#/but he looks at a cow and he's like “well...maybe this is fine actually!”

[meadowlarksabove]

Working rn but I keep thinking about Gabban's relationship with animals. Ever since getting mauled he holds a lot of anxiety/repulsion for them, especially dogs. But I've found there are a few exceptions. He definitely tolerates to moderately likes cows and other beasts of burden. Labor animals seem to be the only types he can relate to and feel a natural urge to touch. Maybe it's because no matter how much he tries to contort himself into the aspect of a slobbering beast, he is also the anxious prey being hunted. Prey animal resonance lmao.

I was also thinking about his relationship with cats. I've been toying around with the idea that he thinks they're lucky since they use them for pest control and signs of there being a cat is a sign of things in good health. But he might also assume they're lucky for himself because it means there aren't any dogs around. He still wouldn't keep one as a pet or go out of his way to touch them at all, if anything he'd ignore them completely after seeing them once. But you know how it is with cats, they love it when you give them space. Now I can't stop thinking that cats love Gabban even if he never returns the feeling, and they rub against his leg and sit by him while he's busy with something else.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

So hybrid bulls and cows are actually separate species in MY fantasy world, not male and female.

So you work on a farm specializing in male cows and bulls, the only woman that’s allowed there due to… how the hybrids behave around any females.

You milk them… but not in the normal way. As the only woman on the farm, you’re the only one they’ll allow to milk their cocks. They produce a special semen that’s a milk alternative, and very yummy!

The cow’s are fine enough, following you around and nuzzling into you, wanting cuddles and extra attention when you’re milking them… they behave so well, blushing and mooing softly, gently moving their hips against your hand as you milk their cocks dry.

The bulls however… are a different story. They’re very territorial and protective over the cow hybrids, who they’ve formed a friendship with. They don’t like most people, and tend to be loners that only come around when it’s milking time.

But your pay is upgraded when the farm owners notice that the bulls have started warming up to you, even starting to treat you like a heifer, keeping you safe and guarding you from the other employees.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone but you when the bulls started being a bit… too handsy with you. They viewed you as a heifer now… but you were so small compared to any female cow they’d ever seen. A runt, stunted, maybe…

But you had that chubby tummy and plush hips, those plump breasts that would look so pretty full of milk…

Within a month of starting work, you find yourself being bent over by one of the bulls, the cows mooing in distress and trying to comfort you as a fat cock enters your cunt.

“D-don’t be rough with her! She’s little!” one of the cows protests, stroking your hair and cooing softly to you. The bull huffs, hot air hitting the back of your neck as he fucks into you.

“Being as gentle as possible… little thing, couldn’t take me being rough even if I wanted to be…”

Your cunt was stuffed full with cum, several bulls mounting you until you were a blubbering mess. Once the bulls were done, you were surrounded by cows, getting kisses and snuggles… but they wanted to mate as well…

They pressed down on your belly, cum pooling between your legs as they cooed and gently fucked their own seed into you. By the end of the work day, you were spent, curled up in the hay with several cow hybrids as the bulls guarded the door.

You were payed handsomely for your efforts, and offered an even bigger paycheck to let them mount you at least once a week to let out their sexual frustrations.

They became more territorial around you, but when you weren’t in the picture, the bulls were much calmer and didn’t attack anyone that brought out food or came to give them check ups.

And when you became pregnant… well… let’s just say you were tucked away in the barn, living there with the cows and bulls as your belly grew heavy and swollen.

The cows tended to you, making sure you received all the human comforts you wanted along with their endless affections, and the bulls kept you safe.

———————

A/N: omg… ask me more about this concept because… I’m in love

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @chubbumblebee @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden

[slutforfinnickodair]

HI BBG😻😻 I was wondering if you could write something for Sam Monroe like maybe he has a prince albert piercing?! I’m going feral rn. Okay love yaa

At the piercer

Pairing: Older!F!Reader x Sam Monroe

plot: Sam is in a little need of some money and after one of his friends bets him a lot of it in change for that piercing, he goes to visit one of his friends.

warnings: oral (male receiving), piercings, talk of smoking and use of drugs, age gap — sam is like 21 reader is more like 29, cheating

a/n: holy cow. WHOEVER REQUESTED THIS PLEASE MESSAGE ME😭🙏 By the way guys my inbox is open so please give me some requests😻

word count: 1.4k

—

“Yo, dude.” Josh nudged Sam by his shoulders. Sam gave him a look from the side before taking off his headphones that were blasting Metallica a moment ago.

“What do you want?” His hoarse voice made Josh want to laugh but he stood his ground.

“Want to bet five hundred bucks?” Josh said while leaning against the fence of their house.

Sam sighed before thinking of it. Five hundred bucks would be good for at least three pounds of weed. Maybe he could get some cigarettes along with it or even pills.

“What’s the deal?” Sam stood up from the grass, making Josh smirk before he turned his head to look at Thomas.

“He won’t do it man let it go.” Tommy shook his head while Josh kicked his leg making Thomas buckle his knees.

“You got a thing for that Y/N don’t you?” Josh asked while Sam narrowed his eyes at the blonde. Who was he to question if he liked her or not? She was already married for two years now so he had no chance over a man who looked like he was coming out from a Vogue magazine’s frontpage. Plus, he was way younger.

“Just say what you want, Jonathan.” Sam crossed his arms on his chest.

“How about you go to her salon and ask for a piercing?” Josh chuckled while looking down at his own groin.

The raven haired boy instantly shook his head.

“Come on Sam, it's gonna be fun. Don’t be such a pimp. Isn’t this what you want after all? Some weed and pills. You know five hundred dollars isn’t a small amount of money” Josh teased.

“I’m not doing it anyways.” Sam said. “Either if I get the money or not.”

“Are you shy? That she will see how small your dick actually is?” Thomas laughed while Josh kicked him again.

Sam tilted his head backwards. A piercing? Down there? Sure for five hundred it wasn’t really a big deal but he wasn’t even sure Y/N could do something like that.

“Fine, I'll do it.” Sam suddenly said while Josh smirked and patted Thomas on his back while turning around and walking back into their house.

—

Sam walked into your shop, hearing the bell echo through the building as he stepped inside and closed the door behind himself.

“Oh, Hi Sam.” You said as you spotted him across the reception. He was wearing flared jeans with one of those metal rock bands on it that you casually knew the name of but didn’t listen to any of their songs.

“Hi.” He said while walking over to you.

“What brings you in today?” You asked while pulling out your notepad to add a new customer for today. You only had five today and it was already two in the afternoon so it was quite a slow day.

Now this was the part where Sam lost all of his confidence just looking at you all over again.

You had your hair pinned up so it didn’t fall into your sight. You were wearing a blouse with nothing underneath so he saw your nipple piercings poking through the fabric.

He felt his mouth watering up at the sight as you leant against the counter, writing his name in in your diary.

“Well..umm.” He started but then stopped again as you looked up at him. “I..”

You tilted your head smiling slightly as you saw a little red creeping up to his face.

“I’m guessing you want it somewhere private.” You said while he let out a chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“Nipple piercings?” You guessed while looking up at him.

“No.”

You tried to think of anything that could weird out a twenty one year old boy, then the question suddenly left your mouth.

“A cockring?” You asked while Sam breathed out and nodded his head slowly.

“Okay.” You got up from behind the counter and walked towards the mattress where you did all of your job.

“Lay down.” You said while sitting down on the barstool next to him.

Sam laid down as you said and stared at the ceiling while you got some of the stuff that was needed. You put on some gloves, searching for a needle and the disinfectant with a cotton swab nearby.

“Are you nervous?” You asked to make a brief conversation.

“A little.” He admitted while readjusting his position.

“Don’t worry it will be fine.” You said while turning around. “Though you would need to pull your jeans and underwear down.” You said while waiting for him to do so.

“Oh right.” He murmured while quickly fidgeting with his belt.

Your thoughts suddenly drifted away. You’ve been doing piercings for Sam since he turned seventeen. Of course you thought he looked fine but he was way too young for you. You were already twenty five when you met.

Your husband wouldn’t give a shit if you just went and slept around, because he did the same. Not that you did care, you needed the money and that was it.

Sam was different, you only thought of him as a one night stand and even that was a huge mistake to think of. He probably had many women drooling around him; he didn't need one who was married.

“Okay so.” You started while looking at his pretty face. “You know I would like you to get a little bit aroused before we start this so the needle can easily pierce your skin.” You dared not to look down at his member. Sam paid attention to this as he stared right into your gorgeous eyes, waiting for you to finally touch him even if it meant his head would be swelling for a good two weeks.

“I’ll leave you alone to do this.” You said while getting up from the barstool that you were seated on. Sam wanted to call out for you but he rather closed his mouth and watched as you walked behind the counter again, looking up at the clock before diving your head into one of your notebooks where you rearranged some appointments that were off for today. You were basically just scribbling down whatever came to your mind.

By the time you walked back to where Sam was, you saw exactly how he was currently rubbing himself, trying to get ready. All you saw was that the poor boy tried to do his best but he was still limp. You pulled at your lips as a wicked thought ran up into your head.

Jacking him off wouldn’t be cheating would it be?

You didn’t care though, you walked over to him and sat back on the barstool. When he noticed you he quickly pulled away his hands, staring at you.

“Seems like you don’t have anyone to think about.” You said while he gulped down his spit. Gosh how could you be so hot and confident at the same time?

“Trust me, I do.” He murmured while looking down at your cleavage.

“Okay pretty boy well how about I help you out a little bit?” You suggested while pulling out something like lube from one of your drawers.

“You would?” He asked surprised.

Oh god, she’s going to stroke my dick.

“Well if I need to..” You pressed some of that lube on your fingertips looking down at him.

Sam kept looking at you, praying not to cum in a minute under your hands. You probably had no time for him anyways.

You looked him into the eyes once before taking his tip between your fingertips, rubbing the lube right on the skin.

This was the first time Sam held his moans back, trying to gain composure as you kept flicking the head with your hands. If you kept going like this you would be having to see him cumming all over your hand.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath as you went faster. You even forgot this wasn’t supposed to be a blowjob until the very moment you got thick ropes of white coming down your hands.

A soft gasp left your lips but even then you kept going. Sam twitched underneath your hand, groaning once you sped up again.

“You gonna cum again for me baby?” You purred while now your hand was caressing his entire length.

“Yes..” He gasped while you kept smirking.

Let’s just say Sam Monroe turned out to visit your salon more after that encounter. Plus, he always made sure your husband would see the leftover marks that your setting powder couldn’t cover.

[separatist-apologist]

Invisible String

Summary: To accept a mating bond, the female must present the male with something to eat.

No one ever said what that meal had to be.

For @velidewrites who never misses a beat when I drop the most deranged sentences known to man in her text messages at 9am in the morning

Read on AO3

If she had to sit in that room with him for another moment, Elain was going to scream. No one was in the house, not that it mattered given Lucien was standing next to the window, staring at the city with a blank, almost bored expression.

They did this once a month. They didn’t speak, didn’t sit next to each other, didn’t attempt to understand one another. And yet he still came, urged on by Feyre who was up at the cabin with everyone but Elain. That was Elain’s fault—she’d lost track of the days and had merely wanted some peace and quiet for once. 

Of course Lucien wouldn’t be invited, and of course he’d keep his standing appointment with her. Maybe, without Rhys and Feyre lurking just outside the door, she could make her position clear.

“Why are you here?”

Lucien turned, seemingly surprised to hear her speak. “To see you,” he replied in that low voice of his. Elain pressed her thighs together, frustrated with the involuntary reaction. The real problem with his presence wasn’t that she didn’t know him, or he insisted on being in her way, but the simmering arousal he provoked. Did he feel it, too?

“I never invited you.”

“I wasn’t aware you were capable of speech,” Lucien snapped, turning to face her fully, “let alone extend an invitation.”

Prick! 

Elain opened her mouth, stunned. No one had ever spoken to her like that in her life. Did he not find her sweet? Charming? Based on the look of loathing etched over his expression, she supposed he didn’t. Well, fine. She didn’t like him either, so they were at least on the same page.

So why did it irk her so? 

She was allowed to dislike him—Elain had good reasons, afterall. Lucien, though, had no reason not to like her. He ought to, actually, and it offended her he didn’t. “At least I can read,” she shot back sweetly, crossing her legs.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I can’t?”

“Oh, I just figured if you could read a room, you’d have stopped coming ages ago.”

Lucien took a step toward her, flexing his fingers at his sides. “Everyone talks of how charming and sweet you are,” he began slowly, holding her gaze, “but all I see is a brat.”

“You have no right to talk to me that way,” she hissed. 

“Why not? No one else does. They tiptoe around you, don’t they? Poor, sad, sweet Elain,” he said mockingly, taking another step. “No one tells you the truth because they don’t think you can handle it. I’m surprised they don’t dress you up as a child.”

Elain was on her feet in a moment, her own hands curled to fists. “You should go.”

“I don’t think I will,” he said. She ceded more ground—a few more steps, and he’d be close enough to touch. 

“You’re not welcome here,” she insisted, but Lucien only shrugged his shoulders.

“Neither are you.”

Oh, how that stung. They stared the other down, and though he was twice her height and size, Elain swore he shrunk a little beneath her gaze. Good. 

“What do you want from me? I’m never going to accept this bond,” she informed him. Had he not guessed? Now he knew. Elain had half hoped he’d leave, though another, stupider part of her wanted him to stay. 

“Break it, then,” Lucien ordered, spine straight again. Whatever had cowed him was gone, leaving only determination behind. “Go ahead. We’re alone—should be easy.”

“I don’t trust you,” she lied. 

Lucien barked out a dry laugh. “You don’t trust me?” 

“You’ll go mad. Who knows what you’ll do.”

Oh, the distance between them was merely a breath. She could count the hairs on his head, could see the rough stubble gracing his jaw, the veins snaking up his hands. “I could do that anyway,” he reminded her softly. “You’d like it.”

“I—I wouldn’t—”

“I can scent it on you. You want to know why I keep coming? Did no one tell you about our heightened senses?” he asked her, head cocked to the side as though he genuinely wanted to know.

Of course they had—Feyre had warned her when she’d first arrived, along with a long list of other things Elain needed to be aware of.

She’d simply forgotten, like most things. She also didn’t think it was terribly noticeable, which was her mistake.

“Liar.”

“I smell it right now,” Lucien murmured. 

Elain moved to shove him back, only for Lucien to catch her wrists with just enough firmness to keep her from following through, but not so much he’d hurt her. “Careful, Elain,” he warned.

“Who knows what I might do if you touch me.”

“I’ll scream,” she threatened.

A smile graced his handsome face. “That’s a certainty.”

“You disgust me,” she asserted.

Lucien yanked her closer, so her forearms were braced against his chest. ���Say it like you mean it.” 

“You wouldn’t dare?”

“Wouldn’t I?” Lucien replied smoothly, his eyes shifting to her mouth. “Tell me to stop, Elain.”

“You wouldn’t,” she breathed.

“I will. Tell me to leave, and I’ll go.”

Logically, that was the only good option left to her. Elain knew if she let him stay, he’d take her out of her clothes, and she was so afraid that she might enjoy it. It had been so long since anyone touched her, even casually. Lucien, bastard that he was, had been right that she sometimes felt as though everyone treated her with kid gloves.

The last person to touch her avoided her like the plague, wouldn’t even look at her anymore. And Gray…

Elain was lost in her thoughts, had forgotten for a moment that Lucien still held her. He’d transferred her wrists to one hand, something she wasn’t aware of until his fingers found a long lock of her hair. Elain only returned to the moment when Lucien tugged, pulling her even closer.

“Say it, Elain,” he whispered. It was a challenge, his tone triumphant. Lucien already had his answer, already knew the outcome of his visit. If she said no now, it was simply to defy him, to see if he’d go through with whatever he was thinking.

He must have seen it. With a sharp expression, he warned, “Choose your next words carefully, love.”

“Get your hands off me,” she whispered. What are you going to do about it?

Lucien shook his head back and forth. “We could have done this the easy way, you know.”

Hands on her shoulders, Lucien pushed Elain to her knees. No one had ever dared. She was breathless even as she shot him the filthiest look, knees pressed together as if it even mattered.

Lucien kept his grip tight on her hair, which prompted Elain to try and stand back up.

He tutted, shaking his hand back and forth as his free hand pulled at his laces. “You need a lesson in doing what you’re told to do.”

“I don’t answer to you,” she snapped, well aware she was going to do whatever he demanded so long as he continued to talk to her like he was. 

“You do today,” was his only response. Lucien had freed himself from his trousers and for a moment, Elain had forgotten everything else. She’d seen exactly one penis in her entire life—Graysens—and it looked nothing like this. Big, thick, neatly trimmed and, worst of all, wholly erect. Where had he been hiding it? 

She glanced up, hating that self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Open.”

Elain shook her head no, a little uncertain. What did he expect from her? She’d never…Graysen hadn’t asked her to, and she’d been so nervous she hadn’t volunteered. She almost backed out, telling him no seriously and leaving the room with nothing but embarrassment, but…there was something almost funny at the thought of Lucien very seriously trying to coerce her into sucking him only to learn she had no skill at it.

He’d get what he wanted in theory. Not practice.

“You disgust me,” she whispered.

Lucien pinched her nose. “Say it like you mean it next time.”

Lucien thrusted into her open mouth just as she took a breath, leaving no room for rebuttal. His skin tasted salty but not unpleasant, and despite what she’d imagined, he didn’t try and force himself all the way down her throat. He groaned, even when her teeth scraped over sensitive skin, confusing her. Surely that didn’t feel good?

He pulled back before moving her head and this time Elain bit a little. Lucien inhaled sharply.

“Don’t,” he whispered. That was the line, then. She could drag her teeth along him, but she couldn’t bite. Their eyes met, pleading and defiant all at once, in silent acknowledgement. The game, whatever it was anymore, had rules. Lines, even, that couldn’t be crossed. 

Digging her nails into his thighs, Elain shoved. Just to see what he’d do.

Lucien stumbled back, gripping the base of his cock with wild, half-desperate eyes.

“You’re so pathetic,” she whispered. Lucien strode forward, grabbing her by the head and pulling her neck back so far it almost hurt. Leaning down, he scraped his teeth over the back of her neck. 

“I’m not the one on my knees,” he reminded her.

Yet, she almost said, though Elain was too embarrassed to say it outloud. What if she was wrong about it all? What if she did this, he buttoned himself back up, and left satisfied? She could think of no worse fate than that.

Lucien had invaded her throat, again, less elegantly than before. There was desperation, there—like he was working himself into something, though she had no idea what that might be. Instead, Elain focused on not drooling all over him, which seemed like an embarrassing thing to do. 

There was some trick to tucking her lips around her teeth and how and when to use her tongue. Because Lucien’s opinion mattered so little to her, she didn’t worry about how she looked or even if he enjoyed himself so much as she concerned herself with learning how to do the task well.

“Fuck, Elain,” he whispered, proof that pleasuring men wasn’t terribly difficult. “You’re doing so well.”

Heat flooded between her legs. Watching, she caught the way his nostrils flared, how both real and mechanical eye seemed to roll upward into his skull. He was too easy, his every emotion written all over his body. How strange to realize he wanted her, and badly. 

Stranger still to realize that perhaps she wanted him, too. Not forever, but maybe…

No. Making an arrangement like that was what had doomed Nesta. She’d heard Cassian discuss it with Rhys and Azriel, the agony of wanting her, of only having bits and pieces, of hoping she’d change her mind if he held out long enough. 

“Focus,” Lucien whispered, hardly domineering. He sounded like he might beg if she stopped. It was tempting, and he seemed close enough, given the way she could feel his heart pulsating beneath her tongue. Her jaw ached, though was lessened by his own fingers holding her head, guiding her along at a pace she didn’t need to think about. Her knees were beginning to ache—she should have grabbed one of the nice pillows from the nearby sofa—but otherwise Elain was enjoying herself.

How strange, to enjoy an activity with Lucien. Especially one that gave him such joy. It made her happy, and that was enough.

“Fuck, Elain,” he breathed, pulling her closer. She gagged around him, widening her jaw to draw air into her lungs without choking. She didn’t expect the rush of salty fluid that came, dripping from the corners of her lips as she struggled to swallow it quickly. She’d thought it was spit at first before she’d realized.

More heat flooded through her, a match igniting into an inferno. Lucien pulled out of her mouth, leaving a string of salvia connecting them just as surely as the mating bond. They stared at one another unmoving, his cock bobbing between them. What now? Was she done? 

“Stand up,” he panted and Elain, tragic as she was right then, scrambled to her feet. She wanted to do it, instinct purring like a kitten offering up its belly. Touch me touch me touch me touch me— she couldn’t bring herself to ask him.

“Take it off,” he said, nodding toward her dress. Elain’s fingers were on the buttons at the front of her dress before her mind even comprehended the order. Lucien was watching with an intensity so feral it made her hands shake. He didn’t move save to grip his cock which was still rigid, still a bright purple color. Using her own saliva, Lucien stroked himself slowly with both lazy and loving movements. 

“All of it,” he murmured when she was standing before him in nothing but her under things.

She’d come this far, she decided. And she’d done something for him—it was only right he returned the favor. Ignoring, of course, she wanted him to. Maybe he’d be so bad at it she’d never feel anything but apathy for him ever again. 

That seemed unlikely given the traitorous thunder of her beating heart, but one had to live in hope. Elain took the rest of her clothes off, adopting the defiance from earlier to save her from embarrassment. Lucien’s eyes roamed slowly, starting with her face before traveling down, his eyes a warm caress against her skin.

“Oh, Elain,” he murmured with a touch of affection. “Offer yourself to me.”

“What?”

“Sit on the sofa, spread your legs, and offer yourself to me.”

Elain sat down and Lucien drew nearer, still casually stroking his cock. His eyes were focused between her legs, as if his very life depended on what was going to happen next. She had limited experience with the act—Gray had gone down on her for a moment, just enough to get her ready, he’d said. She’d been too shy to ask him to finish what she started, but now…

It was just Lucien. It didn’t mean anything.

Despite her nerves, Elain leaned back, positioning her heels on the edge of the fabric before letting her knees fall open. A strangled, desperate whine slipped from Lucien’s lips as he surged forward, stopping himself just before he reached her.

“Offer,” he demanded, as if this were important.

“Taste me, Lucien,” she whispered, unsure if that was something he’d want to hear.

His knees crashed to the wood floors so roughly the windows rattled in their panes. She exhaled when his tongue found her thigh, teeth biting tender flesh just hard enough to make her cunt throb, but not so hard it hurt. He teased, letting his warm breath fall over her exposed body, his mouth everywhere but where she wanted it.

He knew what he was doing. Bastard.

Elain fisted his long, auburn hair in her hand, forcing him to look at her. “You have poor manners.”

He only grinned in response, holding her gaze as he lowered himself to take a languid swipe clearly up the center of her. She exhaled roughly, head falling back when the tip of his tongue found her clit. That was what she wanted—straight and to the point.

Lucien wanted to play. Just like before, he licked everywhere except where she needed him, his fingers spreading her wide as he adjusted his stance so she could rest her legs against his shoulders. For one wild moment, she imagined what would happen if someone happened to come home and casually stroll in on the scene unfolding.

They’d likely scent it, she realized. It was too late to stop—even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t. 

Lucien’s tongue returned to her clit, swirling a slow pattern over the sensitive flesh until she was panting. Arousal pooled low in her gut, snaking outward until it lodged itself in her throat.

It wouldn’t take her long. She was so touch starved and desperate that he could have simply stared at her from his position and she was likely to come.

Lucien was clearly putting effort into the act, his thumb teasing her entrance to create just enough pressure and friction that she was losing herself, slowly unspooling beneath his hands.

“Elain,” he whispered. She was too focused, barely noticing he was pulling on the mating bond between them. She liked that, too—each caress of that cord, which seemed to be more present, stronger, pronounced, than she’d ever felt.

“Elain,” he repeated after a wet suck of his lips.

“Shut up, Lucien,” she replied. 

“Have it your way,” he murmured. There was nothing slow or soft about what he did next. His finger slid into her body, causing Elain to bow off the sofa. Lucien pushed her back down, his tongue on her with relentless ferocity. He didn’t move, using the flat surface to his advantage as he began pumping himself in and out. It was too much, the need building higher and hotter until Elain’s legs clamped around his head.

She fractured for a moment, distantly aware she’d made some half gargled scream she couldn’t quite swallow. He didn’t stop, thrusting faster, his tongue still working her to ride her through the high and oh. It was perfect. 

Elain pushed at his fate, taking note of his flushed cheeks, his wet lips, his satisfaction. They were both naked, panting as they looked at one another trying to decide what came next.

She waited for the need burning a wildfire through her to settle, quelled by the orgasm. It seemed only to grow hotter, her arousal more desperate. She wanted more.

Needed more.

“Lucien,” she whispered.

A smile fell over his expression. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.” There was no shame in admitting it, then. 

“Not here. Not like this,” he informed her. “Which room is yours?”

“Upstairs,” she replied. He scooped her up easily, like she was nothing at all, body cradled against the warmth of her chest.

“Do you feel it?” she asked, tentatively tugging at the bond between them.

“Elain,” he murmured, looking down at her. “Did anyone explain how mating bonds work to you?”

“I have to…offer…something to eat…” her words trailed off, eyes never leaving the triumphant look on his face. “Surely—surely not—”

Lucien took a deep breath, his pleasure shimmering between their shared connection. “Offered willingly by my mate.”

“You knew?”

He kicked the door to her bedroom closed gently before dropping her to the bed. “Of course I did.”

She should have demanded  he leave, should have kicked him and called someone for help. He prowled toward her, the muscles in his shoulder shifting as he crawled his way up her body, settling between her thighs. 

“Are you sorry?” she asked him, her legs seemingly spreading of their own accord.

“No,” he admitted, cupping her cheek before rubbing his thumb across her lips. “I don’t think you are, either.”

He slid himself an inch into her and oh. That's what she needed. “I’m not going to make your life easy.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he replied, ceding another inch.

“Everyday will be punishment,” she added. 

Lucien groaned, pushing further yet. “So long as it's at your hands.”

“You’ll regret this.”

He seated himself wholly within her, holding her gaze. There was that same ferocious, near feral intensity staring back at her.

“Never.”

[hoodoo12]

Bad Date (2/2)

The conclusion. Beetlejuice takes his reward.

NSFW. Beetlejuice x f!reader

You’d walked home arm in arm with Beetlejuice, but he didn’t follow you inside once you were through your door.

“Gotta get rid of this thing,” he explained, holding up the baby sandworm he’d carried back from the restaurant.

He hadn’t crushed it under his heel, like he wanted to, because of your gasp of horror--“It’s just a baby!”--but he also refused to let you keep it even though you thought it was sort of cute in a look-but-don’t-touch-it kind of way.

“Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable, baby,” he continued, “and I’ll be back in a wink.”

You didn’t know how long a trip to Saturn actually took, but you agreed eagerly. You were so glad he’d come to your rescue!

Beetlejuice was gone between one blink and the next, and you locked your door behind you.

⁂

Something more comfortable, huh? You knew what he had in mind. You kicked off your heels and shed your dress. Your bra and panty set was lacy but plain pink. Digging through your drawers, you found a matching set that was black and silk, which would be more to his fancy. You debated a garter belt and stockings; most guys seemed to like them but Beetlejuice wasn’t most guys, and lots of time they were more in the way than worth it.

In the end you decided against them. Maybe you'd wear them in the future for him.

You sat, then stood, then sat again. You were full of nervous energy and just wanted him to get back from dumping that sandworm. Then, just when you thought maybe you should get a robe because you were getting chilly, he reappeared.

He looked just as put out as he did when you summoned him in the restaurant’s restroom, and he was covered in a fine layer of yellow dust.

“You’re back!” you said happily, redundantly.

Beetlejuice didn’t seem as elated as you were. “Gods, it’s been a solid day and a half since I sat down,” he groaned.

That didn’t make any sense to you; less than forty minutes ago he’d been sitting at your table at the restaurant, threatening your date. The hard expression on his face didn’t give you any room to mention that discrepancy, however.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you said instead.

He nodded, and looked over at you as if seeing you standing there for the first time. His eyes skipped down your mostly naked body, and a smirk slid oily across his face. It wasn’t the most pleasant expression.

“Oh. Right. This,” he said, and that wasn’t reassuring, either.

You opened your mouth to ask what the hell was going on; from what he’d said and how he’d looked you over you thought he’d wanted some action, but he continued before you could say anything.

“You said you owed me. Back at the restaurant, for saving you from that d-bag. Right?”

You had to agree.

The smirk on his lips lifted to a leer that showcased some of his sharper teeth. “And remember? I told you not to go on that date.”

That made you frown a little; it toed the line of possessiveness.

“You refuse to put a name to what we have, Beej, so there’s no reason for me not to think about dating other people!” you retorted, a little sharply.

Your response made him drop his chin and examine you from under his brows. It made you feel like you were under a microscope; it made him look a little dangerous. You didn’t cow away under his intense gaze, however; although you could feel one hand start to tremble, you stood your ground.

Finally he said, “Well then, baby, I think a little punishment is in order, don’t you?”

You wanted to snap something sharp back at him again, but a bolt of cold, then hot, fell and rose in your gut. Some of your sexual encounters with Beetlejuice were hard, simple fucking with few niceties or gentle romantic gestures, but nothing had ever stepped over the line into “punishment” territory. Did he mean spanking? Did he mean he expected you to suck his dick hard and exactly how he wanted it, with lots of spit and gasping for air like in a porno?

Or was it something even more?

You couldn’t deny that although a bit of worry wormed through you, it excited you too.

Beetlejuice didn’t seem to care you hadn’t answered him. In your silence he boldly looked you over again and said,

“That’s not bad, but--”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, and your bra and panties went from solid black to black and white striped. You should have known. He snapped his fingers and between one breath and the next you were suddenly on your bed, flat on your back. The blankets and top sheet had disappeared, and so had your pillows. Beetlejuice stood at the end of the bed, fully clothed, and staring down at you.

You moved to sit up.

“No. Nope!” he corrected you immediately, and an invisible hand forced you back down.

“I won’t make these too tight, babydoll,” he assured you, and before you could protest or ask what, exactly, he meant by that, your arms were stretched above your head and your wrists were held firmly by skeletal hands that appeared out of your headboard.

“Hey! Beej!” you exclaimed, slightly alarmed. You twisted against the restraint, a little.

In a flash, he was beside you on the mattress instead of standing at your feet. He leaned in close enough that you could smell the dirt on his breath, but not close enough to kiss you. He grabbed one of your wrists lightly, stilling your movement.

“Trust me,” he said in a low voice. It was almost, almost, a question.

You searched his face, especially his eyes, but despite the unexpected restraint and his announcement of “punishment” earlier, you didn’t find anything malicious hiding there. You couldn’t deny you were a little concerned, but you did trust him. So you nodded.

A quick, pleased smile flitted across his face, and he let your wrist go. The hands kept you in place.

“Now. I think one more thing would be a good idea--”

The last thing you saw was him lifting one eyebrow in your direction again before a blindfold covered your eyes.

Although surprised, you stopped yourself from crying out this time. From the weight and feel of the fabric on your face, you guessed it was his tie.

The mattress shifted as Beetlejuice got off the bed. Blinded and restrained, you didn’t know where he was in the room. He could still be beside you, at the foot of the bed again, or floating right above you! The unknown made you shiver a little, and it was hard to tell if it was in worry or anticipation.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

There was no sound of movement; no creak of a floorboard or subtle rustling of his clothing. There was nothing touching you. You felt suspended, with no stimulus but the mattress under you, the bony fingers holding your wrists, and the slightly moldy smelling cloth draped over your eyes. It was hard to relax when you didn’t know what to expect.

You waited some more.

Suddenly a horrible thought ambushed you.

What if Beetlejuice put you in this position, making you feel exposed and vulnerable, and then he just left you here?!

There was still no sound of anyone else in the room. He didn’t breathe and could be as quiet . . . well, as quiet as the dead when he wanted to be.

The same dread thought rushed through your mind again. Did he leave you here alone? Was this the punishment he meant?!

You pulled against the skeletal restraints but they held you fast. You tossed your head back and forth to try and loosen the blindfold. Gulping and tasting the beginnings of panic, you weren’t too proud or embarrassed to call for him. You opened your mouth to ask where he was, yell, demand to know what was going on--

Before the words came, a finger slipped between your lips.

You were so surprised you let your mouth hang open for a moment. The finger moved past your teeth and nudged your tongue. It had a mild flavor that you imagined dust might taste like, and you didn’t let yourself think about it any further than that. A second finger dipped into your slack jaw, and with two of them pressing your tongue you closed your mouth on them and sucked.

A short chuckle came from somewhere to your left. At least you knew where he was now.

Parting his fingers with your tongue, you gave them both attention. When he must have felt they were sufficiently wet, he dislodged them. You nipped the tips of them as they retreated back past your teeth, and Beetlejuice made a slightly deeper noise.

For a second you were disconnected again, then his fingers moved down the side of your neck, to the hollow between your collar bones, to between your breasts, leaving a drying trail of spit in their wake.

He lifted them, and you found them against your lips again. You opened your mouth with no reluctance for him.

His fingers rooted in your mouth once more, and again you sucked and licked them. This time when he pulled away a thin moan escaped you, following after them. He repeated the trail he’d made the first time on the opposite side of your neck and down, ending at the fabric holding your bra together in the front.

There was a beat of a pause, and finally the mattress shifted as he joined you, crawling up between your legs.

You thought he was on your left?

Never mind. You automatically hooked your legs around him and earned a “tsk” in displeasure in return. The next thing you knew, thin bony hands grabbed your ankles and your legs were straightened and spread to accommodate him without your needy demand.

Spread-eagled before him made you feel even more exposed, but at least you knew where he was now.

Beetlejuice must have settled on his knees because you could feel only feel the outer fabric of his trousers between your legs. Then his hands were on you: stroking your sides from armpit to hips, pinching occasionally. It both tickled and made your skin warm, and you wiggled a little under the caress. It didn’t feel like he was sitting back on his heels. You couldn’t quite picture the posture he was in; he must be straining over you, holding himself at an awkward angle so no other part of his body touched you--

When his hands left your sides and cupped your breasts, giving you a sharper pinch through the fabric of your bra, you gave up trying to figure out what position he was in.

He stroked your chest in long movements too. You were frustrated by the lack of skin on skin contact before he was, and had to endure him playing with your tits but not actually stimulating them exactly how you liked for much longer than you wanted. By the time he was bored with it too, your nipples were hard and the fabric brushing against them hurt a little.

Luckily, Beetlejuice wasn’t known for never-ending patience. Just as you were going to tell him to hurry up, already--and damn the consequences--you heard the faintest snapping of his fingers and suddenly, your tits were free and exposed.

The sudden brush of cooler air made you nipples tighten even more, and once again you heard a chuckle from him.

His fingers closed around them. After the muted stimulation, that touch was like an electrical shock and you arched towards him with a gasp. He rolled and pulled them gently, continuing to make you gasp, and when the mattress shifted again and his mouth closed over one of them, you bucked and moaned.

Beetlejuice’s tongue and mouth weren’t room temperature, but not warm either. The shock of him taking a nipple into his wet mouth made you involuntarily try to reach down and grab his head, but you were held in place by the restraints. This time you felt him laugh at your aborted effort, and he sucked at you until you writhed and cried out. He continued to play with the other one, then switched to give them both the same attention.

Each suck and nibble sent pleasure down your body, where it settled deep in your gut and groin. You couldn’t help but want friction between your legs, but Beetlejuice wasn’t touching you there and your thighs were held apart. That built a different frustration in you.

Finally, he released you from the torment he’d given your now-tender nipples. Before you could say anything, his mouth found a patch of skin lower on your rib cage that it liked, and he sucked there too.

He kissed and licked and sucked his way over your torso, once darting up to your neck to latch on there. You felt the pressure of his teeth indent the thin skin and turned your head, not to displace him, but to give him freer access to the spot. As you did, he stilled completely and you froze too. Arousal tempered with a drop of fear swirled through you; you wondered what was going through his mind?

Beetlejuice didn’t break your skin. The intent was there, you could tell. Instead, after that long moment of anticipation, he released you.

You were panting as you turned your head back upright again. You could feel he hadn’t moved away, and a slight breath on your face clued you in that he panted as well. Some of his breather habits came to the surface in situations like this. You couldn’t see him, of course, but thought that if you lifted your head up off the mattress you’d find his mouth.

He obviously didn’t want you to move; if you dared try to kiss him, what would he do next? Would another skeletal hand come from nowhere to cross your forehead and pin your head to the mattress?

You decided not to risk it.

Beetlejuice’s hands roamed down your body again, and just as you felt him shift to move away again, his tongue licked a vertical stripe up over your lips. It startled you and you gasped; the tip of it darted inside for a split second but before you could open your mouth more for a proper kiss, it was gone again. The next noise you made was a sigh of disappointment as he continued to work his way back down your body.

He gave you the same attention as before. Sucking. Licking. Nipping. There wasn’t a spot on your front that he hadn’t lavished some attention on. A faint odor of stale saliva drifted to you from the amount of spit he’d coated you with, but you didn’t care. You wiggled under him, gasped and moaned, and tried to nudge him further down. You wanted him and his mouth between your legs.

Even though he hadn’t done anything--not even cupped you, not even dragged a solitary finger along the fabric of your panties, not even come close enough that you could feel his clothing brush you there--your pussy felt hot. You were wet. You just wanted this teasing to stop and for him to pay some attention there--

As if reading your mind, Beetlejuice shifted and plopped himself down between your legs. He was no longer on his knees but on his stomach; you could feel his--unclothed? When did that happen?--shoulders pushing your thighs further apart. His fingernails dug under the top edge of your panties.

When you lifted your hips so he could pull them off you--gods how you wanted him to pull them off you, or make them disappear like your bra, or something--he let the elastic snap back into place.

You groaned.

You didn’t care any more. You were going to beg him--

Beetlejuice’s mouth covered your pussy.

His hands kept you grounded by holding your hips. He didn’t strip you naked; he mouthed and licked and sucked you through your panties. The silk became heavy and soaked completely through with the combination your wetness and his spit, and the smooth feel of the fabric between your clit and his tongue made you writhe.

You cried out. You pulled against the restraints, all of them, you wanted to grab his head, you wanted to squeeze him with your thighs to hold him in place, you wanted him to suck your clit so hard, you wanted him to push aside your panties and shove those fingers that had been in your mouth into your pussy--you wanted not just that but his tongue and his cock inside you--

Your cries turned to sobs as he teased you. Bliss ratcheted higher and higher in your gut. Even with sodden fabric preventing direct contact between the two of you, you were going to come. Your throat tightened, your limbs shook with the force of the tension you used straining against the hands holding you back. Your hips canted instinctually to provide him better access and that first spark of an orgasm rippled through you--

Beetlejuice stopped.

All touching ceased. His mouth was no longer against the wet mess your panties had become. You hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been gripping your hips until his hands were off you too.

The abrupt lack of contact made you cry out in a different voice, filled with distress and bafflement. For a moment your body arched towards him, still seeking stimulation. You couldn’t hold the position for long, pulling against the restraints, however, and you flopped back to the mattress with another sob.

Your body shifted as Beetlejuice moved over one of your legs to be beside you. The movement made air current drift over your body and you shivered due to the sweat that had broken out over you.

This was not what you expected when he said “punishment”. You could have accepted and even gotten into a spanking. You would have been okay with him using you like a slut. But a tormenting tease with no finale? It was almost too cruel.

A finger hooked under your blindfold and pushed it away. You felt too weak and disappointed to thank him for removing it. You just wanted the bony hands on your wrists and ankles to be spirited away as well, so you could curl into a fetal position and try to will your body to forget all the pleasure it’d just been subjected to and then denied. You imagined that Beetlejuice was going to tell you that he was leaving and that you weren’t allowed to touch yourself; he’d be watching and if you brought yourself to orgasm he’d probably be devious enough to repeat what he did tonight the next time you got together with him too.

When you opened your eyes, however, the sight that greeted you wasn’t what you expected.

Beetlejuice was naked, as you’d surmised, coated in a thin layer of sweat, like you. The yellow dust that had been on his clothing had left a thin coating on his neck. His hair was wilder than normal, and his lips were shiny as he mimicked breathing through his mouth. His pupils were blown in deep arousal. His erection pressed heavily into your side.

Once again, he interrupted you as you opened your mouth to say something to him. With his lips near your ear, he groaned in a guttural voice,

“This was supposed to be punishment. A punishment! For you and me. Neither of us was going to get off, neither of us deserve it--”

He choked his own words off with another wordless groan as he involuntarily rutted against you.

You tried to wrap your head around what he just said. You weren’t quite able to.

“Beej, just . . . what?” you panted.

His lips found your neck and ear and he dragged his tongue along your skin. He continued to caress you sloppily between words.

“It was supposed to be punishment for both of us, baby,” he groaned. “You for going out on a goddamn date and me for not telling you I want you for my-goddamned-self. I want you, baby, I don’t want you seeing anyone else. I wanted to get you so hot and bothered and then stop, just for a tease, just to show you there's no one but me who can make you feel so good, but the sounds you made and the taste of you--fuck--I’m so fucking turned on I just want to fuck you so much right now--”

His voice rose to a desperate, needy whine at the last word. You were so wet between your legs you didn’t know it was possible to get even wetter, but heat surged through you again.

“Beej, Beej--” you croaked to get his attention. When he lifted his face to yours you said in the same desperate tone, “I learned my lesson. Did you learn yours?”

“Fuck, baby. Shit. Yeah!”

You looked him dead in the eyes. “Then get these hands off me and fuck me.”

At your demand, a surprised then lecherous smile broke over his face. He kissed you properly then, his tongue diving into your mouth and stealing your breath. The next second your arms and legs were released and you dragged him bodily on top of you. With his weight pressing you down you tried to shimmy out of your dripping panties; with a flicking motion of his finger Beetlejuice assisted and made them disappear as well.

With one hand grabbing the back of his head and the other gripping his waist, you didn’t release him or his mouth as he reached between the two of you, adjusted himself and pushed forward, filling you in a single, delicious thrust with his cock. You cried out; he did too with a deeper noise, and he set a frantic, blistering pace that would have not worked if you hadn’t been so thoroughly aroused from all the provocation he’d graced you with.

Your pussy felt hot, slick, and tight. The friction was glorious and you didn’t check yourself as your fingernails dug into him. Usually this rough and swift thrusting was enough to undo him first, but this was exactly what you needed to make your nerve-endings explode again.

You came with a sustained cry, locking your legs around him to keep him deep inside you.

Beetlejuice rocked his hips a little, instinctually, but held mostly still as you were lost in waves of pleasure. Just as you were coming back to the surface and opened your eyes to focus on him again, his brow furrowed and he pushed forward, harder into you, moaning with an open mouth as he came too.

You were shaking. He was shaking. It took several moments for you to catch your breath and will your hands and legs to open enough to let him go. It took him an extra moment to unglue himself from your belly and torso. You noticed the palm that had held the back of his neck was coated with that yellow grime, but you couldn’t make yourself care. Carefully he sat back, and you groaned in a combination of pleasure and disappointment as his cock slipped out of you.

Beetlejuice crawled over your leg and collapsed on the mattress beside you.

The two of you lay panting in euphoric exhaustion. You may have made a mistake going out with some random guy, but the evening couldn’t have ended any better. You turned to face Beetlejuice, to thank him for coming to your rescue and for the best punishment you’d ever received.

Just as you opened your mouth, your stomach growled. He looked at you with a smirk, so you slapped him lightly on the chest.

“I didn’t actually get to eat dinner, remember?” you informed him, instead of telling him the things you meant to. You sat up, swung your feet over the side of the bed, and stood up. As you made your way to the door, you asked, “You want anything from the kitchen?”

“Nope. I don’t like seeing you leave, but I love watching you go.”

You threw an eye roll over your shoulder at him but didn’t hide your grin. You could thank him later, and you were sure he knew how you felt anyway.

fin!

[icarusredwings]

Scent. 1/2

Sfw, Primal scenting, established poolverine, countryside comedy, angst, and fluff. Wade gets smothered in front of the fireplace by a big domestic wolverine because of his self-confidence issues.

Post Save a horse/Ride a wolverine

Requested by @asaturnerofficial

Somewhere in Texas, On a small plot ranch with only a handful of chickens and 2 horses. One is a pony, actually. Her name was Buttercream, and she used to do kids' parties. She just kinda came with the house, and so did the chickens, but Cupcake (who was, in fact, a gelding, named by Wade) was bought off a different rancher who claimed he couldn't be ridden. Well- that was apparently a huge lie because Cup allowed him to ride him every now and again. Maybe it was a scent thing.

Actually, Scent was very important in this house, and it was something Logan checked each night before bed. Sniff around the property and shoo off any animals that didn't belong. He didn't mind the Co-yotes they just were trying to live as much as anything else, but it made him nervous to think about what they might do to the chickens or hell - to Mary Puppins. They would eat her for a snack and still be peckish.

"Alright, I fed the chickens, fed buttercream cupcake, fed puppins, now what do- Woah! Jesus's mother, Mary Magdalene!"

He had just walked into the living room to see Logan laid out on a rug in nothing but his iconic wife beater, some worn in-in all the right places- jeans, and his boots. He had got the fire place working I guess because there it was, heating up the home.

"I dont think its really a good idea to have a fire place inside of house made of wood but what do I know? Im not OSHA certified." He said, of course, to the wall.

Rolling his eyes, Logan was far used to this by now, chuckling a bit. "I got it workin' "

"Yeah I see. I was just talking about that."

"I saw. Who are you talking to anyway?" For once this question was genuine instead of condescending.

"Oh, you know. The viewers. Readers. Whatever you wanna call them." Again, he turns and waves. "Hi. Also- where did he get a bear skin rug? This guy. Ruining the budget. Do you know how expensive bears are?"

Having seen this a billion times, he's learned to just go with it. "Viewers...? Like.. a reality tv show?"

"Kind of. And let me just say, This?" He put his hands out like he was taking a picture. "Is beautiful. You're going to make the ratings sky rocket! Think of what this will do for your PR!"

"Right.. well. I hate to break the.. viewers.. little hearts but this isn't a bear skin. What bears do you know that have black and white spots?"

"Pandas."

Blinking, He sat up. "Wade, this is the middle of texas. Where do you think im going to find a panda?"

"The zoo." He shrugs, watching his boyfriend laugh at him, rolling his eyes.

"So you think the zoo is just going to let me take one of their pandas and skin it for my livingroom?"

"Oh. Yeah, that's a bit of a streach for the budget, isn't it? What is it then?- GAASSP- Don't tell me it's puppies!!"

"What?" (He's found himself saying this about 50 times a day now when living with him, possibly 100) "It's cow.."

"Oooh! Okay- that would have been a deal breaker. I can deal with skinning an endangered species, but I draw the line at Cruella activities."

"So are you just gonna keep talking to that wall, or are you gonna come're?" He muttered, smirking some as he made a small squeal, rushing over to sit down.

The scent of cheap dollar store foundation made him cringe, his mood and demeter changing instantly. "What did I tell you about wearin' that shit.."

Tensing up, he smiled awkwardly, putting his hands in his lap as he looked away. "It's the 21st century, Wolvie, Men wear make up now."

"No. You know damn well that's not what I meant. Come here." Before he could even begin to protest, he grabbed him by the belt, a signature, pulling him into his arms only to flip him on the floor.

"Eeehh!! Peanut, seriously, it's fine! It's just makeup! I didn't even put my mascara on!"

"Im taking that shit off of you. It stinks!" He growled, now straddling him on top of the soft cow rug.

Squirming a bit, Wade was trying to push him off but it was hard to do that when your boyfriend was so heavy, having just started to get back to a healthy weight, healing his relationship with food and his appearance. It only reminded him how much he loved having him. Oh, his big beefy boy. Usually, he would enjoy being manhandled, but he worked hard on his blending today!

"Noo! Do you know how hard it is to cover all THIS up!?"

"Exactly my point. That's why it's coming off. It doesn't NEED covered up, moron!" Pulling off his shirt, both the view and the words put Wade into somewhat of a dormant state.

"You really mean th- Ahh!! Hey! No! You tricked me with nice words!" He protested as he used the shirt to wipe it off, spitting on it and rubbing cirlces to get it off of him. It was times like these when Wade realized that Logan COULD actually hurt him if he wanted too. Then again.. Trapped under a bronzed muscly man like him?

Glory, glory, what a hell of a way to die!

"What are you talking about?"

Oh shit- he hadn't noticed that he said this out loud. "Nothing!! I just - Why do you always have to ruin my makeup!? What are you jealous or something?" He turned to the side, away from him. "Oh, let's be honest. It would be a crime to cover up that face."

"I could say the same thing about you, Bub." He muttered, wiping off the last bit off his neck, holding it as he leaned down to sniff him, still cringing.

"Gross."

This word alone was enough to audibly hear Wade's heart snap. Swallowing as his throat tightened and put his arms over his face.

Oh shit.. that wasn't the best of word to say, was it? God, why was this so hard? This is why he grunted instead of spoke. Words were too complicated.

A pang in his chest ran deep, his own heart clenching as he heard him whimper.

"That's.. That's why I do it.."

"Oh, Wade.." You'd have to be deaf to not hear the tears in his voice, visibly upset and nowhere to run off too, nothing to hide with. He was trapped. The next option was to push him away, Hit him in the chest so he'd let go. Know that he was done playing. That this was serious.

"You know that! So W-why would you -"

He kissed him, holding both sides of his face. Despite the pushing still lasting, it quickly died down as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

Pulling away only when the air in their lungs ran out, He smirked again, breaths heavy.

"Now, if I thought you were so terrible, would I do that? Hm?"

"Y-yes.."

So he kissed him again, this time giving a little growl into it the way he liked it, causing him to giggle and push his face away, turning again.

"Who is this starving man? Where is my wolverine?"

"Right here, baby. All me." He says, looking to where he was too.

"Hey, you can't talk to them! They're mine!"

"Too bad. So what's the census? My PR or what ever you call it up yet?"

"I don't know.."

"Oh sure, you do. It's your show, isn't it?" He asks, turning him to look at him as he crosses his arms, looking away again, still upset with him.

"... It's our show, actually...Deadpool AND Wolverine... sometimes featuring Dogpool, but that's besides the point! Im thinking about cutting you... you're taking up too much budget."

"Oh, am I now? Well, maybe you'd have more budget if you ditched that stinky shit."

Wade went silent for a moment, stalling to tell him what Logan already knew.

"Ooh... Ratings drop when you're you... don't they?" Right. That made so much more sense. Wilson has taken his own negative thoughts and categorized them into show manager and critic positions. And the critics didn't like him bare faced.

"Well... What if we raised ratings or whatever way up? Without all that bullcrap?"

"Do you know how hard it would be to-"

A third kiss.

"You really should learn to shut up, mouth."

[helluvapoison]

Hey can you write headcanons for alastor, angel dust(both platonic) and sir pentious (romantic) with a gen z/millennial reader? Just general stuff and interactions (like maybe talking about how things are for the lgbt community with angel and talking to alastor about gramophones and how they're coming back in style) and just some shenanigans

I know you don't have these characters listed in your writing list, and it's completely fine if you cant write for them but i love your writing style and characterization so I wanted to know how you'd imagine things would go

Alastor, Angel Dust (platonic) and Sir Pentious (romantic) x Reader

˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• “Hey Al! Loving the drip, it’s giving strawberry cow meets dark academia core.”

• Now he knows what others feel like when speaking to Zestial. He doesn’t understand half of what you say

• You taught him “tea”. Originally he thought you were providing real tea, something useful, not tedious gossip about— Oh. Oh. That could come in handy, actually. Alastor begins to pencil you into his afternoon tea. Sometimes you bring him useful information, others he has to sit through petty issues that make his eye twitch

• Alastor outright bans you from using your phone around him. He has no interest in this “meme” that reminds you of him (Don’t bring it out again, next time he’ll break it)

You groan, “It’s not as funny if I have to explain it!”

“It must not be very humorous in the first place.” He retorts

• He thinks you’re complimenting his taste in decor when you call it vintage

• You’ve proven yourself a useful acquaintance. Like Nifty, he’s grown accustomed to your presence and learned it may be better not to understand the inner workings of your mind

• “Got any aces?” someone asks while you play Go Fish with Husk, Angel and Sir Pina Colada. You never fail to jab a thumb in Alastor’s direction, cackling and kicking your feet

• They give you a peculiar look in reply

“Fuck you guys, I ate.”

• Yeah, they don’t get that one either

˚✧₊⁎ Angel Dust ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• It feels like every day Angel’s mid-insult and snapping his fingers at you, beckoning for you to conjure up a fresh comeback

• “Ooh! You just got cancelled, take the L, you fucking poser!”

He cackles, “Yeah! What they said!”

• Started calling himself an e-girl because you said it once about Charlie and never elaborated. He thinks it means cute… He’s not wrong? You don’t correct him, it’s funnier this way

• Playful arguments 24/7

“RIP, Angel, you would have loved Mean Girls— Wait, if a movie dies would it come to Hell? Never mind, don’t answer that, it would obviously go to Heaven.”

“I’ve met some real weirdos down here, sweetheart, and you outrank almost all of ‘em.”

• Something Angel noticed he could only appreciate from you is how different you react to his relationship with Val. He already knows it’s not healthy and he knows he gets defensive when people bring it up. Like the others, you listen, you comfort, you get furious on his behalf. You also offer him insight and labels he never thought would be helpful

• You hold up two fingers like you’re conducting an orchestra as you speak, “Say it with me; boundaries, bitch.”

“Boundaries..? S’at like bondage–?”

”NO!”

• Angel’s the only one that makes HellToks with you. The dances he learns faster and performs them better than you, often adding his own choreography to them. The “pass the phone” challenges never end well– especially when he tries to rope Nifty or Alastor in on them (RIP your old phone)

• Honestly, you’re pretty surprised you get along with Angel as well as you do. Y’know, considering he died a thousand years before you—

“I ain’t that old!”

“Your death certificate says otherwise, fam!”

˚✧₊⁎ Sir Pentious ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• He’s not sure how to handle how touchy you are first. You go around high-fiving everyone, freely holding hands with whoever lets you, offering hugs and– thump. Your head hits his lap, staring straight right at him with a goofy grin. And that.

• “Say slay,”

“Sssslay?”

• Oh. He quite likes the laugh that gets out of you

• Starts saying the word as much as possible, puffing his chest out proudly when you double over laughing. You don’t have the heart to tell him he’s using it wrong 99.9% of the time

• When you began consistently picking him for a chair instead of the others, he was stuck between throwing you across the room and making a break for it or pointing and laughing in the faces of everyone else. You chose him! HA!

• Bless his soul, the way he asked you out was so sweet

“I’ve done extensive research and found the equivalent of going sssteady in your language! I would like for us to move forward with the relationship ssstatus.”

“Huh? Oh. You want to go out with me? Yeah!”

“Fuck yesss!“

• Pentious gives ride or die a new definition. Everything you say or you do, he will back you up. His eyes sparkle from the praise you give him

• That, and making him blush takes little effort on your part. Complimenting him like you always do (at least he thinks you are, sometimes he’s not certain) has his cheeks glowing in seconds

• After following you around for an hour, because Pentious wanted to make sure you could get along with the Egg Boiz without him, they adopt bits of your personality and bizarre phrases. “Now we have two parents!” “No cap!” “Yes cap, you’re wearing a hat!”

• You’ve single handedly make the Egg Boiz worse in the eyes of everyone but Pen. He’s ecstatic over the results, he doesn’t know what he would do if he had to choose between you and his eggs

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ this was so silly and fun, i hope you enjoy anon!

[sucuretcannelle]

hii can i request march, balor and celine help taking care of the farm bcs their s/o broke their leg and can't do their job

yurrr

March:

You tell him what needs to be done, he'll do it, no questions

...he thinks. He thinks he won't have questions

Breaking up rocks that just appeared out of nowhere? Fine. Cutting down trees? He can get used to it. Trying to figure out how much water the plants need? He'll walk back into your house, his head hanging low, asking you how much water they need.

Once you tell him he has to actually show the animals some love, he grumbles a bit

He gets SUPER attached to your animals. He'll never admit it though

Within 2 weeks, he's memorized their names and can identify them really easily

Even after you've healed, you might see him playing with the chickens and petting the cows

If you do, act like you didn't. He'll turn bright red

If you have some empty space on your farm, he'll sometimes come up with some suggestions of what can be built/done with it. Of course you don't HAVE to listen to him, but he'd be pretty happy if you did

He'll never mess with anything you don't ask him to, he doesn't want unnecessary conflict. It's your farm, not his, and he just wants to help

Any leftover materials that you don't need, he'll take. Maybe Olric or Ryis might make use of them

And at the end of each day, he'll come in and help you with anything else you couldn't do on your own in the house, while telling you what he was able to get done during the day (he doesn't want to leave you stressed at night)

Balor:

He kinda grimaced at the thought of doing farmwork but he got over it

I mean, you're dating a farmer, you got what was coming for ya

You'll have to show him how to swing an axe/pickaxe

Please scare him into thinking he'll have to go into the mines for stuff, his reaction would be so funny

He really has fun watering the plants in the morning, literally the one moment he's at peace

The animals...he doesn't enjoy being around them at first, but it's just another thing he gets used to

Seeing your chickens play on the seesaw almost made him forget that he has work to do tbh

He'll genuinely be so proud of himself if he reaches the goals that you set for him that day

Even if he doesn't (wouldn't be that rare, he's not used to this) he'll still feel really accomplished when he takes the shipping bin that's full of things that HE put in

You'd see his mood change from cautious and slightly discouraged to determined. It's cute.

Still, he prefers to be the one JUST taking the shipping bin...get well soon

Celine:

She doesn't want you to worry, but you do end up worrying because you'll think she's overworking herself

She'll wake up before dawn to start watering the plants and clearing weeds from the fields

If you peek out and check on her, she'll look really calm, no matter what she's doing

I feel like she's also a lot stronger than she looks, so there really isn't a need to worry about her

If she finds anything worth showing you, she'll bring it in and ask you what you want her to do with it

She has to fight back the urge to play with the baby cows and chickens all day

Please let her play with them all day

She'll also come in and spend time with you whenever she needs to take a break

She also won't complain...we love Celine guys‼️

[epicthemusicalstuff]

I CRYUNG I NEED SOMEONE TO SUM UP ALL ETM SONGS MY. MEMORY + ATTENTION SPAN IS SO BAD

Let’s speed run epic the musical so far!! (It’s under the cut cause even a summary is gonna take a bit for 35 songs-)

Horse and the Infant:

Giant horse- ATTACK! ZEUS?!?! What are you doing here? I have to kill a baby? But he’s just a little thing-

Just a Man:

This little boy reminds me of my son. Is killing him the morally correct thing to do? Yeet.

Full Speed Ahead:

Let’s introduce our main cast! Wow! Polites- Eurylochus- Odysseus! BFFs forever! We’re hungry- let’s go to this island and look for food!

Open Arms:

Wow Odysseus, you are looking hella tense, maybe you should try being nice and not so mistrustful. Look at these little creatures eating lotus fruit- wow this fruit is bad for you- let’s go to this cave to find food!

Warrior of the Mind:

Athena and Odysseus back story. Odysseus, your actions aren’t very Warrior of the Mind coded. Don’t disappoint me.

Polyphemus:

Let’s kill these Sheep!! NOOO! Scary Cyclops, we killed his sheep, now he will kill us.

Survive:

HES GOT A CLUB. He is killing us- NO POLITES. Oh, Polyphemus is asleep now cause he drank spiked wine.

Remember Them:

Odysseus tricks Polyphemus. They almost get away, and then he GIVES OUT HIS FULL NAME, JOB POSITION, ADRESS, AND SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER.

My Goodbye:

Athena is disappointed and they have a big messy friend break up.

Storm:

There is a big storm. Wow! A floating island! Let’s go!

Luck Runs Out:

Captain, you keep taking risks and not thinking this through. What happens if your plans fail?

Keep Your Friends Close:

Hahahahahaha! Here is a bag of wind! Don’t open it! Oh- the winions told you to open it? No!! Penelope- I’m hallucinating! Darn- the bag is opened.

Ruthlessness:

You hurt my son. So now I’m gonna kill most of your men. What’s this- a daring escape? Well- I’ll get you sooner or later-

Puppeteer:

An island. Let’s explore! Oh no- scary lady, she turned us into pigs! Let’s run Captain! Or not I guess.

Wouldn’t You Like:

Hey kid, this scary lady could kill you. How about some magic drugs? Totally safe and all.

Done For:

We are evenly matched- big magic fight! Wow! The magic drugs Hermes gave you really are something. Are you trying to seduce me?

There Are Other Ways:

Wow, you really are trying to seduce me. Too bad- I have a wife I love. Wait- you’ll help us? THE UNDERWORLD WHAT?

The Underworld:

We are haunted by everyone we have lost- Polites- wait- MOM?!? I’m too late-

No Longer You:

This dead prophet should tell me what we want to know- wait- what no- this is actually terrible? We came to you for help but now you’re saying you can’t help us? WHO?!a

Monster:

Maybe Poseidon was onto something, and we do have to be ruthless. Welp, time to become the monster y’all.

Suffering:

Ooo, Penelope, I love you, but you know I’m too shy. I don’t want to get in the water-

Different Beast:

SURPRISE I KNEW YOU WERENY MY WIFE. I actually did become the monster, and now I’m going to kill all your friends you Siren!

Scylla:

This is the only way home. Eurylochus, what do you mean you opened the wind bag back in Keep Your Friends Close. Light six torches- oh no, a giant monster is eating our crew. Me and her are the same you know.

Mutiny:

Captain why did you do that? Fight fight fight! Oh no- Odysseus has been stabbed. I’m hungry, let’s eat cows. Oh no, they were a gods cows. We knew that but still ate them. Now Zeus is gonna kill us.

Thunders Bringer:

Zeus is here. You can live, or your crew can live. But like- Penelope. Sorry crew. Crew dies.

Legendary:

It’s me! Telemachus! I never knew my dad- I wish I could know my dad. All these suitors want to marry my mom. I wish I could fight them. DONT CALL MY MOTHER A TRAMP!

Little Wolf:

Fight Little Wolf Fight- we are going to beat you up just cause you were in the way. WOW. ATHENA?? What are you doing here- we haven’t seen you since the second saga! Ow.

We’ll Be Fine:

I’m going to help you cause I feel guilty about your dad. Bet. We are best friends now. Go find my dad.

Love In Paradise:

Rewind- Morning! You were asleep. I’m in love with you now. Ew back away I have a wife. You’re a goddess??? Oh no- now I’m really depressed. I’m haunted by the ghosts again- ATHENA!

God Games:

Zeus- father- release Odysseus. *lots of convincing Gods* NO, YOU DID WHAT I ASKED SO NOW IM MAD. LIGHTNING BOLT. Is she- dead?

I’m Not Sorry For Loving You:

Yes I kept you trapped against you power, but I loved you- why won’t you love me back? It’s not like you have a whole literally family waiting for you-

Dangerous:

HAHAHAHA. Hello old friend! Let’s do some cool dance moves as I tell you how you will get back home. Here is a wind bag 2.0! Let’s hope you don’t have issues with it this time!

Charybdis:

Another obstacle!! But I know how to beat you!! Woo! I see home- I’m almost there! WAIT NO! NOT AGAIN!

Get In The Water:

Poseidon! Please let me get home- I already told Siren Penelope, I don’t want to get in the water! Can’t we get along? No! Drowning-

Six Hundred Strike:

Use the wind bag! I’m out of the water! SIX HUNDRED STRIKE! You’re beat Poseidon- let me go home. What’s this? You won’t. TIME FOR VIOLENCE. Stab. Stab. Stab. Next to my WIFE.

[fourmula1]

so what about a nashville gay bar full of wannabe cowboys in western shirts but with the sleeves cut off of course. its all boots and belt buckles, hats and bolo ties. 

and there’s country music and line dancing. there’s a mechanical bull in the back. daniel’s taken it for a ride already and he knows how to move - both to hold on to the bull and keep all eyes on him. the bull is always a shoe-in for nabbing him a hot cowboy for the night to dance with under the  dive bar neon and he’s got more than a couple of boys flashing their belt buckles and offering to buy him a drink. daniel’s spent most weekends here and he’s fucked most cowboys here but it never gets old. 

but what is new is the boy in the corner - wrangler jeans tighter than all get out, pulled over his boots, tight around his thick thighs. his pendleton print denim shirt doesn't have the sleeves cut off and his top few buttons are actually done right up. he’s not showing off for anyone. the boys in here are mostly playing the part of country boy but daniel can tell this guy is a real one. a bit of an awkward standout in a place like this but he probably fits in just fine on a ranch, tossing bales to the cows with well-worn leather gloves.

daniel nudges his way past the guy trying to chat him up and crosses the bar to the new stranger trying to hide in the dark corner. 

never seen you here before, he says; tips his hat and grins at the immediate pink blush dusting the guy’s cheeks. daniel can’t see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat, pulled down low. he’s shy. maybe scared. daniel leans up against the pillar at the edge of the dancefloor and crosses his arms over his chest. his is on show - three buttons undone, smooth waxed skin glistening under the lights of the dancefloor.

never been here before, the guy tells him and lifts his head and daniel’s heart stutters in his chest at the shine of the guy’s pretty blue eyes. the dimly lit dancefloor doesn’t hide anything. blue blue blue. 

he has a little twang of a country accent, and he shrugs a little, and daniel feels hungry. the guy is stocky and muscular in the way a man gets from actual hard work, not from hitting the gym just to look pretty. daniel wants to be under him immediately.

but first:

well, you wanna take me for a twirl or what? he asks, signature cheeky grin shining through. he knows he’s irresistible.

you know how to two-step? blue eyes asks and daniel’s knees would have buckled had he not been leaning up against that pillar.

most of the boys in these parts are Rainey Street wannabes who buy a cheap cowboy hat and call it a night. they know some line dances but that’s about it.

daniel smiles and stands up straight, holds his hand out to blue eyes and shivers when he takes it. 

and then he’s being pulled in close with a big hand at the small of his back, and pressed against blue eyes’ chest and oh, he is good. they flow together perfectly and daniel’s never danced with a stranger and had it go this well. the guy leads, and daniel goes easy, and it’s when he does indeed get twirled and pulled back into the pretty boy’s arms for a dip that he’s sure he’s a bit in love.

and they two-step the night away and daniel gets them drinks and learns that blue eyes’ name is max and he works on a ranch a few miles down the road and later daniel gets to learn for real how strong max’s hard-work muscular body is and how max’s hat looks hanging from daniel’s bedpost and how max’s roughed up hands feel pressing him into the sheets and how after tonight he never has a reason to go out dancing alone ever again because their life together is a real life country song. 

[runraerun]

-> Part 2

**NOW WITH ART!

(Everyone go shower @stervrucht with love & reblogs because she is a treasure to this fandom and her generosity knows no bounds🖤thank-you bestie!)

AO3 | WC: 7.8k | Rated: E | CW: Internalized homophobia, references to the death of a parent, lots of swearing and general vulgarity from the both of them. Drug usage. Discussions of trading sex acts for drugs. Billy being an asshole but hey what’s new. | Tags: ADHD Eddie Munson, Semi-closeted Eddie, Fully-closeted Billy, One-Sided Steddie (or is it? We don’t know because of unreliable narrator reasons) Bully Billy Hargrove, Bullied Eddie Munson, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Eddie calls Billy ‘m’lord’ in here god help him, Happy Ending, some angst sprinkled throughout, but overall quite fluffy.

(Title is inspired by a song of the same name by Chromeo.)

Summary:

“I’ll cut you a deal, Munson,” Billy says, his icy-pop blue eyes and dark lashes illuminated by the end of his stolen cigarette. “I’ll let you have something. Y’know, as payment.”

But pretty as Billy is, Eddie’s no sucker. “I don’t do trades either.”

“You’re gonna wanna hear this trade.” Billy exhales a cloud of white smoke between them.

Eddie doubts it, but the sooner he hears it the sooner he can shoot it down. “Spit it out then.”

Billy Hargrove stands there, half-smirk on his face, hips tilted forward. Like he’s God’s fucking gift. “I’ll let you suck my dick.”

And that.

Well.

Eddie isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting but it sure as hell isn’t that. 

Or, Billy tries to pay for drugs by offering to let Eddie blow him.

Of all the mugs Eddie expects to see in his neck of the woods, the one attached to Billy Hargrove, resident bad boy slash heartthrob with a notoriously short fuse and a mean right hook, is not one of ‘em.

The fact that he’s alone isn’t much of a comfort, but it’s… well, it’s something. It means if Billy’s planning on jumping him and stealing his stash, then at least Eddie’s got a shot at running and actually getting away with all his teeth intact.

Eddie sucks back on his cigarette, grateful he has something to do with his fidgeting hands as he eyes Hargrove’s approach. Tries his best to keep still—something he’s always been absolute dog shit at. Even as a little kid. They tossed words at him like Attention Deficit Disorder and Hyperactivity ’til the cows came home. Never changed anything, though. Mom always just called it ants in his pants. For Uncle Wayne, it was worms up his butt. All said in love, of course. Eddie was ant and worm-free, far as he knew. Just had a lot of energy is all. And a lot to say too. That isn’t a crime! But right now, under Billy Hargrove’s slow approach, he tries his damndest to get all his ants and his worms to settle down. No sudden moves in front of ticking time bombs.

“You’re Munson, right?” Hargrove asks in a low, slightly nasally voice. He’s stopped a few feet from the picnic table that Eddie’s perched on, his canister of goodies sitting unassumingly beside him.

Eddie fights his nerves—bulldozes over them, more like, and smiles wide, holding out his arms in a display of showmanship. “The one and only.”

Billy scoffs as his eyes travel around the clearing. Doesn’t seem too impressed by the ol’ Munson razzle-dazzle. “You alone out here?” he asks, eyes finally returning to Eddie’s.

Eddie shifts, leaning forward slightly—literally on edge. Why the hell did he have to say that so fucking ominously? “I was ‘til you showed up,” Eddie answers.

Billy hums noncommittally and doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s looking Eddie up and down. Sizing him up. Double-checking to make sure Eddie’s not a threat, maybe. Eddie fights the urge to duck his head and pull his shoulders in to assure Billy that he isn’t one. He’s a lover, not a fighter. In theory, anyway.

“Now what can I do for you on this fine evening, Mr. Hargrove? I don’t keep everything on me…“ Eddie trails off before he continues, “But I got anything you’d want.”

Billy snorts, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“You’re from Cali, right? I got weed from there. Stuff that tastes like blueberries,” Eddie leans forward and bounces his brows, “I got some shrooms from the coast too that could even knock someone like you on your ass. So, what’re you into, Hargrove? What’s your poison?”

Billy’s got an amused look on his face. He’s smirking, but no part of it’s warm or welcoming. It sets Eddie even further on edge than he already had been. “You sure know a lot about me.”

Eddie shrugs, feigning innocence. He takes another pull from his cigarette. “It’s a small town; people talk. Especially around people like me. Y’know, the kinda people who don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. And you, Billy Hargrove, you’re, well…”

Eddie bites his tongue before he continues to embarrass himself. Clears his throat instead, tries to think of something not entirely stupid to say, but the words rush around his noggin so quickly that he can’t seem to catch and pin down any one of ‘em.

The forest floor crunches under the sole of Billy’s heavy black boots as he takes a slow, purposeful step forward. “I’m what, freak?”

Eddie swallows. Feels the hair on the back of his neck stand. Jesus, does this guy ever blink? Fucking blue-eyed people and their zombie stares…

He smiles despite his nerves. Then, with a tilt of his head, he answers. “You’re hard to miss.”

It’s grounds to get punched, Eddie knows. Innocent as the comment is, Eddie’s been hit for less. Shit, he got shoved into a locker for looking too long that one time in middle school. Spent the whole fucking lunch break with no one but his ripe gym socks to keep him company. So yeah, maybe Eddie’s a little jumpy around jocks like Billy Hargrove who look like they could fold Eddie into a pretzel without breaking a sweat.

Billy doesn’t look like he’s gearing up to punch Eddie, though. Not yet anyway. He just looks sort of… amused.

It’s getting late. The sun’s low in the sky, and every few seconds it catches on Billy’s earring or his chain, both temporarily blinding him. Eddie doesn’t let his eyes wander, though. He’s got enough self-discipline for that at least.

“I’ll take some of that blueberry kush,” Billy finally says, checking over his shoulder one last time before he flicks his head towards Eddie. “But I don’t got any money. Not until Monday. I’ll have to owe you.”

“Sorry pal,” Eddie leans back, palms against the flat of the picnic tabletop. He blows the smoke from his cigarette up towards the sky. “I don’t do I.O.U’s.”

The air shifts between them. Eddie can feel it. The blue-eyed zombie stare darkens, and Billy takes another step forward until his hip nearly knocks up against one of Eddie’s bent legs. “What? You don’t think I’m good for it, pal?”

“I don’t know you, man,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, shifting uncomfortably. He always hates this part of the job. He’s been a punching bag on and off for most of his life, but that doesn’t mean he’s gotta like it.

“You just went on and on about how you did.” Billy spits, and Eddie flinches as it hits his cheek. He doesn’t dare raise a hand to swipe it off though, lest it be interpreted as a move to strike.

“Look, I can hold it for you until Monday, but that’s the best I can do.” Eddie offers, but it’s not enough. He knows it’s not even close to enough. Guys like Hargrove aren’t used to being told no.

“C’mon man, there’s gotta be some deal you can cut me. I just wanna have a good fucking night. You can understand that, can’t you, Munson?” Billy asks, his voice going soft. Smooth. Breathy.

And even though his insides are fucking liquifying in real time as he does it, Eddie shakes his head, his long hair curtaining his face as he does. “Can’t do it, man.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just beat the shit out of you and take your shit anyway, huh? How about that?” Billy asks, his bottom lip caught between especially sharp-looking teeth. Eddie looks up, his dark eyes lock onto Billy’s salt-water blue ones. Stormy fucking seas. Eddie sure as hell doesn’t want to get beat up tonight, but if he starts cutting deals and giving special treatment to everyone who threatens him he’d be intimidated right out of business. And he needs the cash. Can’t leave all the bills to Uncle Wayne.

Before Eddie can think up a clever answer, Billy’s got his head thrown back, and he’s cackling. “Shit, I’m fucking with you, dude. Put that face away. I swear, no one in this fucking town can take a goddamn joke.”

Eddie doesn’t bother defending himself, just takes his cigarette from his mouth, knocks off the ash and gives a shaky exhale before putting it back between his lips. He barely starts in on his next inhale when the damn thing is plucked out of his mouth.

Lightening fast. Eddie hadn’t even seen his hands—but there was his cigarette, half-smoked, between Billy’s lips. Eddie feels his face heat at the idea of Billy’s mouth being where his own was, just a second before.

“Ha ha,” Eddie mutters, his eyes narrowing. He’s feeling somewhat brave, despite feeling distinctly like a mouse that’s being battered by a cat's paw. “Very cute.”

Billy tips his head, accepting the comment as if it were a compliment. He doesn’t give Eddie his dart back though—the guy just keeps smoking it with a swarmy fucking grin on his tanned, well-proportioned face.

Because the truth is that Billy is easy on the eyes. Nice to look at. It’s entirely counteracted by the fact that the longer you look at that aforementioned face the higher your chances are of getting a knuckle sandwich sent hurtling your way… but Eddie’s still got functioning eyeballs. He can see that Billy’s… well. Beautiful.

In a weird way, though. Like how Eddie pictures the elves from Middle Earth might look.

Fucking ethereal and shit.

“I’ll cut you a deal, Munson,” Billy says, blue eyes and dark lashes illuminated by the cherry of that stolen cigarette. “I’ll let you have something. Y’know, as payment.”

But pretty as Billy is, Eddie’s no sucker. “I don’t do trades either.”

“You’re gonna wanna hear this trade.” Billy exhales a cloud of white between them.

Eddie doubts it, but the sooner he hears it the sooner he can shoot it down. “Spit it out then.” He sighs.

But Billy doesn’t ‘spit it out’. Instead, he shifts weight from foot to foot, looking suddenly agitated again. Billy sniffs and scratches his nose with the nail of his thumb. Like he’s tweaking. Eddie waits him out. Curiosity officially piqued.

Finally, after doing his little dance, Billy leans forward, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “I’ll let you suck my dick.”

And that.

Well.

Eddie wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

The shock is written all over Eddie’s face, he’s sure. He’s never been good at concealing his emotions—an open book, his mom called him. Shit liar, is what his dad called him. Either way, he knows the surprise of what Billy’s offered up plays across his face by the way Billy’s eyes dance around it, looking pleased.

“What?” Eddie squeaks out, face suddenly on fire.

“You heard me,” Billy snaps, “I ain’t sayin’ it again.”

Eddie blinks, looks away from Billy Hargrove’s icey freeze-pop eyes. It’s no easy task. “You’ll let me…?”

Eddie motions towards the crotch of Billy’s exceptionally tight jeans. Jeans that leave very little to the imagination, Eddie might add.

Billy grins, his pink tongue caught between his teeth as he leans back, jutting his hips out a little.

“I’ll let you,” he confirms. Standing there like he’s God’s fucking gift.

Though he’s got very little air left in his lungs, Eddie gives a weak scoff. “Shouldn’t this be the other way around?”

And for the first time tonight, Eddie does feel at risk of being sucker punched. Billy’s eyes flare, and just like that his beauty melts into something ugly. Like a spell is cast over him—beauty to beast. “I’m no cock-sucker.” He spits out.

In a show of surrender, Eddie raises his hands. “I didn’t say you were. I just—usually when someone is offering sexual favors it’s… Y’know what? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m not—I don’t trade in pleasures of the flesh, ‘kay? That’s not what I’m doing here, Hargrove. It’s cash only.”

But Billy’s either got a hearing problem or a comprehension problem because he rolls his eyes and just keeps on bartering. “Fine, I’ll give you a handjob. After my blow job.”

Now. Eddie isn’t a prude. In fact, he’s probably something of a pervert if his porno of choice is any indication of that, but this—with Billy?

Eddie’s spent this entire interaction scared fucking stiff, and now Billy’s offering to go and get him into an even more vulnerable position—with Eddie’s pants literally around his ankles?

“No.” Eddie aggressively shakes his head, sending his curls in motion. No no no. Fuck no. As hot as Billy is—no. The decision is final. Take it or leave it, Eddie thinks stubbornly. Heels successfully dug in.

Billy sighs through his nose, takes a step back and chuckles dryly to himself. “I know you’re a queer, Munson. Don’t—!” Billy snaps, pointing a finger in Eddie’s face when he dares open his mouth to deny it, “don’t fucking lie to me.

Eddie swallows, promptly shutting the fuck up.

Is he really that obvious…?

Billy continues, “I know you’re a queer. I saw the way you used to look at Harrington, back when we were all in school together. Gym class,” Billy leans forward, back in Eddie’s space, their shared cigarette bouncing between them as he speaks, “the showers. Remember?”

It’s been a year since Hargrove and Harrington both leap-frogged him out of Hawkins High, diplomas in tow. A full year, but apparently Billy’s got a fucking photographic memory. Eddie feels his t-shirt stick to his back, slick with sweat. “Whatever, man. It’s not a crime to look.”

“It is in this shit hole of a town,” Billy chuckles, dark and humourless, “so you get it now? I know you like dick. And I like pot. So, let’s work something out, here, Munson.”

Billy claps his hands together between them, loud and jarring. “Time’s a’wastin’, amigo!”

Jesus this guy…

“Even if I did like dick,” Eddie tilts his head and scrunches his nose, “it doesn’t mean I want your dick, Hargrove.”

“A dick’s a dick, man. And trust me, I got a nice, big fat one for you to choke on, trust me, you’ll love it,” Billy laughs as he speaks, watching in amusement as Eddie rubs a hand over his heated, blotchy face. “C’mon, you’ve sucked cock before, right?”

The simple answer is yeah, a couple of times. Every time it ended pretty much the same though. With him being shoved off after they’d finished. Being told they weren’t gay, that if Eddie were to ever tell anyone about the encounter they would deny it, call Eddie a liar, or worse, beat the shit out of him.

He’s not a dummy; Eddie knows being queer in Hawkins is a risk, so it made sense to want to keep it hush-hush. Eddie’s the rumoured gay kid, so if you’re gonna experiment with someone, why not let it be with him? But after a handful of times being treated like trash—something people needed to wash their hands in Javex from after simply touching him—he stopped. It didn’t feel good.

“You don’t gotta answer. I already know you have.” Billy mutters, smug. “Mouth like that.”

There’s no way Billy knows, but Eddie ducks his head, tired of how this entire fucking conversation has him feeling like he wants to crawl out of his skin. Tired of how the darker the sky gets, the brighter Billy’s eyes seem to turn.

And what the fuck’s wrong with Eddie’s mouth..?

“Cash only,” Eddie repeats. Monotone. Suddenly overstimulated as fuck.

Billy finally pulls the last bit that he can from the cigarette, down to the butt, before he flicks the remains of it into the grass. He gives one final, frustrated exhale of smoke. “Fine. Jesus, Munson, you drive one hell of a bargain. But I’ll sweeten the deal for you, alright?”

“Jesus, Hargrove, are your ears not working? Or did you get hit one too many times with the basketball during your jock days? I said I’m not interested. In your cock or your hand or whatever else you try and offer up.” Eddie exclaims, voice going high with strain.

But it’s like the more worked up Eddie gets, the more Billy wags his fucking tail. He’s all lit up, shiny white teeth built for puncturing. He gets back to crowding Eddie—Eddie, who’s one hair’s breadth away from raising his hands and shoving this smug asshole away from him, not caring if he gets his ass kicked as a consequence, but then Billy’s talking again. And Eddie… Eddie’s listening.

“We could kiss a little,” Billy drawls out, angling his mouth towards Eddie’s ear. He lets his voice drop to a low rumble, his words vibrating in that wide chest of his. It sends a chill down Eddie’s spine. “Y’know, make out. You got a van, right? Nice and private. You’d like that.”

Eddie turns his head towards Billy, so close they’re nearly touching each other. His mouth hangs open, slack, but Eddie can’t get a fucking word out. His whole fucking life, all he’s ever heard is ‘Jesus, does this kid have an off switch?’ ‘Eddie, give mommy’s ears a break, please,’ ‘Eddie is very disruptive in class with his constant chatting’. And now he can’t make a single goddamn sound!

Billy, on the other hand, seems entirely pleased at rendering the great motor-mouth-Munson to a mute. “I’m a good kisser, too.” He adds, eyes dropping down to Eddie’s mouth. Like he’s gonna do it right here and now. Eddie’s throat clicks when he swallows.

The embarrassing part is that, well—Except his Mom and his Meemaw and his weird cousin that one time, he’s never… y’know. Been kissed.

Sucked cock? Sure, yeah. That ship has sailed. Sayo-fuckin’-nara.

But kissing? On the mouth? Romantically? It hasn’t happened for Eddie yet. Not that any of what Billy’s propositioning here is in any way romantic, of course, but…

Eddie watches as Billy darts a pink tongue out between his lips, wetting them so that they glisten. Jesus Christ. How can he say no to that? Rules or no, Eddie’s only fucking human. Does he not bleed if he’s cut? Does he not get hard if he’s presented with an absolute fucking smoke show like Billy Hargrove offering to make out with him? All for the low low price of his dignity and a couple of ounces?

“You… actually want to?” Eddie frowns, counter to the nervous smile that’s pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Billy clicks his tongue and shrugs a shoulder, eyes scanning the horizon for like, the hundredth time. “What I want is for you to cut me a deal. That’s enough, ain’t it?”

No, is Eddie’s knee-jerk answer. It’s not enough. Not even close. But, maybe the first kiss fantasy he’s got built up in his head wasn’t ever gonna happen. Especially not for someone like Eddie. He’s probably lucky. Billy’s hot. Willing. And Eddie’s… well, there’s not exactly anyone lining up at Eddie’s front door for the pleasure of his company, let’s just say that.

He feels himself nodding before his brain has even had a chance to catch up. “Yeah. Fine. Okay.”

“Yeah?” Billy grins, canines flashing, “Guess I should’ve started with the chick stuff first, huh?”

Chick stuff? Eddie makes a face. Suddenly emboldened, he shoves a hand against Billy’s shoulder, which just makes him laugh harder. “Don’t be a shithead, Hargrove, or deal’s off. Got it? I’ll walk, I swear to Christ!”

Billy doesn’t agree nor does he disagree, he just leers after Eddie like a fucking bonafied weirdo. And as someone who’s all but cornered the market on being a bonafide weirdo, that’s saying something. He hops off the picnic table, scooping up his lunch box of goodies as he does, not daring to turn his back on Hargrove. “I’m parked just through here.”

Eddie starts towards his van, stealing glances over at Billy as he trudges on after him, only a step behind. Just enough to make Eddie nervous. “Don’t you have like, a job?”

“Two of ‘em, actually.” Billy answers, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Why?”

“How do you not have any cash on you?” Eddie asks, blunt as always.

Billy stiffens, just a little. “That’s none of your business, Munson.”

Eddie raises his hands in yet another mock surrender, “sure, whatever. Remain a man of mystery, I don’t care.”

Just seems stupid, is all. Billy must be fucking terrible with money. Probably spends it all on his obnoxiously loud car. Eddie doesn’t voice any of his many theories though. Billy’s covered in live wires, and Eddie’s not overly eager to start touching and testing ‘em.

The woods aren’t especially dense, but it’s new growth—the old forest chopped down a few decades back and left to grow back all weedy and skinny. There’s lots of branches to duck under along with dirt holes to roll your ankles in. Eddie knows his pathway like the back of his hand by this point, but Billy; not so much. There’s a bundle of eye level branches that always used to smack Eddie in the face when he was focused on his footing, so he makes sure to turn and holds the offending branches back for Billy so he doesn’t totally eat it.

Thinking back, maybe it’s a weird thing to do for another guy, but Eddie’s radar for what’s weird and what isn’t has been busted since he first got cut out of his mom. Always difficult, even back then.

So yeah, Eddie doesn’t get a thank you, or whatever—instead Billy just eyes him with an air of suspicion as he ducks under Eddie’s arm. Like he’s waiting for Eddie to let the branches go or something. Who knows.

Either way, it’s the last great hurdle before they’re back at Eddie’s van, which is right where he left her; parked in the middle of the small gravel lot behind the watershed. Nobody came back here, especially not at night.

His hands shake when he takes out his keys, feeling Billy’s eyes on him. Briefly wonders what kind of mess was waiting for them in the back, but whatever. It’s not like Billy’s expecting The Ritz.

He gets the doors unlocked, and because he’s a gentleman, he holds the door open for his hook-up.

Despite his nerves rattling around under his skin, Eddie gives a little flourish for good measure, holding out an arm for Billy to take. “After you, m’lord.”

Billy scoffs, blue eyes rolling back in his head. And as dim as the light is, Eddie swears he can see two pink spots form on the apples of Billy’s cheeks. He counts it for a win.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird.” Billy mutters as he crawls into the back of Eddie’s van, pointedly ignoring Eddie’s offered arm, the whole thing shifting with the heft of him.

“Wow, y’know what, Hargrove, I had never heard that one before.” Eddie says, hot on Billy’s heels. He swings the door shut behind him.

The back of Eddie’s van is pretty spartan, but only because he’d just finished using it to lug a shit ton of gear to and from a Corroded Coffin gig. What’s left behind is a couple of ratty blankets, some old sweaters, a scattering of sheet music and some candy bar wrappers. It could be neater, but overall it’s not terrible.

Billy sits with his back to one side of the van, his legs spread, knees bent. He sits like a man. One used to taking up room and not apologizing for it. Eddie backs himself up against the opposite wall of the van’s interior, knees bent to his chest, legs crossing at his ankles. There’s not much light back here, but Eddie’s eyes adjust quickly to spot Billy’s agitated-looking face.

“Well?” Mr. California barks, one of his legs begins bouncing restlessly. It shakes the whole van.

Eddie swallows, “well?”

“Where’s the weed?” Billy asks.

Oh.

Right. Wake up, Munson.

Eddie scrambles to get his feet back under him before he squeezes his upper half into the front of the van, reaching into the glove box to grab a baggie.

“Here y’go.” Eddie winces as he pulls himself back through. He sits on bent legs, closer to Billy now. He bestows upon him the sacred sandwich baggy of goods. “Premium blueberry kush, 100% indica. So it’ll mellow you right out. Not that you need to chill out, of course, but, y’know. It should, in theory, help with that scary vein you get in your forehead sometimes.”

Billy glares at Eddie as he swipes the bag out of his hands, the scary vein threatening to make an appearance right there and now. He turns that glare toward the bundles of dried herbs.

“You got a bong or a pipe or somethin’?” Billy mumbles.

“Duh,” Eddie scoffs, breathing entirely too hard, “Why?”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘why?’ To smoke this shit with.” Billy gives the baggy a few vicious shakes in front of Eddie’s face.

Eddie feels his eyes cross as he follows the weed. “Right now?”

“Unless you feel like rollin’ it.” Billy shrugs, sounding like his already thin patience is beginning to wear even thinner.

“No—uh, I just thought you’d wanna smoke at home or whatever.” Not with Eddie.

A crease forms between Billy’s eyebrows as he frowns. “What, you don’t wanna smoke with me, Munson?”

Eddie snorts, shakes his head, “hey, I’ll smoke with anyone—“

“Then shut the fuck up and get the bong already!” Billy shouts, fuse burnt down to the quick.

And if there’s one thing about Eddie, is he responds well to yelling. Or, not well, per se, but shouting always seems to snap him out of whatever fog he’s in. It works on him. So, yeah, he responds. Jumps to attention. His mom used to have to snap her fingers in front of his face to ‘bring him back’, she said. No one else seems to bother with that sort of gentle touch with Eddie though, except Uncle Wayne, but he usually just gives Eddie’s hair a tussle instead of a snap.

So back to the front he goes, sliding the keys into the ignition and starting the old girl up while he’s there so that they’ve got some music to fill the silence. And if memory serves him correctly, Billy’s got pretty decent taste, music-wise.

When he sits back down, bong in hand.

“Ta-da!” Eddie sings, holding the contraption up by the neck to Billy in victory, careful not to tip it over. Billy looks entirely unimpressed as he grabs it out of Eddie’s hand and slots it between his thighs.

Lucky bong.

Billy starts grinding up some pieces between his fingers and packing the bowl with a familiarity that Eddie can respect.

Technically, it’s still Eddie’s weed that Billy’s prepping, since he hasn’t exactly gotten payment for the pot yet, but… maybe Billy needs the vapour courage before he can face the idea of kissing another dude. Of kissing Eddie.

Eddie watches from behind the hair he’d let fall in his face as Billy lights the bowl, inhales, and takes a hit. It’s sort of pretty, the way he slowly exhales the smoke out of the side of his mouth. Away from Eddie.

Then the bong is being pressed into his hands. Eddie’s turn.

He takes a rip, then another one once Billy’s taken another hit of his own, and that’s all it takes for the both of ‘em to get laid out on their asses. They end up flat on their backs, the round part of their shoulders touching, both staring up at the ceiling of the van, with rolled-up sweaters and blankets under their heads in the way of makeshift pillows. They’re the kind of high where time feels like it’s barely moving. Something made up. A concept. Like there’s a very real possibility that Eddie and Billy have been lying here for an eternity, and then some.

And Eddie still hasn’t gotten any kisses from Billy.

But he also hasn’t gotten any punches by Billy either, so there’s that…

“You ever seen the ocean, Munson?” Billy murmurs in a voice that’s gone a little rough thanks to all the smoke still floating around the van. Now successfully hot-boxed. Drawing out their high.

Eddie’s arms feel heavy. “No.”

Billy turns his neck to look at Eddie like he’s re-evaluating his idea of him paired with this new, disappointing information. Eddie turns his head away from Billy, just a little, feeling weirdly embarrassed. “Never even left the state.”

Small town, trailer trash… that’s probably what Billy thinks of him. Billy, who’s been everywhere. Especially compared to Eddie. He expects to get laughed at, but Billy keeps surprising Eddie. He just looks… bummed out.

“You’d probably hate it,” Billy states, sure of himself, eyes dancing across Eddie’s face. “You’d burn right fuckin’ quick. Get sand all up in your shorts. D’you even know how to swim?”

“A little.” Eddie means to say defensively, but it comes out as little more than a sigh.

“Not in waves, though, I bet. You’d end up swallowing your weight in seawater before I hauled your ass out,” Billy’s smiling at the strange little fantasy where Eddie’s tormented by the elements. Eddie’s giggling along too, though he’s entirely unsure as to why.

“A crab might even,” lighting fast, Billy reaches over to punch the barely-there roll on Eddie’s stomach, “get’chya.”

Eddie yelps—or maybe he squeals. He can’t be sure. Either way, whatever sound he lets out isn’t in any way charming or cute. Which; no surprise there. Instinctually, his hand’s gone and encircled itself around Billy’s wrist, but he’s too fucking blitzed out to do more than just squeeze it, trying to appear threatening. Sort of tough when you can’t stop fucking giggling. “Stop, stop—I’m gonna piss myself, dude.”

Billy’s got his tongue caught between his teeth, laughing along, low and rough in his throat, but to his credit (and probably a desire not to be covered in piss) he releases his hold on Eddie’s stomach.

They settle back on their backs, one Metallica track leading into another. It’s the only way Eddie can be sure the clocks haven’t all stopped entirely. Proof the passage of time is still in working order. He exhales in relief, staring at Billy’s profile.

For someone so fucking scary, he’s got deceptively cute features. An honest-to-Christ button nose, along with some ridiculously long eyelashes. Golden ringlets fall around his face. Freckles too, all over his cheeks. Even a Cupid’s bow. When Billy fell from heaven, he didn’t hit like, a single ugly branch on his way down.

Eddie blinks before his brain catches up with what he’s looking at; Billy, staring back at him. When did Billy turn his head? How long have their eyes been locked? A second? A year? Time’s fucking with him so hard, Jesus…

“M’not really an outdoorsy kinda guy.” Eddie admits, unable to keep from smiling.

Because of the weed.

Billy gives a lazy snort as if what Eddie had just said was the understatement of the year. “That’s weird, because you kinda look like a bug.”

It shouldn’t make him laugh as hard as it does, but Eddie feels the rumble of it in his chest, and he can’t help but let out a series of very unflattering sounding laughs. Billy’s not laughing along, but he seems entirely entertained by Eddie’s fucking display.

When he finally catches his breath, Eddie indignantly squeaks out, “How do I look like a bug?”

“Because,” Billy flicks his chin towards Eddie’s face, teasing half-smile still firmly in place, “you got them big buggy eyes.”

Eddie blows a low-energy strawberry, rolling his eyes before they land back on Billy. Can’t seem to take his eyes off of him for long. “I’ll have you know that my ‘big buggy eyes’ are my best feature.”

Billy narrows his eyes, clearly amused. “You think so?”

“I know so. It’s what everyone tells me.” Eddie widens his eyes to drive the point home.

Everyone being his mom when she was still alive, and… well, just his mom. But she was a real smart lady. And like, super pretty. A total knock-out. She knew about this sort of thing. He remembers how she used to go on and on about his big brown puppy-dog eyes, about how they’d break hearts one day. And no one, especially not Billy Hargrove, can take that away from him. Even if it is something all moms say to their funny-looking kids.

“Well, everyone’s lying to you,” Billy says, in that casually cruel way of his.

Eddie drops his jaw in an exaggerated show of the offense. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Billy confirms, smug. A true blue asshole; through and through. “Your best feature’s your lips, no question.”

And. Well, no one’s ever said anything about his lips before. Not his mom, not his hook-ups—no one.

They’re just… lips. Not especially big or small. Kind of right in the middle. They’re even kinda chapped right now.

“Gee, thanks.” He murmurs, from lips that Billy Hargrove apparently approves of. Maybe even likes. His fingers twitch at his sides, palms growing sweaty.

Billy just looks away, like Eddie’s caught him doing something wrong. Caught him being nice. Guess it probably hurts the ol’ bad boy image to compliment other boy’s lips. Eddie resists the urge to raise one of his hands and feel along the ridges of his mouth, to map ‘em out. Try and figure out what Billy likes about them enough to say it out loud. He’s buzzing with the compliment.

“So, you still want… y’know, payment or whatever?” Billy asks, keeping his words to little more than a low murmur between them.

The song playing through the speakers stops—a brief pause before it leads into the next one. It’s deathly quiet in those tense few seconds.

Eddie doesn’t answer Billy right away. He can’t. So instead, he just… lets the questions hang between them. Because the thing is, God help him, he does. And yeah, maybe he didn’t plan on his first kiss being with big bad Billy Hargrove—maybe instead of golden curls and freckles Eddie had envisioned dark, fluffy hair and a splattering of moles. Big brown bedroom eyes instead of sharp, icy blue ones. Either way, he’s way out of his depth. Out of his league. In fact, Eddie should be on his hands and knees thanking Billy for even considering sucking face with a guy like him. He should be psyched. And he is!

Fuck, this weed is making it hard to keep his thoughts linear. He stares back at Billy, realizing suddenly that he’s been waiting for an answer to his question.

“Nothing is ever free, Hargrove,” Eddie answers, cryptic, even to his own ears, “you should know that.”

Because it’s the truth, isn’t it? Nobody just does shit out of the goodness of their hearts. Everyone expects something in return. Everyone’s gotta pay the piper. And if something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. So yeah, Eddie gives what he can, but he also takes what he can get. Same as Billy, Eddie suspects.

Billy’s got a real perplexed sort of look on his face. Golden and tan, even in the cold, sterile light of night. His eyes momentarily dart to Eddie’s lips, just for a split second. But split second or no, Eddie’d caught it. The tiny motion sends his beat-up little dime-store heart all a’flutter. Billy likes these lips.

“Close your eyes,” Billy tells him, voice cigarette rough.

Eddie does it, trying to keep his breathing even. Shallow, so he doesn’t puff hot air in Billy’s face when he approaches. His hands lay limply by his sides, with his hair splayed around his like some expanding ink blot on the floor of his van.

He has the sudden and quite frankly embarrassing image of Snow White lying dead in her glass coffin, pale-skinned and raven-haired, waiting for a kiss of her own.

It’s so stupid that he ends up snorting.

“What? You think this is funny, Munson?” Billy growls, voice sounding like it’s still to the right of him, but that he’s propped up on an elbow or something.

Eddie shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed. A smile tugs at one of the corners of his mouth, totally beyond his control. “No, no, it’s stupid. I. Just—fuck. Sorry. Forget I did that.”

“If you think this is stupid, then I can go. I don’t need this shit—“

”No! Stop—“ Eddie reaches out and grabs the front of Billy’s shirt, his eyes popping open in panic. “You’re not stupid—I’m… shit, you’re gonna laugh.”

“Just tell me, shithead.” Billy snaps, face getting more and more red as his temper rises.

“Fine. Jesus.” Eddie squirms under the intensity of Billy’s gaze. All hard edges and intimidation now. Eddie’s only had the Billy that tickles him and tells him nice things about his lips for a fucking millisecond, but he already misses him.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before, alright?” He blurts out, quick like a bandaid.

And with that, Billy’s eyes go a little funny. The icey shards in his eyes melt back to tumultuous waters. “Seriously?”

“No, dude, I’m lying about being a total loser with no game.” Eddie snorts, emboldened by his buzzing high.

Billy frowns, “Aren’t you like, two years older than me?”

“Look, I had opportunities, okay? But mostly… It was, y’know. With girls. Pretty ones, too!” his brows shoot up, attempting to emphasize the point, “but I just… I never wanted to.”

Billy’s stone-still while he listens. Looking like he’s hanging off every word that Eddie’s stumbling over.

“So, you can’t even fake it?” He asks.

Eddie blinks, suddenly lost. “Fake what?”

“Liking chicks.” He answers quickly.

“Nah,” Eddie huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “I’m a shitty liar.”

“Poor bastard.” Billy mumbles, mostly to himself. Then he clicks his tongue, “That’s a real tough break, amigo.”

Eddie’s shoulders twitch. “I get by.”

A corner of Billy’s mouth turns down and he tilts his head like he’s allowing Eddie some small, indiscernible mercy.

“I just feel bad,” Billy says, low and smooth, “you starting at the very top like this. Everyone else after me is gonna feel like a major fuckin’ letdown.”

Eddie snorts, looking up at Billy, who’s got himself propped up on an elbow and is sort of hovering above him. “Big talk, Hargrove.”

Canines flash. “Well I got a big game, Munson.”

“You’re a real cocky b—” Eddie’s words are smushed back into his mouth when Billy suddenly leans forward and presses his lips against Eddie’s.

Billy’s got a hand against Eddie’s neck, the pad of his thumb against the edge of his jaw, tilting his face up just so. Eddie can hear his heart thundering in his chest, white noise overtaking For Whom the Bell Tolls.

His first kiss.

It’s warm and soft. Drier than he expected it would be. The stubble of Billy’s moustache scrapes against his upper lip, sending shockwaves up and down Eddie’s spine. Billy smells like cologne. Or maybe that’s aftershave—he can’t tell. Eddie fills his lungs with it, breathing deeply through his nose.

The thumb resting against Eddie’s jaw begins stroking along his cheek. Delicately. Like Eddie’s something fragile. Precious, even. He’s gone all tingly everywhere Billy touches him—like magic.

It’s about this time that Billy parts his lips, sliding a tongue along the seam of Eddie’s mouth, gentle prodding—like he’s looking for a weak point. Somewhere to gain entry.

Or maybe he just wanted to taste Eddie’s lips.

Hey, can’t a guy dream?

Billy shifts his weight, further encroaching into Eddie’s personal space, his broad shoulders caging over top of Eddie’s narrower ones. Then Billy raises a leg and swings it over before letting his hips drop over top of Eddie’s own. It’s like touching a fucking live wire. He can’t help the way he reflexively gasps and bucks up into the solid bulk above him. And sweet Jesus Mary and Joseph… he’s rock fucking hard in his jeans. When did that happen?

Flood gates open. Billy—clearly emboldened by the discovery of what he’s doing to Eddie’s body—deepens their kiss by sticking his tongue down Eddie’s throat. The sensation is weird as hell—Eddie’s only ever had his own tongue in his mouth, but there Billy’s is, swirling around, dipping in and out as the sound of their smacking lips fills the van, harmonizing with Hammett‘s insane, face-melting guitar solo.

There are teeth involved now too; Billy’s biting Eddie’s lower lip and pulling, stopping right before it gets painful. It brings sounds out of Eddie that he’d never heard himself make before. Didn’t even know that he could make. All breathy and moany. Maybe he should be embarrassed about how loud he’s progressively getting, but it’s hard to think straight when Billy’s slowly grinding his hips down against his. And Billy’s—fuck, Billy’s hard too. That’s gotta be what that is, right? Jesus H. Christ…

Their hips move in tandem now, the same way their tongues seem to. It’s like Eddie’s body just knows what to do. It’s fucking incredible. He’s never been naturally good at anything in his life. Nothing comes easily to Eddie Munson. Every talent he’s got has been hard-fought, earned through blood, sweat and tears.

But this… Eddie might actually be kinda good at this.

Or maybe Billy’s just a really good teacher.

He’s a cocky asshole, but Eddie fears he might have been serious about everyone else being a letdown after him. Because how the hell is anyone else going to compare to this? To Billy Hargrove. Mr. California King. Eddie could swear he’s glowing right now—like Billy’s spent so much time laid out in the sunlight that a couple of rays got trapped just underneath his skin. Dude can’t help but shine.

Yeah, he’ll be a tough act to follow.

But that’s another Eddie’s problem. Future Eddie. Meanwhile, the here and now Eddie, is getting kissed. He’s got Billy’s big arms wrapped around him, like Eddie’s somehow worth something to someone like him.

Down south, there’s just the right amount of pressure on his denim-trapped dick. He can feel the line of Billy’s own cock bump against his own when he pushes hard enough. He could fucking weep. It’s almost too much—too good. Too perfect. What’s he gonna do with himself now that he knows he could be doing this? God, how’s he ever gonna jerk off when this—when Billy… oh fuck-!

His orgasm hits him like a goddamn freight train. The switch on his brain had gone off and it didn’t even have the courtesy of letting him know!

Eddie’s jaw drops open, mid-kiss, and he pants—moans—into Billy’s mouth. His hips go stiff, stuck in its lifted position, trying to drive upwards into Billy as hard as he can. He can feel himself shake all over as the waves crash over him, one after the other in quick succession, nearly whiting out his vision. He shuts his eyes as he finally comes down on the other side of it, releasing a choked-sounding exhale.

He goes limp. Boneless. Buzzing and tingling and vibrating all over. Waits for the feeling of mortification to overtake him. It should be here in 3… 2…

“Did you just…?” Billy asks, lifting his own hips to examine the scene of the crime. Eddie imagines the wet spot steadily growing on the front of his jeans, a little off to the left, is pretty hard to miss.

“Holy shit, you did,” Billy chuckles, slightly awed sounding, “you just creamed your fuckin’ pants.”

Eddie whimpers. The sharp contrast of absolute bone-deep humiliation paired with the fluttery, intensely content feeling he's still got working its way through his nervous system is enough to make his head spin.

“Sorry.” Eddie blinks his eyes open.

Eddie didn’t think it was possible for Billy to look any more smug than he did before, but somehow, he’s achieving the impossible.

“Don’t be,” Billy insists, a chuckle still at the edge of his words. He grunts a little as he rolls off of Eddie and drops down onto his back. Taking up his previous position of laying shoulder to shoulder next to each other. “I take it as a compliment.”

It’s kinda sweet of him. Because what happened was embarrassing. No two ways about it. Shooting off like that, like Eddie’s some horn dog who can’t control himself?

But, well, if the boot fits…

Billy reaches down and roughly adjusts himself before sitting up. Gentle touches all used up for Eddie, apparently. Then he lifts his ass just enough that he can slide a hand behind him to retrieve a crumpled-looking box of Marlboro reds. Shakily, Eddie sits up too, engaging muscles that still feel jello-like.

Billy knocks out a cigarette and puts it between his lips. Then he knocks out a second one, and without asking, puts it in Eddie’s mouth. Billy leans forward, and Eddie mirrors him—still just trying to keep up—moving until the ends of their cigarettes line up. Billy ignites his lighter, temporarily blinding them both, but he holds it in front of them, and they inhale in tandem.

Smoke fills Eddie’s lungs. The familiar, soothing burn in his throat makes him feel a little more solid. Present. It makes what just happened all the more bewildering.

They smoke in silence.

Well, except for the music from his cassette still humming from the speakers. Billy mumbles something about loving a certain drum solo, but other than that, it’s crickets. It goes on like this until their cigarettes are half their original size and Eddie finally grows a pair.

“What about you?” He murmurs around his dart.

Billy exhales a stream of smoke out of his nose, looking like a sick ass dragon before he answers, “What about me?”

Eddie flicks his chin towards Billy’s general direction. “You wanna get off too?”

Billy just snorts and shakes his head, like Eddie had said something prosperous. “Nah.”

A pit forms in the center of Eddie’s gut. Souring any of the leftover post-nut happy chemicals that were still rolling around his noggin. That sting of rejection. The knowledge that Billy doesn’t actually want someone like Eddie touching him. Like Billy’s itching to go take a shower and wash all the Eddie-cooties off of him, before heading back to his actual life. Like being with Eddie is something embarrassing. It’s a sinking fucking feeling, one he knows no post-high buzz or cigarette is going to touch. Sometimes Eddie forgets that he’s just a detour. Never anyone’s destination point.

“Maybe next time.” Billy mumbles, so low that Eddie almost misses it entirely. He finishes his cigarette before stuffing the butt of it into one of the many makeshift ashtrays Eddie’s got kicking around back here. Then he starts making his way to the back doors, slipping out into the Indiana night.

Next time.

The words echo in Eddie’s head. Bounce off the walls, does couple of cartwheels, spins. The letters get all scrambled up before he’s able to make sense of them.

Next time.

“Pleasure doing business with you, California.” Eddie hollers out a split second before Billy can close the door.

A half-smile forms on that Cupid’s bow-tipped mouth. Pretty as a picture. How did Eddie never notice before? And how’s he supposed to think about anything else?

“See you around, Eddie.” He purrs, knows exactly what he’s doing, Eddie’s sure of it—then slams the door shut between them. He’s engulfed in darkness again. His eyes are back to their unadjusted state, while specks of nothing flit across his blackened vision. He gnaws on his bottom lip to keep the laugh that’s threatening to bubble up from his chest at bay.

Next time.

—

Permanent Tag List: (dm me if you’d like to be added or removed—OR if you’d only like to be tagged for specific ships. ie, ONLY Steddie or ONLY Harringrove, etc.)

@stervrucht @dame-zoom-a-lot @lawrencebshoggoth @morallyundefined @thepossummoldypasta @wheneverfeasible @sanctumdemunson @chaotic-waffle @bookworm0690 @lifelessstar

[procyonloser]

Adam kicked a rock with one of his new hooves, hating how it felt against the hoof - dull, but still there. Kind of like him. A fucking cow demon. He sure as fuck didn't sign onto that shit, and he was pretty sure it was at least 95% Lucifer's fault that he looked like this. That he sounded like this, unable to speak besides...mooing.

Vaggie told him it suited him, to have lived a life only valuing what women could do for him, what women could give to him, to be turned into a cow.

Adam called her a stuck up dumb cunt with one stupid eye. It came out as a long angry moo, and she simply laughed in his face and walked away.

He had to get out of that fucking hotel as often as he could. It hurt his brain to be in there, to hear the songs, the little trust exercises, the crying, god Charlie cried so much. Adam had to get away, but Pentagram city was just as depressing as the rest of Hell. Violent criminals, weird sex shit, badly spelled billboards advertising hired assassins. Gross, Adam thought to himself, hopping over a puddle of... He didn't want to think about it too hard.

"Hey big boy, you want to be branded?" A demon leered at him, leaning against a car on the sidewalk. There was another demon inside it that blinked multiple eyes up at Adam, raking down his body. Adam was not into it, this wasn't adoring fans in Heaven talking about how awesome he was.

He felt like, well, a piece of meat.

"Hey, come on, I think you'd look great with a nose ring, maybe a little bell collar." The demon laughed, pushing away from the car and following Adam along the sidewalk. Adam's tail flicked him, trying to keep him away, his powers were mostly gone now, he had typical sinner strength, and he didn't want to get into a fight only being able to say moo.

"Excuse you, sir!" A voice boomed with pomp and circumstance, descending from on high. Lucifer floated down from the sky above, angelic wings flapping lightly as he landed, hands on his hips like a wanna be Superman.

"This cow, I mean sinner, is my friend Adam! I will not allow you to speak to him in such a manner." Lucifer said, and Adam wanted to throw him off of a window. Where was any of this care in the last fucking ten thousand years?

"... Who the shit are you?" The demon asked, blinking repeatedly. "Some weirdo with an angel kink?"

"No!" Lucifer snarled, eyes briefly turning gold before he smiled politely. "I am Lucifer Morningstar, your King."

The demon looked unimpressed. "Sure you are, anyway, I was just telling your cow he'd look better with a piercing, maybe a brand of my name on his fat ass. Or maybe, nipple rings, yeah? That'd be hot."

Lucifer's horns began to push out of his skull, and Adam looked curiously between him and the demon. He'd actually enjoy seeing Lucifer rip him to shreds.

"How dare you speak about him in such a way, do you not know to whom you are addressing - Adam, the son of Earth, the first man, you vile- wait did you say nipple rings?" Lucifers tone shifted from one that rocked the very ground itself to curiosity. Lucifer swiveled to stare at Adam, gaze stopping directly on his chest. "Mm... Hmm..."

Adam blinked, looking at the demon, who was also confused.

"Moo!" Adam huffed, stomping his hoof. Lucifer snapped out of it and obliterated the catcalling demon into dust with a snap, before blinking and wincing.

"Oopsiedoopsie, I told Charlie I wouldn't do that anymore. Uh, he'll reform I think. It's fine. Anyway, you want to go home? I was just out, flying to the store. I think we need some....milk...." Lucifers brain seemed to stop functioning again as he stared at Adam again.

".....Moo?!" Adam yelled.

This truly was hell.

[fryingpan1234567]

listen I knowwww Roach should be British. he was on a British task force. he’s got the flag on his uniforms. but when @fixfoxnox said southerner Roach I just couldn’t not love him okay leave me alone

anyways. southerner Roach shenanigans

(I guess you could call this a Something in the Orange fanfic since he’s besties with Jackson in this scenario as well as dating Ghost and Soap……… but it’s general enough it’s probably fine ANYWAYS)

Roach’s accent, while it normally only lightly flavors a few of his words, gets considerably thicker when he’s visiting home

I mean like he does the thing southerners do where they somehow mash entire sentences into one word and the others are just like “……….what” but Jackson is nodding like he understood

Like. They’re all at dinner together somewhere. Somebody brings up the rodeo at the state fair. The Europeans have no idea what they’re talking about. Roach just goes “y’ain’tneverheardadat??” and Soap nearly has a stroke trying to figure out what he meant but Jackson continues to eat soundly like he didn’t hear anything wrong

COWBOY👏 HAT👏 RULE👏

HELP

No no no they go to some random dive bar for one of their birthdays. It doesn’t matter whose. Jackson and Roach both have cowboy hats because OBVIOUSLY and like. They exchange this look that the others can’t figure out whenever one of their boyfriends steals their hat via flirting

(They tell them later and then can’t stop laughing while Soap and Ghost and Gaz are just sitting there like uh oh)

After that the hat stealing is very much purposeful

Square dancing to fucking Timber by Kesha and Pitbull in said dive bar because that’s just required idk what to tell you

Soap and Ghost seeing Roach ride a horse for the first time and visibly bluescreen

Roach recognizing people from high school in his hometown even tho he hasn’t seen them in like 20 years

He likes Taylor Swift but only her old country-adjacent stuff

Ghost and Soap couldn’t figure out his aversion to any kind of substitute milk until he took them home and they found out it’s because he grew up drinking milk that literally came from the cows he has in his backyard. They own two cows. And a few chickens. Very resourceful

Jackson and Roach dragging the 141 to Roach’s family’s Super Bowl party one year because in the southern states it’s a huge fucking deal

The Europeans being like “………this is quite possibly one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen in my life” but their boys are having fun so it’s okay

God help the rest of them. Jackson and Roach are rooting for opposite teams.

There’s screaming, there’s wrestling on the living room floor, there’s spilling food and beer everywhere. The amount of rubbing it in after a touchdown lands is fucking crazy, and they’ve shouted about stabbing each other every single time

Eventually, maybe with a bit of googling, the others get into it. Soap hasn’t stopped shoving Mrs. Roach’s buffalo chicken dip in his face since he’d discovered it when they’d arrived, and Ghost was letting the kids use his tattoo like a coloring page while he chatted with Roach’s dad and brothers. Gaz kept getting elbowed in the ribs whenever Roach and Jackson tousled on the couch, and a couple times he was asked to hold Jackson’s beer so “I can kick some sense into this dipshit,” usually followed by Roach’s maniacal cackling. Price was banging around in the kitchen with Mrs. Roach. Nobody knew how he’d gotten dragged into that, but he seemed to be enjoying himself

On the topic of bringing the boys home to the fam oh my GODS thanksgiving

Ghost is not a dessert person. He’s never been a dessert person. But he had four slices of Mr. Roach’s apple pie, so,,,,,,,,, apparently he is actually a dessert person

Obvi Roach is good with all guns, but he was hunting with his dad and brothers by the time he was like six. He knows how to work a shotgun like he breathes

(Ahem being southern is why he’s so fucking stubborn btw if anyone was wondering)

Roach and Jackson both are religious Dolly Parton listeners

“DID U GUYS KNOW SHE WROTE JOLENE AND I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU ON THE SAME DAY—“

Ghost and Soap wake up one night because there’s a weird noise outside. They poke Roach awake like “???? what was that??” and he was just like “oh yeah the woods make noises sometimes. don’t worry about it. if something actually wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t hear it coming” and promptly passed back out

“Yea I’ve seen a skinwalker before” “FYM YOU’VE S E E N O N E ? “ “It was in my backyard?? Relax it just wanted the coyote that always tries to kill our chickens. I didn’t really mind”

Gaz suggests investigating a weird figure he saw in the woods. Roach laughs out loud and Jackson smacks him in the back of the head like “that’s how you fucking die you idiot”

“Y’all’re lucky we’re here to stop you from doing somethin’ stupid. Fuckin’ city slickers” “What did you just call me”

The deafening sounds of crickets and locusts puts Roach to sleep almost instantly every night. Ghost barely sleeps every time they visit.

”IT IS SO FUCKING LOUD IF ONE MORE BLOODY CRICKET—“ “Simon not everyone needs literal dead silence to sleep—“

No matter how many pillows he stacks on top of his head he can’t escape it

Oh. Oh. The Europeans CANNOT do southern heat. They’re passed out on the porch while Jackson and Roach and Roach’s brothers play football in the front yard

Roach makes killer lemonade and iced tea nobody talk to me

He has a rusty blue ancient pickup that he says is his baby. One of the wheels is misshapen and the bed squeaks dangerously every time they hit a pothole, but he won’t get rid of it EVER

Roach introduces Soap and Ghost to catching fireflies in jars with his nieces and nephews. They are. So in love with the concept.

It gets turned into a competition, because of course it does, and it looked like Ghost was going to win— but then the youngest of the participating children silently held up a jar that was too bright to look at and audibly buzzing from the amount of bugs inside of it. They cut their losses and embrace the fact that they’ll never be That Good

Southern👏 sunsets👏 there ain’t nothing like it

Soap has a sketchbook dedicated entirely to doodling Roach doing farm things

Roach had a horse he took care of in high school. Her name was Peaches and he literally cried when he found pictures of her in his room

Ghost LOVES the sweet old border collie Roach’s parents have. That dog has seen many a stampede, and he’s herded just as many. What a man. Ghost does not leave him alone Ever

gods fuck me bro I could literally talk about southern Roach F O R E V E R (idk if you can tell from the long ass post Jesus Christ)

good morning/ night/ 4am lmk if you want more of this

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I have a question about characters with a facial difference and animal attributes (like, Kemonos).

A story I'm planning has the protagonists coming from our world to one with magic, where the magic usually shows on your body, like someone with light magic having glowing hair and stuff like that.

One of the characters has strabismus. In my original idea, she was going to be an animal shapeshifter, since she studies zoology and likes improv theater; her visual cue would be being a mix and match kemono (like, a rabbit ear, a dog ear, and a lion tail, or something like that). She'd keep the strabismus in all forms.

But I think while scrolling the blog I saw something about disabled people/people with FDs often being likened to animals, so now I'm worried that it might fall into that trope, though it wasn't intended. There will be other characters with FDs who aren't Kemonos (including another main character), and there's other kemonos and characters with animal-based magic who don't have a FD, but if it falls into an uncomfortable trope, I can come up with another magic for her and give the shapeshifting to someone else.

Thank you all so much for all the hard work you're doing on this blog, by the way!

Hey!

This sounds fine to me, mostly because of a few things:

she isn't originally an animal, and even then only has animalistic attributes;

she chooses to transform into an animal, and the decision is related to her passion rather than “all characters get innate magic and the visibly disabled one just 'happens' to be the sole animalistic one”;

ears and tails are almost* always fair game IMO;

there are other characters with facial differences who aren't associated with animals;

there are other characters without facial differences who are associated with animals.

*- things that are exceptions to that (for future reference if anyone wants it): - rabbit features + cleft lip; - cow features + vitiligo; - rat anything + anything, I actually like rats a lot but as an animal they gotta stay away from being associated from like 99% of minorities' representation; - “funny animal” + strabismus/drooling/skull conditions, as a rule of thumb: if the character looks like a wojak it's time to stop.

So yeah, I don't see anything wrong with it. It sounds pretty cool.

I'm usually not a fan of animalistic characters with facial differences (unless we are talking about a story where everyone is an animal, that's a completely different thing) because I, and quite a lot of people I know, have been compared to them as part of bullying or a microaggression. For me personally, it was both by people who were intentionally trying to harass me, as well as genuinely well-meaning people who just didn't consider that maybe telling someone his face reminds them of a dog's one is kinda fucked up.

The reason I don't think that's what's going on here is that you seem to be aware of the trope's existence and try to avoid it, along with giving your character actual agency. The magic giving her animal features isn't because of her disability (which is clear based on the fact that there are other characters with one but not the other trait), it's because she as a character likes animals!

I will also say that I'm not really against all kinds of animal-related magic when it comes to characters with facial differences. If there was a Disney princess with septicemia scarring on her whole body who talks with deer, it would go hard as hell. But the 99.9% of animal-related characters with FD I see are more akin to “scary scarred man is likened to a [predatory animal] because he's so scary and has scars, also he's drawn in a collar and half his dialogue tags are animalistic”, thus the blanket “no animal people with FDs please” statement you saw on some of my previous posts.

Hope this helps and explains my reasoning. Good luck with your writing,

mod Sasza

[creedslove]

BABE JOELLL PLEASEEEE JOEEEELLL. If you can maybe post-outbreak!Joel (?). Like he’s been with reader on the road with Ellie before they came to Jackson and they had like a thing going on. Once they settled down they decided that they would’ve been better off as just friends and Joel finds another woman (like closer to his age ecct) but Joel and reader were still close to each other and Joel’s new woman is jealous and asks him to chose between her and the reader

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: love this anon, this idea is genius!

• life on the road trying to survive wasn't easy for anybody, not since the world ended and the ones who hadn't died had to fight unimaginable horrors to survive so it was common for people to get cozy with each other, looking for some comfort, warmth and maybe a little pleasure

• and that was exactly what happened between you and Joel while the two of you plus Ellie crossed the country in order to find Tommy and settle in Jackson

• Joel wasn't the warmest guy nor the most friendly you'd met, but he was loyal, protective and he was a fine damn lover for someone who'd been striving with the basics for twenty years into the apocalypse, however, getting to know this side of Joel took time, as he didn't want to open up to you or let you get closer, but once it happened, he felt he needed you on a daily basis

• you didn't actually label your relationship with him, of course you slept together, you kissed and cuddled and you would die and kill for each other without a second thought but you wouldn't dare calling Joel your boyfriend and he would rather have someone holding him at gunpoint than to acknowledge exactly what nature of feelings he felt for you, let out word them out

• but it worked through all the excruciating crusade you shared until you reached your final destination, there wasn't a day Joel hadn't had his arms wrapped around you, keeping your warm when fires weren't a safe option out in the open, or when your body gave him the release he craved, intoxicated in your embraced, giving Joel what he needed but refused to admit

• when you three got to Jackson, a couple of days went by while Joel was getting acquainted with his brother again and you and Ellie were catching up on much needed sleep and skipped meals after all that time on the road

• so when Joel finally saw you again without being in a rush, his heart skipped a beat: you were so beautiful, too beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made his chest tighten

• of course he knew you were beautiful, he was attracted to you after all, but seeing you looking so carefree, happy, well-fed, cleaned up and wearing fresh new clothes made him realize how way out of his league you really were; not only that, he could also see how other men looked at you and he felt so guilty

• guilty because you were way too pretty and young for him, guilty because you were full of life and you deserved to have a chance of living a happy life now you found a place where life could be almost normal, guilty because he felt it would be a matter of time until one of those young men would sweep you off your feet because they could offer you something Joel couldn't: stability and a possibility of having a family

• so he made up his mind and when you tried sneaking into his bed at night, to finally manage to spend time with him in a comfortable mattress, where you didn't need to hump each other in your jeans in fear of having to escape, he stopped you and took your hand

• those sad cow eyes of his being honest as he told you you would be better off as friends, assuring you he would always care for you, protect you and keep you in his heart forever and it shattered his heart when he saw how bad you were holding back your tears not to cry in front of him, but eventually you agreed, there was nothing you could do, you couldn't force Joel to stay in a relationship with you, it was madness so you thanked him for your time together and promised you wouldn't push him away

• as you moved into your own place, you missed Joel so much, Ellie was still hoovering over you all the time, which was great, you were so thankful for that, and even Joel who tried making some kind of distance would stop by regularly to check on you, have a cup of coffee and grab a meal together

• until you found out Joel was seeing another woman; at first you chuckled to yourself, it sounded crazy to you, but when Ellie arrived at your place complaining about the "annoying cunt" - her words, not yours - Joel started to see, your heart sank in your chest

• you swallowed hard and felt yourself so lost at that moment, it was so difficult to keep pretending you didn't have deeper feelings for Joel, but as long as he was still visiting and you shared that same tension, you still had hopes, but learning he was seeing someone else, was like an ice bucket poured over you, it meant it was over because if he liked her, it meant he didn't like you

• so you decided to look for more information on her and you found out her name was Heather, she had been part of the community since the beginning and she was closer in age to Joel, which made you upset, as you were convinced he didn't want you anymore

• Joel, on the other hand, didn't actually want to meet nor date anyone but Tommy insisted he should go out and meet someone and preferably get laid. He also didn't understand why his brother had decided to break up with you,but since it was done, he knew Heather would be a good fit for Joel

• Heather was... Alright. They were almost the same age which was nice to be able to talk to someone who actually lived a life before the outbreak, remembered the same things and used to watch the same movies and shows, he was also good looking and gentle, but she wasn't you

• she wasn't as beautiful as you were, she wasn't as patient and funny, she didn't have the same corky sense of humor you did or how you could simply overlook all the bad things Joel had done, truth to be told, he wasn't in love with her as he was in love with you

• and as much as he tried to bury deep those feelings, it seemed more and more difficult, and he caught himself unable to simply stay away from you, he couldn't, he was just around you all the time

• it was uncommon to see you walking alongside the streets, Joel often walked you to your job, or picked you up even if it was perfectly safe and he didn't actually need to do this, not to mention the evenings he would either go to your porch and play some guitar just to enjoy your company or invite you to his so you would watch Ellie having her guitar lessons

• and as much as Heather tried being understanding about it, she simply couldn't. She could tell her boyfriend wasn't that her, but then him being in love with another woman was a whole other level

• so she waited for Ellie to go to bed and for you to leave his porch and knocked on his door

"Joel, you and I aren't kids anymore, what are we really doing? Because I started dating you thinking that maybe we would hit off, but this is clearly not working, you gotta make up your mind, Joel!"

"what do you mean?!"

"you know exactly what I mean, Joel! It's either her or me, you gotta decide, because I'm not gonna be here watching you going back to her every time"

• Heather finally says and Joel lowers his head, he looks around then back at her, he couldn't lie anymore, not to her, not to you and mostly not to himself

"I'm sorry Heather, it's her, it's always been her, there's no way I could choose anyone else but her"

• he said and left, he wanted to see you as soon as possible hoping he could still make things right with the woman he truly loved, you 💞

____

[syrupfog]

Law being the most anemic fucking vampire. 

Like he doesn’t pick up on hunger cues, especially when studying in med school and during his fellowship time. Will go days without feeding because he doesn’t notice he needs to until one day he stands up and just falls the fuck over

Like he becomes well known in his apartment complex because of the number of times he’s passed out on the stairs. 

He doesn’t change his ways though until he comes to on the landing with his neighbour looming over him.

“Zoro says you’re a vampire” the neighbour says. 

Law doesn’t know his neighbours he has no clue who Zoro is. “I’m a vampire,” he says, groaning as he sits up. 

Neighbour nods, walks over and fucking HEADBUTTS the wall. Some cement crumbles.

Law gapes at him. 

The neighbour walks back, looking mostly fine (definitely has a concussion) with a trickle of a bloody nose. 

“Here you go!” He says brightly. 

Law gives him a horrified face. He scrambles back when he thinks the neighbour is going to headbutt him too.

But the man just walks up to him and swipes the blood off his face and onto Law’s face, like you’re supposed to do to get kittens to eat. 

He’s grinning. Very wide. 

“Please don’t ever do that again,” Law says. He wipes the blood off his face.

The man frowns “I worked hard for that!” He says. 

“I’m not rewarding bad behaviour,” Law says petulantly. 

“You passed out on the stairs!” 

“That’s beside the point.” 

Law has blood bags at home. He doesn’t need a weird stranger’s blood. He probably has mad cow.

The man crosses his arms. “Well I think that’s rude,” he says. 

Law sighs. He’s still lightheaded. “How about next time you want to donate blood, you ask me first? I can take some WITHOUT giving you a concussion.” 

The man brightens. “Okay!!” He says, excited now.

“Im Luffy! It’s nice to meet you, vampire!” 

“Trafalgar,” saw Law. 

“Traffy,” says Luffy. 

Law narrows his eyes. He senses arguing is futile.

Law never actually means to take Luffy up on his offer. He HAS blood, he just forgets to take it. Every time Luffy offers, he tells him he’s got blood at home, maybe next time. 

That all changes when a summer storm rolls in and they lose power.

They’re out of power for almost four days, a sickly still and wet heat settling in the city. And when Law wakes up after passing out in his kitchenette, he realises he’s actually in need. 

He doesn’t even know where in the complex Luffy lives, but it turns out not to be an issue.

He’s just made it down the stairs when the fire door in front of him opens and— 

“TRAFFY!”

 “Luffy,” Law groans despite himself. 

“Do you need—“ 

“Yes.” Law grabs his wrist. “Come with me.” 

Luffy obediently follows him back up the stairs to his apartment.

Law drags him in and sets him at the table. “You’re going to want to refill on protein and sugar after this,” he says. 

“Okay!” Luffy says, expression bright. 

Law sighs. He wipes down Luffy’s forearm with an alcohol pad before grabbing his wrist and sinking his teeth in.

Usually humans taste gross. Blood at the best of times is a neutral flavour, but skin and arm hair and sweat are disgusting. 

But Luffy?

 Luffy… tastes like honeyed ham. 

Law pulls back, a wet noise as he pulls his fangs out. “Why do you taste like that?” He asks, alarmed.

“Like what?” Luffy asks. 

“Like… glazed ham?” 

Luffy laughs. “Silly,” he says. “Because I was eating glazed ham, of course!” 

Law bit close to Luffy’s elbow. He also sanitised the area. How on EARTH did the taste permeate his skin so well?

With trepidation, Law goes back to feeding. It’s with horror he realises he… likes the glazed ham taste with the blood. It’s like drinking flavoured coffee; useless accoutrement but pleasing nonetheless. 

When he’s drunk enough he’s confident he won’t be falling down stairs,

Law cleans Luffy’s arm and attaches two small round plasters to the holes. 

“Fun!” Luffy says, looking at them. “Fang sized!” 

“Thanks,” Law says. “You can go now.” 

Luffy blinks at him. “Let’s hang out,” he says. 

Law blinks back at him. “I have to—“ he gestures at his apartment.

Considering they are IN his apartment, he’s just sort of gesturing at everything. 

“That’s cool,” Luffy says. “I’ll just stay here.” 

Law… nods. “Okay,” he says. The power’s still out, it’s not like he was going to actually do anything anyway.

What Law doesn’t know is that once Luffy’s gotten into Law’s apartment once, he’s gonna always assume he’s welcome. 

Even when Law tries to kick him out. S

ometimes (often) Luffy is just. Here now. 

And unfortunately, like the glazed ham taste, Law realises he sort of likes it.