gloomy, easy-going optimist, but his facade cracks to reveal an anxious and jittery nature once alone.
he was always a stoner before anything else. he is normally smiles and always talking about life.
this is a fandom-less character of Clay who is a character in Margaux 2022.
bad decisions and road trips. he enjoys smoking weed. Pronouns are he/him. can you say hello?
"Man we should really get some pringles" - "I turned the pringles into a bong."
“it’s just a T-shirt“ no one knew autumn before that year before when she was found in the backseat of her parents car during an accident she had moved from California to New York City in the coldest of winter nights unprepared. No one had to realize that she had to go through a transformation before she could look at herself again before she understood that her parents were never coming back. She had been placed with her godparents for them to watch her. She had made friends only a few when she moved to the school. A few of them she never thought would do this she never thought that the person that she had invited to her house would tear up her parents last belonging that she ever had. She had left her room only for five minutes roughly to return and have the T-shirt be torn to shreds on her bed, she reached out her hand as the tier fell down her eyes. She had glanced towards her friend who had clearly ripped up the shirt “why did you do this“ she asked if she glanced towards the person she tilted her head trying to understand all she remembered that the person had said was “it’s just a T-shirt“
John Murphy’s voice was a low, dangerous rasp, muffled against the canvas and the oppressive silence of the camp outside. He didn’t praise her; he asserted control, his grasp firm on her hips. “You know you hate thinking, Reyes. You hate the calculations,” he muttered, his breath warm against her ear. “This is the only thing that shuts that noise up. Don’t worry, by the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember the blueprints, the pain, or anything else they’ve done to us. The only thing you’ll crave is this pressure.”
With a harsh intake of air, he drove his hips forward, plunging deep into the tight, slick heat of her core. A guttural groan tore from his chest—a sound quickly swallowed by the sleeping furs and the thin fabric of the tent. He was a force of necessary destruction, and the exquisite clench of her muscles around him made his body tremble with a sudden, desperate need. “Shit, you feel like survival,” he choked out, his hands gripping her tightly to hold her steady against the unforgiving ground beneath the sheet.
He set a brutal, fast pace. They were fighting for release, not romance. The lewd, rhythmic slap of damp skin against skin was a muffled rhythm, threatening to carry outside the tent with every powerful thrust. He hammered into her, seeking a depth that blurred the edges of her vision, dragging her mind away from the endless calculation of risk and reward that defined their lives.
“Take it, Raven,” he ordered, his voice a dark, husky growl that scraped against her nerves. “Take every inch, like you own it.” The command, raw and possessive, snapped the last thread of her control. She reacted instinctually, her internal muscles tightening and rippling in a desperate attempt to milk the length of him.
She barely recognized the sharp, involuntary moan that tore from her throat. She bit down hard on her lip, tasting copper and adrenaline, trying to stifle the cries that could draw unwanted attention. He was utterly burying her, his thickness stretching her open in a way that felt both overwhelming and crucially complete. Even with the physical limitations of her body, she rolled her hips back, chasing the friction, demanding more. “John,” she gasped, the sound thin and ragged with ecstasy. “You feel so… necessary.”
As he ramped up the relentless pace, the obscene, breathless symphony of their coupling became the only reality. The rough canvas ceiling seemed miles away, and the dangers of the woods outside dissolved entirely. She felt hollowed out, consumed by the frantic, desperate need that tied them together, utterly transformed by his possession in the dark, narrow confines of their fragile shelter.
The stifling air inside the small tent pressed in, thick with the scent of damp earth, pine needles, and their own rising heat. John Murphy’s breath hitched above Raven, the canvas wall a blurry backdrop to their frantic, sweat-slicked bodies.
"Yes, sir," Raven gasped, her voice already raw, a surprising tremor betraying her usual control. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, mapping the tense muscles there. "What... what do you want me to call you... now?" Her question was a desperate, almost defiant plea, stripped bare of any pretense.
Murphy let out a guttural sound, a low rumble that vibrated through her, pulling a deeper response from her very core. "Sir works just fine, Reyes," he rasped, his hips plunging, each deep thrust a fierce declaration. "Fuck, hearing you call me that while I'm owning every inch of you on my cock..."
Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling into his eyes unheeded as he drove into her with savage intensity, pushing them both closer to the precipice. His free hand snaked between their bodies, a rough thumb finding the tight knot of her clit, circling it, pressing, eliciting a sharp, involuntary cry from her. The added stimulation sent her spiraling, the world narrowing to this blinding friction, her pleasure building into a volatile storm.
"You like this, don't you?" he growled, his voice thick with a dark, primal satisfaction. "Being filled so completely, stretched wide and stuffed full of my dick, Raven. Completely taken." His words were a possessive promise, a raw threat that he owned this moment, her body captive to his will.
"Scream for me," he commanded, his teeth nipping at the sensitive curve of her neck and shoulder, a sharp, possessive bite that would leave a temporary brand. "Let the sky hear you, let them know who you're screaming for, how desperate you are for my cock."
Her response was an uncontrolled, keening sound, a sound ripped from the deepest part of her rarely-seen vulnerability. Her body arched against him, trembling violently as the orgasm hit her, not like a wave, but like a sudden, explosive decompression. Her inner muscles seized around him, a merciless grip that sent a jolt through Murphy as she came apart, lost to the roaring, all-consuming pleasure.
As the tremors subsided, Raven's mouth found his in a desperate, breathless kiss, her head rolling back in ecstasy. "Murphy," she choked out, his name a guttural gasp against his lips. "...I belong to you." Her whisper was raw, her breath catching. "My body... it belongs to you."
Inside the tent, John Murphy and Raven's bodies entwined in a frenzy of passion. Raven's cries grew louder, her pleasure building with each of John's forceful thrusts. "I only ever want you," she declared, her voice trembling, as waves of ecstasy crashed over her.
"Fuck, that's right, baby. You're mine," John growled, his rhythm becoming increasingly erratic as he neared his peak. "I'm going to fill you up, mark you as my property inside and out." His fingers tightened around her sensitive clit as he drove into her one final time, burying himself deep within her.
"Now, come for me!" John commanded, his authoritative voice sending shivers down Raven's spine. His cock pulsed, releasing hot jets of cum that filled her, before he tensed, grunting, "Take it all, every last drop. You feel so good, milking my cock."
As John's release subsided, Raven purred softly, "Yes, daddy?" The new nickname sent a thrilling shiver through her, signaling her surrender. She arched her back, nails digging into John's shoulder, meeting his gaze with a melodic moan. Her own climax built, urged on by John's possessive words and frantic pace. When he barked his final command, she was catapulted over the edge, her pussy clamping down around him as she whispered, "I am...milking you for every last drop," as she rode out the waves of her pleasure.
The stifling heat inside the small, field-issue tent clung to their skin. John Murphy shifted, the thin sleeping mat crunching beneath his shoulder blades, and let his weight settle beside her. He caught his breath, his gaze tracing the damp strands of hair stuck to Raven Reyes’s temple.
“Well, that sucked the oxygen right out of this glorified tarp,” he muttered, his voice still rough. “You good, Reyes? That was getting close to a panic attack.”
Raven didn't blush; she just breathed harder, a faint, satisfied tremble in her voice. She lifted her head, meeting his eyes with a challenge that was pure Spacewalker defiance.
“Too much? Murphy, you hardly broke a sweat.” She allowed her gaze to drop, a silent, pointed comment on the current, empty space between her thighs.
A slow grin, sharp and predatory, curved Murphy’s mouth. “Oh, you want Round Two, huh? Don’t start something you can’t finish, Reyes.” He didn’t wait for an answer, shifting their joined bodies and pressing back against her, letting her feel the immediate, heavy proof of his renewed intent. The playful challenge, however, quickly faded as the air grew heavy with something darker and more essential than lust.
He nudged her hair back, his touch suddenly careful. “I’m serious, Raven,” he murmured against her ear, his voice gritty. “This isn’t just about survival sex.”
“I know,” she whispered back, watching the shift in his gaze—the familiar self-loathing giving way to a desperate, unshielded need.
“We’ve seen the worst versions of each other. We’ve been shot, betrayed, and died a couple of times,” he continued, his thumb roughly tracing the line of her cheekbone. “You’re the only person who doesn't look at me like I’m a snake waiting to bite.” His voice dropped to a fierce vow. “I’m not letting go of that. Ever. This—us—this is the only thing that feels damn necessary when everything else is burning.”
He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the close, canvas air. The future was always uncertain, a dark, radioactive storm waiting outside the tent flap. But here, pressed against Murphy—the surviving cockroach, the one who always came back—Raven felt a fierce, terrifying certainty. If the world was going to end, she was glad they’d be the ones holding on to the wreckage, together.
Kreacher: What the fuck is dust, anyway? Where does it come from and how did it get into my mistress's house?! All over her fucking bookshelves... What are you doing here, dust? What are you, even? Trying to get into my lungs and kill me in my sleep? Tiny specks of bitch, that's what you are!
Erik entered the claustrophobic hotel room, his large frame crowding the narrow space. The walls seemed to close in around him, amplifying the stress and frustration that had been building throughout their long, arduous journey. Tattoo conventions across the country had become a necessary evil for their business, but the constant travel and sharing of cramped quarters with his coworker was starting to take its toll.
As he stepped further into the room, his eyes landed on the figure lying on the bed. His coworker, was sprawled on her stomach, partially hidden by the pillows. The slinky silk fabric of her nightgown clung to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. Erik couldn't help but appreciate the tantalizing view from this unique angle. She seemed lost in the world of horror fiction, oblivious to his gaze as she turned the pages of her Stephen King novel.
Erik set his duffel bag on the worn carpet, the sound echoing in the small space. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Flicking on the TV, he scanned the channels for something to take his mind off the stressful situation. Privacy was a luxury they rarely enjoyed on these trips, and the thin hotel walls did little to muffle the sounds from neighboring rooms.
Her voice cut through his thoughts as she glanced up from her book, a soft smile playing on her lips. "We seem to be stuck with a single bed," she remarked, her tone laced with amusement and a hint of resignation. Erik's gaze lingered on her for a moment, taking in the sight of her porcelain skin and dark hair splayed across the pillow. He was drawn to her, even in the midst of their cramped and stressful circumstances.
"Well, looks that way," he agreed, his deep voice rumbling slightly. "Guess we'll have to get...comfortable with each other." With a playful smirk, Erik stretched out beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. The mattress shifted beneath their combined weight, causing her to roll slightly towards him.
Erik's eyes drifted down to the book in her hands, the title "Misery" emblazoned in bold letters on the cover. He quirked an eyebrow, surprised by her choice of reading material. "Stephen King fan, huh? I would've pegged you more for...I don't know, romance novels or something," he teased, his tone light and playful.
she looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You think I read sappy love stories?" she asked, a hint of laughter in her voice. "Just because I have a soft spot for horror doesn't mean I don't appreciate a good romance now and then."
Erik chuckled, the tension in the room easing slightly. "Fair point," he conceded. "I guess we're more multifaceted than I gave you credit for."
As they bantered back and forth, Erik found himself enjoying her company more than he anticipated. Maybe this unconventional living arrangement wouldn't be so bad after all, as long as they could maintain this easy camaraderie amidst the stress and close quarters of their work. For tonight, at least, they would have to learn to coexist, perhaps even find a strange sort of comfort in each other's presence.
"Do you like romance books, Campbell?" she asked, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on an elbow to face him with a warm, inviting smile. She gazed at him with curiosity, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she referenced their recent shared accommodations. "We've had a room together a few times on this road trip now, and I would think that, given your absence during my reading time, you've never actually seen a romantic novel in the hotel room."
Her innocent inquiry was tinged with playful teasing as she held his gaze, her expression soft and engaging. Yet, as she shook her head, her tone shifted to a more candid admission. "You don't usually seem to be around when I'm reading, so I guess I just assumed romance isn't your thing."
Glancing back down at her book, she smiled to herself before looking up at him again. "Actually, I'm quite fond of classic horror. There's something about Stephen King or Edgar Allan Poe that never fails to send chills down my spine."
He chuckled lowly, shaking his head in response to her query about romance fiction. "Nah, that's not really my scene," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "Too sappy for my taste. Give me a good thriller or horror story any day – it keeps things exciting, you know?"
As he spoke, his eyes roamed over her face, pausing to linger on her lips, stained that signature deep red. Then, leaning in closer, his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Though I gotta say, seeing you all curled up with a scary tale... it's kinda hot. The way your eyes widen, the little gasps you let out..."
Pulled back by the force of his imagination, he flashed her a wink before placing a hand on her hip, feeling the delicate silk of her dress beneath his fingers as he squeezed lightly. "Maybe we should have a horror movie marathon sometime," he suggested with a playful grin. "I bet I could make you scream louder than any fictional monster."
She met his eyes, her expression soft yet innocent as she considered his proposition. "Hmm, make me scream?" she repeated, her voice light and curious. Then, nodding in agreement, she added, "Only if we're talking about horror movies, of course."
A small sigh escaped her as she glanced back at her book, before looking up at him once more. "I could sense that about you," she said, referencing his affinity for the macabre. "You're always the champion of horror movies and video games."
As the conversation flowed, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about his absence during her reading sessions. She had always cherished these quiet moments together, losing herself in the worlds conjured by her favorite books while he worked nearby. The solitude hadn't bothered her at first, but lately, the empty chair beside her had begun to feel like a void, a reminder of the connection they shared that somehow didn't extend to her literary pursuits.
"So, you like it when I read?" she asked, her tone genuinely inquiring as she sought his opinion on this private aspect of their shared time together. The question hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken implications. Was his disinterest a reflection of his own tastes, or was there another reason behind his absence?
His response caught her off guard, a rich, velvety laugh that seemed to reverberate through the room, shaking his head in amusement at her remark. The sound sent a thrill down her spine, a peculiar mix of warmth and apprehension. "Horror movies only? Damn, and here I thought I might have a shot at making you scream for real," he teased, his voice low and husky.
As his words hung in the charged air, a wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes twinkling with mirth and something darker, more heated. There was a glint of predatory intent in those depths, a promise of untold delights yet to come. The notion sent a shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat as she fought to keep her composure.
At her comment about his resume, he shrugged, looking almost sheepish, but the heat in his gaze remained unabated. His free hand slid further up her thigh, squeezing gently, a possessive touch that sent a jolt of desire through her veins. she met his eyes, her own heart pounding in her chest as she registered the power in his gaze. There was an unspoken challenge between them, a game of cat and mouse, each waiting for the other to make the next move.
The tension between them was palpable, an almost tangible force that crackled in the air like electricity. She felt herself leaning closer, drawn inexorably to the heat emanating from him. She knew that if she gave in to the urge, there would be no turning back. But the prospect of surrendering to his touch, of letting him lead and guide her into the unknown, was both terrifying and exhilarating.
In that moment, she found herself torn between the comfort of their established routines and the tantalizing promise of something new, something that threatened to upend everything she thought she knew about their relationship. As she stood there, trapped in the intensity of his gaze, she couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead, what secrets and desires might be revealed if she took that first, fateful step into the unknown.
With her pulse racing and her body humming with anticipation, she knew that the choice was hers to make. But as she looked into his eyes, she also sensed that this was no ordinary decision. It was a crossroads, a threshold that, once crossed, would irrevocably alter the course of their lives together. And yet, despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, she couldn't bring herself to turn away from the possibilities that beckoned, the promise of a love that could ignite and consume them both.
She leans in closer, her whispered question carrying an undercurrent of longing mixed with a touch of playfulness. The crimson strands of her hair fall behind her like a fiery curtain, framing her face as she looks up at him with a mixture of innocent curiosity and a subtle, tantalizing awareness of the implications.
"How do you think I'll scream for you?" she asks softly, her tone hinting at both a genuine desire to know and a desire to provoke a response from him. Her gaze follows the progress of his hand as it inches upward, the anticipation palpable.
The room is heavy with a building tension, the air thick with the scent of their mingling arousal. His eyes darken with desire at her question, a low, guttural groan escaping him. "Oh baby, I can think of a few ways..." he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending waves of heat coursing through her body.
He leans in close, his hot breath against her ear as he whispers, "The sounds I'd draw out of you, the way your body would tremble and arch..." His hand inches higher, fingertips grazing the delicate hem of her nightgown, a feather-light touch that belies the intensity of his words.
She shivers at his touch, her breath catching in her throat as she processes the depth of his promise. "I'd worship every inch of you until you're begging for release," he continues, his voice a seductive purr. "And when I finally let you come... it'd be earth-shattering. Life-changing."
Pulling back slightly, he meets her gaze, his own heavy-lidded and smoldering with desire. The air between them is charged with an almost palpable tension, the challenge hanging in the balance.
Her lip pouts out in a soft, nervous gesture as she absorbs his words, her eyes searching his with a mix of fascination and trepidation. "Maybe we can find a horror movie on the TV then?" she suggests, a tentative attempt to steer the conversation back to safer territory. But the challenge is still there, a teasing undercurrent in her voice that belies her words. "But maybe you're all talk and no bite."
The implication hangs in the air, a deliciously provocative dare. She's testing him, pushing him to prove his words with actions. He seems unfazed, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his lips as he considers her challenge. The game has been set in motion, and there's no turning back now. The only question is, who will emerge victorious in this battle of wills and desires?
As the heated words exchanged between them hung in the air, her heart raced with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, like a physical touch, as his ocean-blue eyes bored into hers. Their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to thigh, the sheet the only barrier between their heated skin. The scent of him - a heady blend of masculinity and something uniquely his own - filled her nostrils, making her head spin.
She met his challenging stare, her own eyes never leaving his as she whispered back, "And if I say no?" she knew the position she was in, literally and figuratively. With his larger frame caging her in, she was at his mercy. But the thrill of being in this power dynamic, of playing hard to get, sent a shiver down her spine.
His chuckle was a low, dark sound that seemed to reverberate through her very being. "Then I guess I'll just have to convince you otherwise," he murmured, his breath ghosting over her skin as he leaned in closer. her pulse quickened, a flutter of butterflies taking up residence in her stomach.
Without warning, he rolled her onto her back, settling his weight between her thighs. The sudden shift in position made her gasp, her breath hitching in her throat as she felt the hard length of him pressing against her core. His hands slid up her sides, the touch electric as he pushed the delicate straps of her nightgown down, exposing the creamy expanse of her skin inch by inch.
Her eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned down, his tongue dragging along the sensitive column of her throat. A soft moan escaped her lips when he nipped at her pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation was both painful and pleasure-filled, a perfect juxtaposition that left her weak in the knees.
His words, a sinful purr against her skin, sent a shiver racing down her spine. "When I finally break you down, it's gonna be so worth the wait," he growled, his hot breath fanning over her neck. her chest heaved with each ragged breath, her mind reeling with the promise of what was to come.
In that moment, she knew she was done playing games. The challenge in her eyes faded, replaced by a look of surrender and desire. She wanted him, craved the physical and emotional connection only he could provide. As their lips met in a searing kiss, her realized she was ready to give in, to surrender to the temptation he presented.
As her plea fluttered past her lips, Erik's restraint snapped. With a feral growl, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her in one powerful thrust. she back bowed, a scream of pleasure and need tearing from her throat as he stretched her wide, claiming her in the most primal way.
His thick length pulsed deep within her, every inch throbbing with the need to imprint upon her very being. Erik set a punishing pace, hammering into her with reckless abandon, each heavy stroke dragging her closer to the edge of oblivion.
The bed creaked and groaned beneath them, the headboard slamming against the wall as their bodies came together in a frenzy of flesh and desire. Erik's hands gripped her hips, lifting her to meet his driving thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room.
her head lolled back, her eyes rolling shut as she lost herself to the intoxicating sensation of being so thoroughly filled. Each stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through her core, her inner walls clenching around Erik's pulsing cock in desperate attempts to hold him close.
"Oh God, Erik," she cried out, her voice trembling with ecstasy. "Yes, just like that! Harder, please!"
Erik's grin was both triumphant and savage as he obliged her plea, his pace becoming even more brutal. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a fierce, demanding kiss as he continued his relentless assault on her body. Their tongues tangled in a passionate dance, each nip and stroke mirroring the erotic rhythm of their lovemaking.
The room filled with the scent of their combined arousal, the air thick with the heady musk of sex. Erik's hands roamed over her body, his rough palms kneading her breasts, thumbs teasing her sensitive nipples as he continued to pound into her with relentless fervor.
her moans grew louder, more desperate, her body tensing as the coil of pleasure inside her wound tighter and tighter. She could feel the telltale flutter of her orgasm approaching, the pressure building at her core until she thought she might shatter from the intensity.
"Please, Erik," she begged, her words barely coherent. "I'm so close. Don't stop, don't ever stop!"
With a guttural groan, Erik drove into her one final time, the head of his cock hitting that sweet spot deep within her that sent her plummeting over the edge. Her scream of rapture echoed through the room as her body convulsed, wave after wave of pure, unadulterated bliss crashing over her.
As her climax subsided, Erik's own release was imminent. With one last, deep thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he filled her with his hot, potent seed.
They collapsed together, breathless and spent, their hearts still racing from the intensity of their passion. Erik withdrew slowly, his softening length slipping free of her tender folds as he gathered her close, cradling her against his chest. "Mine," he murmured, the single word a statement of possession and satisfaction. "You're mine. Now and forever."
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