“That's it, give it to me,” his voice is low, and the command sends a shiver down your spine, cunt clenching around his fingers. Your gasps get stuck in your throat, high pitched whines drowning out the sound of your arousal as you cum.

Johnny doesn't let up even after you've cum, fingers working at you at a brutal pace, bringing another orgasm that hurts as much as it feels good. You try in vain to pull away from his touch, but he just holds your hips down with his free hand, fingers working ruthlessly as you twitch and cry.

“Good girl,” Johnny finally lets up, pulling his soaked hand from between your legs. He licks a long stripe up his fingers, chuckling at the fucked out look on your face, “sweet as honey.”

You can't do much more than lay there watching him as he sits back on his heels, quickly pulling his tank top up over his head. His chest is littered with scars, and you can't help the way your eyes trace over each pale line that decorates his skin. They look like they were painful, and you're brushing a hand over one before you can even think.

Thankfully he doesn't get mad at you touching him this time, silent as he lets you explore. His skin is warm and surprisingly soft, a light dusting of hair trailing down from his belly button and disappearing into his pants. You let your nails trail through the hair, relishing in the deep sound that rumbles in his throat.

Lips pulled between your teeth, you can't help but admire the way his arms move as he works on pushing down his jeans. The muscles move under the flesh, arm as sturdy looking as the rest of him. You tug on the band of his jeans, inching them down over his legs, eyes laser focused onto his cock, no underwear in sight.

Your fingers wrap around his erection easily, swiping your thumb over the angry red head to collect the wetness there. The groan he lets out is heavenly, but he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand from him.

“We don't have the time for that right now, darlin’,” he says, shoving them down the rest of the way and kicking them off to the side. He pushes your legs up and open by the underside of your knees, shuffling forward to fill the empty space, “Now you be a good girl and hold these legs open for me, an’ I'll be makin’ you scream in no time.”

He lets go of your trembling legs the second you reach for them, grabbing the base of his dick and rubbing the tip through your folds, left forearm resting on the ground next to your head. It catches on your fluttering hole with every pass, a tease that has you whining for more, rocking your hips as much as you can.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but has only been a few seconds, he slides into you, letting go of his dick to rest his arm on the other side of your head. The stretch is painful, and you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He doesn't stop, merely laughing at your wince as his hips settle against yours.

There's no grace period given. His hips are pulling back before you can adjust to his girth, drilling into you with a deep and brutal pace that has you wailing. You can feel the sharp sting of your nails from how hard you're clenching your thighs, the pain seeming to heighten your pleasure.

Johnny's grin is wide and full of teeth, you can feel it against your neck. Then he's digging his teeth into the flesh, abusing the bruised flesh. You can't feel it though, lost in the haze of his cock pounding into you. You feel the breath being knocked out of you with every thrust, eyes blurry with the onset of tears.

Your throat hurts from your wailing, pleas barely distinguish whenever you're able to attempt speaking. Johnny either doesn't understand you or doesn't care enough to figure it out, laughing at your babbling. When he pulls back you can see blood on his lips and teeth, and then you feel the sting of the bite he left on you.

Johnny presses his lips to yours as your face scrunched up in pain, the coppery taste of your blood lingering even after he pulls away. You chase the taste off your lips with your tongue, unable to follow his lips as he sits up.

“Fuck,” he drawls, the voice drawn out as he bottoms out in you, watching the way your hips twitch to try and get any sort of friction, “fuckin’ soaked through that pretty little skirt you got layers out under you, best pussy I've ever had.”

Then there's a large hand fisting the hair at the back of your head, yanking your head back. Your yelp of pain is drowned out by the obscene sounds coming from your pussy while Johnny uses you as if you were a toy. Pace bordering on brutal, you hold onto your sweat dampened thighs as he chases his high.

He licks and nibbles at the still bleeding wound on your neck, drinking from you as his thrusts shift you across the forest floor. The salt from your tears sting as it hits the bite marks that cover your neck, a loud moan following when the taste of salt hits Johnny's tongue.

Thrusts becoming erratic, your only warning is his teeth clamping down on the side of your neck before you feel the liquid heat of Johnny’s cum filling you in bursts, pushed deeper into you by tiny thrusts. It's only when he finally stills inside of you that you are able to breath, taking big gasps as you gather yourself.

“Mmm, what a good girl you are,” Johnny mumbles against your neck, pulling back to look you over. You probably look a mess, hair frizzy from the heat and being yanked on by Johnny. You're also covered in blood, though Johnny probably relishes in the fact that he put it there. It's when his gaze settles on where you're still connected that you feel your face heat in embarrassment.

As he pulls out you can't help the way you whimper, desperate for him to fill you back up despite how tender your abused sex feels. The trail of cum that follows is quickly stuffed back into you by two thick fingers, plugging you up with his cum.

Large hands slide under your ass, tacky with your arousal. Your hands fall away from your thighs in surprise as he lifts your lower body off the ground so that you're resting on your shoulders.

“Probably tastes even better mixed with me,” he mumbles more to himself than to you. As Johnny licks a long stripe up from your fluttering, dripping hole to your clit, you find yourself melting into the pleasure that he is giving you, no longer caring about what will become of you when he's had his fill.

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