#i mean he’s got the silver-ish hair

[lovebugism]

you’re writing for carmy now omg i’m frothing at the mouth 😭 i love the trope where reader is quiet in bed and needs to be coaxed a bit but… i feel like it would be kind of hot if reader was the one coaxing carmy? 👀 no worries if you’re not feeling this one!

ty for requesting! — you teach the bear how to use his voice in the bedroom (new relationship, inexperienced!carmy, experienced!reader-ish, smut 18+)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Carmy never notices when he’s quiet. His head is always so loud in comparison — it’s easy to forget he isn’t saying anything out loud when his mind’s constantly racing. He doesn’t mean anything by it, though. He’s just chronically observant. And painfully silent with it.

He lays on his back, pressed between unmade sheets and your warm body. The covers bunch at your bare hips as you roll in languid thrusts over his lap. A satiny summer breeze smooths over your burning skin from a cracked-open window. Every time the curtains billow, more of the moonlight peeks in. It drips in silver shades over your naked skin and your pretty face, now twisted in a look of undeniable pleasure — brows scrunched, eyes closed, mouth wide open.

Carmy’s tattooed hands rest impatiently on your hips. His fingers dig into the plush of them as he rocks you back and forth over his cock. You make pretty noises for him every time your clit brushes his coarse thatch of pubic hair, so he angles his hips just right to make sure you keep hitting that spot. 

“Carmy,” you moan in a whimsical sigh that makes his chest swell. “Just like that. ’S so good like that. Please don’t stop—”

His face, made of dark shadows and sharpened edges, is pinched in a look of acute concentration. A distant feeling of deja veux swims in his stomach. It makes him wonder if he’s seen this in a painting before. One of those Renaissance types. The kinds that are harrowingly realistic and always heart-wrenchingly beautiful in a way. 

It makes him want to draw you. Just as you are now. Head tossed back, mouth gently agape, lashes fluttering over glowing cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to do any of it justice, but he tries to memorize the soft lines of your face, anyway. 

Your hips slow to a stop. Reality hits him hard.

“Woah, woah— Hey,” Carmy mumbles in protest, brows pinched in confusion when he comes down from the clouds. Through labored breaths that make his sweaty chest rise and fall, he wonders, “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

His icy blue eyes dart over your face, searching for any sign of harm. In true Carmen Berzatto fashion, he immediately thinks he’s done something wrong — that he got too far in his own head and hurt you in some way without realizing. The anxiety is fleeting, but he feels the pinch of it anyway — right where your palm rests flat on his chest, just over his pounding heart.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, similarly panicked. Your bare chest sparkles with a thin layer of sweat and catches the moonlight with every uneven inhale.

Carmy nods rapidly, chestnut curls brushing the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’m great. Why?”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, growing sheepish under his unwavering gaze. You feel a bit silly for stopping now. “You just aren’t… You aren’t really, you know… saying anything,” you answer shyly.

“Am I supposed to be saying something?”

You giggle quietly to yourself until you realize he’s being genuine. Your smile ebbs as you stammer, “Well, no, it’s just— Some people usually moan, I guess— When they feel good.”

Carmy nods firmly in reassurance. “I feel good.”

“Okay…” you nod back, slower and more unsure. 

“I promise,” he tells you, tattooed hands squeezing your sides. He shifts nervously on the mattress, similarly victimized by your adoring stare. “I just… I just like watchin’ you, I guess…”

A shy smile quirks the edges of your mouth as you peer down at the boy beneath you. “You’re sweet, bear,” you coo in a honeyed murmur.

“You’re sweeter,” Carmy insists. You think you see the faintest hint of a grin on his lips, but it’s hard to tell in the low light. “Wanna taste?” he teases a second later.

Wordlessly, you bend down for another kiss, far too chaste for his liking. He almost says something about it until you roll your hips again. The words of protest disappear when he inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Does that feel good?” you ask him.

He nods silently, squeezing your sides in a feeble attempt to move you faster on top of him.

“Tell me.”

“Feels good,” Carmy obeys through gritted teeth.

The subtle assurance makes you moan — a pretty, breathy thing that spills accidentally from your opened mouth. All he can think about is getting you to make that sound again. 

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” he wonders aloud, very innocuously curious.

You nod, brows furrowed as you grind over his lap. The bed frame squeaks quietly when you roll your hips forward. When you roll them back again, he can hear the faint sounds of your wet pussy — the quiet schlick-ing of his cock fucking into you. The two noises play one after the other in rhythmic tandem. The sinful sounds of sex.

Carmy racks his head for something to say in the not-so-silent meanwhile. You watch him get lost in his mind and cup his cheeks between gentle palms. “Don’t think so hard about it, bear,” you say with a wavering smile. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

You duck down to kiss him again. The angle shifts. Carmy bends his knees and fucks up into you, mercilessly and without warning. Your mouth hangs open in another weak moan that fans across his chin. 

“That good?” he pants.

“Yes,” you whine. “Carmy— fuck— You’re so deep…”

Babbles spill from your mouth in thinkless slurs. They tumble from your swollen lips with an admirable effortlessness, which Carmy has never thought himself to possess. He tries, anyway, to talk to you with such sinful ease. 

“You’re huggin’ me so tight,” he mutters through a clenched jaw. The very first thought to come to mind as the velvet confines of your cunt pulsate around him, squelching quietly in time with his thrusts. “Can feel you throbbin’ around me, babe— Shit— It’s like a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

Your whine fills the quiet bedroom, adding to the symphony of bed squeaking and skin slapping. 

Carmy shifts his hips upward. The new angle allows his cock to reach a spongy depth inside you and pins your swollen clit against his happy trail, which now glimmers with a layer of your honey.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod wordlessly until the words catch up to you. The tip of your nose brushes the bridge of his. “Yes,” you whimper. 

His brutal thrusts pick up pace a second later, never wavering in their wicked pursuit. “Let me hit that spot,” Carmy mumbles to himself like a man crazed. “Let me hit that spot, let me hit that spot.”

Pleasure swells within you, overwhelmingly so. It’s a warm and sparkling feeling in the pit of your stomach — a tightening coil, a fraying rope, a dam about to burst. The intensity of your inevitable orgasm frightens you.

“Carmy…” you whimper.

“I know,” he nods sympathetically, right before he plants his feet on the mattress. He strengthens his thrusts, which have slowly started to lose their rhythm. “It’s okay. C’mon. Cum for me— I can feel you fuckin’ drippin’ on me, baby— C’mon.”

Your jaw clenches to fight back the scream clawing at your throat. It comes out in a pitiful whimper instead when you tense over his lap. Your orgasm washes over you in waves that leave you shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

Carmy goes accidentally silent once more as he watches you, swelling with pride as you reach the height of your pleasure. His light eyes flit over your features in a feeble attempt to memorize them — the furrow between your brows, the wrinkles beside your shut eyes, the spit-slicked sheen to your kissed lips.

You’re painting brought to life. A heavenly thing he can’t believe he gets to touch with unworthy hands.

“That’s it…” Carmy murmurs lowly. The words bubble in his throat and fall from his mouth mindlessly. He doesn’t even have to think about them now. It just feels right to praise you like this. “That’s it. There you go. So pretty… Always so pretty for me.”

As your body racks with aftershocks, you seek refuge in his arms. Your weight rests entirely upon him as your tense limbs slowly relax, but Carmy doesn’t mind. He just wraps his tattooed arms around you and holds your trembling body closer.

“I got you,” he promises through labored breaths, chapped lips brushing your temple with every word. “I got you. ’S okay. You did so good for me, baby. Thank you.”

You don’t have the words to tell him that you should be the one thanking him.

[urhoneycombwitch]

mean mouth

foreword: and if I said Eddie liked when you talked a lil' mean to him. what then. n e ways. just a little exploration of his early-day sub tendencies. I generally write Eddie as older but since this takes place in some nebulous time before s4 u can think whatever u want +18. ‘unnamed freak’ is Jacob. punk band name was not thought of by me but isn’t it great <3

cw: gn!reader w/breasts + V, oral (R receiving), unprotected PiV, soft!dom(ish) R, Eddie subbing from the top 😎, gotta-be-quiet-when-we-fuck trope my beloved

wc: 3.7k

____

The first time it happens, it’s an accident.

Eddie’s a blur of motion in the little trailer kitchen, knocking against your knees where you’re propped up on the counter (not entirely helpful but, in his words, ‘much-needed eye candy for the chef’), closing cupboards with a bang and talking animatedly over the hiss of onions cooking.

Your boy is loud, always has been, and tonight is no different- he’s crowing and cackling, recounting a particularly genius foible that he’d orchestrated during last night’s campaign, wooden spoon dipping in and out of heated pots over the stove like some crazed frizzy-haired potions master. 

“And then.” He punctuates with a jab of the spoon towards you, a long drip of spaghetti sauce narrowly missing your leg- you flinch and squeak in alarm, but Eddie just grins wildly, eager to get to the punchline. “Red rolls a natural. Fucking. Twenty.” 

“Holy shit!” Your smile is wide, natural and easy for him- Eddie’s excitement is infectious. 

“I know!” Eddie spins back to the stove, plunking the wooden spoon back into the simmering sauce before opening the oven. Heat from the broiler rises in a mouth-watering cloud of herby smell, and Eddie reaches for the metal sheet of garlic bread, still talking. “Couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. And then I- shit!”

You don’t put the pieces together until Eddie’s spinning away from the open oven, whole body moving with the force of his hand being shaken in the air- he’d touched the roiling-hot metal with his bare hand.

“Oh, shit, babe-” Sliding from the counter, you nudge the oven door closed with a foot, reaching out to assess the damage- but Eddie’s a whirlwind, jumping up and down, swinging his injured hand around in jerky movements, howling in pain.

It’s kind of freaking you out, ‘cuz you can’t tell if he’s playing up or if he’s actually got a third-degree burn. The voice that comes out of you is commanding, one that you rarely use, firm and louder than his hollering. 

“Eddie, for fuck’s sake- stand up and let me see it.”

That seems to do the trick. Eddie’s eyes snap to you, pausing mid-hop, and you take advantage of his semi-stillness to snatch his wrist and drag him towards the sink. The water runs cool and you turn his palm over in both of yours, breathing a sigh of relief when the pink welt across the bridge of his hand doesn’t have any blisters.

“Under the water,” you instruct, pushing at his silver-link braceleted wrist until he gets the memo, letting the flow from the tap ease the burn.

Eddie hisses through his teeth, and then goes quiet for the first time in ages.

There’s a few moments of this strained silence as you watch his hand carefully, color leaching back into his palm until you notice Eddie’s looking at you sideways.

Your shoulders hunch in a bit, arms crossed over your chest as you take a step back, misinterpreting his look as wounded. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I just-”

“Hey, whoa, no-” Eddie’s hand automatically reaches for you, dripping water on the floor until he remembers his injury with a wince and plunges it back under the tap. “You don’t have to apologize for that. At all. Um.”

His left hand, the uninjured one, braces against the linoleum, ringed knuckles creaking as he shifts his stance. He sounds uncomfortable, and you’re about to start apologizing again until he lifts his head, eyes twinkling- “You were so bossy. It was totally hot.”

A shocked laugh burbles out of you, unsure if he’s joking or not- when he shifts his weight again, your gaze flickers down to the zipper of his dark jeans- he’s fully hard. 

“Oh my god.” Split between amusement and mortification, adrenaline from seeing him get hurt fizzing through your veins, you laugh again- this time, sardonic, into your hands, shaking your head. “Jesus christ, Eddie.”

“Can’t help it.” He’s close to whining, hips pressing flush into the cabinet, partly to relieve the ache in his groin and partly to toy with you. “Goddamn. Sound so sexy when you tell me what to do-”

There’s a teatowel hanging from a nearby rack; you snatch it up and whip it at Eddie’s shoulder, playful and irritated as you snap, “Shut up.”

“Oh, yeah, just like that, baby-” Eddie’s fake sultry voice earns him another towel-whip, this time at his neck- he squawks, ducking to avoid another blow while still keeping his hand under the water.

“Ridiculous. You’re ridiculous,” you announce with finality, slinging the towel over your shoulder and turning on your heel. “I’m gonna get the burn cream. Try not to cum or die while I’m gone.”

His bright laughter follows you all the way down the hall.

___

The next time it happens, it’s sort-of on purpose.

Eddie’s glowing with a post-show rush- a local business convention meant Corroded Coffin got to play for a nearly-packed room. Nevermind the fact that their Bruce Springsteen cover was the one bringing in the most applause; Eddie’s always been able to feed off the energy of a crowd, and tonight was a riotous success.

The Hideout is loud but your boy is louder, as per usual. There’s sweat curling the baby hairs at his temples, bright spots of flushed pink in his cheeks from the round of whiskey you’d bought the band as a congrats. 

He’s making a toast to his laughing bandmates, to beautiful you, to any nearby drunk who will listen, proclaiming his lust for life with one boot on the well-worn table in noble pose.

“And to Bev, the best of us-” Eddie tips his half-empty glass towards the nearby bar, shouting over the din of the jukebox and lively chatter, “-may your sharp-tongued wit live on!”

Bev pauses service to flip him off, and Eddie collapses back into the comfort of your arm over the booth’s top, grinning when the band trio of Jeff, Gareth, and Jacob nearly fall out of their chairs with laughter.

It’s always hot to see Eddie in his element, and tonight’s not an exception. He turns to lean into you, looking down the slope of his pretty nose like he knows why you’re staring.

A charming wink precedes, “Come here often?” but his flirting is interrupted when Jeff gets up for another round and bumps the table- whiskey sloshes over the side of Eddie’s cup and coats his hand in stickiness. 

He swears viciously, yanking out his bandanna to wipe at the mess while you laugh over the rim of your own glass at him. “Real smooth, babe. Good thing you killed it on stage, otherwise I might not take you home.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, inhaling for another cheesy line to wow you with when his gaze flicks past you and his face falls. 

Across the table, Jacob mutters, “Oh, shit,” and Gareth glowers.

Following their eyelines, you look over your shoulder to see Nico Hawley, frontrunner of Hawkin’s own punk band (the Scumshots), enter through the front door in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

When you turn back to Eddie, he’s already twisting the damp bandanna around his rings. The usual softness of his doe-brown eyes are now flint-sharp, and with a rush of panic, you remember the last time Eddie and Nico ran into each other; the night had ended with you back at the trailer, holding a cold pack to Eddie’s split lip, which he’d received from engaging in what he referred to as “friendly fisticuffs”.

There was nothing friendly about the way Eddie stood, then, to his full height, dark and imposing with his big mane of hair and leather jacket. The other Corroded boys won’t start any shit themselves, but will absolutely back Eddie up (fearless leader, resident shit-starter, instigator extraordinaire). 

Time’s running out for you to get a handle on the situation, Eddie already moving to slide past you out of the booth when you snag his left jacket sleeve in a tight grip.

The first yank you give stops him in his tracks; the second, more intentional tug gets his face level with yours, Eddie’s hardened stare giving way to confusion as you pull him into your space. 

In that same authoritative tone, you pin Eddie in place with a fistful of leather and command, low, right in his ear to be heard above the bar noise, “Don’t. Sit down and be good.”

At first, you’re not sure it worked, because Eddie’s just staring at you- slightly slack-jawed, pretty pink o mouth as his gaze flickers to your lips, back up to lock in your gaze again.

And then, by some miracle, Eddie obeys. Like a well-trained, marvelously-behaved dog. He’s back in his seat with a jolt to the booth, hand curling around his whiskey again. 

Curls spill and shift around jacketed shoulders as he shoots the rest of the glass, adam’s apple bobbing, other hand slipping to cup your thigh hidden from view. “It’s not worth it,” he announces to the rest of the group, sounding strained, staring at the bottom of his empty glass, knuckles white with force.

Jake sighs, relieved, but Gareth scoffs, tipping the neck of his beer across the table to point, goading Eddie with  “Since when have you been the one to take orders?”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoots back, blood returning and redistributing enough from where it had all rushed south, enough to defend you and himself against his drunk bandmate. “We’re already on Hop’s shit list, asshole, can’t be catching any more charges for stupid fuckin’ bar fights.”

Nico had disappeared into the throng of people at the bar while your group has been arguing- probably for the best that he’s out of eyesight. Unperturbed by Gareth’s comment (he likes you fine, he’s just grumpy from the alcohol and itching for a fight), you sip your drink and give him a shameless wink. 

Underneath the tabletop, Eddie’s palm flattens over your jeans, fingers dipping to toy with the denim seam hugging the fatty plush part of your inner thigh. You shift your hips, subtly, feeling flush with heat and power. Just a couple of words and you have him eating out of your goddamn hand. 

Jeff returns, setting a handful of beers in the middle of the table. “Saw that shitstain Hawley at the bar. What’d I miss here?”

Gareth swoops in with accusatory explanation, seizing another bottle out of Jeff’s hands. “What you missed is Eddie’s balls on a leash-”

“Jealous you don’t have someone at home to tie you up, Emerson?” Eddie’s dig comes swiftly, lips quirked in a smile around the rim of his drink. 

There’s a raucous burst of laughter, Gareth’s curly mop of hair gets ruffled playfully, and everyone eases back into celebration, all while Eddie’s thumb edges closer and closer to the apex of your thighs.

___

The next time, though? Totally on purpose.

There’s a sliver of gold from the hallway light spilling under Eddie’s closed door, left on in case Jeff or Gareth needed to use the bathroom during the night. 

And despite the fact that two of his bandmates are passed out on the couch and floor just a short walk away, Eddie’s hands are exploring the length of your body under the sheets like he’s got plans to map you with his tongue. 

“We- ah- can’t.” Your whispering scold is interrupted with a sharp gasp when Eddie nips at your neck. “No fooling around. Not when we have guests.”

His left hand drips over the swell of your breast, squeezing and kneading, your nipples perking to attention (traitors) underneath the bra you haven’t yet had the chance to take off.

Eddie adopts your quiet tone as he speaks between kisses that trail further down your body, not outright ignoring your weak protests but not doing much to combat them, either. “Mmm. Got me so worked up. Been driving me crazy since the bar, y’know that? ‘S cruel, baby, can’t just talk mean and expect me not to act on it.”

“Wasn’t mean,” you counter, hands shifting automatically to wind through the soft locks of hair tickling at your stomach as Eddie continues his path downwards. “Didn’t wanna have to patch up a split lip. Had to make you behave somehow.”

The vibrating groan Eddie gives against the soft skin of your stomach tickles; when you squirm, shushing him again, his hands slide to your hips, pinning you in place. 

Nose to your navel, warm breath fanning across the strip of skin just above the band of your panties, Eddie sounds strung-out already, close to begging. “Please, baby. I’ll be good. Make it so good for you. I’ll be quiet-”

His head snaps up at your sudden gasping laugh, chin perched on your tummy as he scoffs. “What, you don’t think I can keep quiet?”

“Eddie Munson, you couldn’t be quiet to save your life.” Your hands migrate to his cheeks, squishing them together fondly as he grins around your touch, his thumbs working circles at your bare hips. 

“Ye of little faith.” In the dim light of the room, Eddie’s teeth are a flash of white before his mouth dips to press against the wet patch at your underwear.

“Fucking… shit-!” The expletives fly out harshly, only because you weren’t expecting the wet stripe of his tongue against your clothed folds. Head dropping back to the comfort of your pillow, you get one hand in Eddie’s hair again, the other finding its way to twist at the sheets.

You can feel his smile, equal parts smug and sympathetic as he coos saccharine to your inner thigh- “Now, now, angel. Gotta be quiet.”

Not willing to lose the fight, you focus on clamping your mouth shut, eyes closed in concentration- even as Eddie slides your underwear down and off, a quick flash of blue fabric before it’s swallowed by the floor’s darkness. Even as he seals his lips over your clit, sucking hard like he’s been deprived of your taste for too long.

When his tongue breaches your entrance, a soft gasp escapes, one that has your head turning sideways to grab some pillow with your teeth. 

Eddie brings the wetness from your entrance up again, spreading it over your pulsing clit, nerve endings fizzing bright and hot in your stomach from the attention.

On instinct, your right leg kicks out, jolting with the spasm of pleasure- Eddie’s quick, though, taking advantage of the movement to find a new hold at the back of your thigh; rings biting cold, he pushes until you bend for him, your knee now pressed towards your chest.

“Gonna make it so good for you.” Eddie’s mumbling pussy-drunk rambles into your cunt that’s now on display, dragging his nose through the slick that weeps out of you, all for him- “So wet for me, angel. Fuck’s sake. This all for me?”

As if he doesn’t know. The hand that isn’t busy holding you open trails up your thigh, middle finger teasing at your entrance before slipping inside, no resistance thanks to the river of slick that rushes to greet it.

There’s a soft squelching noise as Eddie adds a second, curling them up, stroking against that tender gummy spot that always skyrockets your pulse. 

The noise is almost enough to give you pause; feeling wild and flush with heat, your hand tightens in the crown of Eddie’s hair, eyes popping open as you prop yourself up on an elbow to give a strangled hiss of warning through your teeth.

Eddie senses your unease, pulls his fingers and mouth out and off (a travesty), softening the blow by giving a placating kiss to the top of your mound. “Shhh, sweetheart. S’okay. You hear that?”

Past the noise of nighttime crickets from the nearby cracked window, past the hum of the kitchen, you hear it as Eddie crawls back up- distant, tandem snores from the boys in the living room.

“They sleep like the dead. Like rocks,” Eddie promises, settling his weight into his hands planted on either side of your head, hair creating a curtain around your faces as he leans in. “So we can get our rocks off.”

“That was awful.” You kiss him anyways. He tastes like you, earthy and warm and wet, saliva mixed with your arousal as the kiss turns sloppy.

Eddie rocks his hips forwards, the friction from the fabric of his boxers making you both gasp into each other’s mouths. He’s achingly hard, cock leaking and smearing precum through the cotton; there’s a hurried, manic shift as you both work to strip the last pieces of clothing from yourselves, his boxers and your bra following your underwear from earlier into the dark of the room.

And then Eddie is sliding his cock through the folds of your pussy, slicking up the sizable length as much as he can before the tip nudges at your entrance; Eddie’s arms tremble with effort as yours wrap around his shoulders, soothing with a kiss to his cheek- “Lotta talk about keeping quiet, Munson. That’s all it was? Just talk?”

Now that his mouth isn’t intent on making you fall apart anymore, you’ve got some breathing room to tease. To be the one to work him up. Tucking a curly lock of hair behind his ear, your fingers trace adoringly over his temple before sliding to grip the back of his neck. “Gonna prove me wrong, hotshot?”

With this new proximity, you can see Eddie’s eyes- fixed intently on yours, black pupils nearly eclipsing the soft amber of his irises. He looks slightly feral, sweat sticking his bangs in place, lips parted, spots of pink staining his cheeks. 

As if he doesn’t trust himself to speak, Eddie’s near-silent as he slides himself in to the hilt, jaw dropping as the warmth from your walls encompasses him completely.

The chained guitar pick around his neck tickles between the valley of your breasts. He pants, chest heaving, not daring to move yet; your breath stutters. You can feel him in your throat.

“So big,” you murmur, an honest reaction but one that has Eddie’s brows drawing together, a little whine escaping as his hips jerk forward, reflexive to your words.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck.” 

Eddie’s voice, strained though it may be, is on its way to regular volume. At the back of his neck, your hand flexes, a warning as he begins to rock steadily into your tight heat. 

“Gotta be good.” Biting back your own groan, you sling your leg over his waist. At this angle, you can press your heel to the dip of his lower back. “Be good and quiet for me and I’ll let you come in my p-”

His hips snap forward, audibly, subsequent wet noise obscene, filling the room. Eddie moans into the curve of your neck before your sentence is even fully formed- “Jesus, baby. Oh my god. Can’t say stuff like that, gonna come too quick-”

His cock fits along the contours of your cunt like you were made for him, ridged tip dragging against that same sensitive spot of your front wall with each pull and thrust.

Eddie’s forehead thunks into yours as he rolls it back and forth, mindlessly. All the tease has melted out of his voice: it’s been replaced with a lust-filled rasp, rock-salt and deep. 

Your voice, however, is all tease, still hushed but laced with mischief despite your mounting pleasure. “Yeah? Gonna come in my pussy?”

It’s almost not fair and you almost feel bad, seeing the way Eddie fights to make his gasp silent as the channels of your cunt clench in answer to his fucked-out expression. With his next thrust, Eddie loses the battle- a hoarse, blissful moan much too loud spills over and out into the quiet room. 

Moving quick, your hand slips from the back of Eddie’s neck to his mouth, palm flat over the plush of his lips.. The commanding tone comes easy this time (with practice, you’ll surely be a natural).

“Eddie. Be. Quiet.”

Usually, Eddie’s got stamina enough to prioritize your pleasure, making sure you’re taken care of at least twice before he even thinks of himself. Tonight, though, he’s already been straining in his jeans for hours, unbearably turned on from your earlier sharp words, pushing the limits of desperation.

Your words, once again, do the trick. Eddie’s cock pulses, and he comes hard, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your hand, chorus of whimpers successfully dampened. His dark brows knit together, eyes pinched shut, nostrils flaring with each stilted breath.

He’s so fucking hot when he comes, hair a riot around stormcloud eyes that open to take you in. Even prettier when he’s coming down, leaning into your hand for support before you take it away, guiding and encouraging him to lay down.

Eddie collapses, carefully enough that it doesn’t jostle you, but still with his full weight. The crown of his head radiates heat against your chin. 

His arms wrap solidly around your middle as he whispers (he’s learning) in croaky fragments, “Jesus fucking H. I think you just broke my brain. Smashed it into a million little pieces. Never come so hard in my life. I’m in love with you.”

The laugh you give him is quiet but golden, the rise and fall of your chest causing his head to bounce a bit (but Eddie could die happy between your breasts so he doesn’t mind). “See? It’s worth it to listen to me, sometimes.”

“You’re so smart. Gonna do whatever you say, forever and ever. Cart-blank.” And then he’s pushing up onto his elbows, keeping his face level with your left breast so he can suck your nipple into his mouth, gently worrying his teeth over the peaked bud.

Previously tangled in the sheets, your hand flies up to grab his shoulder, nails digging in. “Fuck. Fuck, Eddie. That’s good. And- ah- it’s ‘carte blanche’.” 

He leaves the comfort of your breast with a sigh. “Whatever you say, princess. Gonna let me fuck you some more? Your turn to be the loud one.”

[gabriellessworldd]

Never get yo bitch back!

plug!connie x black fem reader 😛😛

wc- 1.7k!

☆ warnings ☆: mdni! mentions of weed nd alcohol, smut 18+, cheating (established relationship w eren), public-ish sex (bathroom unlocked door), pnv, oral (f receive), Connie and reader have wanted each other for a min, first time writing ever don't drag me y'all pls!! 😓 I kinda want to make this have multiple parts but idk yet. I'm very open to criticism nd I hope y'all enjoy!

"Y/nnnnn, cmon you can come outside for one night!" Your best friend Sasha whined through the screen. As much as you protested, deep down you really did want to go out. Especially because Eren wasn't at home, you really wanted to talk to him since y'all haven't been doing so well recently. Petty arguments, sleepless nights, ig posts, and to top it all off he hasn't been to your house in weeks, not giving y'all anytime to have a conversation.

You check the time and see it's 6:00pm that means you got at least 2-3 hours before you would have to leave. "Girl you right, send me the lo. What you wearin?" Sasha set her phone up to show you the outfit she picked out, "Girl that's cute asf!! Ima match you." Sasha helped you pick out an outfit (1 or 2) that resembled hers. "Okay Sash ima finish my hair nd makeup, lmk when yall otw there." "Bye N/n, i gotchu." Sasha hung up and you continued finishing your hair and makeup.

Once you were in your car you looked at the location, realizing that it was at Jean's house, meaning Connie would be there. There was something so attractive about Connie that you didn't know how to explain, he was just, mesmerizing. You knew you would never be able to approach him tho, him nd Eren had been friends forever, and that was a boundary you wouldn't cross. Nothing being crossfaded couldn't fix..

You pull in front of Jean's house and it's packed, you can hear the music from the street. You text Sasha that you pulled up and fix yourself in the car mirror. "We're waiting for you at the front N/n." You read Sasha's text and get out of your car. When you open the door Mikasa, Annie, Sasha, and some other girls greet you. You scan the crowd feeling a familiar stare, you turn to your right and see a crossfaded Connie Springer and his homeboys sitting on some sofas in the corner. Connie feels you stare back and smirks. 'This finna be interesting.' You think to yourself.

You make your way to the kitchen to take a couple shots, Sasha gets a blunt from Ony, and y'all head upstairs to light up. When the sesh is over you feel amazing, the music is blasting, you're having a great night, and you're a 10, what could be better? You and the girls head downstairs to go dance and enjoy your night. You and Sasha throw ass like there's no tomorrow and Mikasa is right there to catch it. You laugh and stand up straight when you feel the stare of those familiar hazel eyes. "Ima go grab another drink" you tell Sasha and she drukenly nods.

You walk up to the counter where all of the drinks are, "hey connie" you look at him, and smile. He leans in closer to you "wassup mami, you look good. shit, you smell good too." he smiles at you with all of his pearly white teeth and you notice his silver grillz.(#1, #2, #3) God he's so fine. The way his red eyes are hanging low, the smell of his cologne, and his pretty ass accent, triple homicide.

"Where yo man at tho? Thought he was gon come tonight." Connie's confused as to why Eren isn't at this party trailing you like a lost puppy, unless, y'all wasn't on speaking terms right now. He grinned at the thought "Oh um Ion really-" You stuttered out wondering why he would ruin a good conversation. "Nah you ain gotta answer mami, follow me." He held his hand out with a 'hm' and you quickly took it, needing to feel his touch. He lead you upstairs to the first bathroom he saw, he opened the door, "Tu vas primero hermosa" you go first beautiful. You smiled at the sentence and walked in front of him. His eyes naturally trailed down to the best view there was 'Damn.' was all he thought as he watched you walk and felt himself get harder in his sweats.

"So wassup?" You questioned him, almost like a challenge. You leaned your back against the counter and looked into his eyes. "To be honest ion wanna play no games ma, you know what I want." He leaned towards you, muscular and veiny arms on both sides of you, caging you in.

You could feel the tension grow as both of you realized just how badly you needed the other. "Can I?" Connie asks to kiss you 'and he's respectful omg add that to the list' you think, "Yes, you can." As soon as those three words came out of your mouth, Connie grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you to him, his other hand quickly found your ass and squeezed, while your hands slid their way into his scruffy buzzcut. The kiss was passionate but it also had a hint of hunger, longing almost, like both of you waited your whole lives for this. Both of your tongues fighting for dominance, and both of you wanted, no, craved more from each other. Connie's large hand found it's way to your throat and he squeezed softly earning a light moan from you, Connie pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you two.

"Ay dios mio mami" oh my god Connie whispered. Connie littered bites and hickeys down your neck and exposed cleavage, not caring who would see. He tapped on your thigh, a signal for you to stand so he could remove your pants. He then picked you up and set you back down on the counter, he kissed the insides of your thighs and left a trail of bites. He looked up at you for confirmation, and you nodded your head, he pulled your panties to the side. Connie was in a trance, the way your folds were so puffy, the way they were covered in wetness, connie almost came in his pants at the sight. "Fuck." was all he said before he began kissing and sucking on your lips. He spread them open with his middle and index finger, and could've sworn he saw heaven.

He plunged his fingers inside your wet hole, sucking on your clit while he pumped his fingers in you nice and slow. "Fuck con" you let out a soft moan, it was like music to his ears. He worked his fingers a little faster and curled them up grazing over your spot. "o-oh fuck connie mmhm, right there" He came up, bottom half of his face covered in your sweet juices "You taste so sweet, princesa" and with that he went back down and devoured you like you were his last meal. "a-ah mm con. That feels soo good" you whispered, feather light moans. You could feel the knot in your stomach tightening as he pushed his tongue in and out of your hole. "Cmon mami let me hear you." he felt you squeeze his tongue and pull his hair, that was enough to let him know. He pushed his fingers back in and started pumping at an insane speed.

"Go ahead ma, let me taste all of you" Your thighs tightened around his head as you felt your high coming. "ah connie 'm gonna cum, fuck!" you moaned out louder than before, he curled his fingers again, making you throw your head back and squeeze your eyes closed. "Joder, eres tan deliciosa." damn, you're so delicious.

Connie stood up and your hands immediately found the band of his sweats and boxers, in one tug you pulled them both down. "Eager much huh mami? Well I expect you to take it all then." Your eyes widened at the statement but your thoughts were cut short when you heard him speak again. "Turn around for me mami, and don't take your eyes off the mirror." The dominance in his voice made you even wetter. You turned around towards the mirror and he slid off your panties.

He smeared his tip on your folds, collecting your wetness. Without warning he pushed his full length in, starting off with slow strokes. "Fuck mami, you're squeezing me so tight" You arched your back a little more and relaxed. He starts moving quicker and palms the fat of your ass.

Connie props one of your legs on the counter and smacks your ass. "f-fuck connie oh!" hearing you get louder, not caring if anyone could hear you, only riled him up more. He snaked his hand around your throat pulling your head up more so you could see what a mess he made of you. Your lip liner gone, mascara smeared on your damp bottom eyelashes, and a fucked out expression. Connie thought you looked perfect.

"Y-yes mami, take all t-this dick" you hear him stutter his calm demeanor fading away as he fucks into you at an unruly pace. "Ah! Con so good. i-it's so big" He smacks your ass again and continues fucking you.

He pulls out and you pout feeling empty "Calmate princesa." calm down princess He chuckles and flips you on your back then he pulls your hips closer to him. He pushes back into you, not wasting any time. Connie pushes your legs back a little more "Keep 'em right there ma." You hold the back of your knees with your hands, feeling connie's tip hit all the right places, Connie places a heavy hand on your lower stomach and he presses down. "a-ah con please! it feels soo good." You and Connie both feel yourselves about to cum.

"Con 'm about to cum! ah please Connie!" You can feel your thighs starting to shake, "g-go ahead mami, fuck you're so perfect. m-make a mess all over me." Connie rubs on your sensitive bud and keeps fucking you deep. You can feel a wave of pleasure wash over you and your vision turns white. "Ah! Connie fuck 'm cumming!" You yell, "f-fuck me too ma." You notice his voice falter and crack at the end, he sounds so angelic. He pulls out and hot, white, ropes coat your tummy.

Connie begins wiping off your stomach and he leans in to kiss you, but he sees something in the corner of his eye, almost like a, figure. "Shit" Connie says blankly, putting his pants back on. You scramble to put your clothes back on and turn to see Eren standing there looking pissed.

"what.. what the fuck is wrong with y'all?"

Whew chileeeee. y'all did I at least nibble or what 👀 but lmk if I should make this multiple parts, also give me title ideas!! lmk if y'all want to be tagged in the next parts! love u all nd I hope y'all had as much fun reading as I had writing this! (watch nb read ts #embarrasing 😰)

- with lots of love, gabrielle <3

[princesschimchim1325]

Sing for us, darling~

Dan Feng and Yingxing want to hear the noises their wife makes as they pleasure her, to let it be known to the whole Xianzhou Luofu that she belongs to them.

(Or you get sandwiched between your horny husbands)

Warnings: 3rd POV, fem & afab reader, reader is an adult, reader got bomb pussy game, overstimulation, groping, double penetration in the same hole, creampie, vaginal fingering, Dan Feng has two cocks and a voyeur kink, Yingxing is 41 (reader wants to fuck those old men so bad), Dan Feng is a menace, Yingxing is a charming old man, they are both possessive and horny as hell, a surprise at the end. (Fūrén - wife, bǎobèi - treasure)

Word count : 1,904 words

This can be read in the same universe as my dragoness reader idea but can be read as a standalone.

This could also be read in the same universe as my mutual's @philistiniphagottini's "god-ish" smut fic.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcome!

DO NOT REPOST, OR FEED TO AI 🚫🚫🚫

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Under the pale moon, the wind made the trees rustle and flowers sway. The cold breeze would make any passerby shiver, enough to make their teeth chatter.  Everyone had worn thicker coats and lit up their fireplaces to stay warm.

Everyone except for the lovers in the High Elder's residence. Said High Elder was lounging on an armchair, his face propped up by his fist and an ankle atop his knee, an air of haughtiness befitting of man his caliber and position. Dan Feng was facing the master’s bed, calculating ocean green eyes swept over the attractive forms of his spouses.

His husband, Yingxing, was sitting on the edge of the large bed, completely bare. His long silver hair lay loose and flowing behind his muscled back. Sitting on his lap, was a jewel far more precious than any stone found in the Luofu, their beloved wife. 

And what a sight she was.

Her back was pressed against Yingxing’s broad chest, her front facing Dan Feng. Her lovely face was scrunched in frustration, sighing as Yingxing kissed and lavished her shoulders with love bites and hickeys, his large and calloused hands groped her breasts. And what was one of the most erotic sights he has ever seen in his centuries of living, her greedy pussy swallowing Yingxing’s length and if he looked hard enough, he could see a bulge on her stomach as Yingxing stuffed her full. 

Their shared bedchamber was filled with the loud wet sounds of Yingxing open mouthed kisses and their wife’s lovely moans, or as he and Yingxing liked to call them, song. His own hard cocks were pressing painfully against his trousers but he paid it no mind. The erotic sight in front of him was far more important. 

“Enjoying the show, A-Feng?” His Yingxing inquired, a smirk on his handsome face. His large hands slid from her breasts, trailing down until they slipped under her thighs, only to suddenly spread them wider, jostling the woman on his lap and causing her to throw her head back and sobbed. 

“Indeed. Dare I say, your little ‘show’ is the most enjoyable production I ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” 

He rose from his seat as he answered, taking off his white blazer as he did. Perhaps their little game went on long enough, they started at nightfall and now the moon was already high in the sky. Their poor wife must be so pent up, being cockwarmed and teased by Yingxing, but being told she wasn’t allowed to cum.

As he neared his two beloveds, their wife gazed at him with glassy eyes, cheeks wet from tears of frustration. She shakily reached out to him with her left hand and he caught her midway, holding her smaller hand and leaning down to place a kiss on her palm. 

“A-Feng…A-Xing has been so mean to me..” she whined as Dan Feng kissed her neck, trailing up to her ear, just below her earlobe. 

“Hmm, is that so?” He hummed, smirking as she yelped when he bit down on a particularly sensitive patch of skin and licked it as a form of apology.

“Oh, fūrén, this was our dearest High Elder’s idea. I am merely doing my part in his script~” Yingxing laughed, placing an unapologetic kiss on her hair. 

The High Elder pulled away to take his long gloves and the rest of his imperial garbs off, piece by piece revealing a lean yet powerful build, with broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips. 

“...You scoundrels. How could you be so mean to your wife?” she complained, writhing on top of the Furnace master’s lap, unconsciously tightening in the process and causing the man to groan. 

“Desperate now, are we?” Yingxing hissed, hands gripping her thighs in a bruising hold to stop her from squirming. 

Dan Feng, finally bare, had taken his place between his wife’s spread legs and replaced Yingxing’s hands gripping her thighs with his own. His cocks standing proudly against his toned stomach. 

Yingxing’s left hand returned to groping her breast and tweaking her hardened nipple with his fingers, while his right hand trailed up to her smooth neck, caressing it before gently gripping her throat. 

Dan Feng rubbed both of his cocks against her puffy clit, using her and Yingxing’s combined wetness as lube before taking one of his hardness and lining it up her hole that was still stretched around Yingxing’s cock. 

Slowly, he filled her up, one cock rubbing against Yingxing’s and her spongy walls, his other cock was sliding between her puffy folds and clit. Dan Feng pulled his husband into a searing kiss over their wife’s shoulder, making a show of their tongues dancing. He could feel her tighten up at the sight of their display. 

Inch by inch, he slid into her wet heat, until he pressed up against her cervix alongside Yingxing. He pulled away from his husband only to kiss his wife next, equally as passionate. 

Their beloved wife was panting when he pulled away, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips before it snapped. 

A few moments of silence before sounds of debauchery filled their shared bedroom. Each sensual roll of their hips had their darling wife keening, throwing her head back and bumping against Yingxing’s collarbone, tears of pleasure streaming down her lovely face. 

“Mmmph! A-Xing, ah! A-Feng! Too deep! Please, too deep!” She sobbed. How cute, yet she clung to them like they’re her lifelines. 

Their hips moved in sync, when one thrusts in, one pulls out and vice versa, making sure their wife is in the precipice of pleasure and overstimulation. Their cocks were alternating in slamming against her cervix, causing her to moan even louder. 

In her desperation to keep herself grounded, her hands found themselves digging into different parts of her husbands. One hand reached behind her to grasp and pull at Yingxing’s long silver locks, making him groan. The other reached behind Dan Feng to rake her sharp nails down his back, leaving thin scratches that are deep enough to bleed. Dan Feng threw his head back, moaning at the pleasure before hissing from the stinging pain.

Yingxing, never one to let his spouses one up him, let the hand groping her breast trail down her soft stomach before suddenly pressing down on the bulge caused by their cocks. 

“Ah! Yingxing, please!” How adorable, she was starting to slur her words a bit. 

Yingxing couldn’t help but chuckle, “Close, love?” 

Their poor darling, already so close while being lovingly fucked, their cocks overcrowding her poor cunt while their hands groped her breasts, the pudge of her hips, or pressing down on the bulge of her stomach in a dazed fascination of how well she’s taking both of their cocks. 

Their normally stoic and quiet wife reduced to an incoherent mess, moaning only their names. 

Both husbands groaned at the same time when they felt her tighten, impossibly tight. Dan Feng reached down to draw circles on her engorged clit, making her cry out even louder to the point he might get complaints in the morning even though his estate is built farther away from other citizens. 

“Mmph! Ah! A-Feng, A-Xing! Please, I’m going to–ah!” Before their darling wife could even finish her sentence, she came, or rather, she squirted right at Dan Feng’s abdomen. 

Her sudden orgasm triggered Yingxing’s own orgasm and she could feel herself being filled to the brim with the copious amount of his warm and thick cum. Dan Feng followed not too long after him. 

She hiccuped in pleasure as she’s filled again, this time by Dan Feng’s cum, warm and thick, and just as abundant as Yingxing’s. 

Once the cloud of pleasure had dissipated, she watched in mortification how her cum that splashed her husband, dripped down the planes of muscles his blessed body has. 

He didn’t even look mad, if anything, he looked downright pleased by the turn of events with his telling smile and the mirth present in his eyes. Behind her, she could feel the rumble of Yingxing’s barking laugh. 

“Oh, you did so well, darling. Look, you even made his other cock cum.” Yingxing cooed, nuzzling into her hair. 

She looked down and saw that Yingxing was right, Dan Feng’s neglected cock had cum as well, his spent dripping from her chest to her stomach. 

“Hmm, you took both of us well. How are you feeling, băobèi? Are you hurt?” Dan Feng kissed her forehead while checking her for any signs of harm. She could only shake her head in fondness. 

Dan Feng was the first to pull out, Yingxing following soon after him. She whimpered at the feeling of their cocks rubbing against her sensitive walls. 

Dan Feng watched in fascination how his and Yingxing’s combined cum dripped from their wife’s slightly gaping pussy, staining the bed and dripping onto the floor. 

Before anymore could drip out from her lewd hole, Dan Feng scooped the excess cum and fingered it back inside her, causing her to jolt and gasp

“Let’s not waste, shall we? It would be such a shame, no, fūrén?” He looked at her with such an infuriating look on his handsome face while his fingers played with his and Yingxing’s mixed cum inside her sore cunt. 

Yingxing’s large hands found their way to her breasts again, playing and groping her soft tits. All he gave her was a not-so apologetic kiss on the top of her hair.

“Ah! You-you scoundrels! Give this body of mine a break, won’t you?” their wife scowled but it broke into a pleasured moan when Dan Feng once again bit the sensitive part of her neck.

“Well, we did say we want you to sing, didn’t we, bǎobèi?”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Dan Heng shot out of his mattress, panting. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he tried to regulate his breathing, his heart beating so hard, it almost felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. 

He pressed his hand against his chest, his heart finally calming down. As he calmed down, he realized he had another problem, the hard on between his legs. Dan Heng groaned.

‘What the hell was that dream? No, that was too vivid to be something my mind conjured up. Was it a memory? If so, why the hell did I have a wet dream of Dan Feng and his spouses?’

He looked beside him, the woman sleeping next to him thankfully lay unaware of his dilemma. Her appearance had a striking resemblance to the woman in his dreams. He shook his head

He reached down to brush away the hair against her face, fingers slightly caressing her feathers. 

Well, whatever it was, he’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

••••••••••

Ren’s eyes opened, trying to adjust in the darkness of his room. He sat up before placing a hand on his face.

There was a moment of silence before the sounds of his hysterical laughter filled the room. 

“Of all the times, the memories of Yingxing decide to resurface now?” 

Ren laid in his bed again, facing the ceiling while his large and scarred hand dragged against his face, a smirk on his face. 

“Hah, I guess there is no escape for either of you. My bǎobèi, it won't be long until we're reunited...... And there is no place for you to hide, Yǐnyuè-jūn.”

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[seresinhangmanjake]

Ain't What It Is

Benny Cross x reader

Summary: You think you know your boyfriend better than anyone, but when Benny thinks you've cheated, you see a whole new side of him.

Notes/Warnings: angsty-ish, but fluff too. Cursing. Throwing things. Angry Benny. Drinking. Typos.

Words: 1800

Benny Cross Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

He’s home. And as thrilled as you are to see his bike parked in front of the house before midnight on a weekday, you’re just as confused. Excluding weekends, when riding during the day frees up Benny’s nights to give to you, it’s a rarity to see him between the dark hours of eight and three; a pattern so consistent that it’s almost silly to expect anything different.

You knew that when you met Benny. You knew exactly what you were getting into, and because of that, you don’t fault him for staying out late. Riding is important to Benny, it makes up a chunk of his soul, and because the other guys in the club—with their families and day jobs and grown-up responsibilities—can typically only meet after their kids are passed out from a bedtime story and their wives have finished screaming at them for daring to leave the house at such an ungodly hour, you let him be free to enjoy time with the club when he can. 

If that time is given to you instead, you’re happy to have him for an entire night. However, now, as you enter through the front door, it’s not what you expected. The house is a pit of darkness; could be abandoned if you didn’t know the space you were stepping into. 

“Benny?” you call, flicking on the nearest light. You toss your handbag onto the entryway table and make your way to the kitchen to check the fridge. If he’s already asleep, you hope he at least got to the leftovers you put away for him that he usually scarfs down before he comes to bed. 

Turning the corner, you gasp, nearly jumping out of your skin at the shadowed figure sitting at the breakfast table. Your hand flies to your thumping heart. 

“Jesus, honey, you scared me,” you breathe out. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

A ray of moonlight streams through the window, surrounding your boyfriend and emphasizing his silhouette. He leans back in the chair and brings a bottle to his lips. 

“Have you been drinking? How much? God, please tell me you didn’t ride the bike drunk,” you say. He doesn’t answer. 

You sigh and move across the room with the intent to pull the silver chain of the small lamp on your counter—it’s a soft glow that won’t assault his eyes or yours after lingering in pitch black—but a strong hand wraps around your wrist as you pass by. 

“Benny, wha–”

Your eyes adjust. You can finally make out his features as he looks up at you, and they’re as dark as the space you occupy. “You messin' around on me?” he asks. 

If your eyebrows could lift above your forehead they would. If your jaw could unhinge itself, it’d be on the floor. “What?”

Benny shoots up, chair skidding back on the tile with an awful scraping sound. “Are you fuckin’ someone?” he spits out, leaning into you.

“What do you mean? I’m–”

He drops your wrist and groans, twisting on his heel and running his hand through already messy hair before turning back to you. And you don’t understand, because this, right here, is not your boyfriend. This is not how he acts. Rageful? Yes. One edge? Slightly inebriated? Yes and yes. But accusatory? Hot-tempered with you? Not for a single moment in the course of your time together. 

“It’s that prick your ma’s tryin’ to set you up with, isn’t it!” he shouts. “I don’t get why she thinks he’s better than me!”

And then suddenly you know. You catch the anger trying to disguise the twinge of pain in his voice. Pain that is stemming from one thing and one thing only—your Mama’s bullshit. 

She’s sly, that woman, and when you and Benny went to her house last week for dinner because you were exhausted of her complaints that she never sees you, who did you find in the seat assigned next to yours but her best friend’s son; a marking director in the city who makes an unnecessary amount of money and who expressed interest in you. 

She knew you were bringing Benny. She knew because she requested that you bring Benny. You had plans to spare him the agony of an evening with the woman who hates him for his upbringing and unpredictable lifestyle, but when she asked for him, a glimmer of hope sparked. Maybe she was finally letting it go, turning over a new leaf by allowing your relationship to be your and Benny’s business and no one else’s. But you were so wrong. 

An hour and a half of verbal jabs at your boyfriend were evened out by the plethora of compliments she had for her top pick as son-in-law. Benny was a trooper for your sake, but once the words ‘you two would make beautiful babies’ left her wrinkling lips, it was obvious the twig of his restraint was about to snap. And frankly, so was yours.

You took Benny by the hand, stormed out of your childhood home to ride back to your real home, and let Benny claim you however he wanted for the remainder of the night while you praised and soothed and reassured him of your feelings. And you thought those actions and words were enough for Benny to understand where your heart lies, but you’d be lying if you said he hasn’t seemed different over the last seven days.

You release a slow breath, “Honey…”

“So he wears a fuckin’ tie! So what!” His arm whips out and the bottle smashes against the wall, shards sprinkling the floor. 

“Benny!”

“What!”

“Calm down!”

In two large steps, his body is looming over yours, your upper arms suddenly wrapped in his large hands, squeezing but not enough to hurt. “I know he ain’t like me, but that don't make him better for ya,” he says. “‘Sides, he can’t love ya like I do, so what do ya want him for?”

And that is the last straw because now you’re insulted. You shimmy your body out of his grasp and he glances down at his empty hands with wide eyes, brows knitted, lips parted as if you had simply vanished.

“I am not messing around!” you snap. 

“Then where the fuck ya been tonight?” he demands. “Huh? Ya weren’t here. You’re always here. You’ve never not been here at this time’a night, so what am I supposed to be thinkin’?”

Your arms cross over your chest. Your jaw clenches. Your eyes burn. “Sit down.”

“Baby, you tell me right no–”

“Sit down, Benny!” 

His head jerks back at the harshness you rarely exhibit, and though he briefly hesitates, he eventually complies, because you won’t use that tone unless he crosses a line and he knows it, and when you do have to use that tone because he has crossed a line, he knows he loses the things he likes. Sex; your homemade blueberry pie; your willingness to ride with him and go to picnics and bonfires with the club—all of it, for however long you decide. Benny doesn’t like to beg, but in those times, you can take him to his knees. 

“Do you know how many nights I spend not knowing exactly where you are or when you’re going to be home?” you ask, bending at the waist until you’re at his eye level. “I knew going into this relationship that that's how things were going to be and I wanted you anyway. I understood how important it is for you to maintain your riding with the club, and I’ve always been happy that you have that. But you don’t know where I am once and suddenly I’m cheating on you?”

You straighten your spine and shake your head. “My cousin called. Needed me to watch her kid. I rang the bar but Joe said you guys were out riding.”

Benny’s huffs. His hand runs down his face, then in one final snippy effort, he says, “Well, you could’a left a note.”

Scoffing, you go over to the fridge and point to the piece of paper that in bright red lettering states: ‘Watching Teddy. I’ll be home late. Love you,” followed by your name and a little heart. 

“Try again,” you say. 

With that, he seems to sober up, both in his inebriation and attitude. As he should. It’s embarrassing to miss the note written in massive letters in an obnoxious color stuck to the fridge where you always leave notes for one another. In fact, you’re embarrassed for him, and you would tell him so were it not for the kicked-puppy look on his face that drains the irritation from yours. 

“You love me,” you say.

Benny sighs. “I know.”

“And you can't trust me?”

He leans forward in his seat, elbows perching on knees and hands scrubbing his face as if it might erase the shame of his accusations. “I do, baby, I just…

You return to his side, and planting your hands on his shoulders, you push him back in the chair to take a seat on his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck. 

“My mama doesn’t know what’s good for me if she thinks you're not it, but you can’t be treating me like this,” you tell him. “It's not fair. I don’t sit at home thinking you’re messing around on me.”

Benny’s eyes connect to yours as his hand curls at your waist. “I wouldn’t.”

“I know that,” you say. Your palm cups his scruffy cheek. “And you should know I wouldn’t either, so what happened? It’s not like you to be acting like this.”

He takes a second to collect his thoughts, then replies, “I was ridin’ and I missed you so I cut it short, but when I got home I couldn’t find you. And then I started thinkin’ and…” He shakes his head. “Baby, your ma's said shit before but she never shoved another guy in my face. I don’t give a fuck if she hates me, but– ”

“Benny, honey, there’s no way,” you swear to him, running your thumb over the sharp line of his cheekbone. “I mean, he wears a fucking tie.”

Benny’s lips part, eyes flicking back and forth between yours, before he softly chuckles in relief. His head falls forward, forehead resting on your collarbone. Your skin takes the heat of his heavy breaths, and then you feel the press of his lips. They make a gentle trail from your chest, up your neck, over your chin, before planting firmly on your mouth. 

“You're mine. You’re it,” you say when the kiss breaks. “No other man but you, Benny Cross.”

[schoenpepper]

Hi! I’ve got a rq but it’s kind of elaborate and might be sensitive to u so if u don’t wanna do it that’s fine!

But can I have some hcs of Deuce, Jack, Leona, Vil, Epel, Malleus, Silver, and Lilia with a reader who lived with a single parent all their life (whom they were very close with) who passed away not long before they came to TW, but they never said anything about it. So as a way to grieve they wear their parent’s shirts/jackets, accessories and fragrances because they’re all they have of said parent.

Vil sees that some of their clothes doesn’t quite fit their size or style, Jack and Leona can smell a very faint lingering scent of another on their shirts, Deuce notices them playing with their necklace frequently, etc.

I Still Feel You, I Still See You, I Still Hear You

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, sad things, dead parents ig, platonic-ish, short

A/N: No need to be considerate nonnie my parents are fine haha. Finished this while trying to review for my accounting quiz tomorrow...uh, later this afternoon...?

Masterlist

Deuce might be a little...denser, regarding the situation.

However, he's not that tactless.

Ahaha he so is

Forgive him, he always means well. That sentence doesn't make it any better when he brings up the necklace you can never seem to stop fiddling with.

"My mom gave it to me before she died."

Mmh baby gets shut up realll quick.

Do you...want to share his mom?

Pardon the wording. He really means well.

So do you want to come home with him for the holidays?

Jack has a good sense of smell, so it's a bit jarring when the usual scent you have on you is replaced by a musky sort of cologne that you were unlikely to ever wear.

He asks an innocent question.

You give an innocent answer.

"It was my dad's cologne. It's his death anniversary today."

He pats your shoulder to express his condolences.

He doesn't usually do this but, do you want ice cream? His treat.

If you insist really hard, he'll let you cuddle his tail as an apology for his "insensitive" question (it wasn't really but ok)

Leona is very emotionally and socially sensitive, so he'll have a few guesses in mind already.

Your leather jacket always smells faintly of smoke.

He doesn't ask about it. Actively wards off people who makes comments about it, too.

You'll be the one to bring it up when you trust him enough.

"It was my dad's. The only thing salvaged from the fire."

Awkward.

Tsk, you're so troublesome.

Pulls you under his blanket for lots of grumpy cuddles.

He's not good with sappy comforting stuff, so you'll have to make do with his presence. He'll sit by you and listen, 'kay?

Vil is a lot of things, but he's not inconsiderate, and he's certainly not stupid.

When he first sees you wearing that ungodly sweater, soft and knitted and in such a drab color that it completely washed you out, he does get a little curious.

You have better fashion sense than that, potato.

But he notices the way you seem to sink into the fabric, eyes dazed and looking out into the distance.

"It was my mom's."

Oh. Alright.

Now he's a bit embarrassed.

Hm, maybe if you pair the sweatshirt with these pants... and do your hair like this...

You can mourn and look gorgeous while doing it, darling.

Still, he won't force anything if you don't want to.

Epel thinks the ring on your finger is really neat. He's not really one for girly things, but to be honest, he does find it a little bit cute.

Not that...he likes cute things...

Anyway, where did you get it from? Gee, you sure do stare at it a lot.

"My mom left it for me when she died."

Grim topic, but alright.

Likely the type to try and steer the conversation away to some other topic after apologizing for bringing it up.

Says your eyes are pretty. Accidentally.

He'll blush and deny it and apologize for saying weird things.

Idia accidentally snagged your watch on some cable wires while you were in the bathroom.

Total whoops. No problem, he got it out ez

Ugh, why are you panicking, dude? The watch is fine, y'know?

"Sorry, it's just, it's the last thing I have of my dad."

Okaaaay he'll go die in a ditch now tnx

He definitely feels like crap. Not to mention, he's also someone who lost someone super important to him, who was his world and best friend.

Buries himself in his bed and dies.

Silver isn't one to pry, so at normal times, he's unlikely to mention anything about your rather gaudy earrings that don't seem to fit your persona.

It's your choice, anyway. He won't judge.

Still, he has to mention something about it when it catches onto a tablecloth you were napping on. (he won't judge your napping choices either don't worry)

"Is it broken?! No, it was my mom's, I can't..."

He pauses a little bit and helps you untangle it from the tablecloth.

Assures you it's not broken.

He won't ask unless you want him to.

Lilia is all too aware of loss and everything it entails. Call it intuition, or maybe something connected to his UM.

He knows that keychain of yours has a story behind it.

Some punks snatch it off your bag as a prank when you're not looking, and Lilia gets some exercise.

"Thank you so much! It's something my dad gave before..."

There's no need, really.

Everyone has a story, and he won't pry into yours.

Taglist:

@yummyyummyinmytumny @fsh1 @lemon-koii

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ ｍｙ ｔｙｐｅ♡

♡ Pairing: friend!yeosang! x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: While getting ready for a night out with your friends, you get to see a different side of the sweetheart that is Yeosang.

♡ Genre: oh honey, straight up smut

♡ Word Count: 1.9k-ish

♡ Warnings: posessive yeosang, fingering, face fucking (m recieving), rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex (as always, ya'll know better), pet names (slut/good girl/bad girl/etc), hair pulling, manhandling, marking, yeosang has a filthy filthy mouth, masturbation, a lil bit of coochie slapping if you squint.

♡ A/N: My dear darling @anyamaris needed some Yeosang filth in her life and hopefully this delivers for the Yeosang biased babes out there.

 “Can I have a little help in here?” you shout over your shoulder, eyes locked on the full length mirror reflecting your battle with this dress. A part of you regrets having ordered it. It’s skin tight and much shorter than you expected. The only way to make it fit seamlessly has been to swap your normal panties for the tiny black thong you hardly ever wear.

Putting on a bra’s completely out of the question. Every single one you put on makes the fit of the dress awkward. Whatever. You already agreed to go out with your roommates. It’s too late to turn back now. You’ll make it through the night. If only you could get this zipper to work.

“Someone call for help?” Yeosang asks, popping into your doorway with the sweetest smile. You let out a sigh of exhaustion and relief. “Oh thank god. I’m fighting for my life with this zipper.” “No worries. I’ve got you.” You should’ve known Yeosang would be the one to come to the rescue.

He doesn’t even live here like Yunho, Woo, and Mingi do yet he manages to do more in the way of assisting around this place than the three of them combined. Yeosang comes up behind you, pinching the base of your zipper with one hand and whipping the slider up with the other. “There. All done” he says, stepping back to bask in the glory of having saved your life.

“Kang Yeosang, you’re an angel!” you squeak, hands smoothing the dress along your curves. Yeosang nibbles at his bottom lip, following every arch and dip your fingers ride along. “Mmm, sometimes” he shrugs, his gaze lingering on you a few seconds longer before he snaps himself out of it. You scan his body in the mirror, taking notice of that gloriously muscular frame and the rosy glow on those perky cheeks of his.

Is he flirting with me? From day one you’d wondered if there was some sort of tension between the two of you. After a while though, you wrote it off as being all in your head. Yeosang’s the same kind, soft-spoken man with everyone. Any time you thought he was giving you special attention that was simply him being himself. Right?

Something in you says this is the time to find out once and for all. You narrow your eyes at him, lips curved into a shy smile, “And what do you mean by that?” “Nothing” he shrugs, “Just that, you know, there’s two sides to everyone.” “Oh really? And when do I get to meet this ‘other side’ of you?” He comes up behind you again, only this time his hand’s against the small of your back simply to elicit those shivers currently traveling up your spine.

“Whenever you want. You just have to say the word.” You lean back into his hand, poking your ass out the slightest bit to gauge his interest. When his hand slips down, taking a handful of your ass, the question you’ve had for months is immediately answered. “What’s the word?” “Yes” he whispers, the innocence dropping from his voice. You’ve never seen Yeosang look at you this way before and you never want him to look at you any other way again. “I..uh…yeah” you stutter, “Yes.”

Silence hangs in the air for what seems like an eternity before he’s taking a leisurely stroll over to your door, locking it. With his back still turned to you, he pulls the silver rings from his fingers, tossing them onto the bed. “Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” You turn to face each other and the clashing of your bodies is cataclysmic. Galaxies are created and destroyed by this type of collision. Yeosang’s pillowy lips capture yours, his tongue sweeping yours into a dance of pure chaos.

Immediately, you’re tearing at each other’s clothes. The zipper on your dress puts up no resistance now, coming undone at the lightest tug. Pinning you against the wall, he kisses his way down your chest, leaving a trail of almost heart-shaped red marks behind. “Yeosang…ah…” you moan, grabbing his hair as he tears your dress down. Your breasts spring out, one into a strong hand that immediately starts kneading it, the other into his mouth where his eager tongue swirls around your nipple.

“Hmm?” he hums against the plump flesh, his knee pushing between your legs to rub against your heat. The friction of his pants teasing your pussy through the barely there material of your thong has you choking on the most desperate moans. You rock your hips forward, grinding your clit along his thigh. “Fuck…mmph” you mewl, fingers trembling in his hair. Yeosang grabs your ass, bringing his leg flush against your core. With one last lap of your bud, his lips skim the surface of your skin until you’re eye to eye again.

“Such a needy little slut. So desperate for some friction” he teases, nibbling at your bottom lip, “You want my cock that badly? Hmm?” “Mmhmm” you manage, hips stuttering at the overwhelming pleasure of such a simple motion. Yeosang steps back and you fall to your knees, your legs much too weak for you to hold yourself up. He grabs you by your hair, tilting your head back to stare into those deep, starry eyes of yours.

You’ve always been his favorite thing to look at but fuck was there something special about having you on your knees like this, your chin resting against his arousal. Without taking your eyes off of his you undo his pants and his cock pops out of his boxers, brushing against your lips. It’s much bigger than you expected, the anticipation of it stretching your tight cunt getting you even wetter. Yeosang taps the head of his cock on your lips, precum coating them like a gloss.

You part your lips and he’s thrusting into your mouth, groaning as your spit soaks his length. “I want you to play with that sweet little pussy while I fuck your throat, okay?” he coos, slowly pressing deeper into your throat. You gag the deeper he goes. Music to his ears. Blindly, you run your fingers down your stomach, the same way you have so many nights alone in bed, and dip two of them between your folds.

Yeosang feels you moan around his cock and can’t wait any longer to fuck into you. He pumps in and out in short strokes, never giving you a break from the strain on your throat. The ridges on the roof of your mouth and the grooves on your tongue drag noises out of this man that he didn’t even know he could make. Spreading your thighs as far apart as you can, you guide your fingers into your core, you wrist bumping against your clit each time you curl your fingers against your weeping walls.

With your lipstick smeared, teary eyes smudging your mascara, you look an absolute wreck. And what a pretty little wreck you are. Drool drips down your chin, glistening on your tits. Yeosang wishes it were his cum, thick white pearls decorating your chest, but he has to save it for your pussy. Pulling your head back just enough that his cock still rests on the tip of your tongue, he kisses you on the forehead. “On the bed” he orders, “And keep fucking yourself until I tell you to stop.” Yeosang steps to the side, having far too much fun watching you stagger over to the bed. You’re like a new born giraffe, not a stable muscle in your body, but you make it.

Falling onto your back, you close your eyes and continue to explore your depths. He approaches the edge of the bed, parting your legs so wide that every velvety detail of your cunt is on display for him. He presses his thumb against your clit, making small circles as your slit gobbles down your fingers. “Oh, fuck!” you moan, choking it down once again. “Y/n, what are you doing?” Yeosang pouts, taking your hand away from your cunt and bringing it to his mouth, “We aren’t holding back are we?”

You open your eyes to him licking your fingers clean, his still moist cock dancing above your warmth. “I didn’t…want…the guys…uh…to hear.” Yeosang laughs, running the back of your hand along his cheek, “What if I do?” “What if?” he asks, spreading your pussy lips and spitting on your throbbing clit, “I want them to hear you scream for me?” Using the tip of his cock, he smears the spit through your folds, coming down to your entrance. “What if…they want to hear you scream too?”

Yeosang’s pressed against your core just enough to feel it flinch when he says this. Nothing had ever happened between you and your roommates. Not even a drunken hookup or a late night kiss. You can recognize though, that the three of them are incredibly handsome. Knowing that they might hear you…that they might like hearing you…turns you on in ways you don’t understand just yet. He sinks down into you and, with this new possibility in mind, your declarations of pleasure fill the room. “Yes…oooh…shit! So good! So…fucking…god…” you scream, your words trailing off into nonsense as he picks up momentum.

No matter where your roommates are in the house they can hear everything. You calling out Yeosang’s name. His dick stirring your completely drenched pussy like the world’s most delectable pot of macaroni and cheese. The sharp slaps he dishes out to the sides of your ass when he throws your legs over his shoulders to bottom out. “You belong to me now. You understand?” he growls, kissing your quivering legs. “Y…yes” you gasp, not even nearly loud enough for him. “Louder!” “Yes!” He fucks into you harder with each pump, the tremors spreading all the way to your chest.

“Louder! Who owns this sweet little pussy? Tell me!” “You, Yeosang!” the words grate your throat on the way out, “You…own…my pussy. Fuck, yes. All yours. All yours. All…” Your stomach sinks. Your back arches. Your soul may or may not leave your body. When it returns you’re twisting amongst the sheets, soaking his cock so heavily in your cream that even his balls are covered. Letting your legs fall to the side, he brings his sculpted chest against your lush body, kissing you like he wants to taste your insides. And he does.

“Inside or out?” he whispers and you instinctively know what he means. “Both” you say, tugging at his hair again. “Fuck, you’re so nasty” he grins, “I love it.” His body curls against yours as cum coats your walls from the deepest point to your very entrance. There’s still enough when he pulls out to empty all over your pussy, laying claim to every bit of you. 

Rolling onto your side, you chase a breath that seems intent on eluding you. Yeosang cuddles up behind you, kissing you on the neck. “Too much?” he asks, genuinely concerned about your feelings. You shake your head, settling into his arms, “No. It was perfect.” “Oh, good” he says, reaching an arm around to prop your legs open, “It’s going to be so much fun breaking you.”

[addledmongoose]

Good Omens Fanfic Friday (20 Sep 2024)

Because I finished my first draft of my latest (a Reverse Omens AU), and because two separate bangs are starting to come out this month, I have a really long list of (mostly short) stories to recommend this week. And if you like your GO fanfic smut-free, this is the list for you. Only one of these stories is rated E.

These first three aren't part of any bang.

Tadfield Zoo (40K; Rated E) by @groovynightstrawberry

Human AU. Crowley is the zoo's herpetologist. Aziraphale is the new vet. Crowley needs a plus one for his cousin's wedding, and Anathema has a great idea.

***

There’s no algorithm for the ineffable (12K; Rated T) by @thinkinginscripts

Human AU. A lovely, angst-free short with a lot of wonderful witty dialogue between the Ineffable Husbands.

Aziraphale Fell has been running Heavenly Matches, bespoke dating concierge for queer professionals looking for serious relationships, for over twenty years. His success rate is unsurpassed.

His new client, Mr Crowley, is just lovely - there are plenty of candidates interested in taking him to dinner. But after three dates with three perfect men, Crowley's not even sure what he wants anymore.

***

Flowers From Hell (42K; Rated T) by @entanglednow

I loved this story so much. Set post-notpocalypse, Aziraphale makes an effort to get more involved in Crowley's interests, especially his love of gardening. I don't want to spoil it, but I can say you will absolutely fall in love with Ivy.

***

These shorts are part of the GO Fairy Tale Minibang. There are a lot of stories in this collection, so be sure to check them out if you like fairy tales.

The Marriage of Robin Redbreast and the Wren (9K; Rated G) by @starryfull13

A Scottish tale about a wild red-breasted robin and a wren of the Royal court.

***

A Warrior in a Garden (9.8K; Rated T) by @snarky-synesthete

Set post-scene after Wessex, Aziraphale is a Knight of the Table Round when Crowley shows up to sow discord as Morgana la Fey. This story could have easily fit in the GO world like an extended Wessex minisode.

***

The True(ish) Tale of Hansel and Gretel (4K; Rated G)

Aziraphale arrives in a small town to find several of the village children missing and goes to find the witch responsible, only to stumble upon a lovely, ginger-haired demon he hasn't seen in a few years.

***

The Bounds of Gold (18K; Rated T) by @suavissimapenna

Human AU. Nice twist on the Rumplestilskin story.

All Aziraphale wants is to Illuminate a book commissioned by the royal family, but a gold shortage in the kingdom means he has to use a cursed spell book to spin straw into gold. All Crowley wants is to escape the curse that's bound him to the spell book for centuries. When the royal family finds out about Aziraphale’s new skill, things go to hell in a handbasket. A Rumplestilskin AU.

***

When The Lanterns Are Lit (5.7K; Rated G) by @the-ineffable-dance

Deep in The Wood, pixies Aziraphale and Crowley live a life of carefree delight. But when a doorway into Faerie appears, Aziraphale and Crowley have to work together to help two lost human boys admit the feelings they have for each other... and maybe recognize their own feelings along the way!

***

These stories are part of the Do It With Style Silver Screen bang. There are a lot more stories in the works, so be sure to check it out.

The Bookshop Around the Corner (18K; Rated G) by @luinlothana

It's You've Got Mail in the GO universe. This is NOT a human AU. It's the story of angel who doesn't want to sell books and a demon who is feeling a wee bit guilty about one of his plans coming to fruition.

***

The Crowley Family Values (11K; Rated T) by @ezomind-the-other-one

Human AU. As the name implies, this is a crossover fic with the Addams Family Values. If you don't know the other IP, you might struggle a bit simply because the dark humor can seem odd, but if you do know the Addams Family, you'll find the story fits perfectly with the style of humor.

[softshuji]

pls ignore me while I get this out of my system but I'm on my dilf ran agenda again. (it's a bit nsfw)

Anddddd i'm thinking about 40 ish year old Ran with a few streaks of salt and pepper grey in his hair, and it bleeds through the navy and purple in just the right way and it's still as soft as it's always been because he still takes care of it. He's got a few wrinkles now, crow's feet around his eyes that are a little pronounced when he smiles, which is often. He's the type that you can feel the warmth off and those wrinkles are around his mouth too, cute little smile lines and a peppering of dark freckles around his face.

But he still looks as expensive as ever and dresses like it too. Old money style, leather belts and sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he pours himself and you a drink and the hairs on his arms a little lighter from all the time spent in the sun now, his skin a little more sunkissed and golden. Always pairs his belt with a watch and shoes and he knows your eyes are always lingering when he lifts his hips to settle on the sofa, before he's patting his lap for you to come curl on with a drink in one hand.

His hands are a little rougher now, but he still wears the rings- silver and simple, nothing too extreme, along with his wedding band that he never takes off and simple white shirts. He's worked hard for most of his life so he likes to take the time to relax and you can see it on him- still pretty lean but a little softer in all the right places, and so warm and perfect to curl up against at night. But getting older doesn't mean he's not still the expert at certain things and he hasn't changed the fact that he can still curl his fingers and spend hours between your legs - he likes to make jokes often that your slick all over his face is what makes him look so youthful actually, and getting older hasn't changed how smoothly he can roll his hips - so gently when he needs to, making you feel every inch and it has you gasping for air- to which he'll croon and coo at you about how proud he is of you for taking him so well, how pretty you look for him with drool slipping down the side of your mouth.

Age looks pretty good on him actually.

[chronicdisasterwrites]

you can do better. i'm better

pairing: gojo satoru x reader (modern, college au)

genre + warnings: - FLUFF !! alcohol consumption, smoking, swearing, and a jealous and very flirty gojo. reader is gender neutral but is shorter than satoru and has long-ish hair.

word count: 1,934

summary: this is a song-fic based on this ask, the song being "FEEL" by Måneskin. for the full experience, start listening to the song after the 4th break, there'll be a very obvious indication in the dialogue!

enjoyyy <3

“So, there’s a party.”

You hum non-committedly, pen still dancing on your page as your eyes flit between your textbook and notebook. You hear a pen tapping against the wooden desk and try very hard to ignore it. The tapping gets louder and more constant until you’re unable to ignore it any longer. You release a long sigh as you look up at the person pest sitting before you.

"Okay, what?"

Shoko grins as she sets the pen down and clasps her hands underneath her chin, "There's a party. Let's go."

You stare at her for a few seconds before asking, "When, where, and why?"

"Tonight, at Mei Mei's place and because we can and should."

You groan, "I really don't wanna, Shoko. I have work and I'm so sleep-deprived I can't-"

Shoko shuts your books and flicks your forehead, ignoring the small "ow" that escapes your lips. She stands up and takes your things with her, "We are going, and that's that. You can sleep and work and whatever after the party. It's been way too long since we actually had some time to relax and I'm not going without you, so suck it up."

You dejectedly watch her leave with all your things and wonder why you even hang out with such a menace.

---

"Oi, Suguru."

The man in question is distracted, hunched over his desk, sketching away in his notebook with loud music blasting through his earphones. Satoru slams the door shut hoping it'll break his best friend's trance. Suguru feels the reverberation from the door slamming closed and tilts his head to look at a pouty Satoru with arms crossed across his chest. Suguru sends an apologetic smile as he takes off one earphone from the ear closest to Satoru, "Hey. Sorry, what's up?”

“There’s a party.”

Suguru pauses his song, suddenly concerned at how loud the volume was. Rolling his chair back and fully facing Satoru now he says, “Let me guess. We're going?”

He watches Satoru fall back on his bed sprawled out like a starfish. There's a pause before Satoru speaks, “Depends. Y’know if Shoko's going?”

Suguru gives him a sly smile, “I’m not sure. Why?” Satoru spares him a glance masked with disapproval, “Just asking, jeez. What's with the face?”

There's a laugh as Suguru stands up and makes his way to his closet, rummaging through his typical array of edgy, dark outfits. He hears the bed squeak and assumes Satoru is now sitting up, glaring at the back of his head. He decides to pull his leg a bit more, “Just sick of your childish antics.”

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Suguru sighs as he lays down his selected outfit on the side of the bed Satoru wasn't currently occupying. Satoru sighs exaggeratedly, obviously mocking his best friend and only gets a deadpan look as a response, "You just proved my point."

Satoru whines Suguru's name and falls back down on the bed, dropping his arm on Suguru's clothes, "You're annoying."

Suguru watches Satoru with amused eyes. He knows all about the silver-haired boy’s embarrassing crush on you. He flirts and teases you all day only to mope around and whine about why you don’t like him back. Suguru loves his best friend, but how much whining can a person take? Especially since he talks to Shoko, and Shoko is your best friend, and Shoko has informed Suguru that you very much do like Satoru back. 

With a snort, Suguru walks over to his chair and goes back to doing what he was doing when the man-child speaks again.

"Hey, make a playlist. Nanami will be there and I can't deal with any more of his depressing emo music."

---

When you got there, the party was in full swing. People are dancing on tabletops, drinking cheap beer and hard liquor, and smoking all kinds of things, and you're pretty sure you saw someone passed out on a desk littered with plastic cups and playing cards. Leave it to Mei Mei to throw the craziest parties in college history.

You wished you could cling on to Shoko through the entire night, but she ditched you with a simple pat on the back and a nonchalant "have fun", and so here you were, in the kitchen drinking something too colorful, and ridiculously sweet for your liking. Satoru would like this shit, you think, begrudgingly swallowing the concoction.

"You don't like the drink?"

You look over to your side and find a guy you've never seen before. The kitchen is more or less empty with a few people coming and going as the blaring music from the room connected to the kitchen shakes the walls. Sheepishly smiling and putting the glass on the counter you were leaning against you reply, "It's a bit too sweet for me."

The guy laughs a hearty chuckle and moves closer to stand right in front of you, blocking your view of the open entrance of the kitchen and the room conjoined to it. He's tall, not taller than Satoru, you deduce, and fairly good-looking.

"Ironic. You seem pretty sweet yourself."

You snort, "Wow, smooth."

He looks at you with half-lidded eyes and you know what he's thinking, as he reaches out his hand and introduces himself. You reciprocate and give him your name before adding, "I haven't seen you on campus before."

"Yeah, I don't go here. I'm a friend of Mei Mei's."

You nod your head slowly and look for an opening to get out of the conversation, "So, just here for the party?"

He grins and places both his hands on either side of you, caging you against the counter, hovering his face too close to yours for comfort, "Initially yeah, but now I think I found a better reason to stay."

You cringe internally. Oh god…

---

"What the fuck?"

Moving his eyes to follow Satoru's line of sight, Suguru scrunches his face, "Ouch. Sorry, man."

Satoru's eyebrows are drawn together and his eyes are flaming as the plastic cup crumples from his unyielding grip. He thinks about walking over to where you were in the kitchen and stomping all over that random guy's face until he looks like the red plastic cup; disfigured, sad, and lying motionless on the floor.

"Who the fuck is that guy?"

Suguru senses upcoming trouble as Satoru's anger starts to pulsate louder than the actual music. He takes another plastic cup and fills it with a concoction consisting of alcohol mixed with something fruity, handing it to an absolutely livid Gojo Satoru, "I dunno. Why don't you go and find out?" 

He watches Satoru down the entire cup after which he slams it on the table. They exchange glances as Satoru gives Suguru a sly grin, "Play something appropriate, will ya?"

Suguru watches with a smirk as his best friend marches over to the kitchen. Playing a song he deemed appropriate, he looks around to find Shoko talking to Utahime and saunters over to her, nudging her on the shoulder.

Glancing at him, she quirks an eyebrow as she takes a drag of her lit cigarette. Suguru points over at the kitchen as Shoko leans to the side to check out what he was gesturing to, and a wide grin blooms on both their faces. Their thoughts seemed to merge at that moment. This is either going to be really fun, or really bad.

---

“There you are, sweetheart!” 

Your attempt to maneuver yourself away from the counter and the man blocking your way was interrupted by the booming voice you know so very well. Peering over the guy’s shoulder you see Satoru sporting his usual smug smile, bounding toward you and gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist. The man immediately scampers five steps behind as Satoru towers over him, his intimidating posture and menacing grin wiping the overconfident facade the man was previously showcasing. Wrapping his arm around your waist, Satoru leans down to leave a kiss on the top of your head, all while keeping his piercing blue eyes locked on the terrified man’s pale face. 

“You done flirtin’ with my girl?”

The guy stutters face darkened in embarrassment as he rushes away, presumably to crawl into a hole and die. You watched the whole interaction with confusion overwhelming your senses. When Satoru’s arm drops from your waist, you snap back to reality as you laugh and look up at him with amused eyes, “Well, that was hilarious. Nice acting.” 

You expect him to laugh and just leave it be, so when his eyebrows furrow and eyes stare pointedly at you, your confusion comes rushing back. 

“Seriously? That loser?”

You wonder why Satoru’s being so hostile; maybe he doesn’t like that guy, maybe he’s just protective. But then you notice the light blush covering the apples of his cheeks and it hits you - Oh, he’s jealous.

Huffing, you lean against the counter crossing your arms across your chest and reciprocating the same pointed look right back at him, “Why do you care?” 

He stares at you for a few beats and then sighs and turns back around to leave, “Forget it.”

You have liked Satoru for a while now, but the boy never speaks freely. One moment he’s flirting with you nonchalantly, and right when you start to think he might like you as more than a friend, he does things like this. So you decide to persist this time by reaching out and grabbing his slender wrist, “Hold on, just tell me. Why do you care?”

You watch his shoulders rise up and down and before you realize what’s happening, Satoru whips around and cages you against the counter, similar to how to were trapped a few minutes ago, except this time you’re sure your heart skipped several beats. 

He drops his head next to your ear and whispers, “Because, I know you.” 

You feel his fingers run through your hair as he tucks a few strands behind your ear. Keeping you between him and the kitchen counter, he leans down and aligns his face directly across yours. You feel his sapphire eyes burn through your eyes to the back of your skull as he leans closer, his nose mere inches away from yours. “I know what makes you blush, I know what words you like to hear, I know what you want to feel…” 

Your face is getting exponentially warmer by the second and you think your heart is following the rhythm of the drums playing in the song currently blasting through the speakers. You stare at him wide-eyed and stunned at his antics.

“S-Satoru-”

His eyes trail down to your lips and then back to your eyes and his lips curl into that stupid smile you hate so much. At this point, you’re both breathing into each other's faces and he tilts his head to the side, eyes zoned in on your lips, inching forward until you can smell the sweet scent of alcohol and mint in his breath and the deodorant on his body. You’re too stunned to close your eyes, so you don’t miss the way his lips barely graze yours before he stands straight and grabs the cup you had previously abandoned on the countertop - a piece of information you had completely forgotten about. You watch him chug the entire drink and sigh in satisfaction, as he gently sets the cup down and moves back. “Sorry. Got carried away there,” his eyes are soft and your stomach is light as if filled with feathers. You’re speechless, shocked, and so bothered. Standing there with your heart lodged in your throat, you watch Satoru leave with a smile and not a clue in his pretty head on just how he makes you feel.

a/n: very special thanks to my dear @daisy-the-quake for test-reading this <;33

taglist: @thepup356, @porridgesblog, @stray-npc, @daisy-the-quake, @reignsaway, @ainetx, @icarusignite, @mariapierce789

[corazondebeskar-reads]

save your tears

Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 18 - too weak to move | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 1.1k

summary: What would have happened if you went with Joel and Ellie instead of staying in Jackson?

-- I cheated a little for this one but this is an alternate universe scene from "you know you never stood a chance" (spoiler warning). BUT this can be read as a standalone.

warnings: established situationship, canon-compliant-ish, canon-typical violence, description of wound, description of bodily fluids related to a wound, realistic thoughts about a survival situation, hunting and eating of animals

dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/N: this is what I call the silver lake alternate version. in my very early draft of the story, you did not stay in jackson. you got mad at Joel for abandoning Ellie and went to the stables in the morning, planning to go with Ellie and Tommy. The rest of the events happened as per canon. However, as I was writing this scene, it became quickly apparent that it was the wrong narrative choice. but just for fun, here's a snippet after Joel is wounded. (stay tuned in the end notes for the one single David line I wrote).

“You can’t shoot,” Ellie says. She won’t look at you. It’s not mean; it’s just another way you’re failing them. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be back,” she promises. 

You hate this. But there’s no time for self-loathing. What you can do instead is boil snow. 

You creep up to the main level of the house. When you’re sure it’s clear, you crawl through, trying to stay out of sight through any windows. You’re able to scrounge up a few containers of dubious origin and cleanliness but better than your two canteens. 

You light a fire in an old ration tin and prop a steel mixing bowl (the best find of the lot) on top. The first round of snow goes to scrubbing out the containers with an unfortunately large sliver from your bar of soap. 

It’s a loss, but you can’t risk putting dirty water on Joel’s wound. 

Once you have one clean bowl of water, you set another to boil and pull back his shirt and bandages. 

It’s bad. You know it, Ellie knows it, Joel knows it. But you have to try. You have to, or all three of you are dead. 

Well. Maybe not Ellie. She’s tough and capable. Maybe she could make it back to Tommy without you slowing her down. 

You have nothing remotely sterile, so you mentally set aside the next bowl of water for cleaning a scrap of fabric. For now, you try to flush the wound with a slow stream of warm water. 

You’ve been talking to him quietly, explaining to him what you were doing, though his consciousness is dubious at best today. But when you start to pour, his eyes snap open, and his hand flashes out to squeeze at the bones of your wrist. 

“Joel, it’s me, it’s just me,” you say quickly. His grip is grinding, and things are not going to be helped by a broken wrist. And you know it never really healed right, that breaking it a second time would mean it possibly never working the same again. You try not to panic. 

“Joel, please,” you whimper, and he seems to finally recognize you. His fingers loosen, but don’t let go. 

“I’m just trying to help,” you say. You feel like the basement is getting smaller, darker, like it might swallow you up. Someone is breathing shakily, and you’re humiliated to find out it’s you. 

His thumb rubs against your pulse for a moment. “Take Ellie and go,” he whispers, voice hoarse and cracking. 

Instead of responding, you bring the canteen up to his mouth and let a little water drip into his mouth. His eyes close for a moment. 

He purses his lips too soon, a tiny shake to his head. 

“It’s okay, I’m boiling more, please drink.”

But he’s already passing back out. You reach up and stroke your fingers through his hair. It’s damp with sweat despite the crystalline spread of ice inside the windowpanes. 

Sweat is good, right? It means his body is burning the infection. At least, you think so. 

You pause to switch the water so you can get a clean rag. Maybe when Ellie gets back, you can try to ransack the other houses for anything of use. 

You wait until you have a full slate of clean water before you drink any. When it hits your tongue, you think you might cry. Pacing yourself is so hard. 

He wakes up again when you try to clean the wound with the fabric you’d torn from your ragged t-shirt. Every breath draws bile you have to swallow again and again, a fruitless endeavor that ends with you scrambling to throw up outside, terrified of introducing any other contaminants to his environment. 

When you scrub at the wound, he’s awake enough to struggle with the pain but not awake enough to be aware of what’s happening. So he tries to move away, to fight you off. 

It’s worth it, you tell yourself over and over. You’re able to get some of the dirt away with some soap, and some of the pus flows, but not enough. You don’t put pressure on it, afraid to push the infection deeper. 

The skin around his stitches is puffy, red, and oozing. Dread settles deep. You’re probably going to need to cut them and clean the wound. But not now; you can’t force yourself to at this moment. Plus, you might need Ellie to help in case he tries to fight it. 

Instead, you use a clean corner of the rag to wipe dirt from his face and another to try and drip a little more water into his mouth. Suppressing a sob, you press your lips to the burning skin of his forehead. 

Ellie comes back a few hours later and a few rabbits richer. She’s skinned and prepped them when she comes inside, and you set to boiling the meat and bones. 

The two of you eat the meat, and you spend the rest of the evening trying to drip broth into Joel’s mouth. 

It turns into a rhythm. Joel doesn’t get worse, but he doesn’t get better. Sometimes, he wakes and tries to convince you to leave again, to take Ellie and abandon him. Neither of you are very tolerant of his arguments. 

Once, when you’re alone, he seems a little lucid. Ellie is out checking traps, and you’re sitting helplessly next to Joel, sniffling. You’ve got squirrel boiling in the little can fire, but it takes a long time, leaving you with little to do but wait. 

“Why’re ya cryin’, sweetheart?” His voice cracks from disuse, and he tries to clear his throat. 

You’re up on your knees with the canteen to his lips in an instant. He drinks a little and swats it away, reaching a shaky hand to cup your cheek and brush away a tear with his thumb. 

“I know y’ain’t cryin’ over me,” he scolds. 

It only makes you cry harder, though you scramble to choke it back. You peel his hand from you, holding it for a moment in both of yours before giving it a gentle squeeze and placing it back on the mattress. 

“Let me get you some broth,” you mumble, wiping your eyes on your dusty sleeves. 

He lets you feed him a little. 

“C’mere,” he says when you’ve reluctantly stowed the broth. He tugs you to his uninjured side, and you have to squeeze your eyes tight as you gently curl to him. “Remember when you used to be a good girl and do whatever I’d tell ya?”

“We’re not leaving you, Joel.” You’re so tired of this conversation. Actually, you realize as his heat seeps through your clothes, you’re just so tired. 

“Even though I was gonna leave you?”

“Shit, you’re right,” you say and watch exasperatedly as he has the nerve to look a little hopeful. “You nearly leavin’ me behind in the safest place you know is the same thing as leavin’ you to rot in a random filthy basement.”

“Stubborn brat,” he grumbles before he falls back into a fitful sleep.

BONUS — The one line I wrote for a scene with David:

“something rude,” says David.

*title from "Save Your Tears" by The Weeknd

[nono-uwu]

Alrigthy, I've calmed down amd the chapter is officially out so

Chapter 134 thoughts

Spoilers duh

•

•

•

- when I said I wanted to see Crowley again THIS ISN'T WHAT I MEANT T-T

- rip man. At least he gets to see Malron and Jose and all his friends again </3

- well now I have plenty of angst to write for my oc's... silver lining i guess :,)

- also Ferid, what is that mouth. Jeebus that is nightmare fuel

- ok, so shikama is really having a bad time, but it's good to see Shinoa embracing her full potential :)

- aaand Ferid backstory. Wowzers. So his whole deal the whole time was to stop reincarnation? And with Crowley being the 440th... what does that mean. Since it's that chain thing again, I wonder if a vampire is killed that way it will completley stop the whole human-vampire-demon cycle. Or it ouright stops reincarnation from happening. So Ferid has succesfully made 440 vampires just stop existing and never reincarnate? Gah

- So we're in endgame now. One of the more important characters died for reals and I expect for more slightly less important important people to be dropping real soon (guren squad maybe? Narumi?? Kureto??? Idfk)

- also Mitsu supporting Shinoa. Nawwww

- Well honestly this might be the best ending for Crowley. Bro has been through enough. I'm still sad though :(

- ok now this bugs me a lot. Ferid just straight up killed Chess and Horn off screen. When exactly though? Since when we saw them they were just kinda left in Sanguiem. Did he just kill them rq without Crowley seeing it? Bc I doubt he would've had the time to slip back and kill them seperatley. (Not even gonna touch on how stupidly misogynistic it is that they were killed off screen after years of radio silence. Sure, they're kinda unimportant and I'd understand if it'll be like that for other not-so-important characters. But istg it still points to Kagami not being able to write women. Oh well. And the mystery of how they even became acquainted with Crowley is just left in the dust. :/)

- "It wasn't half bad." Man. Win for crowferi shippers ig? Not me though. I guess it does makes sense with Crowley's character of just being very apathetic even to the guy who ruined his entire life.

Art wise, Crowely looked surprisingly decent (mostly, miss his fuller hair tho) and Ferid and Shinoa had some nice panels. That's it really.

Otherwise I'm still devastated but at least Crowely got a slightly somewhat okay-ish ending

Nah I'm lying this is me rn:

Edit: I just remembered. WHERE TF IS KRUL????

[fictionfixations]

lilia's last name (why no silver vanrouge)

started looking a lot of stuff up after thinking about reasons why silver doesnt have lilia's last name

and then its especially when we got told in the latest book 7 update (part 4) that its a courtesy name

so

im just. gonna copy paste here...

SPOILERS for the latest Book 7 update. (Part 4)

I think the reason Silver doesn't have Lilia's last name is because Lilia refers to 'Vanrouge' as a courtesy name. In some places it's a name given when of age. Alternatively, it's something that represents or describes the person [usually sorta connected in meaning to the first name?], as like a sign of adulthood and respect (but supposedly isn't like an actual family name, although maybe it could turn into one? I don't know), as another way of referring to them without being rude, since apparently it used to be that referring to someone by their given name who you aren't close to was seen as rude. (Then the family name is apparently what people closer to you use, but say, in a professional setting, would use the courtesy name.) (I really need to go back and see how they refer to him. If it's just 'Vanrouge' or Lilia, both in ENG and JP since I can't recall.)

Note that I only just found out that courtesy names even exist, so I might be way off the mark.

But like. For example, Lilia's name means night (which could be a reference to him being a nocturnal fae?). Rouge is red (closest to Vanrouge I can find is Vin rouge which is red wine, so dark red?). Which the red is represented in Lilia's General Armor, where he has red in his hair instead of magenta.

He's also 700 years old, and given he got an acceptance letter 500 years ago, it's likely that means it was around that time that he sort of grew 'of age'? Or maybe he already was of age but only got a courtesy name bestowed upon him in reference to his time as a general later after he proved his worth. (Since we know he got a letter while he was a general, or at least before he was one. And it's minors who get letters ofc, so it likely means Lilia wasn't technically of age, or was at least close to it around that time, and since then grew of age.)

I HAVE HIS AGE

IRL he's 700

He got his letter 500 years ago so thats 200

so then 100 years later so he's already grown at that point right? or at least-ish

..Or I might be looking way too into it, since a lot of names in this game are literal. Like Silver, Deuce, Trey, Ace, Cater, Ruggie, Rook HUNT, Jack HOWL, so I mean...

[legitimatesatanspawn]

What happened to Shelob's giant mother who bit the Devil so hard that the entire universe heard him scream? (Not that I blame him on that one, as I would also utter the most unholy shriek if a big spider bit me.)

Oh crap I thought I answered this. Geeze, it's been a while, sorry. Also same about being bit by a big spider. The guy is pretty damn big so the spider itself would be terrifyingly huge and that's before the "webs of unlight" and other fun powers. Y'all thought Mirkwood's were big? Nah, they're tiny compared to Ungoliant.

We have no idea where Ungoliant is from although it's assumed it's space but it's implied she's some kind of maia (angel/minorish god) that went off in her own particular rocker. She's basically a Primordial Hell Spider. We don't know where she went or and what became of her. Last we know, she was seen fighting and then just skittered off to parts unknown "southward" and was never seen again.

Knowing Dagor Dagorath, Ungoliant will probably show up at the end to help further that Ragnarok / End of Times setup. I mean after all, the Silmarils will be shattered there and the Sun and Moon will crash to the planet and you know she'd be hungry for that final feast of the Trees and their tofu/seitan imitations.

Although the fact that she dipped South makes me very worried about the people living south-ish past Gondor and Mordor. Like, what kind of unholy spider abominations do they get plagued with that teaming up with the evil "god" Sauron is a good idea, even with any Morgothian indoctrination at play? The Blue Wizards are late to that party but at least they can help shake things up over there.

Okay so to clarify for people who no idea: Shelob is the giant spider living in Sauron's mountain range nearish to the front gates. Ungoliant is her ancestor to an unknown degree (mother? grandmother? ungodly number of greats? who knows how long giant spiders live for in this setting) and is famously known for draining dry the giant magic trees that glowed brighter/dimmer in an about yearly cycle.

The trees, for the record, are the source of the Sun and Moon and also part of the inspiration for Feanor creating the Silmarils (specifically their light reflecting off of his niece Galadriel's hair). Telperion was planted first and then followed by Laurelin. The silver-leafed tree Telperion had flowers that dripped star-like dew, while Laurelin had clusters of golden fruit surrounded by golden glowing leaves. I mentioned before in another post about these trees and how the last flower and fruit were shotpucked into orbit on skyships. The moon's driver is apparently kinda shitty at sailing which is sometimes why the moon is larger. You'd think he'd get better but…

Anyway, the Trees' light stretched all the way from Valinor (basically heaven on earth) all the way to the known lands across Arda (including Middle Earth, which is charitably around the size of Europe compared to the rest of the landmass). Now it wasn't a perfect go and I forget at this moment when exactly the Two Pillars over on the continent Middle Earth is on were built to give that continent its own light source but Morgoth hates it when people have nice things so either he deliberately smashed them or a fight with the Valar got out of hand there and they got smashed in the fight. Because of this, the land got "ruined" by developing rocky mountain ranges, canyons, and so on so instead of being completely perfect it's wonderfully imperfect and varied. Similar way that Morgoth fighting with Ulmo - the Valar god-archangel-master of the Oceans - helped carve the shorelines and ocean-facing cliffs.

Ungoliant joined up with Morgoth with the promise that he'd offer her freely from his hands anything to satisfy her endless hunger. Using her webs as a ladder to breach Valinor's capital during a massive party since everyone would be busy, Morgoth struck down the trees with his giant spear weapon, and then she lapped up all the sap and her hunger and gluttony only got worse and Ungoliant grew larger and possibly more monstrous-seeming if she was able to scare Morgoth shitless.

They fled across the Grinding Ice, a jagged arctic wasteland (which is why the Noldor when led by Feanor went across that rather than any sensible path).

Ungoliant wasn't an idiot even if she was greedy. She knew that Morgoth broke promises when it suited him, so she demanded her goods. I am not sure how he had the time to do this but Morgoth looted Feanor's treasury along with swiping the three Silmarils. So the promise was demanded and she was fed all the gems held in his left hand… but he refused to open his right which contained the Silmarils (somehow, given that nothing evil can hold them).

Understandably pissed off, Ungoliant wrapped him up in her webs of unlight and tried to kill him. This created the echoes of Lammoth - the endless scream that would rattle forever until the area's destruction. This scream is what drew his minions' attention to the area and so Ungoliant exited the scene, pursued by Balrogs.

Yes, Balrogs. Plural. The Balrog of Moria was just the one and possibly a weak one at that.

Each Balrog is a fallen angel that was formerly working for others or could've been one of Melkor's had he stayed true (which was never gonna last given how he changed the Song and went Lucifer on God).

She wandered around, was known to have attempted to breach Doriath but was somehow successfully fended off by Luthien's mother Melian (told you she was a bamf), then had lots of spider babies in the ruins of Angband (Morgoth's Hell on Earth capital).

After that we have no idea where she went or what Ungoliant is up to beyond going "southward". Come the Fellowship's founding, it's been about 6458 years (not counting the exact date she was last seen in the Second Age) but if she was sniffing around for a Silmaril then that'd make the last possible sighting around 466 First Age so…6583 years.

That's a long time to lose track of a giant spider. Hope it doesn't literally bite them in the ass. Hopefully Pallando and Alatar (the "missing" two Wizards of the Istari Order) are handling things over there.

[mingyusluvr]

☆ 03 | eighteen

AN: Written part under the break -> 500-ish words. If you've read the other two parts let me know what you think & reblog pleeeeeek, I'll kiss your forehead! Reqs & taglist are open if ur interested!

Sora and Junseo met at a brand event they'd both attended, “I have someone I'd like you to meet.” Her friend had whispered in her ear with a little smile before guiding her across the room, and there he was. He was tall, but not too tall. He had the type of face you couldn't imagine going through an awkward phase. A quintessential actor face, born to grace red carpets and the silver screen. Kind, charming and considerate. He was exactly the type of man every mother wished for their daughter. 

Junseo and Sora hit it off immediately, their personalities were similar, almost identical. They both sticklers for routine, enjoying their personal space at times. Being with him felt … safe. It felt good, but it wasn't exciting. 

Five months into their relationship, Junseo introduced Sora to his parents. He was serious about Sora, and I mean, who wouldn't be, but he felt this indescribable block between the two of them. There were invisible walls around the depths of her heart and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite seem to pry them open. 

As if she could read his mind, Sora looked up at Junseo from her position lying on his chest. The two were in bed together, finally, after weeks upon weeks of touring, “What's on your mind?” she asked softly.

“Just been thinking a lot recently.”

“About what?”

“Us.”

“Us?” She sat up now, her brows slightly furrowed, but she knew exactly where this conversation was going.

“I don't know. It just feels like— I want to love you but you're not letting me.”

“I'm not … letting you?” She was fully sitting up now, taking on a slightly defensive tone, “What are you talking about?”

“We’ve barely spoken over the last nine weeks.”

“I was on tour, I was busy. You were busy.”

“How often did you speak to Mingyu?”

Sora let out an incredulous scoff, “Seriously? This is about Mingyu?”

Junseo sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew how close the two were when they got together and he’d always been weary of it. He didn’t understand how it was possible that nothing had ever happened between them. Fan speculation didn’t help either. He tried his best not to look but he saw it, the comments, all of it. His gaze held hers, searching her features for an answer. When she didn’t answer he let out a bitter scoff, nodding his head. The block. He swung his legs off the bed and headed towards the bedroom door, towards the door to the apartment, with Sora who’d finally found her words, trailing after him. 

“Junnie– Junseo. Wait.”

He stopped at the front door, his hand floating above the door handle and he spoke without turning around, “Just– just tell me this… If it was down to him and me, and you had to make a choice. Who would it be?”

Sora faltered, her mouth opening and closing, her words losing their momentum when they got to her throat. “I–”

“That’s what I thought.”

╾╾╾╾╾╾╾

previous, masterlist, next

[ohforficsakelibrary]

You Brought Me Poison Flowers

Chapter 2: Yarrow - It draws the attention of those you most want to see.

prev / series masterlist / masterlist

Series Summary: Joel and Ellie settle into life in Jackson, one more easily than the other, until Joel is reminded of what normal feels like. The kind of normal that he perhaps never had. A series of one-shot glimpses into a relationship (no true plot here, people.) Soft!Joel. Two touch-starved babes. Slow-ish burn.

Chapter subtitles taken from Cunningham’s Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs by Scott Cunningham. Although herbal preparations are consistent with historic uses, nothing herein is to be construed as medical advice.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Herbalist!OFC (age-appropriate age gap)

Word Count: ~4.1K

Rating: Eventually explicit 18+ / Minors DNI.

A/N: Joel fucks up a plant ID. Lennie feels him up and has him hang out for three.

Thanks very much to everyone who read and left some love on the first chapter of this little adventure. I honestly love these two, and I hope you all will come to as well.

Lennie’s processing comfrey for drying when Joel returns a week later. The shop is empty this time, he figures probably because they’re serving lunch down at the Mess Hall. 

“Hey, Lennie,” he glances over at where she’s splitting stalks, “I brought you yarrow.” 

Lennie casts her eyes up momentarily and the sight of him very nearly makes her cackle. 

He’s freshly washed, having just returned from a morning patrol shift, silvered hair raked wet off of his face. Brow knitted. Mouth frozen in that scowl that he never quite realizes is perpetually plastered to his face. But he’s got a massive bouquet of white flowers clutched to his chest.

And not a moment after she looks away her eyes cut back to him. 

The comfrey is hastily abandoned. 

“Yeah, just, go ahead and lay that down on the table there.” Joel obliges as she wipes her hands on the edge of her apron and quickly swings around the bar. “How long ago did you pick those?” 

“Uh, dunno, an hour, hour and a half maybe, sorry, I know they wilted a bit…”

She considers his face carefully before glancing at up the clock that hangs above the door as she closes the distance between them. “Did you eat lunch before or after you picked those?” 

“Haven’t eaten lunch yet.” Suddenly she’s in his space, toe to toe. Immediately his back goes rigid.

“Ok, good,” she starts calmly before grabbing his face in her hands to hold him in place, staring intently into big brown eyes that have flown wide.

And now he’s been struck stupid.

“And you didn’t eat any part of those plants?”

“What? No.” 

Her hands are quick yet determined as she lays the back of one across his forehead for a moment. He’d daresay he’s amused. 

Bringing a woman flowers seems to go much farther these days.

“Open your mouth.” It’s a command. He does and she stands on tiptoes.

He finds himself enough to very nearly reach up to stop her the second she thumbs his bottom lip to get a better look. 

And he would have. If he wasn’t starved. 

The kind of hungry you don’t realize until the scent of food wafts in on a breeze. 

“Did you happen to touch your face at all after you picked them? Rub your eyes, your nose, touch your mouth?” 

“Uh, no? I dunno.”

“Are your eyes burning? Numb?”

“No.”

“Nose?”

“No.”

“Mouth?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Shortness of breath?” Her left hand is on his neck now, eyes on the clock, fingers gently applying pressure and readjusting until she finds his pulse and he swallows hard.

You mean not from this? What even is this?

His mouth drops open and “no” falls out. In response to her question, nothing else.

Christ, Miller. Like a fuckin sixteen year old.

“Sorry, what are you…” He finally finds his words, but she makes a soft noise to shush him. 

A few seconds later “good” comes out on a breath that’s meant more for herself than for him.

“Do you feel nauseous?” Her small hands take both of his by wrists she can’t fully encircle, carefully poring over his palms.

“No.” 

"And you haven't thrown up."

"No."

“Headache?”

“No.”

The backs of his hands fall under her scrutiny before she carefully examines his fingers.

“Sorry, may I?” She points at his chest and then at her ear. He nods before the thought finishes processing and in an instant she’s popped another button on his flannel and pressed her ear against his naked heart. 

“You feel dizzy?” Her head is still on his chest and he realizes that his hands are poised in space, hovering just above her shoulders. 

Yup.

“No.” 

“You’re more than likely going to be fine.”

The fuck does that mean. Good sense is back.

“Lennie, what is going on.” He takes a step, hands held up before his chest in surrender. “Is this from that plant? You didn’t tell me yarrow was dangerous.”

“It’s not,” she finally vacates his space but instead of relief he registers loss of warmth. 

“It’s actually incredibly safe outside of pregnancy and it’s one of the few things I can freely recommend for children, but you didn’t bring me yarrow.” She’s over at her bookshelf now, scanning quickly before slipping a text out of line. 

“You brought me poison hemlock.” 

Means you’re a fuckin’ idiot.

He glances down at the flowers. “What.”

“Poison hemlock,” she returns to him and perches on the edge of the table, feet on the bench. “Of Socrates fame. Take a seat.” He obeys her, mostly because he’s in a daze. “Hey, look at me.” He does. “It’s actually an incredibly honest mistake. You got any plans in the next three?”

“What the fuck Lennie, did I just…” big brown eyes are wide and he goes to scrub a hand down his face.

“Don’t touch your face,” she’s fast and grabs his elbow before he can make contact. “And no, you didn’t.” She stops meets his stare. “You’re more than likely going to be fine.”

“More than likely,” he nearly mocks, “how the fuck do you know? I thought you couldn’t touch that stuff.”

I know because its my fucking job to know, don’t test me, Miller.

“That’s a myth, all but the most sensitive people won’t have a reaction to just touching it and even then it’s just contact dermatitis, it has to get into your blood to do any harm.” She lets loose his arm as her words come fast and easy. “You didn’t eat it, so we’re good there, and you don’t have any fresh cuts on your hands, but you’re not sure if you touched your nose, mouth, or eyes, so that’s an open question.” She’s gone back to flipping pages, searching for something as she rattles this off. “Your pulse is strong, pupils a normal size, your heart is in normal rhythm, body temperature seems normal if a little warm, but we’re…”

“I run warm.” He’s not sure why he feels the need to clarify in this moment of all things.

“…concerned about cold here.” She finishes simultaneously. “You’re not sweating or salivating, no dizziness, nausea, or vomiting, no tremors, and finally, here we go.”

She appears to have found what she’s looking for.

“You’re staying here for the next three hours though.”

Ah. A finally a fuckin’ unit.

“You said I’m fine.”

“Symptoms can appear anywhere from 30 minutes to three hours after exposure.” Lennie reads out and clamps the book shut with one hand. “You haven’t touched your face since you’ve been in here, meaning the absolute last time any sap and therefore toxin could have made it into your system is right before you walked in that door. I figure give it three hours max for you to be completely in the clear.” She drops the book behind her on the table.

Somehow, he actually does follow her math. 

“And if I do show symptoms…I assume you have an antidote?” “There is no antidote.” Lennie leans over her knees so her face is level with his. “It works by paralyzing your neuro-musculatory junctions…”

The dazed look is back.

“Where your nerves control your muscles,” she rephrases, “and causes paralysis, which is a problem when it comes to, you know, breathing. But that’s not going to happen.”

Lennie springs from the table and moves behind the bar.

“Me not being able to breathe is not going to happen, but I have to stay here for three hours and you have no antidote.” He’s not quite yelling but he’s not calm either. 

“There is no antidote, and don’t touch YOUR FUCKING FACE,” she is though, seeing that he’s nearly gone to rub his eyes in frustration. “If you start to show any symptoms at all, I will notice, and I can get you over to Jane at the hospital sooner rather than later. She can treat the symptoms until it processes out of your system.” She drops down, disappearing for an instant before popping back up and dropping a pair of black rubber gloves on the bar top. 

“I need your knife.” Lennie crosses the distance to stand in front of him, hand outstretched. Joel weakly reaches back for the pocket knife he used to cut the blooms. 

She tosses it on the table next to the flowers.

“Come,” Lennie takes both of his hands in hers and he allows himself to be led to the sink. He’s not in shock, not by a long shot, but he’s not all here right now either.

These past few months here in Jackson have been the first time in the last twenty years that he didn’t want to. You know. 

He has a house. His brother back. He isn’t tossing fucking bodies onto a burn pile. 

He has Ellie. 

And now here he might have actually gone and done it to himself. Finally.

Unless he missed again.

The water runs cool and then warm against his skin before Lennie soaps up her own hands and massages the suds into his skin, idly taking note that his hands are massive. Strong square palms and thick fingers. 

Earth hands. 

She continues in silence for a full minute before reaching for a nail brush. It takes him another minute of her scrubbing before he speaks.

“I know how to wash my hands, Lennie.”

“Well, that’s good,” she guides them under the water until they run clean and then some. “Your face now.”

Joel looks down at her with an expression she doesn’t bother to unpack. Instead she holds the bar of soap up between them and he takes it. 

“Wash everything around your eyes and mouth first, keep ‘em shut tight.” Lennie calls over her shoulder as she heads back to the bar top. “Rinse for 30, repeat that once, and then gently take the soap over your eyes and mouth. Scrub that beard. And your neck too.”  

She slips the rubber gloves on and grabs the Reaper’s bouquet that’s resting on the table. “Keep going till I get back,” she calls, passing him on her way through the door to the left. He hears the creaking of something heavy and the click of a screen door and two full wash cycles later hears the sequence in reverse.

“You should be good now,” moments later a gentle hand rests on his back and a washcloth is pressed into his palm before she turns the water off. Joel dries his face first, then his hands and finally opens his eyes as he steps back from the sink. All he can manage right now is to slump down at the table. Face in his hands.

Behind him, Lennie is at the bar, pouring soap into a metal bowl. She fills it with hot water and drops it off near him, slipping the rubber gloves on again. She washes the table carefully, starting with areas she knows are clean, before moving in to where he was sitting before, anywhere he could have touched with sap-sticky hands. She’s so thorough that she wipes the cover of whatever text she was flipping through too.

Joel watches her while she works.

He’s not really sure what else to do.

Faded jeans are rolled up at the cuffs and at some point she had taken off her sweatshirt. Underneath she’s wearing a yellow t-shirt upon which Smokey the Bear urges him to help prevent forest fires.

What if you are a fucking forest fire?

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed before but her left arm is adorned in a black and grey sleeve of foliage and bones. 

She has the arms of someone used to throwing heavy stuff around all day. He likes that about her.

What a fucking thought process. 

He’s hungry and delusional from nearly having poisoned himself, he figures. Or potentially having lightly poisoned himself.

“Elbows up,” she says gently from across heavy oak. She’s quick with the cloth and allows him to get back to sulking in no time at all.

Lennie spends at least five minutes on the spot where the flowers were before his knife is flipped open and dropped into the soapy water. She’s careful to clean that spot too. She takes the whole bowl to the sink and deposits it into the basin to soak before dropping the rubber gloves into the bowl too. Lennie then moves to the front of the shop, flips the “Open” sign to “Closed” and pulls dark blue curtains over the front windows. 

“Alright,” she turns around, resting her hands on her hips before pointing at him. He has no idea what she means, but knows it wasn’t meant for him. The kettle is filled and placed on the hot plate and she disappears again, this time through a door to the right, returning in five with a fork and a plate of thickly sliced ham, cheese, bread, and salad greens dressed lightly in oil. 

“Sorry it’s not very cohesive, but it’s the quickest thing I have.”

“It’s fine,” Joel tears into the ham, honey-sweetness on his tongue reminding him of his manners. 

“Thank you.” 

Ten minutes later there’s weird coffee in front of him and he could not be more grateful. She finally comes to rest opposite him with her own cup, and rakes a hand through her hair as he shoves a bite of crumbly bread into his mouth.

“I’m sorry for all of this,” he says as he swallows.

“Don’t apologize, Joel. It’s an honest mistake. And I probably should have made it more clear.”

A few moments pass in silence before he mumbles, “a thousand leaves.”

“What’s that?” 

“You said the leaves were the key. Soft and lacy. Thousand leaves.” He downs the last bite of greens, staring idly at a knot in the wood. “The leaves were different, that thing had carrot leaves.”

“It’s a member of the same family, yeah. Which is actually how most poisonings happen,” she takes another sip from her mug and rests a cheek in her hand. “Good observation.”

“What did you do with them?” He asks between bites of cheese.

“They’re in a lock box out back until I can process them.”

“Process?”

“Even poison plants have their uses.”

He’s curious but not ready to know.

“So what now?” He finally meets her eyes.

“Well, when you’re finished there I’m going to check you again for symptoms, and I’ll keep doing that every thirty until we’re clear.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Whatever you want Joel.” She stands and makes her way back to the bar. “You can read a book, tell me your life story, take a nap, sit there and scowl.”

At this, he throws a scowl back over his shoulder at her.

And for the first time today she grins. 

She runs through her checks again after he’s through, and much to her surprise, he opts to help her finish processing the comfrey, portioning and binding bundles for drying. After that he pulls a book from the shelf and takes a seat at the table facing her as she sets to work straining tinctures.

Lennie smirks when she sees what he’s chosen. The Third Policeman by Flann O’Brien.

_____

They continue like this, in silence save for the clinking of mason jars and the metallic scrape of lids, speaking only for her to run her checks. 

And yet discomfort remains at bay.

She catches him occasionally, dark eyes angled at her up over Flann’s pages. She can’t see his mouth but from the knit of his brow she knows the scowl is there. He doesn’t dwell long each time, but each time he dwells longer than the last. 

He likes how she looks with her wild curls pulled back. Likes the rebellion of the errant ones at the nape of her neck. She isn’t a frail thing, whether from conscious nurturing of strength or what life has seen fit to deal. And yet the promise of softness in all the right places shows through baggy denim. Under the yellow cotton of her shirt. That gold against tawny skin. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat. 

A sip of water helps.

Lennie isn’t innocent here. She’s just sneakier. His hair has dried by now, accentuating the silver streaks in ashen brown. The way his massive hands make the novel look small. It’s impossible not to notice the way brown and red flannel clings to his shoulders, stretching around his biceps when he brings the glass of water to his lips. 

Those lips. Far more plush than they have any right to be. 

Man walks in with big hands and broad shoulders and you’re fuckin’ nineteen again.

Just the hands will do these days, apparently.

She takes it out on chicory root with a cleaver.

_____

About ten minutes after a third round of checks Joel pipes up again.

“Hey uh, you got a bathroom?” His bladder is protesting the coffee. Tea. Whatever the fuck that thing is, and the glass of water that she’s been keeping full for him.

Lennie is a good host even in a shit situation.

“Yup,” he watches as she looks up from where she’s splitting roots of god knows what and points her cleaver at the woodstove in the corner. “Left and then another left.”

He follows her instructions, seeing that there’s a mudroom to the right after the first left. He can’t help but take quick stock. A door to the back garden. Jackets for all seasons hung on cast iron hooks. An array of practical shoes lined up neatly in a tray. He idly notices the pair of rain boots far larger than its companions before he slips into the tiny wood-paneled bathroom.

“Soap you’ve got in there smells nice.” This when he returns.

She smirks as he walks back in, amused that this broad, rugged thing likes scented soap.

“Oh so it does know how to wash its hands.” She grins up at him before answering in earnest. “Thanks. Think I’ve got…ponderosa? In there?” She reaches out a hand.

It takes him a moment to realize she’s asking for his hand to confirm. He obliges, and a corner of his mouth twitches in amusement when she takes a quick whiff.

“Ponderosa. You want a bar? Give me a sec.”

She wipes her hands on her apron and turns behind her where small wooden crates are stacked nearest the window. She shuffles through a few boxes before selecting a bar for him.

“I don’t have anything to trade.”

“What are you talking about, you brought me poison flowers. Those are my favorite.” She returns to her chopping with a smile.

He very nearly laughs. Instead, he returns to his seat and his book, absently pressing the bar of soap to his nose as he reads. 

It’s funny how when everything went away, smells went with them. The good ones at least. Replaced with decay and dry rot. Gunpowder and shitty whiskey. Burning bodies. You stop paying attention. 

To register is to be repulsed.

It apparently takes scented soap to make you want to inhale again. Warm vanilla without sticky sweetness. Earth. Barely there lavender.

“How’d you do this?”

“Uhm,” she takes a moment to simplify down to component parts. “Soap is some kind of fat and a base. A few years ago I started using whatever was left over from the prior year’s infused oils and tallow as the fat and some janky steam distilling equipment to eek out a bit of essential oil from fresh plants to boost the scent. It takes a lot of material and it’s not a particularly productive process but I figure everyone deserves a little frivolity. Something normal like before.”

“But there’s benefit to the plants being in there?” He still has the bar idly pressed up under his nose in a way that makes something jump in the pit of Lennie's stomach.

“Great question, there’s more benefit to the infused fat than the essential oil, but the essential oils carry the smell.”

“Hmm.”

Is he learning?

He finally pops the bar into the front pocket of his flannel.

Thank god flits across her mind.

The way that pleasure registered on his face every time he took a whiff didn’t go unnoticed.

It sets something long-dormant to churning.

Twenty minutes later he says, “I think it’s time for you to feel me up again.”

She snorts and glances at the clock seeing that it is indeed.

Paying attention and learning. What a guy.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you’re beginning to enjoy this, Joel.”

She washes her hands and he stands up, smoothing the front of his shirt for a reason he can’t explain.

“Any shortness of breath?” Lennie starts, taking his face in her hands, studying his eyes in the late afternoon light. She can see easily that his pupils are a completely normal size, but now she notes softness in the brown. A subtle shade of gratitude.

She doesn’t bother with his mouth this time, leaving lips to tingle in unfulfilled anticipation.

She sees something flit across his eyes for a moment but doesn’t dwell. Instead, her fingers brush over his stubble to fit under his jaw. She’s learned by now that his pulse jumps just behind the bare patches in his beard. A handy shortcut that a part of her perhaps didn’t actually ask for.

Lennie breaks his stare to hold the clock’s gaze, and for a few seconds, Joel takes the opportunity to really look at her. He had noticed a round ago that her brown eyes are flecked with gold. But he can’t for his life figure out how old she is. Long strands of aggregated silver curl from her widow’s peak and temples. Faint lines in the corners of her eyes belie that perhaps at least she was able to find some joy in this hell.

Her mouth was impossible not to notice, but up close it strikes him that her lips aren’t chapped. They look—soft.

Soft? An adjective that fell to the wayside.

“Alright, good,” she breaks his reverie. “A little faster, but still within a completely normal range.” She steps back instead of leaning in.

“You’re not gonna listen?” He points loosely at his chest.

“Do feel out of breath?”

Gasping.

“No.”

“Like it’s skipping?”

Fuckin hopscotch.

“No.”

“Racing?”

A mile a minute.

“No.”

“Do you want me to?”

He takes too long to answer and she takes it as a “no.”

She returns to the bar top and her roots and Joel sits back down and finds his last-read page.

_____

The next thing he remembers is the hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?” He sniffs as his eyes pop open. The shop is filled with pink light.

“You’re free to go.”

“It’s three hours?”

“It’s a little over four, but you looked like you could use the rest. You’ve been asleep for about two. It’s getting to dinner time and I figured Ellie would be looking for you.”

He scrubs his eyes with the heels of his palms before lightly scratching his beard.

“You didn’t wake me up to check.”

“I checked your breathing every fifteen until you started snoring, so I just listened for any change.” She slips him a scrap of paper on which is scribbled a few time entries and numbers next to them ranging from twelve to fourteen.

“Every fifteen?”

He lets it go without units.

“Well, you weren’t awake to tell me if anything started feeling off.”

“You really do care," he snarks.

“I mean, I try.” Lennie smiles and rakes a hand through curls that she’s freed from the scrap of fabric she had tied them with.

He stares at her for a second, hair wild from what she’s just done. Her sweatshirt is on again and she’s got her hands stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans.

“Yeah. Yeah, I should head out.” Not because of the time, though. He stands and tentatively stretches his back. “Can I borrow this?” Joel asks, holding the book up.

“Yeah, of course.”

“You comin’ to Mess?” He slips his clean knife into his back pocket.

“I’ve actually got some leftovers from a rabbit I trapped the other day, so.”

“Yeah. Yeah ok,” Joel starts for the door and turns back. “Hey, thank you, Lennie. For today.”

He sticks out his hand again and it makes her want to scream.

He does that. His reserve. Makes her want to scream.

“Yeah, of course,” she gives it a firm shake instead. “Anytime you uh, feel like you’re dying. Hit me up.” She grins. 

He returns it. With teeth.

“Have a good night, Joel.”

“Goodnight, Lennie.”

She latches the door behind him and presses her back against it before sliding down to the floor.

Heavy breath hisses from her lungs.

“Not what I needed.”

Exactly what she needed.

“Fuck.”

next

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