#also his name is dusty!!

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Mud

Hello! I am back with the baby-AU! Lmao! @spotaus

I am excited about this one :3

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Lets just get right into it shall we? :3

*-------------------*

Nightmare should probably be paying attention.

But the truth is it has already been a long day and he just doesn't feel like it.

Instead he just keeps holding Cross's hand as he eats his chocolate bar.

Nightmare is actually standing on the ground today, which is nice for a chance. It is mostly because he just spend the last two hours or so sitting still for some doctors and healers. For his monthly check up.

Which is new to him! Since when does he have a monthly check up?!

Nightmare huffs as he keeps eating his candy bar. It is sweet and he likes that. much like the light rain that is around them. He also likes the rain.

Cross shoots him an apologetic look "I know Nightmare. We will go home soon."

Nightmare hums and leans against Cross's side. He wants to go home already. The town is nice but busy today. Something to do with it being near halloween Crop had explained.

Nightmare looks up and sees that Killer is also very done with the conversation, even if he still has a smile on his face. Cross is better with acting interested. Gerson is talking to them so Nightmare can understand why they are still humouring this whole thing.

Nightmare finishes his snack and looks aorund, searching for a garbage can. He easily spots one and goes to let go of the hand.

Cross tightens his hold and looks down at him anxious "NIghtmare? Are you okay?" he gives Gerson an apologetic smile.

Nightmare rolls his eye lights and shows the obvious wrapper "Going to throw it away." duh.

Cross looks around and spots the same garbage can "I mean... okay... fast..." he slowly lets go of the hand as Gerson pulls him back to the conversation. Social guidelines nad rules keeping him captured.

Nightmare grins and walks over to the garbage can. He is careful to not slip on the wet and muddy ground. He is getting close when he spots a large mud pool and frowns at it. Annoying as he already starts to feel his spine acting up.

Seems like being carried and letting his spine relax a bit mad ehim less used to the pain... or is it because he is small now? Nightmare really doesn't know...

Still go carefully makes his way around the mud, he is wearing his new favourite sweater, the one Dust got him when they first got here, and he doesn't want to risk it getting dirty. He is already unhappy wiht it getting wet.

He gets to the garbage can and throws away the wrapper. Mission accomplished. Now to go back to Cross and Killer.

He turns around and bums into someone. Nightmare quickly takes a few steps back and slips only slightly before regaining his balance. He looks up and sees two boys.

Nightmare mutters "sorry..." he glances around and sees that Killer is already side eyeing him and his situation and he feels a bit calmer. He is fine. Killer is here.

One of the two boys huffs "How dare you! You dirtied my shoe!"

Nightmare blinks and feels confused. What does he mean? Nightmare bummed into him yeah but he didn't hit his shoe right? He looks down and sees that the shoes are covered with mud.

Nightmare frowns and rubs his arm "Sorry?" he isn't sure but also does not want trouble "Maybe it can be washed off?" he isn't sure. Some stuff is still hard to remember.

The boy huffs "Well that doesnt make it better!"

The other boy laughs "You know what would make it better?"

Nightmare realises soemthing is wrong right away and looks for an escape but one of them grabs his arm and the next thing he knows gravity pulls him down right into the mud he had been avoiding.

It hurts so bad.

His eye sockets sting both with tears and the mud. he looks down at himself and is absolutely covered. The other two laugh but it is already becoming a background noise.

His sweater is dirty...

He had tried to be careful with it and... and...

Two arms grab him and he is suddenly held close in a hug. "nightmare?! Are you okay? Is your spine okay? Are you hurt?" Cross speaks gently as he carefully removes some of the mud from Nightmare's face.

Nightmare can't explain. it is already hard to keep in the tears and now he is also ruining Cross's clothes and his body hurts and-

He sobs. He can't keep it in. He ruined his sweater. he ruined Cross's stuff. everything hurts. it is cold. he wants to go home.

Cross just pulls him closer and rubs his shoulders gently "Oh it is okay. Don't worry okay? We will get home and get all cleaned up and we will check your injuries."

Cross's voice helps him focus. Helps him breath and get passed the sobs and tears. his face is still all wet and muddy and he is dirty and his sweater. it had been a gift! He should know better than think he is allowed to have nice things.

Someone screeches "What do you think you are doing to my dareling boys?!"

Nightmare flinches and pushes closer to Cross. he dares to glance up and sees Killer growling and glaring at the two boys. He is holding one arm of one of the boys, the one Ngihtmare run into, behind his back and Nightmare knows that angle is painful.

Killer glances at the lady before looking back at the boy near tears "Teaching your child manners about how he shouldn't bully or harm a young child." Killer's voice is compeltely calm. Giving nothing away. Nightmare knows it means he is beyond furious.

The lady glares "It are just boys! Boys will be boys!" she huffs "What did they even do?" she notices him and huffs again "It is just mud! It is harmless!"

Killer looks at her before grinning. He lets go of the child and steps back. He moves quickly and Nightmare isn't even sure how he does it but next thing there is a wave of mud which covers all three.

Killer crosses his arms and waits.

The lady screeches again "How dare you?! This is real fur!"

Killer raies a brow "What? I thought you just told me. It. Is. Just. Mud." he stares her down "All you will have to do? Clean it. Which is much easier for you. As you have one of those handie bodies to keep it out of your system. Unlike wiht us skeletons that can cause quite a bit of different injuries. All caused by dirt getting stuck in joints. You know, like mud. And between joints, that this babybones has."

The lady shakes slightly as she looks around before looking back at Killer.

Killer stares at her "I will make this clear. YOu are going to walk away with those two brats of yours. You are not going to cause us anymore issues. understood?"

The lady nods and grabs her two boys and leaves.

Killer huffs before looking back at him. cold and emotionless look gone as he looks at him "tiny boss?"

Nightmare knows he is still crying as he pulls on his sweater a tiny bit. it sticks to his body, it rubs and hurts everything... but his sweater. He looks at Killer and isnt sure how to explain "my sweater..." he knows he is still crying "Dusty got this for me...." it was so expensive and special and Nightmare tried to be careful with it but he wanted the warm hug of the sweater at his appointment because it was Dust's relax day but now it is dirty and ruined and and and.

He can't explain adn just sobs.

Cross seems to understand as he pulls him closer "oh baby it is okay. We are going home. get you all cleaned up and clean up your sweater too. You will be wearing it again before you know it!"

Nightmare just sobs again.

Cross nuzzles him gently and that makes him feel a bit better.

"Hey tiny boss! Look!"

Nightmar eblinks and looks over at Killer. Killer sees him look and he grins widely. Before kicking his own feet out from under him and faceplanting right into the mud that Nightmare fell into.

Cross gasps "Killer!"

Killer pulls his face out and grins widely. The mud and tears mix and it is messy and he is covered in mud but it falls in almost slowmotion and-

Nightmare can't stop the giggle leaving him.

Killer grins and gets up. Each step makes a weird slurp and slosh. Nightmare snorts and laughs more.

Killer gets to them and grins at him.

Cross looks amused himself "You are a mess." he still nuzzles nightmare.

Killer grins and winks at Nightmare "Just means tiny boss and I will both need a bath." He then stands straight and shows his outfit "And look! More clothes that need washing! We will just wash our stuff together!"

Nightmare giggles and nods before starting to reach for Killer. He still pulls his hand back again. It feels... needy...

Killer grins as he sloshes over and nuzzles his face all over.

Cross sighs "Killer you are getting your goop all over him."

Killer grins at Cross "It is fine crossy! When we get home it is bathtime anyway!"

Nightmare feels himself relax a bit more as Killer rubs the tears away and Nightmare leans back against Cross. They are going home and wash up together.

He really hopes the sweater will turn out to be okay but the others probably know how to wash it out carefully.

*-------------------*

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[magicicephoenix]

i just watched doomsday episode can i have a silly fun fact about your boys to cope (asking here bc i want others to share)

Fun fact!! remember how Moon and Sun's nicknames are Moondust and Sunshine? well back then sometimes, when the mood hit, they shortened 'em!

Dusty and Shiny :D

[silusvesuius]

n*loth not being able to bag anyone over the (human term) age of 25-30 at most is the only logical and real conclusion to me because it can be just explained away as him wanting to prove and control everything and anyone (Cus he's a man!) but being stuck in that demographic because his unbearable and vile personality is a force that nobody can look past once they've outgrown the possible fear and idolization period of anyone but also n*loth in particular.

[raiiny-bay]

reminding myself that they’re my characters & i can do whatever i want with them

[darabeatha]

ANYWAYS, HAVE U GUYS SEEN THIS????

[mechahero]

@outofthiisworld asked- FUSION! —A Lambda & Ophelia fusion if you’re feeling up to it? 👀✨

it's fusion time again y'all

Ah yes. The Plum™️.

A certified menace! Uses she/he pronouns and let me tell you I had the hardest time figuring out a design until this popped onto my dash. Watching the visual for Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land helped a ton too. (Warning for flashing colors/images)

[rice-fae]

Funny little story about me and nimona: i was just a kid when the prints arrived in a couple bookstores in my country. Very much coincidentally, a way smaller version of me picked it up and showed to her mom. Very much coincidentally, she bought it, and it became my favourite book for years. Not even kidding, that book brought me so much comfort when i didnt even speak this language, when i half a world away from where the first panel was drawn, and when i didnt even know half the things about myself than i do now. thanks nimona, love u tons

[gummywyrmtrainer]

I LOVE YOU. does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Oh, very easy. After all, there's different flavors and intensity of love, so saying "I love you" is basically a catch-all. Granted, it does come out the easiest when something silly or stupid is going on, but it's still genuine and sincere.

The ones that anyone is most likely to hear at the moment is with her and her pokemon. "G'morning, beloved!" "Pazaaaaaaazz. Pazookie. Did you know that I love you? Just. So much." "Progeeeeeeen mi amadooooo!"

"Dusty. I love you, you're so important to me, I wouldn't change a damned thing about you, nor would I give you away for the world. But also what the fuck." Said after Dusty steals away Goggles for the millionth time.

[hearthtales]

Oh, Feld savored this game. Forcing someone to choose between the past and the present, between what (or who) they’d lost and what (or who) they still had. They clung to the past more often than not.

The silence stretched. Then Samhain’s grip loosened. Eagerness leapt in Feld at the chance to escape — it tried to wriggle free but quickly struck a curved barrier in midair. It shook its head, stunned for a moment before it realized what Samhain had done. A bubble-shaped prison. Feld’s hope fizzled out.

And Samhain chose the present over the past; he chose to answer Maude’s knocking rather than give in to his anger. Feld sighed in disappointment, even as the threat of harm eased. How boring.

“You’re no fun,” it grumbled.

—

Maude had stopped trying to shove the cabinet off the hatch with a broomstick she’d pulled from a closet. Not because she’d wanted to stop, but because she began feeling rather lightheaded.

Leaning against a wall for support, she stared up at the blocked hatch. What were they doing up there? Based on what she knew about Feld, she doubted any conversation would go smoothly. She couldn’t quite catch her breath — her lungs ached, and a feverish heat settled over her skin. When she pulled up her sleeves, faint bruises marked her arms.

Then, the heat faded. Breathing grew easier.

The cabinet floated off the hatch. Maude tugged her sleeves back down and inhaled deeply to steady herself before she climbed up into the attic.

Once inside, she brushed the dust from her dress and looked around the cluttered space, muttering, “Goodness, it’s a mess in here, isn’t it?”

“I like it,” Feld told her.

Maude glared at it. “You. Be quiet.”

The creature cackled, but otherwise kept its mouth shut (for now). It coiled its long body in the bubble so its head faced away from her, and fell silent.

It was a strange sight to take in all at once. Feld, trapped in a bubble that floated above Samhain’s hand. His skeletal hand. Maude’s eyes widened. Had his hands always looked like that? She’d never seen him without gloves before. Their skeletal appearance didn’t seem to distress him, though, so Maude exhaled and decided not to dwell on it for now.

He apologized. Guilt twisted heavily in Maude’s chest. She shook her head, clutching her hands into her skirt to keep them from trembling. “No need to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.” I ought to apologize; I’ve done many things wrong. The unspoken words weighed down her quiet voice, but the apology itself caught in her throat. An apology wouldn’t excuse her actions, anyway. Her worry-filled gaze swept over Samhain, searching for injuries. “Are you alright? Did it hurt you?”

“Hesitating?” It taunted him. “I thought you loved her.”

"Tch—" He gripped the creature tighter - as tight as you could grip something made of smoke and ash - and almost snarled the words 'don't you dare', but they died in his throat the moment he heard the

THUMP

Thump Thump

Samhain snapped his head towards the sound, as if he'd been yanked out of a daze. It was then that he noticed the hearth witch's spirit energy just beyond the hatch, beneath the cabinet. It was then that a recognizable, struggling voice called out his name and he sobered up completely, brought back from the brink.

“Will you answer?” And yet again the creature taunted him.

Ivory claws trembled with indecision for a while before Samhain took another deep breath and exhaled, this time some of his overflowing anger along with it. He loosened his grip on the creature only to contain it again within seconds. "Aye. An' you'll stay put when ah do," said Samhain with a pointed glare.

Turning towards the hatch and with a wave of his hand, the heavy cabinet lifted itself up with ease. Samhain moved the cabinet and other pieces of clutter out of the way to make space for Maude, who finally made it through the hatch. "Hullo Ms. Haven," the ghoul bid her, his expression now softer though he was no longer smiling. The creature called Feldmire was trapped in a bubble spell and floating just above Samhain's skeletal hand. "..Apologies you 'ad to see me like this."

[s0dium]

Douchebag

A/n: This is honestly the BEST fic I've ever written! I took a lot from prompts I found on this site and the smut scene is inspired from a book called "The Kiss Quotient." (It was just so damn good). This fanfic is also inspired by my original fanfic, "Douchebag" Tengen x Reader. ALSO, I AM WORKING ON YUTA FICS, SO DON'T WORRY! Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: Gojo Satrou was a man of many things. It would be hard to find anyone in the jujutsu world who hadn’t heard of his name before, whether that be through his many wins in battle or his reputation as an A-class player. Some describe him as eccentric, and others (mostly girls) describe him as irresistible. You? Well, you on the other hand would describe him as nothing else than an utter, complete,  douchebag. Warnings: Enemies to lovers,  teasing, fingering, intense kissing for a sec, squirting, use of pet names, belly bulge, cervix fucking, breeding kink, virgin!reader, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, choking ~

You scoffed, watching through the classroom window as a clearly frustrated old man stormed out of the building, no doubt a higher up. No doubt the work of Gojo Satoru. "God I hate him." You hissed, turning to face a dozing-off Shoko and your other friend Haibara. The classroom you sat in was almost empty, bathed in the soft light of midday filtering through large windows. Sparse shadows stretch across the well-worn wooden floor. Rows of desks, mostly unoccupied, face a dusty chalkboard at the front. "Who Satoru?" Shoko yawned, leaning into the palm of her hand to face you. Haibara lets out a loud chuckle. "Why? Because he's an ass to higher-ups?" He nods to the window and you click your tongue against the rough of your mouth. "No, it's because he is an ass in general. His whole 'holier than thou' attitude, and don't get me started on the way he treats girls." You practically shiver as you remember the time you saw some poor girl from Kyoto Jujutsu High profess her love to the white hair man, only to run away sobbing. "I swear to god it's like he expects us to kiss the floor that he walks on, he's.... infuriating" "Who's infuriating?" Oh god, you knew that stupidly deep voice anywhere. You whipped around to find yourself face to face with the very tall white-haired man you were talking about; a shit-eating grin spread across his infuriatingly handsome face.

“You couldn't be talking about me, could you?” Satoru's voice dripped faux shock and you rolled your eyes.

“Well you know what they say, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You spat.

“That must be why you love using that pretty mouth of yours to talk about me so much.” Satoru lowered himself to close the provoking height difference between the two of you until your noses were inches away from touching. “Cause ya love having me around  doncha.”

In that moment you have to conjure up every ounce of self-restraint to not spit in his face there and then, and luckily your friends catch the drift. "Hey Satoru! What are you doing here?" Perked up Haibara who reached out his hand to dap Gojo up. "Well, Suguru and I are heading for a night out today, small club, and I thought, out of the kindness of my heart," You scoff and Gojo merely grins and continues, "I'd invite you all. Drink on me of course." As Satrou's invitation lingered in the air, you noticed Shoko's ears perk up. Her curiosity was piqued, a subtle lift of her eyebrows betraying her interest. You bit your tongue, the taste of reluctance sharp against your teeth. The idea of going anywhere with Satrou was far from appealing, but knowing your friends might join made it harder to outright refuse.

You crossed your arms defensively, leaning back slightly as you fixed Satrou with a skeptical look. "And why would you want me there?"

Satrou's lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint."You're annoying, I'll give you that," He took a casual step closer, and leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "but I never said you weren't fun."

His words, intended to irk you, did their job well. You glared at him sharply, the frustration evident in your furrowed brows and the hard set of your jaw.

Satrou chuckled.

“Great, I’ll take that as a yes then, I'll text you guys the details.” He turns around to walk out of the classroom. “See you guys there!”

There was a silence as you all watched Satrou walk away before Haibara turns to look at you. “So are you going to go y/n? Come on it will be so much fun!”

“Yeah no way in hell.”

~ You were a liar. You were a liar because here you were, leaning over the counter of a bar in a club that was far from "small." The nightclub was a pulsing, chaotic hive of activity. Neon lights flashed in syncopation with the deafening throb of electronic dance music that shook the very air. The club was jam-packed with bodies moving rhythmically, the heat from the mass of humanity palpable as the scent of sweat and sweet perfumes mingled. The bar surface was sticky under your arms, and the occasional spill from a too-hastily poured drink added to the chaos of sounds and smells around you. You lazily stirred the thin red straw into your drink, trying to politely ignore the creep who wouldn't stop talking to you.

Somehow, in the maze of gyrating bodies and blinding strobe lights, you had lost both Shoko and Haibara, leaving you stranded at the mercy of this clueless conversationalist. Despite the roar of bass and the chatter of dozens of conversations, his words seemed to bore into your ears, relentless and unyielding. He leaned in closer than necessary, trying to make himself heard over the club's cacophony, not realizing or perhaps not caring, that you were more interested in plotting an escape than in anything he had to say. "And might I say you look gorgeous tonight." It took everything you had not to scoff at this creep's words, but before you should shut the man down, you felt an arm wrap around you. "Everything alright love?" Oh god. You knew that voice anywhere. As you turned, you were met by Satrou's piercing blue eyes, their color vivid even behind stylish rectangular sunglasses. The multicolor flashing lights overhead caught in the threads of Satrou’s light blue button-up, making it shimmer subtly, and the fabric clung just right to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, hinting at the well-defined physique beneath. You hated the fact that your brain immediately noted how damn good he looked. His arm was wrapped around your waist drawing you close and you had to bite your tongue from frowning at the pet name he had given you As he leaned in, his voice was low, a soft murmur over the noise of the club, "This guy bothering you baby?" His tone was teasing, and you could detect the challenge in it, as if daring you to admit that his closeness and pet names affected you just as much as he knew it did. "Of course I'm fine baby!" You smile brightly and for a second you think Satrou looked a bit taken aback. If playing along got you out of this situation so be it. "This guy, I'm sorry, what's your name?" You glance back at the creep who had turned bright red. "I'm sorry, excuse me." You watched as the man disappeared into the throng of the bustling crowd, your attention fixed until he was well out of sight. Only then did you turn back to Satrou, the false warmth on your face instantly transforming into a cold, hard glare.

"Thanks for that, but you can get your hand off me now," you said, your voice icy as you tried to wriggle out of his hold. Despite your efforts, Satrou’s grip on your waist remained firm, unyielding.

"And why should I? I think we made a fantastic couple," Satrou cooed, a teasing lilt in his voice. His eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying the moment far more than you.

You rolled your eyes, exasperation seeping through. "You really think I would fall for something like that?"

"Why? Did you?" he probed further, his smile widening, eyes searching yours for any sign of genuine affect. Anger started to boil up inside you as your attempts to escape his grasp remained futile.

"I don't think you understand the dynamic here very well, Satoru," you began, your voice low and deliberate, each word punctuated for emphasis. You stepped closer, invading his space as much as he had invaded yours, your eyes never leaving his. "Let me make this crystal clear, I'm not someone you can just fucking conquer, and I'm certainly not one of those girls who's gonna kiss the ground you walk on with your whole 'I'm the strongest' act," you seethed.

Your face was mere inches from his now, your breath mingling, the tension palpable. "Because I know what you really are, Satrou," you hissed, the anger in your voice barely contained. "You're a fucking douche bag." "Oh? Is that so."

Satrou's expression shifted subtly, the amusement fading into something more measured, more cautious. He studied you for a moment and you took the chance to wiggle out of his grasp and make your way through the crowd on the dance floor toward the door. The beat of the music pounds in your ears and throughout your body making your synapses jump like beans in a tin can. You can barely see the floor, only flashes of bodies you frantically tried to push past. Before you can make it to the back door, a hand grips your wrist tightly enough to halt your forward rush. Above the din of the pulsating music and amidst the strobe-lit shadows of dancing figures, Satoru's face comes into view. You feel your breath catch in your throat. God his is beautiful. Strobe lights catch and accent every one of his sharp features alighting them in a multicolor color hue. He pulls your wrist to him so you're close, too close. You can smell the old spice shampoo from his hair mixed in with some sort of sweet cologne. It's a smell that makes you want to bury your nose into him over and over again. "Jesus fucking Christ y/n" he breathed his eyes searching yours. "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?" You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so

“I-fuck you” the words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and his eyes are soft. Fuck it. You can no longer hear the lyrics to whatever song was playing, only a soft dull hum of the beat in your ears. Immediately your lips are on his. The kiss is frantic, hot, messy. The club's pulse thrummed through you like a second heartbeat, the noise and chaos all but forgotten in the singular focus of his presence. You could feel one of his large hands on the small of your back, drawing you in until there was no space left between the both of you. Your mouths clashed against each other as if you were both seeking something vital, something long-denied. Satoru's lips were insistent against yours, moving with a fervor that matched the pounding bass surrounding you. You whined as his tongue slipped into your mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the firm press of his chest against yours. The scent of his cologne mixed with the smoky air around us, intoxicating and heady.

Your mouths separated with a soft pop, and Satoru is grinning while you're left dazed, breath heavy and chests rising and falling after it. "How bout you say we get out of here Princess."Gojo's voice was a low murmur, his breath warm against your ear as you broke from the intense kiss.

Before you could even respond, a dizzying rush enveloped you. The loud club vanished in an instant, replaced by the quiet, dimly lit ambiance of his bedroom. You were suddenly on his bed, the soft duvet beneath you a stark contrast to the hard dance floor we'd just left. Right, he can teleport. You forgot about that. Wait was he... where are you going to... Before you can get a word in, he’s once again engulfing your lips with his and pulling you into a feverish kiss in which the two of you can’t seem to get enough of each other. The moment one pulls away to breathe, the other is immediately searching for their lips again; intertwining tongues and teeth clashing together recklessly.

Your hot, everything is hot, your body is burning up by the second and there’s a sickly sweet feeling in your stomach that keeps on expanding as time passes. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hand slip under your skirt and lightly trace the outline of your slit with his index finger. You're painfully wet; your arousal has made a large spot on your underwear translucent. “Just touch me,’ you whined, arching impatiently against his hand. He couldn’t make either of you wait any longer. Slowly, he brought his middle finger down and slid it gently over her folds. You threw your head back. "Ahhhh, more please." He did it again, this time his fingertip slipping between and gathering your wetness. He parted you with two fingers. You let out a gasp when he hit your clit and started to rub it in small circles. You tried to say something, anything to explain how hot you were feeling right now, but your words were lost against his soft lips. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him so close against you, skin to skin. Time and space had no meaning anymore. There was only you and Satrou.

“You feeling good baby? Satrou speaks slowly, breath on your neck and voice in your ear making you shiver. You bite your lip and nod like any words that came from you would ruin it. You almost wince when you feel two fingers slip into your tight hole. "Jesus, fuck. You gotta relax princesses." He chuckled, knowing far to well that the tightness was going to feel delicious around him. Two fingers worked into you, and your eyes rolled back into your head. He began a steady rhythm as his tongue nipped and sucked the tender skin of your neck. You couldn’t prevent her hips from rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, you were riding his hand. That had to be bad. You told herself to stop. You couldn’t. Somehow, you found your hands tangled in his short white hair. Your body was coiled tighter, grasping at his fingers, so wet now you could hear the slippery sounds every time he drove back into you. "Hnghhh.... so good." You squeezed your eyes type, becoming focused on the tightening feeling of your core and the blossoming warm pleasure. Your legs started to tremble under the unbearable pleasure and your back arched against the bed as if your body was trying to escape the euphoric feeling that coursed through your skin. "That’s it, fuck, beautiful girl... such a natural submissive...." You want to tell him he's wrong, all this pleasure wasn't because of his egotistic ass, but it'd be a lie. And as if on command, all feelings come to a heightened crescendo; explosions of euphoria clouding your brain causing your toes to curl from pleasure and your body to shake like a leaf.

It takes a couple seconds after you calmed down to realize you squirted all over Satoru's hand and all blood rushes to your face turning you a bright red.

“Oh my god in so sorry I didn’t-”

Your voice dies out as you watch Satrou pull off his shirt, revealing his extremely built body and toned muscles, to wipe the liquid off his hand. You don’t even notice that he had pulled out his dick until you feel something pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so. Your stomach inwardly twisted,  filled with the sickly excitement and your breathing started to quicken. "Shhhhh baby," Satoru cups your cheek and kisses your forehead. It was a sweet gesture despite everything happening right now, a gesture that made your heart swell and your mind yearn for Satoru. The stretch of his dick spreading your walls is insane. No amount of preparation could've prepared you for the length of Satoru's dick. You feel it heavy inside you and Satrou pushes into you until he can't push anymore, until his hips are flush against you and the tip of his length is smushed against your cervix. The pleasure of that alone felt numb, unbearable, you needed friction, you needed him to move. You practically faint when he first thrusts into you in earnest. It's euphoric; the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up. His cock pulsed inside of your silky walls, stretching you to the fullest capacity as he bottomed out again and again. "Oh fuck." Satrou groaned. He was no longer grinning, Satoru's playful resolves vanished and his smile quickly dropped. He knew you'd feel good, but he didn't expect how good you'd feel. The feeling of his hand he had fucked himself to the thought of you for so many nights was nothing compared to the real thing. It was too much, the feeling of your wet soft walls gripping him so tightly. How was he able to live without your pussy in the first place? The pleasure built rapidly, too potent, too insistent. He kneeled over you, a groan escaping his lips—a raw, primal sound that vibrated through the charged air between you. Satorus thrust your quick and hard, a clear display of strength and endurance he had gained from years of jujutsu training. "Been thinking about this, so long, bet you have to have ya~"

As Satrou's long, deliberate fingers encircle your neck, a thrilling chill races down your spine. He applies pressure gently at first, then with a firmer, insistent grip that gradually restricts your airflow, sending a wave of exhilaration through your senses. The world around you narrows, focusing intently on the point where his skin contacts yours, heightening every other sensation that courses through you. His other hand slips under your bra bra to grab and massage your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipples.

"Satoru..! Ahhhh..! I..I, fuckkkkk can't handle this.." You had no strength to answer him, only offering wanton moans in retort as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with his hand squeezing your throat it was just all too much.

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru

"Slow down.. please im gonna ahhhh~" Drool slipped passed your lips and you writhed and squirmed at the feeling of hot euphoria passed over your body in flesh arrow. "Gonna cum? Fuck baby, let's... let's come together m'kay?" Satrou almost stuttered. His body had kicked into autopilot, and a deep primal need for you settled in as he thrust in and out, creating a methodical rhythm that echoed in your ears. Your ankles lock around his lower back and you cry out when the head of his cock kisses your womb, your legs shaking as you feel yourself start to be thrown into an intense orgasm. You want to say something about the weird feeling in your stomach, how your skin is buzzing but it's all too much, and before you know it your tumbling toward the edge. It feels like your whole body was shot with electricity and color dances in your eyes as you float in ecstasy.

"Sh-Shit, shit, fuuuuck~" He chuckles into your ear, choking over his words as his hips sputter inside of you, hot cum fills you as much as you can hold inside of your stuffed cunny. Satoru doesn't pull out as you both come down from your high, instead watching you intently as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Wanna do this again?" He chuckles.

"Fuck, yes, please."

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons

I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.

Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere

You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”

Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”

He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.

The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."

Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.

"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."

As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.

"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"

He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.

The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.

He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.

"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."

He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.

He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.

Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.

The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.

He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.

After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.

His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Bite my lip just for the taste

nonnie request here

Blurb: Eddie isn’t only good with his hands. He worships the ground you gracefully walk on and he is determined to satisfy you in every way that he can. Your pleasure is his pleasure and thanks to your mutual friend Steve, he might just have a chance to give you what you deserve.

Pairing: Older!Mechanic!Eddie x Reader

Warnings: 18+, lust at first sight, rough!dom!Eddie (careful what you wish for, right?), oral (m receiving), p in v sex, sloppy kisses, naked bodies and underwear description, reader referred to as girl, pet names, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), alcohol, characters are of ages 25+ and 30+

-

divider by @cafekitsune

Not only was Eddie Munson phenomenal with his hands when it came to mending cars and tinkering around with bolts and nuts… but he knew a trick or two with his strong muscular tongue and his long skilled fingers; and they weren’t associated with playing guitar or singing a epic chorus.

Eddie knew how to fuck— and he was fucking great at it.

But he couldn’t just come out straight with it and tell you that— he had to ease into it. It was like a dark lustrous dance of longing and need and he didn’t mind if he were in it for the long run.

Eddie wanted you but he knew that perfection took time.

It all began on a sweltering summers day. The metal head was very well educated on how car batteries and engines reacted to intense heat— but no amount of study could have prepared him for the way your car trundled into his garage.

Wiping the sweat from his thick brow he watched how you swung open the door with a tired groan and a chesty grumble. Full of merciless rage as you rattled your hands against the metal plating of the evidently old vehicle. Swearing like a sailor on a sinking ship, “Piece of shit!! I hope they crush you!”

Eddie couldn’t control the way his jaw nearly hit the dusty courtyard floor as your heeled foot struck against the cars front tire multiple times. Your rage wasn’t what surprised Eddie— he was accustomed to watching customers let out their pent up rage onto their dying automobiles. But what stunned him was you. You presented yourself in a way that made Eddie question why you decided to bring your car all the way down to this side of town when you clearly could afford to go elsewhere.

Not to toot his own horn, but Eddie was one of the best mechanics this town had to offer. However, he did hold a reputation that much of the community did not agree with. He had a look that made people uncomfortable— that made them run away.

But not you.

You charged toward him fiercely and determined. You made Eddie shrink in his boots.

“Hi, I’m looking for Eddie? Eddie Munson? I’m told this is his place.” Your sugar coated tongue had Eddie’s mind reeling. The contrast of your actions and your personality made him want to laugh aloud— but he managed to keep his humour to himself. For now. You hoop your keys around your index finger, swirling the metal so they would clank and chime against one another.

“You’re looking at him, princess,” He wipes his large oil covered hands against the dark denim of his jeans, toying with the chunky silver rings that graced his fingers as he drank you in further— having a better view of you now, “How can I help?” He briefly glances over to your car, his two front teeth puncturing his bottom lip as he recalls the way you were attacking it just moments earlier.

“My friend Steve said if anyone can fix this hunk of shit then it would be you.” You offer Eddie a tight lipped smile, your hands resting comfortably on your hips as you also gaze back over at the rust bucket your father gifted you 4 years prior, “She isn’t much to look at, but she meant a lot to my old man so… I sort of have to keep her around, Y’know?” You roll your eyes comically and Eddie hums in acknowledgment, crossing his heavily tattooed arms over his plump chest that is clad in a tarnish white tank top.

“I get it.” He grins and winks at you, walking over to where you had abandoned your prized possession, “I hope Harrington put a good word in for me, his car would’ve been scrapped last year if it weren’t for my talent.”

“He said you were the best… alongside some other things that I best not mention if you wanna keep your friendship with him on good terms.”

Eddie laughs as he leans against the bonnet of your car, his wandering eyes flickering from your skirt that is stretched across the fullness of your thighs and up to your face and all over again. He couldn’t seem to pull his attention away from you.

“It’s unlocked, if you’d like to have a look inside.” You gesture toward the hood of the car which the metal head is leisurely draped on and Eddie’s cheeks warm at the inkling that he was caught gawking at you.

“Yeah, I’ll pop it open. It might just be the heat…”

It was now your turn to rake your eyes over Eddie’s frame as he peers into the organs of your nearly dead vehicle. He was only older than you by a couple of years and yet he seemed much more experienced in life than you did. The tattoos against his pale skin had you nibbling on the plush flesh of your bottom lip. His jeans hung loosely on his hips, held up by a studded black leather belt and above the hem you could see the waistband of his boxer briefs peering out at you.

One thing Steve had failed to mention to you before your arrival was how smoking hot Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson was. If you had known sooner, you would’ve dressed up a bit more— maybe you would’ve gotten changed out of your PA office attire.

But still, your tight fitted blouse and shiny black heels would just have to suffice.

“What are you doing right now?” Boldly you move around to meet Eddie’s line of vision. His eyebrows knit together in slight confusion and he flicks his fingers toward the open hood of the car, “No, I mean, after this. What are you doing? Do you.. have plans? Maybe going home to a girlfriend, perhaps?” You weren’t very subtle, but screw it! You saw the hunger in his eyes when you first showed up— he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him and you hadn’t been taken care of in a long time.

You were needy. Desperate. And Eddie may as well have been served up to you on a silver platter!

“Plans? Oh uh… no. Not at all. I uh… I was going to go home and have some shitty wine,” His pink lips perk up into a toothy smile, a knowing smile, and you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress your own, “Does that maybe interest you? You don’t seem like a shitty wine girl.”

You shrug your shoulders and a transparent smugness settles deep into the apples of your cheeks, “I like shitty wine.”

“The good thing about being your own boss is that you can finish whenever you want.” He slaps the bonnet of the car shut and dusts his large hands against one another, “How about I look at this tomorrow and we can take my car back to mine? Or would you like to check out my ass for a bit longer?” He slyly winks at you and your face tilts toward the ground as you make a feeble attempt to conceal the blazing fire that was torturing your skin.

“Hmmm that depends— can you guarantee that you’re not some psycho and that I won’t end up on the front page of the paper tomorrow?” For someone whose body may as well be a ferness with how hot it is, you sure are making Eddie work for what you both want. Something about him made you brave, but it also made you… timid. Quiet… obedient.

And boy oh boy, Eddie was enjoying every second of the power he had over you.

“How about I let you drive? You have the keys… you have the control.” His husky voice drops an octave as he takes a few steady strides toward you. His gaze penetrates yours and his dangerous eyes have an addictive allure. Captivating and intimidating. Revealing little but knowing much… it was exciting. He excites you.

“That could work…” your voice betrays your facade of confidence and Eddie grins wider at the soft falter in your tone. He could read you like a book. Your inviting body language, the blown darkness in the centre of your glossy eyes and the way you don’t back away from him as he stalks even closer to you. You were his prey… and he was the hunter set on a target.

One of Eddie’s rough calloused hands gently takes yours. He positions your palm flat out toward the sky so he could drop his keys onto it all while his focus on your face remains unwavering, “The keys to the castle.”

“Fitting, since you called me a princess earlier.”

“Maybe I orchestrated this from the beginning?” An entertained eyebrow perks up behind his stringy damp bangs.

“Is that so?” The sound of your hushed voice echoes back at you and your lips part longingly at Eddie’s close proximity. He is close enough to kiss— tasty enough to devour. A banquet of all of the most desirable and finer things in life.

“I saw you in those heels and with those legs… I couldn’t resist. They don’t call me a Eddie the freak Munson for no reason, princess.” There is a clip to his voice, a new intensity piercing through his words like a pin to a voodoo doll.

“You might just have to show me how freaky you really are then, Mr. freak…”

-

Eddie was right. The wine did taste like shit.

You were currently draped across Eddie’s large sofa, the soft suede fabric welcomed the mould of your body as you sunk into airy cushions and you sipped hesitantly from your stemmed glass. Smearing your dark lipstick across the pristine rim as you did.

Eddie was perched on a chair across from you which was cut from the same material as the couch. His feet were planted to the floor and his legs were spread wide; like a King on his throne. There was a coffee table separating the two of you and part of you questioned why he was so far away.

You and Eddie locked eyes, a welcoming and long stare. It was comfortable, patient but growing. Neither of you looked away, but none of you made the first move, either.

Eddie was assessing you. He was trying to figure out how this would go. How it would play out. Who was going to be the dominant one and who was going to submit?

You wanted it to be him. You wanted him to know that you needed your decisions made for you tonight.

You bring your glass of wine back to your mouth, taking a small drink and proceeding to lick and bite your lip afterwards. An unspoken invitation that Eddie silently accepts.

The warm light that glows from the table lamp next to you illuminates Eddie in a gorgeous orange hue, darkening his tattoos and brightening the metal around his fingers and his neck. You envision how he would look above you— glistening in sweat with his necklace shimmering as it dangles atop of your face. The image nearly causes you to whine aloud.

Nearly.

You surveyed your surroundings, “This is a nice place you have— very cozy.” You place your wine glass on a coaster, coming back to snuggle into the pillows of the sofa and Eddie hums, pleased.

“It’s no bachelor pad but it’s home.” He tilts his nearly empty glass toward you and a mischievous smile toys with the edges of his lips, “Thank you.”

He finishes his drink with one swift movement before he is leaving his post from across from you. You watch him with blown eyes, eyes that are bright and eager. He settles his lean and sturdy physique against the door frame that leads into his kitchen space.

Your heart rate quickens with anticipation and your hips squirm beneath you as you try and remain confident under his abysmal and sinful demeanour.

You were overly aware of the lewd events hurtling toward you and the excitement of it causes your face to flush with colour.

“I’ve never fucked a girl in heels before… I think you should keep them on.” He prowls toward you, his body language animalistic and focused.

He’s been wanting to pounce on you from the moment you stepped foot through the door— but Eddie is a gentleman and gentlemen take their time.

Eddie was in front of you now. His eyes such a deep shade of chocolate brown that they seemed to swallow the light rather than reflect it. They were adorned by long dark eyelashes that you were envious of and strong clean eyebrows that framed the chiselled structure of his face. He looked like a painting. Like he wasn’t real.

“I… I can keep them on.” Your face tilts toward your feet as you try to remind yourself of the appearance of the shoes that you chose to wear that day however Eddie is quick to tensely grab you by the flesh of your cheeks and snatch your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me.” His voice is a hushed purr as his nose teeters on the edge of brushing yours, “I wanna see your pretty face.”

His grip remains tight and it forces your lips into a cute pout which Eddie coos at, “I wanna kiss you. Is that okay?” You nod your head feverishly. Without wasting a single second your lips finally met, tinged with impatience. His lips were magnificent, full and defined and soft. His tongue tastes of alcohol and mint and you moan at the contact of his wet tongue wrestling against yours. His teeth nip at your bottom lip and your eyes are lidded as your fingers touch the exposed skin of his shoulders with a feathery graze; causing goosebumps to arise on Eddie’s inked skin.

“I need to know that you want this…” He breathes heavy laboured breaths, “That you want me to take control. I like it rough, baby, so we need to have a safe word… okay? Safe word is Cherries. You got that?” His domineering mask slips for a quarter of a moment as his black hues sweeten. You nod again, your mind clouded with lust and desperation.

“Repeat it back to me.”

“Cherries is the safe word.”

“Clever girl.” Without a beat Eddie is dragging you up and onto your feet. You are wobbly on your legs for a moment but you are fast to regain composure. As Eddie goes to lead you through to his bedroom you stop, your body set alight.

“Eddie can I… can I taste you first?” You are a blushing mess as the words drool from your lips. You hadn’t stopped thinking about it since you seen him man spreading in front of you in his armchair earlier. You wanted to dip down between his thighs and make his cock twitch with need, “Please.”

The metal head looked bewildered for a moment however he quickly welcomed the request. How could he possibly deny such a sweet girl when she asked him so politely?

He walks the both of you over to the comfortable chair, sitting himself down and allowing his hands to have free roam of your ass and hips, “Ask me as nicely as that and I’d give you anything you want, princess.” The pet name was now tainted with naughty intention as it rolled off of his slick tongue and your knees weaken at the sight of him gazing up at you.

It was nice to be able to study a man features without any shame or embarrassment. You were so used to stealing glances at attractive men but the visual feast sitting in front of you was enjoyed without any guilt.

You offer Eddie an intoxicated smile as his eyes venture over your face, your neck, your breasts and your exposed legs. You weren’t worried about the way your body looked— there was something so calming about Eddie that struck a match of confidence within you and he seemed to like what he was looking at.

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” He rips down your skirt from around your waist, letting it pool around your ankles and leaving you stood in the pile of bunched fabric. His hands work quickly on your blouse and Eddie growls at the sight of you. Nothing to you but your matching lace underwear set and your heels.

Your nipples peak at the change of temperature in the room and the sly man pinches them with the tips of his slender fingers, rolling the buds mercilessly and smirking devilishly as he does. The action causes a soft whine to emit from your throat and Eddie’s lips perk into a grin at the sound. He was obsessed with you.

“Kneel.”

And you do. The bones of your knees meet the floor with a pathetic thud and Eddie smooths the palm of his hand across the softness of your hair; enticing you that he will be gentle at first but he yanks the strands seconds later, causing you to yelp.

“Open up. I wanna see if I’ll fit.”

Bracing yourself with your hands on his jean clad knees you unhinge your jaw, opening wide as Eddie slots two of his fingers onto your tongue and they slide deep in the crevasse of your mouth. They tickle the back of your throat and your thighs clench together at the thought of him fucking of your face.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’m sure you can handle it. Right, hon?”

“Yes. I can take it. Please…” You babble around his digits.

There you are again with your manners and your begging bambi eyes. It awakens something within Eddie— something that had been sitting dormant but has now stirred from its slumber. A darkness. A line he had never crossed but he was so close to it now. He wanted to own you. He wanted you to belong to him… to be his and only his.

“Go on then, baby. He’s waiting.” He winks at you and your adrenaline shaken hands find the zipper of his jeans. Eddie’s thick bulge strains against the stiff denim and you chew on your bottom lip furiously as his long and full shaft springs from his boxer briefs.

Your mouth salivates at the sight and you look to him for permission, which Eddie gives, before you are popping his throbbing tip into the hot cave of your mouth. A vibration travels down Eddie’s cock and reaches his balls as you moan around him. He felt so good— so natural to have him in your mouth. Like sucking on your favourite treat.

“Fuck— that feels so good.” Dark curls spill onto the back cushion of the chair and Eddie’s hands fist your hair into a ponytail, guiding your slobbering mouth up and down the length of his aching cock.

Your mind was blank of anything except for Eddie’s body and the way he felt inside of you. He hadn’t even penetrated you yet and your panties were dampening with slick more and more with every passing bob of your head.

“Shit—“ Eddie seethes through clenched teeth, his hips rocking up to meet your sloppy movements and he punctuates each thrust with a rewarding moan. “I need to feel you.” It was abrupt, the way he ripped your mouth away from him— but you understood. You needed to feel him too. You hadn’t felt this desperate for anyone before; this sultry and seductive. This needy and submissive. You didn’t want this night to end.

You cant contain the soft pants that leave your throat, a mixture of excitement and arousal as you climbed onto straddle Eddie’s thighs. His body felt hard and masculine beneath your touch and you shivered at the way he laid a harsh spank to the meaty flesh of your ass.

“As innocent as you look, you really are just a dirty little slut, huh?” He slaps you again, this time harder than the last and you nearly collapse against his chest. Eddie laughs mockingly, forcing you to sit upright as his fingers plunge down into the soaking fabric of your panties.

You gasp, your already primed body becoming slippier as his fingers thrust softly into you— testing the waters.

“Such a wet pussy, all for me…” His fingers twitch inside of you and you release a sound which can only be described as a moan combined with a helpless whine. With his free hand Eddie rips your breasts from the confines of your bra, allowing the skin to spill free.

His tongue bathed your breast while he used his teeth, giving you peppered bites that shot pleasure through your body like a lightning bolt. He drew your coiled nipple into his mouth and he let his teeth roughly drag over the tip. You moaned loudly. He leaves your breast and looks up into your face.

“Tell me how badly you want my cock.” His voice is a clipped and cool demand.

“I want you to fill me up so bad. I need it, Eddie. Please… fuck, I want it more than anything.” Your hips grind against his fingers and your words must’ve struck Eddie in a pleasant way because before your brain has any time to catch up to his ever changing movements, his fingers are pulling your panties off to one side and his cock is teasing and toying with your dripping hole.

The eye contact between the pair of you was intense as Eddie’s entire length slowly slid inside of you. Your breathing catches in your throat at the stretch of him. Before long, Eddie settles inside of you and your eyes remain shackled to one another. Sex with a stranger shouldn’t be this intimate— so you screw your eyes shut.

Big mistake.

“Open your fucking eyes,” He snarls, his hand grabbing your throat harshly as he pulls your body down toward his, “I want you to watch me as I fuck you.” Your eyelids snap open and Eddie’s features are slack but intimidating as he looks at you. The feeling of being brutally and totally full was almost too much for you to stand. Too much for you to handle. He pulls back from you and begins to thrust.

“Wait—“ You plead and your hands find Eddie’s chest as you support yourself on top of him, “I just need a moment to adjust… you’re so big.” You squirm at the pulsing of your walls around Eddie’s shaft and he grins egotistically up at you.

“Perfect thing to say.”

He repositions his grip onto the back of your thighs, slowly readjusting himself beneath you and easing himself in and out.

“Okay,” you breathe with a soft nod, “You can fuck me now.”

Eddie sensed that your body was ready for his size and he then started to brutishly slam his body into yours. Unbelievably erotic sounds hit your ears as you feel and hear his hips slapping against yours. Sticky skin meeting sticky skin.

“Feels like someone is fisting my dick.”

“Wettest little pussy I’ve ever fucked, yknow that?”

“Shit, I could cum from just the sight of you.”

“Listen to that, baby. You hear how much your pussy is loving my cock?”

“Keep those stunning fucking eyes on me.”

Eddie’s deep grunts and moans mixed with his dirty commentary only heightened the erotica. You’re gentle to take his hand into yours, timidly welcoming two of his fingers back into your mouth as you bound up and down to meet the crack of his hips against yours. Eddie’s eyes gloss over from the view of you above him and his thrusts get snappier and more intentional. Harsher. Quicker. Deeper.

As his cock fucks your sweet hole, his fingers are busy fucking your mouth as well. He took note of how much you liked to have him in your mouth— no matter what part of his body that may be. Eddie got an inkling that this would be the first of many nights together. And he wasn’t mad at the idea— he was actually thrilled by it. It spurred him on.

“Rub your clit for me, sweet girl.” It was as if you were in a trance and the only thing you were able to do was obey Eddie’s every beckon and call. Your finger tips find your sensitive bundle of nerves and you sigh out in complete bliss at the euphoria that shocks up every vertebrae of your spine.

“That’s it, baby. I want you to cum so fucking hard. I’m getting so close— want you to cream all over my cock.”

The speed in which your fingers circled your clit increases and your eyes fight to stay open. You could feel the desperation punctuated in every one of Eddie’s quickened thrusts and you feel that familiar build coming to build in your tummy.

“Fuck— I’m gonna cum. Keep rubbing that clit, baby. You’re being such a good girl for me.” His tired pants fill the air and your mind whizzes and bubbles as you whine out loudly.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, of fuck!” Your mouth gapes open wide, mirroring the sweaty sex symbol below you and your eyes widen as your orgasm floods your every cell. Shaking your body from head to toe. You feel Eddie’s cock swell inside of you— causing your high to continue

“Shit!!” A yell breaks past Eddie’s swollen lips as his orgasm hits. You watch as his face contours as he cums inside of you. His eyes squint shut and his mouth is pulled into a grimace. The veins on his forearms bulk and tense. It was the sexiest thing you had ever fucking seen.

Your heart paced rabidly in your chest as you both breathed heavily, trying to control the heaving of your chests as you both came down. You’re relying on Eddie’s body to keep you from collapsing and Eddie is wise to this. His strong arms wrap around your body as he pulls himself out of you, bringing you to rest on his chest.

Too tired and sated to do anything else, you press yourself against Eddie’s bare and empty sack, grinding lightly down onto the tender flesh of his balls and the noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is indescribable.

You shoot up to look at him and it’s now your turn to smirk and it’s Eddie’s turn to flush a shade of bright red.

“Ignore that.” He coughs to clear his oesophagus, followed by a light hearted chuckle as you come to lay back against his limp body and a knowingness fills your mind.

This wasn’t just going to be a one night stand… and this wasn’t the last time you were going to be laying on top of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson.

This was just the sweaty, sexy beginning.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers @rainybloo28 @munson-enthusiast @godcreatoreli @littlefreckles4 @what-the-jams @tlclick73 @ameliapond1995 @thepurplelovewitch @somethingvicked @costellation-hunter @munsonzgf @emxxblog @ingridvasquez @sadbitchfangirl @im-julessssss @munsonburn3r @unclecrunkle @cierra222 @ziggeddie @yarafae @sidthedollface2 @kellsck @your-nightmaredoll @purplewitchcauldron @jasminelafleur

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

...ready for it? - j.l. howlett

a/n: hi! here's a full version of a blurb i wrote a few days ago that got so much love so quick that i wanted to give yall a full version! the beginning is literally just the blurb but after that it's all new! like many of you wolverine brainrot has hit me hard, so here's graphic smut about him. leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed :) warnings: SMUT!!!!! some dumbification, use of pet names, reader is fem, reader is a mutant and able to control plants, lots of cursing, lots of grotesque fliritng/fantasies, some soft moments, some sort of primal sex, oral (fem receiving), some of the setting is probs inaccurate but whatever. let me know if i missed any big ones!! word count: 4.9 k summary: well, you had to find some way of entertaining yourself at charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters. and you have always liked an emotionally unavailable, absolutely hung, challenge. pairing: logan howlett x mutant!reader now playing: ...ready for it? - taylor swift "in the middle of the night, in my dreams/you should see the things we do, baby/in the middle of the night in my dreams/i know i'm gonna be with you, so i take my time"

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him��There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

“Aw, I’ll make it up to you.” He smirked. “Promise, spitfire.”

He’s very close to you now, so you take a second to just breath and you know that he knows that he’s got you—hook, line, and sweet, sweet sinker.

And then you realize what exactly it is that you’ve gotten yourself into. And what a nightmare it is—Or maybe a dream if you listen to the pathetic part of your brain, but you are into this an in a way that is concerning for your own mental wellbeing and desperately want to avoid him having all the power in this situation.

“Oh, I am sure you will.” You assure. You lean forward, plucking the cigar from his lips, and placing it on the ground, squashing it beneath your heel. With a flick of your wrist, vines and grass grow over the cigar, composting it. And from the vines, grows a small little buttercup flower.

You lean down and pluck the flower from the grass, before tucking it behind Logan’s ear.

“You should take care of that hard-on you have, Claws.” You hum, before standing up, and walking away. And for a minute, he just watches you go—partly to because you have an amazing ass, but partly because you have absolutely flabbergasted him.

And have made him want you even more.

• • •

The next time you see him is the next night, in the woods near the mansion. Because the literal sixteen year olds you go to ‘school’ with do not know how to do anything on the weekend except drink, fuck, and smoke.

Honestly, you kind of fit in great.

So here you are, nursing a mason jar of.. some fucked up concoction, and you’re not too sure what’s in it, but you have drunk two of them and are on your third. You think you might live forever, until you glance up and see Logan, in these fuck me jeans and this burnt orange flannel and a wife beater.

Instantly, you know that you’ll die tonight if you don’t have him.

He approaches you with this cocky smirk as if he hasn’t realized your intoxicated state yet.

“Now what’s a little spitfire like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” he questions, tilting his head. His smirk is deadly. And you roll your eyes.

“Here comes the big bad Wolverine, all bark and no bite.” You scoff, and his eyes flash with surprise. Only for a second, but even drunk, you notice the way his eyes shoot up in surprise.

“All bark and no bite? That’s quite the accusation.” He hums.

“Well, we’ve been.. eye fucking each other for a few weeks now, and you haven’t even kissed me yet. I get being into foreplay and edging, but holy shit, Claws, throw a girl a bone once in a while.” You scoff, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Are you.. drunk?”

“Do you think I’m drunk?”

“Yeah, you’re drunk.” He sighs. You respond by taking another sip of your drink, but before the bitter liquor hits your tongue, he snatches the bottle from you.

“Let me take you home.” You’re sure your eyes look like hearts, so, dreamily and a little love struck, you respond,

“’Kay.”

And he chuckles a little bit at that.

“We’re not gonna do anything, I’m just gonna walk you home, spitfire.” He starts, and your face falls a little bit, but in an effort to hide it, you respond,

“..’kay.” And he sees right through you. You’re pretty much an open book. And the alcohol doesn’t help. His pointer finger and thumb comes to your chin, and he gently rubs his thumb against your lip.

“Don’t be like that, pup. It’ll happen soon. Just not tonight, okay?” He assures.

“’Kay.” You answer softly, and you think he smiles at you but your vision is sort of blurry. Then, you blink, as a gust of wind moves through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine. He sighs, and wordlessly takes off his flannel, before wrapping it around you. Your arms slip into the sleeves, and you almost cry because it’s like, the best hug in the entire world. “Won’t.. you be cold, then?” you question, and he just shakes his head.

“Let’s get you home, spitfire.” He holds a handout to you, and without a second thought, you take his hand. He wraps his arm around you, and you lean against him like it’s something the two of you do often. If you were sober, you might short circuit. But, you’re not, so it feels right.

The walk home is quiet, but Logan’s thumb gently rubs against your shoulder. He wants to do more, but he knows he shouldn’t, since you are in fact plastered.

You ignore the giggles and whispers from teenagers making their way past you to the party or to their rooms, and you even ignore the way their giggles stop when they meet Logan’s gaze.

When you get back to your room, you take a second to lean against the door, and he takes a second to admire the way you look in his clothes.

“Ready for bed?” he asks gently, and you just smile at him.

“You’re really pretty.” He just does the half scoff-half chuckle that you’re obsessed with. Then, he wraps his arm around you again, opening the door to your room, and guiding you inside. He gets you to your bed and sits you down, before kneeling in front of you to untie your boots. “Has anyone ever told you how good you look on your knees?” you ask.

He just gives you this smirk.

“One or two pretty girls back in the day.” He says, “None as pretty as you though, spitfire.” He says, and you groan, leaning back and laying on the bed, as he pulls off your boots.

“You’re awful.” And you need him.

“Yes, I know, baby.” His voice is almost condescending, and it turns you on. But then he stands up, grabbing the folded blanket from the edge of your bed, and laying it over you. He finds his place kneeling next to you again as you stare at him, cozy in bed. His hands gently brush hair from your face. “Do you need anything else?”

“You.”

“Soon. But not yet, pup. You’re too drunk.” He says softly.

“Thanks for walking me home, Claws.”

“You’re very welcome, Spitfire.” He purrs, leaning forward and kissing your forehead gently. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan.” You mumble as you drift off to sleep. He sits there for a few minutes, just looking at you for a long time before he gets up and creeps out of your room.

• • •

The next morning, you sit in the cafeteria, drinking a large coffee, and nursing the worst hangover, possibly of your life. Made even worse by the fractions of memories about what happened last night.

You rub your eyes, flinching when you hear the clatter of a plate on the table, and someone sitting across from you. You peek through the gaps of your fingers to see Logan sitting across from you, a smirk on his face.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he laughs. But he sees how much pain you’re in, and slides two pieces of sourdough toast to you. “Truce?”

“Truce.” You agree, taking a slice and biting into it. You feel better.

And after a moment of silence, he asks,

“I’m never getting my flannel back, am I?”

Truthfully, the flannel has been folded neatly and tucked into your drawer, for the next time you need some comfort.

You tilt your head, looking right into his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

• • •

Weeks go by like this.

You spend your days either going to class or hanging out—okay, it’s more like flirting with a side of hanging out, with Logan. The pair of you become quite close, and maybe that’s why you haven’t fucked yet.

Oh, the two of you want to, and it’s obvious to everyone (Charles has called you out for being distracted more times than you can count, and you remind him not to probe your mind, and he tells you he does not need his mutant abilities to see that your thoughts linger elsewhere.) but you’re.. afraid, at this point.

Which is odd, because you’re no virgin, you know he wants you, but.. what if everything changes after that? Maybe he’ll start to avoid you. Maybe you’ll start to avoid him. And you’ve really become good friends, and don’t want to lose it.

And then, there’s the fact that half the time, he’s away on dangerous missions, and even if he can regenerate, you worry about him. But he hasn’t been on any lately, so it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You’re sitting in the garden when it happens.

He finds you, and this time, you do not even try to hide the way your head picks up and gazes at him.

“Hi, Spitfire.” He grins, and you smile a bit at him.

“Claws, what can I do for you?” And he sits next to you, and for some reason, maybe because he doesn’t say anything at first, you know that there is something wrong. And you know what it is.

After a few minutes, you glance to him.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is quiet, as if you’re scared that if it gets any louder, everything will fall apart.

“Yeah. Charles has me going on another mission.” He doesn’t say it, but you both know this isn’t an involuntary thing.

“Cool.” You cringe at your reaction.

“I guess.” He laughs weakly, as if he knows he’s twisting a knife buried within you.

Silence fills the air. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but it isn’t the relaxed silence you’re used to with him. Confessions dance on the tips of your tongues, and you’re so close to saying it, that when you turn to each other suddenly, you just need to look at each other for a second.

“Be safe.” You say quietly. “And hurry back.” You request, and you try not to sound like you’re begging.

“Of course.” He says, like it perplexes him that you even have to request. “I can’t leave you here yearning for me forever, can I?” He teases, and for a moment, you have this flash of an alternate universe where he does die on this mission and you are trapped in this garden forever, waiting for him. Like a lost puppy, or worse, a lost lover. The mere thought of it fucks with your head.

“No. You can’t. I won’t allow it.” You explain, “If anything, I’m the one that should be haunting you.” He just smiles. A real, not at all awkward smile.

“I’m sure you will, spitfire.” He says, and his head comes forward so that his forehead is resting against yours.

“When do you leave?” You ask gently, and he sighs. His breath smells of mint and cigar smoke, maybe even a hint of lemon.

“An hour. I have to pack quick and then debrief.” He answers you.

And just as love struck as you were the night of the party, you answer,

“’Kay.” You smile weakly at him. And he just.. looks at you for a few minutes before sighing again. He pulls away and leans up to kiss your forehead again, before standing up. He turns a few steps away from you just to tease you.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?” he requests softly. Before you can stop yourself, you stand up, and wrap your arms around him. He only pauses for a half a second before he returns your embrace, and it becomes apparent that you both needed this moment. You stay like this for a few minutes before you pull away.

“Bring me back a souvenir.” You try, a soft smile on your face.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll bring you something great from the great city of Tulsa, Ohklahoma.” He grins.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

• • •

For the next week, you feel like this must be what it was like for housewives when their husbands went to war. You knew all too well that that statement was extremely dramatic, but you simply cannot help yourself.

You think you might die by day three.

It’s like you’re going through withdrawals and it’s making you go genuinely insane.

You have worn this man’s flannel for almost the entire week, because at first you’re a little self-conscious of other people noticing your repeating outfits, but only at first. By day four, you have decided you don’t give a single fuck.

Day eight you’re just laying in bed, quietly making a list of all the positions you want him to take you in. It’s a long list. You’re brought back to reality by a knock on your door. You’re about to snap, knowing that you’ll tell whatever child has been sent to bother you to scram, but when you open the door, you grin widely.

Logan stands there, looking tired, but he’s smiling and holding up a shot glass that reads ‘Tusla’, and has skyline on it.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d get you a souvenir?” He asks, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, pulling him in. He hugs you back, making sure to squeeze you just a bit—your feet barely come off the ground.

He pulls away, and you grin up to him.

“You came back.” You say it as if you can barely believe it, and just for a moment, he feels an emotion he can’t quite place, but he ignores it.

“Of course I came back, spitfire. All in one piece too, as requested.” He grins, and you’re just.. amazed at the look of him. “What’s that look for?” He asks gently, tilting his head.

“I just..” you start.

And then you break.

You lean up and kiss him gently, those stupidly delicious sideburns making your stomach flip. He doesn’t waste time, kissing you back, his arms around your waist. After a minute, you pull away.

“Sorry. I’m kind of done playing that game of waiting for you to kiss me. I just got the first hit of you I’ve had all week, and I feel fucking amazing.” You confess, and sure, it’s not a big grand love confession with tears and poetry, but your words make him kiss you so intensely that you start backing into your room, his hands exploring your body as you tug off his leather jacket, a new flannel for you to steal coming off soon after.

He keeps kissing you as his hands come down to your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, before gently pushing you to sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, and begins to tug off your boots again, then, on your jeans.

You grin.

“You know, I’m getting the oddest sense of déjà vu. Something about you looking great on your knees.” You tease, and he just tugs off your jeans in one strong swoop, before leaning in to bite your thigh. You gasp, your hands coming up to tug his hair.

Then, he begins to tug at your panties, and you tilt his head up, glancing at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, before I was interrupted, I was about to eat you out.”

“Wait, really?”

He blinks, confused.

“Yeah. Is that a, uh.. problem..?” He hasn’t gotten any complaints yet.

“I just.. I didn’t think guys actually did that, I thought it was just.. a porno thing.” And at this, the man who is about to burry his face between your thighs, laughs. And not just a chuckle, this man hollars. “What’s so funny, claws?” You ask, a little suspicious.

“Nothing,” he promises, “I am just going to take such good care of you, pup.”

“I’m holding you to that, claws.” And then, he leans in and begins to kiss your thighs, gently biting down here and there. Then, he licks a stripe along your cunt, and you let out this loud moan, and your hand comes up to clamp over your mouth, but he reaches up to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

He pulls away to lecture you. Lecture you. On his knees. Head between your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, I wanna hear all the pretty noises you can make for me.” Then, softer, he adds, “Never been eaten out before, fuckin’ travesty.” He mumbles, before leaning in to lick your cunt again, beginning to lap his tongue over your throbbing heat.

His nose rubs against your clit, and it’s enough to drive you genuinely crazy. You’re unsure how you’ve gotten to this point in your life without having your pussy worshipped like this, but with him around, you’re pretty sure you’ll never go another day without it.

His tongue continues to work magic on your cunt, as his nose presses against your clit, stimulating you to the point of making you see stars.

Your hands tug at his hair, and the moan that it elicits from him is enough to send vibrations through your cunt through your stomach. Your head leans back as you moan, and for a moment, you hope there is no mutant in this mansion with super hearing.

His free hand grips your thigh as he bends your leg back to get better access, as he continues to eat you out. The mere taste of you is enough to drive him crazy—He almost wants to start thrusting into the side of your bed, he’s so hard, but he ignores that urge to continue to eat you out.

“Mm—Lo, I—I’m gonna—”

He just hums into your cunt, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze of approval, before his tongue moves even faster (if that’s even possible, though, he is an amazingly surprising man), and suddenly—

You feel a release you have been waiting for weeks, and it is fucking phenomenal. And the Wolverine just licks up all your cum, even if it makes your thighs shake, but honestly, he doesn’t care and neither do you. For a moment, you just listen to the sound of your own pants.

After a minute, you are able to look at him, and he just looks up to you with the same smirk that has been torturing you for all of those weeks. And you just have to pull him up to kiss you, like it’s the only way you’ll be able to live.

As you kiss him, you pull off his wifebeater and then your hands rest on the sides of his face as he pulls off your shirt as well, before his hands begin to make quick work of his belt, wanting to skip all of the pleasantries and just fuck you.

But when he finally gets his jeans off, you pull away, and he stares at you like you’re crazy.

“What the fuck could possibly be more important than me fucking you stupid?”

“Will you just.. let me look at you?” You scoff, your eyes flickering over him to just memorize every square inch of his body. He humors you for a few minutes, standing there with his hands on hips before he leans in and cages you in with his arms.

“Show’s over, spitfire.” He purrs, leaning in to kiss you, slowly making his way closer to you so that you’re laying back on your bed. At some point during the kiss, his boxers come off, and when you feel his cock against your cunt, you moan into the kiss, and you can feel his smirk against your lips.

Oh, you could kill him. But, you suspect maybe he’ll get to you first.

After he kisses you for a few minutes, he pulls away to tell—not ask, tell you, “I’m going to fuck you now.” And you know your line.

“’Kay.” He grins at this and kisses you again, before lining himself up and starting slowly. He just has the tip inside of you, and you begin to moan, your grip on his shoulders tightening. You already feel entirely too full, and he slowly agonizingly slowly pushes into you, and he sees how his size makes your face twitch,

“Shh, shh, I know, pup. Deep breathes for me, bub,” he says softly, such a stark contract to his rough movements, as he bottoms out and has his entire cock inside of you. And he gives you a second, watching as your face relaces, adjusting to the size of him. “Okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“’Kay,” You assure, and he kisses your forehead.

“’Kay.” He responds, and before you can tease him for it, he begins to thrust into you, slowly as first, but he continues to quicken his pace. Your nails begin to scratch on his back, and he lets out this angelic moan—You must’ve died and went to heaven.

As his thrusts quicken, the lines quickly blur between quick ruts and an animalistic need, manifesting itself in the way he fucks you. You know you won’t last long, especially when his fingers find your clit and begin to rub it again.

“Fuck! Oh my god—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, his free hand coming to your thigh to lift your leg up, only for better access to your throbbing cunt, “God, I love the feeling of you around me.. Worth the wait, I promise.” He grumbles, as he thrusts into you, his only goal to make you cum.

You want to respond to that—To tease him, to make him feel as shy as you do, but he has completed his goal of fucking you stupid.

All you can do is respond, “Fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby, go ahead, cum for me,” he requests softly, leaning in to press a rather jarringly sweet kiss to your lips.

As you cum around his cock, he shudders, the look of you, laying there fucked dumb, is almost too much for him to bear.

“I’m gonna fill you up, pup,” he tells you, and all you can do is moan in response, which makes him come that much closer to the edge. After a few more thrusts, with a euphoric moan that will haunt you forever, his hot cum fills you up, leaving the pair of you clawing at each other, wanting more.

When you’re both finally finished riding out your high, Logan lays next to you, keeping you close. His grip on you is tight—possessive. When you finally find your voice, you ask,

“You’re not gonna turn me into a booty call, are you, claws?”

And he laughs.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head. “You’re gonna be my best girl, Spitfire.”

“Does this mean I get to steal another of your flannels?”

“I’ll give you my whole fucking wardrobe to see how many times I can make you cum.”

[thetriumphantpanda]

new religion | joel miller

Summary | Joel's never much been a religious man, but if he were, he'd ask the Lord what he'd ever done to deserve you.

Pairing | Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.5k

Warnings | Explicit. Religious imagery, basically porn without plot, oral (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, dirty talk, Joel worshipping you like you deserve, nothing bad happens to him ever and he dies peacefully in his sleep at age 101, no use of y/n. Written and edited on phone so please excuse any mistakes.

Authors Note | God bless hbo for that teaser am I right? I just want Jackson Joel to always find peace. Also thanks to All Time Low and their song New Religion for the Inspo. I hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi 

Divider by the ever wonderful @saradika

I found God and we found heaven, On the bedroom floor.

Joel Miller isn’t sure how he got here. Knees creaking and painful, a dull ache in his back that never goes away, and years behind him that have led him to right now.

Years of being closed off, scared to open up to anyone in case he failed them as well. Years of using his anger at himself to reign terror on others. Years with Tommy that were strained, years with Tess that were less so, even good sometimes, and now years with Ellie, good, bad and everything in between. The relative safety of Jackson was unsettling, after years of fighting to survive and barely making it, scars on his body testimony to that, the normality was unsettling.

He’s getting used to it though, slowly but surely, and he thinks that along with his brother and Ellie, it has something to do with you.

You, stood in front of him, backlit by the setting sun, nude and waiting, whilst he kneels in front of you. Pained be damned, he’s going to worship you like the goddess you are.

Tommy has spent the past year absolutely rinsing his older brother for this. When Joel and Ellie had arrived back, he’d made it his mission to set Joel up with one of the many fawning ladies available. There was Esther, who was nice enough, and Lindsey who had been far too forthcoming, and others that Joel would rather not remember, telling Tommy that he didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone, was more than happy on his own.

Then he’d met you, sunshine to his clouds, sharp, quick-witted and funny. A take-no-shit kind of gal that had gotten under his skin more than he cared to admit. The first few times it was quick, fumbles in the alley behind the tipsy bison, or hurried moments bent over the dusty couch at the lookout on patrol, convincing himself that once again this was nothing but stress relief.

Then things changed, you started making him laugh, started sitting on his porch with him, laying on his couch whilst he played his guitar, and then he started spreading you out on his bed, started taking his time, learning what made you respond best, how you liked it, how you clenched so tight around him when he clasped your fingers in his and pounded you into the mattress.

Joel has never been much of a religious man, not since the end of the world, but he thinks, right here on your bedroom floor, that he’s found God. When you walk towards him and run your hands through his greying hair, tilt his chin up so he’s looking at you, hands on your hips like you’re his altar.

He brings his face closer to you, tongue licking through your folds as you stand before him. Your fingers tighten in his hair when the tip of his tongue finds your clit, your own head tipping back, face to the real Lord if he exists, muttering his name over and over in your own twisted prayer.

His jeans are tightening as he licks at you, the sounds you make doing what they always do, shooting straight to his cock. It’s why he can’t quit this, even if in the back of his mind he knows he probably should. You’re younger than him, though not scandalously, and he can feel that the years of his prime are fading the more comfortable he gets here. He knows that wanting you as much as he does is a sin in itself, but walking away? That somehow seems worse to him. He finally wants to be selfish, to think of himself and his own happiness for once, and it’s the taste of you on his tongue when he drags it down to where you’re leaking for him that convinces him he has to stay.

“Oh, Joel,” You whimper, knees shaking, “Keep going.”

“Ain’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere, pretty girl.” He groans into your pussy, his big hands holding your hips in place to keep you upright as his tongue drags back up from your fluttering hole to your clit.

You widen your stance a little, spreading the lips of your cunt for him so he can fuse his mouth over your clit, suckling at it whilst his tongue works against the swollen bud in the way that he knows will have you tipped over the edge in no time.

He loves when you come for him. A reminder that he’s still got it, that he can learn your ins and outs and keep you satisfied, even at his age. He has to press his fingers into your hips a little tighter when you do come for him, keeping you upright before you knees can buckle underneath you as you cry his name out into the darkening room. Pulling his mouth away from you before you start whimpering that it’s too much.

Normally he’d pull you over to the bed, but there’s something in him tonight that means he can’t wait the extra seconds, so he’s pulling you down onto the floor with him, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands so you don’t hit in on the wood as he crawls on top of you, legs spread wide for his thighs as he pops the buttons of his jeans and drags the zipper down.

He’s in too much of a rush to undress properly, pulling his jeans and underwear down just enough to free his cock. You’re reaching down, taking his length in your hand, dragging it up and down as he pulls his shirt over his head.

There are tiny droplets of sweat across your forehead, the open window and the breeze no match for the heat in the room, and he doesn’t know why he does it, but as he leans down, your hand guiding his cock to your soaked cunt, he lets his lips kiss across your forehead, like it’s holy water and he’s being reborn as he slips into your tight heat.

He doesn’t think he’s heard a sweeter sound than the ones he hears from you as he drags his cock in and out of your pussy. Gasps and whines and whimpers, never too loud, like they’re just for him. No-one else needs to know how good he makes you feel, just him. He presses his mouth to yours as he grips your wrists, pinning them to floor, swallowing your sounds as he fucks you.

Joel knows that it takes him a little longer these days, knows from the way you’re squirming that the ache in your hips is setting in. He knows that your body aches the same as his does, that your back aches and your knees hurt after a long patrol, but you’re being so good for him.

“Such a good girl,” He coos into your ear, “Y’can take it, can’t you?”

You arch your body up into him at his praise, “It’s so good,” You moan, your hands reaching behind him to sink your nails into the meat of his ass, “Harder, please.”

He can never deny you, so he pushes himself up, takes your knees in his hands and presses them down towards your chest, hooking his arms there to keep you spread open as he guides his cock back into you. He can feel his own sweat appearing across his skin as he does exactly what you asked for, he fucks you harder, as hard as he can, listening to the squeals you make as he bottoms out inside you and the slapping of his skin against yours.

“M’close,” He moans at you, “M’gonna come, baby.”

“Please,” You groan back, squirming underneath him, “Come for me Joel, please.”

And he does, pulling out at the very last minute, letting go of your legs to pump his cock with his fist before he comes, splashing his spend across your belly as he tips his head back and praises the Lord for you.

He knows he will pay for it tomorrow, but he collapses onto the floor next to you, pulling you into his chest. He can feel the sticky cum mixing with the hair across his stomach, but he doesn’t much care, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you settle together on the cool ground. His fingers trail up and down your spine as you lie together in the quiet of the early evening, finding peace with it all for once. After years and years of being on his own, of being scared to open up and let someone in, he finds he doesn’t much mind the thought of it anymore.

And above all, whether he makes it to the real thing or not when his time is up, that he’s found heaven, right here on your bedroom floor.

[alchemistc]

The voice echoes. He's coming in and out of it, desperate to open his eyes, desperate to make sure he can actually feel all his fingers and toes, but it's hard.

He knows that voice though. He knows he does.

The building hadn't been as stable as they thought it was. Probably in the investigation later on they'll discover building codes not up to standard, faulty evacuation plans. He got the kid out, though. He knows he got the kid out.

Eddie too, he's pretty sure.

".. uck!" The voice yells. It's kind of funny, he thinks to himself, as he can feel the strings of consciousness slipping, how much his name sounds like a curse when you're having a hard time keeping things straight. And then everything fades to black.

---

---

"Buck, please. Just wake up."

He wants to, is the thing. It's not like he's not trying, he wants to tell the voice, wants to be a little petulant about it too. That feels like the right attitude to have, for some reason.

It's hard to breathe. Might be something has him pinned. He'd seen beams falling, he's pretty sure.

"Goddamnit!" the voice yells, and Buck strains to remember. "I can't move this fucking thing unless you're able to get out from under it on your own, so wake the hell up. C'mon. Give me something to work with."

Buck wiggles a toe. Fucking ow.

Fingers, next, and that - that's a whole new ballgame of pain, but holy shit he can feel it all. Jesus Christ it hurts.

"For fucks sake, Evan, I'll take anything, at this point. Please."

Buck's lips suddenly feel a lot less numb. He does know that voice.

Hasn't heard it in three weeks, except for on the voicemail he'd left three months ago complaining about downtown parking for the hundredth time and letting Buck know he was gonna circle the block again, but -

"T- Tommy?"

Buck blinks his eyes open just in time to see Tommy drop to his knees near Buck's head, a relief filled sob echoing around the space. Buck takes the opportunity to stare.

"Hey," Tommy says, breathless, the corners of his eyes wet, his turnouts fully covered in dusty debris. It's an achingly familiar sight, even if he's significantly less sooty than the last time.

"You swear a lot more on the job," Buck notes, and Tommy bites out a desperate laugh, slipping a hand from a glove to reach for Buck's cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Tommy asks, and Buck crinkles his nose, widens his eyes. He laughs again, and Buck - God Buck has missed this but he's still having trouble taking in a full breath and - Tommy pulls a hand away from Buck's neck. "Your pulse is steady. Elevated, but you should be - can you wiggle fingers and toes?'

"Hurts like hell, but yeah."

"Well. A building just fell on you. So that tracks."

Buck takes stock of himself, even though he feels goddamn miserable taking his eyes away from Tommy.

Sure enough, there's a beam barred low across his chest. Definitely at least bruised ribs, if not broken ones. He can't see much over it, but it feels like he's got full, painful movement in his legs. "Tommy, I think my halligan's pinned with me."

He snorts. There's nothing funny about this, but Buck finds himself snorting back, the two of them bouncing off each other until Buck eventually winces at the pressure and Tommy gets himself under control. He's fully crying now, wet fat tears streaked through the dust on his face. "Thank fuck I am also a firefighter," Tommy says, and Buck prepares himself for the moment Tommy gets the tool under the beam at the right angle to lift. "How's your pain?" Tommy asks, when he's situated.

"On a scale from ladder pinning my ankle to lightning strike?"

Tommy scowls.

"I'll be able to move if you make room. If that's what you're asking."

Tommy eyes the space. The beam. The settling dust and the only real angle he's got with enough leverage to make space for Buck to slide himself free. He won't be able to help Buck pull himself out. "The moment you have an inch you move backward as fast as you can. There's at least two yards of clearance behind you, and I'm not dropping this thing on your fucking head by accident."

Buck nods.

Tommy grabs his chin. "Verbal confirmation, Evan," he demands, suddenly so serious Buck has to swallow back a bratty retort.

"One inch, pull myself backwards."

Tommy nods. Situates his hands. "Good." And then before Buck can brace for the pain he's lifting the beam.

It's fast. So fast Buck doesn't have time to scream, or listen to the signals from his brain telling him he's fucking dying. Tommy lifts, Buck scrambles, and he has just enough room to clear his legs before rubble shifts to their left and Tommy's dropping the halligan to roll his entire body over Buck's.

A few broken pieces of concrete roll to a stop before they reach the two of them, and Buck beams up at Tommy. "Little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

Tommy settles his weight. Tips his chin so that he can see Buck beyond his visor. "I feel like maybe you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."

Buck shoves a shoulder against Tommy's weight, and he rolls right off, lays side to side with Buck while they both catch their breath. It's such a fucking familiar position that Buck fails to stifle a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough that Tommy has stopped asking him concussion protocol questions.

Tommy sighs. Turns to his side, and Buck knows this position, too. They never did it in turnouts, though. "They grounded us an hour before the collapse."

"I heard," Buck presses. "I also heard the 217 was working fire suppression on the perimeter."

Tommy looks guilty. He rolls his neck, reaches out under the guise of checking Buck's pulse again.

Buck doesn't stop him.

"Yeah I might be fired," he says, and then shrugs a shoulder. "They called for full evac and when Eddie came out with that kid but you didn't -."

Buck feels a little breathless again. He almost asks Tommy how much he's got in his tank - Bucks's ran out a while ago. But they seem - pretty firmly trapped. Buck can't see an exit point, and he's almost positive there's not enough room for both of them to stand at the same time. They'll need that oxygen. "You came after me?"

Tommy sighs. Seems satisfied that Buck's heart is still doing what it's supposed to, and that he's not leaking internally. When he shifts his hand, it's not away - callused hands catch the underside of Buck's chin, fingers curl over his cheek. "I'd tell you not to read into it, but..."

Buck's breath catches. He holds it. There's - he has no idea how much air they have. They don't have time (or enough air, maybe) for Buck to lean up and kiss him. "Tommy."

"We'll talk about it when we're both safely out of here and bundled in our shiny blankets. If the 118 doesn't kill me first."

"What...?" Buck doesn't know what that means. They did everything they could to convince him not to reach out but they also weren't, like, calling for his head. He wants to know what it means. Tommy's brow goes up.

He shifts to his knees, holds out a hand. "Help me look around. See if we can find an air pocket."

He helps Buck to a kneel of his own like it's nothing, and despite the creaks and groans and the sting of sore muscles, Buck doesn't think there's anything permanently damaged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It'll keep, Evan."

More than anything, Buck wants to call him out on that. The implication that Tommy knows more about the 118's current feelings on Tommy than Buck does. His name, suddenly back in play like Tommy hadn't used the lack of it to dig the knife in.

Buck shifts his weight and checks for his flashlight. Aims up, first, as high as the beam of light will go. There's really not much room in this little pocket of space.

He can hear Tommy shifting on his knees behind him. They need to be smart. Conserve air, conserve energy. Buck had been near a sidewall when the building came down, but who knows how long it'll take for the building to be stable enough to attempt a rescue. Maybe they're still gonna die in here, after all.

God, he doesn't want Tommy to die.

"Back to Evan, I noticed," Buck comments, doing a terrible job of not sounding eager, and he can hear the heaving breath Tommy takes, the way the shift of his body just pauses.

"The thing is, the moment I realized I might not have any more time, all I wanted was another five minutes. Just to hear you breathe. See your face. You wouldn't even have to know I'd done it, just -." He sucks a breath in through his nose. "I just realized the pain is still worth it."

That spurs Buck into action, because - because they're not gonna die - not here, not now, not for as many years as Buck can squeeze out of this life. He shifts. He pokes. He checks for light beyond the pockets between rubble. He takes even, measured breaths around the rapidly tightening muscles around his ribs and the moment he feels a draft he almost cries.

"Tommy!"

He turns to catch his eye, thrilled, ready to drag him over and -

"Tommy?"

He's slumped on his side. And - and god damnit, Buck is so fucking stupid, he should have checked Tommy too, should have known if he was hurt he'd hide it like the massive asshole he is.

There's nothing obvious until Buck pulls at his turnouts, and then he has to hold in a scream so he doesn't bring the rest of the place down on them.

---

---

The paramedics don't fight him when he shoves his way into the ambulance behind them. No one does, not as he's shoving Hen and Chim away from him while they desperately try to check his vitals, not when Eddie takes one look at the rebar sticking through Tommy's side and his face goes fucking white.

He crashes twice on the way to the hospital.

---

---

Buck comes to slowly, and is immediately pissed, because he's in a fucking hospital bed.

Eddie leans over him when he sits up. "Take a second, man."

"Did you drug me?"

The eyebrow raise is a little condescending. "You passed the fuck out in the middle of the waiting room when they told us Tommy's surgery went well."

Well that's - that's - oh God, Tommy's okay. He remembers now. Tommy pulled through. Tommy was out of surgery and they were setting him up in a room and it'd be a while before he woke up but he was -

"I wanna see him."

Eddie chuckles, and Buck seriously considers throwing something at him, but before he can find something to toss Eddie's leaning sideways in his seat to pull the curtain divider away. "Even the nurses were taking bets that you'd kill a man if they put you in separate rooms."

He'll have to thank Gina later.

Tommy's still asleep. In repose, he breathes deep and even, eyes fluttering behind his lids, and Buck remembers what an active fucking sleeper he is, how much it had infuriated him that Tommy could never remember his dreams. God.

He's bruised around the eyes, there's a clean shave on the side of his head where he'd taken falling rubble in his mad dash past the kid Buck had sent ahead of him. The hospital gown looks so stupid on him.

Buck glares when Eddie tries to wrangle him back under his thin blanket - swings his legs over the side and tries not to wince when he puts his weight down and feels exactly how fucked up his ribs are. The bindings are tight. He's gonna need help rewrapping them.

"Tommy said something about you guys wanting to kill him. Know anything about that?"

It's a little accusatory. A lot, actually. Eddie sighs. "He tried to bring your shit by the station a week later when he knew you were off shift. Chim and Hen weren't, uh ... particularly nice about it."

Buck blinks. He still hasn't gotten any of that back.

"So he just ...took it back? Didn't leave it behind?"

"Oh he took about fifteen minutes of having his head bit off and then grabbed the box and shoved it back in his bed before he left."

Despite how absolutely ridiculous that all sounds, it makes something sizzle under his skin. If it was all just adrenaline, all just heat of the moment panic, Tommy would have left that box anyway.

They know so much and still so little about each other.

He's pretty sure he might actually get the chance to know more now. Even if he has to pry it from Tommy piece by piece for another decade or five.

Buck shoves that thought right down and gives himself the next two days to think about.

"And what'd you do, while they were berating him?"

"Oh, I threw like three loaves of bread in there with your stuff while he wasn't looking."

"You gave him my moping bread?"

"Two of the sourdoughs and an Irish soda bread."

"What if he didn't open the box back up?"

Eddie shrugs. "I hedged my bets. Either he opened that box back up to do his own moping or eventually there'd be some moldy ass bread in there."

"I hate raisins, by the way," comes the croaky voice to Buck's left, and Buck doesn't hesitate to wheel his saline bag the extra foot to reach the bedside. Buck knows that already. He'd made the soda bread out of spite, at three in the morning when he realized the second pillow still smelled like Tommy's shampoo and he'd remembered the almost-argument they'd had about wet hair on the pillows.

Tommy's hand meets Buck's halfway, and his smile is tired and magnificent.

Eddie smirks. "So you opened the box, then."

Tommy doesn't look away from Buck. His fingers squeeze. "I opened the box."

"Eddie, I need you to go distract Gina for like, three and a half minutes."

"...I know I'm going to regret asking," Eddie says.

"Tommy's hooked up to a bunch of monitors that are gonna make some extra noise in a second here, and they've already seen us making out in this hospital, they don't need to be alerted to another free show."

Eddie's out of his seat immediately, and halfway out the door when he turns back. "Just so we're all on the same page, this is not me encouraging this. You two are just walking talking piles of trauma and you can't just kiss about it and suddenly everything is fine."

Buck can taste the bitchy comment on the tip of Tommy's tongue. He squeezes Tommy's fingers and counts himself lucky when all Tommy does is make a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

It's not like Eddie's wrong.

The door clicks shut behind him.

---

---

Tommy sets aside a third jello cup and stares at the cards in his hand. He glances through his lashes as he sets two cards down on the pile. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit."

His eyes gleam with challenge as he flips them both over and Buck has to take another loss. He doesn't care, is the thing. He'll happily lose at cards to Tommy for the next -

Six months is a reasonable length of time, probably. They've hit that mark once before.

Tommy shifts his weight, grimaces, and Buck is on his feet in a heartbeat. "You need another pillow? Change the angle of the bed?"

He laughs, soft and warm, rolls his eyes. "That joke I made about you guys needing your own ward? You may not have it named after you, but it's practically the Ritz around here. All the nurses have come by like six times just to see if I needed my pillow fluffed. I'm good, Evan." Buck settles back into his seat. "I just have a hole the size of a boba straw in my side."

"It was significantly wider than a boba straw."

"Could still suck a tapioca pearl through it," Tommy reminds him, almost petulantly. It's been a treat discovering that Tommy can throw it back almost as well as Buck when he's ornery about being bedridden for a full two days.

Buck finishes rearranging his cards. Grabs three random ones and sets them atop the pile. "Three eights."

Tommy stares at his cards. Glances up at Buck. Turns his gaze to his cards one more time.

"One nine," he declares, and Buck doesn't even complain that he'd fully let him off the hook there.

---

---

Tommy is actually the worst patient in the world. They have to have Eddie over to wrap Buck's ribs for at least a week, and Tommy refused to take any pain meds home with him, and every morning when Buck fusses with the dressings on Tommy's side Tommy stares in the mirror and complains that the scar isn't even symmetrical to the one on his ribs. Buck spends twenty minutes reminding him he'd have a punctured lung, if that was the case, and that seems to shut him up for a little while, at least.

"Hey," Tommy says, on day eleven, when Buck leans over him on the sofa to say goodbye and head back to the loft. Tommy's fine, really. He needs rest and leaving for the night isn't going to kill either one of them. Still, he tugs at Buck's belt loops until Buck allows a knee to bend and press into the cushion beside him. "This is not me asking you to move in with me."

"What -?"

Tommy presses something into his hand. It's warm, like Tommy's been smoothing it in his palm for a while, grooved along the edge facing Buck's fingers. "Yet," he says, softer than before, watching Buck palm it with a smile that Buck is beginning to fully understand the implications of.

It's a key.

Buck blinks. The years stretch ahead of him. Grumpy grizzled Tommy bitching about the towel rack having too many wet towels on it. Silver fox Tommy grinning over some flirty kids head at Buck as he tries to make it back to the booth they got to the bar early to camp at. Tommy, tomorrow, fondly annoyed when Buck confesses he can't watch another true crime documentary or it'll actually kill him.

"I love you," Buck blurts, and feels like crying when Tommy tugs him close for a kiss.

[dollishmehrayan]

# BATBOYS WITH A CLASSIC LITERATURE LOVER ── .✦ ( batboys with a s/o who loves/majors in literature )

a/n: this is requested by my amazing @kvfkas 🫶💕, I Lowkey for some reason also love literature too but like it’s hard for me to open a new book because I’m like so busy almost everyday but anywayss && I still can’t get over that one of my record players BROKE. So I can’t play my vinyls until I buy a new one which I ordered yesterday. Tags: (batboys x classic literature lover)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick thinks it’s adorable how much you love classic literature. He often finds you curled up with a book that looks like it’s been through several lifetimes, the pages dog-eared and filled with your meticulous annotations.

He loves watching you get animated when you talk about your favorite books, even if he sometimes gets lost when you start referencing ancient Greek tragedies or 19th-century poetry.

“Wait, so you’re saying Achilles was in love with Patroclus? Why didn’t they just say that in school?”

If you major in classics, Dick would try to support you by attending your lectures or even helping you prep for exams. He’d quiz you on authors and historical contexts, even if he can barely pronounce some of the names.

Romantic Moments: On your birthday, he surprises you with a first edition copy of your favorite book, complete with a handwritten note tucked inside the front cover. “I don’t understand half of what’s in this book, but I know it makes you happy, so that’s all that matters.”

He’d ask you to read to him sometimes, enjoying the sound of your voice as much as the words themselves. "You make these stories sound even better, you know that?"

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason is completely enamored with how passionate you are about classic literature. He gets it; books saved his life, too.

He finds your annotations fascinating and sometimes steals your books to read through them, not just for the story, but to get a glimpse into how your mind works.

“You think Heathcliff is a terrible person, but you still love him? Explain that one to me.” He’d genuinely love hearing your reasoning, even if it ends in a spirited debate.

If you’re majoring in classics, Jason would definitely tease you about it: “So, what, you’re gonna be the next Indiana Jones but with books?” But deep down, he’s incredibly proud of you. (He has dreams of being a literature professor)

Romantic Moments: One day, he surprises you with a day trip to a small, dusty bookstore he found, knowing it’s exactly your kind of place. “Take your time. I’ve got all day,” he says, leaning against a shelf as you lose yourself in the aisles.

He’d also write little notes on scraps of paper and leave them in your books when you’re not looking: “You’re way cooler than Jane Eyre.” “That’s a lie jason.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim would be absolutely in awe of your love for classic literature. He’s a voracious reader himself, so he’d immediately start asking for recommendations.

He’s amazed by how thoughtful and detailed your annotations are. He’ll flip through one of your books and go, “You should publish these. People would pay good money for your insights.”

If you’re majoring in classics, Tim would make it his mission to help you however he can. Need to translate something from Latin or Greek? He’s on it. Got a big paper due? He’ll proofread it for you.

Romantic Moments: On a particularly stressful day, he sets up a cozy reading nook for you, complete with your favorite snacks and a stack of books he thought you’d like. “Figured you could use some time to unwind.”

He’d get into the habit of reading the same books as you so he can discuss them with you. “Okay, but why does everyone hate Tess of the d’Urbervilles? I think she deserved better.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian would find your love of classic literature incredibly admirable. He appreciates intellectual pursuits and sees your passion as a sign of your depth and intelligence.

He’d be the one to challenge your opinions on certain characters or themes, sparking debates that sometimes last for hours.

“I fail to see why Mr. Darcy is considered romantic. He was insufferable for most of the novel.” But he secretly loves how animated you get defending your point.

(I’m gonna age him up for this one NO NSFW THOUGH HE’S STILL A MINOR BUT JUST FOR THE SAKE OF MAJORS) If you’re majoring in classics, Damian would take great pride in your academic achievements. He’d even start reading some of the books you mention, just so he can keep up with you.

Romantic Moments: He’d commission a custom leather-bound edition of your favorite book, embossed with your initials on the cover. “For someone as remarkable as you, only the finest will suffice.”

He’d also secretly annotate one of the books you’ve been wanting him to read and leave it for you to find. His notes are sharp, insightful, and, of course, slightly snarky.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce has always been a lover of knowledge, so he’d find your love for classic literature incredibly endearing.

He’d be genuinely impressed by your annotations and sometimes ask to borrow your books just to see your thoughts on them.

“You’ve given me a new perspective on The Great Gatsby,” he’d say after flipping through your copy.

If you’re majoring in classics, Bruce would offer to fund any research or study trips you need. “A visit to Greece would certainly enhance your studies. Consider it an investment.”

Romantic Moments: He’d host a quiet evening in the Wayne library, just for the two of you. The fireplace crackles softly as you sit side by side, reading and sharing passages that resonate with you.

He’d also make a habit of surprising you with rare editions of your favorite books, each one more breathtaking than the last.