#brandi should be fired

[paldean-ranger-brandy]

I got them don't worry mate well I got them teleported out of there so I had to call a ranger because some of them got spooked

Fuck yeah 🤘 love this energy, you're my new fav

[msgexymunson]

Benefits

Description: Your best friend Eddie starts to look very appealing to you, but if you suggest a dynamic change, will he go for it?

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, AFAB reader, weed smoking, virgin Eddie x virgin reader, grinding, fingering, fem oral receiving.

A/N: I just wanted to write a little goofy, not so confident Eddie and this poured out of my brain hole. Enjoy! Reblogs and comments keep me alive so please for the love of all that is smutty reblog if you enjoy it! 

5k words

Masterlist

“All I'm saying is…” you take a big pull of the joint Eddie wiggles at you, his rough fingers brushing your lips. Your voice comes out croaky as hell when you speak, holding the smoke in, “...you can't do the voice.” 

The film plays quietly in the background as you both hang out on his couch, paying little attention to it. 

Eddie scoffs at you, taking the smoke back, and takes a big lug of it himself, hand coming to rest on your bare ankle that was thrown casually over his lap. 

“What you trying to say? You know I can do voices. I could totally do Vader.” 

Giggling, you wiggle your feet as he lightly drags his fingers over them. 

“Don't do that, you know it tickles!” 

Holding his hands up and away from you, you almost miss the contact. Which was insane. This is Eddie, for fucks sake. Your best friend. The asshole who made you nearly piss your pants in seventh grade from tickling too hard, who does stupid shit to get you to smile when you're sad. 

Recently though, the little lingering touches he gives you make your toes curl. Those glances that last a little too long for best friends, the drag of his hand on your back when you move through a crowd. It was crazy, but a part of you couldn't help but think he was feeling the same way. It wasn't like you were in love with the guy, at least not like that. He was almost family. Which made the feelings that you were having sinful in a way that made your thighs clench. 

The flirting didn't help. Eddie flirted as naturally as breathing. He was just so goddamn charming; he had chemistry with everyone. Which made it even more awkward. What if your salacious thoughts weren't reciprocated? Maybe it was just your raging hormones and you needed to keep them in check before you lose your best friend. 

“You're wrong you know.” 

Eddie's words bring you out of the daze you've been falling into; you blink at him, confused. 

“Huh?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, and flashes you a smirk that does nothing to quench the fire inside, right when his large hands move to your waist and tickle you relentlessly. You're gasping giggles as he pins your hands over your head, full weight pressing into you. Somehow, he's got his narrow hips in between your thighs, which is definitely not helping the situation. 

“I can totally do the voice, see?” He drops it two octaves, letting a deep bass voice flow out of him, “Luke, I am your father.” 

Fuck, that shouldn't turn you on, but it did. That, and his forced proximity has you feeling uncomfortably wet. It's embarrassingly seeping into your panties; so much so that you cringe at your body's betrayal. 

He's just so damn close. So close, that you see something fluttering behind those brandy wine eyes of his. Or, was it merely your imagination?

Only one way to find out. 

Biting your lip, you flutter your eyelashes softly and speak in the sexiest voice you can.

“Does that mean I should call you Daddy?” 

Eddie's mouth drops open in a perfect O, eyebrows knitted. 

“You can't- you just- fuck!” 

He clambers off of you in an attempt to put some space between you, crossing his legs on the couch. Eddie looks flustered, cheeks burning red as he looks at you like you just grew an extra head. 

“I can't what, Eddie? Can't tease you like you tease me?” 

“Huh? I don't tease you! When did I-” 

“Oh, pinning me down don't count, huh?” 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you watch as he blows air out, grabbing a cushion and ramming it in his lap. 

“I didn't mean it like that, it's just, I dunno.” 

Looking down at his hands, he fiddles with his rings. The sheepishness he's showing is adorable, and so unlike him that it stops you in your tracks. Maybe you should just go easy on him, just a little. 

“Don't worry about it Eds, I'm just fucking around.” 

There's a bit of tension released from his shoulders, but he's still not looking at you. 

Fuck, you need another smoke. 

“You want me to roll?” 

“Hell no, I've seen you roll.” 

Scrunching your nose in fake anger, he laughs at you. 

“Look like a little chipmunk when you do that.” 

“All I hear is that you think I'm adorable.” You giggle as he mockingly rolls his eyes. 

“OK, you roll, I'll grab some sodas.” 

Getting up, you smooth your skirt down and walk over to the fridge. The cans are on the lower shelf, so you bend to grab two, making a mental note to tell Eddie to buy some more. 

When you look back, Eddie's slid to the floor, rolling paraphernalia spread out in front of him. It would be a normal scene, if he didn't still have the cushion wedged in his lap and his face wasn't glowing redder than your underwear. 

Underwear… underwear that he might have seen, since you just bent over. And the only reason why he'd keep that cushion in his lap is if he… 

Oh. 

Wordlessly, you put the soda next to his elbow and scoot up on the couch, entirely unsure about what you're supposed to do in a situation like this. The furthest you've ever gone is some over the clothes stuff. 

Plus, this is Eddie. Your stupid, asshole, mean, tormenting, breathtakingly gorgeous best friend. You curse, wriggling a little in your seat. Your panties are so damp they're practically glued to your privates, a heat emanating from you that's making your insides burn. 

“Milady.” 

Eddie holds the joint to you, perfectly rolled and more surprisingly, unlit.

“Eddie, you always take the first toke. Rollers rights, remember?” 

He shrugs and passes it anyway, giving you the lighter too, as he lifts himself onto the couch with both hands, letting his cushion shield drop briefly. Long enough to see the tightness in the crotch of his pants. 

Now the feel of your slick is dampening your thighs. Pushing them together as tight as you can, willing the feeling to dissipate, you light it with trembling hands. One puff, two puffs, pass. As his fingers graze yours, he looks at you appraisingly.

“You alright there sweetheart? Not comfy?” 

Nothings gonna happen if you just sit here and whine like a bitch in your head. Take the leap. 

“It's a little, er, embarrassing.” 

Knees squeezing together so hard it's bordering on painful, you look up at him through your lashes. Eddie's eyes are wide and warm, a light smile wrinkling them at the corners softly. 

“It's only me, come on. You can tell me anything.”

Huffing and wriggling some more, you watch him inhale smoke, and blow it out, a slight pout to his mouth that makes you want to pepper it with soft kisses. Then hard kisses. Then, other stuff. Fuck. 

“It's not- we don't, talk about this kinda stuff. I don't wanna… cross a line, you know?”

“Hey, it's alright.” His thick fingers shakily touch your knee, thumb rubbing back and forth. You're not sure if it calms you or makes you worse. It could be both. 

“Fine. Just, don't look at me when I tell you this, ‘kay?” 

There's a little laugh from him, then he rests his head on the back of the couch, eyes staring resolutely to the ceiling. 

“Alright weirdo I'm not looking. Shoot.” 

Tightening your knuckles, your face creases with the effort as you let fly the words that may well end your friendship. 

“I'm uncomfortable, I'm just- fuck, I'm really wet, OK?”

Of all the things you could say, you know Eddie was not expecting you to say that. Especially when he blushes profusely and his grip tightens hard on the cushion in his lap. True to his word, his gaze is directed firmly on the ceiling. 

“That's really-” His voice is broken; squeaky and boyish. He coughs and it comes out much lower, almost comically so. “That's, er, interesting.” 

You can't help it. A crazy laugh shoots out of your throat. An insane laugh. A mental institution laugh. It seems fitting for the situation. Here you are, on Eddie fucking Munson’s couch, telling him how wet you are? You've finally lost it. 

He laughs with you, helping to diffuse some of the awkward energy filling the room.

“Sorry Eddie. It just feels a bit, surreal, you know?” 

Eddie risks a look at you when he hands the joint back. You both stare at each other, each wishing to read the other's mind. 

Remember who you're talking to. This is Eddie. You can talk to him about anything. 

“Listen, Eddie, this is way out of fucking left field but I'm gonna say it. Have you like, done stuff, before?” 

Taking the biggest inhale you can risk without swallowing the roach, you pass the smoke back. There's a very slight shake to Eddie's hand. For some reason it gives you a bit more confidence. His voice wobbles more dramatically than you've ever heard.

“You mean like, sexual, stuff?” 

He finishes the smoke and stubs it out, glancing at you. There's a heat in his eyes that you're not used to seeing. 

“Y-yeah, I mean, honest truth? I've only done over the clothes stuff. Nothing more than that. And you?” 

Eddie coughs, puffing his chest out a little in full man-mode.

“I mean, yeah sure, a bit more than that, you know.” 

You do know. You know by the way he worded that, he's at least not gotten past third base. 

“You're a virgin too then.” 

“Hey!” He huffs, turning to you, “I'm like, way less of a virgin than you are!” 

You laugh loudly, knocking his arm with your fist. 

“Doesn't make you less of a virgin, you idiot.” 

He laughs, shaking his head. 

“Suppose you're right. Some hook-ups ‘round the back of The Hideout don't count for much.”

Reaching for his hand, you brush his knuckles with tentative fingers. 

“Eddie, what I'm trying to say is, well maybe- we could help each other out? I'm a bit… frustrated, and so are you. You know?” 

He squirms a little, recoiling from your touch. 

“What makes you think I'm frustrated?” 

“Eddie, I'm not a fucking idiot. I know why you're grabbing that cushion.” 

He laughs, his special fake laugh he reserves for awkward occasions. That is, until you grab the cushion from his lap and throw it across the room.

He's hard, almost painfully so. It's pressing against his zipper in such a way that you know it must be uncomfortable. You take in a harsh breath as you look at his face. So many emotions seem to be fighting for dominance. Clear arousal, some confusion, a little bit of pity, maybe? Which is the last thing you want to see.

Maybe you were wrong.

“I'm saying that we can help each other. I'm attracted to you. I'm not declaring my love for you or anything. It's not like, some crazy confession. I'm just saying we could… relieve each other.”

“Oh.” His whole demeanour has shifted at your words, “so you don't like, love me, or anything?” 

“Eddie, you are so fucking stupid. Of course I love you, you're my best friend. Just not like that. I mean, I kinda want you to… touch me places, don't mean I want your hand in marriage!” 

His chuckle rings against the tinny walls of the trailer. Then, he looks at you, really looks at you. Biting his lip, he walks his hands toward you, stopping just shy of your constricted knees. 

“Glad you said that. I didn't know how to say that I kinda… well, that I like you, that way, but not like… man, you said it better.” 

And just like that, your Eddie was back. It wasn't weird, far from it. After the way you'd been acting around each other for years, it just made sense. 

You both smile at each other. A genuine, familiar smile. One that hurts your cheeks, that makes your chest fill with warmth. 

“I know this is like, super weird, but it might help, you know?” 

Eddie crawls further towards you, palms splayed on your knees. The simple touch has you quivering. 

“What if it's too weird? I don't want this to ruin our friendship.” 

You smile softly, and unclench your thighs slightly, knees spreading. Enough to make his eyes dart down to your core and back up, laced with want. 

“Tell you what Eds. Kiss me.” 

“And how is that gonna help?”

You laugh, beckoning him forwards. As if on a string, he leans toward you, his rough hands grazing the tops of your thighs. You try to disguise the gasp it elicits from you, but it doesn't seem necessary. Eddie's breathing hard, hard enough to hide any impromptu noises from you. 

“Just kiss me Eddie. If it's weird and gross, we'll laugh about it. If it's, erm, better than that… well, then we can maybe take it a little further.”

Eddie leans in more, hovering over you as your head rests naturally into the armrest. But he stops, inches from your face, hesitating. 

“I don't- shit, I don't know what to do!” 

Laughing loud, you reach out and twirl a section of his hair in your soft hands, adding definition to a curl. 

“Just, use a move on me. You know? Like I'm one of those girls at The Hideout. Come on.” 

He laughs, knuckles dragging over your cheek. 

“That's… this isn't the same. You're not like that ” 

“Fine, just- come on to me. Hit me with your best shot. Just, I dunno, just-”

The rest of your sentence dies on your tongue as he cradles your jaw and presses his full lips softly to yours. You don't know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. He holds your face almost delicately, tongue lapping gently at your lip until you allow him to slip it inside. 

It's a slow, deliberate thing, as if he's mapping out your mouth in case you never agree to do this again. Not that that's a danger to you. His tongue is burning hot; a slippery warm need, igniting the fire that was already smouldering within you. 

His form relaxes slightly, allowing his weight to drop. His chest falls onto yours, no doubt telling him of the heaving gasps you're taking. You couldn't find it in you to mind, not whilst he's prising your legs open with one knee, his thigh pressing against just where you need it most. 

A moan races out of your mouth and into his, muffled into his chasing tongue. The warmth between your legs is just getting worse, stoked by the pressure of his searching knee. Suddenly there's tension exactly where you need it, the coarse denim of his thigh rubbing hard against your throbbing nub. 

“Eddie, fuck!”

He smiles into your mouth as he pushes his leg harder, groans overtaking his mouth as you use it to chase your pleasure. 

His perfect mouth traces down your jaw, nipping and sucking at your flesh. His thick tongue lathing over your taut muscles, your tiny fingers grasping onto his arms almost pathetically. 

When he breaks away to look at you, eyes searching for doubts, you can't help but think how beautiful he looks. His hair's a little messier than usual, cheeks flushed pink, and those full lips look even plumper than before. 

“Sorry, should have checked in. Was that, alright? Not too weird?” 

You try to slow your breathing, but it's no use. It usually takes you a while to get there on your own, but you were so close to coming on Eddie's leg after a couple of minutes of making out it was almost shameful. 

“I'll say, jeez. I nearly- er, got carried away.” 

“Really?” Eddie's eyes seem to brighten as the corners of his mouth twitch up into a cheeky grin. 

“Don't let that get to your head! I'm just really… needy right now.” 

“Fuck,” he replies, adjusting his bulge, “right, carried away, you say?”

Before you can process what he's said he leaps up, grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder. Your giggling squeals echo through the trailer, ringing out like the peals of a bell as he barges into his room and throws you on the bed. Laughing and red faced, with your skirt rucked up around your hips and your arms flung above your head, you notice Eddie's gaze shamelessly skimming to your panties. 

Shaking out of his bare faced revelry he jumps onto the bed next to you, eager as a kid at Christmas. He's on his side, a large hand roaming over your stomach, across your waist, down to your hips and skimming just under your thin sweater. 

“You want me to take this off?” You ask, tugging at the hem. 

“Oh, er- yeah, I-I mean if you- do you want to take it off?” 

Eddie bumbles through his words as you giggle at him, his usual confident demeanour evaporated at the thought of your body. 

“Eddie you dingus, you've literally seen me in my underwear before!” 

“Well, yeah… but that was before you, er, filled out.” 

It was a long time ago. A hot Summer spent running around the trailer park hitting each other with water balloons. You'd almost forgotten how far back it was.

“You don't have to be scared of my boobs ya know.” 

Eddie scoffs, hitting you playfully with a flick of his finger on the tip of your nose. You grab it, trying to bite it but he's pulling it away and you follow. It turns into yet another wrestling match as laughter rings from the pair of you. He tries to hold his hand up high but then you straddle him. 

Suddenly, his arm goes limp and you pull the offending digit into your mouth triumphantly, nibbling softly. It's then you realise you're straddling his stomach and he's completely lost, staring at the way your skirt is wrinkled. 

Play fight discarded, you shimmy down his body and revel in the little shaking breath Eddie makes as you sit gently on his crotch, the hardened bulge pressing into your clothed heat. 

“Fuck, you're so warm.” 

You blush as his fingers dig into your hips as if afraid you'll disappear. 

“You can feel that, through your jeans?” 

He chuckles low in his throat and the sound travels straight to your tummy, letting loose a cascade of butterflies. 

“Feel it? It's like a freaking furnace. Bet it'll feel amazing inside you.” 

It's just Eddie, running his mouth; in fact it seems he didn't mean to say that out loud judging by the look on his face. He always has an issue separating outside thoughts and inside thoughts. It was so casually spoken though, you don't think he realised just how dirty it sounded. 

Your fingers smooth up his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under the contact, pulling his shirt up with them. 

“Really hot when you say stuff like that.” 

You're embarrassed admitting it, but you're so turned on that he needs to know how much his words affect you. Mostly so he'll keep using them.

“Yeah?” 

“Hmm.” 

You're dragging nails over his abdomen, tugging his t-shirt higher and higher. He doesn't seem to mind, firm hands pulling your hips slowly back and forth. So you take a shot, and yank it up high. He gets the message, lifting his arms over his head so you can fling it off and away. 

There's no subtlety to the way he pulls at your top, sitting up to wrench it off you. He's panting, eyes raking over your red cotton bra as if you were in the finest lingerie. Then your lips crash together, desperately exploring each other's mouths, teeth clashing in urgency. You collapse on top of him as he holds your hip with one hand, guiding you over his hardness as the other palms your breast over your bra. 

That feeling is back, the burning tingling mass of arousal clutching your insides, growing and growing quicker than ever. You rut against him, each pass sending a zip of sensation all the way from your clit to the tips of your toes. 

Moaning in his mouth, you break away and he nips at your neck, rough fingers snaking into your bra to clumsily rub your nipple. You cling to his waist tightly as the feeling mounts, and mounts, and finally- 

“Eddie! Oh- oh fuckin’ hell!” 

It happens. The thing that had never happened to you outside of your own late night desperate fumblings. It flows like liquid fire through your veins, buzzing across your skin in a wild burning sensation that takes you utterly by surprise. Your sounds are feral; incoherent and needy, as your thighs grasp him firmly as if in fear of him moving away. 

After a loaded silence, whilst you both breathe, and breathe, you finally unclasp your legs around him, falling to the side in an ungainly heap of arms and legs.  

“Well. Holy fucking shit.” you laugh nervously, legs shaking with the after effects.

“So, not too weird?” He smiles, taking the opportunity to get on top of you, arms either side of your head. 

“It's a little weird. Only ever, you know, came, on my own, so yeah.” 

“Yeah?” The cocky look is back, a hand trailing down your shoulder to rest on your breast. 

“Can I take this off, please?” 

You smile and lift your back up so he can slide his hand behind you, fumbling around to try and get the clasp, swearing under his breath. 

“I don't know, can you?” You question, stifling giggles. 

“You could just help me, you know, you-you devil woman- Oh wait I did it!” 

The clasp springs free and Eddie's proud smile nearly splits his face apart as he eagerly pulls down the straps. 

“You're such a goofball.”

“You've got amazing tits, Jesus Christ.” 

Heat flushes your chest and before you can retort he's kneeling between your legs, hot mouth sucking roughly on a nipple. Words fail you, your body the only thing talking as you arch your back and push toward his greedy lips. Letting go with a loud pop, he sucks a hickey right in the middle of your sternum, running his thumb over the wet mark after. 

“I wanna go down on you.” He blurts it out, spill words tugging out of his lips before he can stop them. 

“You wanna what?” You respond, dazed as he looks up at you, eyes full of fire. 

“I wanna use my mouth on you. Down here.” 

He drags his fingers low, pressing one just to the top of your mound. 

“You really want to?” As far as you're aware, that's not a thing guys tend to want to do. At least that's what you've heard. Eddie seems to be an exception. 

“More than anything.” He's brutally honest, eyes wide and begging. 

“I mean, if you want to, sure.” 

“OK, shit, just wait a sec.” 

Getting up so fast it must make his head spin, he unbuttons his jeans and wrestles them down his legs, tossing them away. The tent in his boxers makes your eyes widen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he climbs back on the bed. 

“Sorry, just so fuckin’ hard it hurts.” 

Nothing can stop the whimper that shoots out of your mouth at his words. Again, he's just being honest, but he doesn't seem to understand how sexy it is. 

Moving to unzip your skirt, he bats your hand away to do it himself. Before he pulls it off, he looks at you nervously. 

“Just, let me know if you don't like something. Or if you do. I've er, I've not done this before so lower your expectations.” He laughs it out, embarrassment coating each word. 

“I thought you had a bunch of hook ups at The Hideout?” You tease, smirking at him. 

“Right, full disclosure, I've erm, used my fingers before, a few times. And once- once some girl tried to give me head and I busted in like three seconds, OK?” 

He grabs a bunch of his hair and hides behind it while you chuckle. 

“Eddie, it's fine, I'm glad you told me. It's just me. I'm not gonna judge you, you know that.” 

“Yeah, of course.” The breath he lets out is loud, tension melting from his body, and he bends to pull your skirt down and off. Your panties are next; they cling to your core so much it makes you cringe, but he doesn't seem to mind. 

“Can you, spread your legs a little sweetheart?” His voice is husky, eyes staring straight at your pussy. Feeling exposed, you do as he asks, fighting the urge to pull away from his gaze. 

“Look at you. Beautiful.” 

Smiling at his words, it turns into an open mouthed gasp as he strokes his fingers softly through your folds. 

“Fuck me, you're soaked.” 

Then his tongue is slipping across you, feeling tentatively as he keeps your legs wide with his rough palms. It's different; wet and messy, but it's incredible. The pleasure increases tenfold as his wandering mouth finds your clit. 

“Eddie, right there, right there!” 

He groans, pushing his face into you so hard you can feel the vibrations from the noise. He's moving his tongue up and around it, making an absolute mess of spit and slick over you. Suddenly he tries sucking and your back leaves the bed, hands coming to clutch at his hair. 

“Oh my God, do that again, please please, oh fuck!” 

He does it again, and again, smoothing each suckle with a flat lick from his tongue. Fingers graze your hole suddenly, making you jump. As you look down you see Eddie's entirely consumed by what he's doing, rutting himself into the mattress like an animal. One finger breaches you, feeling around, pumping slowly in and out. It's good, but it's not great. 

You feel ashamed even trying to guide him but you attempt to shake it off. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” He looks up, an almost dazed expression in his eyes. 

“Can you- can you curl your finger upward?” 

“Like this?” 

Your reaction is instantaneous, hips rucking up to his touch. 

“Fuuuck.” 

“Yeah? That good, sweetheart?” 

That smugness is back but it isn't in you to care. There's no words, just little whimpers and moans as you grab him by the hair and push his mouth back where you need it. 

When he adds another finger, you're gone. Your walls are clenching around him, sucking him in as the feeling of his thick digits stretching you fills your entire being. Dots dance in your vision as your whole body feels fuzzy, tingles whispering over your skin. You cry out as the feeling escalates, bubbling through you until you can't see, can't think, clawing at Eddie's head until you reach an impossible precipice. Then, it explodes, showering you in waves, over and over. 

“Oh my God that was amazing, fuck Eddie, you're incredible, I never came that hard in all my life, Jesus Christ!” 

You're babbling, you know, bubbles of platitudes popping out of your mouth in almost nonsensical sounds as your legs twitch like crazy. 

Eddie scoots up a little, face pressed into the plush of your stomach. He mumbles something incomprehensible. Leaning up on your elbows, you pull his hair a little making him look at you. 

“You alright there? What'd you say?” 

Eddie laughs, kissing your tummy, face flushed pink. 

“I said I fuckin’ came in my pants.” 

Then he hides again, as if your skin can cover his embarrassment. 

“Eddie, come here you dope.” 

He climbs up you, leaning on quivering arms. The front of his boxers pushes on your sticky core. 

“Don't worry about it, that's kinda hot.” 

“Yeah? You're hot. That was, wow. I think I found my favourite place.” 

You giggle, pressing kisses to his lips. There's still traces of you on him but you don't care. 

“Can you tell me what you said again?” He asks, grin fighting to envelop his whole face. 

“Huh?” 

“You know, how I'm the most incredible lover in existence.” Waggling his eyebrows at you, he strokes a wayward hair off of your sweaty forehead. 

“I did not say that!” 

“I'm paraphrasing, it was pretty close.” 

You hit him on the chest playfully and he falls to the side in a terrible act of mock pain. Crawling on top of him, you continue to smack him, fake punches thrown at his ribs. 

“OK, you win, I cannot best you!” 

Grabbing your hand, he kisses your knuckles and you melt against him, pressing soft kisses to his mouth. They turn harder, tongues massaging each other as he runs his hands down your back. 

You break away to plant a single kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Maybe in a bit, you know, when you've… recovered…” 

Dragging your nails down his lean chest you look up at him, biting your lip. 

“We can… go all the way?” 

Eddie's face lights up. He grabs you and flings you down so he's on top, kissing your neck and jaw sloppily as you squeal at the sudden onslaught. 

“Yes, fuck yes, gimme like two minutes, five tops.” 

Taglist (if you want to be added please send me a PM so I don't lose the request, thank you)

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n

[sun-snatcher]

If you're writing for dp3 then Hiraeth from your prompt list would work SO well since they're all stuck in the void! 🤲🏽😭 We need Gambit fics its a DROUGHT HELP

♧ ⎯ LUCK O’ THE DRAW !

summ. You find the Devil himself at the end of the world. Surprisingly, it isn’t the first time you have. It is, however, the first time it hurts. pairing. Void!Gambit x f!Anomaly!reader (established relationship. Kinda. Multiverse be funky like 'dat.) w.count. 1.8k a/n. Because Channing deserved that Gambit all those years ago, and I've come to (attempt to) deliver what the the people have asked. Masterlist here.

MOST PEOPLE MEET THE DEVIL at a crossroads, but you meet yours in— quite literally— the back end of fuckin’ nowhere.

It hurt more than it should.

Your heart practically stutters. 

“Remy.”  

Then he turns, and you wait for the flash of recognition in his eyes.

Nothing comes.

And then. And then.

Realisation— logic. The cold, hard truth: This isn’t your Remy LeBeau. Your Remy had died long before, in a Universe that was pruned and erased into nothingness by the TVA. Your Universe. The joke? That the Gambit before you is merely a variant amongst a million. The punchline? He looks exactly the same as the day you’d lost your own. 

“Well, this is awkward. You know off-shoot Hawkeye here?” Wade says, astonished, before his eyes widened. “Ah. Tragic exposition time for the readers, I see.”

Your mind is still reeling. It feels like someone’s just jammed a chisel straight into your gut. “I— Knew a version. Variant, I guess,” you manage to correct yourself, distracted by the skirting trenchcoat and the all too familiar sound of shuffling cards. 

Christ, it’s like he’d stepped right out of your memories.

Remy’s eyebrows shoot up as he studies you. Something in your chest pulls taut, threatening to snap as he speaks. “Apologies, mon ami. But as far as I remember, I ain’t never seen you before.”

“Ouch,” Wade winces, looking between you both. “What a classic trope! This is like, me talking to my past Mom in The Adam Project. Funnily enough, my Mom was you!” He snorts, pointing to Elektra. 

You ignore Wade and offer Remy a wan smile. “I figured. It’s okay.”

…It is obviously, in fact, not okay. 

You avoid him like a plague shortly after the entire commotion; it’s almost comical. Wade had managed to come up with a plan with the rest of the group, albeit a ramshackle, flimsy one, but you’ve hardly been able to pay attention through the bloodrush of shock rocketing in your head, anyway. 

Being around this Remy is stunningly stifling. 

The lilt of his accent, the sharpness in his smile; the flourishing of cards and the faint hum-drum of kinetic charge against his fingertips. 

You’ve seen it all before, once upon a time. You never thought any of it could ever bring you to this bad of a heel. 

It hadn’t taken long before you’d tried drowning yourself at the end of a bottle of brandy Logan had handed you that night. (The whiskey tames his mordance and makes him uncharacteristically civil. He’d said something along the lines of: Y’need this more than I do, bub; look like you’ve just seen a fuckin’ ghost. Shit, I guess you did, huh? )

“Mais la,” comes a huff. “Ain’t that mine?”

A frisson runs through your heart. 

“Sorry,” you say, barely glancing up from the barrel fire tucked outside the team’s hideout. You’re not quite sure you can handle meeting his gaze. “I know I should’ve asked.”

A playful hum. Remy settles on the log adjacent to yours. “S’alright. No harm done, chèr.”

It takes everything in you not to flinch at the endearment. If he’d noticed, well— he’s smart enough not to mention it. He’s curious and it stands to reason; afterall, he’s never quite seen someone look at him as weathered as the way you do. It’s as if the effort itself to do so would be unbearable.

“Y’kno’, I been told I’m easy on the eyes. Not for you, tho’, eh?” Remy shoots you an amicable smile. It’s charming, if a little compelling. “Guessin’ I made bad on you where y’from? You done been boudéin’ since y’first got here.” 

You let out a laugh. It’s the most brittle sound he’s ever heard come from someone. 

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s… You just make me a lil’ homesick, is all.”

Remy bristles with his deck of cards. A Charlier cut; a One-handed shuffle. It’s a mindless tic; your variant used to do the exact same with the exact same ease.

(Such a miracle, you remember thinking once, that there could be symmetries in the Multiverse. Now you learn, perhaps, it’s far more a curse. Either way, you can hear Remy’s doting voice in a distant memory, dimpling coyly at you: “S’just the luck o’ your draw, chèr.” )

You tamp down the memory before it could sink its jowls any deeper in you. 

“You’re curious,” you say.

He makes a noise of assent. Revolution cut; One-handed shuffle. Repeat.

“I ain’t gon’ axe if y’ain’t wanna answer.” 

It’s kind of him. 

You forgot he was like this.

Witty, yet gentlemanly. The way Remy always has been.

Underneath the blanket of the night, the crackle of the flames limn the planes of his face in flickering, hazy saffron. The look in his eyes is sincere as they meet your red-rimmed gaze. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, and in this light no less: tall, cutting, strong.

Lively.

The last you’d seen Remy, he’d been drawn out and battered by the war. Not that he’d ever admit it; he always insisted on keeping up his sunny disposition despite the constant losing battles happening. (Sometimes you think you resent him for doing that; it’d felt like he’d taken the light of the world with him when—)

You thank your lucky stars the variant Remy doesn’t make a comment on how you must be staring so openly. It’s a feeble attempt to committing every detail to memory, you suppose, in case you don’t get the chance again.

“In my Universe, a war was waging against mutants.” Your nails tinker against the empty bottleneck of the flat whiskey you’d nursed, thinking of how to cut a bloodshed of a story short; to get your point across before you falter and lose your footing.

“There was a mission sanctioned, and during it— a decision had to be made at that moment. So… you chose. Easily.” Your brows pinch tight against your will. The molten burn returns to the back of your eyes. “You saved so many lives the day you died.” 

Something catches in your throat when you realise your mistake, find yourself amending instantly, “He. He died.”

(It had been swift. A small mercy, all things considered. There wasn’t even a need to check for a pulse when you finally managed to reach for him.)

You’re fidgeting, too, with something in your other hand. Remy catches sight of it only now: a card, sitting pinched between your ringed fingers. Nine of Hearts. Its edges are torn and creased across the face, singed an ashen black. 

A proverbial piece of Remy’s heart, carried to the end with you.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a cold rush over his body at the sight. 

“…I’m sorry, chèr,” he offers quietly, inadequate as it is. He hadn’t expected that. 

He can’t imagine how haunting it must be to look at someone you’d shared a lifetime with and be met with a complete stranger instead. 

A living, breathing, ghost.

That unbiddable feeling of longing had always seemed to accompany the sight of him; but now it’s different. Now, there’s a blistering, brutal pain to come with; All-encompassing grief, thick as molasses in your lungs, overturning itself like a phantom from wherever you thought you’d buried it a long time ago. 

The only way to smother it would be to reach out, to hold him like you had once before, and isn’t that an ironic inconvenience? 

“No, no. I’m sorry,” you tell him, sigh coming out as an awkward laugh. A breeze passes and you inhale deep to ground yourself. Press your eyes shut momentarily to will away useless tears. “It must be so weird to hear all of this from me about— well, you, technically.”

“Mais, can’t ‘ave all been a bad memory, tho’, right?”

Right. No. It hadn’t been. There’s something else too. An undercurrent. Beyond the grief, the deep ache in your marrows— you think it’s nostalgia. Hiraeth. More bittersweet than it is painful.

It’s… It’s watching mutant schoolkids teaching him UNO for the first time. It’s the bickering over the beignets for breakfast, or your feet on his lap at the couch in the lounge after dinners with the rest of the X-Men. Lazy banter. Conversations that go everywhere and nowhere.

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling something bloom in your chest you thought long lost. “You taught me everything about your home, too. Down South. Told me about the bayou, the cypress trees. Your Cajun, your ways. We used to play Bourré.”

Talk of home has him ducking into a laugh. Remy had been in the Void far longer than the rest (he figures, at least)— he’s very nearly lost most of his fragmented memories to time by now. “Did I? Oughta’ play a game or two wit’ you.”

You buckle at that. “Ah. You were always the better player.”

Then:

He makes the leap before he runs out of steam. “Was we…?”

His finger darts between the space you two share.

“Oh, no,” you override, sheepishly. “No, we, we were good friends and stayed good friends. I was—” Your breath scurries; a reconsideration. “I was glad with that. You had a Southern belle named Anna Marie. A powerful mutant called Rogue. You two were good for each other.”

You must have given yourself away somewhere, though, the way Remy is reading you with a pinned gaze. It’s the same, levelled look you’ve seen before— the kind he gets in a game of cards. 

Something discerning eclipses in his eyes.

He’d gotten the measure of you in an instant. 

“Gambit musta’ been blind blind not t’see you.”

Ah.

You smile. It’s windswept. Resigned. “Well. Doesn’t matter now, does it? My Gambit’s gone. No matter how much I wish I can see him again.”

Remy’s eyes dart to your hands.

“Y’kno’, chèr,” he begins, something spirited in his tone. “In the world of cards, each a’ these and they suits hold a meanin’.”

He flourishes his deck, hypnotisingly smooth with every elegant cut, fan and spring. Every shuffle cascades as smooth as liquid in the sleight of his hands.

“Some of my folks back in New Orleans I remember, they learned me to read ‘em. Now, outta the whole deck? What you got there; the Nine of Hearts is also called the Wish card.”

The small laugh that punches out of you is bell-like. “Really?” 

It’s warm. Bright. Musical to his ears. It washes over him, and he can’t help but hang on to the peal. He wanted to hear it again. 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Remy clicks his tongue as he shoots you a sunny look. “Would never lie t’you, chèr.”

The cracks in your soul don’t disappear, but they surely lighten as you look gently at him. “Huh. Well, I guess I got my wish, didn’t I?” 

He chuckles. 

“Mais, I ain’t your Gambit but—” 

He leans. Reaches out behind your ear with an empty palm, playfully revealing a gilded card from seemingly thin air with a sharp flick of his wrist:

Another Nine of Hearts. His. He hands it over to you, by way of meaning—  I’m here, now.

New beginnings.

You take the card with a smile.

[fayes-fics]

Audacious

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Impertinent. After your engagement party, Anthony asks you to rendezvous in his office to continue where you left off.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, innocence/corruption kink, sex education, mutual masturbation, orgasms.

Word Count: 2.2k

Authors Note: Sequel request fill for @cleopatraathene to continue the story from Impertinent (ask HERE). Sorry, it's taken so long, my dear. Err, this could well turn into a series at this rate. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing. Enjoy! <3

The bejewelled band feels weighty around your left ring finger as you rap your knuckles quietly upon his study door. It's late, and the last thing you want is for anyone to know what you are doing.

After a pause, the hinges creak, and a hand snakes out and grabs your arm.

Before you know it, you are dragged through the door, and it closes with you pressed against the other side, the room heady with the scent of recently smoked cigars and expensive brandy. Anthony is casual in just a white shirt, sleeves rolled up around his elbows, braces slung around his hips.

“Fiancée,” he rumbles, his nose trailing up your neck as he leans in, the wood of the door panels digging into your bottom through the thin layer of your silk robe. “Did you enjoy our engagement party?” he queries, teasing your throat with soft kisses.

“Yes,” you answer breathily. “A-And I did as you asked.”

He pauses in his ministrations; you can feel the curve of a smile over your skin. “What did I ask you to do?” he knows the answer; he just wants to hear you say it.

“To return this evening exactly as I was last night.” 

He tuts softly, his nose trailing up the cord of your neck. “But you are wearing something, so you are not as you were.”

“I could hardly walk through the halls of your home naked, my lord!” you gasp.

He chuckles richly, his breath hot in your ear. “On the contrary. This is soon to be all yours. As Viscountess, you can do exactly as you wish. Or as I wish. And sometimes, I may wish you to be naked at my bidding,” he straightens up and looks down at you, dark eyes glittering. “Would you do that for me? Would you walk naked where I told you?“

Again, as last night, you feel under a spell. “Yes, my lord,” you whisper truthfully.

“Audacious,” he rasps approvingly, “just how I like it,” the last few words muttered over your lips before capturing them with his.

Your stomach quivers at his praise, then vaults at the first brush of his mouth, knowing that now you are betrothed, he has promised so much more. His lips are warm and soft as he slowly parts your lips, his tongue rolling, requesting entry. Instinctively, you open, a wave of luscious wet heat as his tongue lathes over yours, a dance that has you inside melting and a throb at the apex of your thighs that is entirely foreign but enthralling. As he breaks away, you chase his lips, eyes still closed, wanting more of his heady kisses. He grabs both of your hands and pulls you to the centre of the room, the fire warming the backs of your calves as he releases his hold.

“Take off your robe,” his order soft.

Your trembling hands scramble to obey, making quick work of the knot at your belly, pushing the material off your shoulders so it flutters onto the rug behind you so you are naked. There is a throaty noise and he takes a step back as if to better drink in the view of your body. His lush bottom lips curling under his upper teeth, his eyes covetous, roaming your skin.

“You should never wear clothes,” he opines, backing further away, grabbing a wingback chair and scraping it across the carpet until it is behind him. He takes a seat, his eyes never leaving your form.

“Spin for me.”

Heart beating fast, you rock onto the balls of your feet and rotate away so you face the blazing fire, your back towards him. Then you slowly complete the circle until you are facing him again, his expression ravenous.

“A perfect specimen. Now touch yourself,” the order is gruff.

You frown at him. “Where, my lord?”

“Are you to tell me you have never put your fingers between your legs?” he scoffs, disbelieving.

“N-no, my lord? Should I?’ 

The dancing flames of the fire are almost too hot on your bottom, as he answers in a cool register. “Yes, you should. But perhaps I should be the one to instruct you as your future husband.”

With that, he stands from his seat, walking purposely towards you, his boots heavy on the rug as you take a deep breath. He grabs your right wrist, bringing your fingers up to his lips and engulfing them in his hot mouth, his tongue questing against the pads of your fingers, the suckle of his lips sensual and damp.

With a salacious pop, he pulls off your fingers, his lips quirking into a knowing smile as he guides your wetted fingers to your chest.

“Touch your nipples,” he instructs quietly.

You gasp as his cooling saliva meets your flushed, puffy areola, puckering instantly under the pad of your fingers. 

“That feels good, does it not?” he dusks, wrapping his hand over yours to direct your caressing of yourself, his fingers never touching your nipple but directing your movement like a puppeteer, taking the fingers of your left hand and repeating the suckling action, guiding your fingers to your other nipple.

All you can do is nod and bite your lip, pushing up into your own hands, squirming slightly from foot to foot, feeling a dampness smear on your inner thighs as you do, your tummy replete with butterflies under his heavy gaze.

He guides your fingers over the swell of your lower breast and down over your stomach, chuckling as the teasing trail of your own fingers makes you giggle lightly, your belly rippling. His eyes flash as his hand guides yours lower, trailing into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs, something thronging between your legs at the molten look on his face.

Two of his fingers curl over the back of yours, turning your middle and pointer fingers into a hook before he pushes your hand lower. Again, you gasp as your fingers slide at his insistence into some folds of skin between your legs, damp and sticky. His face is dashingly mischievous as he places those hooked fingers over a certain swollen nub and swirls them slowly in an anticlockwise motion. You startle at the spike of pleasure that rushes through your body, the epicentre under your attentions.

“How does that feel, fiancée?” he murmurs, tone like velvet.

All you can do is stutter his name on a shaky exhale, your other hand shooting out to grab his muscular forearm where it presses your belly, the dark hairs there tickling your palm as you grip around him, needing the anchor, your knees feeling oddly weak.

“Oh, you like that…” he huffs, amused, as he crowds into you, his hand covering yours between your legs, dictating your movements, a shiver running down your spine at the fizzles of pleasure sparking around your body. “Do not stop,” his voice low, resonant, his lips hot on your temple, you moaning lightly and leaning into him.

A sweet-tart scent fills the air, your fingers coated in a slick, viscous substance that can only be from your own body, a soft, wet noise emanating from where you touch yourself.

“That is my favourite sound in the world,” Anthony sighs into your ear, “so ripe and ready for me…just wait until we are married.”

“What will happen?” you inhale, trying your best to concentrate even as you feel your body swelling under your own touch, engorged, hot, craving more friction.

“All in good time…” he answers enigmatically, his breath a touch uneven.

The slightly rough texture of his cotton shirt snags delightfully against your nipples as you writhe, riding your own fingers and his, wishing it were his skin touching yours. There is something hard in his britches that rubs your stomach with each move you make.

“Do not stop,” he gruffs.

You whine as he steps away, craving his heat, his toned body glorious to rub yourself against, akin to a cat.

“My lord…” you mewl, appealing for him to return, swaying unsteadily on your feet even as you continue to touch yourself as instructed.

“That is it, keep going up,” he encourages, retaking the seat and staring at you covetously, one of his hands falling to his lap, palming a swelling there.

“What are you doing, my lord?” 

You are intrigued by his soft panting as he roughly tugs at the buttons on his trousers.

“I am doing as you are,” he groans, “I am touching myself, My cock.”

With that, he fishes something out from his white underwear that makes you inhale sharply. A red, almost angry looking rod of flesh that stands proud of his body from a dark thatch of hair. The slight is intriguing and makes you pulse heavily between your legs as if innately knowing it belongs there.

You feel yourself moving towards him, like a magnetic pull, your fingers still sliding over that hardened pearl between your legs as you get closer, hypnotised by the sight of his hand, now in a fist, moving up and down his swollen cock.

“Cock…” it falls from your lips reflexively as you stare.

He groans loudly at your utterance, a shiny pearl of wetness pooling at his tip as he does so.

You feel feverish, not just because of the roaring fire in the hearth, but a blaze inside, a flush running through you that makes your mind feel both fuzzy and sharp, singular in pursuit of pleasure, your fingers moving faster now between your legs, varying your speed and motion.

He hisses his approval as your knees buckle, sinking to a kneel on the rug, your knees splaying wide, your fingers freer to move, but your eyes never leave his hand, his motion a quick twisting tug now.

“Does that not hurt?” you blurt out breathily, not pausing, chasing a high you can feel hovering so tantalisingly close, a tingle over your lips and the back of your scalp.

“No, it feels just as good as your fingers do on you,” he assures, broken, huffing now. “I will teach you,” he adds, meeting your gaze heatedly when your eyes ping to his face briefly.

Something about this feels so decadent and luxurious, the same as his velvet jacket was on your skin last night, the garment that catalysed this whole tumultuous journey.

“Swap hands,” he commands, cutting into your wayward tangent, and you find yourself obeying on instinct. “Give me that other,” he rejoins. Before you know it, the fingers that were between your legs are in his mouth, his tongue curling and sucking wantonly, feeling the vibration of his groan over your fingertips as he cleans all your juices from your fingers, his hand a frenzy on his cock now.

Your other hand feels different; something about the catch of your blunt fingernails between your legs has you hurtling towards some crescendo, your skin feeling almost too tight over your bones, a pressure behind your ribs as your heart thunders, almost like you are trying so hard to chase and hold in something explosive.

“Oh, you are there, aren't you?” Anthony growls around your fingers still in his mouth, sounding wild, his motions untamed, gusting deep breaths out of his nose as he leans forward, eyes intense and glassy.

All you can do is nod, almost frantic, as if seeking permission to break, circling an abyss. Your fingers fall from his mouth as he groans loudly.

“Come for me, fiancée,” he grits out.

Unsure what that means, you just keep moving, feeling something snap inside that has you calling out and curling over, a scream escaping your lungs as your body seems to retract and explode outwards, your mind scattered to the wind as an ecstatic wave fans out from your core around your body, your muscles twitching.

You are brought back to the room by a noise he makes—hungry, gravelly, all male. As your breath returns, your eyes reopen to see him in the throes of ecstasy: an arresting sight. One curl of hair flopped over his dewy forehead, his lower lip caught under his upper teeth, eyes wild and unfocused, then screwing shut as he roars, his hand a frenzy on his cock which seems to pulse in his fist before spurting a substance in an arc part of which splashes warm across your chest, taking you by surprise.

That seems to signal he has reached a peak, too, his body wracked by a few aftershocks before he slumps back into the chair, panting, his hand slackening as he stares transfixed at the sticky streak of his cum over the upper swell of your breast.

“Are you well, husband?” you check, fascinated but concerned.

He doesn't correct the title you bestow upon him. “More than,” is his laconic, sated response, an easy smile claiming his face as he unfurls a sleeve to tenderly clean your breasts of his seed. “This is only the beginning,” he promises, cupping your cheek affectionately. “Run along and get some rest; we shall meet here again tomorrow.”

You cannot wait.

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[thethirdromana]

Mem., get recipe for Mina: a food guide to Dracula Daily

Inspired by There and Snack Again (in which you eat along with the LOTR movies), this is your guide to eating and drinking along with Dracula Daily.

All under a cut because there's no way I can do this without extensive spoilers. I strongly recommend not reading this unless you already know what happens in Dracula. Also only if you're comfortable reading about alcoholic drinks - there's a lot of booze in this novel.

Let's eat!

2 May We start with the famous paprika hendl. Google "chicken paprikash" and choose whichever recipe most strikes your fancy.

3 May For breakfast, choose from mamaliga (cornmeal porridge, similar to grits), "impletata" (vânătă umplută - stuffed aubergine) or anything with more paprika in it.

4 May For dinner, Jonathan has robber steak: "bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire".

5 May Slivovitz, if you'd like it (Jonathan declines). Then, for dinner, Dracula serves up roast chicken, with some cheese, a salad and a glass or two of Tokaji wine.

6 May "A cold breakfast" for Jonathan. In Romania a cold breakfast might include boiled eggs, telemea (sheep's cheese), franzela (bread) with assorted spreads, sliced cucumber and tomatoes, and sunculita taraneasca (sliced smoked pork). Jonathan also has "an excellent supper", but doesn't tell us what that includes.

16 May Would it be too bleak if I suggested eating a symbolic Jelly Baby?

26 May A glass of wine as Quincey and Jack congratulate Arthur and drown their sorrows.

18 June There's a kind of Scottish fruit slice called "flies' graveyard". That might make a suitable snack given Renfield's meal today.

24 June I guess a gingerbread woman, for the wolves? IDK, it turns out doing this for a horror novel is a bit grim.

8 July Thankfully the internet has hundreds of ideas for spider-themed cakes so you can eat along with Renfield.

18 July The voyage of the Demeter begins! Celebrate by eating like a sailor: have some salt pork, or make ship's biscuit.

20 July Renfield has just eaten several sparrows. Provide redress by feeding birds near you, bird flu guidance permitting.

24 July Imitate the "feet-folk" from York and Leeds by drinking some tea or eating some cured herring.

10 August Lucy and Mina enjoy a "severe tea". There are lots of severe teas in Victorian literature, but few writers actually describe what's in it - e.g. the Churchman's shilling magazine, 1868, has a story with a severe tea "which implies coffee, tea, and muffins, with substantials". What are substantials? I have no idea, but that's what you should eat today.

11 August Dracula has a little nibble on Lucy. I don't suggest doing this for every vampire bite in the novel, but given this one is particularly significant, how about marking the occasion with some black pudding?

30 August No food details for a while, but in this entry, Lucy notes that she "has an appetite like a cormorant" and "Arthur says I am getting fat". Celebrate with some cake.

3 September Van Helsing has been! And surely he wouldn't have come all the way from the Netherlands empty-handed? Acknowledge his visit with some gouda or a stroopwafel.

4 September Eat some sugar, which Renfield has requested for his flies.

7 September To stay in line with what the characters actually eat and drink, have a glass of port (though ideally not if you've just given blood). But for the real spirit of the day, consider a corn-on-the-cob.

9 September Free space! Jack has "an excellent meal" but doesn't say what it is. Dig into your favourite dinner.

10 September A sip of brandy, with which Van Helsing wets Lucy's lips.

11 September The garlic flowers arrive. There's lots that you can make with wild garlic - personally, I like it in risotto.

17 September A boxful of garlic flowers arrive for Lucy every day. Time to make chicken with 40 cloves of garlic. Other options for today include more black pudding (in honour of Renfield lapping up Jack's blood) or sherry.

18 September The Zookeeper enjoys a teacake, and so shall we.

20 September No food, but the labourers have "a stiff glass of grog". This is rum diluted with water, but you could also add lemon or lime juice, sugar, and/or cinnamon.

25 September Nibble another Jelly Baby for the Bloofer Lady.

29 September A lot happens in this entry, but there's not a lot of food. There are thirsty labourers, however. Maybe have a beer?

30 September Mina makes everyone a pot of tea. Also, we don't know what they have for dinner, but they eat it at 7pm, if you'd like to time your evening meal accordingly.

1 October More tea! Since this is being gulped down by a working man, make it builder's style - strong, sweet, lots of milk.

2 October Jonathan visits the Aërated Bread Company. He only has a cup of tea, but you could have whatever you like best from their menu:

(source)

3 October Dracula forces Mina to drink his blood like "a child forcing a kitten's nose into a saucer of milk". You could either have some more black pudding, or drink a glass of milk in solidarity with Mina.

15 October The Crew of Light aren't focusing much on meals any more, but they have travelled on the Orient Express. Here's the 1887 dining car menu.

(source - I can't vouch for the accuracy of a random person on Twitter but it looks plausible)

29 October No one is thinking of food in this bit of the novel (though Mina makes yet more tea), but as they're heading to Romania, have some sarmale. These stuffed cabbage rolls are the Romanian national dish.

31 October Mina and Van Helsing have "a huge basket of provisions". Have a picnic in their honour, if it's warm enough where you are.

1 November Mina and Van Helsing have "hot soup" into which the local cooks have put an extra amount of garlic. Consider having a truly extra amount of garlic with this 44-garlic-clove soup.

7 November The Crew of Light return to Transylvania. No details of food, but in honour of their journey, I would suggest a final round of chicken paprikash, to bring us back to where it all began.

[foundress0fnothing]

what lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why

Summary: Elain and Lucien make a bargain. When it's time to call it in, however, neither of them remembers what it is—or that they made one in the first place.

Part 1/2. 4.5k words. Read here on ao3 or below the cut!

For Elucien Week 2024. Thanks to the organizers @elucienweekofficial for putting together such a wonderful event!

Title from Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem of the same name. So many thanks and hugs to @areyoudreaminof for betaing this and assuring me that the vibes were good!

By all accounts, it had been a perfect ceremony. Nesta looked beautiful in an elegant gown of ivory lace and silk and Cassian had gotten misty-eyed when he saw her. The two of them professed their love and fidelity in a heart-wrenchingly tender exchange of vows. They had commandeered the River House for the day, turning the front lawn into a lush expanse of trees and fae lights and flowers. There had been heartfelt speeches and strong drinks and delicious food, and now everyone was on the dance floor, celebrating all that they loved after coming so close to losing everything. Nesta and Cassian held each other as they danced slowly, lost to anyone other than their mate; Feyre and Rhys had left Nyx in the care of Nuala and Cerridwen, so they too were smiling happily (if tiredly) as they swayed to the music; even Nesta’s new friends Emerie and Gwyn had managed to make it to the ceremony despite all they had endured, apparently escorted by Mor and Azriel, both of whom hung closely to the females as they moved through the party, talking and laughing together easily. 

And there was Elain. Sweet, simple, quiet Elain, who, hovering at the edge of the dance floor by herself and looking at all the happy couples, wanted nothing more right then than a drink and to be miserable all by her sweet, simple, quiet self. 

No one had noticed her fade into the background of the party as she moved across the lawn, straightening the flower arrangements she had put together early that morning until she reached the doorway that would lead her back into the River House. She stepped through without looking back to see if anyone was watching. No one would be, but still—she didn’t want anyone to think her behavior strange if they did happen to glance her way. After all, there was nothing strange about her ducking into the house for a moment. Even if anyone saw her, they would forget her in a moment. As usual.

Once inside, she walked down the hall toward Rhys’ office. The door was closed over, but a quick push with her hip opened it easily. Rhys rarely locked it nowadays; the worst had happened and he still had his happy ending—why should he worry about an unlocked door?

But since he was the reason she didn’t have her own happy ending—not with Graysen, not with Azriel, not with anyone else—the least he could do was supply her with some disgustingly expensive alcohol of his to get through an evening of mated couples menacing her with their sheer presence.

He kept his best liquor in the shelf behind his orrery, and she let her fingers ghost over intricately wrought planets as she gently pushed the model aside to survey the bottles in his collection. They came from all across Prythian—ice wine from Winter, blackberry brandy from Summer, coffee liqueur from Dawn, fire whiskey from Autumn, honey mead from Day. He even had a few scant bottles of elderflower and lilac wine from Spring and a sloe gin from Illyria that she knew from past experience was better as an antiseptic than something to ingest.

Her eyes caught on a bottle in the corner. Its label was richly colored with maroons and browns and golds, and featured an illustration of a rushing waterfall in the middle of an autumnal forest. The bottle was mostly full, and the amber liquid inside seemed to burn with a fire that seemed to match the inferno Elain felt raging in her chest.

Making her decision, she grabbed the bottle by the neck and stalked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She wended her way through the house to a small staging room that was just off of the kitchen. It was very rarely used—what use was a staging room in a house where the food just appeared with a snap of the high lord’s fingers? But it was lovely—the walls were painted a soft, muted green, and there was a comfortable loveseat tucked into the back corner behind the counters and tables. Elain had quietly, unofficially, claimed it as her hiding place, shifting plants and a small vanity a few favorite books into it until it resembled an oasis that she could retreat to when Feyre’s nosiness and Rhys’ highandedness and Nyx’s infant chaos grew to be too much for her to handle. 

And today, more than ever, Elain wanted some sort of escape. 

She flopped ungracefully down on one of the loveseats, not caring if the silk of her dress got wrinkled. So what if it did? It’s not like Elain was going back out there to try and find some male for the night. With her luck, they would all be mated anyway. Sighing, she pulled out the stopper on the whiskey and lifted the bottle directly up to her lips, taking a long sip and relishing the way it burned as it went down her throat—fire and smoke and peat and honey all at once. 

She waited until the sensation went away, and then she took another sip. And then another one. And then—

“You’re missing the party.” A voice from the doorway stopped her from taking another drink.

Elain didn’t have to turn to look at who it was. She knew his voice, and his scent, and his heartbeat, alluring and intoxicating and branded into the very marrow of her bones.

And she was too tired to care to guard herself against his pull. 

“Well done.” Elain finally turned to look at her mate, her eyes taking a moment to focus after she stopped moving. Lucien was lovely, she acknowledged petulantly. He was tall and surprisingly broad, facts highlighted by the close cut of the forest green suit he wore in honor of the festivities. His hair had been pulled away from his face in an array of intricate braids, and she noticed a few earrings winking at the tips of his pointed ears. Even the scar that cut across his eye, brutal as it was, only added to his allure and gave him a rakish look whenever he smiled. All together it was unfairly disarming, and Elain channeled some of her frustration into her tone as she continued sarcastically. “You caught me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Another brilliant observation.” For a male with one eye. Not that she would ever say that to his face. That would be rude.

He raised an eyebrow. …Had she said it aloud. She grimaced slightly. Maybe she was much drunker than she realized.

“Do you want me to—should I leave?”

“Everyone always does.” She raised the bottle in his direction before bringing it back to her mouth and taking a long pull, deciding that the sharp sting in her eyes was from the burn of the whiskey and nothing else.

He hesitated in the doorway, clearly uncertain. Not that Elain could imagine why—it’s not like he had made any effort to stay in the same room as her before, always flitting off to see Feyre or Rhys or the humans he knew outside of Prythian. “Is it better if I stay?”

“Do what you want, Lucien.” Elain said it dismissively, but she saw him shudder as the sound of his name washed over him. 

“And what do you want, Elain?” He whispered the question, but she still felt it resonate inside her, the sound of her name and the offer of a choice foreign and familiar and far too exhilarating all at once. Half-consciously, she rubbed at her chest where the resonance felt strongest.

She didn’t want to let go of that feeling. Not yet, at least.

“Have a drink.” She held the half-full bottle out to him as she shifted on the loveseat, making just enough room for his larger frame to perch on the chair without having to touch her.

He sat down and studied the bottle, huffing slightly in pleased surprise. “I haven’t had this in years.”

Elain didn’t say anything at all as he continued turning the bottle of whiskey over in his hand, lost in the past for a moment. It wasn’t her place—and she didn’t trust drunk Elain to approach any revelations that prying might reveal with anything even approximating tact.

He roused himself after a few moments. “Cheers.” He took a long sip, leaning against his side of the chair and closing his eyes as the whiskey hit his tongue to savor the flavors. She wondered if it tasted the same to him—a smoky, peaty, cleansing burn—or if it was more to him somehow. 

Elain thought about asking, but he interrupted her musings with a wry, “Tastes like home,” and she snorted. That was her question answered, then.

She waved for him to pass the liquor back to her, and they sat in silence for a while, taking turns with the whiskey until only a few fingers remained.      

It was easy being there with him—a fact that Elain relished and resented in equal measure. It was nice and objectively the best day she had had in far longer than she’d prefer to acknowledge. But it wasn’t fair—she had made her choices about love. Twice! And both times she had ended up with nothing but hardship and betrayal and shame. 

And this, sitting and sipping whiskey silently with Lucien, was easy. Because he was her ‘mate.’ Well, fuck that, Elain thought petulantly. She was sick of mates. And how annoying it was that he of all people was the only one to offer her any kind of choice? Honestly.

“It’s just that,” Elain started, feeling the need to voice some explanation as to why she had been hiding and drinking, “I wanted a choice. And this is what I get.” She held the bottle of whiskey in her hand and gestured vaguely in the direction of the party before taking another sip and slumping against the arm of the loveseat.

Lucien motioned for the bottle, and she passed it back. Her head swum as she leaned forward, and she giggled at the way the room seemed to shimmer golden at its edges. 

He raised an eyebrow and said, before taking a drink, “We’re alike in that, my lady.” He swayed slightly, and Elain was glad to see that he was catching up to her. “What choices have I ever had?”

“That’s very bleak,” Elain chided him.

“Sorry, did you expect that this,” he said, gesturing to his face, “came from a happy story?”

“I don’t know the story.”

“Surely you’ve heard—”

“Not from you.”

He paused for a moment, thinking. “Another time.”

She nodded easily, happy enough to let the story remain unspoken. She did know it—or knew as much as Feyre knew, anyway—and besides, she didn’t want to push if it would disturb the peace that had settled between them.

But she was still thinking about bonds and love and choices, and so she asked, quietly, “Would you choose this?”

Lucien tilted his head, blinking to focus his eyes as he tried to make sense of her question. “Choose what? You? The mating bond?”

Elain hummed in agreement.

“It’s a mating bond.” He looked at her like she was stupid, and she scowled slightly, irritated at his answer.

“But you…there have been—there are—others? Right?”

“I’m 300 years old. Of course—”

“And that’s another thing!” She exclaimed, unsteadily pushing herself to sit upright. “I’m only 24! What time have I had?” 

Lucien snorted and took another drink from the now almost-empty bottle, muttering, “Enough time to fuck it up twice, apparently.”

“Oh, fuck you.” She shoved his shoulder and yanked the whiskey out of his hands. She was done sharing if he was going to be like that.

But she wasn’t mad, not really. The whiskey had made her brain a little too floaty to harbor any real irritation. And it’s not like he was wrong exactly. Although she was mortified that he apparently knew about Azriel.

He smirked at her as she settled back against her side of the loveseat, aware that she was more amused than angry.

Elain wrinkled her nose at his smug expression and titled the bottle of whiskey up to finish off the last few swallows. It still burned going down, although the sensation had dulled since her first few sips. She lazily extended her arm to set it on the ground with a gentle clink, and when she looked up, she saw Lucien watching her curiously. 

“Would you be ready?” He asked.

“For what?”

“To accept the bond. If you’re tired of being alone.” He said it casually while looking up at the ceiling, as if he had no real stake in the answer. 

She wondered if he was trying to avoid scaring her off. She didn’t want to leave—she was too comfortably boneless and warm and hazy to really want to get up. And where would she go anyway? It’s not like she had anywhere else to be except the party. Besides, she couldn’t fault him for asking the question—she had brought up the topic of them being mates in the first place after all. But she didn’t know how to answer him. Was she ready? Tonight had been…good…but still. “I—would you?”

“I don’t want it gone. So–I could be.” Lucien glanced at her and shrugged.

Elain rolled her eyes. “But are you? Actually?” He opened his mouth to answer, and she sat up, raising her finger in his face and cutting him off before he could start. “And don’t lie, I’ll know.”

“I have—” He paused and looked away from her again. “There are the humans.”

“Oh?” Elain studied his face carefully. He still hadn’t looked back at her, but she could see something fond and hopeful in the corner of his eyes and the set of his mouth. His next words weren’t a surprise then.

“They make me happy.”

She wanted to be glad for him, truly. He had found love—he had chosen love. But his statement made something jealous and possessive spark in her chest. He was hers, that jealousy inside her seethed. And she hated that he made her feel this way because of the stupid mating bond. But she was drunk and bold and pissed, so she bit out, with a tone that would have made even Nesta cringe at its coldness, “Then why aren’t they here to celebrate with you?”

Lucien turned his gaze back to her and frowned. “You know why. It would be…impolite.”

“Because of me,” Elain finished, slumping backwards into the loveseat again until she was almost horizontal. She could feel the brush of his legs against hers from where she had splayed them out to encroach onto his side of the chair. The feral possessiveness ebbed slightly at his acknowledgement of their bond and the physical contact, but she was still angry. And she hated how good it felt to touch him. And, gods, she wanted another drink. The edges of her vision were still fuzzy, but she needed something that tasted like fire going down and could burn away the angry ache in her chest when she thought of Lucien and the humans.

He visibly swallowed, and Elain couldn’t tell if it was from their touching or some guilt about the humans in the face of her anger. Her stupid, mate-and-whiskey-clouded brain refused to move past them, and so she probed. “So you’re here alone.” 

She must have sounded too pleased at that fact, because Lucien raised a judgmental eyebrow and smiled meanly. “As alone as you are, my lady.”

Elain scowled at him. “Well, I’m tired of being aloneeeee.” She let herself draw out the last word into a whine, savoring the petulant tone that she knew her sisters would have smacked her for if they had been there in the room with them. It had always annoyed them when she used it to get her way growing up.

And it clearly had the same effect on Lucien, whose judgemental eyebrow shifted into a full sneer. “You’re telling me that you’re tired of being alone? I’m your mate. You could say the word and not be alone today.”

She sniffed at his tone. “That makes you sound pathetic.”

He shoved her legs away from his and said, as she tried to avoid slipping off the loveseat, “I thought you were supposed to be the nice one. You get mean when you’re drunk.”

She smiled fakely as she kicked her legs back out, making sure to connect with his shin before letting her calves settle against his. “Just with you.” And, she thought to herself as he scowled and rubbed at what would certainly be a bruise on his leg, that’s what you get for falling in love with someone else but coming to drink with me. 

A ribbon of satisfaction burned through her at the spiteful thought, while at the same time, some rational part of her brain cringed. She hated how nonsensical it all was—wanting a choice and wanting him all at once. 

And then she had a brilliant idea. She had read about it in one of the novels that Nesta had left lying around the townhouse—a couple that agreed to come back together after taking time apart. The book had been silly but the plan? It would be perfect for them.

“Okay, what if,” she said, hauling herself to a more normal sitting position, although she mourned the loss of contact between them. “What if we made a bargain?”

Lucien was still rubbing his leg, but he asked, “A bargain? Why?”

“For each other.” He looked at her skeptically, and she huffed. “And they call you the cunning one.”

“How would a bargain—we’re already mates, Elain. We can just accept the bond.”

She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips again, but ignored it to explain, “But we would choose it.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Well, you’re not listening.” She leaned over to him and put her hands on either side of his face to draw him in close to her until their noses were almost touching so she would know he was paying attention.

But seeing his face like this captivated her, stilling the words in her mouth for a moment. His right eye, although it was a little bleary from the whiskey, burned with a fire in its russet depths, and the golden one seemed to glow lightly in tandem. From this close, she could count the barely-there freckles that were dusted across the bridge of his nose, so light that they almost blended into the deep brown of his skin. And his scar—she could feel the grooved edges of it under her fingertips as she held his face, and she longed to raise her hand and cradle the damaged skin—

“Okay?” Lucien interrupted her enraptured perusal of his face, confusion lacing his question.

She blinked back to awareness, quickly shoving aside all thoughts of tenderly holding his face or seeing how hot his eyes could burn if she just—no. “So here’s the plan. Because—I want time, Lucien. Time to choose. Time to get to know other males. And you have whatever it is you have with your—with Vassa.”

“And Jurian.” 

Elain frowned at him. “Stay focused.”

He snorted but stayed quiet, so she continued. “And this—” she waved her hand between the two of them. “Gets forgotten. But not rejected.” She paused for a moment, and then said, quietly. “It’s just—I don’t want to be alone. At the end of it all. If—if…” She trailed off.

Lucien scoffed. “If you don’t find anyone better? Okay, princess.” He started to pull away. “I don’t want to be your last chance gamble because you’re drunk and lonely tonight, Elain.”

“No—no.” She kept her hands pressed to either side of his face, squeezing slightly until he stopped trying to move and just scowled at her. She knew he could shake her off if he really wanted to, if he decided to go back to the party or winnow home to his humans and laugh with them about his silly mate who came on to him because she was lonely and couldn’t find love on her own like them. But she didn’t want him to think that it was him she disliked. Then he could leave if he wanted to, and she would steal another bottle of Rhys’ to forget the whole humiliating affair.

He stayed, so she said, “It’s not that. It’s not you. Obviously. Don’t be an idiot. I just—I don’t like the obligation of you.”

He rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Do you like the obligation of me?”

“Not at this moment.”

Elain scowled and removed her hands from his face to gesture at the doorway. She had said what she needed to. “You can leave.”

But Lucien just looked at her for a few moments and sighed. “No, I really can’t. Not if this might be something—” He stopped himself from saying anything else, and impulsively, Elain grabbed his hand.  

“I just want a chance to choose. I just want time. Not to give it up completely. And I want—you to have time too. To choose.” That was a lie—Elain would much prefer it if he just waited for her to figure it out, but she couldn’t ask that of him. Not fairly. 

He nodded, so she continued. “So we make a bargain. For time. And then, if we reach the end of the time and we haven’t committed—officially—to someone else, we do it. The whole thing. Accepting the bond, the frenzy, the big ceremony and the family and all of it. Because maybe the Mother or the Cauldron or fate or whatever was right all along.”

“How long?” Lucien asked.

“How long what?”

“How long until we call in the bargain?”

Elain titled her head, considering.“Ten years.”

“And if there’s no one else—”

“Yes. We do it. Mates.”

Lucien hesitated for a moment, and Elain let go of his hand to grab his face again. “Say yes, Lucien.” Saying his name felt like magic and music and possibility, and as she watched the sound of it affect him again just like it had when he first came in the room, she knew he would agree.

Was it fair, using his name like this to get what she wanted? Maybe not. But it felt right—a way to bind them together without taking away their choices. Elain only hoped that it didn’t end with a repeat of her situation now—left alone while he found all that he was looking for. 

She hiccuped slightly.

Lucien smiled at that and then nodded. “Then, yes, Elain. It’s a bargain.” He leaned in and brought his hand up between hers to cup her chin, a smirk dancing across his face. “And sealed with a kiss.”

He tilted her lips up to meet his, and Elain burned.

She didn’t know what she had been expecting—something gentle, perhaps? Courtly and courteous, even.  But Lucien kissed with a fire that reminded her that he was a son of Autumn, his lips blisteringly hot and insatiable, searing through her until she felt herself melt into him.

There was a brief spark of pain in her head, just behind her ear, but she ignored it, lost as she was in his embrace. It was bliss and agony and ruination and heaven, and Elain privately wondered if she would ever feel something quite like it again.

After a few more moments, he pulled away, breathing heavily, and Elain too found herself gasping as she unconsciously lifted one hand to her lips as if it could soothe the bruising ache his kiss left behind.

They stared at each other, blinking. And then Elain smiled. “Wait here.”

She ran back to Rhys’ office, ignoring Lucien’s confused shout as she left the room. This—the bargain and the day and that kiss—required a drink. She grabbed one of the bottles at random, not really caring what it was, and then returned to the staging room. Lucien had spread out across the loveseat, with one arm thrown over his eyes.

She nudged him and he moved his arm. “Why did you—” But then he saw the bottle she grabbed—the mead, apparently—and smiled, understanding flashing in his eyes.

“Move over.” He shifted slightly, but not enough that she could sit upright on her own side of the bench, so she was forced to sit between his legs, leaning back into his chest.

“Happy, Lucien?”

He hummed in response. 

She rolled her eyes, not that he could see, and pulled the cork out of the bottle, savoring the honey-rich scent that immediately drenched the air around them. “A toast?”

Elain took a sip before passing the bottle backwards to Lucien, who laughed, “To stupid bargains with beautiful women.”

“To beautiful bargains with stupid men.”

She didn’t turn around to look at him, but she knew he was smiling. “Whatever you say, Elain.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Elain found herself sprawled out on the loveseat in her staging room with her feet dangling off the side. Her head was pounding and her tongue felt cottony and thick in her mouth as she blinked blearily awake and tried to remember what had happened last night.

She remembered leaving the party and stealing Rhys’ whiskey, and then Lucien!—she glanced around in a quiet panic. Was he here? What had she said to him? 

But she was alone—Lucien had apparently left at some point in the evening, although she couldn’t quite place when, and so she didn’t have to face him and whatever alcohol-fueled nonsense they had said to each other.

They had shared the whiskey—that she remembers. And they talked about…something. And she could feel the ghost of some fire on her lips—the whiskey, most likely. But everything else was lost in a blur of liquor and warmth and … pain? Had she gotten hurt somehow?

There was a small, pulsing burning behind her ear, and Elain tentatively raised her hand to it. It was slightly warm, but it didn’t feel like an injury.

She hauled herself up off the loveseat to walk across the room to the vanity, hoping she could see whatever it was in the mirror. She angled her neck and swept her tangled hair to the side and—there!—she could just make out the silhouette of a flower tattoo behind her ear. 

Leaning in closer, she tried to make out the details. It looked like … a larkspur, maybe? But why—

And then Elain gasped and closed her eyes. A bargain. Drunk Elain had made a bargain with someone—Lucien? Gods, she hoped not—and because it was the fucking Night Court, she bore the evidence of it on her skin. It was a small tattoo, and  she thanked the mother that it wasn’t some giant monstrosity like Feyre’s arm bargain tattoos—at least she could hide this. Whatever this was.

[welcomingdisaster]

(ao3) Let it not be said that the Lord of Himring is cruel, or unjust. Odd in his manner? Certainly. Temperamental and biting as the wind? Undeniably, and quite as cold. Trying, at times, and demanding in both his bearing and his expectations? Assuredly so; none at Himring castle would speak otherwise. Still is there is no cruelty in him towards his servants, and in that way he is unlike Curufin the Crafty, unlike those wild, fey twins that have gone eastwards, unlike most of all Celegorm, whose courts at once are merry and bitter, whose favored is a fickle, many-toothed thing. They say Celegorm is dangerous as a hound that has been beat for growling, for lunging; he gives no warning before he bites. 

In that case—though let this not be spoken by the maidservants of Himring, who are not only punctual but endlessly proper and respectful in their manner, naturally—the Long of Himring might be a mastiff-bitch that whines and grunts and growls pacing the perimeter of the house, that stops now and then to sneak restless sleep by the fire, snorting and snoring, that scratches at the door first to be let outside and then immediately back in. 

During the day, given one purpose or another, he does well enough. Certainly he pokes into the work of his men quite a bit more than is welcome; wishes to know for what purpose they have purchased this or that, what the final destination is for one package or another, who among them possesses what skill. But for the most part he is tolerable, and at times even kind. It is not unusual that he should lend his hand to something or other in the stables, or take over the management of some household task; he hates to sit idle, and will make work for himself when there is none to come by naturally. 

The trouble comes mostly when retires to his chambers. He sleeps, at most, some two or three hours nightly, and in those two or three hours none in the castle know rest. The sound of bell by his bed they have all come to know well, and curse, for it rings unceasing and gives them no rest. 

Water, he asks for. Brandy. Smoke. To be told their thoughts of the weather tomorrow. To come and see that the moths have eaten his blanket. Another pipe. More brandy. To speculate upon whether his dream—here one begins to wonder how he had time to dream at all—is a only a dream or some vision of foresight, stoke his fire or to put it out, to help him search again and see if a little mouse has not made its way into his bed (a mouse has not, even once, made its way into his bed. Mice are largely disinterested in the beds of elven-lords, preferring instead to nest near grain stores and kitchens. Himring’s housekeeper is happy to point this out for the eighty-ninth time, if she is asked). 

When he falls asleep it is around dawn, for short snatches at a time, and then the bell begins to ring again. By that time there is often no reason—dreams, he will say, and refuse to elaborate, and bother the servants with idle conversation for some time before letting them free again. 

That state of affairs can, now and again, be remedied, though rarely to the satisfaction of all involved. Once one of the maidservants isbeen quite tardy in cleaning the chambers, and worse yet, spills her bucket, sending dirty water all over the floor, just as the lord of the castle enters. She is horrified—she offers to make him a different bed, to hurry in her task as much as she might. He, however, is not upset; he tells her to keep at her work, and not mind him, goes to bed with wet socks, and sleeps quite soundly, never once ringing the damned bell, while she works. Likewise he is better if for some reason his doors and windows are left open, and someone might find some occasion or other to make noise outside. 

The housekeeper of Himring is quite as stubborn as her lord, and, it is said, more exacting, and in her own ways more clever. She has a niece—an orphaned child, some two decades short of her coming-of-age, a sullen, withdrawn girl who is equally passionate about embroidery and awful at it. Keeping in the tradition of Queen Míriel, she refuses to wear a thimble, but has no dexterity for it. The housekeeper brings her up to the tallest tower of Himring, where the Lord makes his chambers, and begs his forgiveness, asking if her dear fosterling might sit in his windowsills to sew by the moonlight. There is no other good light in this castle, she says, knowing her words flimsy, and it is too cold to sit outside. She will be quiet as a mouse, the Housekeeper promises. 

Certainly he must see through her—whatever else might said about the lord of Himring, he is not stupid—but he acquiesces, gesturing for them to enter. The housekeeper’s niece clambers up into his windowsill and sits, embroidery balanced on her knees. Now and then she drives the needle into her fingers, and hisses out a curse. Does not have the sense to leave it there; each time she curses she apologizes, and is unable to decide if she means for those words to be whispered or spoken, so they fall awkward into the quiet of the room. 

The lord of Himring lies still, waking now and then from uneasy sleep, and does not ring the bell. 

[mcflymemes]

GENERIC FANTASY PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue for any fantasy setting

you are a descendent from an ancient royal line.

can you joust?

this is not a question of bravery.

are you too cowardly to take a life?

hand me my sword.

the sheets feel scratchy.

you could have got us killed!

if you had kept to the plan, those knights might be alive right now.

together, we have a chance to take back what is ours.

would you ride into town with me?

you're playing with fire.

you should be on the throne.

perhaps we never should have come.

did you bring your bow?

you take one more step, traitor, and i'll chew you to splinters.

are you fit to compete, or shall the forfeit stand?

thank you, my lord.

i will deal with you when this is over.

you have to go alone.

we have some work to do.

it's an ambush!

why are they all staring at us?

were you robbed?

clean your sword.

i must look for a suitor.

i know where your allegiance lies.

pick up your sword.

you're not going to kill me?

what do you propose we do, your majesty?

the path takes us through there.

i will probably die on this quest.

even the peasants can marry for love.

your people love you.

i just learned this spell. can i show you?

are you with me?

how many more must die for the throne?

why don't we discuss the matter later?

what are you wearing to the ball tonight?

do not shush me!

be careful on those roads. there's been a report of bandits.

i'm not worthy of the throne.

how do i know your promise will be kept?

take the sword to the tower.

is that your horse?

i hear there's going to be a royal ball.

it was said to be magic.

no one has ever taken that castle.

what a waste of brandy.

is there a way down?

do you hear talk of a dragon?

you knowingly endangered a member of the royal family.

on a horse, with a lance... you're unbeatable.

some day, i'll be a knight.

there's an army out there, and it's ready to follow you.

hold your tongue or lose it.

you're no longer a myth. you're starting to mean something.

admiring the castle again, i see. isn't it beautiful?

tonight, evil has met its match.

you make me feel like a poet.

i'll ride with you.

this kingdom is better off without the lot of you!

why were they trying to kill you?

no one ever comes back from the woods.

i think it's time we found out what's going on.

i will not lose.

how about a little target practice?

you were right to fear the woods.

choose your last words carefully!

the time for pleasantries is through.

run, and i will run with you.

they wanted to arrange my marriage.

will you dance with me?

i'm sure when i'm older, i'll understand.

you know what we have to do.

what do you think? now that you know what i am?

you speak of what you do not know.

my parents were peasants.

we have a long journey ahead of us.

we should have killed them when we had the chance.

you might find this land a more savage place than you remember.

do you even know how to use that thing?

you have to be of noble birth to compete!

i didn't want to be at the celebration.

i can do magic.

are those catapults?

do you know any spells?

i'm not supposed to be seen with people like you.

minotaurs? they're real?

try and take them then.

help me fetch my arrows.

i'm afraid i'm not worthy of you.

i hear you have a quest for me.

sit with me and drink.

that's a bit of a long story.

there is no way that i am fighting.

i challenge you to a duel.

i wonder who lived here.

maybe it's time you had this back.

you have a traitor in your midst.

meet me in the castle gardens tonight, after the sun sets.

the king sent me.

you stole from the castle?

[yourheartonfire]

"You know, the bathe them and bring them to me trope is such a cliche," the hero said. "I'm disappointed in you."

"Did you enjoy your bath?"

"It was absolutely amazing, and I hate you and your interior decorating and fancy oils so much right now."

The villain smiled. "Anytime."

From @the-modern-typewriter 's excellent Patreon!

The hero beelined straight towards the little buffet of post dinner treats the villain had carefully left laying out in plain view. A full dinner would have been too obvious, but the villain figured some hothouse fruits and a chocolate mousse or two would be too tempting for the hero to pass up.

"So what's the plan? Do you need me to stab you or anything when I escape?" the hero said around a mouthful of strawberry cake.

"Please don't. You know I can't bear physical pain." The villain wandered over to help themselves to a kumquat. Mostly it was an excuse to get a closer look at the hero with the blood and grime scrubbed off. Definitely thinner under the villain's brocade bathrobe. And they didn't like those circles under the eyes, the tension in the jaw... "As it happens, I'd appreciate it if you'd make your exit after the guard comes to collect you tomorrow at dawn. Something public and splashy. I need an excuse to execute my guard captain."

The hero choked. The villain sighed. "I mean, fire my guard captain. Fire him."

"[Villain] -!"

"He's one of the usurper's spies." The villain put the kumquat back down on the silver platter. "He's been doing everything he can to undermine my position here, which as you know is rather tenuous."

The hero went still. They swallowed, the motion suddenly large. "Does the usurper suspect you?"

The villain chuckled and poured themselves a generous topple of brandy from the bottle they'd just opened. "The usurper suspects everyone. That's why I need to deflect their ire to another target." As if an afterthought, they poured a second glass and shoved it towards the hero. "I'll make it worth your while to delay. You see, to fend off my crude advances this evening, you're going to get me drunk enough to pass out, and then discover I carelessly left out a few key pieces of correspondence on my desk." The villain turned the hero to face the little secretary desk half hidden behind a damask curtain, taking the opportunity to snake an arm around that waist. Yep, definitely too thin. "If I were you I'd start with the tax shipment schedules."

The hero pushed them off, but gently. "Should I, though?"

The villain blinked. "Should you what?"

The hero picked up the kumquat, rolled it between their fingers as they perched on the bed. "Tell my people I 'stole' the information from you. When your position is tenuous."

The villain made an angry noise that came out a sputter. "Oh, please! Trust that I know what I'm doing-"

"I don't like this." The hero's brow was creased and for a moment they were their old, uncomplicated idealistic self. "I don't like that no one knows how much you're doing, how much you're risking for us-"

"Well for the gods' sakes, don't tell them," the villain said with real alarm. "You have spies in your ranks too."

The hero gave a hollow laugh. "I know. I'm not a fool."

"Yes, you are." The villain sat on the bed beside their old rival, took a lungful of the hero's sweet post-bath scent like a punch to the gut. "You're absolutely a fool for this quixotic quest for... I don't even know. Justice? Freedom?"

The hero raised an eyebrow. "Well, obviously you're the fool for helping me."

"Oh please," the villain sniffed. "Obviously I'm hedging my bets with both sides. I assure you, my actions are entirely self-interest driven."

The hero narrowed their eyes. "Right. And you've suddenly developed a sweet tooth?" Pointedly, they popped the kumquat in their mouth.

The villain tackled them. The hero let out a strangled yelp around the mouthful of fruit.

"There we go, make this sound good." They hauled the hero up higher in the bed, pinned them down to the pillows. It was alarmingly easy. Maybe they could get the hero to take a bag of food with them? "You just stay right there a bit."

The hero glared up. "I'm supposed to be reading your correspondence."

The villain grinned and reached for the bottle of brandy. "Not for another hour. I'm not a lightweight, darling."

As it turned out, the hero dropped off to sleep in three minutes flat. The villain let them sleep, and packaged up the letters to go.  

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Holy

So this... wasn't what I planned... anyway...

One sided Halsin x Tav, one sided Gale x Tav, Astarion x Tav. Jealous gods, oblivious bears, and a certain someone barging in to make it all about him. Of course. 18+ spicy spice

Taglist:

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard @silent-words

@netherese0rb @sorceresssundries @mumms-the-word

'Let all time slow, let all light go, I don't need to know where we begin and end, I'd still know you not bein' shown you, I only need the workin' of my hands. Do you understand?' - De Selby part II, Hozier

‘Tav,’ Halsin’s warm, deep voice floated through the crowd of her friends, gathered in the balmy evening. Woodsmoke and flowers were heavy in her nose, the sweet headiness of red wine on her tongue curling inside her head to a pleasant cloudiness. She turned, a little unsteady, to find the druid gazing at her with soft, adoring eyes. She could fall into their honey gold depths if she wished, getting him drunk on wine and fucking languidly in the open air. Tonight held that kind of magic. She held the last memory in her mind, verdant green and hazy.

*

Six months ago, stood in the ruins of the High Hall, her friends gathered. Despite assurances to the contrary, Tav knew none of them expected to survive what was coming. Each of them prepared in their own way. Karlach was all relentless energy, itching for one last fight. Wyll spoke quietly with his father, their hands clasped as they stared down the battlements at their city on fire. Minsc, Boo and Jaheira were sprawled against a wall, sharing a bottle of wine. Shadowheart and Lae’zel were stood side by side, sullen.

Astarion paced like a caged cat, hands behind his back, eyes on his feet. When she reached for him, his eyes rose to meet hers. They were unguarded for once, deepest red, and scared. He was the one to pull her in. ‘You survive this,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘You hear me?’ ‘You’ve got it,’ she said, breathing deep. She’d remember the scent of his clothes for as long as she lived, be it hours or years. Citrus and herbs and brandy depth and death. ‘We’ll get out of this. We have to.’

‘Don’t worry, darling,’ he said, sounding for all the realms like he meant it, ‘if you die, we’ll just have to march into the fugue plane and get you back.’

She felt tears come. ‘Yeah, well. You stay on your feet too. You’re so whiny when you’re bleeding out.’ He smiled at her, gentle and almost wistful. ‘See you.’

‘See you,’ he echoed, watching her leave.

‘Hey,’ she said, approaching Halsin. ‘I just wanted to say that I-’

‘I’m sorry my heart,’ he said, looking anxiously down at her. ‘There’s no time. We have to go.’

‘…Oh. I just. I thought that maybe we should say goodbye, just in case-’ She wanted him to take her into the shelter of his arms and kiss her. One last kiss, if it would be so, or one of many more, but he would not hear it.

‘There will be no goodbyes today,’ he said gently. ‘Go. I will see you on the other side, sweet one.’

‘Right,’ she said, feeling her heart splinter in her chest. ‘Yeah.’ She turned toward the exit, to face the horrors head on as she’d always done. Deep breath.

‘Wait.’

Not that voice. Anyone else and she might’ve been okay, but not him. He reached for her hand, turned her to face him.

‘Gale…’

‘Now, I know,’ he said, lifting his hands in that endearingly disarming way of his. ‘We’re not together anymore, and that’s fine, but…’ He smiled. ‘I’d be a pretty awful friend if I just let you go off to this fight without saying something, wouldn’t I?’

‘Gale, it’s fine honestly. We’re going to be fine. I’ll see you on the other side, yeah?’

‘It’s an honour to fight alongside you. You believed in me in a way nobody else did. Nobody but Tara I mean, er… well. You showed me what I had to live for. And for what it’s worth, Tav, I…’ Swallowing hard, his voice cracked. ‘I miss you. A lot. And I love you. Of course I do. How could I not?’

‘You’ll be thrilled to hear my boyfriend just brushed me off, then.’

‘Not remotely.’

‘Are you with me, Gale? Are you going to be able to focus and fight this battle alongside me?’

‘Of course.’

‘And will you give up the crown?’ Her words hung between them. ‘I adored you. So much. But your ambition, it… it poisons everything you touch. Leave it, Gale. Please. If you love me, truly, do this for me. This one thing.’

The light in his eyes went out. ‘You know I can’t lie to you, Tav. Not to you.’

‘I see,’ she said. She suddenly felt unreal, like her knees would give beneath her or her soul would fly away. ‘Well. I suppose the only thing left to say is good luck.’

*

‘Hi, Halsin,’ said Tav coolly. ‘I hope the last six months have been treating you well.’

‘They have,’ he said, seemingly oblivious. ‘There are many orphans in the surrounding environs who need homes. I’ve set up a shelter, of sorts. I never got to be a father as you know, but… I think I’ve found my purpose, finally.’

‘I’m happy for you,’ she said in a sweet voice that wasn’t quite sincere.

‘How about you, my heart? How have the last six months been for you? I must say, I missed you terribly.’

‘They been fine,’ she said. ‘You should have a drink, hmm? I’ll find you later.’ How can I really tell you what it’s been like? There’s no way you would understand. She decided to tell him nothing, retreating to the far side of their old camp, down by the lake and out of sight.

*

She’d searched for him, in the aftermath. Under the rubble and the blood, the cooling bodies and faces strange and familiar, she’d been frantic, scanning everywhere she could for a scrap of fine purple fabric. Finding nothing, she retreated from the city, finding solace in an isolated cottage in the Cloakwood. With Karlach and Wyll in Avernus, Shadowheart living with her parents, and Lae’zel on a crusade against the lich queen, Tav had nobody left. Even Astarion had had to retreat into the dark.

She settled into life there just fine. Slowly she created a small herb garden, her kitchen smelled sweet and fragrant, and she adjusted to sleeping alone. Couriers brought letters from Jaheira with the city’s progress, Shadowheart checked in occasionally and on those days, she brought Scratch and they’d reminisce, bittersweet.

And then the dreams started. Looming into her consciousness she heard Gale’s voice again. It had lost the warmth it once had, instead turning strangely metallic and cold in quality. ‘Tav,’ he said, appearing in utter splendour. He was all rich robes, bright, terrifyingly blank eyes, and skin that had gone silver. ‘I miss you.’ There was no feeling in it. She had the memory of it tucked in the back of her mind. The way his voice would morph from cheery and silly to meltingly seductive, it was all gone.

‘I looked for you,’ she said. ‘After. I thought you were dead.’

‘No.’ His voice echoed in her head. ‘I became something better.’

‘I loved you, Gale. The man you were. Not this.’

‘You left me,’ he said. Even his anger was flat. ‘You could’ve ascended, Tav. I wanted to bring you with me.’

‘I can think of nothing worse.’

‘You’ll understand in time, perhaps. You won’t ever be far from my sights, not with your ambition.’

‘Let me go,’ she begged. ‘Please.’

‘Strange as prayers go.’ He almost smiled. ‘I cannot grant it. I’m sorry.’ His words were hollow, ringing false with every godly breath.

He visited nightly from then on. He would simply be on the periphery of her consciousness, a ghost of a memory.

Every night except one.

Months into the ordeal, she lie wide awake in the dark. He would not come if she was awake, because he was a coward. His human courage had fled him, filling the void of him to the brim with arrogance and apathy instead. So dark became her day, and the last joys she had felt leached away. Leave me, she would pray upon waking. Torment me no longer. Haunt me no more. He never listened, only shored up his domain with her desperation.

A stirring outside perked up her ears. Rising cautiously, she padded to the window, tried to peer into the dark. She percieved an eerie silence; the night was usually so full of life, birds and the chittering of small rodents and the rustle of leaves… it had all fallen away.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

‘What in the nine hells?’ she asked aloud. Nobody had knocked on her door for months. She crept to the door, slowly reached out, and turned the handle, revealing the last person she’d expected to be at her door. ‘Astarion?’

He stood before her, looking furious. ‘Darling, do you know how long it took me to find you? Do you?’

‘I-’

‘I looked for you. After. I thought you were dead.’

Tav stood, jaw slack, staring. Hearing her own words echoed back at her- the words she’d spoken to her new god, because he was, however reluctant she was about it, he had claimed her- sent her reeling. ‘Fucking hells.’

‘You have to invite me in,’ he said dryly. ‘I’ll warn you though. If you do you are in for it.’

She held his gaze. It was almost a challenge, his feline eyes narrowed. ‘Come in.’ She took a step back, he a step forward, over the threshold. He reached out a pale hand to close the door. She held her breath. ‘Of all the people to knock on my door I wasn’t-’

‘Quiet,’ he breathed. She bit her tongue and waited. ‘I told you. You had to survive this. I was going to find you after. I’m sorry I didn’t get to.’ His eyes flashed. ‘I thought you’d be with Halsin.’

‘Oh you know,’ she said, trying to keep things light. ‘He found his calling helping orphans. I’ve always been a bit too much of a bastard for that kind of thing.’

‘He broke your heart,’ he said pointedly. ‘I heard him, you know. He just brushed you off.’

‘It’s fine, really. He’s happy, so-’

‘But you’re not,’ he said, taking a step closer. ‘Come here.’ He reached out to take her jaw in his hand, appraising her appearance. ‘You’re not sleeping.’

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘The least you could do is tell me why.’

‘Gale.’

‘Gale?’ His nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘I thought you broke up with him.’

‘I did. I’m not talking about the Gale we knew, Astarion. I’m talking about a god.’ Hot tears welled in her eyes. ‘He won’t leave me alone.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I’m his chosen, Astarion. There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I have anyone who would-’

‘You have me.’

‘I didn’t finish my sentence.’

‘You don’t need to. You have me. I didn’t come and find you out of the goodness of my heart, you know.’

‘Well then why-’ He didn’t let her finish her sentence. He kissed her so violently her back hit the wall, her little ‘ooph!’ of surprise swallowed up by his tongue cool in her mouth. She pulled back in shock, though they were still nose to nose, sharing breath. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Oh darling, keep up. I’m in love with you, isn’t it obvious?’

Her mind was reeling. There was Halsin, who seemed to have forgotten she existed, Gale, who haunted her every dream and whispered promises of power if only she would just surrender, and then…

‘Tav.’ He took a shaky breath. ‘Say something.’

‘I’m… surprised, that’s all,’ she said faintly. ‘Not that I don’t want-’

‘Yes?’ He was losing patience.

‘Would it be wrong?’ she asked. I honestly don’t know.

‘Oh, almost certainly,’ he said. His voice was cheery, but his eyes were boring into hers. He was serious. ‘I mean, if you want to go back to Halsin, feel free. I’m sure he appreciates you the way you deserve.’

Anger reared in her chest. ‘Don’t be a bastard, Astarion.’

‘If that hit a nerve, ask yourself why.’

He was so close. It was muddling her thoughts, the smell of him. ‘Gods preserve me,’ she said, leaning up to close the meagre distance between them. She could feel him smiling into the kiss this time, his hands moving to gently cup her face.

‘Gods have nothing to do with it,’ he whispered when they broke apart. ‘Fuck the gods. I just want you.’

‘Then have me,’ she said. ‘On every surface in this house.’

‘You little freak,’ he said, deft fingers divesting her of her sleep clothes.

��Cheat. That’s not fair.’ She pouted. He grinned wolfishly and threw his own clothes on the pile, his pale skin gleaming in Selune’s light.

‘Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?’ he asked.

‘Absolutely none. I’m sure you’ll make up for it.’

‘Damn fucking right, I will.’ He put his expertise to work, nimble hands and soft mouth and sharp teeth. He knew just where to touch to make her feel lightheaded with pleasure, just how to play her body to make her beg, what to whisper to make molten heat crash through her. Not a word of it was false. He pressed delicate kisses to her nose, her cheeks, even her ears, making her giggle. He made her scream his name into the silence, and she felt the god of ambition bristle with every stuttering breath and sigh muffled in the vampire’s flesh. They fucked and rested and fucked again.

And then the light began to change.

‘I have to go,’ he said between kisses. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll come back.’

And then Astarion was gone, and Tav was alone with his scent on her skin and Gale’s rage inside her head.

To be continued…

[starry-eyes-love]

Ch 7- A Silent Promise to You

Series Masterlist    Main Masterlist

Summary | Christmas Time is nearing and you sit down and discuss what life used to be like during Christmas with Ellie. Later on after Ellie is in bed Joel admits something to you and then gives you a Silent Promise in return while he watches you sleep.

Warnings | 18+, Minors DNI

Language, slight sexual tension, Smut (oral f! & m! receiving, f! fingering, m! handjob), underage alcohol consumption references, reference of infidelity, argument between F!Reader and Joel, slight angst (not as heavy as usual, these two need a break), Christmas references (in case you all don’t like Christmas), death reference (not graphic), slight abuse reference (not graphic), fluffy stuff sprinkled in all over (cause it should be, it’s Christmas season). 

Word Count: 6.5 K

“Shhh, baby. Let me take care of you, yeah. I know what she needs.” He said, slowly lowering you down on the couch. Joel also laid down on the couch beside you, slowly kissing you up and down your neck.  He lightly nipped your skin in your most sensitive parts while continuing his featherlike touches to your skin.

“Ok wait, people had food, a Christmas tree, and presents?” Ellie asked, looking at you as you explained what Christmas used to be like before the outbreak.

“Yea Ellie, and Holiday Nog-”

“Holiday Nog, what’s that?” She asked, scrunching her face up like she just tasted something unsavory.

“It's a drink people used to drink, people of all ages. Though the adult version was always my favorite. Adults put alcohol like rum, whiskey, or brandy in it to make it a little sweeter.

“Woah, you hear this Joel?”

“Mhmm,” he said, eyes still shut and his head resting against the back of the couch. “Didn't make it sweeter though. Was more the liquid courage and taste of alcohol that made it worth drinkin’. Something ya kids couldn't have and our wives wouldn't bitch ‘bout.” Joel said while slowly exhaling. Joel was sitting by the fire, slowly relaxing, listening to the two of you talk. He was trying to get his back to settle down after a long day of chopping firewood.

You didn't know why, but Joel's comment about his reasoning for liking Holiday Nog kind of irked you. “Anyways Ellie,” you said loudly, telling Joel in a nice way to butt out. “Having Holiday Nog was always the best part.” 

“Overall, what was your favorite part about Christmas?” Ellie asked you, genuinely interested in your opinion.

You sat back and thought about it for a moment, then replied “for me I think my favorite parts were equally the presents and drinking the adult version of Holiday Nog.”

“You drank Holiday Nog with alcohol in it?” Ellie asked, eyes wide at your admission.

“Yeah, I mean I had a few swallows of it periodically. Dad would give it to me. He said it’d put hair on my chest and help me sleep more. So yeah, I guess I did.”

Joel was relaxing with his eyes closed, but when he heard you admit to drinking an alcoholic drink as a child, it piqued his interest. He slowly raised his head and looked over at you saying, “ya drank the version with alcohol in it? Honey, weren't you a little young for that?”

“Yeah, but like I said, dad gave me a sip here and there from time to time. So it was fine.”

“Darlin’, you can’t- you shouldn’t have- Baby, you were too young.” Joel said, shaking his head. 

Joel wasn't necessarily against giving kids some sips of the adult version of Holiday Nog from time to time. His daughter, Sarah, had a few sips of it the last Christmas he had with her. But she was 11, almost 12. That was completely different than a small little girl half her age running around having sips.

When you looked over at Joel you were irritated at his statement. Defensively you said, “I was old enough.”

“No honey, you weren’t. You were, what, like 5 or something on your last Christmas?” he asked.

“7 Joel, I was 7.”

“Well, I hate to say it, but no 7 year old should have sips of alcohol at Christmas. It ain't right.” Joel then leaned forward and rubbed his eyes, letting out a small huff.

“Jesus Joel, it was like what, 20 years ago ok? I’m obviously fine, plus dad said it was fine.” You turned to continue talking with Ellie, ignoring Joel and his issue he was having. “So Ellie what-”

“Jesus Christ, I'm too old for this stupidity” you heard Joel mumble to himself as he ran a hand down his face.

With a long sigh you turned to face Joel again and snapped at him saying, “What Joel? What's your problem over there?” You then leaned back and crossed your arms across your chest. You were starting to get upset at Joel’s obvious distaste for your admissions of what Christmas was like for you.

“Nothin'” he said while shaking his head and getting up with a grunt. He didn't want to fight with you, it wasn't your fault that your father was a complete dumbass, he thought. As he stood up Joel felt his knees and back crack, and he hissed at the sensation. “Fucking old ass knees and back killin’ me. Here I am robbing the fucking cradle. People being parents who don't deserve having kids. Kids drinking alcohol too young, Jesus Christ, and where are they all now?” Joel continued, muttering to himself.

“They're all dead Joel. So what's your damn point?” You replied, venom lacing your voice.

“I wasn't talkin' to you” he snapped, standing in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of water. “Just mind your own damn business.”

“What was that Joel? You're gonna have to speak up for us kids over here. Ya know, if you're gonna bitch about something, might as well bitch to my face about it and not behind my back. If you can't do that then mind your own damn business and shut the hell up.”

Joel was focusing on slowly breathing and not spouting off at you for things you didn't do. He knew it wasn't your fault that another grown man hadn't been parenting you correctly. With the 30 year age gap between the two of you, Joel was old enough to be your father. This fact alone pained him to realize that you were just a baby at 7 years old on your last Christmas, when his Sarah was almost 12. She would’ve been your big sister, not you being her stepmom. He didn't want to vocalize any of this as he knew you were touchy about the age gap thing. To him, it didn't matter anymore. The world went to shit and so did a lot of the customs. Truth be told, he wanted to fuck a woman 30 years younger than him. Before he used to care about age, but not anymore. However, your statement about him minding his own business made him angry. He snapped his head around and looked at you with intense eyes. He was desperately trying not to lose control of his anger right now.  

You saw that Joel was pissed about your comment, but honestly you didn't give a damn. You were talking with Ellie about Christmas, enjoying the feel of family time yet again when Joel popped his mouth off. You knew you were too young to have had alcohol at your last Christmas, and now being older you saw what your father did was wrong. He gave you alcohol so you would be sleepy and would fall asleep so he could bring a woman back home to sleep with. You remember being 5 when you woke up to hear the bed squeak in your parents bedroom along with grunting and moaning. Your mom always had to work Christmas Day at the hospital as a nurse, and your dad always brought other women home. Dad would always say it would be just a close friend coming over that he'd need to have ‘a private conversation with.’ Yet you'd never see the female come over again. 

You didn't want to verbalize this fact to Joel, as you didn't want to give him another thing that he could judge you for. Your father was unfaithful to your mother and you didn't want to hear Joel's take on that. So after a moment of intense stare down between the two of you, you saw Joel shake his head. He then turned around, mumbling to himself that he was “too old for this shit.”  As soon as you heard that you grumbled “yeah and you're also a fucking asshole too.”

As soon as Joel heard your comment, he was mentally done. Here he was just trying to relax and not fight tonight. He was tired and sore from chopping firewood all day. His back hurt and he also ached for you someplace else. He was hoping that if he could get his back to settle down tonight then maybe he could find some much needed relief with you in the bed later. But now with your comment, he didn't know if he even wanted to attempt anything with you later. You were acting like a spoiled brat, and this was something that he wasn't in the mood for.

“Asshole huh?” He said turning around and snapping at you. “I'm a fucking asshole? Well little girl, let me tell you somethin’. I was 35 at my last Christmas with an 11 year old daughter. I built houses for a living, owned my own damn business. Hell, I even fucked other women while you ran around and played with dolls then, not even knowing what a real man was or what to do with them. You know, if it wasn't for this outbreak, you'd never know who the fuck I was. And just for the record honey, that little immature attitude of yours is a huge turn off. So you can just-”

“Can we not do this tonight?” Ellie yelled at both of you. “Can we have one night, one fucking night, where you assholes ain't at each other's throats, huh? Can both of you do that?” After a moment of silence she then whispered, “please, I-I just want to know what it could've been like before this. What Christmas was as I've never known it.”

Joel sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. There were moments where Joel would forget that Ellie was just a kid and knew nothing of life before the outbreak. Sometimes he'd think that was a blessing because she didn't have to grieve and miss the things the rest of you did. But then there was Christmas, something that she knew nothing about and something so innocent that she lost out on. Every child should have a Christmas, know who Santa is, open presents, and find joy in what the holidays meant. With a sigh and a huff he finally said, “ok kid, what d’ya wanna know?” He then took his seat by the couch again, giving you a quick nod at agreeing to being cordial and not fighting for the night.

Ellie had already turned in for the night, saying that she wished Santa Claus was real. You had spent the majority of the afternoon explaining the idea behind Santa Claus, and why it was something that kids loved.  When Ellie decided to turn in for the night, you got up to do the same. As you got up to leave, Joel reached out and gently touched your arm and said “can we talk, please.” You reluctantly agreed, too tired to start a new argument with him.

“I'm sorry for being a cranky old asshole.” Joel said. “Ya know, sometimes my mouth gets the better of me and I just- damn woman- I sometimes say stuff I don't mean. I was upset hearin’ someone not looking out f’you, not takin' your safety seriously. I guess all I'm tryin’ to say is, I'm sorry and I didn't mean it darlin’.”

With a slow nod you whispered “ok” to him. As you turned again to leave you heard Joel ask, “mind if I tell ya some stories about Sarah and me at Christmas? I-I got a few cute ones and I thought you'd like ‘em. Ya don't have to if ya don't-”

“Joel, I'd love to hear about those stories.” You said with a huge smile plastered on your face. Joel never talked about Sarah. You had learned a long time ago that it was one topic that you were never to bring up. So the fact that Joel wanted to share this information with you delighted  you immensely. It also showed you that Joel trusted you, and was truly sorry for his outburst.

Four hours later you and Joel were sitting by the fire, still laughing at the Christmas stories he was telling. He was currently re-telling a tale of an embarrassing moment he had where he was dressed up as Santa Claus. “Sarah, she was about four and I was puttin’ the presents under the tree, dressed like Santa.” Joel said smiling and shaking his head at the memory. “I was drinking and got a little silly with my girlfriend that night.  Well, next thing I know me and the girlfriend were makin’ out on the couch like a bunch of teenagers. Sarah then walks in and says ‘why is S’ana kissin’ Ce-Ce?’ Cecilia was my girlfriend’s name at the time.”

“Oh god Joel, that must have been horrible” you said, laughing at the situation.  “What did you do?”

Joel, laughing right along with you said, “well, I had to do some fast talkin’. Told her that sometimes if Santa doesn’t find cookies he’ll ask a pretty lady for a kiss.”

“What did she say after that?” you asked, giving Joel your full attention. 

“Well, she was questionin’ it, but after my girlfriend helped her back to bed, we got her to go to sleep.  All was good until the next morning when she blurted out in the kitchen that my girlfriend kissed Santa.  I had to pretend I didn't know, and question my girlfriend why.”

“Geez, talk about funny and humiliating all at once.”

“Sure was, especially when Sarah told everyone around town ‘bout it. That little girl had a mouth on her, even at four. Always wondered where she got it from.” Joel said, shaking his head and laughing at the memory of Sarah at Christmas time.

“She got that mouth from her father I believe” you said nonchalantly with a slight smirk to your face.

“S’that right?” Joel said, looking you slowly up and down with hungry eyes. “If I recall, I didn’t hear ya complaining about this mouth last week. You were beggin’ me not to stop, if I remember right.”  

“Yeah well, you tricked me” you said, trying not to show Joel that you were aroused.  You haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night, the night Joel finally put his mouth on your cunt and ate it like a starved man.  You had been moody all day, irritated at the heavy makeout session the two of you had a week prior with no more than a brief kiss here and there in return since then. You wanted more from the man that you were living with.

Flashback to One Week Prior…Joel had been sitting on the couch at one end, by the fire, reading a book.  You were sitting at the other end reading another book that had a steamy romance scene in it. You had taken up reading some of Joel’s collections of Westerns. The author that you were currently reading had a knack for writing very good romance and smut in her stories.  Joel kept smirking at you periodically as you were hyper focused on reading. 

You had gotten done reading a particularly steamy part of the book and found yourself feeling horribly frustrated, with a deep ache in between your legs. You continued to read a more gentler side to the story. But after a few minutes you found yourself shifting and squirming on the couch, unable to get comfortable. You were pressing your thighs together, trying to find some sort of relief from the pressure that was building up inside your core.  

“Why you squirmin’?” Joel asked slowly, not taking his eyes off his book.

“M’not” you said, while you once again adjusted your position on the couch, exhaling loudly.

“Y’are darlin.’”

“I’m what, Joel?” you said, snapping slightly at him out of sexual frustration.

“You’re squirmin’ baby. What’s the matter, can’t find the proper relief ya need?” he said in a low sultry tone.

Without even thinking, you said with a whine “No and it fucking hurts.” When you looked over at Joel you saw him freeze, slowly looking up from his book. With stern and intense eyes, Joel slowly started looking up and down your body. With adjusting your posture yet again, pressing your thighs harder together, attempting to find relief from the tension and throbbing you felt between your legs. Shock had spread across your face at the realization of what you had just said and how your body was responding. 

Joel continued to study you for a moment before slowly closing his book, and placing it on the end table next to him. When he turned back around to you all you saw was black in his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. He then whispered “we can’t have ya hurtin’ now honey, can we?” 

Present Day…You were so lost in thought at the flashback of remembering a week ago, and with how good Joel ate your pussy that you never heard Joel ask you a question.  You finally snapped out of your trance when you felt Joel run his nose slowly up and down the side of your jaw, whispering “ya thinking about how that beautiful pussy was drippin’ for me a few nights back baby? Does she need me to give her some attention again?”  

You felt Joel trace his hand up between your legs with featherlight strokes. He was teasing you, working your body up into a frenzy.  He loved to do it, knew how to get your body to purr for him. It heightened your sexual experience with him, one of the biggest reasons why you knew he was an experienced man.  He knew how to get a woman, specifically you, to ache so hard for him before he gave you the release that you and your body craved for. “Joel I-”

“Shhh, baby. Let me take care of you, yeah. I know what she needs.” He said, slowly lowering you down on the couch. Joel also laid down on the couch beside you, slowly kissing you up and down your neck.  He lightly nipped your skin in your most sensitive parts while continuing his featherlike touches to your skin. Joel slowly worked up your legs, making sure to create goosebumps in his path as he sucked and nipped at your neck. Finally you felt him lightly run his finger up and down your seam, feeling the wetness pool inside of your sleep shorts once again.  He continued his touches all the way up your body, lightly circling your breasts and then finally touching your face and lips.  He lightly traced your lips with his thumb, and when you gently nipped at the pad of his thumb you watched his eyes darken.

Your body was vibrating with nervous sexual energy, wanting relief more than anything.  But at the same time you didn’t want to rush him, didn’t want him to stop.  It felt too good, Joel being like this. He definitely was a very attentive lover, making sure you enjoyed every moment with him.  You gently brought his thumb into your mouth and sucked on it, circling your wet tongue around the pad, licking and massaging it like it was his dick.  You heard Joel let out a low growl at the sensation, he was thinking the same thing as you were.

“Fuck baby,” he growled low in your ear. “Not yet. I can’t-” he said, quickly pulling his thumb out with a pop.

“Please baby, can I suck your dick? I wanna suck your dick Joel, please.” You said, practically begging while batting your eyelashes at him.

“Fuck woman,” he said, giving you a pained expression. “Ya can’t do that t’me, can't look at me like that and say that.”

As you listened to Joel and his poor excuse for telling you that you shouldn't, you slowly palmed his crotch. Feeling the hard bulge there, straining against the jeans that he still wore. “Please baby, please let me put my mouth on it. I can feel that it needs some relief. Come on baby, I wanna make you feel good. Don’t you want that, to feel good?” You said, palming Joel a little harder and faster. You were working him up slowly also, nipping at his throat and neck, two weak places you knew Joel had. 

“Please baby, please” you begged, continuing slowly working your mouth over his sensitive areas. You didn't know why but you desperately wanted to suck Joel's dick tonight. Maybe it was because of the argument you two had earlier, or maybe it was because he opened up about Sarah. Whatever the reason was, you knew that you were desperately horny for your man. You wanted to show Joel how good you could make him feel and how much he could relax because of it.

In a husky voice Joel said, “Fuck woman, you’re shit for my resolve, you know that?” He then slowly sat up, unbuckled his belt, and popped open the button on his jeans. When he was fully upright with his back against the couch, you watched him slowly shift his hips down a bit while opening his legs wider for you to kneel between them. He then said in a low voice “well sweetheart, what are ya waiting for? Get that filthy mouth of yours on me, and suck me off.” After you had gotten into position Joel gently cupped your face with one hand and said “you can go slow and I'll help ya if you need it. When you want to stop, we'll stop. No questions asked, ok sweetheart?”

“I know Joel” you said while slowly lowering his zipper and slipping his pants further down his legs with the help from him. “Please just let me do this baby ok? I want to.” Joel nodded in understanding and slowly relaxed. What Joel didn't know was that you were experienced in going down on men. Dave used to take you along when he would make deals to get medicine and other supplies in the QZ. You were always the payment, giving other men blowjobs.  Something you have chosen not to admit to Joel, as you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

You used to hate going down on men, but you quickly learned that if you didn’t you would be smacked hard and then beaten by Dave.  So you quickly learned the skill and art of giving men pleasure.  The better you got, the more praise Dave would give you as he scored bigger deals with supplies.  Dave would then reward you afterwards with letting you suck him, something that didn’t anger you.  You loved watching Dave pant beneath your mouth, hiss at sensation, and come undone by your touch. It always would turn you on, plus your reward was Dave not hitting you, a true win in your book at that time. Now, you'd slice Dave's throat without ever thinking twice. Joel could be moody, but he never made you fear him like Dave did.  

As soon as you saw Joel fully in front of you and standing at attention you felt your mouth start to water at how good he looked.  He was big and thick, and already leaking precum from his slit. He was the biggest you'd ever seen and you started to worry your lower lip, doubting yourself and your abilities. “I know it's big, darlin'. It's ok, just work the head a bit, ya don't have to take the entire thing. Just-”

Something about Joel's encouragement snapped you out of your funk. “Baby, please just sit back and relax. Can't I have a moment to appreciate God's masterpiece work here.” Joel just laughed and shook his head but did as he was told. You reached out and slowly teased the head, giving him a few gentle kitten licks with your tongue, testing out how sensitive he was. When you heard him hiss at the sensation, you knew his body would be very receptive to what you wanted to do.

Joel Miller was different, he wasn't one of Dave's partners. He was the man you loved and the person you wanted to see come undone with you. As soon as you gave Joel a little suck on his head, testing the waters to see what worked, he hissed and said “fuck, that mouth” as his hips bucked up into you, forcing himself into you all the way hitting the back of your throat. You lost all rational thought after that, deciding to get to work and work him hard to the edge, teasing and stroking him in the process. You wanted Joel to come undone with you, to give him pleasure where he'd beg for more. It gave you the biggest ego trip and confidence booster that a woman 30 years younger could do this to his dick that someone his age couldn't.

You started swirling your tongue around his head, cock now at full attention and throbbing. “Fuck baby, how are you so good at this?” Joel hissed, thrusting up into your mouth yet again.

“Baby, you gotta stay still and let me take care of you” you said, biting him on his thigh, right next to his heavy balls.  As soon as you did that he yelped, not in pain but in surprise. With a smirk on your face you started slowly licking the underside of his massively hard cock.  Joel was definitely bigger and thicker and your pussy clenched hard at nothing at the thought of him stretching you out down there, something for a later day, you thought.

You slowly licked up the underside of his dick, following the vein that was present there.  When you got to the top of his head, you gently kissed it with a wet open mouth kiss as you worked your way back down.  When you got back down to the base, you licked his balls, giving them some much needed attention. You knew with the proper attention of alternating tongue movements and sucking motions you could get men to completely melt.  It took a second but when you heard “fuck, fuck, god damn baby. Quiero follarte la boca,” you knew you were doing good. 

As you continued your ministrations, you slowly found Joel unraveling slightly before you. He was muttering to himself under his breath. “What does that mean in Spanish?” You asked, while slowly stroking his cock in slow languid movements. When you went back to lapping at his precum that was leaking from his slit, you heard Joel quietly moan your name.

“It means, woman, that I want- God- I want to fuck your mouth.” He said, slamming his head back and moaning at the quick tongue work you were now doing around his head.

“God damnit woman, stop fucking teasing me” he growled, snapping his eyes open to look at you. You loved feral Joel, eyes blown black with lust and threatening you.

“Oh” you said, a small smirk coming across your face. “You don’t want me to do this” you said, closing your mouth around his head while slowly moving just a little bit, sucking lightly at the tip of his head.  It was just enough to give him pleasure, but not enough to satisfy that deep need of you taking him all the way in your mouth like he wanted you to.  After a few more strokes of your tongue you looked up and saw Joel absolutely wrecked.

Joel had his head on the back of the couch, mouth open panting at your teasing that you were doing. He kept flexing his hands open and closed, trying not to slam your head hard down on him. It's been a long time since Joel's had another woman around his cock, trying to get him off.  

Usually women never knew how to get him off, so he'd just have them stop and then he'd focus on their pleasure. But you, you were a God damn demon, sent from both Heaven and Hell to give him pleasure, and boy was it torture of the best kind. Joel's never been this worked up just by a little teasing.  Usually women would suck him for a few minutes, get tired, and then he’d give them the best orgasm of their life with his mouth. If he usually couldn't have sex with women then he’d relieve himself later in the bathroom.

But you were different, he was trying so desperately hard not to come. He didn't want this to be over yet. So when you cupped his balls again and licked him, he bit down hard on his hand and slammed the other one sideways into the back of the couch.  You saw the reaction and slowly raised your head up and smiled at him while running your thumb over his slit saying “what’s wrong baby, want me to stop?”

Joel knew he wasn't a good man, especially with what he was thinking about wanting to do to you right now. He wanted to grab you by the throat, slam you down on the ground and fuck your brains out because of all the teasing you were doing.  He was feral, panting hard while looking down at you.  When you gently blew cool air on his throbbing dick he started cursing, both in English and Spanish yet again. He also growled at you and said, “Stop your fucking teasing woman, or ya ain’t gonna like what I’m gonna do.”

“Look here Joel,” you said, feeling confident in your ability at the moment.  “I got to hear you every night for 2 years being balls deep inside Tess while I cried myself to sleep in the room next to yours. So excuse me if you don't like me teasing you when I can finally have you. You have no idea what teasing is. I’ve wanted you for longer than you can possibly imagine.”

Something inside of Joel snapped at this admission, not that he was angry with your admittance, but that he was angry at your lack of understanding him.  He moved quickly, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head on the floor as he laid on top of you while growling at you “don’t you ever fucking say that again. You have no idea what I want, or what I’ve wanted for a long time. Ya think I didn’t know you were crying next door. Baby, Tess walked out cause I moaned your name when I was balls deep inside her. I’ve wanted you, hell woman, I fucking want you now in this life and the next.” he said with a roll of his hips. His hardened cock was slowly stroking in between your clothed sleep shorts, rubbing your needy clit in the process.  

“I want you all the time, that’s my problem baby. I’m trying to do this right y/n.  God, te amo, querida.”  He couldn’t say it in English, not yet.  But Joel just said ‘I love you darling’ in Spanish.

You didn’t know what Joel was saying in Spanish, and it pained you that you didn't know he could speak it. If you were being honest with yourself, you didn't know the ‘before the outbreak’ Joel. You tried convincing yourself that he'd still care even if there wasn't the outbreak. But you knew you changed, that your exterior was hardened because of survival. So you rationalized in your mind that the Joel you knew now was different from the other Joel, and that maybe because of that he'd still find the possibility to love you, like you loved him.

In all truth your problem was that you loved Joel.  You loved someone who you didn't think wholeheartedly loved you back.  With looking at him in this moment though you could see that he was pleading for you to believe him, to believe that you mattered and that he cared.  With a gentle nod of your head you said “ok Joel, I understand.” You then gently kissed him on the lips, trying to show him you understood.  However, the next thing you knew the gentle kiss turned heated. Pretty soon Joel had his hands down your sleep shorts and was thrusting his fingers in and out of your drenched and soaked pussy, while you were stroking his hardened member fast.  You two made out with wet sloppy kisses, moaning and grunting in response.  

“I want you baby, fuck, I need you” Joel said, whispering in your ear. He didn't want tonight to be the night he fucked you on the floor. But God, he was struggling with this concept. He so desperately wanted to be inside of you, to tell you he loved you and wanted a life with you. He wanted marriage, to have babies, and to live a life with you like before. But that was the problem, he couldn't have all of that. He knew that if he fucked you right now in his mindset he'd never pull out, and that was something he couldn't risk at the moment.

Joel grabbed your leg and hoisted it up on his shoulder while he continued to fuck you hard, fast and deep with two of his big fingers, while adding circles to your clit with his thumb. He curled them inside and found that soft spongy area of yours. If he couldn't fuck you the way he wanted to, he could at least give you this. After adjusting his angle, he heard you let out a loud moan at the sensation, that's when he knew he had it, your g-spot.

“That's it baby, that's it” he said as he watched your back start to arch off the floor. “Come on honey, give her to me.”

“Oh God, fuck Joel. I'm-I’m”

“That's right baby, let go. Come on sugar, cum for me.”

As you started to orgasm you moaned loud and Joel slammed his mouth onto yours to help keep you quiet. Joel didn't let up his pace, he continued to fuck you hard through it, giving you praises the entire way. He told you that you were “a good girl” and that he was “so proud of you” for relaxing and letting him have this. Once your body went limp Joel took his soaked fingers out of you and gave himself a few more good firm strokes with his soaked hand. When he came, he moaned your name and spilled his seed onto your thigh.

As you both laid there panting, relaxing in the afterglow of your orgasms, you were slowly running your fingers through Joel's hair.  Joel’s eyes were closed, and he was laying on his side facing you, holding you close.  There was a blanket draped over the two of you, something he grabbed and draped over you after both of your pants were off, just in case Ellie came in.  You two were laying there for about 30 minutes, just relaxing into each other and warming yourselves by the fire. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Joel asked, as he curled into you more. He could tell that you were lost deep in thought, mulling something over hard in your head.

With a long exhale you said “nothing.”

Joel could definitely tell that something was on your mind, so he slowly propped himself up on his elbows saying “come on, tell me. Please sugar.”

“It's just- are we ever going to be more than this. More than two people who fight and then makeup to not get closer. I-”

Joel could see it in your face, you wanted a promise of a life together, more than just a warm body to fall into. With a slow smile he said “baby, you mean more to me than just this. Te amo, sweetheart. Forever.” Joel then slowly leaned down and kissed you gently on the lips. When he was done he gently nudged you with his nose and said “now stop your fussin’ and go to sleep.” With that Joel laid back down and tucked you tight against him.

You were lazily running your fingers over his beard, loving the feel of the patchiness of it. When you looked up at him, you saw that he looked content.  Something that you never thought you’d ever see Joel Miller look in a world where survival was the golden rule.  Getting caught up in the moment, and the look of him, you whispered “Joel, I love you.” 

Joel tightened his hold around you again and kissed you gently, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and breathing you in.  He was tracing small circles on your belly when he felt you slowly drift off to sleep, your breath evening out.  He pulled back and sat upright on his elbows, looking down at your breathing and sleeping form.  He whispered ever so slightly “I love you too baby, and I promise honey, you’ll have the best Christmas possible.”  Joel then lightly kissed your forehead while staring at the empty spot in the corner.  Come morning, Joel was finding you and Ellie a Christmas tree.  

It had been 20 years since the breakout and the last Christmas that Joel had. His memory of the last time was still vivid in his mind after all these years though. She was still alive and running through the house, excited to see that her father still gave her a present under the tree from Santa.  She was old enough that she knew Santa was no longer the magical being that he was, that he was in fact her father.  She eagerly sat in her pajamas ripping into the large gift that was wrapped in front of her while Joel slowly stood in the living room sipping his morning coffee, wearing matching flannel pajamas.  As soon as she ripped off the paper she froze, and looked at the large box while saying “Are you serious?”  

Her father, after taking a slow sip of his coffee, smirked and said “what did Santa bring you Bug?” a nickname he gave her at birth, Sarah Bug, or just Bug for short.  It was like he was transported into time when she was 4 and opened her favorite doll from Santa, but this time he saw his preteen daughter open up her very own stereo. The stereo that was still in her room on breakout day before he left to go get Tommy.  

Joel felt the tear slip down his cheek at the memory of Sarah running up to her father and kissing him all over his face, jumping up and down and saying how excited she was and a line of thank yous given to him. He knew he nailed it that year for her for Christmas, considering her mother was no longer in the picture anymore.  As Joel was pulled back to reality of you shifting and snuggling into him, silently sleeping he found himself feeling that same joy that he felt wrapping Sarah’s present for her as he now was planning Christmas for you and Ellie. A proper Christmas for you both, something he thought he’d never want to do again.    

This year Santa comes again, and for once it's my present he'll bring, Joel thought holding you close and kissing you slowly on the forehead. This year Joel gets his Christmas present, a family once again. A family of you and Ellie. And with that thought he slowly drifted off to sleep, having pleasant dreams once again in his life. Something he thought was never possible to have yet again.

End Chapter

A/N: Next part is titled “A Christmas Story.” These three will be having an amazing Christmas post outbreak. I'll try to get it up before Christmas but it may come a little later. I've recently got really sick with a bad autoimmune flare again so writing and focusing is sometimes difficult. Stories will still be coming out, just a little slower in the process. Enjoy 

Taglist: @punkshort @shotgun-shelby @strawbunnyx @orcasoul @pedritoferg @chiogarza @jesfreedark @untamedheart81 @rainbow12346 @nandan11 @swiftpascal @eliza-8 @joeldjarin @vickie5446 @nastiasnow @staywildflowahchild @ratoonstown @l3laze @its-always-420-on-the-moon @kirsteng42

[larkingame]

Jacob Nash, a playlist

what makes a good man? | the heavy // sleeping on the blacktop | colter wall // strange things happening every day | sister rosetta tharpe // wide open spaces | the chicks // the hand that feeds | the crane wives // stand by me | ben e. king // ameriican requiem | beyoncé // black horse and the cherry tree | kt tunstall // devil's right hand | johnny cash // white horse | chris stapleton // I walk the line | johnny cash // cold, cold heart | hank williams // freedom | larkin poe // honky tonk flame | tyler childers // I love you, I don't love you, I don't know | lisa leblanc // walk through fire | yola // you should probably leave | chris stapleton // hard way home | brandi carlile // stars of the midnight range | johnny bond // starting over | chris stapleton // blackbiird | beyoncé, tanner addell, brittney spencer, tiera kennedy, reyna roberts // red river valley | marty robbins

[leviathans-body-pillow]

Lonely Nights of the past

(Mc x Lucifer established) (Solomon x Mc one sided)

Gn! Reader with they them pronouns

summary: takes place during Nightbringer. Mc seeks comfort on a lonely sleepless night.

Warnings: slight non con elements (just a kiss), reader is mentioned to be smaller than Solomon and Lucifer.

You laid in bed staring up at the ceiling. Coclyus hall was silent. Such a large building for only two people. If felt hollow and cold. Solomon was most likely in his study at the other end of the building. If he was even home. A dull burning ache of loneliness tore throw you. The silence was deafening. No sound of Levi shouting at what ever game he was playing, none of Beelzebub’s heavy foot steps as he snuck down to the kitchen, no sounds of Satan tripping and knocking down piles of books, or eerie distant music from Lucifers room.

You tried to close your eyes and ignore the emptiness. You thought of the nights you couldn’t sleep at the house of lamentation. When you’d slip into Lucifers study where you knew he would still be awake nursing a glass of demonus going through his endless stacks of paper work. You tried to conjure in your mind the comfort you got from crawling into his lap were he’d hold you with out question. You clung to the feeling of him rubbing your back with one hand as he used the other to continue his work eventually lulling you to sleep.

The memory of Lucifers comforting warmth only left you more aware of his absence and the cold way he treated you here in the past. Despair was threatening to over take you. You needed company, a distraction, anything to chase away the loneliness.

Solomon almost jumped at the sound of knocking on his study door. He still wasn’t used to having another human around often shocked by your presence in his once secondary home.

“Solomon?” He savored the sound of your voice so soft and sweet calling out to him.

“Come in Mc,” he called beckoning you into his office.

You slowly opened the door, sheepishly peeking into the room. Solomons large desk sat at the other end facing the door. His office was large but felt small due to the over flowing clutter of magical artifacts and scrolls. Even his desk was covered in piles of old tomes and other old crap. The room was bathed in a warm light of a fire place that crackled and flicked. Solomon sat at his desk at a large rather lavish arm chair studying a document in one hand and a glass of brandy with the other.

Solomon watched you linger in the door way as you hesitated to cross the thresh hold. You held your blanket tightly wrapped around your body, avoiding eye contact with your master as you glanced around the study. He sighed giving you a warm smile and setting down his work.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked, it must have been well past midnight.

You simply shook you head, pulling you blanket tighter.

“If you’d like I can make you a tea that should put you right to sleep.”

You shook you head no, still not entering the office. Maybe you were tired or maybe you were desperately lonely but sitting there in the warm light of his office Solomon almost looked like Lucifer. You heart ached and longed for him, you couldn’t ask Solomon to comfort you in his place. He was your teacher and friend. And you weren’t completely oblivious, you knew he had feeling for you. Yet here you were, standing in the door of his office, crying. Crying?

You hadn’t even noticed the stray tears that slipped past your eyes but now the flood gates were open.

“Solomon,” you chocked out a sob, hiding you face in you blanket.

“Mc!” Solomon quickly came to meet you at the door skillfully dodging all the clutter in his path. He gently lifted you chin to meet your teary eyes. “Mc what’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered finally meeting Solomon’s gaze. His eyes softened when he looked at you but his concern for you was clear from the way his brows furled.

“Hush, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Solomon cooed brushing away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. He stood there with you as you tried to calm down, not sure how he should comfort your or how it would be ok to touch you. When your sobs turned to soft whimpers and your breathing slowed he asked you again, “what’s wrong Mc?”

You took a deep breathe before answering, “I… can I sit with you?”

Solomon doesn’t want to tell you no but he looks around his office, “I’m sorry Mc, I don’t have anywhere you could sit. I can come down to the common room…”

“No,” you stop him. “I want…”

‘I want you to hold me’ you think but you can’t say it out loud. Instead you grab for Solomon’s hand. He happily lets you take it as you pull him back towards his deck. He doesn’t move letting you guide him to his chair.

“Mc, what are you?” You don’t let him ask as you push him down to sit. Solomon blushes at your bold move as you climb onto his lap avoiding any eye contact with him. You settle in straddling his hips as you rest you curl up against his chest and bury your face in his neck.

He wasn’t nearly as large as Lucifer nor did he feel as solid or strong. But he was still big enough for you to lay comfortably against him.

“Mc?” Solomon is as stiff as a board, he doesn’t dare move or touch you.

“Hold me.” You mutter softly into his ear. You warm breath tickles his neck causing him to swallow a groan.

“As you wish my dear,” he almost hesitates as he rests one hand behind you head and the other on your lower back rubbing softly with his thumb.

You both sit like that in silence. Solomon nuzzles his head against yours, feeling bold enough to hold you closer against him. Even if he wasn’t Lucifer, the way he held you was comforting. You didn’t want to admit it but the way he held you firmly against him did make you feel safe, like this you could feel just how strong he was. You felt you guilty, cuddling up to Solomon. What would Lucifer think if he saw how the sorcerer held you. Would he hate you for being so desperate for affection.

“You know, Lucifer used to hold me like this.” You confess gently rubbing circles into Solomon’s chest.

“Is that so,” Solomon felt a pang of jealousy in his chest.

“Ya, whenever I couldn’t sleep. I always knew he’d be up in his study.” You don’t tell him how most mornings you’d wake up in Lucifer’s bed or the things he’d whisper to you when he thought you were asleep or how painful it feels to miss him and still see him everyday.

Solomon doesn’t say anything, what could he even say. That he’s jealous, that he wants you to find comfort in him, that he loves you. He wasn’t a fool, he knows how you feel about the demon.

You speak again filling the silence. “I’m sorry. I feel so selfish” Playing with Solomon’s feeling like this using him for your comfort.

“No I should apologize,” Solomon chuckles lightly, his hold on you loosening.

Confused you sit up to face him. “Why?”

“Because I want to be selfish too.” Solomon doesn’t let you question him as he crashes his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. Your eyes wide with shock as you try to push him away. Solomon follows after you the hand he had cradling the back of your neck now holding your firmly in place.

Solomon pulls back releasing you, his face was flushed red and his lips puffy from being pressed to yours. “I’m sorry dear, I hope you aren’t too upset with me.”

You were stunned, and hurt, and very confused. You thought of Lucifer again. You felt your eyes burn as they welled up with tears again. Your breath caught in your throat as you nicked out a sob.

“Oh mc, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you” Solomon rubbed your back as you took deep shaky breath.

“I want Lucifer,” you sobbed like a child crying for their father. “I want Lucifer”

Solomon pulled you back down to lay against him. He rocked you gently, as you cried into his shoulder.

He holds you until you finally cry yourself asleep. It must be nearly 2 am by the time you finally fell asleep. Between your emotional state and exhaustion, he makes a mental note to let past Lucifer know you’ll need some personal time off tomorrow. He finishes off his liquor before carrying you to his bed. His room was attached to his study and he wasn’t planning on sleeping tonight anyways.

You stir slightly as he tucks you in, you reach out for his arm. “Stay,” you ask in your sleep.

Solomon almost let’s you pull him into bed with you but he stops himself. Gently he pulls away from your grasp.

“Luci,” you call to him hopelessly search for his arm. “Luci stay.”

“I can’t Mc,” Solomon tells you not sure if you can hear him or not. He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, he is only human after all. “I’ll be in my study if you need me.”

“Ok,” you smile in your sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Authors note: omg I swear this was just going to be a short fic but I kept dragging it out lol

[hannibalzero]

Do you know who I am?

Charthur 🦬🦌🦬🦌 dabble!

With Dyani! Beware of cute and just Arthur.

Coming back from fur trapping, Charles Smith had hardly been gone a week but he was already so damn homesick. Turns out when you have a home to miss, it happens so easily. Charles hardly got on the trial before wanting to turn back and run straight into that little ranch house up on the hill with that large flower garden.

Charles missed Arthur, missed Dyani, his bed with that heavy quilt and a warm bath.

Taima being a spoiled and beloved horse now, saw her barn and broke out into a canter. She was sick of being on the road, she wanted to be home.

“Easy girl!” Charles soothed but couldn’t help but to smile. Excited himself to be home with his family. Taima stopped to allow Charles to open the stable door, Charles hurriedly got off before pushing the door open.

He stopped for a moment and counted. There were eight horses, when Charles left there was only three. Peaches, Gin and Brandy. Taima was with Charles of corse. Five random horses where looking at Charles curiously.

Arthur’s horses were still here.

But Charles still worried.

Removing the saddle and blanket, Charles took care of Taima and stabled her, he also cleaned his equipment and hung his fur haul to process later. Worry churned his stomach, did something happen while he was gone?

Charles took a deep, slow breath and settled himself as he approached the ranch house. He carefully pushed open the back door, the sound of Dyani crying made his heart hurt.

“Oh I know, it’s awful ain’t it.” Arthur soothed the crying baby in his hold. The sound of water filled poor Charles in on what was happening. In a washing basin on the kitchen table, Arthur was bathing Dyani much to her dismay. “Gettin’ wash up, I gotcha I ain’t gonna let ya go. Such a pretty girl.”

Beside the table was the actual tub, seems like Arthur was about to have a bath himself. The water was heating over the fire.

Charles relaxed a lot. “Hey.” He called out to his family, entering the room now as he closed the door behind him with a click.

“Hey you!” Arthur called out not hiding the smile on his face. Moving Dyani onto the towel on his shoulder and wrapping her up. “Wasn’t expectin ya till tomorrow!” He stood up and walked over. “God I missed ya.”

“Got done early, headed home as soon as I could.” Charles rubbed noses with Arthur before kissing him. Then moved down a bit to kiss Dyani. “Saw all those horses in the barn. You been busy?”

Arthur moved the baby to Charles shoulder towel and all. “Not by choice, but my hand was forced. Descent horses should fetch a good price after a little training.” Arthur went to pour the warm water into the waiting bath.

“Whatcha mean?” Charles asked his worry coming back to full force.

“Ohhhhhhh, small gang of outlaws broke into our house in the middle of the night. Thinking they could strong arm me for some money and well…pleasurable company.” Arthur said with a hum. “They hit the ground after sayin what they wanted and I got to work.”

“You took out a gang of outlaws?” Charles asked in shock holding Dyani closer now.

“While nursing.” Arthur sounded proud of himself. “I ain’t puttin up with nobody’s foolishness.” He looked back at Charles. “….we’re alright, I took care of everything.”

Charles was stunned for a moment. “You know something Arthur? I sometimes forget who you are and what you’re capable of. You are so sweet and caring, now that where out of the life it’s easy to forget.”

Arthur snickered cheeks turning red. “Imma Arthur goddamned Morgan Smith. I have a bounty of five thousand dollars and pretty red letters underneath saying don’t approach.” He bragged. “Husband of Charles Smith which they can’t find or charge. mama of the prettiest baby in four territories!” He leaned over and kissed Charles.

“Imma complicate feller you know?”

Charles smiled into the kiss. Nodding in agreement. “Yeah yeah you’re complicated. I’m glad you and Dyani are safe when I’m gone.”

“Miss ya awfully fierce when ya are gone. Makes me grumpy.”

“Those poor souls.”

“Ya got that right.”

[earthly-apples]

Started as “oh it’s funny that Feuilly probably looks the same from Spring to Winter but Prouvaire clothes in a fashion traversing space and time” ended up writing rpg skills for them like what

Also for Enjolras he should get a passive skill or sth that summons his gargoyle (by a very low chance) to show up and either 1. attack with brandy-fire breath or 2. takes 50% damage for Enjolras in Orestes fasting and Pylades drunk style.

[bamboozled-shenanigans]

Huskerdust first time request!

And when I say that they would flirt and be fluffy at the exact same time and spontaneously be nervous as SHIT and NERVOUS they’re so stupid 😭🙏🏾🙏🏾

I love your writing style, I can’t wait to see how you write this! Thank you! <33

Note: Thank you so much for requesting something!!! It really means a lot to me, so thank you endlessly 🫶🫶🫶

Here’s 1500 words of fluffy/smutty Huskerdust! This prompt was honestly perfect, because I just know their first time would be so nerve-wracking for both of them until they realize that they can just lose themselves in each other 🥺 they make me sick /pos

Enjoy!!! (Oneshot under the cut)

    It’s only been a few minutes, but Angel already knows two things— one, Husk is so good at kissing it should be illegal, and two, things are about to escalate much further than just that if Husk keeps on doing what he’s doing.

    He’s so gentle with the way he kisses him, almost as if he’s testing the waters, and Angel feels the energy between them go straight down to his core. He pulls the other man as close as he can, sighing into the kiss, his face on fire and a soft smile tugging at his lips.

    It could be minutes or hours that they’ve been making out, but Angel doesn’t know— and, quite frankly, he doesn’t care. He’s perfectly content to stay like this forever, basking in the success of his confession (and, hey, kissing Husk isn’t too bad of an outcome, either).

    They pull apart momentarily, and Angel smiles wider as Husk plants one more quick kiss on his jaw.

    “You know, you aren’t too bad at this, Whiskers,” the spider teases, and Husk chuckles as he moves in for the second time.

    This time, the kiss is softer than ever, quiet breaths and hands tangled softly in hair, the two of them wrapped up in each other even closer. Angel blushes further; god, how invincible Husk makes him feel. He’s just about to pull back again, perhaps make a cheeky comment or two, when he notices something that makes his eyes widen and his face go a tomato-like red.

    Oh, shit. Husk is hard. It’s really no wonder, with the way the two of them are pressed against each other, but his cheeks still burn with surprise and a tad bit of shame. Way to ruin things real fast, Anthony.

    Husk seems to notice thjs predicament at the same time he does, and his eyes widen slightly, his face flushing as well. “Huh,” he remarks, somehow summoning the audacity to shoot Angel an amused look. “That’s…”

    “Oh- I, uh-“ Angel stammers. “Sorry about that. I can, uh, go for a sec, if you want some time alone—“ he blinks once, finding an opportunity and seizing it. “Or…”

    Husk doesn’t meet his eye, still blushing red. Angel finds it strangely adorable, and he presses a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t mind, if you want to do this.”

    The air around them goes from sweet to charged with energy, though Angel can’t quite tell what kind. Husk brushes a hand across his cheek, and it’s then that Husk seems to make a decision, and nods.

    “Only if you’re fine with it.” Husk’s hand comes to rest on Angel’s waist, holding him close. Angel nods and swallows, smiling warmly at Husk.

    “Are ya crazy? I ain’t never turnin’ down this.” He leans down and presses his mouth to Husk’s again, opening it slightly so he can push his tongue inside.

    He tastes like brandy and sugar, warm and inviting, and his embrace is just as sweet. Angel shivers as Husk’s mouth moves down to his jaw, his eyes half-lidded and sharp.

    “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Angel laughs, and Husk just holds him closer in response.

    “Me too, Angel,” he murmurs, and Angel feels the wind nearly get knocked out of his lungs at how sincere the older man sounds— he’s never heard that tone of voice in his entire existence, not from any number of partners he’s been with, for business or simply on the side.

    Husk’s hand slides up his shirt almost cautiously, and Angel gives a small groan of approval. The other’s hands run across his bare skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

    He’s absolutely breathless, dizzy with anticipation, his heart threatening to leap out of his chest. Slowly, he grinds down onto Husk’s lap, eliciting a light gasp from the both of them at the pressure. 

    Fuck, am I really about to do this? 

    Of course, ‘this’ is nothing new to him, in the practical sense. He'd been in this position plenty of times before, but right now? He just can’t help but feel that this is different. Is it the fact that Husk is so gentle with him, so calm and trustworthy? Is it how late it is at night now, or his previous confession, or…

    That doesn’t matter now, though, as Husk reaches up to unbutton his shirt, snapping him clean out of his thoughts. Shifting in his lap to give him more access, Angel pulls back to admire the look on his face, one of both concentration and impatience combined. 

    “Excited?” he teases, and Husk rolls his eyes playfully as the shirt finally comes off, throwing the garment to the side and leaning forward to kiss him lightly on the collarbone.

    “Say, Whiskers, Id’a never thought you of all people would be so eager to— fuck!” Angel gasps and sucks in a breath as Husk presses a kiss to the sensitive skin on his jawline, sending a jolt of surprise through his body.

    Husk nibbles once more at his collar, smiling. “That’s the plan, sweetheart,” he retorts, earning a smack on the arm from Angel.

    “Aw, shut your face an’ kiss me.” Angel tilts his head as their lips connect again, sighing as he lets him run his hands through the soft hair on his chest. Husk’s hand dips to his waist, just for a moment, but Angel can sense the question there— may I?

    “Please,” he breathes out, his heartbeat going wild in his chest. He’s this close to losing his regular bravado, but if he’s honest? He doesn’t care. Husk has seen him like this before, seen Anthony instead of Angel Dust, seen him at his worst and at his very best… So why not see him now?

    Husk shrugs out of his own clothing before helping Angel out of the rest of his, letting out a small whistle at the sight of him. Angel blushes and averts his eyes as he lays back on his elbows, feeling shy all of a sudden despite how often he’s been bare like this.

    “You’re beautiful,” Husk whispers against his jaw, his hands roaming across the other’s body. They slip lower, lower, lower, stopping just below his navel. “Can I…”

    Angel feels the entire room melt away around him, leaving just him, Husk, and the question he’s been asked hanging in the air. He nods, letting out a small chuckle and brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he says, half disbelieving the luck he’s had tonight and half scared out of his mind. “Go ahead.”

    Husk kisses him on the lips as he slides a single finger into his entrance, and Angel gasps and arches his back. It’s odd, since he’s not normally so sensitive, but he’s definitely not complaining— and neither is Husk, from the look on his face. He twists his hand, eliciting another soft cry from the spider. 

    “Oh, shit— Who the hell taught you to do that?” Angel pants, and Husk merely laughs and kisses him again, continuing to pump his fingers inside him, another one of his fingers entering him as he circles his clit.

    Angel’s surprisingly quiet, for having a job that requires him to be so vocal, but each small sound he makes as Husk does his work is more intoxicating than anything else could ever be. Just as he gets close to the edge, an oh-so-familiar twinge twisting in his gut, Husk pulls back and looks him in the eye. 

    “Is it alright if I do more?” Husk asks, making sure Angel keeps eye contact. Angel nods, smiling, and kisses him again.

    “Trust me, if I don’t like it, I’ll stop ya.” Angel’s voice is soft, slightly hoarse, but he makes sure he’s heard. He hears just a slight bit of rustling as Husk positions himself, and then—

    “Fuck”. Angel lets out a shaky moan, clinging onto Husk and closing his eyes. “Oh- oh, god,” he breathes, kissing him again as they both adjust to the new feeling.

    Husk’s lips on his feel so familiar, as if he’s kissed him a million times before, and Angel lets himself sink into the other man’s embrace as he draws him closer, their bodies intertwined. Slowly, Husk moves further inside him, his mouth swallowing the strangled groan that Angel chokes out as he begins to set a slow but even pace.

    It feels like something straight out of one of his shoots— though this time, he doesn’t have to fake his pleasure. It feels as if waves of a feeling suspiciously like fire are rolling over him, and he lets himself succumb, lost in bliss as he nears the edge.

    “You close, Legs?” Husk pants out, tilting Angel’s chin so he’ll look him in the eye.

    “Y-yeah, I am.” The words are shaky.

    “Me too.”

    Husk kisses him, passionate and deep, and with one final thrust, they both topple over the edge. It’s a high like Angel’s never felt, sober or otherwise, like climbing Mount Everest and then jumping right off, knowing there’s someone at the bottom of the summit to catch him all the same. Husk plops down on his chest, pulling out, and they simply stay as their breathing calms and they both come down.

    “Holy fuck.” Angel lets out a laugh, stroking the top of Husk’s head. “That was…”

    “Earth-shattering?” Husk laces their fingers together. “Agreed.” 

    Angel’s eyelids are heavy, and Husk seems to notice— he reaches for the bed’s blanket and pulls it over them, cuddling close to Angel and placing a soft kiss on his lips.

    “We should probably clean up,” Angel whispers, but neither of them move. Eh, we’ll get it tomorrow. 

    As he begins to drift off, Angel can’t help but be grateful for that letter he’d written— and for every single thing in his afterlife that had led to this moment, to the love of his life dozing peacefully with him in his arms, warm and secure. 

    “I love you,” he whispers, planting a kiss on Husk’s forehead.

    “I love you too, Anthony,” Husk murmurs back, and then they both fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, their bodies and hearts intertwined.