#He makes himself hot through flattery

[tadpolesonalgae]

Lost In Paradise

Azriel x reader

a/n: I don’t know what the fuck overcame me when writing this—heads up they’re in the Day Court, by the way

Warnings: dear gods Azriel, Azriel in jewellery—diamond piercings to be precise, with kohl lined/smudged eyes, biting, oral (f receiving), smut, overstim, Azzie being a bit mischievous—implied orgasm denial, light wing play, light breeding kink

word count: 3,009

“We have a dinner to go to, Az,” you insist, inclining your chin as he noses along your throat, broad palms running slowly, reverently, up and down the bare skin of your back. Calloused and scarred hands rasping against the smooth, shimmery expanse of your skin, fingers touching along the knuckles of your spine.

“You’re a three course meal all on your own, pretty thing,” he murmurs beside the shell of your ear, gripping your waist lightly, letting his touch span across the sheer silk of your dress, marvelling at your feel, your shape beneath his hands—how finely you fit with him. 

Your pulse spikes at the flattery, heart beating quick in your chest, head tipping back as his lips press firmly to the small notch in your throat, kissing down to your collar bones, keeping you tight to his front, grip firm and unrelenting. “We’re guests,” you try faintly, already lost in his heaven, “it would be bad etiquette to not show up to the first meal—Az…!”

In one smooth motion he’s swept you off your feet, guiding your legs around his waist, thighs squeezing his hips while his palms appreciatively support your ass. “Bad etiquette would be not eating you out before I fuck you,” he drawls atop your mouth, a cocky smirk on his softened lips, staring down at you with his kohl-smudged eyes, diamonds swinging from his ears, the gold fastenings gleaming in the burning yellow sunset, setting the ocean on fire with molten metal as the sun melts atop the glistening waves. 

“Bad etiquette would be wasting a perfectly romantic evening for the sake of one measly dinner that we aren’t even required to attend,” he murmurs, that smug, self-satisfied look in his shining hazel eyes, flecks of amber and jade set alight through the refraction of the setting sun. Gleaming and swirling like they’re precious stones infinitely more valuable than even the tiny, glittering diamonds making up the jewellery adorning his marvellously handsome features. 

“You look good in Day Court attire,” you mumble breathlessly, clinging onto him as he walks you out onto the balcony, laying you down atop the pillowy, padded massage table, creamy fabric turned a perfectly-baked, golden-brown in the evening light, fitted over the cushions.

“You like how much skin it shows,” he drawls, palms settling either side of you, your hair splayed out from where he’s set you, strewn in lustrous glory against the pillow. “You like how easy it is to manoeuvre around.” 

Sure enough, with the soaring temperatures during a sun-filled day, with heat beating down upon the marble-carved pillars, the attire is perfectly suited for the arid climate. Clothing comes in light colours—mostly cream or off-white—and it contrasts the colour of his skin perfectly. The flush on his cheeks despite the cocky look highlights the hunger delightfully. And thanks to the opulent nature of the Court itself, it gives reason for your mate to wear some of the piercings he rarely adorns himself in for the sake of practicality. The ones you love—his ears the main focus, but with wandering hands your fingers clutch the hem of pale, heated linen, raising it from his toned stomach to reveal the incredibly self-indulgent piercing he’d gotten for his belly button, white diamonds set around the narrow golden band. 

“Gods you’re edible,” you pant, the shallow breaths having little to do with the heated evening and more to do with the hot and hungry look he’s pinning you with as he pulls the troublesome shirt off and over his head. His wings flexing and flaring now they’re rid of the fabric brushing the base of the great limbs. Showing off his well-endowed magnificence, as he should.

“Feel better about skipping that dinner now, pretty thing?” Azriel asks roughly, fingers catching the hem of your dress and swiftly pulling it out from under you, pushing it away further along the pale, padded table. “Maybe you had a point about my bad etiquette,” he drawls hotly, open palm coasting up your stomach, fingers grazing between your breasts. He leans over, dark silky hair flopping across your brow, kohl-rimmed eyes making the hazel of his irises simmer with the ravenous intensity of the setting sun, setting you ablaze. “I’ll be eating first.” 

“How brash,” you breathe, fingers dancing up the bare muscle of his upper arms, nails squeezing lightly at his shoulders, raking teasingly over his gloriously powerful back. He begins laying kisses to your collar bones, teeth nipping at your shimmering skin—you’d spent some time refreshing and making use of the scented, swirling lotions available—slowly trailing down between your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipples teasingly. “Weren’t you ever told not to play with your food?” 

“How can I resist when there’s such a beautiful meal before me? Taste is important but it’s more than that, wouldn’t you say?” Fingers hook beneath the golden strings at your hips, guiding them down your thighs as his mouth trails lower, kissing down your stomach. “I need to appreciate all of you. Not just with my mouth, but with my skin, and touch. How can I enjoy you without indulging all my senses?”

“All of them?” You question, back arching as he reaches your abdomen, fingers threading through his hair to encourage him closer. 

Azriel laughs, the sound coming from deep in his chest, splashing over your skin like melted butter and honey, bathing you in arousing sweetness. “All of them,” he whispers. 

“Sight.” Dark rimmed eyes flick upwards, licking over your form as he connects with you, lashes thick and heavy atop his gaze—equally heavy. 

“Smell.” He noses the intimate skin of your inner thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he parts your legs to make room for himself, your ass resting just at the edge of the cushioned table.

“Touch.” Fingers slip between your parted thighs, trailing up and down your centre, slicking himself in your wetness. Circling your clit twice before dipping back down. 

“Sound.” His thick digits slide in, a cocky smirk on his mouth as he curls them causing your back to arch, beckoning you forward, a heady moan spilling from your mouth as he pushes deeper, rubbing against spots he knows you like. 

“Would you like to tell me the fifth one?” Azriel drawls, dangerously low, arousal thickening his tone to something dark and syrupy. 

“Taste…” You breathe desperately. “Taste…Azriel!” 

“Good girl.” His lips curve in a sinful grin, diamonds twinkling their mirth as he lowers himself to your cunt. “You’ve earned it.” 

A rich, heady moan spills from your mouth as his tongue flattens over your clit, fingers working you with heavenly ease while his mouth remains at the apex of your thighs. It’s nothing short of paradise, floating high above in the clouds, nestled in a pillowy cushion as he bathes you in pleasure, rubbing it into you in ways that shouldn’t be permitted—how can something so good exist on this plane of reality?

Your head tips back into the cushioning, moans rising from your chest unabashedly, singing your pleasure with every curl of his fingers, every lovely flick of his tongue. The high approaches far faster than you ever would have expected, spine arching, grinding down on his mouth, hips swirling as he suckles at your clit, able to feel the impending high as your muscles brace for the powerful onslaught. 

You cry out as you come, nails raking through his hair, his wings flaring with male satisfaction as you orgasm, feeling you tighten and flutter around his thick fingers, clit pulsing as pleasure rapidly fires through your body, racing up and throughout your skin, spreading right to your fingertips. Your mouth opens as sound fails you, eyes squeezing shut, Azriel’s rough palms gripping your hips tight as you begin to squirm and writhe, seeking to crawl away from the pleasure—but he likes seeing you like this, and won’t allow it to end anywhere near prematurely. 

His forearm bands across your hips, pinning them down as you try to buck upward, forcing you through the aftershocks that have your body trembling, strength draining, leaving you powerless to resist his dominating touch. Azriel’s relentless in the pursuit of your pleasure, keeping his fingers tucked inside of you, keeping the pace, keeping his tongue swirling around your hardened clit, dragging it between his lips when he feels you coming down and teasingly tugging on it with his teeth.

A lovely whimper graces his ears, mouth parting into a wicked grin as you muster the strength to look down at him, your legs spread with slick gleaming on his lips, threading between your inner thighs where he’s gotten you especially messy. 

“Ready for the main course?” He drawls, your nipples peaking at the rough, rolling timbre of his voice, skin prickling as awareness sweeps through you. “Main course?” You pant, already falling out of it, unable to grasp what he’s referring to with that wicked smile as he stands, wings looming over his shoulders. Shadows pull the band of his loose, pale linen trousers from their already low placement on his hips, allowing his hands to settle either side of your waist as he presses flush to your messy heat. 

“Both of us,” he whispers, leaning down atop your mouth, “together?”

You think your eyes roll slightly at the reminder, nails threading through his inky hair as you pull him into a hot kiss, thighs wrapping snugly around his hips. His cock rests hot and heavy against your cunt, slowly riding back and forth to coat himself thoroughly, before aligning his tip with your entrance. 

“Go slowly,” you beg, clutching onto him with anticipation—you’re far to sensitive for any of his rough treatment. But he smirks over your lips, hips drawing back so his tip drags down over your hardened clit, his leaking cock nudging the entrance of your drooling cunt, messy and sloppy from previous attention—about to be made much messier. 

“Go slowly?” He muses, a low laugh in his voice that makes your skin prickle, hairs standing on end. “You’re perfectly warmed up, aren’t you? All ready and pliable, huh? What could you possibly want me to go slowly for?” You flush deeply, hands twining together over his broad shoulders, trying to push as much sternness into your gaze as you can manage—which isn’t much, judging by the way he chuckles. 

“Is my girl too sensitive?” 

That smirk. That sinful fucking smirk. 

“Whatever you do to me I’ll be delivering right back,” you warn, thighs squeezing his hips. “I’m getting you in my mouth after this, remember…” 

“How could I forget?” He groans, hips pushing forward. “Gonna taste both of us.” 

A pleased moan sighs from your lips as he fills you up, gripping one leg to bring it up his chest—the underside of your thigh pressing to his lower stomach as he pushes tight against you. Azriel’s gaze is nothing short of ravenous as he takes in the arch of your spine as his palm splays across your abdomen, applying a slight pressure to really get you to feel him. 

“Like that?” He asks, short on breath. Mouth curved in that smug grin. So self-satisfied. “Look at you,” he coos, shifting his hips, dragging them back so his head is again at your entrance, before pushing his cock all the way back inside. “So hot and flushed. All of this for me?” His thumb swipes across your clit, and you moan helplessly, tossing your head to the side as your eyes squeeze shut, nails scraping over the cushioning. 

Before you can formulate a reply he’s setting his pace, giving deep, almost punishing thrusts of his hips that roll firmly to your own. Sharp and decisive, just as you like, spine arching with every buck. 

“Can you even count to three right now?” He taunts, shadows swirling over your breasts, teasingly playing with your nipples, curling around them and tugging lightly. You try to shoot him a glare—that side of him has been coming out more frequently as of late, and you really don’t want to deal with his mean streak right now. Not on such a perfectly set up evening for romance and intimacy. 

So you extend your arms toward him, fingers opening and closing as if to grasp onto him. “Azriel…” you moan, reaching. His hips buck sharply of their own accord, swearing you could feel him twitch from pleasure—he might enjoy being mean from time to time, but it’s all for getting you nice and needy. He’s an undeniable soft spot for your desperation. Like putty in your hands once you reach for him, your toes curling from pleasure.  

“Fuck,” he curses low under his breath, driving his cock firmly into you as his palms splay either side of you, letting you touch and feel all over him, practically shivering with the greed in your fingers as they explore and grope. “Such a sweet little thing to everyone else, aren’t you? Such a wicked little devil when you’re with me.” 

Teeth tug on your lower lip as you try to keep your smile to yourself, but you fail miserably, smiling wide as your head tips back into the pillow, relishing the pleasure. “Wicked devil?” You moan out, forcing yourself to meet simmering hazel, heat sizzling just beneath your skin, clit itching for release as his abdomen grazes the apex of your thighs. 

“Like this?” 

A startled noise slips from his lips as you reach further over his shoulders, stroking his wings slowly. Teasing out his pleasure to have him playing nice with yours. His forehead drops to your own, brows pressing together, close enough to share panting breaths, your breasts grazing his chest with each heaving inhale. 

His lips part on an unabashed groan that licks up your spine, pooling between your legs at his deep confessions to pleasure, repeating the slow strokes to his wings. 

“Like that,” he confirms, jaw wound tight as he tries to cope with the overwhelming onslaught of stimulation. Hazel eyes warily open, a sharp glint in them as his instincts snarl and grapple with reasoning, but you want him to yield to them, not fight them. 

It seems he gets the message. 

Azriel’s palms snatch at your wrists, slamming them down on the cushioned table to keep you pinned, forcing you to take every brutal buck of his hips and you can feel as both of you swoop for that high that’s rising. His wings flare wide, their total span easily twice his height, casting a dark, dominating shadow that you know is an instinctive show of possession. 

Shadows wrap beneath the arch of your spine, clutching your hips to raise them from the table, and the angle has you going dizzy. Moans spill and babble as he pounds into you, grip remaining tight on your wrists to keep them trapped, driving in and out relentlessly until you think you might have screamed from overstimulation, panting and out of breath when you return to reality beneath him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growls against your skin, teeth scraping the tender length of your throat, searching for a spot to choose, to bite down on. He picks a section, pushing his teeth in, licking and sucking to push a feverish kiss into your skin, only pulling away once he’s satisfied. 

“Az,” you whine, cupping his cheeks in your hands, squeezing lightly as you arch into him. “It’s my turn.” 

“Your turn?” His hand wraps around your wrist, nosing the centre of your palm, pressing a kiss to its heel, delivering a small lick that zaps straight to your clit. His hips pull away, then push back in, able to feel as his cum begins seeping out of you. “You’ve hardly taken any of it, pretty thing. You need to be full up before moving onto me. Can’t have you going on empty, hm?” 

“Azriel!” You yelp as he rolls his hips to yours more firmly, bucking against you with enough force to nudge you further up the table. “That isn’t fair,” you squawk indignantly.

“My sweet little devil’s going to tell me what’s fair now, is she?” 

His lips curve into that smirk, and your willpower crumbles, legs wrapping themselves tighter around his waist to press him deeper. Azriel’s subsequent laugh reignites arousal in the pit of your stomach, tightening around his cock, urging him to follow through with his taunts. “Do it,” you whisper, “hurry up.” 

“You wanted me to go slowly earlier. I said you needed to be filled up, not that you needed to come.” 

“Azriel!” You gasp when he pulls out entirely, flipping you onto your front so you’re bent over for him, arms forcefully dragged behind your back to give him full control. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get to me,” he muses, lining himself up. “But the evening’s too good to waste, don’t you agree? It would be a shame to have it over and done with so quickly.” 

“And you called me the devil,” you mumble into the cushioning, squirming lightly beneath him to feel the unrelenting strength of his grip. “You’re going to cry when I get my mouth on you.” 

He chuckles again, shackling your forearms to the base of your spine with his shadows, rough palms easily gripping your hips. “It’s adorable you think you’re going to make it through that far. We both know you’ve never managed.” 

Azriel leans over you, cock slowly sliding in as he settles at your back. You can feel his lips against your ear, breath fanning the sensitive expanse of your neck. “I’d tell you to hold on tight, princess, but you can’t even manage that most nights. So tonight all you need to do is lie still, and take it.” 

His palm slides beneath your jaw, raising you from the cushioning, a mocking note to his deep and honeyed voice. “How does that sound?” 

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[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve was a late bloomer. He didn't expect to present as an omega right after seeing a bloody Eddie Munson into the ER.

His biological changes weren't a problem at first. He found his perky tits and even newly-slit cunt easily acceptable. They just felt right on his body.

His peace only lasted until he visited Eddie in the hospital and slicked his underwear beyond repair.

It was embarrassing and also pathetic because he was quite certain Eddie didn't want him that way.

He knew the alpha just flirted with him for fun like everyone else.

To fix it, Steve began wearing scent blockers religiously, dressing in more layers, and using pads to keep his slick from leaking out and ruining the sterilized air.

So far, it was a success. No one batted an eye when he got a little wet whenever he sat beside Eddie's bed.

Even Robin—his platonic soulmate who had always been in tuned with him—didn't pick up his inappropriate behavior.

As for Eddie, the alpha just became friendlier with him; kissing his hands, giving him more flatteries, hugging him tighter and longer than the others, etc.

Though Steve was flustered by the new development, he reminded himself that it likely meant nothing to Eddie.

Still, he couldn't stop finding excuses to see Eddie nearly every day.

Eventually, Eddie was discharged, went through every PT session with admirable strength and determination, and recovered beautifully.

They held a party to celebrate it and Steve was rosy cheeked with joy when Eddie stuck by his side the whole time. And even followed him everywhere like a lost puppy.

It was cute.

Even though Robin kept saying otherwise.

Eddie seemed to decide they were best friends now. Because wherever Steve went, the alpha would be right beside him.

Steve didn't find it as annoying as he had thought. Since Robin and Vickie were in their moonstruck phase, she couldn't spend as much time with him anymore.

He was happy for her, but it was also kinda lonely. A problem that Eddie's constant presence had quickly resolved.

They would hang out and do everything together; cooking, doing chores, listening to the music, watching movies, getting high, and even sleeping.

It wasn't right for an unmated omega to get so close to an unmated alpha, but their bond ran deeper than their carnal instincts. A few cuddles wouldn't hurt their friendship.

Or so Steve told himself.

Because he had to change his panties at least thrice a night before going to bed to not disturb his friend with his situation.

"Where are you goin'?" Eddie muttered sleepily just as Steve tried to get out the alpha's arms.

On the other hand, his body had been acting weird lately. Producing more slick than usual and becoming more sensitive.

It might be his fault for letting Eddie into his nest all the time, but it wasn't like he could help it, either.

Jesus. Even Eddie's raspy voice already made his cunt pulse with want.

Steve felt thankful that he didn't give up his scent blockers. Otherwise, he'd no doubt smell like a bitch in heat right now.

"Nature's call," Steve mumbled, frowning slightly when Eddie's hold just got tighter around him and the musky scent grew thicker.

"'S your slick, isn't it?" Hot lips pressed to his ear, making him stop cold. "Yeah, I can smell it. Been wanting to taste how sweet you are, omega."

Steve gulped dryly, his brain turned hazier and hazier with lust. And yet...

"W– Why didn't you say anything?"

"And chased you off?" Eddie chuckled and squeezed a hand between his thighs, feeling his wetness and scratching his clit lightly through the cotton. "No way, baby."

Steve closed his eyes and drew in a shaky breath, choking on the scent of a very aroused and virile alpha.

He didn't know why his blockers didn't work, but the heat of Eddie's palm on his clothed cunt was distracting enough that he just stopped questioning it altogether.

"Be gentle with me," he craned his neck to meet those dark wild eyes.

"You got it, angel," Eddie rolled him on his back and kissed him sweetly. "Gonna worship your pretty cunt for the rest of my life."

And Eddie did.

Eating him out every given chance and everywhere; on the bed, in the kitchen, in the back of the van, on the couch, in the shower.

And when Steve's heat arrived a few days later, Eddie had happily stayed up all night just to suffocate in the sea of slick before knotting him over and over again in the morning.

Which, consequently, triggered the alpha's rut and led to Steve being kept in bed for another week.

And by the end of it all, he was thoroughly bred and ravaged.

Eventually, Steve figured it out once they became mates. His blockers still worked just fine.

Eddie was the problem.

He was a horn dog who had sniffed out Steve's slick and got addicted to it.

But fortunately, Eddie had agreed to make do with his used panties whenever Steve was too sore to let him near his cunt.

The only problem was that Steve now had to guard his favorite pairs very closely.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Crush

This one is for the sensitive girlies with emotional regulation issues that find themselves hopelessly attracted to emotionally unavailable men. (Aka me) Idk how I feel about it tbh. We’ll see.

Summary: While on a Rick-ordered fishing trip with Daryl, things are tense and uncomfortable. Emotions run high, things are said. (Prison Era)

Warnings: fem!reader / age gap (reader is in her early-mid 20s) / swearing / dramatic and angsty / mean!Daryl

Masterlist // Taglist

Seductive Summer - D.D. Fic Challenge

Dividers by sister-lucifer

A bead of sweat trickled down your temple as you licked your lips, mouth dry from the hot sun. You blinked, eyes fixated on rough hands and bulging muscles as the thin fabric of a black button-up struggled to contain their mass. He moved with precision, callouses delicately threading the line through the pretentiously small hole of the fishing hook.

“Ya gonna help or sit there lickin’ your lips like a bitch in heat?” Daryl finally snapped, growing tired of the sensation of lustful eyes boring into him. In a feeble attempt to mask your shame, you rolled your eyes and huffed, annoyedly picking up a hook to thread your own line through.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence. If anything, it was the norm. Daryl, the handsome but brooding archer, simply trying to complete whatever tasks had been delegated to him on any given day, while the young twenty-something years old Y/N gawks at his physique. It got under his skin, to say the least. He was a man of responsibility, and he found his inner workings far too complex for some little girl with a childish crush to ever understand.

He’d allow it for some time — the stares, the gnawing of your lips, the way you tended to linger around wherever he went — and then the flattery would wear off quickly, and he’d be sure to make it known. It wasn’t like it was a secret that you adored him. He knew it, you knew it, everyone did. You could barely keep your eyes off him from the moment you met him.

Still, despite the judgmental onlookers and his not-so-subtle lack of fondness for you, you just couldn’t help your thirst. To put it simply, you were down bad.

When Daryl had finished his half of the lines he moved on to fashioning small fish traps to place in the stream. He noticed you seemed lost in thought, attention set on the task at hand for once, instead of his big arms and broad chest, or the way his sweat always perfectly follows the framework of his—

“Ya draggin’ your ass on purpose?” He asked, breaking you free from your thoughts.

“I’ll finish when I finish.” You fired back.

That was another thing that irked him to his core. You were so childish. Any hint of criticism or expression of his discomfort always resulted in you sulking or catching an attitude. He didn’t have time to coddle your feelings.

He shrugged you off and focused on nestling the first trap strategically between some stones. As he worked his way down to the last trap, he wondered to himself why Rick always sent you out to fish with him. As previously mentioned, everyone knew how you felt about Daryl, including Rick. Most people also knew that the feeling was not mutual, and in fact, there might have even been some resentment on Daryl’s end.

Truth be told, Daryl didn’t exactly know why it was such an issue. Aside from your youth, which he felt he did not share, you were fairly pleasant in the beginning. Your sweet grin and generous nature weren’t exactly unwelcome at first. It wasn’t until your efforts became too blatant that he felt himself physically recoil at the sound of your voice. As soon as he noticed that people were catching on, watching in awe every time you’d approach him with some fresh water or a snack, a flip switched in his mind. You were no longer a lovely addition to his daily proceedings, but a nuisance to his inner peace.

That was when you changed, too. You noticed the contrast in behavior immediately. It was a talent of yours — or maybe a curse — to be so perceptive. You’d been that way your whole life. Always walking on eggshells, analyzing every word spoken or facial expression made.

When Daryl’s friendliness transformed into indifference, you found yourself trying harder and harder, only to feel more and more disappointment with each failed attempt at gaining his affections. You frequently scolded yourself for the pathetic behavior, which was what you were doing while you slowly threaded fishing lines through the hooks. Any woman with respect for herself would have abandoned ship at the first signs of angry seas, but you were the kind of captain that preferred to drown with her vessel.

Soon enough you’d finished with your hooks and Daryl had placed the last trap. With haste, you both worked to tie worms to the hooks and cast the lines, hoping by this time tomorrow to be returning to camp with a fish dinner. The stream was half a days hike east of the prison, so usually teams of two would take a two or three day ‘vacation’, as Glenn and Maggie would call it, and bring back as much fish as they could.

Once all eight lines were cast, you planted your makeshift rods in the dirt and got to work building a campfire while Daryl hurried to try and get a few squirrels to eat. At least, that was his excuse. In reality, Carol had packed enough food for the both of you. He just wanted to get away.

By nightfall, he was back, cleaning a raccoon and preparing it for the fire. You already had the tent pitched and water boiling to drink, so you were just relaxing with you feet in the cold creek.

Daryl was nice enough to let you know when the raccoon was ready, so you ate at the fire with him in silence.

“I’ll take watch tonight.” Daryl announced as he shoveled the last piece of meat into his mouth.

“You take watch every time.” You pointed out. It was true, he always kept watch on fishing trips.

“What, ya wanna stay up all night? Be my guest.” He retorted.

“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying you don’t have to stay up every time.” You droned.

“Well it ain’t like ya ever volunteer.” He scoffed.

“Because you always do it first.”

“Yeah, ‘cause ya never speak up the whole day we’re workin’.” He argued.

“Okay well I’m volunteering now.”

“Well, forget it, ‘cause I already said I’d do it.”

“Fine.” You shrugged.

With a huff, you pushed yourself off the ground, swiping dry leaves from your jeans as you marched over to the tent to retrieve a sleeping bag for Daryl. You dropped it on the ground beside him. It landed with a soft thud.

“The hell’s that for?” He asked.

“Use it or don’t. I don’t care. Carol packed it for you.” You said bitterly.

You retired to the tent after that, working on taking your gun apart and putting it back together for practice. When you grew tired of that, you dug in your bag for a cigarette and stealthily unzipped your tent, scanning the coast for any signs of Daryl and his deep scowl that he seemingly reserved for you only. The fire had died down to smoky ember, but you could just barely make out the stillness in the dark. Nothing was moving, which meant Daryl had probably stalked off somewhere, and you could be alone.

You never really liked being alone, but at least you were free to be yourself, unperceived by others.

You found yourself a nice stump to sit on before you lit the cigarette, savoring the first drag before slowly exhaling.

“That best not be one of mine.” A husky voice startled you from the dark. Your attention snapped toward the trees as his looming figure emerged from the shadows. You rolled your eyes and turned away again.

“You mean the stale ones you lifted off a rotting body? No thanks.” You snarked.

“Whatever.” He tutted, twitching his neck to flip some hair out of his eyes. You could hear his footsteps fading away behind you as you tried to enjoy your smoke without his miserable aura around to cloud up the fresh air. To your surprise, he returned moments later with a cigarette of his own. He leaned back against a tree across from you, sliding down until his ass hit the ground. His face illuminated behind the flame as he flicked his zippo open. Subtly, you watched while the shadows danced across his chiseled features as he guided the tip of his cigarette into the flame with his lips.

With a metallic click, the lighter flipped shut and he was shrouded in darkness once more. Your eyes thoughtlessly followed the small red orb of his cherry as he pulled on his cigarette and dropped his hands back into his lap. He didn’t say anything, and it was a tad too dark to really be able to tell, but you knew he was watching you, just as you were watching him. The minutes ticked by as your cigarette faded to ash. Just as you leaned down to snuff the butt in the dirt, he cleared his throat.

“‘M gon’ tell Rick not to send ya out here with me no more.” He informed you.

“Why?” You asked defensively.

“‘Cause you’re too slow. I’ll get more done with someone else.” He explained.

“Like who?” You insisted.

“Like someone who ain’t so distracted.” He sighed with exasperation. He didn’t really even know why he told you that. He was considering telling Rick not to send you with him anymore, but he hadn’t really decided one way or another yet. He guessed he just had to cause tension to keep himself from staring at you too long.

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “That’s why.”

“Well, why the hell else would it be?” He snapped.

“You just don’t wanna be around me.” You mumbled.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind it if you’d act like a fuckin’ adult!” He raised his voice now, and you regretted saying anything. He could sense you shrinking back from his harsh tone, which only angered him more. “All ya do is stare at me all fuckin’ day and pout like a schoolgirl when ya don’t get your way!”

Tears welled at the rim of your eyes, sniffling as you swallowed a lump in your throat. You hated being yelled at, being cornered, being made to feel like a vulnerable child. You hated that he could affect you that way.

Quickly, the pain and anxiety melted away. You began to feel angry. Enraged, even, at the fact that he could treat you so harshly. What had you done to deserve that? Why did he think it was okay to be so cruel?

A rush of adrenaline washed over you as you abruptly stood to your feet, trembling as your emotions overcame you.

“Excuse me for trying! For being kind! For putting up with your piss-poor attitude and still thinking the fucking world of you! All I do is try to treat you the way I wish someone would treat me! No matter how fucking awful you are to me!” You shouted, bitter and full of resentment.

“So why the hell do ya still try?!” He shouted back, pushing himself off the ground and towering over you. In the dark, your most visible feature was your big wet eyes glistening in the natural light of the moon. His eyes flickered between them, somewhat intimidating by how expressive they were. A man like him spent his whole life perfecting his mask, hiding his true feelings from the world, protecting them beneath the surface of his hardened shell.

“Because I love, Daryl!” You shrieked, voice coarse from strain. “I love. I have so much love to give and nowhere to fucking put it! And — and I see you and I see a man who’s never felt love and I—“ You paused to let out a sob and catch your breath. “Because for whatever reason, I saw you and decided you were the one that I needed to love and that doing so would make everything else make sense.”

Daryl seemed taken aback by your confession. He didn’t know how to process any of it, so he instead decided to push you away even more.

“I don’t need your fuckin’ love, alright?” He spat, emphasizing the word love as if the word disgusted him. “I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”

His words stung as they approached you from gritted teeth. The blow was harsh enough o knock you down from your rage-high.

“Well…” You croaked, sniffling as you wiped remnants of fresh tears from your cheeks. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, you found yourself at a loss of words. Maybe there was nothing else to say. “Glad we cleared things up, then.”

You spent the night silent in the tent, tears spinning down your flushed cheeks as you stared blankly at the worn fabric above you. Eventually you fell asleep, but you got little rest. Daryl gathered all the fish the next morning while you tore down the campsite. The hike back home was spent feet apart, both of you ensuring to keep your distance. Your stoic expressions didn’t go unnoticed upon returning to the prison, but luckily nobody pried. Carol, Maggie, and Beth cooked up the fish and some fresh garden veggies while you snuck off to shower and Daryl disappeared to wherever.

You skipped dinner, hiding away in your cell with a sheet hung up for privacy. You actually fell asleep fairly quick, exhausted from the vast range of emotions you experienced in such a short amount of time the night before.

Daryl, on the other hand, laid awake on his cot for a majority of the night. His mind’s eye repeated the events of the night prior, peppered with correlated instances from times passed. Carol had told him once that he was too hard on you, that you were just searching for anything that would make you feel good in such a rotten world. She was right, he knew that, and yet he could not bring himself to allow it.

He didn’t see how nobody else saw it the way he did. Would it not have been easier keep things simple? It made more sense to him for things to remain above the surface level, where emotions and deep connections could not harm either of you. To grow attached in this world was surely a fools game. So why did everyone seem so hell-bent on making friends and falling in love? Why were they willing to take the risk?

He was exhausted the next morning. By the time he fell asleep the sun was creeping over the horizon. You were a bit better off after a full night of sleep. Your eyes were less puffy than the day before, and your stomach was aching for a bite to eat. Daryl had no appetite or energy. He stayed in bed well past noon.

You didn’t see him until dinner that night, not that you were looking. For the first time in a while, you decided to allow yourself some peace.

Since you’d slept so well the night before, you offered to take over watch for Carol, which she accepted gratefully. You brought yourself a cigarette and one of the books from the library to entertain yourself. Just as you settled in and got comfortable in the tower, the hatch opened and Daryl emerged with his own items for amusement.

You didn’t say anything as he lifted himself up. You just watched him quizzically. He paused when he noticed you sitting there.

“I got watch tonight. Told Rick.” He informed you.

“I took over for Carol.” You countered blandly.

“Well you’re relived.” He pushed.

“No thanks.” You brushed him off.

“Ain’t askin’.” He said.

“I was here first.” You shrugged, lighting your cigarette and flipping to the first chapter of your book.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere so ya might as well get on.” He urged.

“I’m sure the fence could use some relief from the walkers.” You suggested.

“So why don’t ya go and take care of ‘em?” He retorted.

“Because I’m on watch.” You countered.

Daryl sighed in defeat.

“Got an extra one o’ those?” He asked, gesturing toward the cigarette.

“Only brought the one.” You replied.

“Look,” he began, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “‘M sorry I was an asshole, but it can’t be the way ya want it to be.”

“And what way did I want it?” You quirked a brow.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make shit hard. Ya always do that.”

“So then the simple solution would be to leave me alone. I get it. You don’t want me.”

“It ain’t about wantin’ you, girl!” He groaned in exasperation. “It’s about protectin’ you! Protectin’ me! Protectin’ everyone!”

His chest rose and fell as his fists clenched at his sides. You stared up at him and fawned under his blazing eyes.

“We can’t… I can’t.” He insisted.

Silence consumed you both in the night. The tension was so palpable that it drowned out the nightly buzz of crickets and frogs in the trees. Daryl felt he had said too much already. He should have just let you hate him and left it be. He couldn’t, though. As much as he wanted to be cold, hard, and arrogant, he was very much a soft soul with a longing for genuine connection.

With a deep sigh and an expression of defeat, he retreated back to his cell without another word to you.

To be continued… Maybe??

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix @superbowlisgay @liizzygrant @eddiemunsonsupremecy

[fourmoony]

Just thinking about Sirius trusting reader enough to do his hair :,) or maybe she experiments with putting his hair in curlers/curling it. I could even imagine Sirius owning a Dyson airwrap to have the best blowouts 😭💀

Sirius would 100000% own the dyson air wrap!!! Thanks for requesting, babe!

cw: none

750 words, modern au

You're not sure where Sirius learned his money managing skills from (or if he even has any), but the pleased smile and child-like excitement over his brand new hair dryer is something you refuse to admonish. Though, you're sure even if you tried, you'd fail.

Your boyfriend bounces happily on the balls of his feet, hair sopping wet and plastered to his face. Water droplets seep into his grey shirt but Sirius doesn't seem to care. Not when he's too busy making bedroom eyes at the unopened box on the bathroom counter. He'd been so happy when John Lewis finally had the Dyson Air Wrap back in stock, had dragged you out of bed this morning to drop an easy five hundred quid on it. Your head had spun with the realisation of just how rich your boyfriend actually is.

He's not flashy with his money. Irresponsible, yes. But being there to witness a classic Sirius-Black-Irresponsible-Purchase had really solidified the knowledge that your boyfriend is filthy rich.

"Okay, I'll grab a stool and you set it up." He says, turning to make for the stool that sits under your dressing table.

"Wait, you want me to do it?" You yell after him.

Sirius makes noise everywhere he goes. He's loud and abrasive, jagged around the edges. He loves so loud that it only makes sense his entire personality is the same. There's thumps and grumbles as he bumps into things all the way along the hall, the tell tale sounds of the stool scraping along your freshly painted hallway. "Well who else would do it?" Sirius rounds the corner, flashes his teeth in a wide grin that he knows will make you fold.

"What makes you think I'm qualified?"

Sirius shrugs, "The fact that I'm one hundred percent not. You're good at everything, sweetness."

He knows flattery works like a charm, especially when he pairs it with his best flirty eyes. You sigh, reaching for the box and unravelling all of the corresponding pieces. It's high tech, incredibly high tech. Sirius fidgets on the stool as you watch a video on your phone, lips curled between your teeth in concentration.

It takes a while to get the hang of, and you're sure you'll get better in time. Sirius softens and relaxes as much as he ever allows himself to as your fingers work through his hair, as you brush and comb and dry it. He hums and sighs and even closes his eyes. It's peaceful and intimate and it allows you to come to a startling realisation that Sirius has never asked you to do his hair for him before.

He's not prissy about his hair. He'll let anyone touch it. He actually begs for people to play with his hair. But he's never outright asked you to fix it up for him, prefers to get it sitting perfect by himself because he believes it to be his best asset. You'd have to disagree with him on that. His eyes never fail to amaze you, nor his smile.

"All done." Your voice seems to pull him out of a daydream.

His eyes open and he smiles wide, turning in the stool in an instant until he can take your hands in his. "Bad news, sweetheart, you're going to have to do this every day." He informs you, standing until his hands can reach your hips.

He pulls you into him, a little roughly, but catches you with his own body, lips ducking down to press to your forehead. You resist the urge to tell him you'd be happy to do his hair every day, if only to feel the intimacy and pride of being the one person he trusts to style his hair.

"Such a travesty." You feign indifference, lips pressed to his collar bone where it peeks out of his shirt.

Sirius shivers at the contact. "Easy, sweetness. I know my hair is super hot and stuff, but we have dinner reservations with James and Remus. They'll get pissy if we cancel to have sex."

"Again." He adds after a second.

You scoff, pushing your boyfriend away whilst he barks with laughter. Heat creeps up your neck as you exit the bathroom, ignoring Sirius' shouts down the hallway that he could make an exception for a quickie.

"Thanks, baby!" He calls a moment later.

You can't fight the smile that toys at your lips as you pick out an outfit for dinner.

[sunshinescribes]

Heyy sunny, i just read the story about Law with his head bury on s/o chest and i was like: damn, that's hot. And i kinda think Law need more pampering like pat in his head, caressing his knuckles or something. So, since your request is open, can we get Trafalgar Law get pampered by his s/o?

If you didn't wanna write it, you can skip this one :0

TENDER

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x GN!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, comfort, Law is whipped but also bad at feelings

Sometimes Law thinks he dreamed you.

When you thread your fingers through his hair after a long day, massaging his scalp while whispering sweet praise, or absentmindedly caress his knuckles, leaving phantom kisses against his inked skin—he doesn’t think you’re real.

You come to him when he needs you most, as if you know he desires a comforting hand, a friendly word, and he melts into you every single time. His defenses shatter—the wall he’s constructed all this life comes tumbling down, and you hold him through the carnage.

You’re everything his heart secretly craves—so tender-hearted and caring, and wonderful—everything he feels he’s not.

And God, does he wonder what you see in him. Wonders how he manages to attract the kindest people when all he has to offer is practiced indifference. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, doesn’t voice the things he feels, but it doesn’t deter you, and despite how brilliant he is, Law can’t make sense of it. He could spend a lifetime trying to figure you out and would never even come close.

“What is going on in that pretty head of yours?” You inquire, your brow raised playfully as you stare down at him. “Can hear the gears in your head movin’.”

His head is in your lap, your soft fingers brush back mutinous strands of hair from his forehead, and he blinks up at you dumbly. It’s one of those rare peaceful evenings where the crew unwinds and breathes a sigh of relief as the Polar Tang slips through the sea, pushing you all towards your next destination with ease.

It takes a moment for your compliment to register—that pretty head of yours—and Law hates how his heart flutters. You say the most…outlandish things without considering their effect—flattery he never expected to like, but they always sound so lovely coming from you. The urge to look at anything but your pretty face almost overtakes him, but he fights his urges, keeps his dark eyes trained on you.

Instead, he arches a sharp brow at you and attempts to sound mildly offended, even though he’s certain you see right through him. “Pretty?”

You purse your lips, feigning thought.

“Would you prefer beautiful? Gorgeous?”

He rolls his eyes, but your soft teasing does little to calm the rapid beat of his unruly heart. When has anyone ever thought him pretty? Beautiful?

You say it as if it’s one of life’s simple truths, but he feels you’re much more deserving of such compliments, and he would shower you with them if he knew how to stop himself from biting his tongue.

Your free hand moves from its spot on his exposed chest, trailing upward until you’re softly cradling his jaw. You dip down, placing a tender kiss on his supple lips.

“Brains and beauty,” you murmur against his lips. “How lucky am I?”

I’m the lucky one, he thinks. To be cared for like this—to be treated like something worthy of being cherished and loved.

And maybe it’s the fear that makes the words catch in his throat, stops him from ripping out his bleeding heart and handing it to you.

He’s never had a good thing that lasted. Only fleeting moments of happiness, ripped right from under him just when he thinks tragedy can never reach him again. He’s lost so much already, and yet there’s always more to lose.

But you continue to smile at him, kiss years of self-loathing away, share your warmth and affection for as long as he accepts it, and Law allows himself to become a little hopeful—thinks maybe you’ll be the first good thing he gets to keep.  

A/N: I feel like this kinda got away from me, but not in the "I wrote too much" way and more so the "I feel I deviated too far from the original prompt and am almost certain I was possessed while writing this" way. Despite that, I hope you enjoyed! I love love LOVE writing soft love for Law so this is a PSA to flood my requests with fluffy prompts!!!

Divider credit: @/cafekitsune

[wish-i-were-heather]

LADIES FIRST ⤵ GRAYSON HAWTHORNE X LYRA KANE

ABOUT: 1306 words

STORY: grayson and lyra get a little distracted on their way to a formal event

WARNINGS: uhh i mean its grayson and lyra so i guess kinda suggestive but like its fine

requested by @maybxlle <33

A/N: they're such a hot couple im gonna cry

Grayson stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie for what felt like the hundredth time. It didn’t really need to be fixed, he’d done it right the first time, but he had nothing better to do as he waited. The hotel room they were sharing was small; despite Grayson obviously being a Hawthorne, they hadn’t gotten a fancy room. Just a simple one with a bed, a bathroom, and a closet.

That was mostly insistence from Lyra. 

He forced his hands down to his side as his eyes focused behind him in the mirror. The bathroom door was closed, and had been closed for the past hour. “Lyra,” Grayson finally called. “How much longer are you going to take?”

“You can’t rush perfection,” her muffled voice responded through the door. 

“You’re always perfect. I don’t see why you need to put in all this effort.”

“Flattery isn’t going to hurry me, Gray,” she sang.

Grayson sighed. He turned around and walked away from the mirror and towards the door. When he checked the time on his watch, it read 5:30 PM. “It starts at six.”

“I know,” Lyra said. “It’s a five minute drive. We’re fine.”

“I have to get there early,” he told her, growing more impatient. “Avery asked if I could give a few words before it starts.”

“What? Why you?”

He laughed, a sound that very few people got to hear. “You wound me.”

“Want me to kiss you better?”

“You can’t kiss me through a closed door.”

She didn’t respond.

“Lyra,” Grayson repeated, his tone growing serious. But there was a smile on his face despite himself. “I’m about five minutes away from going in there and carrying you out.”

“Five minutes?” She echoed. “I’m going to need at least six.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

He didn’t argue with that. 

Instead, he stepped closer to the bathroom door and hesitated for only a second, his hand hovering over the handle of the door. But then he opened it, willing to deal with whatever complaints he got from Lyra. 

But the moment he opened the door, Grayson froze. 

Lyra was standing in front of the mirror, doing the last touches of her makeup. He didn’t really know what she was doing, what brush did what, any of that, but it didn’t matter. He could only stare at her in awe, enchantment, adoration, in love as she applied her lipstick, paying him no mind.

The dress she wore was a deep red that hugged her curves in all the right places. It had a small slit on the bottom that stopped just at the top of her leg, just before it revealed too much. 

Her hair was styled perfectly, falling down past her shoulders with such grace that he wondered if she was real. The lipstick she’d just finished applying was a matching shade of red to the dress, and the rest of her makeup only made her even more stunning. 

Grayson found himself unable to look away. 

He could only stare. No words managed to escape him. No praises, no compliments. Just the way his eyes traveled her up and down, like taking her in for the very first time.

Lyra put the lid on her lipstick and turned to him, a grin making its way onto her face when he saw him.

“Did I manage to make the Grayson Davenport Hawthorne speechless?”

Grayson blinked a few times, struggling to find his voice. Speechless he certainly was. 

“You always do, Lyra Catalina Kane.”

Her smile widened. “I am honored to have that power. Now since you forced your way in here, could you please help?” She asked, turning around so he could see the back of her dress, where the zipper was only halfway done. He nodded.

There was a moment where they stood in silence, intimately close to each other, his hand pulling the zipper.

“Zip it up, Grayson.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Once the dress was zipped up, Grayson let his fingers stay on the small of her back. They stilled there for a moment before his hand slid up to her neck. He leaned forward, pressing his chest against his back.

“You know,” he whispered in her ear. “This dress doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

Lyra laughed, turning around to face him properly. “Is that a problem?”

“Depends on who’s looking.” His hand found her leg, slowly making its way up it.

“Don’t worry, Grayson,” she told him, leaning into his touch. “I’m not dressing up for anyone but you.”

He nodded dumbly as his hand wandered its way under the bottom of he dress. “Mhm.” 

Lyra took in a sharp breath.

“If you keep this up-”

Grayson interrupted her by pressing a kiss to her neck.

He felt her shiver underneath his touch. The kiss was slow at first, letting his mouth linger for a moment, feeling her warmth and being able to smell her sweet perfume. 

Lyra’s breath caught, her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned towards him. Her hands gripped the bottom of his suit jacket, careful not to undo the effort he’d put into his outfit. Still, she held onto him like he was the only thing keeping her steady.

Grayson’s hand paused just under the fabric of her dress, knowing they couldn’t take it too far. 

Not yet.

He placed another kiss right under her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “If I keep this up then what, sweetheart?”

She swallowed hard. “Then we might be late.”

Grayson chuckled before he leaned back just a bit, locking his eyes with hers. “And would that be such a bad thing?”

“Depends on what you have in mind instead.”

Without breaking eye contact, Grayson tilted her chin up to further face him. He then closed his eyes and closed what little space was left between them as their lips connected. 

Lyra responded eagerly, moving with equal intensity. The kiss deepened as they leaned impossibly closer to each other, as if trying to merge into one. Her hands made their way up to his shoulders, pulling him even more towards her. His hand found the back of her neck, slowly so as to not ruin her hair. 

When they finally broke apart, after what felt like a million years, they were both breathless, their faces flush. 

“We should probably get going,” Grayson said, his voice unintentionally deep. He cleared his throat. “Jameson will question us if we’re late.”

“As if he doesn’t always.”

Grayson watched as Lyra collected her things from the counter, hastily tossed it into her handbag, and pointed to her shoes on the floor. High heels that would take more time than they had to put on.

“It’s fine,” she said as she went to pick them up. “I'll put them on during the drive there. Let’s go. Can’t have you being late.”

But Grayson was there in a heartbeat, snatching the heels from the floor. Without a word, he slipped off his own shoes. 

“Gray, I love that you’re trying to be gentlemanly, but it’s just a walk downstairs-”

“Wear my shoes or I’ll carry you.”

Lyra paused for a moment, as if considering her options. With a defeated sigh, she stepped into his clearly oversized shoes. “Better?” She asked. “Now that I look like a clown?”

Grayson shook his head, smiling.

“Not a clown. A queen.”

“I can’t with you,” she said, laughing despite herself. “Okay, let’s go.”

Grayson led her out the bathroom door. He checked that they had all their belongings, and then checked his watch. 5:46. He’d have no time to practice his speech before giving it, how wonderful. 

He didn’t mind, though. It was worth it. 

For Lyra.

He opened the door with one hand, holding her shoes in the other.

“Ladies first.”

the writing above belongs to me. please do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own. © 2024 wish-i-were-heather

TAGS: (until i figure out how to fix it they're gonna stay down here) @littlemissmentallyunstable @gretag13 @lanterns-and-daydreams @whatsamongus @alwaysthefangirl

@emelia07 @f4iry-bell @low-caloriesmonsterultra @that-daughter-of-hephaestus

@maybxlle @xoxo-vee @elysianwayy77 - lmk if you wanna be added or removed from the taglist <3

[whimsicalpolitical]

Turning of the leaves - Matty Healy x Reader

day 1 of promptober 🍁

Matty and you spending the first day of autumn together.

content warning: just fluff :)

“Matty! oh my god.”

A few moments later, he appears in the doorway, his hair still slightly mussed, a notebook in one hand and a pen tucked behind his ear. He looks at you with a quizzical expression, then follows your gaze to the window. "What’s up, love?"

You're sitting by the window, legs tucked beneath you, as you gaze out at the world beyond. The leaves have begun their annual transformation, blanketing the ground in shades of amber, gold, and crimson.

“You see that? How could I miss the beginning of autumn?!”

“Ehm, yeah?” He chuckles, “is it a big deal?”

“Do you know me, Healy? It’s my favorite season.”

“Right, how could I forget,” he watches you watch the rain outside with a glimmer in your eyes. That’s before you jump up.

Your eyes are wide with excitement. "We should go for a walk!"

"You do realize it’s raining, right?" Matty laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You glance out the window, noting the steady drizzle and the way the raindrops dance on the golden leaves scattered across the pavement. "So what? You have a coat, don’t you?" You shoot him a playful grin, already knowing you won’t take no for an answer.

"You really want to go out there in this weather? You’ll be soaked in minutes." He arches an eyebrow, giving you that look that says he knows exactly where this is going.

"Yeah, but that’s what makes it fun!" you insist, your enthusiasm bubbling over. "It’s the first day of autumn, Matty! We can’t just stay inside. The rain just adds to the atmosphere. It’s like a cozy, romantic movie scene waiting to happen."

Matty sighs, though there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "I’m pretty sure in those movies they don’t show the part where the characters get colds afterward."

"Oh, come on!" You give him a light shove, laughing. "I’ll make us hot chocolate when we get back. You can’t say no to that."

He chuckles, shaking his head in mock defeat. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

You nod eagerly, already walking off to grab your coat. "But you love me for it."

Matty grins as he watches you rummage through the closet, pulling out your favorite scarf and the thick, woolen coat you always wear in the colder months. "Yeah, I suppose I do," he says softly, more to himself than to you.

Within minutes, you’re both bundled up and standing in the entryway, ready to brave the rain. Matty tugs his beanie down over his ears, and you can’t help but giggle at how cute he looks, the fabric squishing his unruly curls.

"Ready?" you ask, bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement.

"As I’ll ever be," he replies, his voice tinged with amusement. He opens the door with a flourish, letting the cool, damp air rush in. "After you, my lady."

You step outside, immediately feeling the gentle mist of rain on your face. The air is crisp and smells of wet earth and fallen leaves—a scent that always brings you comfort. Matty closes the door behind you, and you link your arm through his, pulling him close as you start down the path.

The streets are quiet, with only a few cars passing by, their headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The trees lining the road are ablaze with autumn colors, their leaves swirling down around you with every gust of wind.

"See? Isn’t this perfect?" you say, squeezing his arm as you walk.

"Yeah, I guess it is. You always manage to see the beauty in everything."

You smile up at him, warmth blooming in your chest. "That’s because there’s so much beauty to see, especially with you here."

He shakes his head, laughing lightly. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

The two of you continue walking, letting the sound of the rain and the rustling leaves fill the comfortable silence between you. Every now and then, you catch Matty sneaking glances at you, his eyes filled with that tender look that makes your heart flutter.

As you reach a small park, the trees overhead form a natural canopy, sheltering you slightly from the rain. The path winds through the park, leading you to a bench tucked away under a large oak tree, its leaves a brilliant shade of amber. Matty pauses, nodding towards the bench. "Wanna sit for a bit?"

You nod, already heading over. The bench is damp, but you don’t care. Matty pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket—something he always carries for occasions just like this—and wipes it down before sitting. But instead of sitting beside him, you step in front of him, giving him a cheeky grin.

Matty looks up at you, puzzled for a moment before realization dawns on his face. He chuckles as you move closer, turning so you can sit sideways on his lap. His arms immediately wrap around your waist, and you drape your arms over his shoulders, your fingers lacing together behind his neck.

"This okay?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

"It’s perfect," he replies, his voice a little lower, warmer. He adjusts slightly, making sure you’re both comfortable, then leans back against the bench, keeping you securely in his arms.

You sit close, your legs curled up on the bench, your head resting on his shoulder. The rain has created tiny rivers in the cracks of the pavement, and you watch as the water carries fallen leaves along with it, swirling them into tiny whirlpools before they’re swept away.

Matty’s hand finds your hair, his fingers gently brushing through the strands. "Do you remember the first time we did this?" you ask quietly, breaking the silence.

He hums thoughtfully, his other hand resting comfortably on your hip. "Yeah, I do. It was that day we went to the countryside, right? We got caught in that shit ass rain.”

You nod, smiling at the memory. "We ended up taking shelter in that tiny little café. We were soaked to the bone, but the owner was so sweet, she brought us towels and made us hot tea."

"And then you convinced me to go back out in the rain after an hour or so," he adds, chuckling.

"Because it was beautiful!" you defend, laughing along with him. "The rain was so warm, and everything smelled so fresh. Plus, you had that ridiculous grin on your face the whole time."

"Only because you were dragging me through puddles like a maniac," Matty teases, his hand slipping down to your lower back, rubbing small circles there.

"You loved it."

"Yeah, I did. And I still do."

You shift slightly in his lap, your arms tightening around his neck as you bring your face closer to his. "I love that you do these things with me," you say softly, your gaze locked with his.

His smile softens, his eyes filled with affection. "I love that you make me do these things. I’d probably just be a grumpy old man otherwise."

You laugh, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his lips. He kisses you back, his hand cupping the back of your head as he deepens the kiss, the rain continuing to fall around you like a curtain, making the world feel smaller, cozier—just the two of you in your little bubble.

When you finally pull back, you’re both a little breathless, your noses brushing together as you linger close. "Thank you for humoring me," you whisper.

"Always," he murmurs back, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Anything for you."

You rest your head back on his shoulder, and he tightens his hold on you, as if he never wants to let you go. The rain lightens to a soft drizzle, and you listen to the sound of it tapping gently on the leaves above, feeling completely at peace.

"You know," Matty starts, his voice quiet, "I think I get it now."

"Get what?" you ask, your voice muffled slightly as you nuzzle into the warmth of his neck.

"Why you love autumn so much," he replies, his tone thoughtful. "It’s… I don’t know. Everything feels more alive, more vibrant. Like the world is changing, but in a good way."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest. "Exactly. It’s like the earth is putting on a show, just for us."

He tilts his head down to kiss the top of your head, his lips lingering in your hair. "I’m glad I get to share it with you."

Your heart swells at his words, and you close your eyes, savoring the feeling of being held so close, so cherished. The world around you fades into the background as you focus on the simple joy of being together, in this perfect autumn moment.

“Love you, darling, so much.”

You nudge your nose against his and grin against him, “and I love you.”

After a while, the drizzle almost stops, leaving just the occasional drop falling from the leaves above. The air is cool but not uncomfortable, and you feel perfectly content sitting there in Matty’s lap, his arms wrapped securely around you.

Eventually, you pull back slightly, looking up at the sky. "Looks like the rain’s finally letting up."

Matty follows your gaze, nodding. "Yeah, seems like it."

"Should we head back?" you suggest, though a part of you doesn’t want to leave this cozy spot.

“Yeah think so. That hot chocolate is starting to sound really nice.”

You laugh and stand up, reaching for his hand, “then let’s go.”

[oliversrarebooks]

roger, whats it like being fitz's thrall? (aka how does it feel to be living my dream... im not jealous... totally not living vicariously through you...)

Masterlist

January 1922

TW: mind control, conditioning, blood drinking mentions of past abuse, fear of death

"You have to get up, sir." 

Roger gently shook the lump of tangled blankets and sheets that most likely contained a vampire at its core. The only real indication that his master was within was the soft groan from inside, a mumble that sounded a lot like "leave me alone."

"I can't leave you alone, sir. You have a show at 7, remember? If you don't rise and shine soon, you won't have enough time to do your hair and makeup and make it to the theater."

"Uggggggh. Why'd I schedule a show so goddamned early? What is wrong with me?" The pile of blankets huddled in on itself more tightly.

"...I suspect there may be several things, sir," said Roger, unable to resist the obvious opening and knowing that a bit of banter might put his master in a better mood. "Regardless, you did schedule the show, and you do need to leave the house for it."

"Horrible. Torturous. Excruciating." The bedclothes rustled, and Fitz poked his head out just enough to take a look. "It's so early that the sun is leaking around the curtains! The sun could kill me, Roger, you can't expect me to get up in those conditions. I could die."

"I believe that's what the curtains are for, sir. To prevent you from dying when you're unjustly forced to wake up during the day." Roger sat down on the side of the bed. He'd done this often enough to know when he was in for the long haul, and he was quite capable of patience -- a good quality to have when serving Fitz. "You were looking forward to this show, weren't you? It's a large venue, and you have your new rotating box trick."

"Mmm."

"I'm sure it will go over splendidly, sir, and you'll be afforded all the praise and applause you deserve," he said. Cheap flattery rarely failed to soften his master's mood. "Aren't you looking forward to seeing the looks of delight on your audience's faces when you perform your new trick? And besides that, aren't you looking forward to being paid?"

Fitz seemed to be lowering both his blankets and his guard. "I suppose so..."

"Excellent. Then forgive me for this, sir." Roger grabbed the covers and pulled them away, as his master produced a sound not unlike a dying cat.

With lightning fast reflexes, the blankets were wrenched from Roger's grasp, and Fitz was clutching them to himself and huddling in the middle of the bed. "How could you? How could my own thrall do such a thing? Heartless, you're simply heartless." He curled up under the blankets and stubbornly closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep.

"Of the two of us, sir, it's technically you who is heartless." Roger sighed. It was always most difficult to wake Fitz in the dead of winter. The long nights enticed his master to stay out too late sampling the city's nightlife, and the cold made him especially reluctant to leave his chambers, which, thanks to the radiators, were as hot as a furnace.

He reached down to the blankets, intending to tug on them again. This time, despite Fitz pretending to sleep, he was faster than Roger, and grasped his wrist.

Roger felt a delicious, drowsy warmth coming from his master's touch, filling his mind with cotton candy haze. It was blissfully dreamy and intoxicating, and, most dangerously, it was sleep-inducing, enticing him to shut his weary eyes and rest.

"Go back to sleep, Roger," Fitz lulled. "Curl up here. Keep me warm..."

Roger was swaying on the spot, eyelids drooping, rapidly losing himself to enchanted slumber -- but he'd been caught by this trap on plenty of occasions, and each time it ended with Fitz regretful that he'd overslept and missed his obligations. It was that memory that kept Roger just awake enough to wrench his arm away and mostly free himself from his master's dangerous temptation. Fitz was making sad little grabbing motions as Roger moved out of range of his hands.

"I'm afraid that if you wish to use your powers on me, you'll have to leave your bed to do so, sir," said Roger, standing several feet away. "The sooner you get it over with, the sooner you can get to the pleasant business of washing up." They both knew that it was a bluff. Roger had been under Fitz's thrall for many years now, and his master didn't need hypnotic touch to compel him, body and soul. But it was a bluff that usually worked.

"Fine, fine, you win." With one final dramatic groan, Fitz threw off the covers and sat up. "I'll take my shower, then. But I expect you to attend to me when I'm finished."

"Of course, sir." Roger watched as his master stumbled into the bathroom, and in a moment he could hear the sound of running water and upbeat humming. Fitz loved long, warm showers as much as he loved rolling around lazily in bed. He'd spend at least a half-hour relaxing in the steamy waters and performing his elaborate and ever-changing skin care routine, one which involved enough distinct products as to cover most of the vanity table.

This gave Roger plenty of time to make the perpetually disheveled bed, the foot-high pile of blankets, and the mountain of pillows in every shape and size. He made quick work of it, picked up the dirty clothes that had been tossed on the floor yesterday morning. 

Housekeeping was Roger's primary responsibility apart from providing blood and humoring Fitz's varied whims. With only the two of them in a reasonably sized flat, it wasn't especially difficult or time-consuming compared to when he'd lived on his own, before he'd been snatched off the street by a vampire. He'd even come to enjoy the simple chores. He wasn't sure how much of that was due to his own feelings or to Fitz's coercion -- his master grasping his shoulders and softening Roger's mind, whispering to him how much he loved to serve.

Really, it hardly mattered any more.

When he'd finished tidying up, Roger got down to the business of setting out his master's clothes. Serving Fitz was really about anticipating his moods more than anything else. With a large venue, he'd want something particularly flashy -- something on the warmer side for a chill day -- deep blue, perhaps?

The door to the bathroom cracked open, Roger's signal to enter.

The steam was blinding, mixed with the almost overwhelming scent of flowers, as Roger entered. Fitz was fussing with his hair, as usual, despite not being able to see it in the mirror. "You simply must help me out with this," he said.

"Of course, sir," said Roger, taking the comb from him. This was a ritual they performed nearly every night Fitz went out. Even as the years went by and Fitz grew from a young vampire to a seasoned one, he still seemed so irritated at not being able to see himself in the mirror, sometimes requiring excessive reassurance from Roger that he was still handsome.

Tonight, though, his master seemed deep in his own head as Roger ran the comb through his hair, taking some pomade in hand to smooth it back. He pulled the longer hair into a neat tail, the sort of style usually reserved for unsavory sorts, but then, Fitz didn't mind presenting himself as a bit unsavory. Roger's tense shoulders relaxed as faint hypnotic power flowed from his master's proximity, fogging his mind at the same time it increased his desire to help fix Fitz's brooding.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

Fitz seemed startled back into the waking world by the question. "Of course," he said with his fake smile plastered firmly to his face. "Just running through the show in my head. If I'm going to be dragged out of my bed and into the cold this early, it had better be worth it."

"I'm sure it will be, sir. You're looking quite handsome this evening."

"Obviously," he said, lacking the usual cheer that punctuated their banter.

With Fitz's hair squared away, the two then left the bathroom for Roger to assist dressing him. "While the rest of this outfit is acceptable, this bowtie is just not..." Fitz seemed to be fishing around, thinking of what could be wrong with the bowtie, clearly eager to find some minor fault to distract himself from his own worries. "It's blue, isn't it? You can't have blue on a night that's already cold and gloomy, that won't do. It must be red. The color of excitement and passion!"

"I don't know what I was thinking, sir," Roger deadpanned, picking up the blue bowtie that Fitz had tossed aside and fetching one of his half-a-dozen red ones.

Fitz allowed Roger to fit him with the new selection. "That's why you should leave the thinking to me."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir."

That got a genuine smile from his master. "Come now, when has that ever not worked out?" he said. "With this outfit and your expert attention to my hair, I'm sure tonight's show will be an absolute triumph."

"There's not a single doubt in my mind, sir."

As Roger adjusted his master's cummerbund, Fitz leaned in a bit more, in an unsubtle fashion. The undercurrent of tension Roger had felt all night bloomed into something more recognizable: hunger. His master desired his blood, and, as always, Roger felt himself falling into a pleasurable daze, one where all thoughts fled from his mind apart from offering himself to his master.

"I think I'll need to feed from you when I return. You don't mind, do you?" Fitz whispered in his ear.

"No, master," said Roger, shivering involuntarily. "It's my pleasure to serve you."

"And it's my pleasure to feed," he said, grinning with his fangs bared. "Yes, I think that'll be just the thing to lift my spirits. Something to look forward to after the show."

"Yes, sir. I'll also look forward it." He meant that -- he had long since given up being troubled by his desire for vampiric feedings. He'd felt that desire even for his previous master's painful, harsh feedings, and it was far easier to accept Fitz's gentle trance of bliss.

A few minutes later and Roger had wrangled a semi-unwilling vampire into two layers of winter coat and sent him on his way. Sometimes Roger went along with Fitz to the theater, to help with makeup or hair or just for support purposes, but just as often he was left behind to his own devices. 

He didn't mind either way. It was nice to have a few hours to himself. He often spent the bulk of the time painting, something he'd never gotten to do much of even before he was taken by vampires. He wanted to eat breakfast first, though, especially given that his master might be feeding later.

Roger did hope he was. Sometimes he instead chose to feed on his volunteer from the audience, and that was always a bit of a disappointment, denying Roger the opportunity to fulfill his primary purpose in life. But Fitz seemed interested in feeding at home, and if he was going to do that, it would behoove Roger to be well-fed.

Soon enough, a generous portion of ham and eggs was sizzling on the stove. Fitz had made a promise early on that he'd always keep Roger fed, and although he forgot and broke promises all the time, he hadn't broken that one. Unlike his previous master, he never punished Roger with starvation -- a particularly spiteful punishment, since it also seemed to lower the quality of Roger's blood. His previous master did seem to enjoy punishment more than feedings.

When Roger's former master had been destroyed in a duel, Roger had assumed he was going from bad to worse. That feeling had grown stronger when he'd been dragged to a secondhand thrall appraiser and his worth was assessed at far lower than it had been when he'd first been bought. At the time, Roger had been little better than a beaten dog, cringing at every sound, barely daring to speak or think. He'd lost hope for anything better.

And, well, Fitz was far from the savior he'd often imagined during those days. He was still a vampiric master, a dramatic one whose moods changed like the wind. He could still effortlessly control Roger's mind, and he made Roger do all the chores in the house. Roger still wasn't free.

But rather than beatings and torture, Fitz's "punishments" generally amounted to snippy words and extra chores. There was always food, and he was allowed to paint and read and relax. His master might have a terrible habit of tossing out every piece of clothing in his closet when choosing what to wear and then telling Roger to clean it all up, but compared to what life had been like...

He hoped that Fitz came home safe. He'd strongly prefer to not change hands again, even if it meant dragging a protesting vampire out of bed each night for the rest of his life.

Roger had busied himself painting a bird from an illustration in a nature book when he heard the front door creak. "It's goddamn cold out there! Windy, too."

"Welcome home, sir," said Roger, helping his master out of his frigid coats. He was pleased to see Fitz in a better mood than when he'd left. "I take it your show went well?"

"Of course! Didn't you say there wasn't a single doubt in your mind?" he said with a grin as he kicked off his shoes, leaving Roger to line them up neatly in the shoe rack. "The crowd loved it! The spinning box trick is a real winner -- I just need to think of some ways to jazz it up further -- perhaps doing up the box in spangles to really dazzle them..." 

He shook himself out of his train of thought, seeming to remember Roger was there. "All of that applause did have me work up an appetite, though," he said, stepping close and brushing his hand against Roger's. Roger could feel the influence flowing through him, stoking his need for the feeding. "Why don't you go start the fire? That and your blood will provide me with some warmth tonight, I think."

So he was going to feed. Roger tried to keep his face neutral to preserve a scrap of dignity. "Very good, sir."

Roger allowed himself to hum a bit of a jaunty tune as he stacked wood in the fireplace and lit the kindling, using the bellows to raise the fire higher. He could hear his master making a commotion in the bathroom, likely getting out of his fine clothes and washing off the stage makeup. By the time Fitz arrived in the parlor, the fire was crackling merrily.

"Ahhhhh," said Fitz, sprawling out onto the old leather couch and beckoning Roger close. "This is the life, isn't it, Roger?"

"It certainly is, sir."

"Well, I suppose I'm not technically alive. The point still stands."

His master put his hand to Roger's cheek, and Roger sank into the mind-numbing bliss that came from his power, the familiar sense of captivation and contentment. As always, he could feel his master's desire to feed, and as he dropped deeper into a trance, his hands came up to unbutton his shirt and pull his collar away.

"You really are an excellent thrall," said Fitz, and Roger soaked in both the praise and the sense of security that came from pleasing his master. "Now just relax and let me have what I need."

Sharp fangs punctured the old scars that would never heal, and Roger's pliable mind slipped further as his master began to drink. There was nothing but bliss and contentment and hunger and need --

-- and, as always when his master was anxious, the sound of ticking clocks and the undercurrent of a lonely void.

Perhaps the good reception to his show hadn't brightened his mood as much as Roger had thought.

Fitz drank hungrily as if to fill that void with his thrall's blood, and Roger could feel his senses buckling, his vision tunneling and his eyelids growing heavy. His master was overdrinking again. "Sir," Roger managed to say as he fought to stay awake. "Sir -- sir, you're --"

"Oh!" His master mercifully stopped. "Damn it, I'm sorry, Roger. I don't mean to do that, you know I don't."

"I know you don't," Roger parroted in a dazed voice, slumping against his master's shoulder, allowing his eyes to close now that the danger had passed.

Someday, his master was probably going to kill him. He'd drink too much blood, and Roger would fail to stop him in time, collapsing into his master's arms and closing his eyes for the last time.

But tonight was not that night, and Roger was glad of it.

Masterlist

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

[meaningofaeons]

Hi there my pal my buddy!!! It's ya boi anon again here! ✨

I was wondering if I can go for a cat cafe visit with your local businessman scammer ✨Sampo Koski✨ on my hands, oh and also I has slight anger issues slash denial /that I have crush for Sampo/ attitude when going with him /ᐠ - ˕ -マ/ oh we gone there to play with both orange Himalayan and Abyssinian cat, ended our time with drinking hot cocoa!! 😋 ((I HOPE I WRITE IT RIGHT 😭😭😭))

I think that's all, congratulations for your 500+ followers once again (you deserve that and more ngl!!💕) and thank you so much in advance!

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ not quite so slick

⊹ character(s) - sampo koski ⊹ word count - 1.0k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, fluff, silvermane guard!reader, belobog story spoilers, sampo being his dumb silly self as usual, sad pathetic pining on his end we love him here

⊹ katze's 500 follower writing cat-baret

HII!!! thank you for the sweet ask omg <3!!! you wrote it correct dw!! yes our favorite businessman def not a scammer....... huhu Σ(;Φ ω Φ) I hope you enjoy your "cat cafe date" with mr cold feet, mr koski himself !!!

Ever since the order to seal off the Underworld had been rescinded, your job had gotten a lot more hectic.

Well, that's not to say you were alone in that. Many of your fellow guards had been made to take on more work to pick up the slack after the crisis, and you were all spread thin.

However, Supreme Guardian Bronya had deigned to send you to the Underworld, of all places.

And a certain blue-haired "merchant" could not be happier about your newfound assignment.

"Well, isn't this just peachy! If it's any Silvermane Guard down here, I'd want it to be you, Y/N!"

"Enough with the flattery. I'm on shift, Sampo."

"Oh, come on, now! When do we get the opportunity to spend some quality time together like this? When the order was initially given, I was heartbroken—"

"Sampo, you were able to come to the Overworld anyways!"

"Doesn't change my feelings, my dear! I missed seeing your sweet face, and..."

You were forced to sit through hours of the infamous Mr. Koski buzzing around you.

Even when you changed positions, moving from one end of Boulder Town to the next to keep watch, the man followed you like a puppy, eager to talk your ear off and aggravate you to death.

Of course, this is just how he was. Schmoozing up to anyone he could, trying to avoid culpability for some scam or another that he ran only a few hours (and sometimes even minutes) prior.

And clearly, he was beginning to think of you as an easy mark. You silently considered making it clear that you were far from it.

But when you bumped into Natasha of Wildfire, she seemed to have a different idea on why Sampo was so insistent on staying by your side.

"He's quite obvious, isn't he?"

The lovely woman chuckled, folding her arms over her chest as she watched Sampo scamper off after another verbal lashing from you.

You knew who she was, and you were thankful of her efforts in the Underworld. However, without being properly acquainted and only knowing each other's names, you were still wary. You turned your eyes onto her, assessing her intent in approaching you before speaking up yourself.

"Yes, as much as he loves touting his skills in his trade, I fear that it's all too clear when he's trying to worm his way out of something."

The surprise on Natasha's face caught you off guard.

"...What?"

"Oh, my apologies. I just thought you knew."

"Knew? Knew what?"

The woman giggled, stifling it with a polite hand over her lips.

"Dear, he's quite smitten with you."

As much as you wanted to scoff at your words—and truthfully, a huff of disbelief did leave you—the sudden confession made you turn red as a cherry.

"That's ridiculous. He's like that with everyone he's trying to wring dry of money. Or with every Silvermane Guard. I'm no exception, he just thinks I'm easy."

Natasha smiled, clicking her tongue.

"Y/N of the guards, right?" You nodded. "I'd be remiss to not tell you the full truth, but I've never heard Sampo Koski rave about anyone as much as you. When he mentions other guards or people he's flattered, he's always very lackadaisical, if he even mentions them at all. Trust me, he has eyes for you."

You paused.

Then, you started walking away, as speedily as you could without seeming hasty.

"Y/N?"

"I-I'm going to give him a piece of my mind! If that really is true, then I'm telling him to fix his delusions this instant! Good day, Natasha!"

The woman only laughed, shaking her head and turning back to head into her clinic.

When you finally found Sampo after a few minutes of searching (truthfully, you had noticed the way you could find him quicker than any other, despite the fact that he evaded the other guards so well), he was whistling a tune, holding a bouquet in his left hand.

Right. Now that trade had opened back up between the upper and lower portions of Belobog...

You shook your head, stomping up behind the man. He turned to meet you, emerald eyes sparkling.

"Heeey, Y/N! I was just about to come find you again! So, guess what I got for y—"

"Is it true?"

His unflappable grin faltered, and he tilted his head, chuckling nervously—almost in the same way he did when a client was getting cross, but not quite.

"W-Whaddya mean? Did my favorite Silvermane Guard get some weird hearsay put into their pretty little hea—"

"I spoke with Natasha. So, is it true?"

Sampo stopped in his tracks, the barest hint of pink seeping into his cheeks as he laughed anxiously.

However, he didn't miss the way your eyes hardened, how your fist clenched as though anticipating a negative response.

He swallowed thickly.

"U-Uhm, I mean, not that I know what you're talking about exactly, but, uh—" Your brow furrowed, and Sampo rushed out his remaining sentence. "If it's what I'm thinking of, and that could be many different things—"

"Koski!"

"Yes, it's true!"

You both stood in silence, until the blue-haired con artist began rambling away.

"I thought, 'Hey, Sampo Koski is a subtle guy! Maybe that subtlety would be lost on a lovely guard like Y/N, and he oughta put his best foot forward in being upfront and obvious!' But then, you weren't quite picking up what your old friend Sampo was putting down, and—"

"Sampo Koski."

He hadn't even noticed you approach, standing right before him as he endlessly jabbered.

"Well, Miss Nat told me to go ahead and be 'forward and open', but you know I'm not that type of guy, haha, and—well, ah..."

He looked down at you, dangerously close to his face. His smile became lopsided with nerves.

"And... and, um... Would you..." The man clasped his hands together, expression turning sheepish. That slight flush in his cheeks had spread across his face.

"Would you hit me if I kissed you?"

"I might if you don't."

And before he could say another word, your lips were pressed firmly against his.

[david-powers-simp]

What the lost boys call you

Whats good my homies, im back with a short lil something for you. This is just a preference I whiped up real quick , of what the boys call you. I am writing all the preferences for the boys separate, because I suck at writing poly! Relationships . So I hope guys enjoy this lil piece I typed up. :)

Paul

Paul is very eccentric, so I feel the nicknames he comes up with are too. Of course we have our basic ones i feel he would use a lot are " babe" or "baby" I think it would roll off his tongue so naturally. " come on baby I wanna show you something", he would say as he links hands with yours and pulls you through the crowded boardwalk. Or " you look smokin' hot today babe" he tells you as he throws his arm around you. I 100% feel in my bones this man would come up with his own nickname for you tho. One that sticks out to me is "honeybun". Now I know at first it sounds a little cringe, but it honestly isn't because Paul gave you this nickname specifically because he thinks your very sweet like honey, and honeybuns happen to be his favorite snack so... ~my mans Paul is calling you a snack~ like just imagine Paul muttering sweet nicknames under his breath while he buries his face into your neck ( which is something he does a lot) he'd mumble things like " m'love you so much baby". Or if your ever caught up doing something and not paying him attention for a hot minute hes gonna ~whine~ " honeybun how much longer till your done, I want to spend time with you." Paul is such a sweet,horny, clingy man and im here for it. He just has so much love and energy to give you he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Marko

Now marko my sweet boy marko, how do I put this in the best way possible. Marko is a little sly bastard. With that being said he's a major flirt like his brother paul, but for some reason I feel marko is slightly more bold than paul. Don't ask why because frankly I don't know why I feel this way I just do. That being said marko calls you " hot stuff", " sexy", "gorgeous" marko is one smooth mf'er. He'll purr those nicknames all the time. " hey sexy thing" he'll say with a lop sided smirk when he greets you. He 100% lightly smacks you ass almost everytime you walk by, he can't help himself. " gorgeous could you come here for a sec?" He asks real sweetly and as your walking over to him he snakes an arm behind you so he can give your ass a nice little pat.He really loves you and your ass, he also adores making you laugh and smile so naturally he cracks a lot of jokes, which leads to him saying things like. " love seeing you smile gorgeous, its mesmerizing" marko is very creative we all know this,so hes great with flattery i feel. " come on hot stuff it'll be fun,and I'll know you'll do so good just trust me, you trust me right sweet thing?" This was marko's response when he was trying to teach you how to ride his motorcycle. You always rode with him on his bike, but he was try to teach you how to drive. He's not gonna lie he thought you sitting on his bike was super hot you were a smoke show. It made him very horny.

Dwayne

Ok so my mans dwayne is a sweetheart he is so soft and sweet but here's the thing, you have to know him a while to find that out. I don't think dwyane is as quiet and closed off as people think. Honestly when you get to know him he's so sweet. He has no problem w with his brothers knowing either,he loves you. They tease him and tell him he's a sap, he pays no mind to it though. A nickname dwayne likes to call you is "dove" its probably one of his favorites he loves it because he says it just suits you, your delicate like a dove to him. " let's go for a ride dove" dwayne says as he hops on his bike and holds his hand out for you to take. " I found these for you sweetheart, I hope you like them." He says as he hands you some shells he found on the beach. Dwayne likes to look for shells and picks up ones he thinks you'll like. He also will make you jewelry with the shells he finds " does that feel good my love" ( gets yalls heads out the gutter) he'd asked as he plays with your hair braiding it then unbraiding it. Dwayne just loves have you close and holding you. He also really enjoys cuddling, he'll often put on some music and dance with you when you guys are alone in the cave. " I had no idea you could dance so well sweetheart." He says with a little chuckle.

David

Oh David my beloved. I think david would come up with classic nicknames like " darling","dollface",or "sugar" but the way he says them- it'll make you swoon. Just the way when he talks to you he keeps eye contact and will smirk or smile at just the right time. He says that he picked those nicknames because they are pretty self explanatory, your are just darling to him he can't help but think that. You also according to him have the face of a doll it's perfect in his eyes and well sugar of course because your just sweet and he like how you blush when he calls you that. David is a flirt, however he doesn't come off as horny as his brother marko and paul. He comes off more subtle. He'll say things like " whatever makes your heart content darling" he often says that when you see something you like or want. David will find a way to get it for you, no questions asked. " have I told you how much i love you today dollface?" That's something he asks when you two are sitting together in his wheelchair, while you might be reading a good book and david will just admire you. " keep the jacket sugar, looks better on you anyway." You recall him saying that on one of you're earlier date with him, he gave you his trench coat and actually let you wear it home. David never heard the end of that from his brothers but he honestly couldn't care less because you looked like a dream in his coat. So needless to say david is some what of a romantic but let him hear you say it because he will deny it till the day he dies- well I guess he's already technically dead so, he will deny it for the rest of eternity.

Alrighty besties that brings this lil preference to a close, I apologize for any mistakes I did not proofread this. So hopefully it doesn't suck too bad, but until next time. I'll catch you later. :)

[ringthebethal]

EuroLove (Ch 1)

Joost Klein x UK entrant Liz

A/N: this is my first fic in a while so I'm rusty but please enjoy

Amsterdam, Saturday, 13 April 2024

Liz sprinted down the corridor of the bustling venue, her manager Sophie hot on her heels. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed off the walls.

"We are so late," Liz panted, glancing back at Sophie as they approached a door.

Sophie swung it open, and they slipped inside just as Francis, the tour manager, was addressing the acts. He turned and spotted them. "Just in time, UK," he remarked, his tone a mix of relief and mild reprimand.

Liz offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry, my plane got delayed, so we came straight here.

Scanning the room, she noticed Bambie and Marko had saved her a seat between them. She quickly made her way over, grateful for the familiar faces.

"Got your usual," Bambie whispered, handing her a coffee cup as Francis continued with the briefing.

"Thank you, you're a star," Liz murmured back, taking a quick sip of the much-needed caffeine.

Francis's voice cut through the low murmurs. "Right, next up after Ireland is Miss Late, UK," he said, eliciting a wave of chuckles from the room. "And then last will be Amsterdam himself, Joost."

Everyone's attention shifted to the front where a tall, blonde guy stood. His hair was a mess under a sideways cap, and he wore a white long-sleeve undershirt with a pink top over it. "This is your first show, so make sure to say hello to everyone if you can. Meeting's over, guys. Go chill and get ready; you have three hours until curtain up."

Liz leaned over to Bambie. "He's kind of cute."

Bambie rolled her eyes. "You said that about Marko too."

"They are right," Marko chimed in with a laugh.

"Yeah, but you're like a brother to me now," Liz retorted with a grin. "Elizabeta is like my sister; we even have the same name."

Marko laughed. "You two are like twins. You just like blondes, don't you?"

"She has a type," Bambie added, giggling.

"Shut up, you two," Liz said, playfully hitting Marko's arm. "I'm going to our dressing room, Bambie."

——————————————————————-

The backstage area at the Eurovision pre-party show was a whirlwind of activity. Contestants from various countries mingled, producers scurried about, and the buzz of excited conversations filled the area. Liz stood quietly in a corner, trying to stay out of the spotlight. Her heart raced with nerves as she mentally rehearsed her performance, hoping to avoid any awkward encounters.

She tugged at the hem of her dress, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Just then, a lively figure caught her eye. Joost, was moving through the crowd with an infectious energy. His laughter rang out as he greeted fellow contestants, his presence impossible to ignore.

Suddenly, Joost’s gaze locked onto hers from across the room. He paused, his smile broadening. Intrigued by her quiet demeanor amidst the chaos, he decided to make his way over to her. With an easy confidence, he weaved through the crowd, never taking his eyes off her.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice warm and inviting as he finally reached her. “You’re the UK entrant, right?”

She looked up, startled by his direct approach. “Y-yes, that’s me,” she replied, her cheeks flushing. “I’m really looking forward to your performance,” he continued, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. “I’ve heard great things.”

“Thank you,” she managed, feeling a mix of shyness and flattery. Joost’s presence was both overwhelming and oddly comforting. His enthusiasm was contagious, and she found herself relaxing slightly.

“I’m Joost, by the way,” he introduced himself with a charming smile. “Not that you wouldn’t know, but formalities, right?”

She laughed softly, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m Liz,” she replied, her voice gaining a bit more confidence.

“So, Liz,” Joost said, leaning in a bit closer, “how are you feeling about tonight? Excited? Nervous?”

“A bit of both,” she admitted, glancing down at her feet. “It’s all so overwhelming.”

Joost nodded, his expression understanding. “I get it. This whole thing is pretty intense. But hey, from what I’ve seen, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Your voice is incredible, and your performance style is so unique.”

She looked up at him, surprised by his genuine compliments. “You’ve seen my rehearsal?”

“Of course,” he said, his grin widening. “I wouldn’t miss it. You’ve got real talent, and I’m not just saying that.

Her cheeks grew warmer at his praise, but she felt a flicker of confidence. “Thank you, Joost. That means a lot coming from you.”

Joost’s interest in her became increasingly apparent. He leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “You know,” he said softly, “I’ve met a lot of people through this contest, but there’s something special about you, Liz.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she looked up at him, her shyness giving way to curiosity. “Special? How so?”

Joost smiled, his expression earnest. “You’re genuine. You’ve got this quiet strength and authenticity that’s really inspiring. It’s not just about your talent; it’s about who you are.”

She felt a warmth spread through her at his words, and for the first time that evening, her nerves seemed to melt away. “Thank you, Joost. That means more than you know.”

Just then, an announcement echoed through the backstage area, calling for the UK entrant to prepare for her performance. Joost gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes full of encouragement. “You’re going to be amazing out there. I’ll be cheering for you from the sidelines.”

With a final, lingering look, Joost smiled at her, his presence a comforting reassurance. She nodded, feeling a newfound surge of confidence as she turned to head to the stage. As she walked away, her heart was light and full, knowing that someone as wonderful as Joost believed in her.

———————————————————————

"Hey," he said, his Dutch accent adding a delightful lilt to the word. "Great performance out there. You were amazing."

She smiled back, feeling a flutter in her chest. "Thanks, Joost. You were fantastic too."

He took a step closer, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "I was wondering... I mean, if it’s not too forward, could I get your number? I'd love to stay in touch, maybe share some tips on surviving the madness of Eurovision."

The reader felt her cheeks warm, flattered by his attention. "Of course," she said, pulling out her phone. They exchanged numbers, and she felt a thrill as their fingers brushed briefly.

Joost looked at her, his smile turning a bit playful. "You know, there's this great little café not too far from here. If you're not in a rush, maybe we could grab a coffee before your flight home?"

She bit her lip, considering the offer for only a second before nodding. "I'd love that."

"Perfect," Joost said, his grin widening. "I know just the place."

——————————————————————-

"Star sign?" Liz asked with a playful smile, sipping her coffee.

"Scorpio," Joost replied with a laugh. "What about you?"

"Taurus," she said, her eyes twinkling. "My birthday is the 22nd."

"Got any special plans?" Joost inquired, leaning a little closer.

"I'll be starting rehearsals that day," Liz explained, a hint of excitement in her voice. "Flying in late on the 21st and then straight to the stadium. But I think Bambi and Marko might be cooking up a surprise."

"I arrive on the 20th with my crew," Joost said, chuckling. "Wait till you meet them. They're a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm sure we'll get along just fine," Liz winked, her smile turning a touch more mischievous.

Joost's eyes sparkled with interest. "Well, maybe we can sneak in some time before the madness begins. I'd love to show you around."

"That sounds like a plan," Liz replied, her tone suggestive. "Just make sure you're ready to keep up with me."

"Oh, I'm always ready for a challenge," Joost teased, his grin widening. "Especially one as intriguing as you."

[hannahssimblr]

Epilogue (Final Part)

It’s hours later and we’re still talking. The DJ arrives around ten and cracks the speakers up to ear-ringing heights so we exit to the lobby and stand by the window as the snow falls and the lights from the ten foot Christmas tree twinkle on the glass. 

“No, no, stop, I can’t take it anymore,” He shrieks in agony as he grabs my arm, “He said that when he was inside you?”

“Yes! I didn’t know what to say back, like, um, thanks pal?”

“‘You’re so Alpha’” He repeats, deadpan, but his shoulders betray him when they start wobbling again, “‘and I’m just a little-”

“Beta boy, yes. Oh Evie, you intimidate me so much, I’ve always wanted to fuck a girl who scared me.”

“I’m going to die because of this story,” He cries, “I refuse to believe that men like this exist, it’s just too much.”

“There was this other lad too,” I begin, “Not as bad, but he got a nosebleed halfway through and it was dripping all over my face for like fifteen minutes before either of us noticed.”

“No!”

“Yeah, God, I feel bad, I think he was on some blood thinning medication or something but like…” We fall about laughing again, laughing and laughing until I think I’ll start gagging. I remember thinking during that experience that there was only one other person in the world who would find it as hilarious as I did, and as we splutter and cackle now at my retelling I remember how it used to be like this all of the time with us. I think about the time we lost through staying out of touch as he wipes his eyes and stumbles to the side a little bit, from laughing or from drinking a little too much, I’m not sure.

“Women are not like that,” he says, “I’m sorry for you, but they’re not, even the crazy LA ones don’t put me in situations like that.” He steadies himself a little by bracing his arm on the wall, so close that I could count his eyelashes if I wanted to. “I just don’t get it, do you think they get nervous?”

“Nervous around me? I doubt it. Sure what’s there to be nervous of?”

“It’s a lot of pressure, you know, making love to a beautiful woman for the first time. There’s a lot on the line, the chances of humiliation are high, maybe, I don’t know, maybe that guy just blurted the first weird thing that came into his head-” He breaks off because a high pitched laugh has exploded out of him again, “But it’s a flex to say that you’re so hot that you give men nosebleeds.”

“Oh come on, you’re exaggerating.”

“No, for real. Don’t you remember how nervous you made me when we were young? I turned into a total idiot around you.”

“Hardly.”

“It’s true. You were like this stunning princess and I was just some guy.”

I scoff, “Some guy?”

“Yeah, and it’s nice to see that some things never change because you’re still so beautiful and I’m still just a random man off the street.”

“Hmm, c’mon, you’re just schmoozing me,” I say, “Is this the way you all sweet-talk each other in Los Angeles? That’s not going to work. Irish girls are too humble to accept that.”

“Have I made you self-conscious?”

“No, I’m just wondering if you’re actually trying to flirt with me now or if you’re just trying to make me feel better about the fact that I’m thirty and my body is slowly ageing and rotting away.”

“Don’t say that, you look better than ever.”

I narrow my eyes, “I’m so curious about your game.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, how you approach women, how you flirt with them now. What’s your technique? Is it intense flattery?”

He scoffs, “Oh, no, come on, I don’t have a technique, I don’t think about it like that.”

“No?”

“What do you think I am? Some kind of weirdo pick-up artist? No. I… I improvise, it depends on so much, like, where I am, who she is, what I feel like I’m hoping to get from the situation…”

“Okay okay, right. Well what if you were at an event with friends. Say, a wedding…”

He smirks at me.

“…and you see a woman standing on her own by the bar, and you know, she’s pretty mysterious in quite a sexy way, and you’re looking at her and thinking, hmm, yeah, maybe I’d like a piece of that-”

“You think that’s my inner monologue?” He interrupts, “That I think like that?”

“No, shh- shut up for a second, in this scenario you do. And you’re going to go over and talk to her, and you see the perfect opportunity to do it, and the lights from the dancefloor are shining in her hair, and oh, she looks so lonely over there, someone should go and keep her company…’

“I’d say hi, you’re very pretty, can I kiss you please?”

“Really?”

“Yeah t-”

He doesn’t finish because I have grabbed him by the lapels and pressed my lips against his. Maybe it’s for the joke, or because I’m slightly drunk, or maybe it’s to see if it still feels the way that it used to, I don’t know. I don’t really think about it, it’s just happening. 

“Oh look, it worked!” I say as we pull away, and I don’t really have a chance to try and read his face to see what he thinks about it because he takes a step towards me and kisses me again, though differently to how I kissed him, gentler, slower, with my head cradled in his hands, which is inconvenient because he makes my insides start flip flopping around. I draw back laughing, “What are you at?”

“We’re kissing now,” he confirms, then frowns, “I think. Aren’t we kissing? Or is this a hallucination?”

“Jude…”

“Don’t you want us to be kissing?”

“Well it’s not that, it’s-”

“Ah, you think it’s dangerous to be kissing.”

“If you keep saying ‘kissing’ it’s going to lose all meaning.”

“What did we call it when we were teenagers? Shiftin’ right? Will you shift me, Evie?”

“Oh my God,” I hold my hand up to his face, “it is illegal for you to put on an accent and say that. I hate that you can still do that.”

“My Irish voice?” he says in his Irish voice. 

“Please get that away from me!”

“Sorry about that,” he settles back into his American drawl, and I jerk with surprise as I feel the tips of his fingers graze my waist, “Also, I’m sorry that I kissed you, I thought we were, you know, doing that now.”

“It was a joke… And maybe just a little bit so that I could see if it still felt the same as it used to.”

His eyes tour my face, “Did it?”

“Did it for you?”

The corners of his mouth tick up, “I don’t know, it’s been a long time since I’ve kissed you, and honestly I didn’t get a decent sample, mind if I try it again?”

“Aha! I’ve figured out your game,” I declare, “You put on that silly act you’ve always put on, don’t you?”

He hooks his finger into the strap of my dress before it drops off my shoulder, “Hm? What act is that?”

“Your favourite one. ‘Oh, little old me? I’m so innocent, why I’ve never even held hands before, and I certainly haven’t fucked half of Dublin city. I don’t even know what sex is.’”

He gasps with delight and stares right into my face, “You’re still obsessed!” He cries, “and you haven’t stopped wondering about me!”

“About what, exactly?”

“My body count! After all these years it still tortures you. You’re so shallow…”

“Oh please, I couldn’t care less.”

“Evie,” He says mock-scoldingly, really drawing out the syllables, “I can’t believe it. I told you back then that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t have to tell you if I didn’t want to, but you’ve never let it go to this day. Wow. Wow.”

“I don’t even want to know,” I sniff, “It’s meaningless information to me now.”

“Well since you don’t care and it has no power over you anymore, maybe you finally ought to know…” He glances quickly around the empty lobby before his eyes slide back to mine and he whispers, “that you were the seventh.”

“The seventh?”

“Is that a good-surprise or bad-surprise?”

“Well I thought it’d be so many more.”

He shrugs, “No, I mean there was the first girl in the playground, then a girl who worked in the tennis club at the beach, a girl from my maths class at school, Michelle, someone from my university, Astrid, and then you-” He pauses, “Wait, there was another one. You were eighth. Seventh and a half.”

“And a half? Who did you forget? A centaur?”

He shakes his head, “There was an awkward foursome situation in Berlin once. It’s a long story, really stupid. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Well I’ve never been more curious.”

“I’m a source of a lot of interesting info.”

“Like your current body count?” I tease.

“Oh, now I’m ran-through.”

“Tell me more about your life.”

“We just don’t have the time tonight.”

“What, not now?” I protest, “Not in this perfectly perfect situation when we’re both a little drunk and potentially snowed in for days, when there’s nothing to do but talk to each other?”

“No, see you’ve changed the subject, you’ve got me messed up. I…” He laughs tipsily and sways a little bit closer to me, through accident or otherwise I’m not sure, “…I was thinking about how much I might like to kiss you for a little longer this time, just to see if you still give me that same crazy feeling that I used to get with you, and you distracted me.”

I act like it’s a burden to me and slump back against the wall, “Fine, go ahead.”

“Oh jeez, no need to beg me, you know it’s off putting to be so eager?”

“Please?”

He comes in close and pecks my lips gently and even that makes my knees start to wobble. “No, come on, give me a proper kiss, that’s the only way we’ll know.”

“Still so demanding,” He tilts my chin towards him and angles his mouth over mine while his hands skim up my back and hold my body flush to his.  As he strokes his lips over mine I can’t help but curse inwardly because of course this is happening to me, of course it feels like everything I’ve been searching for in the years between then and now, everything I couldn’t find in other people. These are the kinds of kisses that ruined me for other men for years to follow, and he’s ruining me now. 

He glides his tongue along my lower lip and builds this kiss to the kind of intensity that shouldn’t be displayed in a public lobby, but he doesn’t care so neither do I. He kisses me until I’m soft and formless in his arms, until I forget the years in between then and now, and then he finally slows it, brushing his lips against mine and then gently drawing away and I find myself following his mouth in search of more, “The same?” He murmurs with his forehead against mine, “Or terrible?”

His hand cradles the back of my head as I sigh and bury my face in his shoulder, “What are we going to do, Jude?”

“You’re going to have to try not to be awkward about it because we might be snowed in for several days.” He says, “If you’ve decided I’m crusty and repulsive, you’re going to have to hide it from me to spare my ego. Either that or I’ll camp out in my room out of humiliation and get my sister to bring my meals to me until I can get the earliest flight to LAX.”

I pause, “so you’re sharing with your sister?”

“Yeah we booked late, so a twin room was all they had left. And she snores like hell.”

“Well that’s a pity because I booked months ago, and got a huge room all to myself. A four poster bed and a big gorgeous bath.”

“Are you bringing that up to make me jealous or is that an invitation?”

I scoff, “an invitation to what, exactly?”

“Come up and fuck you in the bath or something, I don’t know. Why would you bring the bath into it?”

“That’d be fairly shameless of me, wouldn’t it, if that’s what I was alluding to.”

“Is that the kind of woman you’ve become? The kind that invites strange men into her bath?”

“God no, I’d never directly ask that, that’d be very slutty.”

He brushes his fingers gently along the side of my neck, which is unfair because he knows how much I like that, and as I feel that touch all the way down to my toes he gives me a sly little smile and draws back to look at me, “I don’t know, you’ve really talked up this bath and you’ve got me curious. Will you show it to me?”

“You’ve always been so cheeky, did you know that? You ask audacious things of people.”

“Me? Never. That’s just not me, you must be thinking of somebody else. Of one of your other ex-boyfriends.” He grins and saunters casually toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at me as he goes, “I actually just remembered that I spilled something on my suit.”

“Did you.”

“Mm, I’m a total mess, I might be drunker than I look. I think I better go and take it off.”

“Doesn’t suit you anyway. You were always better in shorts.”

He pauses for a moment and regards me with one raised eyebrow, a question, and I don’t care that I’m predictable to him, that he already knows I will push myself away from the wall and catch up to him, “Actually you have the right idea, my dress is uncomfortable. I want to change out of it, only I’m not sure I can manage the zip on my own.”

“Oh, I can help you with that,” he says, “Or at least I can try, you know, but fair warning I haven’t ever undressed a woman before.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” I smile, as I wind my fingers through his. 

THE END

Beginning // Prev

[peppymintdreams]

You’re my everything I’m glad your here

Luca x Mc

Today was tiring a Luca gets home, well before Mc does. he just want to cuddle,

Luca dragged himself through the door, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. It had been one of those days endless meetings, a mountain of paperwork, and the slow, tiring commute home. All he wanted was to kick back and let his mind drift. He toed off his shoes, shrugged out of his jacket, and collapsed onto the couch, switching on the TV without a second thought. A random sitcom filled the room with laughter, but his thoughts were elsewhere, lingering on how quiet the house felt without Mc there.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a warm, orange glow, Luca sighed, feeling a pang of loneliness. The fatigue he felt wasn’t just from work; it was the absence of them, the one who brought so much life and light into this quiet space.

Suddenly, he heard the familiar sound of keys jingling at the front door. He perked up as it swung open, revealing Mc, carrying bags of groceries. Luca’s face instantly brightened, and he sat up, eyes fixed on them.

“Hey, you’re home!” he called, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

They smiled back at him, setting the bags on the counter. “Yeah, thought I’d pick up a few things for us,” they replied, giving him a soft look that told him they’d missed him, too. “Long day?”

“You have no idea.” Luca sighed, watching as they began to unpack. “Just seeing you walk in made it better, though.”

As the evening settled into full darkness, the only light in the room came from the soft, flickering glow of the TV. After a quick shower, they returned to the kitchen, hair still damp, pulling out pots and ingredients. Luca’s eyes followed their every move as they began making ramen, their gentle humming drifting into the room.

“Do you need any help?” he offered, knowing full well they’d probably wave him off.

They glanced over with a smirk. “Stay where you are, mister. You’ve had a long day. Just relax, okay?” They spoke, giving Luca a wink.

Luca chuckled, sinking further into the couch as he continued to watch. There was something endlessly soothing about seeing them move around the kitchen, doing something so simple yet so filled with love and care. He watched every little thing they did, the way they stirred the pot, the way they hummed softly to themselves, the way their eyes lit up as they added a dash of spices, always making things just right.

After a few minutes, they came over with two steaming bowls of ramen, setting them on the small table by the couch. As they straightened up, they caught sight of Luca’s pleading expression, his hands held out doing slight grabbing gestures like a child asking for candy.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice low and inviting, a warm smile spreading across his face.

They laughed, setting the bowls aside before falling into his waiting arms, nestling their head against his chest. Luca wrapped his arms around them tightly, resting his chin on their head.

“I missed you,” he whispered softly, his breath warm against their hair. “The house feels so empty without you.”

They looked up, their eyes soft as they reached up to trace his jawline with their thumb. “I missed you too, you big softie,” they teased, but their eyes gave away just how much they meant it. “But now I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to their forehead. “You better not.”

They both laughed, warmth blooming between them, then finally sat up to eat their ramen, snuggled close on the couch. The hot, savory noodles were exactly what Luca needed, and he let out a soft sigh as he took his first bite.

“Nothing beats your cooking,” he murmured between bites, his voice filled with gratitude. “You always know how to make everything better.”

They nudged him playfully. “Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned over, planting a quick kiss on their cheek.

They ate in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging glances and small smiles as they watched the TV, each perfectly content in the other’s presence. When their bowls were empty, they both leaned back into the couch, lulled by the warmth of the food and each other’s company. Before long, the two of them drifted off, still cuddled close, a quiet contentment settling over them like a cozy blanket.

Hours later, Luca stirred, the dim glow of the TV still casting soft shadows around the room. A romance movie was playing, and the characters on-screen whispered words of love. He looked down to find Mc still snuggled against him, their arms wrapped around him possessively, their hair a bit messy and spilling over his shoulder.

A soft smile touched his lips as he brushed a stray strand of hair from their face, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. He still couldn’t quite believe that they were here with him, that he was lucky enough to share his life with someone who meant everything to him. He gently pressed a kiss to the top of their head, whispering softly, “You’re my everything, you know that?”

They stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent but cozy, pressing closer in their sleep. Luca chuckled quietly, pulling them even tighter against him.

“I’m so glad you’re here. So, so glad,” he whispered, letting his words fall softly in the quiet night.

He closed his eyes, feeling the comforting weight of their arms around him, the steady rise and fall of their breathing against his chest. And as he drifted back to sleep, he knew there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be, wrapped up in the warmth of the one he loved, the one who made every day worth it.

[lenreli]

Day 28 - "Not in particular, no" [AU]

[AO3] Continuation of "Why are you kneeling?" and Courtesy, scifi vampire/witch AU!

-

Hob Gadling, Dream has learnt over their casual ― acquaintance, is a very odd vampire. And, once Dream attunes himself to the station and to Hob, a very old vampire. Older than the station they’re on, most definitely. Hob hasn’t mentioned how long he’s been alive, but Dream knows it, feels it in his bones, that Hob’s probably old enough to come from Earth itself, the genesis of their civilization. 

Dream can hardly fathom it, so tries not to think about it as Hob enthuses over some new technology or research that appeared, making allusions to him of how things used to be, and Dream listens attentively. “You used to be a teacher, didn’t you?” He asks after Hob’s more into reading the research ― a cure for a rare cancer ― and Hob seems embarrassed, scratching his hair. 

“A few times. I like teaching history, especially since I lived through some,” he says with a shrug. “Sorry, it’s not often I can just ― reveal that I was there with all that, so it’s nice to tell you, even if you don’t care.” 

“Not in particular, no. I have never been one for history,” aside from witch history, he thinks, “but I am interested to hear what you think of it. If you were my history teacher, I would have paid more attention in class,” he says, and Hob huffs, fingers pulling an earlobe as Hob reads through more news.

“Flatterer,” Hob mumbles absently, more focused on the news tablet than him. 

“Flattery would be saying that I would definitely be hot for teacher also,” he mentions with a smirk, feeling more comfortable over their time together to say it, and Dream delights in seeing Hob blush. “Maybe I’d fail on purpose to see him more,” he says with a bat of his lashes, and Hob glances over at him, eyes dark and lips pursed. 

“I’m not roleplaying with you,” Hob dashes his hopes, but before he can begin to pout, there’s a heavy weight on him ― Hob, fangs lightly grazing his throat and Dream whimpers, screwing his eyes shut as he gets hard in record time, pulse jumping into the other’s fangs. 

“At least finish what you started,” he manages, voice thready. Hob hums, and Dream arches in place as a hand covers his wrists, pulling them above his head and Dream swallows a sound.

“What I started?” Hob says, voice low and Dream can feel it, Hob’s chest on his, “and not the arrogant little witch who decided to say hot for teacher and flutter his little lashes at me?” Hob’s other hand goes down to his jeans and Dream squirms, resisting the urge to say things like I’ve been looking into lengthening my life so I can be with you more, or even I love you.

“Alright―fine―what I―please,” he pleads, pulse racing even more at Hob’s lips on it, a tongue pressing into it ― and Dream gasps in shock, too focused on Hob’s mouth to care about Hob’s hand pulling his pants off and touching his dick. 

“You know some spell for lube, I assume?” Hob purrs against his throat and Dream nods, spell spilling out of him with frantic need, feeling Hob’s slick hands stroke his cock ― then go to his entrance, circling it and Dream whines. “Very useful.”

“Hob,” he begs, trying in vain to get out of the vice of Hob’s hand around his wrists.

“I don’t know,” Hob hums, nuzzling his throat, fangs brushing against his collarbone, “now that I have you like this, I have an urge to play with my food,” there’s a smack of lips and Dream looks down, Hob’s eyes glittering as they stare at him, “haven’t done that in a while.”

[waywardrose-archive]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 8

stranger things | eddie munson x reader | rated e | 8.9k

spotify playlist | for @punk-in-docs​​​​

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: This chapter’s got everything: fantasy sharing, insecurities, intimacy, horrible parents, Capri-Sun, and smut! 🖤 Check the #em tagd tag ⬇️ for previous chapters! Please comment (or critique), like, and reblog. I truly do appreciate any and all interaction. I promise I don’t bite — unless you want me to.

-

8

Eddie sat across from you in another diner for second breakfast. The sun blasted through the thin cafe curtains to warm your side. He’d said little during packing or check-out. Your gaze kept snagging on his. He’d present a quirk of his lips. You’d grin and go back to whatever you were doing.

He appeared to be mulling over something. You doubted he regretted having sex. You certainly didn’t, even though you felt deliciously used. Maybe because you felt deliciously used.

When the waitress took your order, you opted for coffee — just like Eddie. She returned with an insulated carafe, mugs, and creamers.

With a gentlemanly flourish, Eddie said, “Milady, may I pour you a cup of our finest bean juice?”

You smiled.

“Why, good sir, I’d be delighted.”

He left enough space at the top of the mug for cream and sugar. As you seasoned, he poured for himself. You watched his nimble fingers as he went about seasoning his coffee. Your gut tightened as you remembered those fingers had made you come, those hands had cupped your breasts. You watched his lips as he swallowed. You had kissed those lips. You had sucked a faint hickey on that neck.

Before he could catch you staring, you sipped at your coffee. You met his gaze over the rim, though. Light reflected off the table, causing his eyes to turn mahogany. You’d seen those eyes dark and hazy with desire.

You wondered if he had the same thoughts as you. Did he keep picturing you under him? Had he memorized your sounds? The way his come looked on your skin?

His stomach gurgled, which made you both laugh.

“Guess pop and chips don’t last long,” he said, hand over his stomach.

“We burned a lot of calories this morning.”

He gave you a devious smirk.

“We did.”

You found his leg under the table and crossed your ankles around it. He pressed his calf to yours as he drank his coffee.

.

You were nearly at the Indiana border when he lowered the music to half-ask:

“This is going to sound stupid, but that wasn’t your first time.”

You laughed — short, but loud. “No, obviously.”

“Then I gotta ask: Is it always like that?”

“Like what?”

“Intense? Hot?”

From anyone else, you’d think that flattery. From Eddie, it felt genuine. It was still flattering, of course. You liked the thought of rocking his world.

“Could ask you the same,” you said as you took off your sunglasses since the sky was becoming more overcast the farther east you drove.

He adjusted his position in his seat, putting an elbow on the windowsill. He’d also blocked the view of his crotch with a lifted knee. You changed your grip on the steering wheel as tension rose.

“For the record, no,” he said. “I’m not, uh— I’m not the most experienced guy.”

“I’m not the most experienced girl.”

“So, you’re saying we lucked out back there?”

“Or maybe we lived up to each other’s expectations?”

“You had expectations?”

“I told you I’ve fantasized about you.”

“What do you, you know, fantasize about?”

There had been so many in the past few weeks. From rough to tender. Sometimes it wasn’t even about sex. Sometimes you thought of sitting with him and talking. Just talking. Maybe holding hands. Those scenarios didn’t turn you on, per se. They were a comfort, especially after the nightmares of red lightning and cold soot and chittering of unseen predators. Nightmares where vines wrapped around your limbs until you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Nightmares of mental vivisection. Nightmares as warnings.

You couldn’t tell him that. There was nothing he could do about them. Only you could face those dreams, because they had a message you alone could decipher.

But dreams had meaning, and he’d had dreams about you.

You asked, “What about those dreams I supposedly invaded?”

“No suppose about it. You had.”

“Had. Past tense.”

“And will again. Believe me, this entire trip is gonna haunt me.”

You wouldn’t forget this trip for a long time, either — maybe ever. However, the way he said it had a touch of grief.

“You make it sound so... grim?”

“Look, we’re going back to Hawkins...”

“‘There is no real going back,’” you said, quoting Tolkien. “‘Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same.’”

You glanced at him again to see his fist pressed to his mouth.

He finished the passage:

“‘I am wounded with knife, sting, tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?’”

You sighed. “Do you want to go back to how it was? Like we’d never done it?”

“Hell no.”

“Then why are you talking like things won’t be different in Hawkins? We’re different now.”

He was silent for too long. You looked at him once more. He stared out the windshield, face blank. You steeled yourself for his excuses to rationalize rejection, fishing a Djarum from the fresh pack and sticking it between your lips. He pushed in the car’s cigarette lighter for you.

Softly, he said, “It’s not that I don’t want it to be different, but I’m trying to be a realist here.”

“Oh, so you’re the only one with that capability in this car?”

“No, what I’m saying is the reality of being together in front of the whole school isn’t good. For you.”

You shot him a glare.

“The fuck?”

“No, hear me out. In Chicago, we’re just people. There’s no baggage. There is baggage — capital-b baggage — in Hawkins.”

The cigarette lighter popped, ready. You snatched it from the dash before he could and lit your cigarette.

“I get it. People are dicks—” You shoved the lighter in its holder. “—And you’re being one right now,” you said, cracked the window, and exhaled.

“I am trying to protect you.”

“By pushing me away?!” Your fists strained around the steering wheel. “Dammit, Eddie, don’t you get it? I want you! I want to get to know you and talk about stuff. And watch stupid TV.” You waved a hand in the air. “And, okay, have sex when we can. I...” You took a long drag from the cigarette to keep from crying. “I don’t care if the whole school knows about us, alright? We know about us.”

He crossed his arms.

“I’m not pushing you away.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“It’s hard to forget a lifetime of bullshit.”

“I’m not asking you to forget it,” you said as you ashed the cigarette through the open window.

“I know, okay, I know.”

He retrieved a Djarum. You offered yours to light his. He took it with a ‘thanks,’ pressed the cherry to the unlit cigarette, and handed it back.

You said, “I know you’re an outcast. I pay attention at school, you know? I’m not deaf or blind.”

“Or stupid.”

“Neither are you.”

You smoked and navigated the interstate off-ramp and tried to think of something to soothe both your ruffled feathers. Evidently, he had been thinking the same thing, because he grumbled:

“I guess nothing has to change.”

“Right? You have lunch with your friends. We go to O’Donnell’s class. We hang out after school—”

“That’ll be different.”

“That bad?”

“No.”

“Cool,” you said. “And sometimes I go to The Hideout to watch you play. That’s it.”

“When would you want to... you know?”

“Whenever we can?” You shrugged and ground your spent cigarette in the ashtray. “My parents have date nights. What about your uncle?”

“He works second or third shift.”

“See? We’ll be together when we can.”

“But you get where I’m coming from, right?”

“Yeah, of course.” You looked to see his expression had softened. “I know you want to protect me, but I’m not one of your little sheep. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to.” You held out your hand, which he took. “I’m not new at being a weirdo.”

You threw him a wry grin.

He deposited the butt of his cigarette in his empty soda can, leaned closer, and brought your hand to his lips for a kiss.

You smiled at him.

“So, you told me about a dream,” you said and wet your lips. “The one where O’Donnell is Samwise. What about another?”

“Shit, I... I don’t really remember. That one stood out.”

He was blushing and too still, which most likely meant he was lying.

You gently withdrew your hand, saying, “Tell me about the latest one.”

After a beat, he said, “You know those dreams that are jarring? Like a bunch of snapshots pieced together? It was like that.”

“Scary or sexy? Or both?”

“Sexy. Deeeefinitely sexy.”

“Okay, and...?”

“I woke up— Shit.” He rubbed his face. “I was so hard.”

You bit your lip as heat spread through your body. You pictured him like that: in his dark, messy room, waking with a gasp, his cock throbbing and oozing.

“What did you do?” you asked.

“I jacked off.”

His ‘duh’ was silent, but undoubtably there.

Despite the brief retort, you grinned.

“To what? What did you imagine?”

“Fuck, baby.” He put a hand between his legs. “You, okay? I thought of you.”

“Was I naked?”

He hummed. “Naked, your ass bouncing against me.”

“I was riding you?”

“No, bent over. I held your forearms and fucked you from behind. Shit, I...” His breathing deepened. “I got my dick in so deep, and you squeezed around me, moaning for it. And I pushed you down. Your ass in the air for me.” He covered his eyes. “I spanked it, too.”

“I’d let you do that,” you said as your cunt pulsed.

“Yeah? You into that?”

“With you, yeah.”

“Yeah, holy shit, we can do that. I came in you, too. Watched it drip out of your little pussy.”

You whispered, “Fuck.”

You squirmed in your seat, underwear stuck to your now-wet slit. That had been more than you thought you’d hear. You could see it, too, almost feel it: his pelvis slapping the underside of your ass, his cock ramming deep, his strong hands on your arms, then at the center of your back, then cracking against your upturned ass.

“I shouldn’t have told you that,” he said. “But I really can’t say no to you.”

You met his eyes, his gaze dark and hungry. You must’ve looked the same, because he cursed.

“Come home with me,” you said and forced your attention to the road.

“Wha—”

“Come home with me. My parents won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

You frowned. Most guys would’ve jumped at the chance to have sex again. Did he think that wasn’t on the table? Because that was very much on the table. If he told you to pull over and get in the backseat, you would. There hadn’t been another car on this stretch of road in nearly ten minutes.

Perhaps he had deliveries to make. It was Saturday night, after all.

“Only if you want to, of course,” you said, giving him an open look. “I get it if you’ve got plans or whatever. I can take you home.”

Ahead, leaden clouds gathered. A storm was settling in. If he were to make deliveries tonight, he would get soaked...

-

Eddie hoped it wasn’t obvious he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It probably was, though. You had a glow. Your eyes shone in the midday light, lips still puffy. There might be prettier girls out there, but they couldn’t compare to your radiance.

No one had kissed him like you kissed him. You made him feel like his thoughts had been put in a blender. He felt invincible yet defenseless, accepted yet under scrutiny, but most of all treasured.

He didn’t know if that was normal. His parents hadn’t seemed to treasure each other. He thought Wayne loved him. He loved Wayne. His flock looked to him for guidance. His bandmates treated him as an equal. None of that compared to what he felt for you.

He didn’t know if he liked it, honestly. It disrupted everything. You’d occupied his thoughts before this. Now, he feared, you would dominate them.

Then what would happen when you discovered he was trailer trash?

You’d feel sorry for him, that’s what. Oh, poor Eddie living in a one-bedroom trailer with his uncle.

Fuck that. Fuck pity. And fuck fearing heartbreak.

Fear was the mindkiller.

The look you gave him begged him not to hide even as you rolled back your offer of another night together. He didn’t know how long you’d think that. It didn’t matter, either. That wasn’t up to him, however much he wished it were. You weren’t a character in a campaign.

“No, no plans,” he said as he scrubbed damp palms on his thighs.

“Oh, okay, well... I can still take you home.”

The first heavy drop of rain pinged on the roof.

“Wayne can pick me up from the park.”

“Eddie, it’s starting to rain.”

He knew that. He could see the freckled pavement and how dark clouds obscured the sun.

You turned on the headlights, saying, “It’s no big deal.”

Big deal or not, he’d look like a crazy person if he insisted you leave him at the park. In the middle of a storm. With no ride waiting for him.

He had to be strategic here.

“No, let’s go to your house,” he said. “I’ll give Wayne a call when we get in.”

You nodded.

“If that’s what you want.” You gave him a sweet smile. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

Jesus Christ, he couldn’t deny you. Not when you said adorable shit like that. Not when you were the first person to say anything like that to him. Not when the possibility of having you all to himself was available.

He cleared his throat, wishing he had more to drink.

“I wanna spend time with you, too.”

You looked at him again, your gaze so warm. That alone made whatever would happen in the future worth it.

Twenty minutes later, you drove past the Hawkins welcome sign. The storm let loose shortly thereafter. Instead of continuing east, you turned into the older section of Loch Nora, where brick houses sat back from the road and the utility lines were buried. Eddie’s spidey senses started tingling. He tried to recall ever having driven through this part of the neighborhood and found a vague sense of familiarity.

Richie Riches liked their nose candy, after all.

The wipers sloshed across the windshield. Beyond the windows, rain melted the light and blurred architecture. It didn’t change his awareness of how out of his element he was.

He wondered how he hadn’t noticed you were a rich girl. He’d been mindless to the Munson Doctrine, because ladies — especially pretty, smart, funny, rich girls — shit, he was screwed — like you were out of his league. It all made sense, too: moving from New York, the expensive cigarettes, your gently used car — which had probably been a parent’s — and your lack of a part-time job. You’d offered to buy drinks for his bandmates at The Hideout. You’d paid for the motel room, gas, and snacks. You hadn’t even blinked at prices or told him to put food back at the convenience store.

You turned onto a circular driveway. Ivy climbed the side of a sprawling red-brick house. An old oak grew nearby, its golden leaves scattered over the manicured grass. Eddie tried not to gawk at the three-car garage tucked to the side as you hit the door-opener remote.

The garage could accommodate his entire trailer.

There were two open bays, and you pulled in next to a glossy maroon sedan.

“Well, this is me,” you said, and turned off the car.

As nonchalantly as he could, he said, “Nice.”

“If you want, you can call your uncle.” You pointed to the interior door. “Phone’s in the kitchen next to the fridge.”

“No, I’ll help.”

“Oh, cool, thanks. I need to check the mail. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded and began gathering the food wrappers and empty drinks into a plastic bag. You left the driver’s door open before dashing to the mailbox. He shook the car’s ashtray into the bag, looked at the tidy garage, and cursed. He was so out of his element, beyond the edges of the map.

Here be dragons.

Here be the loaded.

Who were about as dangerous as dragons.

He hadn’t realized he’d stilled until you returned and closed the garage door. To act normal, he continued gathering until there was nothing more to gather. He shouldered his duffle and carried the plastic bag, following you into the house—

Which smelled of citrus and laundry detergent. The tile floor gleamed under the kitchen lights. Everything was so clean and proper and spacious. Floofy valences capped the windows. Paneled appliances blended with the cabinetry. The refrigerator had a built-in icemaker.

Your voice pulled him from touching the lever for ice.

“What?” he asked.

“Are you thirsty?” you asked — again.

“No, I’m good.” He glanced around, looking for the trashcan. “Need to throw this away,” he said as he swung the plastic bag.

“Yeah, of course!”

You took it to the sink cabinet, where you pulled out an under-counter trashcan. He watched your ass, but averted his gaze before you turned to him. The blinking 02 of the phone’s answering machine caught his attention.

He thumbed at it, and asked, “You want to check those?”

With a sigh, you dropped your bags on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“I guess I better.”

The first message was from your mother, dated yesterday at 4:18 PM. She reported they’d arrived without a hitch. With excitement growing in her voice, she said they were having dinner with Jerry Springer. However, she was concerned you weren’t home and gave the phone number and address of the hotel. The second message was from a telemarketer.

You grinned.

“She gave me all that before they left. I’ll talk to her after you call your uncle.” You bit your lip as you looked around. “Do you want to get settled first?”

“Up to you, milady.”

“C’mon, I’m on the third floor,” you said as you plucked your bags from the island.

“Your tower.”

With a laugh, you asked, “Ah, but am I a wizard or a spider?”

“Well, neither’s as hot as you, so there a third option?”

You hummed as you turned off the kitchen light. “You tell me.”

Only your silhouette was discernible in the gray murk, as though you were made of shadow. There was something mysterious and alluring about that. It made him want to reach into the darkness to feel what reached back. Rain drummed against the windows, tapping a persistent rhythm and softening the edges of the silence.

“Siren,” he said. “Definitely a siren.”

You blew a laugh through your nose as you stepped closer. “What does that make you?”

He thought, A sucker, a sailor, yours, ensnared.

He said, “I’ll get back to you about that.”

“Please do.”

You were now near enough to touch, so he did. He cupped your cheek, his thumb skirting the corner of your mouth. Your lips parted, and he couldn’t stop himself from caressing the curve of your bottom lip. Your beautiful eyes gleamed like glass.

He couldn’t believe you let him touch.

You leaned in and tilted your face to his. Your overnight bag nudged his leg, setting off a chain-reaction of memories. He’d kissed you in public. He’d shared a high with you. He’d lain next to you in a foreign bed. He’d chased you, caught you, and carried you back to that same bed — where you’d clawed at him and moaned his name and came on his dick.

He could have that again.

He met you midway, kissing you once, twice. He tasted smoky clove and soda on your tongue, smelled the rain in your hair. It was addictive. He wanted more. He dropped his duffle to snake an arm around your waist and pull you even closer. You swayed against him before dropping your bags. Your hand slid under his jacket, pushing away his previous uncertainty.

After a long, heady moment, you broke the kiss with a sigh. Your hand remained on his back while the other held the side of his neck.

Voice low, you said, “Let’s go upstairs.”

Staying just as low, he said, “Yeah, call your parents, and I’ll call my uncle.”

“And then...”

You shrugged.

“And then,” he agreed.

He didn’t know what then, but he wanted to find out. He grabbed his duffle and your overnight bag from the floor, which you thanked him for. You led the way through the shadowy house to the grand staircase in the foyer. With your back turned, he let himself finally gawk.

Outside the kitchen, the floors were dark hardwood with lighter area rugs to define the spaces. The living room had a big-screen TV tucked into a corner with a velvet modular sofa oriented towards it. In the dining room, an honest-to-God crystal chandelier hung above the large table.

The second floor was as cushy with thick carpet and tasteful art. Not a family photo to be found. You pointed out your bathroom before opening the door next to it and flicking a switch at the foot of the stairs beyond. Golden light brightened the white stairwell.

He climbed the stairs behind you as the automatic door closer fizzed the door shut. He’d half-expected your bedroom walls to be some dark, moody color, yet they were white. However, posters covered most of the white, much like his own—

Though your room smelled better than his.

You clicked on the lamp by your big bed and on the dresser across the room before setting your purse on the desk under the wide window. His eye caught on the stereo cabinet between the dresser and double bookcase. He itched to peruse your vinyl and tape collection. You must’ve seen it on his face, because you smiled and gave him free rein.

“You sure?” he asked, dropping the bags near the bed.

“Yeah, go for it,” you said. “I’ll call my mom while you shop.”

He checked the time on the bedside clock. It was early afternoon despite it looking almost night outside. Wayne wouldn’t be awake for another hour.

“Cool.”

He crouched in front of the cabinet as you slipped off your jacket and sat at the desk, where a phone waited at the corner. He concentrated on the music in front of him while you talked on the phone. There was Bowie, classic Zeppelin and Rolling Stones, Deep Purple, INXS, Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Cure, Cocteau Twins, Depeche Mode, Sisters of Mercy (of course), Bauhaus, Metallica, Dio, and a bunch of indie goth bands.

Your voice sharpened, catching his attention.

“I told you I forgot to check the messages when I got home from school,” you said.

A male voice snapped through the phone. Obviously, your father.

“I stopped by the convenience store after school.”

Your father replied, though Eddie couldn’t make out the words.

“No, I wasn’t being irresponsible.” You rested your forehead in your hand. “I just didn’t check the mess—”

Your father interrupted, his voice getting sterner.

“Apologize to Mom for me, plea—” You took a deep breath as he interrupted again. “No, I didn’t—”

Your father said something to make you shoot to your feet, chair scraping across the floor.

Eddie straightened and took a step to you.

“I didn’t sigh,” you said. “I breathed. I do that sometimes, like—”

Your father’s voice became louder as he cut you off, ending the scathing reprimand with a ‘young lady.’ A panicked feminine voice said something in the background.

You were quiet for a beat.

Your voice was thick as you said, “I’m sorry. I was stupid and didn’t take you or Mom into account. I apologize, sir. Sincerely. It won’t happen again.”

Your father grumbled, sounding appeased.

“I’ll see you tomorrow— Yes, sir.” You nodded. “Good night, sir.” You slammed the phone’s handset on its base. “Asshole.”

“You okay?” he asked, which he belatedly realized was dumb.

Of course, you weren’t okay.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, ducking your head. “Call your uncle, if you want.”

You darted around him, too quick to stop, and rushed down the stairs to leave him gaping like a fish.

As the door shut, he didn’t know if he should follow. Maybe you needed a minute to yourself. When things were rough for him, he preferred to handle the aftermath alone. It gave him privacy to get his shit together.

He picked up the phone’s handset to call Wayne, which should give you enough time.

Instead of a dial tone, there was a garbled, muddy babble. It wasn’t words, per se. It was rhythmic, like a busy signal, but also an echo of language. Or a backwards phrase repeated.

“What the hell?”

He hung up and tried again, yet the babble remained. He pressed the hook switch a few times, though it didn’t solve the problem. Unplugging and re-plugging the phone didn’t help, either.

With a huff, he slung his jacket over the desk chair and went to the second floor to find you. A wedge of light from your open bathroom door illuminated the landing. You whined a curse and banged a small bottle against the side of the faucet.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently and reached for the bottle. “Let me.”

“Fucking childproof caps.” You stilled as your chin wobbled. You looked at the ceiling with watery eyes. “My head is killing me.”

He withdrew the bottle from your limp hand. It was a nonprescription painkiller. He lined up the triangle notches on the cap and bottle and popped it open.

“I should’ve taken something when we first got in.”

“You’ve had a headache this whole time?” he asked and shook three pills into his palm.

You croaked a ‘yeah’ and took the pills, putting them on your tongue and swallowing them with a mouthful of tap water.

At a loss for words, he put the bottle aside and pulled you into a hug. You rested your hot cheek on him and looped your arms around his middle. Your chest shuddered with sharp inhales. He rubbed your back, wondering why he hadn’t noticed you weren’t feeling well earlier.

Probably because he’d been too in his head about his insecurities and the possibility of future disasters.

“Dads are dicks,” you said once your breathing calmed.

He grunted in agreement. “Tell me about it.”

“He’s so concerned about me embarrassing him — embarrassing him more. Or doing something, I don’t know, just for me?”

Your father sounded like a controlling asshat.

“You’re not embarrassing. You’re the coolest person I know.”

Voice small, you asked, “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

You gave him an affectionate squeeze that he returned.

He said, “You missed a phone call. It happens all the time.”

“Yeah.”

“I can sleep through the phone ringing.”

“You’ve never missed my calls.”

“Of course not. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

You snorted. “Naturally.”

“Naturally.” He swayed you a little. “Uh, speaking of: your phone’s acting up.”

“Acting up?”

“Yeah, dial tone’s weird.”

“Huh.” You loosened your hold, yet kept your face tilted down. “It’s a new phone. Maybe I broke it.”

“I can use the kitchen phone,” he said.

“No!” You hugged him again, though your fingers now dug into his back. “No, it’s okay. I’ll fix it or replace it. Then you call your uncle while I get us something to drink.”

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and kissed your forehead.

“Hey, whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You sighed, sounding content. Tension drained from his neck and shoulders. He didn’t like you upset or in pain.

“Okay, phone,” you said despite not moving.

“Gonna have to let go of me first.”

You made a disgruntled sound before sliding your hands away. Your fingertips found his skin between his waistband and the hem of his shirt. Goosebumps rose at your easy caress. His gut tightened, too.

He leaned back to get his hands on your jaw and eased your head up for a kiss. Conscious of your headache, he stayed gentle. He brushed his lips across yours, nudged your cute nose with his. You grinned against his mouth. He opened his eyes to see your face relaxed.

Sounding dreamy, you whispered, “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yes, you have.” You looked into his eyes as you pulled away. “You have.”

“Then you’re welcome,” he said, grinning.

With a smile — a tired smile, he noted — you took his hand to walk him out of the bathroom, turning off the light as you went. He trailed after you and felt like a puppy. Granted, if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

Once in your room, you crawled under your desk to mess with the phone wall jack. You muttered to yourself, but he didn’t catch the words. He sat at the foot of your bed and stared at your upturned ass. It was a nice ass. He’d like to touch it again — maybe when you felt better.

You shuffled from under the desk and lifted the phone’s headset. The regular dial tone droned from the speaker.

“There,” you said and got to your feet.

“Wow.”

“You sound surprised. Like a girl can’t fix things.”

He held up his hands.

“No, that’s not—”

“Did you think I couldn’t handle it?” you asked, your eyes sparkling with humor as you approached.

At your teasing manner, he spread his knees and urged you close by the hips.

“Oh, baby, I know you can handle a lot.”

You bit your lip, looking pleased, and smoothed his hair from his face. He let out a deep breath, letting his eyes go half-mast. You yawned suddenly and covered your mouth, then wiped at an eye. It smudged your eyeliner a little, yet it hardly mattered. You were perfect and sweet.

“Sorry,” you said as you suppressed another yawn.

He turned his head to bury his own yawn in his shoulder.

“Want to take a nap?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Get in bed, then. I think I can figure out where you keep the drinks.”

“Call your uncle.”

“I will, sweetheart.”

He backed you up, stood, and gave you a quick kiss. You made a satisfied sound before kissing him again.

His heart couldn’t take this. It absolutely couldn’t. You were so adorable when sleepy. And he wanted to make you feel good any way you needed, any way you’d let him. He’d make you tea, fetch you extra blankets, rub your back, fork over his whole damn stash. Fucking anything. Anything.

He left you perched on the bed with the assurance he’d be right back. He made a pit stop in the bathroom to pee and wash his hands. In the kitchen, he found Capri-Suns in the fridge and grabbed a couple.

By the time he returned, you’d turned off most of the bedroom lights and were sitting in bed. He dumped the Capri-Suns on your nightstand save for one, stabbed the straw into the pouch, and gave it to you.

You thanked him and snuggled into the pillows.

He snatched a Capri-Sun for himself and turned away before he did something ill-advised, like kiss you too hard or propose marriage or worm between the sheets and yank your underwear off and eat you out until you cried. Maybe all three.

Instead, he drank his juice while calling Wayne, who sounded as if he’d been awake for a while. Wayne didn’t seem surprised when Eddie said he was at yours and would stay the night. Wayne asked for your number in case of an emergency. He recited it from memory.

Wayne reminded him to use protection.

He sputtered and averted his face as heat crawled up his neck.

He then cleared his throat before saying, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

“Good. No mini-Munsons just yet.”

“No, not yet.”

“Alright, kiddo, keep that thinkin’ cap on, and I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“‘Kay.”

Wayne ended the call, and he placed the phone’s handset on its cradle.

“Your uncle sounds nice,” you said.

“He’s a good guy.” He sat at the desk to slip off his boots. “Took me in when no one else would.”

“Their loss.”

He looked at you, finding you curled on your side and watching him.

“That’s what he said.”

You gave him a wry grin.

He remembered ‘two idiots, one thought,’ and grinned.

After stuffing his socks into a boot, he stood to undo his belt and unclasp his wallet chain. He lay his wallet on your desk and piled his jewelry on top, feeling your gaze the entire time. He draped his belt over the chair, turned off the last light, and came around the bed.

As he lifted the blanket, you rolled onto your back and asked:

“Aren’t you going to take off your jeans?”

“Do you want me to take them off?”

“I want you to be comfortable.”

With a shrug, he said, “I’m comfortable.”

“Eddie... I’ve seen your legs before.”

“And a whole lot more.”

“Yeah, so take them off and get in here.”

“Yes, milady.”

He left his jeans in a heap on the floor and slid under the blanket. It was already warm and smelled like you: your soap and shampoo, your perfume and musk, your laundry detergent, and that dark headshop scent. The sheets were soft as only fine cotton could be. The pillows were fluffy like his hadn’t been in years. He hardly needed to adjust anything.

You asked, “Comfy?”

“Almost.”

Your brows pinched.

“Almost?”

“Back to me,” he said. “If that’s cool.”

You gave a little nod, the corners of your mouth curling up, and faced away. He closed the short distance to mould himself against your back; a hand on your hip with his other arm crooked under his pillow. You stiffened, yet didn’t protest.

“This okay?” he whispered.

“Mm-hm.”

Little by little, you relaxed and adjusted your legs. He matched your even breathing until his eyelids became heavy.

He’d never held someone. He’d been to sleepovers and slept next to friends, but this was different. Last night he’d stayed close, but hadn’t held you — though he’d yearned to. He hadn’t wanted to spook you, as if you’d realize who he was, remember what you’d done with him, and flee in disgust.

But this? This felt right. You were warm and soft against his front. You fit him.

.

A crash of thunder jolted him awake. He lifted his head to look around. The room was still dim from the storm. You weren’t in bed, which he didn’t approve of. You stood in front of the dresser, hanging a necklace on the jewelry stand.

You met his gaze in the mirror.

“Hi, honey.”

He wiped at his face with a groan.

“Hey,” he said, voice scratchy. “What time is it?”

You glanced at the nightstand and reported it was 5:32.

He grunted and flopped onto his back. “How long you been awake?”

“Maybe ten minutes?”

You wore a new pair of pajama pants under the t-shirt you’d napped in. They were cute. You were cute. He wanted to wrap his arms around you.

“Come back to bed,” he said as he scratched his stomach through his shirt.

“I need to finish unpacking.”

He rose onto his elbows as thunder rumbled.

“Did you mean come back to bed?”

“No,” you laughed.

He drew out an ‘I don’t know’ and knee-walked to the foot of the bed.

You spun to face him, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I need to unpack, sir.”

“That sounded a lot like ‘take me to bed.’”

He planted one foot on the floor and rose from the bed.

“Those don’t even have the same amount of words,” you said.

“I guess I have a bad ear for that.”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

As he prowled to you, he asked, “You calling me a liar?”

“No, I think you knock your own talents when it suits you.”

“Oh, ouch, sweetheart,” he said, and put his hands on your hips to back you against the dresser. “You wound me.”

You attempted to hide your smirk and asked, “Should I kiss it better?” while bracing your hands on the dresser.

Though he’d been sleeping next to you, he hadn’t gotten to touch you enough. He pushed himself against you, making you arch. Your breasts pressed against him.

“Later.”

His dick grew heavy, and he bent to kiss your covered chest. He worked his way up until he reached your neck.

You softly groaned with a tilt of your head.

You were his now — with no one to interrupt. Your skin was his to taste — and he did. He kissed the salt from your skin, trailed his teeth down the cord of muscle at the side of your neck.

You fisted his hair and brought his mouth to yours. Your lips smeared across his, your tongue peeked out, tasting of Capri-Sun’s fruit punch. He could devour you whole like this. His hips copied the back and forth of the kiss. God, his dick felt strained and hot between his legs.

You began to slide onto the dresser top, but he stopped you.

“Don’t,” he said. “Turn around.”

Barely giving you enough room, you turned in his hold, rubbing against his front. His gut tightened. He caged you in with his arms and nosed around your hair to kiss your neck again. You smelled so good, like sleep and spice.

He looked at the mirror to see you biting your lip and watching him. He straightened, keeping his front to your back. His erection snugged into the cleft of your ass.

You rested against him, looking more alluring than he’d ever seen you.

He murmured a ‘fuck’ and slid his hands up your sides, catching your flimsy t-shirt as he went.

“You wearing a bra, baby?”

You shook your head, making him curse lowly.

He ran his hands over the satiny skin of your stomach. Your nipples poked underneath your shirt. He stared at their reflection, remembering the feel of your tits in his hands and against his face, the way your nipples jabbed at his palms. He needed to refresh his memory, needed to brand the feel of your flesh in his hands.

When he cupped your tits, you inhaled. He stroked your warm skin with gentle fingertips, kneaded the supple weight of your breasts, then grazed his thumbs over your peaked nipples. Your ribs undulated gracefully with your breathing; so alive and all his.

You arched into his touch, putting your hands on his forearms. He squeezed your nipples and rolled them just a little. You moaned and ground your ass against him.

He ground back, moving counter to you. The inside of his boxers rubbed at his length. Precome made the thin cotton stick to the tip of his dick.

“Eddie...” you whined as you canted your ass.

“How’s the headache?”

“Gone.”

Before he could reply, you nudged him to the side and spun to face him. You steadied his head by the jaw to kiss him hard. It was like you wanted to eat his soul. You kissed him with tongue and teeth and spit. He held onto your bare back, because his knees trembled. He hoped you couldn’t tell. Your lips were perfect. Your skin was warm and soft. He wouldn’t mind if this was all you two did for the rest of the night.

Your hands left his jaw, and you broke the kiss to say, “Want you.”

His gut tightened again.

“Where?” he asked as he swept his hands down to your ass.

You pulled up at his shirt until he had to lift his arms. You tugged the shirt off and dropped it to the floor.

Cooler air cleared his head, but then you ran your hands over his shoulders and into his hair. He kissed you, feeling breathless and buzzing, vibrating like a tuning fork. Your parted lips lured him closer — that siren status confirmed.

You touched him from neck to chest to stomach to the waistband of his underwear. The moment dilated as anticipation increased. He wanted to roll his hips to get you to touch his cock.

Instead, you went to your knees.

He slapped a hand on the dresser to steady himself. Because holy shit. No one had ever— But you were— And, holy shit, he was going to come so fast.

“Okay?” you asked, as if you didn’t look like a wet dream.

He nodded numbly.

You kissed above his bellybutton, nuzzled his stomach, caressed his hips and sides. He lurched forward when you squeezed his ass. His cock bumped your chest, sending a ripple of sensation down to his toes. You palmed him through his boxers to make his knees tremble anew. He thrust into your hand and bit his lip. The muffled touch was enough to weaken him further.

You crooked your fingers under his boxers’ waistband to ease them down his thighs. His erection flopped out, almost hitting you in the cheek like some gangly appendage. He whispered an apology, but you replied it was okay. You called him honey, and he had to swallow a groan.

With gentle hands, you helped him step out of his boxers. Then he was naked save for his sole necklace. You purred and ran your hands up his thighs. He got harder, which seemed impossible, and the room heated — or he was so hot, he couldn’t feel it anymore. Your touch practically seared him.

You moved in to lick the precome now dribbling down the length of his cock. He put a hand on your shoulder to balance himself. It was a shock how good it felt: the velvety texture of your tongue and the tease of your breath ghosting over his dick.

You then steadied his cock with fingers around the base and wrapped your mouth around the tip. He moaned at the heat, the way you burned him with muggy, hot suction. You tongued at the crown as you twisted your head. Your spit-wet lips clasped around his girth. The head of his cock slid along the hard roof of your mouth to the soft palate at the back.

If he thrust, you’d gag and sputter. He didn’t want you retching. He didn’t want you to stop.

He rocked with you, and that had you moaning. He kept tight control of his movements, only nudging the same place of your soft palate.

“This what you want?” he asked. “Want me to fill your pretty mouth?”

He’d fantasized about doing it, too. He imagined how your cheeks would hollow as you sucked, how you’d hold his driving hips, how you’d take every inch of him.

You hummed an affirmative before fisting the base of his cock. He rolled his pelvis forward as you closed your eyes. Your smothered groan reverberated through him, making it difficult to keep it slow and easy.

Shit, he loved the way his cock pumped into your mouth again and again. Saliva drenched your chin. Your hand on his hip pulled him forward, urging him to thrust faster despite his intentions. You sucked and lapped, getting him all slick.

“You’re gonna make me come...”

You moaned an agreement.

He stilled his hips and gripped the nape of your neck.

“Shit, wanna fuck you.”

Because he did. He wanted inside your sweet pussy once more. He couldn’t get enough.

You moaned again and met his gaze. He couldn’t stop from shifting his hips, teasing you both. You whined around his dick, and he nearly forgot his earlier desire.

“So good to me.”

You sucked harder and pushed your tongue on the underside of his dick. It made his eyes roll back. It was so perfect, so good, he could lose himself and spill down your throat.

But, no... No—

He pulled your head away with a gasp, back hunched. Your mouth remained open, a thin string of spittle connected your bottom lip with this cock. Beyond that, the neckline of your t-shirt sat askew on your heaving chest. He wanted to shove himself in your hot mouth until your nose met his stomach, or to fuck your tits — or your tight pussy.

Shit, whatever.

He wanted you so bad.

As he caught his breath, you flicked your tongue out to taste him one more time.

He inhaled through his nose.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.

You licked your swollen lips with a nod. Your eyes were huge and glassy, drunk on him. He pulled you up as he bent to meet in the middle for a sloppy kiss. The spit and precome on his dick smeared across his stomach. He wiped at the saliva on your chin and fed it back to you.

“So sweet, baby.”

You mewled around his fingers in reply.

He hoisted you to your feet and kissed your talented lips. You stumbled a bit against him, knees obviously numb and stiff, and held onto his shoulders. He shushed you, wrapped an arm around your waist, and cradled your warm cheek.

“I got you,” he said.

You nodded, saying, “Take me to bed.”

He grinned, which you returned.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, and walked you backwards to the bed.

Once there, he turned you around, urged you up, and told you to bend. Your pajama pants hid your ass and thighs, but your t-shirt slid up your back to expose the feminine curve of your torso. He swept his hand down your spine. You lowered your chest to the bed, your ass jutted out to graze his cock. He took hold of your hips and ground himself against you.

“Eddie...”

He grabbed the globes of your ass to knead them. You hummed and wiggled. Then he gave one cheek a grazing smack. You gasped as your flesh jiggled.

“Like that, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Do it again.”

And he did.

You groaned softly and shimmied to encourage him to continue. However, he didn’t want to get distracted. He felt the heat between your legs and needed more. He pulled your pants and underwear to your knees, then kissed the small of your back.

With a shaky, needful voice, you said, “Please, don’t make me wait.”

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

You breathed a laugh.

He smoothed his hands up your thighs to frame your ass. He could eat you up, you looked so delicious. Your skin was so fine. He kissed one cheek, then the other.

You made a small, desperate sound. In response, he nosed at the crease where your leg met ass. He breathed in the heady scent of your arousal and musk. It had his pelvis flexing, cock twitching.

You arched to push against his face. He spread your tender pussy to see it all flushed and wet.

“Sucking my cock got you so worked up.”

You froze.

He said, “God, that’s fucking hot,” and dragged his tongue between the glistening folds of your pussy.

You moaned.

He licked up to the little furl of your asshole. Your breath hitched. He did it over and over, licking all your holes. You ground against his mouth, trying to get more. He angled your hips, tucked his face between your legs, and swirled his tongue around the petite bud of your clit.

You gasped a few ‘please’s and his name, but he didn’t want to stop. He sucked on your clit, its hood. You spread your legs as far as your pants would allow and tried to ride his face.

“Eddie, c’mon! Please—!”

You muffled the rest in the mattress.

He pulled away, and you moaned with disappointment.

“What was that?” he asked before swallowing the salty-sweet taste of you.

“Please, I...”

“Whatever you want.”

“Please fuck me.”

He cursed loudly as a surge of pleasure raced down his spine. He clenched every muscle below his bellybutton to keep from coming right there. Resting his forehead on your ass, he breathed through the near miss.

When the surge abated, he scrambled for a condom. He told you to hang on as he tore through his duffle to find the condom box. In the meantime, you snuck a hand between your legs to play with your clit.

He almost came again at the sight.

At this rate, he was skittering into two-pump-chump territory.

Holy shit, don’t think of pumping.

He found a condom, ripped it open, and rolled it on — all the while thinking of roadkill and long division and the dirty dishes he’d left in the sink. He then took hold of your pants and underwear, tugging at them and sending you forward.

You meeped, yet squirmed to help undress from the waist down.

He tossed the clothes away, crawled over your prone body, and settled above you. With his dick nestled right against your sopping pussy, he rocked his hips. He couldn’t help himself — especially not when you rocked back. You were slick and hot and so ready.

He mouthed at your neck. The bite of your sweat added to the intoxicating taste of you on his tongue.

He realized then your rocking had a purpose: you were attempting to catch the tip of his dick. You made a tiny distressed sound as you continued to fail.

He shushed you. “I got you.”

“Want you.”

“Me too, baby.”

He reached between your bodies to angle his cock just right. You tilted your hips at the same time. It felt like wild magic to push inside you with one long stroke. Your cunt was tight and silky hot around him. He let his head fall forward with a groan. You quivered under him as though on the verge of orgasm.

He kissed and nibbled his way up your neck until reaching your ear. He sucked on the lobe and kissed the corner of your jaw.

“Eddie...”

“You ready?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Talk to me, baby.” He kissed your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me. I want it.” Your cunt squeezed around him, and he couldn’t tell if it was voluntary. “Take me, make me come.”

His stomach swooped. Your words spurred him on. He drew out just enough before letting the full weight of his lower half drop. You panted a ‘yes’ and braced. He set a punishing pace, fucking you in earnest. The clutch of your cunt had him losing himself to the rhythm. He didn’t care, not minding to drown in you.

You buried your face in the mattress, muting your growing moans. He needed to hear you, though. He gripped your neck and tilted your head back. You tensed with a startled gasp and clawed at the bedding.

He’d felt you tense like that before and knew what it meant.

“Gonna come, baby?” he asked.

“Don’t stop!”

He ignored the burn in his muscles as he hammered his cock deep. You struggled under him, breath ragged, ass grinding. Then you let out a sharp cry. You shook against him, shrieking curses as your cunt quivered and gushed around him.

With a growl, he cupped your jaw to keep your head against his shoulder. He pistoned his hips faster and harder. You rasped out a stunned, drawn-out ‘fuck’ as your orgasm continued to unravel. Your scalding, drenched cunt milked him until it started to be too much.

He couldn’t catch his breath as every muscle locked up. Ecstasy simmered at the base of his spine, growing hotter with each clap of his hips meeting yours. It was a staccato beat to his groans. Then it all boiled over. He gritted his teeth and threw back his head as climax poured out of him. He felt scalded from the inside out.

All that remained was his singed heart beating out the syllables of your name.

He sagged on his elbows and lay his damp face on your rucked t-shirt. There were probably things he needed to say or do now, but he couldn’t remember them. He didn’t think he could form words between his harsh breathing.

Your soothing fingers touched his cheek, his temple. He turned his head to kiss them.

When his erection started flagging, he held the condom and pulled out slowly. You gave a wordless protest, yet didn’t stop him from rolling onto his back beside you. He should tie off the condom and dispose of it. He knew that. However, he didn’t want to look away.

In the mottled light from the window, your skin shone with sweat, your hair was in disarray — no doubt like his — and your eyeliner was a mess.

With no small amount of pride, he privately admitted he enjoyed being the cause of that.

You met his eyes and smiled lazily as rain pelted the glass.

He took your limp hand and pulled it. You grumbled, but scooted closer to rest against his side.

“Goddamn,” he said. “Thanks for that.”

You laughed, “You’re welcome,” and put an arm around his middle.

“Want to order a pizza?”

[ultra-creepy-fucker-things]

Seeking Peace Chapter 1

Instead of getting crushed by a pillar, Star's attack is powerful enough to blast Toffee clear across the multiverse, landing him in the middle of the Sea of Sand. Meanwhile, Pythor is wandering through the desert after the events of the Tournament of Elements when a mysterious lizard man falls from the sky.

Pythor slithered through the desert surrounding the Corridor of Elders, relying on the hot sand beneath him to keep him moving in the cold, clear night. Despite his regained hight, despite the kind words of former general Arcturus, bitterness still burned within him.

Chen may have extended the war, but he hadn't had the serpentine imprisoned.

And one of their jailors still walked the earth.

He was shaken from his thoughts when above him, a loud crack rang from the cloudless sky. Pythor looked up to see a dark form falling from the sky. He gasped, hastily slithering out of the way.

Something crashed into the sand, hard enough to leave a crater.

Pythor stayed back for a while, before curiosity won out over fear and he slithered over to investigate.

By the light of the moon he could see it, back ooze pooled beneath a reptilian skeleton, empty eye sockets, by chance, meeting Pythor's living gaze.

He stayed were he was, frozen, as the ooze rose and engulfed the bones, shaping and solidifying into a lizardlike form.

Yellow eyes stared through him as it lay on the sand.

It drew in rapid breaths, as though shocked to be alive, but gradually it's breathing leveled out and it's eyes focused on him.

Pythor yelped, hastily slithering out of sight, shifting his scales so he vanished into the shadows.

A black haired, bluish-gray reptile man pulled himself part way out of the crater, and his yellow eyes scanned the desert.

"I know your out there" he said into the night, "I'm not going to hurt you" he paused, raising his eyes to the stars, "I'd only like to know where I am"

Pythor made a snap decision.

"This" he said with a flourish as his camouflage dropped "is the sea of sand"

The stranger took a moment to reply.

"I haven't heard of it" he finally said.

"Well, you must be quite far from home, then, it takes up most of the continent" Pythor offered a hand.

The stranger regarded it, then looked up at him, "I don't suppose you have any clothes I could change into"

"I don't make it a habit to carry around a spare robe"

The lizard man lingered a moment, but eventually sighed and took his hand, letting Pythor help him up. Fully in the moonlight, Pythor could see him more clearly, he had a muscular build on a slender frame, and his scales shined in the pale light.

Pythor smiled, taking a moment to enjoy the view. "My, you have quite the physique, tell me, what manner of creature are you?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself" he snapped, twisting his tail around himself in an attempt to preserve his modesty.

Pythor looked away, "Fine, fine" he said, not an ounce of shame in his voice, "you can have my robe if its that important to you"

"Absolutely not."

"At least allow me to introduce myself" pointedly looking at his face and only his face, he again extended a hand, giving a smile "Pythor P. Chumsworth, at your service"

The stranger still didn't seem happy, but he accepted the offered handshake, "Toffee" he said, expression not shifting.

Pythor couldn't help but chuckle, "Toffee, hmm? Well, you sure sound sweet" he laughed a bit more at his own little pun.

Toffee snorted, "flattery will get you nowhere" he said, but his eyes widened, just a bit, and Pythor swore he saw the corner of his mouth twitch up.

"It gets cold out here at night" said Pythor, "I have a base not far from here, we can spend the night"

Toffee sighed, "I suppose I don't have many options, do I"

Pythor hummed, "you could brave the desert"

"I'll come to your base"

The two set off. Pythor could make good time over the sand, but Toffee's bare feet sunk, slowing him down. The anacondrai found himself slowing down to accommodate him.

Fortunately he hadn't been lying about the distance. It wasn't long before they got to his 'base', a cabin someone had built here and abandoned, probably before the serpentine had been imprisoned.

Toffee looked around as they entered, pupils glinting green in the low light. Sand crunched beneath his feet.

"Do you stay here often?" He asked, concern creeping into his tone.

Pythor couldn't see anything in the dark. He wondered if this strange creature could.

"Of course not" he answered, "I only go here when I need to disappear for a while"

Pythor needed to lean on the walls to navigate, but Toffee seemed far more confident, he could hear him striding over to the couch and plopping down, sighing like it was made of silk and he'd just run a marathon.

Fumbling in the dark, it took Pythor a moment to locate the lamp and turn it on, casting the cabin in a dim, flickering glow.

When he did, he turned to Toffee with a smile.

"Can I get you anything? Food? I keep a few spare robes in the closet, I can take the couch, if you'd like"

Toffee blinked at him in the dim light, overwhelmed.

"Uh... Yes, thank you"

Pythor slithered into the bedroom and grabbed a spare robe, handing it off to Toffee before going to the cupboard.

Every shelf was full of canned meat. He grabbed a tin of sardines, opened it, and turned to hand it off to Toffee, who had put on the robe while his back was turned.

He stared down at the proffered fish.

"I would prefer one that hasn't been opened"

Pythor gave looked affronted, "what? Why?"

"Oh, please, anyone with a brain could see you have an ulterior motive"

He was right. Of course he was- Pythor has enemies, and he hoped that Toffee shared them. But that had nothing to do with the fish.

"So, what is it?" Toffee continued, "why are you acting so friendly?"

Pythor drew his arm back.

"If you want to know... I feel we have some common goals"

He slithered back to the cupboard. Grabbed more sardines. Gave Toffee the unopened can.

"I assume you are familiar with the First Spinjutzu Master?"

Toffee glanced up from were he was closely inspecting the can, forehead wrinkling. "No, I can't say I have"

"Well" Pythor faltered, his smile falling. Toffee had deemed the sardines acceptable and opened the can, and was now digging in, ravenously devouring the salty fish within, showing no regard for manners.

"You have, perhaps, crossed paths with the one calling himself Master Wu?"

Toffee, who'd just ate the last of his meager meal, set the empty tin on the coffee table. His gaze drifted back to the open cupboard, eyes hungry.

"Sure" he said, slowly.

"Then you surely understand what a goody two shoes he presents himself as, utterly, utterly infuriating" he slithered back to the cupboard, grabbing more canned meats and fish. "I want him destroyed completely, for him to feel half the pain he's caused me" as he spoke, his voice raised, lip curled, grip tightening on a tin of spam. "You in?" He hissed, giving the lizard his meal.

Toffee took the food, eating it as ravenously as he'd eaten the sardines.

He quickly finished eating, then stood, keeping his eye on Pythor.

"Your hospitality is appreciated, but I'm afraid it's too late in the evening for vengeance. I would rather discuss this in the morning"

He walked into the bedroom and shut the door.

The lock clicked behind him.