#more beard under the cut

[ceilidho]

prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

-

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started. 

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you. 

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable. 

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town. 

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles. 

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay. 

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you. 

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in. 

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it. 

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong? 

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.” 

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way. 

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history. 

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there. 

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck. 

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed. 

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side. 

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow. 

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you. 

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

[nymphoniah]

needy little thing

just thinking about how logan is a munch, and he is absolutely shameless about it. nothing can stop this man from eating you out!

pairing: dom!logan x afab!reader

warnings/tags: NSFW (minors DNI, 18+ only), pussy eating, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving) dom!logan, teasing, orgasm denial, swearing, pet names (princess, his girl), spitting, mark-leaving

the second he comes back home from a mission, a side hustle, or whatever it may be, the first thing he does is make a beeline for your room.

logan doesn’t waste a second, deftly making his way to your bed, finding purchase between your legs. “i need to see that pretty pussy of yours,” he whines, pawing your thighs apart with his calloused hands.

“you just got home logan, take a shower at least,” you chuckle, running your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the tufts that peek upwards.

“that can wait darlin', i need to see you now.” he growls, sliding down your skimpy little pair of sleep shorts, which left nothing to the imagination.

his grip on your legs tightens, his fingers molding the plush of your inner thighs as he pulls your panties to the side with his teeth. he lets out an almost primal growl at the sight of your cunt.

your cunt is glistening with your arousal, shining under the pale light of your bedside lamp. "fuck," he whines, his nose hovering over your clit, "didn't even 'hafta do anything, you're already soaking for me"

the scent of your arousal fills logan's senses. he hastily places wet kisses all over your cunt, paying close attention to your clit. he gently sucks on the swollen nub, pulling away with a pop.

"been so needy for you, i missed you-" you lull, cutting yourself off with a moan as he bites your inner thigh, a stark contrast from the pleasure from earlier, but a well needed balance of pain.

he flattens his tongue, licking a stripe from your sopping hole, all the way to your swollen clit. you whine out his name, pulling his face closer to your cunt, the scratchiness of his beard grounding you as it grazes against your skin.

he continues to hungrily lap at your cunt, his tongue working between your folds with ease. he teases your hole, flicking his tongue in, lingering there for a split second, then slips himself out.

"want more..." you beg, lifting your pelvis upward so his nose nudged against your clit. he pulls away swiftly, his warm breath tickling your core, and you whine at the loss of friction.

he spits on your cunt, using it as lubricant as his thumb lazily rubs rough circles against your clit. "such a needy little girl, aren't you?" he hisses, feeling himself hardening from your displeasure.

logan peers down at your cunt, "poor thing can't even handle a bit of teasing?" he says smugly, observing how your hole pulsed around nothing.

before you even got the chance to respond, he pulls at your thighs, his fingernails leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin. manhandling you, he rests your legs on his broad shoulders, his face now a mere centimeter away from your aching core.

"i can do this for hours, princess" he says cockily, pressing a wet kiss to your clit. "surely she can handle that, yeah?". he adds teasingly, talking to your cunt.

you take in the sight as he dives back in, working hastily at your swollen nub. his face slicked with your arousal, beard glistening as he pulls away from your cunt.

you tilt your head back into the mattress, tugging his head to where it once was. "then give it to me," you murmur, the grip on his hair not nearly as tight as the grip he has on your thighs.

oh, the beard burn from tonight is definitely going to be worth it.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader

summary After stumbling across Eddie’s intimate drawings of you, you’re left reeling, but what unfolds that night is less about the pictures and more about the honesty, trust, and closeness they force to the surface. [contains fluff, artsy eddie who's a little rough around the edges, nude drawings, smut | wc 5.8k]

a/n based on this request by the lovely @valinherfantasyworld

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Under the hum of fluorescent lights, you stand waiting as a small fan rotates to blow air your way. The gas pumps outside had been empty, but the open sign held enough promise for you to mosey on in. With a sigh, you reach out to hit the top of the dainty silver call bell for the second time. The checkout counter is dotted with planetary and extra-terrestrial figurines. Old, peeling stickers are stuck to the wood as well. 

It isn’t lost on you that you could bypass paying for the trail mix and jerky and walk out the door. The intrusive thought comes just as Nelson bursts from the break room with his famously grizzled beard. His shoes squeak against the sticky floor as he hobbles to his place behind the counter with considerable reliance on his scuffed, wooden cane. When he sits on the stool, air expels from the cushion in a low, high-pitched whine. 

“My apologies,” he tilts his head to look at you from over the top of his chunky glasses. The prescription is so high that it makes his hazel eyes look larger than they are. 

You shake your head in dismissal as you push Wayne’s snacks towards him with a polite smile. He punches the prices into the cash register with practiced ease. His fingers move quickly and precisely like a starved bird pecking the ground for food.  

“No help today?” you ask. 

Nelson puffs an exasperated breath. “That Henderson kid’s supposed to be here,” he says. “Runnin’ late ‘cause of math club.” 

You hum, trying not to smile when he mutters something about priorities and the youth these days. 

“Need a bag?” He puts the snacks in one before you can answer. “Say, aren’t you dating the Munson boy?” 

“Only for the past six months,” you lightheartedly quip. 

Nelson seldom asked a question he didn’t know the answer to. Everybody in Hawkins shopped at Boone’s Quick Mart, whether they wanted to or not. Convenience trumps luxury any day, and there’s nothing quite like Southern hospitality wrapped in a Midwestern package.

As a pillar in the community for the past thirty years, Nelson Boone knows who’s who and what’s what—Tina Johnson’s divorce from her wandering-eyed husband, Jaden Rockwell’s C+ on his report card, the McNulty family’s move to Boise. This is a man who sees and hears all. 

He meets your gaze with his googly eyes. “So you heard about what happened to him last night?” 

A small stone of worry drops into your gut. “Something happened?” 

Nelson looks at you from over his glasses again, a thrilled smirk playing on his lips. “Something? Hell, I reckon he saved my ass from getting killed.” 

The spark of excitement that curls in his tone reminds you of his tendency to stretch the truth just enough to make eyes widen and jaws drop a little faster. You bar yourself against the bait in hopes he’ll be more stripped and forthcoming. It works, if the way his shoulders relax is any clue. 

“Guy from outta town comes in all big and bad, demanding I empty the register,” he starts. “Meanwhile, Munson’s in the back near the pop. All I’m thinking at this point is, I should’ve gone ahead and made those revisions to my will like I was planning to—” 

“What did Eddie do?” you cut in. 

Nelson clears his throat. “Long story short, the guy whips out some kind of folding knife, they scuffle for a bit, then Munson knocks the rest of buddy’s screws loose.” 

“What?” Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. 

“Scout’s honor,” Nelson says, holding up three fingers. “He didn’t mention it?” 

You blink a few quick times as worry swirls within you. “Haven’t seen him in a few days.” 

Nelson shifts on the stool and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a meaty finger. “Well, that kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins, I tell you what.” He laughs a quick bark of a sound that sends him into a brief coughing fit. “Imagine that, though. Me dying in ‘88, the year of our Lord.” 

“Imagine that,” you murmur. 

You place the money on the counter with buzzing fingers and blood rushing in your ears. 

•••

Wayne’s truck is the only vehicle parked out front when you arrive at the trailer. The grass is greener, and the small flower bed Eddie helped you plant is vibrant and thriving. Before Spring settled, you’d told both Munsons that nurturing their slice of Hawkins could give them something to feel proud of. They’d taken it to heart. 

Though neither would ever admit it to your face, you’d come into their life and transformed it from grayscale to technicolor. 

As a breeze rustles through the surrounding trees, the early evening sun ventures closer towards the horizon. 

When the front door pushes open with a dull creak, Wayne looks up from where he’s wiping crumbs off the small kitchen table nestled beside the window. He’s in jeans and an old tee that’s loose around the collar. A smile pulls at his lips as you pad inside. 

“Thought that was you,” he says. “What’s this?” Wayne peeks into the bag as you set it on the table. 

“Special delivery.” 

“Told ya you ain’t gotta go outta your way for me like this.” He shakes his head with a sigh, but you know he’s grateful. 

“Saves you an extra stop before work, right?” You gently nudge his shoulder. 

“Thanks, darlin.’” After walking the towel back over to the sink, he catches the hint of concern in your eyes as you linger near the table. 

“Everything alright?” 

You open your mouth a couple of times. “Is Eddie okay?” 

Wayne’s gray eyebrows furrow. “Yeah. I mean, he’s Eddie.” He chuckles. “You just missed him. Called about five minutes ago and said something about getting off a little later than usual.” 

You frown. “So that’s why he hasn’t made it in.” 

Wayne hums a sound of confirmation. “Said he could meet you at Benny’s at six, though,” he says. “Also mentioned something about the lake. Asked you to bring his camera.” 

At the very least, the man’s words assure you that the events of last night hadn’t been as bad as you made them out to be in your mind. 

•••

The next hour passes with a slow, Hawkins kind of ease. When you push into Eddie’s bedroom in search of his camera, the air smells like him: pinewood with a faint, smokey undertone. All things considered, the space is tidier than it’s been over the past couple of weeks. 

The open surfaces are no longer strewn with random receipts and wrappers. All his fantasy figurines are organized with a greater sense of intentionality. Even the Iron Maiden poster, whose corner once slouched off the wall, has now been readhered. 

Leave it up to Eddie to make order out of chaos again and again.  

You locate the Nikon on his dresser in seconds. The frame counter rests a few notches before 1, and after a brief pause of debate, you pop the film door open to see if there’s any film inside. Relief washes over you when you realize the chamber is empty, and you haven’t just exposed a brand-new roll to the light. In search of a fresh canister, you squat at his nightstand and pull open the top drawer. Nothing. Mainly guitar accessories: picks, sheets of music, old bridge pins—along with a couple of stray condoms. 

You move to the drawer beneath it, where journals, sketchbooks, and art supply pouches. However, a small cylindrical container tucked in the back corner catches your attention. The top of your hand pinches against the drawer when you attempt to reach the new roll of film without disturbing the other contents. That’s when you make the executive decision to pull out the first couple of sketchbooks. 

In doing so, three pictures slip out: you on a park bench smiling, you sitting on his bed attempting to play his guitar, you taking too big of a bite off an ice cream cone. 

A smile buds on your face as you flip the sketchbook open to tuck the photos back inside. Time stops. On the page is a beautiful portrait of you. It's not a mere sketch; this is much too involved. You were under the impression that he only ever drew the characters for his campaigns this intricately—dragons, celestials, faye. 

As far as you knew, your likeness was only ever confined to his quicker sketches because you were always around. It was easy to capture you in the moment with no pressure. Can’t replicate perfection, sweetheart. 

It isn’t until you’ve turned a few pages ahead that a different type of surprise prickles through you. Blooming and warm like the beginning of spring, but with a more rogue intensity. One that feels borderline forbidden because this next drawing itself ought to have remained tucked away in a secret place. 

Your lips aren’t wrapped around ice cream but Eddie’s index and middle fingers. A line of saliva runs down your chin as your eyes sparkle. 

You flip to the next drawing. In this one, you’re topless and kneeling, legs spread in an unabashed V. One of your hands plays between your thighs as you look up through your lashes. It’s drawn from memory, no doubt. Eddie had yet to capture you on film in such a vulnerable light. 

Another page. Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your neck. You recognize the skeleton tattoo that constitutes the back of his right hand to give the illusion that his bones are bared. 

Another. Your backside is drawn from the perspective of whoever stands behind you. There’s an abstractness to it, in a way. The shading suggests slight irritation or bruising from impact against your delicate skin. 

The last drawing you gleam features you lying face down with your bottom up, wrists tied with rope. Indents on your skin suggest that you’ve tried to pull free—

Something flips low in your gut. White noise fills your ears as you snap the sketchbook closed and put it back where it belongs. You move on autopilot as you toss Eddie’s camera and film into your tote bag and scramble out of his room. 

•••

The water is calm as it laps at the bank of the lake. Gnats flutter around while tree leaves rustle. On a summer evening such as this, Lover’s Lake is a wonder. Above, the sky stretches like the handiwork of a master artist. Blue fades to burnt orange to rustic lavender in a seamless ombre. Your eyes remain on the water below as you kick your feet off the edge of the dock. 

Eddie nudges your knee with his after a while. The upper portion of his coveralls is tied around his waist, exposing his white T-shirt and lean tattooed arms. The sleeve on his right arm is fuller and extends all the way to his hand. 

Despite the intricate designs inked across his skin, you can make out the thin, red scratches on his forearms and the few cuts that pepper his knuckles. None of them override the dark ink of his tattoos, but you can see them since you’re sitting so close. The ones on his neck are visible all the more because they have little to camouflage with. Some are old, but most of them are undeniably fresher. You’ve been cataloguing them all evening. 

You peer over at him with a pensive smile. His camera rests on the opposite side of him. He’d captured a few shots of you and the scenery when there was a little more light. 

“You’re quiet,” he says.

“Just enjoying the view.” 

Eddie briefly wrinkles his nose and looks out at the lake. Touché. 

The silence returns, but Eddie can’t settle into it for the life of him. He shifts, one knee propping up. “You gotta give me something to work with here.” He tries to meet your adverted gaze. “Did I say something to piss you off?” 

All you can do is manage a swallow. There were enough distractions to carry you through dinner at Benny’s, but the world seems much smaller and stripped out here. No music, chatter, or waitress checking in to refill your drinks. It’s just you, Eddie, and the unmatched stillness of nature. All of which are fertile ground for your thoughts to wander and unavoidably return to the fact he hadn’t said a word about what happened at Boone’s—or the contents of his sketchbook. Especially now that he won’t look away from you. 

Worry intensifies Eddie’s gaze. The same gaze that you now know has studied and considered you more intimately than you ever imagined. You can’t help but feel bare and exposed now. It was yet another brick to lay on top of the fact that he’d refrained from telling you about the events at Quick Mart. 

You finally look over at him.  

“Please talk to me,” he says. 

You take his larger hand in yours. He remains quiet, hopeful. You study his palm, then turn it over to assess the back of his hand, the cuts just barely visible over the skeleton tattoo covering it. You wish he could be a fraction as open and forthcoming as the illusion his tattoo presents.

“Did something happen last night?” you ask. 

A defensive edge slips into his voice. “What do you mean?” 

“At Quick Mart,” you say. 

In the time that Eddie combs through his mind in search of the right approach, you say it yourself, “You were in a fight.” It’s not fair to state it so clinically, but you do it anyway. 

Eddie looks more betrayed than surprised. “No, I wasn’t,” he says. “Not like that.” 

You feel a pang of guilt over the earnest way he expresses it, like a kid trying to prove their innocence. 

Over the years, he’d gotten better about his temper. About how quick he was to handle certain situations with the scrappier instincts of his youth. He knew now, more than ever, that words alone could get him much further than his fists. Throughout the latter half of his overstayed run in the public school system, he’d been forced to prove himself physically time after time, so he had no choice but to get good at it. Sometimes, he jumped the gun, but that wasn’t him. Not anymore.  

“It wasn’t over nothing,” he explains. “Asshole was trying to—” 

“I know, Teddy,” you’re quick to assure, voice soft. “Wasn’t pointing fingers. I’m just glad everybody’s okay.” You squeeze his hand. 

His gaze flickers down. “Sorry,” he murmurs, exhaling. He speaks up after a while. “Was it Nelson who told you?” 

The thought of Nelson—endearing, googly-eyed Nelson—makes your lips twitch upwards. Eddie almost doesn’t believe it, but he’s grateful. A fraction of the tension melts from his shoulders as levity creeps in. He presses closer to feel the shake of your shoulders as you chuckle despite yourself. If you don’t laugh, you’ll mess around and find a reason to cry. 

Your amusement eventually subsides into something stiller. “Wish it’d been you, though.” 

Eddie takes the blow. “Swear I was gonna tell you.” He dips his head to kiss the bulb of your shoulder. “Just wanted to give everything some breathing room. Didn’t want you to get all worked up and worried. Hate making you worry.” 

“Forget worry,” you say lightly. “If something involves you, I’ll always wanna know. I care about you.” Those words stir a gratefulness in his chest.  “I want you to tell me things even when they’re scary or hard.” 

Eddie sees the sincerity in your gaze. A hint of confliction seems to reside there as well.  

“No more secrets,” he promises. 

He holds out his pinkie, and just when he thinks you’re going to ignore it, you hook yours around his. It’s no surprise that he squeezes. As playful as he is, you should’ve seen it coming. You yelp and attempt to pull your hand away, but he leans in to steal a kiss that you allow him to take. A satisfied smile lingers on his face afterward. 

With a proud sigh, he lays back on the wooden planks of the dock, hair splaying like mane. With your eyes you map the faint freckles on his face when he closes his eyes, then trace his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the relaxed pout of his lips. 

Eddie’s eyes soon flutter open to meet yours.

He offers a smile. “Hmm?”

You shrug, chuckling in a mix of nerves and relief. “Just thinking of something Nelson said about you,” you say. “‘That kid’s got the biggest pair in all of Hawkins.’” 

A surprised laugh bubbles out of him that makes his eyes crinkle and his chest shake. You join in. When the moment settles into something tamer but still a bit charged, Eddie holds your gaze as he reaches down between his legs to rest a hand over his crotch. 

“You’ve seen ‘em first hand,” he drawls, palming himself through the fabric of his coveralls. “Whaddya think?” 

Heat floods your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of leaving you speechless. “Jury’s still out.” 

Another laugh rumbles through him and ends with a snort. His eyes shimmer when he calms down. You’re there to twirl your finger around one of his curls and give it an affectionate tug. 

A gentle breeze rolls through and makes a part of you wish it could carry the memory of his drawings away with it. At least so you could settle into the serenity of the moment in an unadulterated way. Those thoughts don’t leave you, however. His face alone is a reminder of his secret envisionings of you. 

•••

Later that night, in the dim lamplight of Eddie’s room, you lie face up on his bed, eyes glued to the ceiling. It’s as if the act will still your nerves, but it doesn’t. 

Eddie emerges from the bathroom whistling, a gray towel wrapped around his slender waist. You loll your head to look at him just long enough to catalogue his damp curls, his myriad of tattoos, the light dusting of hair between his pecs, and the even darker trail that descends from his belly button. His back turns to you as he saunters to his dresser. There’s a dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades. 

“Miss me?” he asks as he digs pajamas out of his drawer. 

When you don’t respond, he peeks over his shoulder. Your gaze is directed towards the ceiling.  

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Sorry. I’m just tired.” 

He hums. Your silence takes root beneath his skin and yields a certain self-consciousness. It wasn’t like you to be so disengaged. Not when it came to him. There was no denying his magnetism, even when he wasn’t actively trying to work the room. 

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Eddie walks to the side of the bed and stares down at you. “You’ve been acting funny all evening.” 

You push yourself upright, swinging your legs off the side of the bed. To buy yourself some time, you rub your eyes with your fists as if tiredness truly is to blame. There’s nowhere to hide when your hands inevitably drop back down to rest in your lap. Still, Eddie fails to get a read. 

“Talk to me, Goose.” He taps your chin with a gentle knuckle. “Is that gas station shit really bothering you that bad?” Eddie winces at his own irritation. “That came out wrong. Shit.” 

He takes a deep breath. “I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. The guy had what was coming to him.”

“I care about you, is all,” you say. “Am I allowed to do that?” 

His eyes are apologetic as he looks down at you. “You’re allowed.” 

“No more secrets, right?” you say. “That’s what you promised.” 

Eddie nods slowly, unsure of where this conversation is headed. 

“That means we let each other in,” you continue. 

“You’re in, baby.” 

You bite your lower lip.

“I saw something earlier. Drawings of me that you’ve done.” 

“I sketch you all the time.” 

A few seconds pass before you bring yourself to speak again. “Not the sketches. The actual drawings. The detailed ones.” 

Eddie stills as if turned to alabaster. He looks away from you, but you don’t look away from him as silence permeates the air like a slow rising fog. Color rises in his cheeks, then the tips of his ears. If he doesn’t move, maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll disappear. A few seconds pass like an hour. The world begins turning again when you take his hand in yours, gently brushing over the back with your thumb. 

Reality fades back in slowly. His breaths, your breaths, his thick swallow. 

“They caught me off guard,” you admit. 

Like a severed branch, his hand falls away from yours. His Adam’s apple bobs as he considers what to say in the wake of embarrassment that toes the line of frustration. 

Eddie’s eyes find their way back to yours. “We’re going through each other’s things now?” 

“I was looking for film for your camera,” you explain. “Pictures fell out of the sketchbook, and when I went to put them back—” 

“They don’t mean anything.” His words are void of any conviction. 

You hold his gaze until his shoulders sag with the weight of the truth. “I’ve never had this, alright?” He makes a weak motion between the two of you. “Someone who makes me feel the way you do.” 

You nod for him to continue. 

“I think about you all the fucking time.” His voice comes out shy and gruff. “You’re beautiful.” 

“So they do mean something.”

“But now you probably just think they’re perverted when it’s not like that at all,” he accuses with a slight waver in his voice. You’ve never seen him quite like this. Frazzled in a raw, open way. “It’s the trust aspect—fuck, I’m not making any sense.” 

He runs his hands through his hair and paces a few steps away. You study the tattoos on his torso. Audentes Fortuna Iuvat is scripted just beneath his collarbones with a slight upwards curve; Latin for fortune favors the bold. A symmetrical, abstract pair of angel wings span beneath it. There’s also the small inverted crucifix on his sternum. The snake curled on the right side of his ribcage beneath his pecs. A considerable host of others have made a canvas out of his skin as well.  

“So help me understand,” you insist. 

You’re messing with him now. You have to be. This is his punishment for ever daring to put his pencil to the paper in that way. A few beats of silence pass.

“Are those things you wanna try?” you coax. 

He finally musters the courage to look at you again. “There’s so much I wanna try with you.” There’s a weighted look in his gaze, like the sentiments it bears stretch beyond this moment. “I wanna do life with you.” 

Warmth kindles in your chest at his words. “Well, here I am,” you say. “Gonna have to try harder to scare me away.” 

A humorless laugh escapes him, but it’s true. Here you are. 

“None of this was ever about the fight or the drawings, E,” you start. “It’s about you. I don’t want you to think you have to keep things from me.” 

You nearly fall into the depths of his eyes as they bore into yours. 

“I can’t mess this up too.” His voice comes out smaller than you’ve heard it. He wouldn’t make it to the other side of losing you.  

“It’s gonna take something terrible for that.” You think for a moment. “Like you cutting off all that gorgeous hair.” 

Eddie laughs. The sound coaxes you to your feet and over to him, where he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. His breath catches in his throat when he feels your fingertips ghost along his waistline where the towel is secured. 

•••

Just relax. 

Those were the words you’d uttered to him a few short moments ago before you tugged his towel down and stripped yourself of your clothes. If anything, it was more like a purr. Something about that low, melodic tone always worked with him. Even when he was the one desperate to get his mouth and hands on you. He listened because you always handled him with care. Always made it good for him. 

The sound that leaves him now seems broken, but Eddie’s never felt more whole. His arms shake where they’re braced behind him on the bed, and his spread thighs tremble. You look up at him from your kneeling position on the carpet before him without pulling away from mouthing at the warm, velvety weight between his thighs that hang like two joint fruits. They draw up when you pay keen attention to one side, making a suctioning motion with your mouth that makes him curse beneath his breath. 

He curls forward with a pleasured groan when you take the entirety of his length into your mouth. The sweet drag of your lips, paired with the encompassing warmth, makes his head spin. You venture down halfway before drawing back up to suckle on the tip with a glimmer in your eyes. Eddie doesn’t get through his next shudder before your lips are descending again, this time all the way to where curly dark hair rests at his base. 

You can feel every vein and pulse along the way. His stomach quivers at the sight as something hot stirs low in his gut. 

One of his hands settles at the back of your head, but he doesn’t push or pull. It’s a grounding gesture. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you pull back up, taking your time. At the top, you lap over his slit, where another pearly bead has formed. He huffs out a ragged breath when you begin to place lingering kisses over the head, then allow your tongue to gently trace along the slightly raised edge that separates it from the rest of his shaft. 

A selfish part of him wants more. 

“Angel…” he sighs. 

You hum around him curiously when he’s back in your mouth. Eddie knows you’re trying to make him cave and guide you into what he wants. His fingers twitch with hesitance at first, but then he applies just enough pressure to encourage you back down. You’re gracious enough to fall into your own bobbing rhythm thereafter. 

His breath stutters when one of your hands dip between your thighs to begin rubbing easy circles over your bud as your mouth continues to work him like a dream. You clench around nothing as warmth and pleasure pool between your thighs. 

“That’s so hot,” he grouses. 

You pull off of him, saliva slinking between your lips and his arousal. “Is it?” you murmur coyly. 

He nods earnestly, eyes dark and cheeks flushed. What he’s not expecting is for you to sit back on your knees and redirect all your attention to yourself, bringing one hand up to cup your breast. Your cheeks warm at your own boldness. He’d seen you like this in his mind and on the page, but only you could bring the vision to life. There’s a pleasant rush to that sort of power. 

He kicks up towards his stomach when you release an airy hum as your middle finger drifts down to run along your entrance and collect the thick moisture gathered there. He scoots closer to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. Eddie strokes himself a few careful times, stopping before the tide can rise. You watch with shining eyes as he rips the foil open and slides the rubber down himself. 

“C’mere,” he rasps, repositioning fully onto the bed. “Wanna make you feel good.” 

You bite your lip as you gently probe your entrance, maintaining eye contact even as your face burns. “Think you do it better?” 

“You already know the answer.” There’s no overt cockiness in his tone. Just a steady sort of confidence that makes your stomach flutter. 

An invisible flip switches. No doubt, because he finally feels as though it’s allowed to. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but you feel the aftermath. It’s in the way he becomes firmer; he isn’t rough, but you can feel the strength behind his movements more than you usually do. It’s also in the way he lifts his head from your center when you’re mere seconds away from falling into thralls of something your entire body craves. 

You plead with your eyes as you meet his gaze, frustrated and desperate all the same. His lips upturn in a small smile that’s barely there. Your thighs fall open as he leans back down, and the fan of his breath makes you shiver. His mouth and fingers have already made you slick with arousal, only to leave you right on the edge. 

“Eddie, please.”

He gently parts you open and presses a gentle kiss to your clit before suckling it into his mouth. You whimper and cant your hips upwards into his face, but he moves away. 

“Easy,” he coos. 

You breathe an apology as he presses his middle finger to your swollen bud and circles it nice and slow. A whimper escapes you as you squirm, trying your best to keep your hips down. As maddening as it is, you like this little game. The challenge. If he maintains this same pressure and speeds up just so, you know it’d be enough to get you there. He knows that too. 

Everything hinges on his call. Eddie’s been at the helm even though he let you think you were for a time.

“Who does it better?” he asks. 

Your stomach flips. “You, Eddie—c’mon.” You huff an exasperated chuckle in spite of yourself. Eddie bites back a smile. Then your voice dips into a tone that’s impossibly sweet. It reminds him just how much he burns with desire himself. “Keep showing me how much better.” 

Eddie braces himself overtop of you and notches at your slick warmth. It takes a moment for him to gather himself, but when he does, he slips into you with ease. Each inch is welcomed with the same steady pressure, all the way until he’s buried entirely. 

While you hum at the fullness, he moans from being welcomed in so wholly. Even though you’re the one stretched to accommodate him, it’s him who needs a moment to get acclimated. It feels like he’s seconds away from falling apart, and he sure as hell isn’t ready to test the theory. 

When you circle your hips in a silent encouragement for him to move, he stills you with a steady hand. You make another attempt.  

“Angel, wait,” he weakly complains. It’s half desperate, half amused. 

“But I need you,” you murmur. 

That’s enough to spur him into an easy rhythm. Your mouth falls open, and he can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. You surprise yourself when you poke your tongue out. Eddie takes a leap of faith and pushes it just past your lips. You close your mouth around it and give it a weak suck before he pulls it back out. 

As it turns out, life imitates art too.  

“You feel so good,” Eddie pants. “Taking me so well, aren’t you?” 

“Mhmm.”

His thrusts reach deeper when you hook your legs around him, eyes briefly scrunching closed as he meets that tender spot within you that threatens to make everything wound tight inside of you unravel. 

Your hands move to scratch down his back, and his hips stutter at the steady pressure of your nails. So you do it again, a little harder, and it sends a strong shiver through him that feels unfairly good. When your hands smooth back around to his chest, fingers grazing his nipples, he manages to gather your wrists in his hands and pin them above your head. Your chest pushes into his.  

“I’m close,” you breathe. “So full.” 

A groan rises in his throat. “Not until I say, alright?” 

Your whine borders on petulant, but you nod anyway. Eddie kisses you for it. First, on your lips, then he trails a few more sloppy, lazy kisses down your chin. When he pulls away, he lets go of your wrists and braces that forearm beside your head, breaths heavy. He’s so close, you can see the faint sun freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose. The grind of his pelvis against your clit makes you clench around him. 

Your breath hitches. “I’m gonna—”

“Not yet, angel,” he says, even as he lowers a hand between your bodies to rub that pulsing part of you with just the right amount of pressure as he continues his deep thrusts. It’s the furthest thing from fair, and he knows it.  

Your mind grows fuzzy with a sudden swell of pleasure that borders on panic. “Eddie, baby, I can’t,” you whimper. “You’re gonna make me come. Please—” 

“Go on, angel,” he soothes. The wave crashes. “That’s it, there you go.”

You close your mouth to stifle the helpless sound that rises up your throat as you arch beneath him. Immediately, you’re thrown into a suspended place where all you can feel is yourself fluttering around him in strong pulses as warmth floods your entire being, pulling him in. He guides you through it with gentle praises that barely register to your ears. 

With a guttural sound Eddie buries himself within your warmth and lets go, his abdomen flexing with each wave that shoots through him. As the radiating pleasure dwindles, he touches his forehead to yours, and your lips just barely brush as you catch your breaths. You raise your hands to his neck to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers, then jolts with sensitivity as you shift beneath him.  

“Sorry,” you whisper. 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re fine,” he breathes. “You’re perfect. Don’t deserve you.” 

“You’re gonna give me a complex,” you murmur. 

Eddie chuckles and grasps the base of himself to slowly pull out. The loss draws shuddering exhales out of both of you. He’s overcome by a surge of fondness and gratitude. 

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod as he dots a few kisses to your neck. “Hey, Eddie.” You cup his cheek to get his attention and he nearly melts at the content way you look up at him with slow, sleepy blinks. “Maybe next time you can tie me up.” A small smile plays on your lips, but you mean it. Even though the thought alone gives you wild butterflies. 

Eddie’s swallow doesn’t let on how dizzy the thought makes him. “Yeah?” 

You offer a tired hum. “I trust you.” That alone means everything. 

And with him, you wanted it all. 

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

EDDIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

more 18+ LOGAN HOWLETT thoughts bc clearly im a big fat fucking liar

fem!reader, 583 words

Early morning sex is one of Logan’s favourites. There’s no rush, no haste – nothing. The rest of the world quiet, as if it's only the two of you up. 

He’d often be cuddling into you from behind, arm like a dead, sleeping weight around your middle. His hand in a protective hold under one of your tits, keeping you there with your back to his burly chest. It’s rather comfortable.

And as his eyes begin to open, adjusting to the dawn sky through the gap of the curtain, he notices something between his legs causing him anguish. Thick, naked cock rock hard against the cheek of your ass, the little sleeping, unknowing motions of you only furthering that agony.

He nuzzles his face into you from behind, chin hooking on the nape of your neck as he presses soft, light kisses into your cheek – trying to ease you awake. And when you inhale, the sound prolonged and sleepy, he only tempts you further: running the scruff of his beard over your bare shoulder, lips pressing faintly into the side of your throat.

“Got something I want you to take care of, sugar,” he whispers, voice low and gruff beside your ear. His hand on your tit beginning it’s gentle kneading, again, like he was trying to coax you. Pushing it even further by saying your name in that deep, manly way he often does.

You nestle your head back into him, humming in a way as if to show your intrigue. Your half-asleep self silently asking him to elaborate. And when he takes the hint, his grasp around your breast loosens, instead moving down to your stomach – large fingers brushing over your warm, bare skin. 

The trail continues, his touch moving down to between your thighs, the thickness of his wrist acting like a wedge betwixt your legs. His middle finger instinctively extends downwards, the tip of it running between the lips of your pussy, the action like a gentle, momentary warm up.

And so, he leaves that spot just below your clit, reaching his hand behind you —to the front of him— and to his cock. Fingers wrapping around his base, fist faintly pumping over his dick as if to ready himself – simultaneously guiding his head towards you from behind.

He teases you briefly with the tip as he lines up, swirling and circling himself around your entrance before sinking into you. The remnants of last night’s dirty affairs acting like a natural lubricant.

He stills, using his cock like a plug as if to allow you a moment to adjust – accommodate him once again. But it was like muscle memory, the walls of your pussy stretching and wrapping around him, drawing more of him in. 

“Fuck,” he groans, the sound cutting his curse short. He wraps his arm back around your middle, hand finding itself tucked under your tit –like his prior sleeping position– using your body for stability as he begins to slowly rock into you. 

Your eyes close as you melt into him, posture softening against his chest, grip loosening around his thick wrist. He inadvertently mirrors you, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating as he rests his head back on the pillow – relaxing into you the way you do him. 

Like it all required no effort. The unrushed, irregular wind of his hips into you from behind letting you both feel just enough, each of you still far too sleepy for it to be anything more than this.

I rewatched DOFP for him last night. massive mistake. cried myself to sleep

[thecoochiefairy]

mouthy. onyankapon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 blackfem!reader, drabble, onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon,dominant!onyankapon, angry sex, drunk sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, riding, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ link. link. link. link.

sorry y’all, i been celibate and just want the testosterone of a black man. i beg.

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ :: you come back from the club, mouthy, tipsy and blabbering to your boyfriend. all that talking has onyakanpon give you just what you’re asking for.

STRAWBERRY FLAVORED MARGARITAS ALWAYS MADE YOU HORNY. You made the terrible decision of making that your choice of drink when agreeing to a girls night out, knowing where you really wanted to be— in bed, cuddled up to your man. But you missed your friends, and Onyankapon missed you even more. 

Although you were always together, his weekend routine felt incomplete without you. He had already gone to the gym, got something to eat, and took Cupcake—your American Bully—out for a run. The minute he left you to walk out the house in that fuschia dress, he knew you’d be trouble. The gold jewelry accents as your dark hair fell in crimped waves, the scent of Miss Dior along your throat that he couldn’t pull away from, skimpy heels combating the entire look together—he would have broken someone’s neck behind you. 

As you stumbled into the women’s bathroom, the dark red lights added onto the energy you felt of the song playing within the club—PHAT by Dababy—buzzing your entire body as you wanted to shake ass with your girls. But first, you had to have a little fun. 

You leaned yourself into the full body mirror of the bathroom, bending down as you arched your back into the camera, taking salacious pictures of yourself. They were faceless, only showing the curves of your body in the dress. You sent them to Onyankapon, a small, tipsy grin along your face. 

mama <3 : 

don’t i look pretty?

He was now within the mirror, clippers in his hand as he faded the sides of his head, beard trimmed down as well. You weren’t there to protest the cut, loving when his facial hair was more full, whether it was in between your fingers or deep in your— 

Back to the point, LARGER THAN LIFE by Brent Faiyaz was his current choice of album. He glances down at his phone as he sees the message, eyebrows furrowing. The sight of you under red lighting, filthily posing for the picture. It made him more irritated than anything. 

my ony <3 :

my pretty ass baby. drink some water.

The message back makes you feel a bit deflated. You wanted more. Your mischievous eyes glance around, seeing you were still alone in the bathroom. With that, you latch your fingers onto the top of your dress, pulling down the fabric to have your breasts spill out, nipples hardening from the air. You snap the picture, holding one of your tits in your palm, your brown lined Cupid’s bow lips also within the photo. You press send, sitting along the countertop of the bathroom, awaiting for a response.

Your phone buzzes after five minutes. You look down, seeing only a couple of words. 

my ony <3: 

yeah, aight. 

You can’t help the grin that spreads along your face. With that, you notice that your phone battery is lower than expected, and you know your friends aren’t ready to go home. You sigh, shutting off your phone in risk of it dying, heading back to the section to try to shake off some of this inebriety. 

Onyankapon goes to text you again, but this time it doesn’t seem to go through. It was in your habit for your phone to die, but tonight wasn’t the time. He even went as far as calling you. Straight to voicemail. Of course, your friends weren’t answering either. His eye could’ve twitched.

Getting your key into the door was your current mission hours later. Your phone was buzzing from the amount of missed phone calls as you turned it back on, a giggle stifling from your lips as you continuously shuffled your keys around, desperately trying to find the oversized Hello Kitty one. Your feet ached, heels high and tall as your ankles trembled, wanting nothing more than to be barefoot. 

When your eyes finally register the pink key—assuming you’d touched it a thousand times—you lean against the door as you swing it open, holding yourself up by the bottom of your feet. They felt extremely heavy. You step inside, slowly pushing the door to close, locking it behind you. The LED lights in your condo were a dark purple, blaring to the low beat of the music playing around the walls, PARTYNEXTDOOR accompanying your ears. He’d probably fallen asleep. 

Despite all the noise you’d been making, you try to tip-toe with your heels, realizing that your mission was successful. That’s until you turn your head towards the kitchen, anyways.

You freeze momentarily in your steps, eyes widening. You knew he’d be angry, but you wanted to make a sneaky escape into bed next to him— Alas, your plan had failed miserably and you turned to face him with an innocent smile.

“Ony, baby—Why are you awake?” 

The room seemed to shrink in size because of his imposing figure. It didn't matter how many tattoos covered his muscular body—you would always remember his face card. Strident jawline, dark eyes that gave him the expression of annoyance or solemnity, but the tattoos that decorated his cheek made him stand out amongst men. His brown complexion shimmered under the light, as if he had oil on his skin. 

He just blinks at you, brows furrowing with obvious irritation. You were supposed to be home at ten. It was now two in the morning. He crosses his arms as you could see a vein straining on his neck, also glancing over the lipstick printed ink of your mouth tatted along his throat.  He was pissed.

“And where the fuck has your ass been?”

His silky black durag has a knot tied within the back of his head, shirtless, upper body exposed as his black sweatpants hang on his hips. He’d just woken up after dozing off.

You pout slightly, not liking his attitude. “The girls wanted to be outside longer. I wasn’t driving, so I couldn't tell them no.”

“The girls know you got a crazy ass nigga at home. You could’ve at least picked up my fuckin’ calls.”

“My phone was in my purse,” you try to defend, now walking over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Did I wake you?” 

Despite his annoyed demeanor, his arms make their way to your waist. He’s gentle, but you could pick up the way his fingers dug into your skin. 

 “You know I can’t sleep without you.”

“Cupcake likes to cuddle,” you refer to the large dog, “Don’t be mean to her. She loves you just as much as I do,” you rub his beard, scratching it affectionately. 

He grunts lowly, “Gimme’ your mouth,” you standing on your heels as you give him a peck on the lips. 

You then groan, leaning down as you rub your ankle, “My foot hurts,” you pout, “Ugly bitch at the club stepped on my toes!”

He couldn’t help but soften up at your comments, a gentle hand rubbing at the back of your neck soothingly.

“She stepped on your shit on purpose?” He asked, brows furrowing.

“She gon’ say ‘bitch, move’ when she was all in my way. I didn’t move, so she stepped on my heel. Should’ve busted her fuckin’ head open,” you talk shit about the random girl in the club, “Baby, my feet hurt…” you repeat more softly.

“You gonna go back and fight her?” He poked fun, now lifting you up by your thighs to release the tension off your feet. You giggle as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, yelping, ‘wee!’ as He carries you to the living room, setting you down on the couch.

“Lemme’ see. I’ll ice your little ass foot.”

“Can you rub it? With the ice? Think they’re red,” you request, carelessly throwing the shoes in opposite directions, feeling the bottom of your feet throbbing even more. 

He hums, “Hollon’, baby,” disappearing into the kitchen as you wait on the couch. Cupcake comes running into the living room, jumping on you immediately. You giggle, hugging her head as she snuggles up against you, having the zoomies as she takes back off into her kennel. 

Ony returned with a bag of ice, leaning down in front of you, placing the ball of your hurting foot in his lap.

“You really couldn’t leave early?” 

You shake your head, “They wanted to hit up the after hours. I said nooo, my man wants me home. They said your man lame, you’ grown! I said, I am! But I miss my man! But ooh, baby, they had lemon drop shots for two dollars! Maybe that’s why I’m so drunk…” you ramble.

He listened attentively to your rambling, tilting his head to the side. He had a small smile on his face, his expression gentle at your drunken blabbering. He loved listening to you talk, even if you were saying nonsense.

“And you bought ‘em? You know you’ a light weight. You can’t handle your liquor, baby.”

“I had water too!” You protest, “But it was too late. I’m not like—super drunk, but because I’m home now, I can just…float,” you say with a hum, tilting your head, “….You’ happy to see me now?”

“Happy as fuck. I was about to go down to that club and shoot that shit up about you. Tryna’ get fucked up in that pretty ass dress, too. I got your pictures.” 

Your slender eyes blink at him, glimmering under the light, “I’m pretty?” You knew the answer, but your floaty mind wanted to hear it anyway. 

“Don’t be playin’ stupid with me.” 

You lean forward, poking your lips out as you sigh, “You’re so sweet. Gimme’ a kiss.” 

He leans forward, placing another soft, slow, kiss on your lips. He pulled back to look at your face, his large hands cupping your jaw, his brown eyes scanning your expression.

“‘Love your non-listening ass. Even when you come home later then I tell you to.”

Your demeanor changes, not liking how he worded that sentence. A reminder, your system was sugar-rushed off of several lemon drops.

“Tell me?” 

You raise an eyebrow, “Tell? Don’t be funny, lil’ boy. You ain’t my damn daddy.”

"Lil’ boy?" 

He raises an eyebrow at you, “You’ talking shit?"

“Big shit, actually,” you roll your eyes, pushing away the ice he holds, “I don’t wanna talk to you no more.”

"Yeah? You don't wanna talk to me? Let your fuckin’ feet hurt then.” 

“That’s fine!” 

He becomes slightly agitated from your childish responses, gripping your ankle in his hold to keep you down, “Chill out. You’re still tipsy.” 

“And? I don’t give a fuck about my feet, you, or my mouth. Come shut me the fuck up then, bitch-ass-nigga.”

It’s like you won’t stop talking. Your mouth fires off curses as you attempt to stand from the sofa, wanting to just get out of your clothes. He hears that trigger word, bitch, a word he asked that you never called him. It was the ultimate disrespect. 

He stares you down for a moment. His gaze was intense, intimidating. But there's now a glint of amusement in his eyes, and a humorless chuckle follows.

You go to walk away, but he’s faster. 

He clutches you by the back of your neck as he twists you around, gripping you up as he kisses you, opening up your mouth as he sloppily puts his tongue in. You’re stunned for a moment, hands gripping for his skin, but it’s the alcohol that has the kiss throb in between your legs—You’re spent. 

He pulls back, his hand still on the back of your neck as he presses a kiss under your jaw, before grunting against your ear, “Big ass fuckin’ mouth,” he sharply gruffs, “Come suck some dick. Finna’ shut you the fuck up.” 

His voice is assertive, deep in your ear. You can’t help but be a little excited—Maybe you’d wanted this type of reaction from him the entire time. You’re kneeling yourself down without having to be guided, tugging for his black sweats, watching as his dick springs from beneath the material. His tip is a dark pink, veins prominent as it slaps along his belly button. Your mouth waters at the sight.

You wrap your fingers around the base, staring up with your dark lashes, cheeks warm and red as you dig your teeth into your lip, “Want my mouth on you, baby?”

Your inner thighs throb again as he lightly smacks your cheek, gripping your jaw open to separate your lips, “You fuckin’ heard me. Don’t play right now.” 

He watches as you take him fully into your mouth, throat humming as you swirl your tongue around his tip, eyes closing as you nod your head back and forth. He reaches back, tangling his fingers through your hair as he guides your movements, dark eyes watching each time you take him deeper.

“Make that shit sloppy as fuck,” he grunts. 

You open your mouth wider at that, eyes dropping low as you nod your head back and forth, tip dragging along the roof of your mouth, sliding deeper in your throat. Your saliva begins to increase, jaw aching each time his balls slap along your bruising lips, yet you moan in pleasure, wanting more—needing more. 

Your eyes are practically stars to him. They glimmer under the lights of the living room, music strumming in his ears as you hollow your cheeks, back arching, ass poking out of your dress as you lean forward to be as close to him as possible. You watch him like a movie, his equally dark baby pink lips halfway open, head falling back as he groans, tightening his fist along your hair. 

“Oh shit,” his low voice moans, “Suck my fuckin’ dick just like that, baby. Need my shit messy.”

He knows how much you like him praising you on, your lips firmly wrapping around his tip, molding your mouth around it as you slovenly suck, the sound echoing along the room. Your jaw burns even more. But the sight of his large hands encapsulating your curls, inked abdomen tightening as he watches your every move, your saliva warm from how hard he’s thrusting in your mouth, it’s like a drug. An addiction. He slows down, holding your hair with both fists, pulling himself out of your mouth as you stick your tongue out, awaiting to catch him again. His tip slaps along your jaw, the giggle leaving your lips captured by your intoxication.

He feels your hot breath on his tip as he looks down at you, seeing your tongue hang out of your mouth, wet and glistening in the dim light. The sight alone sends a jolt straight to his already throbbing dick. 

"You’ finna’ swallow every last drop I got for you." 

His words were firm, almost demanding as he watched you take him back into your mouth. This time, he held onto your head aggressively, fucking your eager mouth at a slow pace, allowing you to savor the taste of him.

You drag saliva along the veins of his dick, pulling your mouth back as you hum, “Feel good, baby?“ 

“Feel good as fuck, baby. Good fuckin’ girl. You’ tryna’ get fucked like a princess,” he grunts back to you, watching as your thumb runs over his tip, rolling your hand in a motion all the way down to the base of his length. 

You circle your tongue back around his tip, sliding your lips around before pulling his length all the way to the back of your throat, the walls of your breath swelling as you gag, melting in his pleasure.

“Gonna nut, baby? Talk to me.” 

"Finna’ nut all in that pretty ass mouth, baby,” he promises to you, and he does, his voice dropping to a low growl as he pushes you further, forcing you to take his entire length between your lips, the inside of your mouth becoming warm. 

When he pulls back, his dick slides out slowly for you to lap up any leftover drops of cum that dribble out. He then tugs on your hair, bringing your face up to meet his. 

You instantly stick your tongue out to show that you swallowed, giggling as you run your tongue against your lips, “Cleaned you up so good.”

You know he’s sensitive. You flick your eyes up as you kiss his tip, the giggles faltering off your lips like nothing as you tipsily moan, “Pretty ass dick, baby.”

“Don’t be fuckin’ greedy.”

He grunts as he pulls you up by your hair, smashing your lips against his in a kiss. You’re encapsulated by his mouth, tongue thrusting in between your lips, the feeling making your eyes roll back, moaning as you open your mouth wider. You loved kissing him. His lips were full, nearly overlapping yours as you made out with him. 

He pulls you back, fingers around your throat as he commands, “Get on the sofa. Spread your legs.” 

Ony’s already on his knees as you bend over the black velvet furniture. You spread your legs as you arch slightly, face hiding within your shoulder, eyes turning back to meet his. He’s trailing kisses along your thighs—it’s torturous at this point. Your pussy throbs as he’s blowing his breath against your core.

 He spanks the skin of your ass as he growls, “Nasty ass.”

He’s already down there, his lips wrapping around your clit, bottom lip dropping lower to rub against the entirety of you, tongue swirling to spread you open. You reach your palms behind, spreading yourself for him, forehead kneeling against the furniture as you breathily whine, “Yeah, baby. Always love when you eat my pussy.”

“Watch that fuckin’ mouth,” he warns in between your flesh.

He’s eating you like desert—Licking you from bottom to top. His hands find their way to your hips, pinning you down to the couch as he shakes his head from side to side, deepening his tongue against your folds. He halts as he comes up, pulling your face towards his as he grips your chin, commanding, “Spit in my fuckin’ mouth,” the moment he says it, your tongue sticking out as you drop saliva in between his lips. He accepts it, going back down as he coats it along your pussy, the feeling making your thighs tremble. He’s rough. And sloppy. Just how you liked it.

Latching back against the sticky walls of your pussy, you become more wet as he French kisses the throb of your clit, head swaying up and down as he flattens his tongue against the overall of you.

He’s lapping you up like a thirsty man. His tongue is thick and heavy against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. His tongue continues its assault on your pussy, licking you in circles until you start squirming underneath him, desperately trying to hold your mouth.

His hands leave your hips, moving to grip your ass to expose more of your dripping entrance to him. Without warning, he buries his tongue deep inside of you, his lips sealed tight against your wetness as he starts fucking you with his mouth.

“Pussy tight as fuck, baby. Even on my tongue,” he grunts.

“Come fuck me, Ony,” you pout, “I’m so fuckin’ horny,” you almost cry at the pressure between your legs.

He doesn’t talk shit like you expect him to. Instead, he pulls his mouth away from you, your body lightly jumping as you feel his tip sloshing around your opening, patting against it, kissing the outside of your walls. 

“This’ what you want, huh?” 

He brings his hand around the front of you, palm clutching around your throat to pull you up closer to him. You try to nod your head, pushing your hips back to relieve the friction. You thought you were going to faint. 

Your mind is still buzzing. Every inch slowly sinks into you, an ache itching in the depths of your walls, making your hips tremble as you gasp lightly. You push your body forward to escape, which only makes Ony grip you back, rolling his hips forward as he tsks, “Nuh-Uh, don’t do that,” making your eyes flutter shut as you whine, “Ooh, fuck. Daddy.” 

Your whining makes him grunt, spanking you in response to your mouth, sensitivity spiked as you whimper. He smacks his lips, “Cut that shit out. You’ crying for my dick, take all of it.” 

The heaviness of your ass drops against his abdomen, air spurring in between your hips, the suction making you quiver in response.

You turn your head, jaw dropping lightly as you suck in a breath, moving your body to adjust. You lift your hips as you watch yourself, eyes flicking up to meet him as you slide back down, listening to the skin connect, stomach cramping as you shudder out another whine. 

“Gonna take all of it,” you desperately gasp, digging your fingers into the material of the couch, beginning to swirl your hips around as you fuck yourself, walls gushing at your eagerness. Each time you come up, his tip coats with more of your cream, moans progressively losing sense behind them each time your ass claps against his hips.

"Needy ass fuckin’ girl," he grumbles, gripping onto your waist tightly. "I be’ spoiling you too much.” 

His right hand reaches onto the left side of your waist to get a good grip on you, dropping you up and down to watch your bodies move in sync, matching your rhythm as he starts fucking you harder. With every thrust, he slams into you, filling you completely, making you gasp out loud. He leans down, whispering in your ear, "Pussy wet as fuck. You hear my pussy? She’ talking. Just as loud as your fuckin’ mouth.”

You do listen, skin slapping against each others, your pussy squelching and sloshing as he now has a hold along the back of your dress, using that to tug you down, the air secretion igniting loud sounds with it. Your cheeks are red, something that usually happened when you became shy, turning your head back towards the wall as you moaned.

"Don’t be all shy now. Look at me. Need to see your face while you creamin’ on my shit like that.” 

The command is sharp, leaving no room for refusal. He feels you tense under him, your inner walls trembling around his dick. He keeps pounding into you, your juices flowing down his shaft and onto his balls.

When you don't obey immediately, he spanks your ass to make you shriek, hard enough to leave a bruises before demanding again, "Look at me."

You instead kneel your head against the sofa. It’s not long before he becomes impatient, and he pulls you to stand flat on your feet. He keeps your back perfectly arched, rubbing his tip along your folds as he’s already sinking back in, making you lightly groan. He then takes your arms, palms tight around your wrists as he pulls them back and raises them slightly above your body, thrusting his hips forward, skin loudly echoing together as he gives you mean—almost enough to bully you—thrusts. 

The moans you give are shocking, standing on your toes to escape from him, pussy tightening as the back of your thighs sting, friction against his hips, arousal dripping against his balls and abdomen. 

“Agh—fuck—baby, ooohshit. Oohshit, Ony,” you’re rambling to him, unable to move as you’re trapped in this position.

"Shut the fuck up. I ain't wanna hear none of that noise." 

He goes back to pounding you, ignoring your high pitched squeals, the arch of your back deepening as you want to jump out of your skin. 

"Quit fuckin’ running. Take this fuckin’ dick. You’ wanna be grown, be fuckin’ grown, big girl,” he talks, skin harshly meeting with his, his dick painted with your arousal, ignoring the way you messily sob, a darkness in your vision as your eyes are staring into the back of your head. 

“Ooohh, daddy. Ony—baby. Fuckin’ me so good, baby. Fuckin’ love you. Oh my god, love you, babyy.”

“You’ need more? You’ still talking?”

You feel defeated, senseless as he continues to fuck you, uncaring if he’s mean about it.

Yet turn your head, erotically giggling in between your manic episode, unable to stop your mouth from talking.

“This your pussy, Ony. You’ hear her? She missed you so much,” you whimper, wanting him to forgive you from your insults earlier in the night.

“I don’t wanna hear all that."

He picks up the pace, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. You sing to him, gasping and whining pathetically. The sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, drowning out everything else. He feels you tighten around him, your walls clenching down on his length.

"You' gonna cum? Or you' just gonna keep talking?"

“Baby…” you softly cry, “Ony, keep talking to me, baby…be nice…” you whimper, missing that side of him. 

You’re sorry for coming home late. You’re sorry for talking shit. You’re just sorry. But this punishment feels all too good.

"You' sorry now?" 

His tone is mocking—he knows he's got you right where he wants you. 

"Keep talking. Mean it.” 

He continues to fuck you mercilessly, his words cutting through the pleasure like a knife.

“Sosorry, baby. Sosorry, Daddy. Fuck me harder. Wanna cum all over your dick. Fuckkk, cum in me. Don’t stop,” your eyes well with tears, digging your teeth into your lip.

He releases your hands, his fingers stretching around your throat as he pulls your back to meet his chest, mouth along your ear as you stand back on your tip-toes, taking everything he gives you.

You messily moan as you lean back against his shoulder, using the strength you have in your hips as you circle your ass around, wanting to match his rhythm, jumping as you feel him spank you again. You were in a lustful haze.

“Look at you’ taking my dick, baby. You love it?”

“I love it,” you whine back, face warm as you take his other hand to put it in front of you, putting it in between your legs as you want him to rub your clit. Sometimes you were bold. Sometimes you weren’t.

You can hear the arrogance in his chuckle along your ear, his fingers rubbing in circles against your clit as he grunts, “Cute ass,” which makes you whimper, putting your head down to hide your warm face.

Your mind falls back into the fuzziness of before, the intimacy of it all making you feel drunk again, your legs feeling numb as he fucks your brains away. You feel yourself wanting to go limp, hooking an arm around yourself to hold his head from behind, his lips latching along your throat. 

You’re whining, “Babby,” gasping in between, warning him, “I’m—I’m gonna cum…”

“You’ think I don’t know when my pussy about to cum? Look how tight you’ getting,” he grunts, spanking you again, your ass probably red by now. 

You can’t stop the orgasm that comes, pathetic moans leaving your lips, your hand shaking as your brokenly whine into his mouth, body wanting to collapse as he grabs for your free hand, trapping it under his that clutches your throat you keep you in place.

You’re stuck in place again, creaming heavily on his dick, gushing and cumming in intense waves, pushing out the arousal as your eyes clutched shut, body trembling to ride out the wave. 

“Ooh, that’s good as fuck, baby,” he grunts, “Cum just like that.”

You seem to sober up the minute your orgasm begins to subside, and your eyes are terribly heavy, just wanting to sleep. You feel a kiss along your neck as your legs come off the ground, being carried as your wrap your arms around his neck. 

“You’ ready to cuddle?” Is all he asks. 

Your eyes peek up despite how tired you are. You ask, “That’s it? Am I ready to cuddle? After you did all that?” 

“Do you need it again?” 

“No.”

“That’s what the fuck I thought,” he kisses your forehead, “Let’s go to sleep.” 

[luvbabydoll]

soft target — john price

john price x teacher!fem!reader

warnings: some patronizing behavior from john

a/n: i may make a part two

you’re in early, like always. lights on, coffee half-finished, cardigan sleeves pushed to your elbows as you tidy the desks just so. your sundress floats gently with each step—soft blue today, the one with the little flowers on the hem. the school hasn’t quite woken up yet. the hallway’s still quiet.

so when there’s a knock at your door, it startles you.

you turn—and there he is.

john price, standing in your doorway like he owns the place. cap low, beard trimmed, fatigues neat but somehow still menacing. he nods once, slow. confident.

“mornin’, love.”

you blink. smile automatically, polite.

“captain price. you’re early.”

“mm. wanted a look at the battlefield before the troops show up.”

he steps in without waiting for permission, eyes dragging across your classroom like he’s assessing a threat. your posters. your bookshelf. the string of fairy lights along the board. all of it feels suddenly... childish under his gaze.

“cosy,” he says, tone unreadable.

“i try to make it welcoming,” you murmur, shifting your clipboard to the other hand.

he steps closer. slow, measured. eyes on yours.

“bet they love you in here.”

you glance away. “the students?”

“mm,” he hums. “them too.”

you pretend not to hear the implication. instead, you start gathering the stack of forms from your desk, fussing with the edges to avoid looking at him too long.

“you’ll be speaking during second period. i’ll introduce you to my class before that, if that’s alright.”

“more than alright, sweetheart.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t leave. just leans one hip against a desk and watches you work like he’s got all the time in the world.

“what do you teach again? history, was it?”

“yes.”

“so you tell ‘em the truth, do you? or just what’s in the books?”

you look up. his eyes are sharp, curious, but there’s a challenge there too.

“i tell them what matters,” you say quietly. “what they’re old enough to understand.”

he nods slowly. “fair enough. still think you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“why’s that?”

he smirks. closer.

“‘cause you’re soft,” he says, like it’s a compliment. “kind. got that voice that makes people want to sit still and listen. but that don’t mean they will, yeah?”

you feel heat crawl up your neck. “i manage.”

“m’not sayin’ you don’t. just sayin’... wouldn’t last long on a base lookin’ like that.”

your breath catches. “like what?”

he shrugs, lazy. unconcerned.

“floaty dress. bare legs. that sweet little voice. no wonder the boys don’t give you trouble. probably all got bloody crushes.”

you stare at him.

he just grins.

before you can answer, the bell rings.

you’re saved. for now.

your students filter in, loud and chatty, and john shifts back into professional mode—if only barely. he stands by the board with his arms crossed, watching as you gently quiet the class.

“alright, everyone, we have a guest today,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “this is captain price. he’s here to speak about military recruitment.”

a few of the boys sit up straighter. one of the girls whispers something and giggles.

price gives you a nod, then scans the room.

“pleasure. won’t waste your time—unless you’re lookin’ to waste mine.”

the class actually listens. not out of respect, but curiosity. fear. maybe both.

you stand off to the side while he talks—sharp, clean delivery, his voice made for command. but every so often, his gaze flicks back to you. quick. deliberate.

and you feel it. like a brand, every time.

when the bell rings again, you thank him quietly. he waves off the compliment like it’s nothing. but then—then he lingers.

offers to help you tidy up. again.

and as you reach for a stray folder on the desk, his hand brushes your waist.

“steady there, love.”

you freeze.

his hand stays just a second too long.

“wouldn’t want you to twist an ankle in those little shoes, would we?”

you clear your throat. try to step away, but he’s already one step ahead, bending to grab the folder for you.

“s’nothing, sweetheart. happy to help.”

he hands it to you with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“i’ll be back next week. same class, yeah?”

you nod.

“good. maybe i’ll get a proper tour next time.”

and then he’s gone, just like that.

but you know—you know—this isn’t the last time you’ll see captain price in your classroom.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

PAIRING: JACKSON!JOEL MILLER X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 1.5k

SUMMARY | Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | One glimpse of Pedro as Joel in the new season has turned me into a woman possessed. Thank you @undrthelights and @janaispunk for giving this a read for me 💕

ways to help palestine

WARNINGS | explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, porn without plot, mild angst, able bodied reader, no physical reader descriptions or age mentioned, jackson era, mentions of joel's weight (in the context of looking healthier in jackson), emotionally constipated joel, dirty talk, praise, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex - f receiving (while standing), unprotected p in v, limited aftercare. let me know if i’ve missed any!

A noise breaks through your dreams, a loud banging that startles you from sleep and leaves you blinking at the ceiling. Thoughts still fuzzy, you stumble down the stairs and through your kitchen to the back door that rattles in its frame with each pound of a fist against it. You glance at the neon red numbers of the stove clock and at this hour, there can only be one culprit.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you groan, opening the door. “It’s two in the morning, what is wrong with you?” He doesn’t answer, simply shoulders past you and into your house. “Oh, sure come on in, make yourself—“

Your sarcastic remark is abruptly cut off by his lips crashing against yours, mouth hot and hungry as he skips any semblance of pleasantry and dives straight into carnal desire. His teeth graze your lip, the sting soothed by his tongue before it tangles with yours. Your fingers curl into his jacket sleeves, hanging on for dear life as he backs you into a wall, the two of you hitting one with a dull thump that disturbs the picture frames.

He shoves a knee between your thighs and pins you to the plaster, every sense invaded by him as he continues to consume you. When his mouth leaves yours and begins to leave hot kisses like brands across your neck, you finally find your voice again.

“Joel, what—“

“Shut up,” he grunts. You’re taken aback by the command and you have half a mind to smack him across the head for it, but he’s got his teeth on your earlobe and he adds, “I just, I need this, okay? Please?”

The fight leaves you in one fell swoop because you’d do anything for Joel if he just asks nicely. You nod and he returns to his task of turning you into a puddle with a single minded determination. When you start to rock your hips against his denim clad thigh in a desperate bid for friction, you feel, rather than see, the grin on his face.

“Mm, just as needy for me, ain’t you?” He teases. You frown.

“Don’t push your luck, Miller,” you snap. He laughs, a deep rumble that reminds you of the thunderstorms in the spring. “I can still kick you out of my house.”

“You won’t.” Confident, cocky, a man who knows he has you in the palm of his ridiculously skilled hands. “If you’d been smart, you would have kicked me out the first time. Now I’m just like a stray dog, ain’t gettin’ rid of me now.”

The first time, when he showed up in Jackson with a chip on his shoulder and a frown on his face. His hair had been shorter, his frame a bit smaller, his eyes a lot more vacant. He walked you home one night from the Tipsy Bison and when he kissed you under the glow of your porch light, his mouth tasted like whiskey, not unlike it does tonight.

Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

While your thoughts drifted to the past, Joel has dropped to his knees and is curling his fingers into the elastic of your underwear, dragging the fabric down your thighs.

“In the kitchen? Really?” You huff. “There’s a perfectly good bedroom upstairs.”

“Too far,” he says, tossing your underwear aside.

Despite your complaints, there is something undeniably sexy about having Joel kneeling before you, impatient enough that he’ll take you right where you stand. He shuffles closer, lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and lavishes your clit with broad swipes of his tongue.

Your head drops back as you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls out every trick in the book of your pleasure, alternating between fast circles and sucking the bundle of nerves between his lips. It’s not long before you’ve reached the precipice of your release, teetering on a razor thin edge before finally falling into oblivion with a gasp of his name. He groans against you as you come, waves of it rolling through you.

“So fuckin’ good,” he says as he pulls away. You look down at him with a half-lidded stare, his chin wet in the low light and his own gaze dark with lust. He stands, slowly, with a bit of a wince because of his bad knee that he tries to hide with a grin. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you away from the wall and into his arms where he kisses you, his lips and tongue drenched in your taste. He walks you back to your little kitchen table, kicking a chair out of the way so that he can turn you to face it, a palm between your shoulder blades urging you down until you’re bent over the wooden surface.

The clink of his belt buckle falling to the linoleum makes your muscles clench in anticipation. Joel’s palm smooths down your back, almost reverently, before reaching your ass and giving it a rough squeeze.

“You’re killin’ me, you know that?” He asks. You turn your head, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Me? I’m not doing anything, I’m waiting for you to quit teasing.”

“That’s just it,” he says, sliding the head of his cock through your messy pussy before notching himself at your entrance. “You ain’t gotta do anythin’ except exist and you’ll drive me crazy.”

Any response you had dies a swift death as he presses inside of you, filling you in the most tortuous way. The ache of the stretch quickly fades as he bottoms out with a deep groan, his hands gripping your waist tight enough that you know you’ll feel the phantom sting of bruises in the morning. He sets a rough, demanding pace, the sound of skin against skin cacophonous in your little kitchen. You can’t hold back the noises of pleasure he wrings from you as he slams in deep with each thrust and pulls out so far that you’re practically empty before doing it over and over again.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous like this, so tight,” he grunts. You arch your back the slightest bit, changing the angle so that each drive of his cock drags against that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars and whimpering his name. “God, that’s it, sweetheart. Take it so pretty.”

“Joel,” you moan. “Please, please, please.”

“Beggin’ to come again?” He asks. “So greedy, ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Need to come, please, Joel!”

“I gotcha, baby.” His hand slips between your thighs and his fingers pinch your sensitive clit. “Come on, come on my cock so I can fill you up.”

It’s an empty threat, but one that works. Your muscles go tight with your second orgasm, your cunt pulsing around him as his thrusts grow erratic, uncoordinated as he chases his own high. He pulls out just seconds before making good on his word, painting your skin with warm release.

As you catch your breath, his warmth leaves your side. You vaguely register the sound of running water before a cold rag is wiping away the mess on your ass and cleaning up the slick between your thighs, the rough fabric over your sensitive flesh making you jump. Joel shushes you, another pass of his soothing palm down your back as he finishes wiping you clean.

You stand up straight on shaky legs and collapse in the chair that he’d kicked from the table to make room for your bodies. He’s already pulled his pants back up, the only evidence of your tryst in the sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair in disarray. His jaw grows tense as you watch him and he shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the awkward aftermath.

“Thanks,” he says. “Needed that.”

“So you said,” you reply. “Did something happen?”

“Just some bullshit with Tommy.”

“Brother bullshit or town bullshit?”

“Bit of both.”

“Oh.”

He nods, glancing at the door. “I should get goin’.”

“Right.”

Joel doesn’t move for the door, though. No, he steps in close, taking your face in his warm hands and kissing you softly, gently, a wild juxtaposition to his earlier attentions. When he pulls away, you can’t help but reach up and smooth a thumb between his eyebrows, trying smooth the line of concern there.

“You don’t have to leave,” you whisper. You’ve said it before. You’ll say it again. You’ll keep saying it, until the ship that passes you in the night returns to your harbor.

“I do,” he replies, stepping back. You give him a tired smile.

Tonight isn’t that night.

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed! You can find more of my writing below:

Joel Miller masterlist | All character masterlists

[girl-lostconnection]

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy and you are starting to push it. Thin ice there.

Oh? 👀

Continuation to this

@nightunite friend, come eat. Also shout out to them for the idea of Reader not kissing John and using his beard as “seal kiss” to get information instead

John is not amused with how fast you get the ground in his team. John is even less amused with how quickly you manage to wrap all his men around your finger and never think to ask yourself whether it’s a wise move.

Almost like you don’t fucking care what he think about you or your methods, almost like you have no insecurities or cracks he can get a claw in and move around until doors to your head get off the hinges.

John doesn’t like it.

You are seemingly everywhere and all at once — you lunch with Kyle and you train with Johnny and you shower with Simon and you shoot with Kyle and you work with Johnny and you train rookies with Simon and you chat with Kyle and you groom Johnny and you kiss Simon—

You don’t seem to have place for one more person.

You don’t even seem to think about fitting in one more person, like John isn’t even the fucking captain of his TaskForce anymore. Fucking hell.

John furrows his brows at you murmuring something in Kyle’s ear which leaves him dazed and a little lovestruck, his eyes so sharp you could cut to the bone, his eyes so hungry Price would start worrying whether or not Garrick is going to eat you alive.

But seems like for now Kyle only wants to eat you out.

And judging by the looks of it, you have yet to give in — teasing his sergeant like it’s your job, sliding the tips of your fingers between his shoulder blades and offering to rub his aching back after day full of drills.

Kyle preens and shows off, Kyle smiles at you and it would have been fucking deadly if he didn’t like you this much.

Kyle doesn’t like coming in last place.

Kyle is primordial greed and primordial ambition, Kyle is used to being the best of the best of the best, Kyle is the apex predator and the youngest sergeant on the team.

And Kyle dances in circles around you for weeks now with progress taking steps so small John thinks that Kyle is gonna get his fucking kiss from you next spring.

Only because you seem to have so much fun with it.

Still, John doesn’t like the effect you have on his men and he doesn’t like that he himself can’t seem to not like you.

John doesn’t like that he’s waiting for his kiss now.

But you already kissed Johnny and Simon, it’s only fair if John gets a kiss too, right? Don’t you worry that your captain might grow displeased with you?

Don’t you want to check “the vibes”?

But if you do, you seem to do a good fucking job not giving John a single fucking clue other than occasional grin here and there. Drives him up the fucking wall, it does.

He snaps at Simon when he notices that lieutenant is outright smirking, corners of his lips so sharp it’s a fucking miracle you don’t cut yourself on it when you pull Ghost by the scruff of his neck to kiss him again.

It’s not even fucking noon, why would you be kissing Simon now?

John huffs air out, his tail swishing through the air from side to side, his molars aching to bite down on the slope of your exposed neck — to squeeze, to topple, to get you down.

To get his fucking kiss.

He feels ridiculous for wanting it so badly, he’s a grown man for fuck’s sake.

So when you finally lean in a little closer than usually, your face so focused John can’t help but grumble out “need somethin’, sergeant?”, hating the way his heart pounds.

You get closer and John can feel salt on his tongue, high waters threatening to pull him under, currents sweeping him off his feet, your breathing soft thing on his lips.

Only you don’t kiss him.

John blinks, trying to scramble his mind back, trying to force down already blooming bruise of rejection when you nose at his beard instead and hum something unintelligible.

You pull away slowly, like you are coming up after a dive, even your breathing slows down — deep and controlled, you nose away at his chin before finally sitting back.

Price doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t trust himself not to ask you what do you think is wrong with him. Is that the cigar smell? Are seals sensitive to scents? Are you sensitive to scents? What the fuck just happened?

Price doesn’t want to admit but he was looking forward to getting that kiss.

Price doesn’t want to admit but out of the corner of his eye he watches the way you kiss Johnny and Simon — the depth, the tenderness, the licking waves of your intimacy that you seem to submerge his men completely in.

Price doesn’t want to admit, but he keeps imagining himself in their place, thinking how you’d kiss him, playing endless scenarios in his head.

Would you let him get you on his desk and finally get a hold of you thighs, because god, one more leg day and John won’t be able to fucking concentrate. For the rest of his life.

Would you pull him in your lap instead? Would you melt into him like you melt into Johnny? Would you cuddle him like you cuddle Simon? Would you hold him?

But all of these are just endless fantasies, silly dreams that keep tormenting him when you smile with your teeth, when you bent down and he gets a glimpse of your unmarked throat, when you lean a little closer and he can taste salt on the tip his tongue.

On the bright side it seems like it’s not that John is damaged or anything of the sort, he tells himself. After all, you keep teasing Kyle as well — not letting hungry harpy sink his claws into you and tear out some bleeding meat out of you.

So that’s silver lining, right?

So John rubs his face until the image of you grinning under his eyelids is not as vivid and takes the whole team out for drinks after successful mission. God knows they need it.

He needs it.

You sit nestled in between Simon and Johnny, hand of the former is dripped over your shoulders, hand of the latter is squeezing your thigh.

As if you are going to run away if these two don’t hold onto you, anchoring you to the seat of the booth.

Johnny steals your chips, offering his fried fish instead. Steals more than chips, frankly, booze makes Soap needy and you ever the glutton for attention kiss him until lad’s palm starts squeezing your thigh a little too eagerly.

John pretends he doesn’t notice the way Soap’s knuckle traces the inseam of your jeans.

John pretends he doesn’t notice the way Simon’s fingers dip under the collar of your T-shirt, pads of his fingers tracing idle patterns. Simon doesn’t give a fuck how much you kiss his boy if he gets to watch.

Simon doesn’t give a fuck even harder if he gets a kiss as well while his boy watches.

Price down his whiskey and orders another one.

Silver lining starts losing its shine faster than he’d like it, because even though Kyle watches you like…well, like a harpy he is, you just blow him a kiss and then give Simon an actual one.

Ghost licks into your mouth with wet indecent sound and breaks a kiss just to murmur something in your ear. When he turns to his captain and youngest sergeant his smirk is wicked enough to make a grown weep.

Greedy bastard enjoys it way too fucking much.

But Simon excuses himself for a smoke so John pushes the glass away and follows him out. He needs to either break his lieutenant’s jaw or find out why the fuck you deemed him bottom of the barrel.

Why he’s not getting a kiss? Don’t you like your captain?

Ghost watches him like it’s the funniest shit he’s seen in literal weeks and it might as well be, because John feels like drinking some more and calling it a day.

Silver lining, he’s not alone in this boat. Silver lining, he’s not the last of the pick.

Silver lining strains, but shines through when he steps in the bathroom because Kyle is there. And you are there. And fucking Soap is there.

What is it, a bloody convention he didn’t get tickets to?

John kicks the three of you back to the booth, his mind hazy from whiskey, his throat aching with bitterness. It takes him another minute or so to realise Soap’s zipper was open. Takes him one more to remember you had hickeys on your neck.

John gets out of the bathroom, shaking water off his hands and stalks back to the booth, tail swishing, his agitation climbing up.

Silver lining chokes at the back of his throat like cotton, tastes like old oil and stuffs him bloody silent since Simon is back, listening to chatty tipsy Soap without a care in the world.

Simon doesn’t give a fuck who does what if he has his boy by his side.

Simon doesn’t give a fuck even harder when he knows where his other seal is.

Simon grins like a bastard he is, sharp points of the curl of his lips poking at the underside of John’s ribs and says that Kyle went out for a smoke.

John doesn’t ask where you went to when he knows you don’t smoke.

He just stalks out, swinging pub’s back door open and working his jaw because smoke break, his ass.

Kyle has you backed to the wall, cooing something unintelligible, nosing at your cheeks and throat, clicking his tongue at you when you giggle.

Your hands are wrapped around Kyle’s shoulders, pulling him in and closer. Sinking your fingers in the tight muscles of his wings, murmuring something in sergeant’s ear.

You are soft from beers you had, warm with buzz of the pub and tender in a way that makes John’s molars ache.

And all your focus is on Kyle, only on Kyle, ever on Kyle when say “don’t be like that”, when you say “I know, I’m sorry, that was mean. Did I upset you, baby?”, when you say “come here. can I kiss you? I really want to. Can I? Please, Kyle, I’m gonna be good, i promise”.

John’s silver lining cracks and withers away with the chapped pieces of cheap foil shining in the light of street lamps and the glow of your eyes when you pepper Kyle’s face with kisses.

Kyle is half-lidded and hazy on you, Kyle leans closer, almost pouting when you kiss him everywhere but on the lips. Very fucking funny, you see him laughing, darling?

Kyle clicks his tongue when you giggle again but his eyes are so fond it feels more of an act than genuine frustration. Like he can’t help but like you a little too much.

Kyle nuzzles in your palm and presses wet open-mouthed kisses to your wrist, softly nips the thin skin there, laves the imprint of his teeth with the wet slide of his tongue.

Molten, hungry, dangerous.

Kyle could bite down on your wrist and leave you without a hand, Kyle could bite out more than you can give and lick at the twitching muscle, tasting the feverish pump of your heart straight out the box.

But Kyle doesn’t.

Kyle coos something about you driving him fucking insane, Kyle tilts his head so you can kiss him properly and presses you into the brick wall.

His groan when you finally kiss him is the best reward there is, because yes, fucking finally, thank you, darling.

You are kissing him like Kyle is water you’ve been deprived of, you are kissing him like that’s the only thing that matters, you are kissing him and nothing else exists.

And Kyle doesn’t break the kiss, too hungry and greedy he surges forward — your teeth clicking, the wet sounds of yours are filthy enough to make John’s jeans a little uncomfortable.

You wrap yourself around Kyle and choke when he pushes a knee between your legs, drool dripping down your chin because if Kyle could he would have swallowed you whole.

Because you don’t need air, you need Gaz.

John doesn’t know for how long you kiss, but he can tell that for a moment there two of you definitely contemplated whether or not you want to fuck in a bloody alleyway behind the pub.

John doesn’t know what to say when you finally look at him so he just silently stares back, tail swishing behind him, his molar aching when you smile like nothing happened.

“Communication going well, sergeant?”, he asks for some godforsaken reason and tries not to cringe at the way his other sergeant tucks his palm in your back pocket. This generation has no bloody shame.

“I suppose so, sir”, you smile wide enough for John to see the peeking sharp points of your teeth from under your upper lip. “Seal to harpy communication, sir. I’d say we definitely found…a common ground”, you beam and John feels like ramming down the doors to your head.

Fuck looking for cracks, he wants to crack down on you and see what the fuck is in the head of yours.

Why don’t you like him? What’s wrong with him? Why don’t you kiss him?

But John doesn’t ask and just hums before returning back to the pub. His face so grim Simon does the wise thing and stuffs Soap’s mouth with another chip before he can ask anything.

On the contrary you return with Kyle’s palm still in the back pocket of your jeans and a handful new hickeys.

John orders himself another whiskey and says to himself that he is not going to look at you, that it’s just how it is, that he is not going to run after you and beg a kiss out of you.

John looks at you anyway and you send him a wink.

Glass almost splinters in his hand, whiskey slowly dribbling out on the wooden table, John’s tail swishing behind him, John’s molars aching when you smile with teeth.

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy and you just toppled the whole pyramid.

Ice is starting to crack.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Big boy.

Gif by @berryispunk

Pairing: Clint x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 2065 Summary: You enter a video rental shop looking for something spicy and end up finding the best fuck you've ever had. Basically PWP, I'm FERAL for this man, okay. Tags/Warnings: reader has no description, she wears leggings and a top, smut, sex in a public place, a dash of nipples play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (do better irl, please, especially with strangers), sex with a stranger, pet names, dirty talk, Clint has a filthy mouth of course, no reference to the plot other than the video rental, reader is absolutely unhinged and feral, cream pie, reader is on the pill, some stereotypical ideas, reader doesn't like the name 'Clint', other filthy things I don't even remember, I wrote it basically in a frenzy LMAO. A/N: Inspired by the gif above, I saw this post by @berryispunk on my dash earlier today and started typing right away LOL English is not my first language, no beta, no proofreading, no nothing, I apologize for any mistake.

Thank to anyone who will read!

Masterlist

Your idiot boyfriend broke up with you six months ago, and you haven't seen a cock since. 

Nothing. 

Absolute desert. 

Until a few weeks ago you were too grossed out by the male gender to think about it but you need something now. 

You are thirsty. 

Hungry.

Working from home some days a week was distracting, and you found yourself increasingly brooding, taking long breaks to linger in long sessions with your favorite toys. 

The fantasies going on in your head, however, were always the same and as satisfying as they were, you felt you needed something more. 

At least until you had met a man worthy of your time.

That's how you found yourself after work in the video store near your office. You frequented it often but had never entered the adult video section. You were embarrassed, but you had no other way to find material of the kind you were craving.

The section was divided from the rest of the video store by a thick red velvet curtain, and as you approached it the guy behind the counter gave you an 'eloquent look. He was a thin guy in his early twenties, long black hair, a lower lip piercing, his tattooed arms poking out from a T-shirt cut off at the sides. 

“Hey baby, can I help you?” he had said with a grin painted on his face.

You had raised an eyebrow in response, “No thanks.”

Definitely too young and looking like someone who spends his time getting stoned and playing video games every day all day.

You peeled back the curtain and entered, prowling around the various shelves. Naked women everywhere on video covers, big boobs, bleached blond hair, full lips and winks. On another shelf, black women were smiling at you, on the one below Asian women. And a then shelves and shelves of everyone together.

The world of porn was organized.

Everything was silent, shrouded in the red light of three large neon X's hanging on the wall.

You were perusing at a video with a nice redhead woman, a black woman and a man with a huge cock when you heard steps coming from the opposite direction you were. 

A man appeared right in front of you. 

A very handsome man actually. 

Tall, broad shoulders, a face sculpted by God in person, big nose, kissable lips and slightly messy beard and mustache, thick deep brown hair and a gorgeous pair of brown eyes. 

Please tell me you are looking for my pussy, you thought. 

Fuck. I’m really unhinged at this point.

He ignored you and continued to search the shelves for something. You follow him with your eyes, drinking in his figure dressed in light jeans, a plaid shirt and a black leather jacket. 

He had a little too much gel in his hair, a scar under his right eye and seemed like a troublemaker. But at the same time he was certainly not someone you should have to explain where the clitoris is to, like the guy in his early twenties outside.

You spotted his big hands, long thick fingers, they seemed a little callous but definitely experts.

“What do you recommend?” You suddenly asked. 

You couldn't believe the nerve you'd just shown, but fuck it, we ball, you thought.

He turned and looked at you as if he had only just seen you: “Oh? Sorry, what did you ask me?”

He didn't seem annoyed, just very surprised. 

“What do you recommend?” you repeated as your knees weakened under his gaze. 

“Oh,” he said, as if he didn't care at all about being surrounded by video covers with naked women of all kinds. 

You bit your lip, touched your neck, and looked away after looking at him intensely for a moment. Your winning move, usually. 

“Well, I don't know...” he hesitated, coming closer to you. ”I guess it depends on what you like.”

His voice had become lower, it was hoarse, incredibly sensual. 

As he got closer you looked at his big boots, almost as if it didn't matter. In reality you were noticing his big feet. 

Big feet, big hands, big nose...he must have something else big, I hope.

You looked up, and he was just a step away from you. 

“What do you need tonight?” he teased you, with a sinful little smile on his face.

“Something really wild” you smiled “Do you know where I can find it?”

He smirked “Are you into women, too?” 

“Yes” you replied boldly, licking your upper lip. 

“Sexy” he stated. 

You laughed softly while he took a video from the shelf 

“This one is good” 

It was the one you were looking at when he entered. 

“Uhm.. did you see it?” You asked with a suggestive wink.

“Yes, darling, several times, actually. It never disappoints” he shrugged and looked at you like he wanted to devour you.

Oh yes, I caught him on the hook. You thought.

“Well, ladies are very beautiful... and he has a nice cock” you observed, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.

“You like big cocks?” it sounded even more raspy and went straight to your pussy.

“Actually…yes” you replied, getting dangerously close to him and looking at him from below, batting your eyelashes. “I bet you have a nice one, by the way”

“No one has ever complained, sweetheart” his hand reached your face, his knuckles grazing at your cheek.

“Then show me” you whispered.

His eyes had become even darker, practically just pupils. 

He ran a hand over his mustache and said, 

“Damn, you're really cheeky. You don't even know my name.” 

“I don't want to know that. I want to know if you want to fuck or not.”

“Here?” he asked, his eyes wide. 

“Why not? You scared?” You teased him.

“I'm no wuss, honey” he growled before slamming your against the shelf behind you

You were left breathless for a moment.

"Show me what you got, big boy" you purred a moment after.

You didn't know what had gotten into you, having sex with a stranger in the adult section of a video rental shop? It certainly wasn't on brand for you, but at that point you wouldn't have backed out. 

His hands had clasped your hips, moving over your ass and groping you strongly.

“Oh baby, when I'm done with you, you won't be able to walk straight for days.” 

“Good. I haven't been fucked properly for a while”

You regretted this confession until he squeezed your ass again, pulling you towards him and saying, “A pretty little thing like you? Fuck, there really is no religion left in this world.” 

“Well, make me shout to God then.” 

His mouth crashed on yours right after, his tongue immediately pushed at your lips and you let it in, licking it and trapping it in a dance with yours.

His hands went up to play with your nipples through your top; you weren't wearing a bra and your nipples immediately stiffened against the fabric.

"Fuck, yeah" you moaned. "I knew your hands were skilled" 

His thumbs kept brushing on your hard buds while his mouth moved to your jawline and your neck, peppering them with kisses, biting at your tender skin and soothing it right away with his tongue.

“You smell so good, baby” he whispered, inhaling the scent of your perfume “like apples and vanilla. It makes me want to eat you up” 

He immediately lowered himself, pulling down your leggings and panties in one go, leaving you naked from the waist down. The cool air in the room made you wince.

“Look at this pussy, she’s weeping huh?” 

He had said this, a moment before starting to kiss your thighs, biting and licking, slowly moving up towards your center.

“Fuck” you moaned burying a hand in his dark curls “please”

He had started by licking your outer lips, then dipping his tongue between your folds, going up to your clitoris and swirling around it.

You would pull his hair and moan, completely enraptured. He was so damn good. 

He definitely knew where your clit was and exactly what it needed.

He began to fondle it, alternating between licking and pressing and then started to jerking it off quickly with his tongue.

You'd completely lost it when he'd taken it in his mouth and started sucking it.

“Yeah baby, you like that huh?” He muttered before nudging at your entrance with his index and middle finger.

He curled his fingers inside you, continuing to suck on your bundle of nerves until you had actually called on the name of God, quivering under his touch.

Your back was hitting against the shelf and it hurt but you didn't care, you were moaning like someone possessed and you didn't care, no one had ever made you come like that with oral sex. 

You couldn't believe how lucky you were, right there and then you decided that your instinct was pretty reliable after all.

“Well, now that she’s nice and wet I think I'll serve her the main course” he groaned. 

“Please” you breathed.

“Still hungry, huh?” he chuckled as he got up. He lifted your top to reveal your tits. ”Gorgeous. Stay still for me”

He unfastened his belt and jeans, letting them fall to his ankles and then pulling them off stomping on them.

His cock was indeed as delicious as you'd thought. 

Big, thick, pink and incredibly hard right before your eyes. 

A small bush of hair all around it and two big balls just below. 

It made your mouth water.

He moved closer to you in an instant, one hand on your tit and the other on your clit as he slowly entered you.

“Fuck, you're so tight.” He grunted. 

“And you’re so big. Just the way I like” you cooed.

He was at least 8 inches and proceeded cautiously, feeling you stretch for him “You're so good, baby, I can't wait to be all inside your hot, soaking wet pussy”

“Make me full, please” you urged him, staring at his gorgeous brown eyes, taking in his lips agape and little beads of sweat running down his neck.

He grunted again before fully sinking inside you. “Can you feel it deep inside, baby? Are you full enough?”

“Fuck yeah, it’s perfect.” You moaned. “Move. Please”

He didn't have to be asked twice before starting to dive in and out of you, at a slow pace at first, making you feel every inch that stretched you, veins on his length gliding against your damp walls, his engorged tip hitting that special spot over and over again.

He increased the pace at your next prayer, squeezing one of your ass cheek with one hand and putting the other behind your back to prevent you from really hurting yourself.

“Christ, babe you’re gripping me so hard, I don't think I can hold on much longer” he muttered 

Your fingers were tangled in his curls at the base of his neck, you lured him into a deep, sloppy kiss, after whispering in his ear “Paint me. I'm on the pill” 

“Fuck, do you want me to come inside you? Do you want to go home with my seed dripping between your legs?”

“Yes” you purred “go on, big boy, that's exactly what I'm hoping for.”

“Come for me first, be a good girl. I can feel you're close”

You came after another couple of strong thrusts, your moans muffled by his lips on yours. 

He came just after you, unloading long, warm streaks of his seed inside you.

He kept thrusting into you until he softened, grunting and groping your tit with his large hand, his thick fingers tugging at your nipple.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” he said as he came out from you and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘It's one of the craziest things that has ever happened to me.”

“Um... do crazy things happen to you often?’ you asked smiling

“Sometimes.”

He pulled on his pants, gave you another kiss and headed for the tent.

He didn't ask your name. He knew he didn't need to.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

“Thanks to you. I'm Clint, by the way. I often come here on Thursdays, if you'd like to see me again.” 

He left without saying anything else. 

Clint. What a crappy name. Good thing he doesn't look like it.

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @joelmillerisapunk @lemon-nomel @probablyreadinsmut @almostempty @baronessvonglitter @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites

archive tag: @pedrostories

let me know if you want to be added or removed, I'll do it right away. ❤️

[your-highnessmarvel]

Insatiable

AN: No one asked for this but the Butcher brain rot is crazy and i can't stop myself. Alas, I couldn't resist so welcome to the madness. Anyway, I went insane and absolutely wrote a devoted piece to this man. Jesus help me.

Warnings: dub-con (use of sex pollen-ish mind control), smut, fingering, language, and Butcher is a warning in and of itself.

MINORS DNI Below the cut

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

The admonition echoed in the habitat of Butcher's Cadillac like a bird's call. Even the sound of leather on leather, as the man sitting beside you slowly turned to examine you, wasn't loud enough to get the stupid ringing out of your head.

This had all started off like a bad scab you thought was healed but wasn't, and now it was bleeding all over your favorite pink pull.

Hughie and MM had uncovered a rightful piece of Temp V hideout; a Supe's mansion on the Upper East Side who, just happened, to be throwing one of his renowned "XXXchange" parties for Supes and their pets (this was how it was described on the e-vite MM hacked).

This Supe, still unknown to everyone because he kept the mansion under a random woman's name, was supposedly a Seven-in-the-making, as Hughie put it. If he could prove himself, he was next in line for a comfy beige seat in the Tower. So hence, him keeping and distributing Temp V to teens and young adults who didn't know any better.

So what had been Hughie's grand ol' plan? Bring you in. As the newest Supe member of The Boys, no one had yet seen your face. No one even knew of you. You were a low-level "barely considerable" Supe...as Butcher had put it the first time he blew the hinges off your front door.

Your power wasn't really a - well, a power at all. It was mostly an advancement, an intellectual add-on, or a sixth sense. You could read lies. More coherently, because someone with a beard and a giant stick up his ass didn't understand correctly--you could tell when someone was lying.

You weren't really an attribute to the team when it came to brute force. You left that up to Annie and Kimiko. But you had your perks, and since you were still under Vought's radar, you could slip through the cracks and get intel for the Boys.

Now why was Butcher with you, the most notorious Boys' member? Well, one might say he was eager to see your 2-hour fight training in practice, but really, it was because he "didn't trust a dumb twat with highly sensitive information and tech". His words.

So he'd garnished a Tommy Bahama blouse with pink flamingoes and palm trees and a matching set of swim shorts, sunglasses, and a stupid bright pink bucket hat that was way too small for his big ass head.

And now here both of y'all were, headed to the Upper East Side, dressed like a hooker and a pimp. Annie had insisted on this get up, a tiny, tiny pink skirt, a white bikini top, and a pink cover up with flip flops to finish off this fucking look. Because apparently, no one would let you in if you weren't A) a Supe and B) not dressed like a House Bunny.

"So you're tellin' me," Butcher drawled as the New York skyline darkened, "that your bare pussy is suction-cupping my leather seats?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm sitting at an angle."

Butcher slapped the wheel. "You should've told me earlier!" he laughed. You frowned in return when he swivelled that giant head of his towards you. "Come now, if you're not wearing panties, why should I, eh?"

"You wear panties?"

He hummed, regaining control of the road as the car slipped passed the last townhouse to enter Mansion Ville.

"I like you, little Truthteller," he mumbled to himself. "Thought you were a bit worthless at first, but you might just prove yourself tonight!"

You didn't dare answer the last bit, instead focusing on the details Annie and Hughie gave you before you flip-flopped your way into Butcher's passenger seat (and did absolutely not suction-cup his leather seats).

The idea was to go in and place a few bugs in and around the mansion in key locations. You could try to figure out who the Supe was or even find out where he stashed his V, but it didn't matter. The Boys would find out over the bugs.

The mansion Butcher parked the Caddie in front of was like a cookie-cutter version of the 90s PlayBoy mansion.

"Alright, love," Butcher sighed, killing the engine and stepping out, rounding the nose of the car to open the door for you. "Give 'em a nice peek of that minge, eh?"

You blushed from head to toe, a torment of fire assaulting your skin until Butcher caught on and chuckled low in his chest, helping you step out the car with his hand.

You still hadn't gotten used to the crass words that could tumble out of his mouth like vomit.

He guided you to the entrance, where a man dressed in black boxers and a black neck tie asked for your invite number, which you recited from the one Hughie gave you.

Then he asked, "And which is Supe and which is pet?"

You blushed even hotter. "Um." Your throat got sticky and dry all at once. "I'm the Supe and he's my... um, he's my-"

"Her pet," Butcher interrupted with a wide smile, the sunglasses hiding the glint in his eye that was surely showing. That ridiculous bucket hat made him look almost two heads taller than you as he bent down to whisper in your ear, "bark, bark."

You groaned inwardly as you lead him into the foyer, where a sprawling staircase lead to a mezzanine and a mahogany banister and a wide archway gave way to a mess of bodies in the living room.

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning away from the onslaught of legs and arms and slithering bodies like a pile of snakes.

"Oh, nuh-uh," Butcher chuckled, grabbing you by the shoulders, steering you right into the mass of party-goers, moaning and groaning and thrusting into one another or bouncing on top of each other like mad dogs. "If you want to play the part, you have to look the part." His mouth was right next to your ear, and for some reason, the breath caressing your skin sent a slowly gliding shiver down your spine.

Why was this happening?

You felt the flesh melt where his fingers lay, clutching at your shoulders, pulling your coverup off of you.

"Butcher," you said, stopping his hand.

He shook his head. "Show them what you got, mama," he whispered again, the rough of his beard tracing against your cheek. He scooped the coverup off your shoulders and threw it across the room, leaving you in your bikini top.

Butcher had never seen you so exposed before. You'd always worn pants and t-shirts around the safe house, so watching all that bare skin available to his hungry eyes flipped a switch in his head.

A woman, tall and elegant, cream skin and sultry black eyes, approached you before Butcher could do something stupid. He straightened up, lifting the sunglasses from his nose.

"Miss, look at you," he cooed.

Miss was naked. Someone had left a bite mark on her right breast, just above her peaked nipple. She was so long-limbed and beautiful, and the sight of her naked body made you turn away instinctively.

"I like you," she said, voice low and husky, like a purr.

"I like you too, sweetheart," Butcher answered, the heat of his body completely leaving you as he zeroed in all his attention on the naked, wanting lady before you.

She huffed. "You're great too," she answered, and when you turned, her lascivious brown eyes were settled on you. "But it's her that I want."

Butcher gasped and then erupted in laughter, taking the bucket hat off his head and putting it to his heart. "Woah, I never imagined I'd see this in my lifetime."

The other woman smiled slowly and you gulped. She was pretty, but she was also not part of the mission.

So you back-peddled.

You put a delicate hand to Butcher's arm, digging your nails into his skin, and put on a lovely, sweet smile for the offering girl. "That's nice of you," you said, voice sultry like a wet candy cane. "But we're more interested in watching." As you said this, you dropped into your act as best you could, mustering up the strength not to blush but to play the part of the sex-obsessed Supe.

She brightened up at this, gesturing to Butcher. "Well I could fuck him while you watch," she suggested.

Butcher's body tensed up against you and he turned to you. "Please say yes," he mumbled.

You smiled, throwing him a glance. "Both of us are watchers," you corrected, watching as she bowed her head, a lustrous gleam in her eye.

"It would've been a pleasure," she said before walking away.

When she was climbing onto another woman's lap, Butcher grabbed your bicep and brought you into a corner, sheltered in the dim lighting of the room, smothered under the moans and groans and the sloppy sounds of...intercourse.

"You were this close to fulfilling a fantasy of mine," he groaned, and when you looked up, he looked more angry than turned on.

"We're not here so I can watch you have sex with a woman, asshole!" you gritted between your teeth. ''We're here to plant bugs and find some V."

He huffed, rearranging his Tommy Bahama. "I'm obeying just because you're wearing this outfit," he grumbled, following you as you led them into the next room.

A kitchen, stock full with boxes of canned beverages and food platters.

"Okay, here." You pointed to the dinner table in the adjacent room, a teakwood marvel that surely housed a few meetings or two.

Butcher expertly placed a bug under the table.

You meandered safely through the house, planting bugs in various living rooms, meeting rooms, and spare bedrooms. Whenever some couple or lone masturbator dedicated their attention to you both, you pretended to watch, Butcher enlacing you in his arms.

It's only then you noticed how tall, how big this man was. He was easily dwarfing you by just standing there, your head against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your exposed spine.

When the onlookers would pass, he'd chuckle as you pushed him away like he was a booger wall.

But the more you traveled in the house, the more people seemed to stare, wanting, questioning. So you ended up holding Butcher's hand, at his command: "Wouldn't want the lovely ladies stealing you away, eh?"

And hand holding turned into his arm around your shoulders, the tip of his very long fingers ghosting your breast.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispered in your ear once he'd bugged up the toilet.

"Ew, no."

He sucked his teeth. "I mean," he gritted, pushing you up against a wall when a man with a considerably large strap on made his way towards you. Butcher bent down, squeezing the breath from your lungs as he grazed his mouth on your bare shoulder. He pressed a featherlight kiss, all while observing the passing man, dragging his lips up to your ear. "We should go bug up the rooms, eh? Maybe see if we can find this cunt's V supply?"

You nodded, a wicked shiver pebbling your flesh.

Butcher blew cold breath onto the thin line of saliva he'd left on your skin. "Cold?"

You swallowed hard. "Let's just go."

He chuckled as you grabebd his hand and led him back to the stairs, galloping up to the second floor.

Truth is, you'd never imagined Butcher like this. He was so arrogant and he loved to make people jump out of their skins by how uncomfortable they were with him, but you'd chopped it up to the old chip on the block; Butcher pushing people away to keep himself safe.

So when the Boys had initiated you, you'd figured it'd be best to steer clear from this tyrant of a man. He was way older than you anyway, and he was always calling you every name in the book except your government given one. And he was always dismissing your ideas, so you'd always assumed he had an image of an immature little girl in his head.

But he'd dreamed of you more times than he cared to count. The messed up parts of his brain, where most of it was left behind in his old life, conjured up hauntings of you every night. Of those soft, plump lips whenever you'd eat cherries. Of your legs in your pajama shorts and your giggle when Kimiko signed something stupid. Of that perfect little body of yours.

"Okay, in here." You interrupted his chain of thought, the one that was going to crash into a puddle brains that would eventually leak out of his ear.

You lead him into a room, which turned out to be some kind of antechamber with a hearth and a giant portrait of a small, bald man.

"He looks like a mouse," you muttered.

But Butcher froze, tearing his hand away from yours. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his sunglasses and hat onto the low table. "That's the fucking Seducer."

Your skin crawled. You turned, examined Butcher's expression as he leaned against the far wall. "This cum guzzler is the one trafficking V?" he thought to himself, just as you asked, "who's the Seducer?"

Butcher turned to examine you across the room, lit by a few lights in the sconces. "He's the world's number 1 date raper," he answered, frowning. "This guy can intoxicate the female species into a mad heat, like dogs."

"What?" You frowned.

Butcher walked a bit closer, turning his head to watch you out of one eye, like a bird. "Yeah, he secrets this hormone on a whim and boom, bitches go mad for his dick."

"Oh." You swallowed, turned to push the handle of another door, leading to a darkened room fit for a king. "I think this is his room."

Butcher muttered behind you, "Lucky guy if you ask me."

"Trouble getting women, Butcher?" you asked absentmindedly as you entered the dark room, lights from the lawn outside filtering milky-white through the windows, illuminating your path like a trail of snow.

Butcher followed, closing the door behind you. "Not really," he answered, immediately pulling cubbards and drawers open. "The ladies love me."

"Oh, yeah I bet," you muttered, pulling open the wardrobe. A loose floorboard creaked loudly and you froze, turning to meet Butcher's eye.

He scrambled to where you stood, pressing on the floor and repeating the awful creaking sound.

"Pants jizzer must be keeping the V under his floor," he mumbled, pressing until at least 6 floorboards rose from the ground on one end, a whole door to the underside of the Seducer's floor.

"Bingo," you giggled, helping Butcher pull the damn thing open. But there was nothing there, only an empty black space that could've fit maybe two people, gaping at you like a dark maw. "He must have transfered them," you whispered.

"Or he's trafficking other things," Butcher replied darkly.

Just as you were about to close the floorboards, a loud thud rang out in the antechamber. You froze, listening, until a feminine giggle made you and Butcher lock eyes.

"Get in," he whispered, motioning to the black pit under your knees.

"In here!?" you whispered tightly.

Whoever was on the other side was making their way towards the room, painstakingly, and this was not the place you and Butcher needed to be found.

"Yes, fuck, get in," he insisted, and your heart thudded so loudly, so harshly against your throat you thought it would burst right out through your chest.

Shaking, you got into the little space, falling onto your back because you couldn't see where this thing ended. As soon as you got your hair out of your eyes, Butcher was tumbling onto you, closing the floorboards a millisecond before the bedroom door burst open.

Sound was immediately muffled, like being underwater, and the only thing you could hear was your breathing. Butcher's breathing over you. Your heart in your throat, nauseating you, the adrenaline rushing like a flood in your veins.

Butcher's chest heaving against yours, the entire length of him pressed up on you like a heavy blanket.

"Get off," you whispered, feeling the heat of his forearm next to your head.

"There's no space," he grumbled, his voice catching on your cheek, your neck, as he tried to maneuver himself every which way that meant he wasn't pressed up on you, but he was just so damn big, like hiding with a grizzly bear, that whenever he tried to move, he just ended up being half on and half off you.

"Fuck it," he grumbled, pressing one hand under your thigh, wrenching a gasp from your throat as he placed himself comfortably between your legs.

The pressure of him on your bare bottom half made you freeze, heart hammering like an angry drum against your ribcage. The way you were positioned, thighs wide open, knees bent each side of his waist, made the skimpy little skirt bundle up onto your tummy, leaving you completely bare.

"Hush up, little thing," Butcher whispered in your ear, holding himself up on his forearms as not to crush the breath out of you. But his voice was wretched, pulled and tight, no doubt reacting to the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his swim shorts.

The noise overhead intensified; a moan, a few garbled words, thudding.

"They're going to do it while he lie here," you whispered, hands balled up by your sides.

Butcher chuckled silently, breath fanning your neck. "So we really are voyeurs."

You smiled, holding back a giggle until a heavy thud caught your attention and the voices suddenly got a bit clearer. They were right over you.

A woman's voice floated through. "How ever I can serve you, Seducer."

The last word made your insides coil in fear. It looked like this woman was answering a command from the Seducer himself, the man who owned this house, who trafficked all the V and worked with Vought.

"Fuck," Butcher muttered. "This is worse than I thought."

"Why?" you asked silently, your fingers trembling against your thighs.

You felt him bend forward, his body tight like a rod. "This is going to hurt, love."

And just as you were about to ask what he was about to do, a soft pang echoed in your lower belly, like someone had tied a rope to your bellybutton and pulled. You squirmed, the thudding overhead leading back to the bed.

The pulling again, making you heave in a breath, squeeze your eyes shut. "No, no, no," you muttered, feeling an ache build between your legs, a force pull through your veins like molten honey.

The Seducer was using his power. And it wasn't just affecting the woman he was with... it was starting to affect you.

You felt yourself clench on nothing but air when the ache throbbed against your clit, like an invisible vacuum seal had closed over it, and you lifted your hips off the floor slightly.

Butcher immediately grabbed your hip, bringing you back down forcibly, sending a new wave of heat, of ache, of hurt through your body just at the touch of his bare fingers on your bare hip.

"Don't," he breathed, his word clipped. "Don't do that."

He could feel the heat of you through his shorts, just how impossibly hot you were, probably dripping from the Seducer's power, and the little control he exhibited around you was pulling quite taut.

"It hurts, Butcher," you gritted through your teeth, hands settling on his shoulders for support as another wave of need, of painful, painful need, throbbed through your body like a pulsing nuclear explosion. Your legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into the fabric of his Tommy Bahama. "Make it stop," you pleaded, heaving, throwing your head back, bucking your hips to get the pain to stop. Just stop.

Butcher huffed, cradling your face, his insides in turmoil with his brain. God had given him such a gift right now, a chance to take you, mark you as his, finally fuck that perfect little body--and he didn't know if he was man enough to stop himself.

You groaned in pain, subconsciously grinding your bare pussy against his thigh, searching for any kind of friction, of relief. Your skin was so hot, sweat beading your forehead as you braced through another wave of this unknown ache, throbbing relentlessly against your clit, deep inside you, just grazing your g-spot.

Your fingers balled into fists against his shirt, your face finding his chest, and you sobbed, "Make it stop, Butcher, please, it hurts."

You weren't aware that your hips had started grinding against his thigh, the knee he'd placed between your legs for leverage. And just the fact that he could feel his shorts getting soaked had him straining against the stitches of his sanity.

"There's only one way," he breathed against your ear. You sobbed, heaving, breathing raggedly, grinding so hard on his knee it was almost pathetic. "Are you sure you want to try?" he asked, voice trembling.

You sniffed, hung onto his neck for dear life. "Please, anything, this is--ah--this is unbearable."

He bent his head, mumbled for God to forgive him, and then pressed a deep, hard kiss on your lips, pressing you back into the floor completely. Somewhere above him, he heard a woman moan loudly, but the only thing that registered to him was the way you clung to him like a pawing animal.

A strangled moan, quiet and restrained, left your throat, caught behind your teeth as he ravaged your mouth.

"N-no," you mumbled. "No."

He pulled away, kissing your jaw, your neck until your were humping his thigh like a woman gone mad.

"This the only way, little Truthteller," he murmured in your ear, dragging his knee away and feeling your entire body go stiff against him.

A whine, like delicious music, lifted to his ear and he groaned inwardly. He had to convince himself he was doing it for you, but half of him was delighted at the idea of finally having you. Like a meal he'd been mouth-watering over for some time, and now it was fresh and warm right in front of him.

"I need," you muttered, groaning through another wave of the Seducer's power, your hips bucking into nothing. "I need..."

"You need to cum, little dove," Butcher whispered, caressing the side of your face and you shook your head.

"No."

"Yes, love," he muttered, tracing the line of your neck, down your chest until he softly cupped your breast.

A quiet moan rippled along your throat like a symphony to his ears. He played with your hard nipple through the fabric until he pushed it aside and replaced his thumb with the warmth of his mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered, pushing against his shoulders. "This is wrong." Your voice was so thin.

Butcher lapped at your nipple like an ice cream cone. "Want me to do this to your pretty little pussy?" he mumbled, and the crass words sent a hot wave of need pulsing painfully between your legs.

His other hand skimmed down your side, over the swell of your hip, and down to where you needed him most.

When he swiped a slow finger across your soaked folds, the grunt that left him was purely predatory. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, to the accompanying sound of your panting. He brushed his thumb across your clit, holding you down as you jolted, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

"Butcher, please," you begged.

"Billy, love," he whispered, raising his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, brushing his thumb against your clit once more to capture your gasp in his kiss. "Call me Billy."

You gripped onto his shoulders, feeling the wide, powerful muscle of his right hand playing with you.

He pressed three fingers flat against you and you bucked, searching for more, as he circled slowly, starting you off.

"Say it," he commanded quietly, circling your clit faster.

"Billy," it came out as a whine and he groaned lowly, capturing your lips and kissing down your throat. The way his fingers played you like a harp wrenched a pornographic moan from your throat and immediately, Billy put a hand over your mouth, the skin between his thumb and forefinger snug under your nose.

"Quiet for me, little Truthteller," he whispered.

He moved his fingers to your entrance and slipped one in so easily it was almost embarrassing. He cooed at you, gliding his finger in and out so slowly it was almost arrogant. "So fucking wet, this perfect little hole."

You keened, squeezing your eyes shut at his crude words, searching for more friction until the heel of his hand pressed snuggly against your clit.

Your hips moved on their own, bucking against his hand as he pumped his finger, faster and faster until your pants turned into hyperventilating and your legs started to close around his hips.

"Got my whole hand drenched, pretty love," he whispered. "That perfect little cunt can handle another finger?"

You preened against his hand, your sounds muffled against his large, meaty palm and he chuckled at you.

The second finger was a tighter fit, his thick digits spreading you and squelching into you slowly.

"Ah, there's my girl," he moaned in your ear. "Fucking my fingers like a good girl."

You wanted to tell him to quit teasing, to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible because the heat stirring under your skin was insatiable, but you didn't understand how much Billy was enjoying himself. He didn't know when he'd get a chance to have you so willingly spread open for him again, or if he'd ever get the chance again. So he savored this moment like a dying man's last meal.

He let you adjust to his fingers, fucking them into you, palming your clit before he thrust in another finger, opening you wide to him. You gurgled against his hand, muffled moans and pleas stuck behind his palm.

He didn't miss just how tight you were around his fingers, how snug and warm. "So tight, my little love," he cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way your hips bucked.

The sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking on his fingers drove you mad and a hot, painful knot formed in your belly, pulling and tugging at your insides.

He felt you trembling, your orgasm on the horizon, and he lifted his hand off your mouth, capturing your lips in a warm, sloppy kiss.

"Want you to cum with my name in your mouth," he mumbled, almost incoherent in his chase for your climax. He pressed his thumb to your mouth, opening it, listening to your panting, your quiet moans as he fucked his fingers into your cunt, pressing down on your clit, rubbing it with his palm.

"Billy," you breathed. "Billy. Billy." Like a mantra, a prayer.

"That's it, my pretty girl," he whispered, thumb on your tongue, fingers fucking your pussy until that knot in your bely tightened impossibly and your legs went numb. "Cum my pretty dove, gush all over my hand, come on now."

He grunted against you, and somehow, that guttural, manly sound made stars explode in your belly and you came, shuddering his name quietly, over and over and over until the pleasure had seeped out of your veins and you crumbled back to the floor. You felt his fingers slip out of you, his wet hand pull your knee apart, press against the meat of your thigh, spreading you wide, wide open.

He slithered down your body like a snake, pushing you up against the confines of this box until you felt the warm breath of him against your clit. When he lapped at you, humming around your hole like a satiated man, you mumbled his name, searching with your hands until you grabbed onto the thick strands of his hair. Panting, you mumbled his name again.

"Just having a taste, love," he mumbled, sucking on your over-sensitive clit until the heat came blasting through you again, all over, like you were under the Seducer's spell again.

"Fuck," you gritted, biting your lip, caging in the awfully loud, guttural moan that wanted to spring free.

Billy grabbed onto your hips, holding them down, his forearm over your belly like an anchor.

"One more, little Truthteller," he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue, his beard scraping on the inside of your sensitive thighs.

"Billy, please," you whined softly.

"Always wanted a taste," he said. Not a lie. "Always wanted to tongue-fuck this perfect hole." Not a lie.

He pressed his tongue flat to your clit, sucked and nibbled on it until he pressed his tongue right into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue like he'd promised. The mix of his hot breath, his tongue inside your walls, his thumb working on your clit made all your senses flush full of adrenaline. Bucking against his face, you rode his mouth until another flash burst through you and you came all over his face, grinding down on his nose until the last waves of your orgasm had left you.

When he climbed back over, kissing your belly, your nipple, covering you with his warmth, you were just a numb shell of the girl you were when you walked in here.

Billy kissed your jaw, your neck, stroking your hair as you regained your senses.

Whoever had been overhead had gone. It was completely silent. And it left you wondering if that last wave of need had been the Seducer's spell or Billy's.

"We should go, love," he whispered. "Before I stuff you full of my cock and have you cumming on it for the third time."

His filthy mouth brought you back to your body, cold and sweaty and oh so comfortable with two orgasm singing in your veins.

"Yeah," you whispered as Billy pushed the trap door open, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear, and then hopping out. He helped you out with his hand, gentle and calm, smoothing down your hair, covering your nipple, patting down your two-inch skirt.

"I've made a real good mess of you, love, eh?" he chuckled, standing and taking your hand. "Was I a good pet?"

[lovecoatedwords]

Bad nights (part one)

poly marauders x reader

summary: Remus got clingy cuz of the full moon, James lost a match, Sirius has problems with his parents and you aren’t well. How Will this situation turn out? *************

The night had been long. The full moon had crept across the sky like a bloodstain, pulling Remus into his darker self. You hadn’t slept much, instead staying by his side, calming him through the transformation, holding him when the worst was ovre. You'd always been there for him during the full moon, to comfort him when he was at the lowest. But the aftermath was always the hardest.

As you slipped out of bed that morning, the sharp ache in your lower stomach was already making itself known. A quick hand to your forehead confirmed the faint but persistent headache you could feel creeping in. But it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You had always hated when your fate overlapped with the moon, but you were persistent and keen on keeping Remus comforted.

Remus was still in a haze, soft curls sticking to his forehead as he lay sprawled across the bed, his breathing slow but steady. You gently stroked his hair, making sure he was comfortable before slipping out of the room.

James was already up, in fact he hadn’t slept at all, pacing in front of the common room window, his Quidditch robes hanging loosely over his frame. His shoulders were slumped, and his usually bright eyes were shadowed with the frustration of the previous day’s loss. g his  competitive nature had been bruised, and you could see it in every frustrated sigh he let out, each muttered curse under his breath.

he grumbled as you entered the room, his gaze briefly flicking to you before returning to the window, "Can't believe we lost. We should’ve had that match. I—I don’t know what happened out there."

You let out a sigh, crossing the room to where he stood. The air between you was thick with the unspoken tension of a day that was already setting itself up to be difficult. 

"James, you played well," you offered quietly, your voice softer than usual. You needed to conserve your energy today. The last thing you wanted was to get caught in his spiral of selfloathing.

James shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair. "No, I didn't. Not good enough. I'm supposed to be team captain. I’m supposed to—" He cut himself off with an exasperated sound, turning to face you, his eyes wide and hurt. "I let everyone down."

The words were biting,and you could see his frustration beginning to shift into anger, an energy that was heavy and stormy. You stepped closer, reaching up to place a hand gently on his arm, trying to soothe him, but before you could speak again, the door slammed open, and sirius came in looking angry. He stormed into the room, his black hair wild and his eyes full of anger. His jaw was clenched tight, and there was a harshness to his posture that you hadn’t seen in a while.

"Merlin’s bloody beard!" he snapped, throwing his robes down on the nearest chair. "She’s done it again. That vile, disgusting woman." He glared at the empty space as though it had personally offended him, his voice low but full of venom. "I swear I’ll hex her into next week if she don’t  stop—"

"Sirius, you interrupted, your voice breaking through the tension. "What’s happened? Who’s did what?"

He turned toward you, frustration written all over his face. "My mother," he spat the words like they were poison. "She—" He broke off with a frustrated growl. "She's spreading more of her lies. Calling me a disgrace. I don't care what she says about me, but it's the way she talks about you, about all of us. She doesn’t know when to keep her damn mouth shut." 

You could see the frustration etched in every line of his face, the fury he was barely containing. 

"She doesn't get to say those things about us, not about you—" Sirius began again, but before he could continue, Remus appeared in the doorway, a little disoriented but still with that familiar, warm look in his eyes. The transformation had left him weak, but the gentle way he looked at you was a comfort.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice still rough from the remnants of the full moon, his body swaying slightly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

You smiled softly at him, but the heaviness of the room was starting to press in on you. "I'm fine, Remus. Just dealing with everything." You gestured to the others, who were now standing near each other, the tension between them palpable. Sirius, full angery, James, sulking and looking down at the floor, and Remus, who was still far too clingy for your liking, though you loved him, the constant need for contact, for reassurance, was draining, especially when there was sm going on 

Remus slowly shuffled over to you, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. “I know you’ve been up all night,” he murmured, his touch warm and familiar as he leaned his head against your shoulder. "But I'm... I just need you close."

You felt the weight of his need, the way his exhaustion made him cling to you even more than usual. Remus, after the full moon, was always a little more fragile—more in need of comfort, You didn’t have the energy to refuse him, so you let him rest his head on your shoulder, but the pressure of his presence felt like an anchor, keeping you stuck in the moment. His body heat radiated against yours, a contrast to the coldness that was between the others.

Sirius scoffed, his eyes flashing as he watched the scene unfold. "Do you really have to do that now, Remus?" he bit out, his voice sharp. "She’s already dealing with James’s little pity party and now you're draping yourself all over her like a bloody blanket."

James shot Sirius a dark look. "Sirius, not now. We’re already having a bad enough day without you making things worse."

But Sirius, already on edge from his mother’s words, wasn’t about to let it slide. “And you,” he snarled at James, "stop blaming yourself. You lost. Fine. So what? You don’t see me running around crying like a bloody baby." He turned back to Remus, his voice rising. "You’ve been through worse too, mate, but that doesn’t mean you get to turn her into your personal cushion!", 

Remus pulled away slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion, but the words struck hard. He looked between the two of them, his hand still resting on your arm but his face now drawn tight with exhaustion and hurt. “I just—I don’t know what you want from me, Sirius,” he said softly, a bit too emotionally raw for his own liking. "I’m just trying to get through the damn day."  His emotions all over the place from the exhaustion and pain.

You could feel it—everyone was breaking at the seams, and you were stuck in the middle, trying to pick up the pieces without anyone knowing just how much you were struggling too. The ache in your stomach intensified, but you bit your lip, trying to hide it, not wanting to add another layer of complication to everything already unraveling around you.

You caught James’s eyes as he stood there, his expression distant and hurt. He was disappointedt in the situation, in the way everything had turned out. The way the room felt as if it were closing in around you.

Sirius was still glaring at Remus, and James was still looking at you like you were the one thing left in the world that made sense.

And for the first time, you didn’t know how to fix it.

do you want to be added in the tag list for the next part? Comment or dm or send in an ask <3

[montuak-project]

✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:* 　　 *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ — # ❝ i put a spell on you❞| mattheo riddle PAIRINGS — any house! reader x mattheo riddle GENRE — fluff/angst WARNINGS — mild cursing and violence WC — 5.7k masterlist.  authors note- this is purely fiction is not to be taken seriously

this is late, but Happy Valentine's Day to everyone ᡣ𐭩 -------------------------------------------------------

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts. It was the craziest day at Hogwarts. That and finals week. 

The hospital wing was usually filled with people who were under a love potion or people who thought they were under a love potion. 

You thought it was a good idea to volunteer to help Madam Pomfrey. 

She has been known to use only when she is frustrated and stressed out to slip up and use some choice words no matter the age of the student. 

Things were going well. She had given you the girls to deal with. They had plenty of antidote for the love potion. And something that tastes just as similar to it for those who believed they were under as well. 

“Merlin’s Beard! Mr. Riddle, I thought I told you-“

“Pomfrey I swear I didn’t start this one. He did.” Mattheo said gripping the boy next to him. The boy he was gripping had his head looking up pinching his nose with his tie. “Didn’t know he was a bleeder. Anyways this one thought I was hitting on his girlfriend.” 

The boy tilted his head forward, “You were. Ah!” 

“Mate tilt.” Mattheo pushed his head back. “I was just asking her a question, can’t ask girls questions anymore.” 

“Mr. Riddle please go to Miss.____. She will clean you up.”

Mattheo smirked walking over to you. As Pomfrey took the over boy to one of her beds. 

“Hi pretty.” 

“Riddle.” 

“Come on ___ you have cleaned my face enough to call me by my first name.” Mattheo sat on one of the beds. 

You positioned yourself in front of him gently tilting his face up. You pulled his tie out of its knot putting it to the side of him. 

Mattheo smirked, before wincing a little. “I like it when pretty girls undress me.” 

“Mattheo…” 

“Alright, I’m sorry Miss.___ please continue.” 

“I just need you to keep your face straight and your mouth shut. Why do you have so much blood on you? Look at it, it’sall over your button-down. And why were we flirting with his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day?”

He huffed, “For the up-teenth time I was not flirting. I was asking her a question. We had just gotten out of class. I was asking if her brother was able to still get us fire whiskey for a party. Next thing I know he’s grabbing me by the collar andI’m getting punched.”

“Hmm. If he attacked you, why does he have a broken nose and you have a few scraps.”

“I’m scrappy.” He knew you were unsatisfied with the answer. “He punched me first but I punched him back. Not that hard. All of a sudden crack, and blood and he fainted on my chest. Bleeding out. I don’t know why he freaked out.”

You snorted. 

“What?”

“Mattheo it’s Valentine’s Day. Of course, he is going to have his guard up.”

“So every boyfriend is a jerk to everyone but his girlfriend.”

You shook your head no. He hissed as you went over a scrap. “They are just jerks to you. Mattheo Riddle one of Slytherins top playboys.” 

Mattheo audibly gasped, the stretch of skin caused more blood to come off the cut. 

“Mattheo stop twitching.” 

“I am not a playboy.”

You politely tucked your lips in not saying anything finishing up cleaning the blood off of his undeniably gorgeous face. 

“You think I’m a playboy?”

“When you call every girl pretty, sweetheart, or love it’s kind of hard not to. Plus there’s the long list of lovers you had.”

“Please don’t say lovers. The word gives me the heebie-jeebies. And I haven’t slept with that many girls.” He said innocently giving her puppy dog eyes and looking up at her. 

“That’s a lie. And you are usually a pretty good liar Riddle.”

“You wound me.” He gripped his chest. 

“Hopefully it’s just internal bleeding then. I can’t keep cleaning your wounds for you Mattheo. I mean your pretty face is all scarred. These fights are just not worth this trouble.”

Pretty. He repeated in his head. “Some of them are from Quidditch.”

“I assume so when you are fighting with Gryffindors over practice time or after the game when someone can’t keep their mouth shut.”

“Well, it’s good to know that my personal nurse knows my proclivities. She can always be prepared for the job.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. You hated that a little bit. How easily you gave into his little flirtatious remarks and kind words. But that’s what they were words. Mattheo Riddle is not someone to put trust in. Not with your heart. Boys like him break it and let it roll off their backs. 

“Oh, would you look at that someone got cookies?” Mattheo smirked picking up the cellophane bag and seeing the vanilla round biscuits with a heart cutout in the middle filled with jam. 

Mattheo's fingers played with the parchment paper tied to it with a white satin ribbon. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Enjoy the sweets from your secret admirer.” Mattheo grimaced at the idea of someone else catching her eye. 

“Riddle stop with the face.” 

“Who is the secret admirer?” 

You decided not to answer him instead laying a band-aid across the bridge of his nose. 

“___?”

“I don’t know. That is the whole point of a secret admirer. To not know who they are,” You shrugged in return. 

Mattheo pouted, he ripped open the bag and ate two of the cookies inside.

“Mattheo what the hell those were for me.” 

“So what like you were going to eat all of them? There was a full batch in this thing. Here you go if you want one so bad.” Mattheo took one of the cookies and tried to put it in your open mouth. 

You smacked the cookie right out of his hand, “I don’t like strawberry jam.” 

“Quite uncivilized of you, m’lady.” Mattheo joked. “So I can have them all?” 

“Yes.” 

He nodded stuffing his face full of the small cookies. 

“You better be listening to me Mattheo.” You instructed him with a finger in his face

He shook your pointer finger, “Of course.” He mumbled getting crumbs all over himself. 

“Oh, dear lord. I’ll find Theo and tell him myself because you can’t take care of yourself properly. Now look me in the eye.” 

Mattheo looked up at her watching her talk. 

“First off I used glue on the cut across the bridge of your nose and small sutures. That means do not have another fight for a whole week. It will just bust open again. The others apply this cream on them in the morning and at night. They should be healed in a day or two.” You handed him a jar. 

“Right apply daily.” 

You gave him a look of disapproval. 

“I know mornings and nights. And when I apply to myself I will only think of you.” 

You rolled your eyes at his flirtatious nature, “do not say things like that. I’m writing a note for Nott. That boy has more common sense for these things than you do.” 

“What does that mean?!” 

“Shh.” You pinched his lips together. “Dear god we are in the hospital wing. It means Theo has more of a handle on medicines and things of that nature. And better handle on you. For the most part. Unless he wants you to act like a dog off-leash.”You laughed at him. 

“You are lucky you are very cute ____ otherwise I would have to make you pay for that one.” 

You felt a bit flushed.

“Alright, I see you around ____. You should definitely come to the party tonight.” Mattheo said pointing at you pickingup his things. 

You gave him a short wave, “Bye Mattheo.” You said with a quiet voice. You ripped off the note for Theodore stuffing it in your pocket when you saw him in your next class.

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A couple of hours later Madam Pomfrey had let you leave after a couple more people came in. But thankfully people came to their senses about the day. 

You sat next to Theo in transfiguration. “Mattheo mentioned a party tonight?” 

“Him and his big mouth. Inviting every pretty girl that gives him attention.” 

“I…- I am not like those girls, Nott.” You made a disgusted face at the accusation. “I believe it's just another thank invite for fixing his face again, this morning.” 

“Son of a witch.” He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “Give me the instructions, that damn asshole. He just adds to my workload. He isn’t even my cousin. Malfoy should have to take care of him.”

You laughed at Theo’s frustration as you passed him the note. 

He read it over whispering to himself as he read. “Can’t get into fights for a week?” 

“Yeah, the cut above the bridge of his nose was deep. The guy that punched him had a house ring on, nasty cut.”

“We have a quidditch match on Monday.” 

“Tell Mattheo to control his impulses then.” 

“Easier said than done.” 

You ignored his attitude opening your book to the last chapter Mcgonagall covered in class. 

A paper ball hit the back of Theo’s head, when he turned around Enzo was pointing at the ball on the floor. Nott rolled his eyes picking it up and reading Enzo’s sloppy script. 

‘hey! You agreed to the plan! You are just as tired as all of us hearing Riddle go on and on about her! Get in there and flirt!’ 

Theo groaned crumpling the paper shoving it into his robes pocket turning to you. “So are you going to come?” 

“Huh?” 

Theo smirked, poking at your side, “You know the party.” 

“Oh. I thought you didn’t want me to come.” You squinted at him as you joked. 

“What? Of course, I want a..pretty girl like you to come.” Dear lord in heaven this better be worth it. 

“Hmm. Y’know, I always thought you didn’t like me for the longest time.” 

“Crazy. Did you like the cookies?” 

You dropped your quill. Theodore Nott was your secret admirer. And he bakes?! 

“Um? What?” 

“The vanilla and strawberry jam heart-shaped cookies. I left them with Madam Pomfrey and she said she would give them to you.” 

“Oh yeah, those.” ‘No, I didn’t like them. Also, your best friend ate them all.’ “I have to be honest Theo…” 

Theo nodded turning towards her, tilted his head. Maybe this go over better if they were not aquatinted. “Yes tell me.” 

“The cookies were delicious. I am however not a big fan of strawberry jam.” 

“Oh ok. You can blame Pansy for that one. I will remember that for next time.” He smiled at her softly nudging you. “But you’ll come to the party tonight?” 

Your burrows furrowed together, “Sure. definitely.” 

“Good. Great. We should probably pay attention to class now.” He said to you. 

You hummed trying not he completely petrified of the idea of Theodore Nott having a crush on you. 

Theo turned slightly on his stool looking at Enzo and Pansy giving them a thumbs up with a smirk. It did not go unbeknownst to him that Mattheo was staring at him. 

Mattheo was boiling, getting hot underneath the collar, “Blaise do you know anything about Nott and ____.” 

“Just that they are transfiguration partners, I think he said something about inviting her to the party. When Enzo was helping him in the kitchen last night.” 

“Why were they in the kitchen last night?” 

“I could have sworn you were there with them.” 

“Blaise, why were they in the kitchen last night?” 

Blaise put his quill down looking at him, “Enzo was helping him bake cookies. They both burnt the first batch. Thank godEnzo can read Parkinson’s handwriting. It is just so girly.”

Mattheo cleared his throat, sitting there stewing in his emotions. He could not get over the fact that someone else, let alone his best friend, had a crush on ____. Not when he was in love with her. 

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You waited patiently outside at the end of class, Pansy helped him with those cookies. And she is the biggest blabber mouth you have ever known. Exactly why you never told her that you had a slight crush on the Dark Lord's son. 

You grabbed Pansy’s shoulder away from her gaggle friends. “Sorry need to borrow her for a minute.” 

“Excuse me for a second.” She said as she bowed away from her Slytherin friends. You pulled her away down into a side hallway. “What can I help you with ___?” She asked innocently. 

“Oh drop the act. You knew Theodore Faustus Nott fancied me and you didn’t tell me?!” 

“I guess I didn’t think about it.” 

“You are a horrible liar. You knew this entire time and you didn’t say a thing.” 

“It was not my secret to tell.” She mentioned. 

“Bullshit. You are such a blabbermouth. You blabber everyone's secrets. Everyone here knows it.” 

“Well, Theodore begged me to keep a secret, threaten me if I told.” Pansy reasoned with her. “Did you enjoy the cookies?” 

“I would have if they were any other flavored, except the jam. I hate jams. And I believe you knew that. Since I avoid them like the plague.” You pointed out to her.

“So you did not eat them?” 

“No. Mattheo saw them and ate them all.” 

“Mattheo?” She questioned with a tiniest smirk resting on her face.  

“I am not telling this story again. Ask Theo or Mattheo what happened to his face. Now I have to figure out a way to let Theo down easy on Valentine's Day. Of all days Pansy.” You sighed frustrated leaving her in the cut-out of the hallway. 

Once you were out of sight she silently chuckled to herself, quickly running over to Enzo and Theodore. “The plan is working! Even if she is mad at me. Slight problem though he ate all of them.” 

“All of them? There were like 10 cookies in there. Is he going to be ok?” 

Theo nodded his head clearing his throat, “Yes he will be fine, it was just a light coating I put the jam on. As long as you grabbed the right antidote when you went to the hospital wing today for your headache.” Theo said looking at him. 

“Yes! Of course, I did. You all doubt me so much.” Enzo defended himself. 

Theo and Pansy at the same time crossed their arms, tilting their heads. 

“I should not have to defend myself.” 

“Right, so as soon as he confesses his love for her, you give him the drink with the antidote in it. And everything will be fine.” Pansy went over the plan again. 

“As long as he doesn’t kill Theo first,” Enzo mumbled as he looked at Mattheo. 

Who was slumped against the wall across from them with Blaise and Draco at either of his sides, spinning his Slytherin house ring between his fingers, and boring wholes into Theo. 

“Maybe I should talk to him.” Theo reasoned. 

“I think you if want to get strangled here and now please do.” Enzo countered. 

Theo ignored him, walking over to Mattheo anyway. “Riddle, come have a smoke with me I have to finish off this pack before the end of the day. Snape has been checking bags again. Apparently, someone broke into his cupboards and stole ingredients again.” 

Mattheo nodded following him outside to the courtyard. Theo handed him the cigarette as they stood on the other side of the tree facing away from the windows. 

“So the fuck happened to your face?” Theo asked with a smirk. 

Mattheo laughed heartily, as smoke came out from his mouth, “A prick came at me with his fist. But I was a little faster. These are just a few scraps.” 

“Right. Remember not to fight. ____ does not want to see you hurt again.” 

Mattheo's smile was still on his face but his eyes were devoid of emotion, “Is that what you two were talking about? Laughing about? About my constant fighting?”

“Mattheo let’s not-” 

Mattheo took a long drag, “No we are going to discuss it. Because you cannot just come flouncing in and think you can just fuck with her.” 

Theo cleared his throat to speak. 

“Not fucking finished.” He shoved the cigarette between his lips, turned on his heel grabbed Theo by his robes shoving him up against the tree. “I love her. Can you say the same? Now I do not wish to upset ____ by getting into another fight. Today. But stay the fuck away from her.” The words jumbled out as smoke flowed into Theo’s face

Theo challenged him pushing his best friend off of him, “Why should I when you are too much of a pussy to admit your feelings?”

Mattheo nodded his head, “ok.” Mattheo punched him across the face. 

Theo put his hand to his face. As much as he wanted to hit back he knew deep down, that Mattheo was not in his right mind. 

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Mattheo warned again. 

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You were in your next class, sitting down trying to pay attention to Snape’s lecture. This proved to be mighty difficult as Mattheo decided with McLaggen to switch seats with him. And Mattheo was just sitting there, face sitting on his hand giving her love-dove eyes. 

“Mattheo please stop staring at me, pay attention to the lecture. I doubt your cousin is going to want to give you this lesson again.” 

Mattheo reached over brushing hair out of your face. It was not a completely strange gesture, he had touched you without permission before not that it bothered you. It was just how Mattheo was with people he was comfortable with. But this felt more intimate. 

You looked over at him staring him down to be a little more serious. 

“Couldn’t you give me this lesson then?” He said with a loving smile. Mattheo grabbed her hand as it was writing more notes, “please.” 

Your eyes darted to his knuckles and how they were bruised. “Mattheo is that from earlier today?” 

“What?” He looked at his hand. Not to upset her and to bring up Theo he quickly agreed, “Yes.” 

“Why did you not say anything to me? I would’ve had some ice for it and had some ginger root tea to stop the inflammation. I should have noticed it.” 

“Miss._____? Is conversation with Mr. Riddle more interesting than the lesson?” Snape came over interrupting the conversation. 

“Sorry Professor, it was my fault. My hand was bothering me and usually Miss. ____ has some ginger root with her. She has learned a lot from your lessons in potions and Professor Sprout in Herbology to know what plants help people.” Mattheo smiled brightly at his Professor. 

“5 points from each of your houses. Do pay attention in class, Mr. Riddle.” 

“Of course, Sir.” Mattheo smiled smugly at him. Snape continued his droning on with the lecture.

Whereas Mattheo resumed his activity of just staring at you. You decided no amount of pleading and telling him to focus was going to work. Maybe by helping him later on with the homework assignment, he would learn something. 

At the end of the class, you were gathering your things and Mattheo waited for you. 

“Mattheo you can go.” 

“No I can’t, ___ I wanted to walk you to your next class. You have Advanced Herbology.” He held out his hand for you to take. 

You nodded. He was acting weird. You took his hand and felt his pulse pounding through his veins. 

“Are you feeling alright?” 

“Never better. I promise. I have this amazing nurse who always takes care of me. Ever since my third year I fell into poison oak leaves during Hagrid’s class. She is just amazing.” 

“Well, you tell her I am very concerned about you. You are acting strange today.” 

Mattheo shrugged, “Or I am acting like a true version of myself.”

You snorted, “Nope. Trust me, Matt, I know you pretty well to know what your true self is. And it is not this fairy tale book Prince Charming.”

“Well, then I am sorry you don’t feel that way about me. Hopefully, by the end of the day, you will change your mind about me.” 

You were in front of the classroom. “I will be here when we have astronomy together.”

“Matt you don’t have to do that-”

“You’re right I don’t have to. I want to. Anything for my girl.” He said kissing your cheek quickly before walking away cooly.  

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For the rest of the day, Mattheo followed you around. And not like a lost puppy more like a rottweiler. If anyone looked at you funny or looked in your direction you were sure he was going to bite their heads off or worse. 

While if he looked at you it was like you had a halo surrounding you. It was strange. But it was also very Mattheo if was looking to start a relationship. Funny how he was making fun of it this morning and then here you were. 

You were finishing up notes from DADA and eating lunch when Mattheo kept tapping the table in front of your book. 

“What is it, Matt?” 

“Nothing just wanted to see your pretty face.” He smiled at her as he rested his head in his palm. 

He looked goofy to you but it was a sweet gesture as you smiled fondly at him. “Thank you, Mattheo, but I do have to finish these notes.  We have a test on Monday.” 

“DADA tests are easy you just have to remember the spells and the right movements. Thats all you need to know.” 

“And when to use them. When it's appropriate to use the spell. If it's an offense or defense. There are a lot of factors you have to know.” You jested back to him. 

“You better finish all these notes and plan to do homework tomorrow because this evening you are going to the Slytherin party.” 

Shit. The party. That was tonight. The party Mattheo got punched in the face for. The party Theodore Nott invited you to on his behalf because he wanted to be your Valentine.

“Must I?” 

Mattheo nodded his head, “Of fucking course you do! And you get to be accompanied by yours truly. You know they say I am the Prince of Slytherin house.” 

“I don’t think they say that. I don’t think that is something to be proud of. And wouldn’t you be the heir I have heard a lot of girls call Draco the Prince. Because he is handsome.” 

“You think my cousin is handsome?” He asked with a little bit of disgust on his face and a tinge of sadness in his voice.

“I guess. But he is not as handsome as you Matty.” 

Mattheo half chuckled with a playful grin on his face. “But you not so much now, cute across your face is really off-putting.” 

Mattheo pinched the apple of your cheek, “Again you are lucky you are cute. And that I like you.” 

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You were refiling your cup with the spiked juice that was set up when someone grabbed your arm pulling you away from the table and behind a curtain. 

When you slapped the handoff of you and looked to see who it was, you stopped thrashing about in his grasp. “Nott what the hell?!” 

“Sorry, but I had to talk to you quickly.” 

“Well, I have been meaning to actually talk to you. While I am flattered that you like me and that you put thought into the little gift you made me. I just do not find you attractive. If I am completely honest I kind of have feelings for Mattheo. Well for a long time and I think he might actually like me back. Now please excuse me I want to finish filling my cup, not that Mattheo would let me get away from him to do it myself can you believe it..” You stop mid-rambling looking at Theo’s eye, “Theo what happened to your face? You should really…drink ginger tea….wait did Mattheo do this to you? I knew his knuckles were not that bruised earlier.” 

“Yeah about that…so you know those cookies I made you?’ 

“Yes. Listen, Theo…” 

Theo clamped his hand over your mouth, “No you listen see I let a bunch of idiots minus Blaise and Malfoy convince me to make them love potion to gloss over the jam section of the cookie.”

Your burrows scrunched together in anger as you mumbled against his hand, “What?!” 

“Now the love potion was not for you from me. Because I do not like you that way at all.” Theo shook his head in almost disgust.

Bit of a blow to the ego there. 

“Please like you are my type. Or I’m yours. The cookie was for Mattheo, and I was told that I should flirt with you so he would just confess how he feels about you. And I have the antidote for him so afterward once he does so everything will go back to normal. I completely forgot how much of a monster he could be when challenged.” 

You pried Theo’s hand off your mouth, “And you thought this was a good idea?”

“To be fair I was pretty high when I agreed to it. And it was the best idea Pansy and Enzo could come up with. Normally a jealous Mattheo would say mean comments, sudden bursts of anger, and bury his feelings about the matter. Mattheo on love potion though…well he is violent more than usual.” 

“I could have told you that. You should have come to your senses when you were sober.” You pushed the top of his shoulder blades. 

“I know. I know. But Pansy said this was the only way to make him confess to you.” 

“You are all idiots. And a love potion?! Of all things? That is not real love and to do that to him?”

“Again I wasn’t thinking straight and they said I couldn’t back out of the plan. They are blackmailing me with…things.” 

“Things.” 

“I don’t want to repeat it in case you plan to blackmail me as well,” Theo said. 

“That is your concern right now not the fact that you drugged your best friend because he is too chicken to-” You were cut off by a punch coming through the curtain hitting Theo square in the nose. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from her?” 

“Trust me mate I know. I have come to my senses and my guilt on the matter.” Theo said holding his nose. Thank god his nose did not break but blood was pouring down his face. 

“Mattheo what the hell?!” You screamed in horror putting your hands over your mouth and dropping your cup onto the floor. 

“____ don’t listen to him, he is just going to use you and leave you. That is what he does. He doesn’t care about anyone other than himself.” Mattheo seethed in Theo’s direction.  

“Oh for Salazar’s Sake!” Theo grumbled. “Draco! Enzo! Blaise! Pansy! Get over here!” He yelled over to his friends 

The three boys joined them inside the small out-cove of the Slytherin common room, everyone still watching as Mattheo had a blowout and crazed look in his eyes. Blaise turned around everyone, “Please don’t mind us, go back to the par.

“Malfoy and Blaise hold him. Enzo give me the damn antidote I won’t be taking any more hits from him not anymore.” Theo ordered. 

“I am not holding my cousin like a toddler for no reason,” Draco said. 

“I don’t know mate, look at him he looks like an animal and not in the usual way,” Blaise said to Malfoy in a whisper. “I think we should hold him.” 

Malfoy and Blaise came around Mattheo grabbing his shoulders and arms keeping him in place. 

“I am fine just no one here is allowed near ____.” 

“Mattheo please just listen to them. Just drink the antidote and everything will be fine. I promise.” You started to say to him holding his face so he would have to look at you.  

“Ok, whatever you say, love.” He said as he softened like pudding in your hands. 

“You have got to be kidding me right now.” Theo gagged hard on air trying to keep his stomach contents down. “Give here now.” 

Enzo handed him the vile he took from Madam Pomfrey’s trolley this morning. As Theo was going to add it to a fresh cup of pumpkin juice, you noticed the color of the vile. 

“Hold on. This is an orange antidote. Enzo are you kidding me this was your half-baked plan and you couldn’t even grab the right vile. Orange is the placebo pink is the real antidote.” 

“Pansy helped me too. And she was my guard when Pomfrey came back around.” 

“You liar. I was busy leaving the cookies by ____’s station. Theo and I told you a million times pink. Did you get distracted by that Ravenclaw girl again?” Pansy accused as they started to be a long fight back and forth. 

“Stop!” They quickly quieted down at the suddenness of your raised voice. “Fighting isn’t helping Mattheo. You are all lucky Pomfrey gave me an antidote just in case I did ingest any love potion today. It is in my bag.” 

You walked away quickly, up into the dormitories. You looked around Pansy's room for the bag finding it just where you stored it. Right underneath her pillow. Coming down the marble flight of stairs, vile in hand with flared nostrils and anger in her eyes, poured the baby pink substance into the cup of pumpkin juice. 

“Matty just drink this and you will be fine. Angry. But fine.” You told him. 

“Ok.” Malfoy and Blaise held on to him as you poured the drink down his throat. 

He swallowed all of the cure to the love potion, and soon after he started to feel better. He looked around a little drowsy but came too, and went to lung at Enzo and Theo. 

“I’m going to kill the both of you.” 

“It was his stupid idea.” Theo pointed to Enzo. 

“Hey! You agreed to it.” Enzo agreed back. “All because he didn’t want you to whine anymore. What a great best friend you have.” 

“I did not whine.” 

“… You did mate,” Theo muttered. 

“A lot,” Blaise added on. 

“Bloody hell it bled into summer vacations. I think my mother wanted to drown you in the fountain.” Draco chuckled a little at his remark. 

“Well, I guess cats out of the bag now.” Mattheo groaned as his head lobbed back before popping back forward again. “Listen, ____…_____?” 

Mattheo looked around the the small room for you, when Pansy pointed through the curtain. You had walked away from the party and the group. Is this how Mattheo had to be, had to be under a love potion to admit his feelings to you? It was hurtful. Was it so embarrassing to be with you? No, what was embarrassing was that now everyone and their mother knew he was under the spell, and worse his friends did to him. 

You were half up the stairs out of the dungeon with hot tears flowing slowly down the curve of your cheeks. When you heard Mattheo calling for you. You didn’t stop no you kept going.

He managed to catch up grabbing your arm, “____? I called your name like a hundred times. Please stop running away— You’re crying? Why are you crying.” Mattheo pulled your forearm into his chest slightly embracing you. 

“Why am I crying? Because your embarrassed to be with me!” You whispered-shouted, shoving yourself away from him curling into yourself. “And now everyone knows that. If Mattheo Riddle doesn’t like her then who will.” You mocked. 

“What? No, ___ I do like you. I have always liked you. Now…more than just friends. I wasn’t embarrassed about liking you.” 

“You weren’t?” 

“No.” Mattheo fidgeted with the ring on his finger looking away from you, “I was embarrassed of myself. Worried that if we were together how would people react and well…I was scared of how they would treat you because of me.” 

“Matty…” You reached out to him and hugged him tightly. When you were letting go of him and pulling away, you were staring into his big brown chocolate eyes. Even when they had dark circles around them and littered with scars from all the scraps and bruises they were still so beautiful. Mattheo had the faintest grin on his lips, as he lightly pushed the hair out of your face. It was then you knew, lips touching as he softly kissed you. Most would think with a boy like him he would be fierce and controlling which you had no doubt, in the near future he probably would be. But now he wanted to be sweet and gentle. 

Stopping and looking at you one last time, his hands held your face wiping any remaining tears streaks on your face. 

“This isn’t going to be a one-time thing.” He said. 

“I would hope not.” 

“And I won’t ever need a love potion ever again with you.” 

You punched his shoulder with a smile, “And if anyone says anything about me being with you, you can always just fight them.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course, I’m always here to clean you up.” You told him pinching his cheek. Mattheo winced from the bruise that was there earlier. “After you heal from your other wounds first. Doctors orders.” 

“At least my doctor isn’t Theo anymore. He is so rough with me. He doesn’t have smooth hands like yours.” Mattheo said kissing your cheeks. “Do you want to go back to the party?” 

“I was thinking of your dorm room.” 

“Have I mentioned I love you?” He said as he quickly picked you up and threw you over his shoulders as you giggled happily. Mattheo Riddle was all yours. 

[naileadevoras]

another week , another gift ! today i'm sharing a list of secrets that i've compiled over the years of being in the rpc .

under the cut , there are 70+ secrets that i have individually grouped into different categories to make it easier for you to browse through the extensive list . although not all of them focus on dark & mature topics , keep in mind that a handful of these still have certain trigger warnings so please proceed with caution . hopefully you find this masterlist helpful .

a like and reblog would be greatly appreciated ! enjoy ♡

🔐 DECEPTION & LYING .

pretending to be vegan for attention.

assumed someone else's identity.

pretending to be in university when they've actually been kicked out.

lies about having certain allergies for attention.

fakes their instagram posts to appear more interesting.

has lied about the number of people they've slept with.

has changed their identity to run away from their past.

is faking their name / ethnicity / age / backstory etc.

is hiding a physical / mental illness.

is pretending to be color blind to seem more interesting.

has gone to random funerals for the free food & lies about their relationship with the deceased.

🔐 FAME & BEAUTY .

has had extensive plastic surgery but lies about it.

uses ghost writers for their songs.

has a secret love child with their co-star.

is dating their significant other for publicity.

is a social climber.

becomes friends with celebrities to rob their homes.

runs a blog with dirt on socialites & celebrities.

causes scandals to gain relevance.

🔐 FAMILY & FRIENDSHIP .

comes from a wealthy family but pretends to be broke.

has given their child up for adoption.

knows they aren’t the real biological father of their child but pretends they are.

knows that their parent is a murderer but hasn't told the police.

pretends to come from a wealthy family but their parents are actually drug addicts.

tells their friends they're an only child when they actually have siblings.

has been forced to participate in frowned upon things by their parents / friends.

caught one parent having an affair with the same sex but hasn't told the other parent yet.

gave up their newborn & their friend / parent / sibling is raising the baby as their own.

as a kid, saw their mother shoot their father but hasn't told anyone.

pretended to be pregnant but had a surrogate carry their child.

went into their friends house after they died & stole a bunch of their things.

🔐 LOVE & LOSS .

uses hook up apps for attention but never meets up with their matches.

has catfished someone they liked / didn't like.

is using their significant other as a "beard".

only dates people that are famous and wealthy.

they are still not over their ex.

uses an ouija board to communicate with the dead.

is currently cheating on their significant other.

is currently cheating on their significant other with their best friend.

has kept all major secrets from their significant other in fear that they would leave them.

has helped their significant other bury a body.

🔐 MURDER & CRIMES .

has cried to get out of a speeding ticket.

has bought a stolen cellphone & keeps getting calls from the owner.

is a kleptomaniac.

has seen a sibling / friend commit murder but is too scared to rat them out.

commits tax fraud.

has broken out of prison.

is a stalker / has a stalker.

has a side job where they do illegal businesses.

has a restraining order against someone.

has past criminal offenses e.g. public intoxication , underage drinking , dui , drug possession , scamming , vandalism , etc.

steals valuable items & sells them on the black market.

thinks they've committed a crime even when they didn't.

has had to clean their dead friends belongings & found out they were a serial killer.

steals from grocery stores all the time.

is withholding information about a police case.

they've gone to jail for a crime their friend / family member committed.

🔐 POWER & MONEY .

spends all their money on designer clothes but lives in a run down apartment.

dates & marries people for their money.

has gambled their entire life savings away.

used their power & money to hire a hitman for the person they hate.

has embezzled a few million dollars.

hires random people to be their friends.

their father is the leader of the largest criminal organization in their area.

🔐 SEX & DRUGS .

is a masochist.

used to be a porn star.

has depended on drugs for years.

has a drug / sex / alcohol addiction.

has participated in a "glory hole" multiple times.

has had parents try & hire a hooker for them when the parents found out they were asexual.

participated in the casting couch.

goes to aa / na meetings to make friends even though they're not addicted to drugs or alcohol.

has hooked up with more than 100 people in less than 24 hours.

hired a prostitute to lose their virginity to.

runs a very popular faceless nsfw blog.

pretends to have sex all the time but is actually a virgin.

[sleepy-steve]

steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.5k // inspired by this post ♡

—

november 1983

It wasn’t a bad gig, as far as eternal work in the Underworld went. Eddie didn’t even have to row the boat. He was more of a figurehead. Someone for the souls to follow. Someone to guide them. Seemed like an odd thing to entrust to a dead eighteen year old from the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere USA, but Eddie wasn’t going to argue. Didn’t even know if he could. It had all gone very smoothly. All the souls doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. Until Steve appears.

Eddie spots him sitting on the riverbank, knees pulled up. Looking a little too casual, in Eddie’s opinion, but he didn’t know the guy’s life. Some souls were more prepared than others.

“Hey, man, time to uh, get moving,” Eddie says, and cringes at himself. He’d already been spoken to about his boat-side manner. But how were you supposed to talk to people that had just died? Eddie still hadn’t quite worked it out. Was supposed to find his own words, instead of working off a script.

“Hm?” The soul looks up in mild surprise. He looks to be about Eddie’s age, and has a black eye, a split lip, and a nasty cut across his nose. Jesus, wonder what happened to him. It wasn’t polite to ask, Eddie’d been taught.

Eddie gestures vaguely at the boat. “C’mon. I’m taking you to the next part.”

“What happened to the last guy?” The guy tilts his head to the side, hair flopping with the movement.

“What?”

“The last guy who was on the boat?” The soul asks, waving a hand in the general direction of the boat. Even from where he stands, Eddie can see the bruises on the guy’s knuckles. “It used to be an older guy, tallish, beard…?”

“I… I don’t know, man.” Eddie flounders. He’d had some chatty souls before, but none that asked questions he wasn’t trained to answer.

“Hm…” The guy hums thoughtfully, nodding to himself. Shifting slightly, he settles into a more comfortable position.

“So…” Eddie stares at him with wide eyes, brows raised expectantly. “You gonna get on the boat or…?”

“Nah.”

“…What do you mean, nah?” Eddie asks incredulously. Was that even allowed? What would happen if a soul didn’t get on the boat? Would Eddie get in trouble for not collecting him?

“Not getting on the boat.” The guy smiles at him, a little crooked from the scar across his lip. “I won’t be here long, don’t worry.”

“What…?” Eddie trails off, before recognition drops into his mind. It was that smile, it reminded him of… “Steve? Steve Harrington?”

“Yeah?” Steve confirms, brows pulled together in confusion. “Wait… holy shit… Eddie, right?”

“Yeah!” Eddie leans over the edge of the boat, bringing him as close as he dares. Close enough to see the blues fade into purples in the bruises on his face. The trail of dry blood still under his nose.

“You died, like, not that long ago, right?” Steve asks, not making any moves to get closer.

“Yeah, yeah, house fire.” Eddie waves him off, not wanting to dwell on the memories of his shitty father and those last moments where Eddie tried to save the few good things he had left. “Fuck, man, I’m sorry you’re here though.” Professionalism is out the window in favour of familiarity.

“Ah, it’s okay,” Steve waves him off back. “Like I said, won’t be here long.”

Eddie knows what this is. Denial. He’d seen it many times since starting this job. “Steve…” He keeps his tone soft, just like he was taught. “I know it can be hard to accept, but you’re dead. That’s why you’re here. You have to get on the boat in order to move on.” Steve is giving him a bemused smile, and Eddie feels a twinge of irritation. He’s doing his best. “I’ll be with you the entire time, I promise.”

“That’s… nice, man,” Steve says, slight grin still on his lips. “But I’m not getting on the boat.”

“Steve. You have to get on the boat.” Eddie throws his hands down to gesture at said boat, exasperated.

“No, I don’t.” Steve gives a little shake of his head.

“Get…” Eddie loses steam for a second before gearing up again. “Get on the boat, man.”

Steve just blinks at him. “I don’t need to.”

“Get on the fucking boat, Steve!” Exasperation is in each word now, Eddie losing his patience. If it wasn’t completely against the rules, Eddie would have jumped off the boat and dragged him on by the collar of his stupid sweater. The souls had to choose to move on.

With a glint in his eye and a half smile, like they’re in on some joke together, Steve still doesn’t move. “No.”

“You’re dead, man,” Eddie snaps. Fuck, he’s losing his cool and is gonna get told off for it. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”

“Woah, woah, Eddie.” Steve holds his hands up. Placating. Another ripple of annoyance runs through Eddie. “Okay, just—I know I’m dead. But I don’t stay dead. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

Oh, okay. So Harrington is delusional. Eddie briefly wonders just how hard he’d been hit, looking over Steve’s bruises. Was this what killed him? Eddie holds back a grimace. “Just… get on the fucking boat, man. I know it’s hard, but you have to move on. Also, I might get my ass handed to me if you don’t, so like, maybe do it for me?”

Steve laughs good-naturedly. Hopeful that he’s finally gotten through to him, Eddie can’t help but crack a smile at the sound. “So, s’that a yes?” he asks, keeping his tone light.

“Sorry, man,” Steve laughs. “Still a no.” Eddie slumps over the side of the boat dramatically, hair almost dipping into the black water. “But don’t worry. Last guy never got in trouble for not collecting me, so you should be fine.”

Pulling himself back up with an exaggerated sigh, Eddie settles with his forearms on the edge of the boat. “Okay, Harrington. I’m choosing to trust you,” he says, giving Steve a pointed look. “Can I ask…” Steve raises a brow. “What, uh… what happened? To you?” Eddie gestures vaguely at Steve’s overall appearance. The black eye, the cut across his nose, the split lip.

“Oh, this?” Steve points to the bruise. “This isn’t what killed me. Got into it with Byers. Not important, really, anymore…” He trails off before shaking himself. “This, though…” Lowering his knees, dropping his denim-clad legs to the grass, Steve reveals several deep wounds to his chest and stomach.

Eddie lets out a low whistle at them. “Christ, Harrington. You get attacked by a bear or something? We even have bears in Hawkins?”

Steve snorts. “Nah, I don’t know what this thing was. Some kind of alien-monster-creature. Face opened up all…” Steve holds his hands around his face, wiggling his fingers in a fan. “…creepy.”

Looking at him with furrowed brows, Eddie isn’t sure if Steve is messing with him, or genuinely believes that a monster killed him and that he’s not going to stay dead. Eddie stays silent, assessing him.

“Anyway,” Steve clears his throat, awkward under Eddie’s stare. “Nancy and Jonathan are probably freaking out right now, I’ll have to explain when I wake up.” He’s rambling, Eddie notices with slight amusement. “Which should be soon, though this might be the longest I’ve spent down here. Last time was quicker for sure.”

“Last time?” Eddie asks, unable to stop his curiosity.

“Yeah, the, uh, car accident,” Steve says. “Got t-boned at an intersection, died on the spot. Woke up with a broken arm, three broken ribs, and this crazy head wound.” He waves a hand around the side of his head. “Got lucky, all things considered.”

“Right…” Eddie vaguely recalls hearing about Harrington’s car wreck from last year. But surely he hadn’t died. It wasn’t impossible, but highly unlikely.

“You don’t believe me.” Steve grins at him, and Eddie feels his cheeks warm at it.

“Can you blame me?”

Steve considers him for a moment. “No, I guess not.” His head turns sharply, as though he hears something that Eddie doesn’t. “Time’s up.” Steve stands, brushing blades of dry grass off his jeans. He gives Eddie a two-finger wave. “Until next time, Munson.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie leans over the side of the boat again as Steve turns to walk away. “Where are you going?”

Throwing a thumb over his shoulder, Steve huffs a laugh. “Back.”

“Steve!” Leaning dangerously far over the edge of the boat, Eddie calls after his retreating form. He watches with wide eyes as Steve quite literally fades from view, figure growing more translucent until finally disappearing completely. Unable to pull his gaze away from the empty grass field where Steve stood just a moment ago, Eddie only has one thought in his mind:

What the fuck?

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Dreemurr of Jokes

1 | 2 | 3

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Toriel stops by Sans' shop for some goods, and for some more cheery distractions! Unfortunately, all this time later, it's still too difficult to escape reminders of what's been done.

It was fun finally getting to do some stuff with Sans in this universe! The last part for this trio of scenes will be up sometime next week!

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1 Panel 1: Interior shot of a small store, with displays of goods, loose plywood, sacks of things. Two circular woven hangings bracket the door through which Toriel enters, a heavyset woman in a polka-dotted dress with a basket over her arm. Sans watches her enter, though we see only the back of his head. 

Panel 2: Toriel enters the shop and we see more displays, mostly food. There are large potted trees as well, and the shop’s counter, draped in patterned cloth and decorated with candles. Toriel: “Well, hello again. I was wondering if you had-” Sans, a jovial, bearded man dressed in loose robes and always smiling, waves a hand and cuts her off. “Hold on, you hear that?”

Panel 3: “...Hear what?” Toriel asks, nonplussed. Up close, her face is soft but distressed.

Panel 4: Sans leans over his slightly messy counter, still grinning. “I HERB that you needed some more cinnamon cloves, and look what I have here!” He offers a handful of herbs. Up close, the cuffs on his robe sleeves are patterned with little bones.  

Panel 5: “Just what I needed! How did you guess?” Toriel exclaims, reaching out with a real smile to accept the herbs. She and Sans are framed by other mysterious shop wares- jars of things, open sacks, rolled-up mats. Things you might find in an open-air desert market. 

Page 2 Panel 1: Sans: “Was just thinking it’d been awhile since I saw you making the neighborhood rounds with some of those pies of yours… Figured you were planning to start this month’s soon!” Sans gestures up at Toriel in explanation. 

Panel 2: Toriel smirks, setting down a handful of coins.  “And perhaps hoping that I would stop by your place first with them?” Sans: “I pride myself on my forward thinking, y’know.” His grin is conspiratorial as he leans towards her and he taps his temple with one finger. 

Panel 3: Toriel, eyes sad despite her smile: “All right. How about this: Tell me a good joke, and you have my word you will have the first and freshest one.”

Panel 4: Sans: “Just a good joke?” He raises an eyebrow. 

Panel 5: Toriel clutches her chest- we don’t see her eyes. “I find myself in desperate need of levity these days.” 

Panel 6: Sans waves his hand as if to keep her from feeling like she need say more, scratching his chin in thought with the other.  “Sure, I got one…” 

Page 3 Panel 1: Sans, with the smug grin of someone about to tell a terrible pun: “Why was the empire soldier happy to get demoted to horse groomer?” Toriel, with her hand on her chin in thought: “I do not know, why?” 

Panel 2: Sans shrugs widely like the answer is obvious. “Because he finally had STABLE employment!” 

Panel 3: Toriel laughs in genuine delight, although maybe a little harder than expected. 

Panel 4: Toriel: “Thank you, I needed that.” She smiles a relieved little smile. Sans: “No problem. So hey, aside from the pie… Can I maybe get an invite to those little get-togethers I see some folks around here doing once a month?” He steeples his fingertips together. 

Panel 5: San’s dialogue continues: “I’m so curious as to what goes on then!” We only see Toriel, though, shocked and dismayed. She’s thinking of the Ritual gatherings- townspeople gathered in their robes and animal masks- reindeer, fish, but most centrally, the goat masks she and Asgore wear. 

Panel 6: Toriel: “Unless you are completely enraptured by tedious talk of planting schedules and building repairs, I believe I can sate your curiosity by saying you would find them quite boring.” She waves a hand in front of her, dismissing the thought- her expression is once again drawn and weary. 

Page 4 Panel 1: Toriel turns to leave, waving goodbye. “You should look forward to your well-earned pie more!” 

Panel 2: Sans gives her a slightly skeptical look. “Alright.” is all he says. 

Panel 3: As she leaves, Toriel looks down and sees for the first time a small statue set by the door, surrounded by candles- it’s not a merchandise display, more like an altar. The statue is a horned figure holding a bowl filled with greenery- an offering of some type. The figure is rounded like a sitting child, and simple, with closed eyes and little other detail. 

Panel 4: Toriel’s dialogue over a close up shot of the figure: “What an interesting little figure you have. It does not look like it is for sale, is it?” The little horned one has three toes and four fingers on its stubby little arms and legs, and a detail on its forehead that could be a suggestion of hair, or it could be a symbol. The pillar candles surrounding it have been burned enough to have long wax drips pooled around them. 

Panel 5: Sans: “Nah, that’s just a holdover from my home country. Supposed to help keep demons out of your space.” He seems uninterested in this bit of lore, but Toriel, still facing away, is wide-eyed and shaken.

Panel 6: Toriel whirls back to him, sweating. “I-Is that so?” 

Panel 7: Sans’s expression intensifies, eyebrows dropping dramatically. “Sure thing. You know what happens when demons get in your grain stores?” 

Page 5 Panel 1: “They’re OATsolutely RYE-ined!” Sans holds his hands wide, like he’s waiting for the rimshot effect. It’s almost like his shop counter and back wall are suddenly a stage. 

Panel 2: Toriel hides a giggle behind her hand, relieved. 

Panel 3: “Is that something you have had to deal with previously?” she asks, stepping a little closer in her interest. Sans makes a slight gesture of dismissal. “Nah, I don’t really go in for that sort of stuff, honestly.”

Panel 4: Sans: “My brother, though… He’s all in on charms and wards and that sort of thing.” He gestures up, as if to point to wherever it is in the town that his brother might be now. 

Panel 5: “Keeping customs from your home country, I suppose?” Toriel asks, drawn again into the shop and closer to Sans. “Something like that,” he responds, leaning forward on his counter. On the wall next to him, there’s another woven wall hanging like the ones over the door.  Toriel: “Do you have any customs that have a reverse effect?” 

Panel 6: Sans looks as skeptical as one can while constantly grinning. “You mean like, if you want demons in your house?” 

Page 6 Panel 1: Toriel puts a hand up in denial. “N-No, that would obviously be undesirable! I meant more… just out of curiosity about your home.” 

Panel 2: Sans stares up at her, for a beat of silence. 

Panel 3: “Maybe? Again, this stuff isn’t my thing.” He leans back in his chair with his hands behind his head, nonchalant as can be. “And anyways, we left our country for a reason. Old customs aren’t relevant in this town, y’know?” 

Panel 4: Toriel once again turns to go, with a rueful smile. “Maybe not… but I cannot imagine letting go of your entire history.”

Panel 5: Sans shrugs and looks away. “There’s worse things to let go of, honestly.” 

Panel 6: Toriel, gritting her teeth, thinks of a happier time tucking Kris into bed. 

Panel 7: Close on Toriel’s expression, now more haggard and pained than it was when she came in. She clutches her chest tight. 

[sushiyuzu]

mountain man

warning: fluff — husband!sylus surprises you with his facial hair for the 1st time 🧔

dragon's heart | sylus fanfic book

"oh my—"

"no."

"oh my g—"

"quit it," sylus cuts you off, turning his head slightly but clearly not quick enough to avoid your staring. you're standing there, mouth hanging open, eyes wide as you take in the sight of him. he’s grown a beard. a beard and a moustache. and they actually look good.

you blink rapidly, trying to process the new image of him that’s now permanently burned into your brain. "since when did this happen?" you ask, voice high-pitched with disbelief.

"not long," he says, shrugging nonchalantly like it’s no big deal. but you can tell by the tiny twitch at the corner of his lips that he’s enjoying your reaction. "figured i’d try something different."

"different? different is an understatement," you mutter, stepping closer, eyes locked on the sharp lines of his jaw. his facial hair is neatly faded, not scruffy or unkempt, but perfectly trimmed in a way that looks... deliberate. you almost hate how well it suits him.

without thinking, your hand reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of his beard. you pull back instantly, gasping. "oh my god, it’s sharp!"

sylus smirks, clearly amused. "that’s what happens when you grow a beard."

"it tickles!" you laugh, rubbing your fingers together where they touched his stubble. it’s coarse, prickly, the kind of texture you wouldn’t expect on him.

"you’re acting like you’ve never seen a beard before," he teases, leaning back casually, arms crossed as he watches you process this new version of him.

"not on you," you retort, narrowing your eyes. "you always keep your face smooth. what happened to the sylus i knew?"

"he evolved," he says, deadpan, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "is this better or worse?"

you hesitate, squinting as you take another closer look. he looks... different, yes, but not in a bad way. there’s something oddly charming about the beard, the way it frames his face, makes him look a little more rugged but still polished. like he’s stepped into a new version of himself.

"i hate to admit it, but..." you sigh dramatically, "you look kinda hot."

sylus raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. "kinda?"

"don’t get cocky," you warn, though the grin spreading across your face betrays you. "i’m just surprised, that’s all. i’m not used to this... mountain man version of you."

he chuckles, reaching up to rub his own jaw, the sound of his fingers brushing against the coarse hair somehow making the moment even more real. "mountain man? please. this is still low maintenance."

"low maintenance, my ass," you laugh, shaking your head. "you’ve probably been checking yourself in the mirror every five minutes to make sure it’s perfect."

he shrugs again, unbothered. "i like to look good."

"you always look good," you mumble, almost under your breath, but he hears it.

"oh?" sylus smirks, leaning in just a little, his voice low. "is that a compliment?"

"don’t push it," you grumble, trying to hide your smile. you can still feel the sharpness of his beard on your fingertips, the way it tickled when you touched it. the memory makes your cheeks warm, and you find yourself wondering how it would feel against your skin if he kissed you now.

before you can dwell on that thought, sylus reaches out, taking your hand and placing it back on his jaw. "here," he says, a challenge in his eyes, "feel again."

"i already did," you say, but your hand stays where he put it, fingers trailing along his stubble again. it’s sharp, tickling your palm in a way that sends a strange shiver down your spine.

"told you," he says, his voice softer now. "i’m still me. just... with a little more edge."

you roll your eyes at the pun but can’t help the smile that creeps up. "fine. i’ll allow it. but don’t expect me to get used to it right away."

"take your time," sylus says, pulling you closer. "i’m not going anywhere."

you snuggle into his chest, resting your head against his shoulder, the familiar comfort of being wrapped in his arms mixing with the new feeling of his beard brushing lightly against your forehead. it’s different, but in a way that makes your heart flutter just a little more.

"you’re lucky i love you," you mutter.

"i know," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, the tickle of his beard making you giggle against him.

and as you relax in his embrace, you realize that whether clean-shaven or not, sylus will always have the ability to surprise you—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

"i love you most, sweetie."

backup acc: @sushibelle