#what are you doin round these parts -them @ each other

[brenwritesss]

Tru Fru part 2

Paige Bueckers x reader

Summary: Paige invites you over to her dorm, allowing the two of you to get to know each other.

(If you want an alternate smut version, let me know! Or if you want a part 3)

(Also sorry for the real late upload, I ended up rotting in bed all day yesterday and never finished the ending to this part)

You stood in front of her door for five minutes, contemplating whether or not you should even be here right now. You had just met this girl twenty minutes ago and she didn’t even second guess having you over at her place. Should that have been a red flag? 

You don’t even know what the two of you would be doing once you were inside. What was there to talk about? Considering you didn’t even know who she was, you doubt there would be much in common. You put your keys into your pocket, allowing you to knock on her door after almost running back down the hall and back into your car. 

You heard someone stumble on the other side of the door, a few voices rising to the surface. You were unaware that she had roommates. You stood there quietly, taking in your last few seconds before the door opened. A girl who wasn’t Paige and was taller than you, looked at you confused. “Hi?”

“Hi, uh Paige invited me over. Is this the right dorm?” You looked back at your phone making sure the room number she gave you matched the room you were at right now. And there were no mistakes.

Her confusion turned into smiles when she said, “Oh, you’re the Tru Fru stealer.”

“Excuse me?”

She broke out into laughter. “Yeah, you kinda dirty for that, not gonna lie.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t steal anything, it’s her fault for not getting there sooner and taking it.”

“And you right,” she moved away from the entrance, allowing you to walk inside. “I’m KK, by the way.”

You smiled at her, turning towards her. “Y/n. I’m assuming you’re on the basketball team too?”

“And a Tru Fru lover. So I better not be seeing you in any Target taking the last bag,” she said in a tone that let you know she was joking.

“So who’s better? You or Paige?”

“Girl, me for real. Trust.” There was something about KK that instantly brightened your mood. You didn’t know how to explain it. 

“Yo KK, down to join me in a new round?” Another girl walked out of a room towards your left. She was wearing a hoodie just like KK, her braids coming down to cover the top of the letters. She held a video game controller as she stopped when she saw you in the middle of their living room.

You gave her a small wave, smiling shyly. “I’m Y/n.”

“You’re Y/n? I’m Ice. Girl you are gorgeous,” she said, complimenting you.

A blush tinted your cheeks and you let out a small laugh, “thank you, that’s so nice. You are so pretty.”

She flipped her hair back with her hand. “Thanks girl.”

“Ay, what y’all doin out here,” Paige’s voice echoed through a small hallway, stopping short when she sees you standing next to KK. Her arms going behind her back, she smiled at you, “I didn’t know if you would actually stop by.”

You shrugged. “It’s not like I had anything better to do,” you joked. “And this bag is too big to keep to myself.” You held up the Tru Fru bag that you two fought over.

Both KK and Ice snickered, obviously knowing what had happened at Target. “You still want to pay up?” You threw her the bag, Paige catching it with ease.

She looked you up and down and that familiar feeling you had felt back in Target resurfaced. Paige was still in that Tru Fru sweatshirt and UConn sweatpants that you had met her in. That hoodie is about to be mine, you thought to yourself.

“Nah, I like having your number more,” she said, making the butterflies in your stomach multiply. 

Ice made a sound, making everyone turn towards her. “Okay Paige coming in with the rizz.”

“Shut the hell up,” Paige scolded, lightly smacking her arm with her free hand.

KK pulled out her phone, “Yo, we finna call Nika and Azzi and show them your mad flirting skills.”

Paige rolled her eyes while you laughed, having no clue who Azzi and Nika were but you assumed they were more of Paige’s teammates. Paige walks towards you, eyes on KK. “You’re not gonna call them and we are gonna go chill in my room.”

Paige grabbed your hand and the action surprised you. Ice gave you and Paige a look that screamed ‘what the fuck’ while KK just continued laughing, typing in her phone.

Paige led you into her room, which was bare compared to yours. Her bed was fit into the corner, a bright purple comforter atop that you just wanted to snuggle into. Her dresser was directly across, a TV and a playstation decorating the top of the dresser. Next to her bed was a nightstand holding a pile of books.

You stood in the middle of the room, not really knowing what to do. “Nice room.”

“Thanks,” she said, more of a whisper. After closing the door behind her, she leaned against it. “Sorry about my teammates, they’re joking.”

“Oh I don’t mind,” you assured her, “my roommate is the same way, so I get it.”

She smiled at you and pointed toward her bed. “You’re chill to sit down.”

“Thanks,” you smiled back and took a seat on her bed. You couldn’t lie, this was incredibly awkward as you both didn’t know what to say. 

Paige sat down next to you, looking at you while opening the Tru Fru bag. “So, what’s your major?”

“Biology. What about you?”

“Oh shit,” she said. “Biology’s cool. I’m majoring in human development, family studies. But I plan to go pro in the league after I graduate.” 

You admired her determination in her answer. Even after only knowing her for an extremely short amount of time, you could tell she was very passionate about basketball. Just like how you were with biology. How you both were willing to do anything to achieve your goals in your careers.

“How long have you been playing?”

Paige adjusted her seating, turning more towards you. And closer to you. “Since I was a kid. You have no idea how many photos my mom has of me in basketball jerseys when I was like seven years old.”

“I don’t think I could ever play a sport like basketball. But hockey,” you continued, “that’s where it’s at.”

Paige raised her eyebrows, your comment earning a chuckle from her. “Really? Hockey?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s a hot sport to play.”

“So is basketball not hot?” she asked, popping a piece of Tru Fru into her mouth.

You reached into the bag, grabbing a handful and moving your legs up onto her bed so that your whole body was now on her bed. “It’s hit or miss.”

“Watch me play then that’ll change your mind,” she winked, earning a laugh from you.

“You inviting me to your game?”

“Obviously.”

You both stayed there for a while, eating the fruit. You could feel the tension between you two so you took to looking around her room while you could feel her eyes on you, examining every part of you. “So do you play hockey?” Paige asked you.

You shook your head. “I wish.”

“You should,” she said as she leaned towards you. Only a few centimeters toward your ear she whispered, “since it’s a hot sport, you’ll fit right in.”

“Well now I have to play,” you whispered back.

Still close to your face, her eyes lingered on your lips then back up to your eyes. “So what do you think?”

“Of?”

“Tru Fru.” She holds the bag in between your faces. You grab it from her, eating some. “It’s actually better than I thought it would be. I can see why you’re so obsessed with it.”

“I’m not obsessed.”

“Explain the merch then,” you said, pointing to her sweatshirt.

“Playing college basketball has its perks,” she whispered once more and gently grabbed your hand. You had a Tru Fru piece in between your fingers that you were about to eat. Paige guided your hand toward her mouth, her lips tickling your fingers as she took the piece from your hand. “Like getting a pretty girl’s number.”

Every part of you melted when she did that with your hand. “You’re gonna have to try a lot harder than that to make me fold.” That was a lie, you were folding right about now.

“Deal.”

There were a few voices outside Paige’s door but the two of you drowned out the sound with the growing tension between the two of you. You smiled at her, biting your lip in the process. Paige’s hand was still wrapped around yours when KK barged into the room.

“Hey Paige, the live wants to say-oh shit,” KK yelled, turning the phone away.

“KK, what the fuck,” Paige shouts, moving away from you in an instant. Ice came in, taking the phone from KK and going into another room.

KK ran up to the two of you. “Y’all I’m so sorry, I thought y’all were chillin’ playing video games or something, not making out.”

You set down the Tru Fru bag. “We weren’t making out. We were talking about hockey.”

Paige looked at you then back at KK. “Why would you go live right now? You do realize they just got a full view of her right?”

“What?” you asked, confused as to what they were talking about.

“Bro, I’m sorry. You know I wouldn’t do it on purpose.” KK looked scared almost. Not at Paige, but of what happened. Or what was going to happen.

You stood up, backing away from Paige and KK. “Can you guys tell me what’s going on?”

Paige itched the back of her neck, scrunching up her nose. “KK was live on instagram and she walked in with the camera pointed at us.”

You shrugged. “That’s not bad. Only a few people were on the live right?”

KK gave you an anxious look. “No yeah, it was only a few,” she trailed off, “thousand.”

You swear your eyes could have popped out from your skull with how wide they grew. “I’m sorry, what?”

KK continued apologizing, “I’m so sorry Y/n, but a few thousand people just saw what looked like you and Paige kissing on live.”

"I'm assuming that's really bad then?" you asked.

Paige walked over to you, looking you in the eyes when she says, "I'll make this up to you with all the Tru Fru you want because this is about to be trending on social media for a bit."

[gutsby]

Mr. Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

Warnings: NSFW. Dad's friend Daryl! Drastic age gap!! Daryl's a dirty old pervert in this one :-) Voyeurism. Masturbation. Descriptions of oral sex (m!receiving). Dirty talk. Degradation. Slight misogyny. Daryl may or may not masturbate out a window at some point.

You had an old pair of Daisy Dukes and a dream.

Faded, frayed, and two times too small for your frame, the shorts hiked an inch up your ass every step you took across the room. Made it damn near pointless bending over before the man in front of you—he could see every inch of your butt regardless—but you did it all the same.

This was Mr. Dixon, after all.

Cool blue orbs illumined by candlelight took the sight of you in and flitted away just as fast. His hands busied themselves with the gun he was taking apart, while you reached for the bullet that had just rolled onto the floor.

“Here you go, Mr. Dixon.”

Your voice had a charming lilt as you held the round out to him.

“Over there,” Daryl grumbled, jerking his head toward the end of the table, “An’ what’d I say ‘bout callin’ me tha’?”

“I feel weird calling daddy’s friends by their first names.”

You shrugged and chucked the tiny piece of lead into the pile of ammunition like Daryl had told you to. Then you sat down beside it, crossing your arms.

He could be so cruel sometimes. Just fooling with his pistol and barking orders like a drill sergeant. Never looking at you longer than a second, and if he did, just shooting you a glare or wounding you with a scowl.

He’d been the toughest nut to crack out of all your father’s friends. No matter how straight-laced and upstanding the men around Mr. Grimes had made themselves out to be, you’d always found the fault line—the weak spot that got you access to the filthiest parts of each one. You’d teased and you’d flirted, earned a couple groping touches and open-mouthed caresses from the likes of the late Mr. Walsh and many others. But never Mr. Dixon.

Even now, sitting across from him in your skimpy Wrangler cut offs, wedges, and a skintight, starch white tank top stretched so tight over your tits the fabric was practically see-through, it was like you were invisible to him. You kicked your feet out in front of you as they dangled from the table and actually felt yourself pout at the feeling of frustration bubbling in your chest.

“I wanna help.” Sounding pitiful.

“No use,” Daryl said as he studied the barrel of the gun with an inscrutable expression, “Already told yer dad, ain’ no use for little girls on the range.”

Your nostrils flared as you started back on your feet.

“I am plenty useful, Mr. Dixon. And I— I’m not the little girl you think I am,” you fired back, sounding more miserable and juvenile with every word you spoke.

At the last, Daryl looked you up and down. It was hardly more than a passing glance, but deliberate enough to be expressive. Emotive.

He looked repulsed by you.

And, rather than dignify you with a response, he simply discarded his firearm on the table and left the room. You trailed behind him into the kitchen and watched him swing the refrigerator door wide on its hinges. Blue eyes surveying the shelves for a can of PBR, most likely.

“I can do anything you need me to,” you rejoined in a huff, desperate to be heard, “I’m twice the shot my old man ever was at my age, I can track if I need to— hell, I’m always doin’ stuff, Mr. Dixon. Things.”

You weren’t sure what rattling off your talents to a man who clearly had no interest in hearing them would accomplish, but you tried it anyway. You sounded like your father. When both of Mr. Dixon’s eyebrows raised in mock surprise and he plopped down on a bar stool opposite you, you wanted to melt right into the floor.

“Doin’ stuff, huh? Thangs?” he mocked your twang.

You gripped the door frame so tight your knuckles turned white. Daryl took a couple swigs of beer and stared you down through every swallow. He brought the can back to the counter, near-empty now, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I got a couple thangs for ya ta do,” he started, grinning, “Why don’t ya put those pretty hands ta work, throw a little apron on, and just...bake me a fuckin’ cake?”

“Funny,” you spat. You felt a surge of bile rise in your throat at the sight of his smug expression.

“Wash my car?”

“Fuck you.”

Daryl’s amusement only grew as the forbidden F-bomb flew from your lips—a word he knew Rick would never tolerate if you’d been in his presence. Presently, his eyes raked over your slight, shaking form at the threshold of the room and figured himself pretty lucky to have provoked such a strong reaction from you. He polished off the last of his drink in a single gulp.

“No need ta get all foul-mouthed, Ms. Grimes, I only—”

“Fuck. You.” Your reply came slower and a touch more measured than he’d expected. Even punctuated with a hint of a smile, making sure to stretch that Southern drawl when you added, “Dar-yl.”

It was the first time you’d ever used his first name.

You weren’t sure you liked it.

Daryl, on the other hand, felt quite certain the sound of his name suited your mouth just fine. A subsequent stir in his jeans wiped the smirk clean off his face, and he began to shift in his seat.

Before he could speak, you were already turning on your heels to leave. Formalities escaped quicker than your anger, and your fingers seemed to move of their own accord to flip Daryl off over your shoulder as you strode out the door, far out of his sight.

Meanwhile, and much to his chagrin, Mr. Dixon was already growing ill with the sounds of your parting wishes bouncing loud off the walls of his skull. Before the front door had even closed, his fingers, too, seemed to move involuntarily and do a thing they probably shouldn’t have done: touch the mound in his jeans.

He rubbed his clothed erection and groaned.

You were such a fucking brat.

Daryl had always thought with a father as eagle-eyed and attentive as Rick, you’d never reach this level of naughty, haughty, and straight up cunt-like, but here you were. Doing Lori proud the way you’d gotten another one of Rick’s best friends wrapped around your little finger.

You were good like that, and still too dense to understand a fraction of the effect you had on him while you did it. The way you’d been looking at him earlier, Daryl was sure you’d convinced yourself he hated you.

If you could only see him now, spitting in one hand and unzipping his fly with the other, freeing his cock, and finally, finally getting his fingers wrapped fast around his shaft with the sole thought of you on his mind as he did. If you could watch him shudder, close his eyes, draw a deep, jagged breath through his nose to scour the air for the faintest trace of your scent lingering there—maybe you’d get it.

Daryl slid his hand down his cock and exhaled a shaky breath. You would simply never “get it,” because he’d already promised himself he wouldn’t let that happen.

As his thumb grazed the head of his red-hot, leaking cock and imagined it was your tongue doing all the work, he had to remind himself this was nothing but a fantasy for him. There was just no way in hell he’d sink to Shane’s level and actually lay his hands on you, no—he was better than that.

He was a man of principle, furiously jerking his cock in his kitchen with the thought of his best friend’s daughter on his mind. He just couldn’t touch you.

Damn if those tits didn’t sit nice under that top, no bra to hold ‘em in. And those shorts…

Daryl felt his head drop back as a wave of pleasure coursed up his spine. In his mind, you were sucking him now, hollowing those soft, sweet cheeks around his member and bobbing your head up and down, again and again, eyes never leaving his. Maybe you’d know to cup his balls, use your tongue to draw a couple lazy shapes down his cock. Any way you wanted it done was exactly how Mr. Dixon needed it, he’d decided.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and fucked his hand like a man half his age.

Someone like you.

Scarcely nineteen and so oversexed they might burst.

The difference was Daryl would explode any second now; he had only to hunch over, pump himself a few more times, and finally shoot his load, pretending it was spraying your insides and not the floor of his kitchen.

He’d intended to do just that, clenching his jaw at the filthiest thoughts of you yet, when suddenly, a sound shook the house.

Daryl dropped his cock and looked right out the window.

Down below, outside, you’d laid heavy on your car horn. Let the noise blare a couple seconds before Daryl came bounding over to the window.

When he did, the man thought his legs might buckle.

You were standing beside his truck in the driveway, sponge in hand, soaked head-to-toe in water and soap and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen you. The fabric above your tits was translucent now, clinging like a second skin and affording his lustful gaze every inch of your torso. Your free hand was waving up at him.

Daryl inched the window open with trembling hands.

“Mr. Dixon, this truck is filthy!” you shouted from down below.

Swallowing and blinking was all he knew how to do, it seemed. Finally, Daryl managed, deadpan:

“I know.”

You placed your hands on your hips and narrowed your eyes up at him.

“Have you always been such a dirty old man?”

Fuck. It was like you knew what he’d been doing, crouched over in the privacy of his home while he drooled and dreamed of fucking you stupid. He watched you cross the front of the car.

And lean down to start rubbing your sponge across the hood.

Daryl sincerely feared you might hear his loud groan the second it rose to his throat. He gritted his teeth, tried to fight the sound, but came up short with nothing to show for his efforts but a whimper slipping past his lips.

You started swirling your sponge in circles, tits shaking with every movement you made.

“Too bad little girls ain’t good for nothin’,” you sighed.

When you leaned flat across the metal surface below you, Daryl pictured himself standing behind you, taking his dick and shoving it deep between your folds. Stretching you out and making you scream into the space in front of you.

Slowly, discreetly, Daryl’s hand drifted back to his cock.

“Yeah. Too bad,” he mumbled as you bent over to soak your sponge once more. When you straightened up, you made sure to squeeze the thing over your chest so the water would douse your front. Daryl took the window frame in one hand and his cock in the other, leaning out just slightly to ask, “This the ‘stuff’ ye’s talkin’ ‘bout?”

“Thangs, really,” you answered dryly.

The two of you exchanged a brief smile, and Daryl’s hand started stroking his length.

Lucky for him, and unlucky for you, the size of the window wasn’t primed to make you privy to the sight of him pleasuring himself. At most, you saw a forearm moving gently back and forth. You bit your lower lip and kept your sponge moving in loops.

“Well these ‘thangs’ are gonna get ya in a whole heap of trouble with yer daddy if ya keep this up, girl,” Daryl warned, nodding toward your house with a wary look.

“It’s empty, Mr. Dixon. Whole place is mine for the weekend,” you replied with a sly intonation.

Finally, you stopped long enough to get a hand back down to your shorts. Facing Daryl still, you popped a button on your denim cut-offs and looked up at him with a glossy, innocent stare. You pretended to feel for something that wasn’t there, snagged the band of your light pink thong, and lifted it up to Daryl’s hungry gaze. You saw his bicep visibly strain as he jerked his cock even faster.

Back inside, Daryl was panting, groaning, reeling at the thought of you all alone in your house next door, splayed out across your bed in a baby pink panty set. He soaked in the sight of you and curled his toes into the floor as a new jolt of pleasure broke out through his body.

He was closer than he’d ever been. He rested his head against the window and watched you run your hands over your body, down your front, in your shorts. He imagined your fingers grazing your cunt and how wet you must’ve been then, imagining him right back and fucking him steady with your eyes.

For a moment, your eyelids fluttered, and a blissful look crossed your features. Daryl rutted his hips at the thought of you finding your clit in front of him—desperately wanting to be the source of that pleasure himself—and pumped himself even faster.

“Darlin’, I…I need ya. In such a bad fuckin’ way.” He couldn’t keep the tender term of endearment from dancing on his tongue. The sight of you alone had his brain on the fritz.

You slipped your hand out of your shorts and brought a couple honeyed fingertips to the edge of your lips.

“How bad, Mr. Dixon?” you asked, eyeing him intently.

Daryl whined and felt his insides churn with the threat of release. He knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

“So— so bad. Need to fuck ya so bad.”

That satisfied your affirmation-hungry itch well enough. You pushed two digits between your lips and started to suck.

From that point on, you didn’t need to see him or hear him or be there waiting patiently on your knees to get a mouthful of his cum—you knew it was coming. Daryl’s face contorted with a blissful, fucked-out expression, and suddenly he was pumping that space below the window full of his load, likely spraying the whole damn thing on the wall.

You stood back and admired your work. Daryl had all but collapsed with both hands planted on the windowsill, wet, brown locks hanging low in his face as the aftershocks of his arousal washed over him.

He was panting and barely able to meet your gaze. You couldn’t quite read the expression.

At any rate, you knew your job here was done.

With a hand waving sweetly back up at him once more, you eyed the mess of a man—your father’s best friend—and started to reach for your bucket and sponge. You buttoned your shorts back up and took a step from his truck. When it seemed Daryl was just then starting to open his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and called out, cheerfully,

“See ya around, Mr. Dixon!”

[tabootoji]

"KISSIN' AND HOPE THEY CAUGHT US..."

LET'S DESCEND TO THE BOTTOM TOGETHER - PART 1 OF SELFISH DESIRES pt. 2 →

✰ - SYNOPSIS: suguru doesn't care whats going on around him when he's with you (or) you have to deal with suguru's high sex drive even when people are around. (ft. manami suda) ✰ - WC: 6.0k (got a lil excited, next parts might not be as long) ✰ - TAGS: reader is female, short, black and curvy, tongue kissing, nipple play, v. fingering, dry humping, dirty talk, praise, pet names, teasing, semi public, obsession/possessive, finger sucking, f. orgasm, impact play, size diff., groping, spitting (mentions of thigh riding, manhandling, dacryphilia, v. intercourse, cockwarming) no use of (y/n), all lower case ✰ - A/N: planning on making this 4 parts. this is my first fan fiction, so i hope you all enjoy :)

“you may enter.”

 you hear the tall buddhist priest next to you beckon in another wavering soul into the ‘restoration’ room of his monastery, where he helps those who cannot see the cursed spirits that torment them due to negative human emotion. geto suguru. with the low base of his soothing voice, he asks the human what troubles them, already gripping his hand out to extract the grotesque mass curled around their body like it's second nature to him, feigning interest in what the human has to say. 

 your sitting in a soft assortment of colorful patterned meditation cushions besides suguru, who lazily leans his muscular arm to rest his head on the tall bejeweled throne he sits on, long legs overstretch against the other arm of the royal seat. he turns the spirit into a small glinting black orb, flashing a beautiful smile on his angled face, giving the mortal the same teachings he gives all the others who come to his temple seeking help through his ‘rituals'. his smile doesn't quite reach his dark eyes, you notice. you're all too familiar with seeing the many facial expressions suguru fakes to the public eye, and the alluring ones he graces only you with.

 sugeru geto is a very busy man. throughout the day his schedule consists of leading worships, performing healing ceremonies, and ensuring that those occupying or taking care of his temple for his group were performing their roles dutifully. his soft spot for you is eminent - his heart can't bear being away from you for too long. so when he can, he integrates his pretty princess into his program. even if it means just having you sit with him during these dreary cleanses of monkeys that flock to the boat load into his home, he knew he could endure tending to whatever role he had to fulfill with you by his side. 

 as he took out his disinfecting deodorant to sanitize himself after the mortal exited the room, he snuck a glance at the ethereal being beside him.

 you sat cross legged on the arrangement of cushions on the floor alongside his throne. your kasaya and yukata robe that was similar in color to his hugged your round and curvy figure in a way that was so hypnotizing. you two are the only ones to wear these colors in the entire temple – a clear message to all on who you were and what you meant to him. your thick, tight curled strands of hair that usually cascaded the sides of your face down to your back were currently pulled into a slick and refined bun held together by an embellished hair comb clip. he admired this hairstyle on you – he had a better view of your illuminating melanated skin, your full lips, your cute button nose, and overall your captivating beauty. 

 his narrow eyes landed on your sweet wide ones, a slight blush cascading the canvas of your round cheeks. he smirks knowingly, realizing that both of you caught each other staring at one another. “are you doin’ alright little one? hope you're not too bored. are you comfortable?” he asks you. 

 “y-yes, i’m f-fine.” you stutter out. “please do not worry about me geto-sama.” you shift your gaze to the side, still slightly embarrassed at the fact he caught you eyeing him. but you can't help yourself. you have almost no choice but to gawk at the dashing man before you. the man that saved your life all those years ago. 

 you took note of the way his head laid on his hand, his long, luscious black hair covering his back. one strand that seemed to slip out of his top bun framed his handsome face. because of his height, his form draped completely across his seat. you are but in awe of his beauty, no wonder anyone who was blessed by his presence describes the man as charismatic, charming, godly

 suguru rolled his eyes, the thought of how he could try to make you gasp call out his given name briefly went through his mind before he chuckled lowly. “stubborn girl. how many times do i have to tell you – 's no need for honorifics between us. come, sit with me.” he holds his hand for you to take. you eye him hesitantly before placing your small hand in his large one, and he pulls you to him. 

 he guides your short frame to sit on his lap and you let out a shaky sigh, feeling his arms wrap around the swell of your hips, holding you closer to him as your thick thighs take perch onto his pelvis. he always initially asks you to sit on him when you stay during his sessions, and your bashful nature allows you to refuse him at first, giving him some minuscule excuse along the lines of not wanting to tire him out by carrying your heavy weight for too long. but you knew too well that you could not deny him of anything for too long. 

 “i apologize s-suguru…” you turn to say to him. you notice his large ears with protruding piercings perk up at your melodious voice slipping his name through your lips. the all consuming need he has for you courses through him yet again at the mere sound of your voice. he folds his hands together on your round stomach, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, feeling your nape get hotter to the touch as you continue, already making a mental note of his request. “...i always feel inclined to. after all, you are my savior.”

 suguru presses his lips to your shoulder, pecking it as he hums, thinking of that time all those years ago that he was blessed to have met you. in the first beginning years of his guise as a priest, you graced his presence by bowing at your feet, begging him to take you into his group. you had nowhere else to go - a rather weak sorcerer who spent your whole life abused by the mortals who raised you because of your divine gift of sight. you found a way to escape from your brutal environment and followed the rumors of a cleric who provided housing and leadership to those that can ‘see’ things others can't, while relinquishing those plagued by the manifestations of their own despair. 

 poor little one, suguru had thought when he first laid his eyes on you. you had presented battered and broken at the front of his door steps. it’s not your fault you were raised by dim witted monkeys. when you raised your head and bore your watery eyes from the ground to his, he looked deep into them and saw your potential. he saw the pain and turmoil you faced from your upbringing by those unlike you, and he could relate, having mortal parents himself. the dangerous path you took reminded him of why he himself broke away from jujutsu high.

 not only was he inspired by your gull, he was entranced by your delicate beauty that shined through your frayed outward appearance. he was overcome with the need to save you, shape you into the heavenly form of yourself he knew you could be, and in the back of his mind hoped he’d be lucky enough to one day call you a lifelong companion. 

 suguru took to you instantly, informing everyone in the monastery of their new member, and that all should treat you as they would treat him – or they would face his wrath. he had you reside in a room compounded with his, and while all others in the temple had clear and thorough roles to fulfill every day, the only thing suguru asked of you was to do whatever filled your heart with contentment and happiness. 

 and how else could you possibly do that without the kind and striking curse user who took you in with no questions asked, the first person in your life to ever show you such kindness, the man you practically fell in love with the first time meeting him, by your side as much as possible?

 after all this time you're still incredibly grateful that suguru not only allows you to cling to him, but that he still always seems pleased every time you're in his presence. little did you know, suguru was thrilled at the idea that you may feel the same way he does. the idea that the reason you're so attached to him was because you're as fond of him as he is of you made his heart skip.

 as more and more time passed, the both of you felt yourselves spiral into a never ending pool of emotions filled with passion, exhilaration, and most of all, desire.

 at first, suguru intended to respect your boundaries, never attempting to cross any dangerous lines when it came to you. but after some time, gentle and friendly gestures between companions became sensual and air stiffening tension between two budding lovers anytime you both were within close proximity of each other – which was almost all the time. hugs and cuddles turned into intimate embraces if you both clung to each other for too long. soft kisses on the hands and face turned intense when they lingered on the most sensitive spots of your bodies that only you two know of. 

 you both grew so close to one another, you eventually began asking suguru if you could stay in his room with him during the nights, which pretty much ended up with the both of you permanently living together in the same room. you both continued to muddle the borderlines of your relationship until the flooded gates opened that allowed both of you to indulge in each other to your hearts' content without having to feel guilty about it.

 that's all you can think about now when suguru begins trailing wet puckered kisses from your collarbone to your neck, stopping at the sweet spot below your earlobe and focusing his attention there, making you involuntarily squirm in his arms. suguru manages to pull you even closer to his hard lean body.

 “sometimes i wonder if you're the one who saved me, little one.” he whispers in your ear, before leaning down, blowing a puff of cold air from his mouth down the slight trail of saliva his lips left on your neck, causing you to shiver and turn your head to face him.

 suguru’s smile grows wider as he looks into your warmly rich colored eyes staring intently into him. “‘s there something you need from me, princess?” he asks teasingly, watching you glance down to his full sultry lips before quickly making eye contact again with his brown luminous ones again, swallowing harshly. 

 suguru is the highly esteemed leader of the sanctuary you call home, so you try to hold yourself to a respectful and reverent standard that should be held by anybody who could even think of being by his side. but it's as if your body betrays you when you're with him - especially this close. 

 your heart begins beating so fast it feels like it's banging against your chest. the temperature of your body increases till you feel like you're on fire. all the muscles in your body tighten up, your breathing quickens, and you're unable to ignore the pool of wetness that forms in between your legs that compels you to rub your thighs together for relief. 

 you get so caught up in your body going into overdrive that you almost forget that suguru had asked you a question. you blink once to remember, before scrunching your eyebrows together in a pout, too sheepish to express your feelings of lust out loud. 

 fortunately, suguru decides to have mercy on you - he knows how coy his girl can be - lifting one of the hands that gripped your waist and using it to cradle the side of your face, slotting his fingers to the back of your head to gently hold you in place. 

 “hm. it’s ok darling. know exactly what you need. stick your tongue out f’ me. need your lips. need to taste your mouth.”

 the words that roll off his tongue in his ravishing voice makes you audibly gasp out. suguru was never the type to beat around the bush, but him directing such inappropriate words to you with such ease always made your entire body tingle. 

 you listen obediently, slowly sticking out the wet mass in your mouth for him, closing your eyes as you feel your face heat up in anticipation.

 suguru smiles down at you. his docile, precious girl. his eyes darken with desire as you comply for him without question. always ready for me to make a mess of her. so cute. he thought, before sliding his own tongue out of his mouth to rub against yours, dancing and twirling them together, exchanging saliva with one another, making you moan out with your sweet voice while holding on to his robe for stability. he grips the back of your head tighter and pulls your face closer to his to deepen the kiss, sucking on your moist tongue and swallowing the rest of your pleasant noises into his mouth.

 for suguru, this is heaven on earth for him. having your bodies pressed against one another, groping at each other until one or both of you becomes undone in each other's arms. he’s almost embarrassed to admit that he’s already sporting a straining erection underneath his garments from just kissing you alone. 

 you both continue to explore each other's mouths with your tongues, sucking and biting where you can as you continue to share the same breath for some time. suguru begins to untie the string holding your yukata together, feverish to see if your body was expressing excitement just as much as his was.

 suguru releases your lips with a parting ‘mwah’, admiring the strings of saliva connecting your lips to his. he takes his thumb and swipes the bottom of your now swollen bottom lip, the result of his oh so greedy suckles during your mouth watering make out session. he takes note of how fast you’ve already turned putty in his hands from just fucking your mouth with his tongue. 

 he continues to undress you, pulling your attire enough for him to peer down at your stubby, erotic figure. your busty ample breasts bigger than the grips of his hands could hold were perky and well rounded. your taut brown nipples stood at attention the minute they were exposed to the cool air in the room, waiting for him to tweak at. your voluptuous stomach hung out, and suguru couldn't help but to salivate at your contours and rolls. his eyes finally wandered down to your puffy folds and thighs that glistened, already covered in your essence of messy slick. 

 suguru barely considered the possibility that another monkey may knock at the door anytime now to request for another one of his healings. because in his eyes you were a delicious dessert handed to him on a silver plate. 

 and right now, he had every intention to completely consume you. interruptions or not. 

 “s-suguru, someone might come in…” you voice out exasperatedly. it was almost frightening how you felt like prey that had finally been caught under his gaze, but it also sparked something inside of you. regardless, you tried your best to think logically. what would a mortal, a member of the group, or hell – even the maids or various service workers that constantly roamed and checked on every nook and cranny of the temple – think if they came into the room and saw you both like this?

 their superior, their god, roaming his fingertips against the arms of a half exposed, weakly curse user that squirmed in his lap with his every touch?

 your concerns slowly begin to fade the more lost you got in his persistent touches, feeling his mouth press against your ear as the pads of his fingers brush against your pebbled nipples, getting ready to tease and twist them till you jerk in his lap so much you leave a puddle of your own cum on his lap. only suguru was able to pull this primal urge from deep within you, making you lose all sense of reason from his caresses alone.

 “oh honey, don't think i’ll be able to stop myself anyway.” he murmured in your ear before licking up and down your earlobe, stopping at the lower spot behind it, and starting to swirl there with his hot wet tongue while he flicks his digits in swift movements against your erect nipples, proceeding to grope at your mounds while tightening the grip on his digits to rub and pull tightly at your responsive areola's that elicited the most adorable sobs of pleasure from you. 

 if suguru were being honest, he didn't care who or what was around him anytime he craved a taste of you. every time he got a look at your divine figure, blinding heat took over and before he knew it, he seemed to always have a bothersome hard on with you in his sights. distracting erections would refuse to go away even after he tried to relieve himself (multiple times), but to his surprise, you were all too willing to help him by not only giving your appetizing body, but your tender heart as well. of course for suguru it wasn't just all about the sex, even if he did choose to use it to express his devotion to you, alot. suguru derives the greatest pleasure from showing off your relationship to all. 

 so what if a useless monkey came in? 

 who cares if any of the staff members came to check on them and saw their leader's overbearing stature unraveling his pretty girl with only his calloused hands? 

 all the better for him. anyone could and should see with their own eyes how infatuated he was with you and only you.  

 suguru chuckles as he watches you whine and try not to buck your hips while he continues to fondle your stiff nubs. fussy girl. “s’ ok love. you don't have to hold yourself back. know how much you need this. oh … and you're not even wearing any panties. you can be so bad when you wanna be.” he teases you, letting go of your large tits to finally give attention to your increasingly soaking pussy. 

 he would have liked to have picked you up and turn you to face him, soothing his needy girl by letting you grind your twitching clit against his big thigh till you came, leaving a trail of your wetness on him as he slurps and tongues at your dark colored nipples. but with the way your glazed eyes looked up at him, eyebrows knitted together, lips parted, a bit of drool spilling out and sliding down the side of your jaw, he could tell you were getting desperate. shit – so was he. 

 he’ll give you exactly what you need – he’ll stuff his perfect girl's dripping cunt with his fingers till you explode all over him. 

 you flush at his accusation, quick to remind him that it was his suggestion for you not to wear underwear under your robe around the temple anymore so he could have “easier access to your sweetest spot wherever he wanted.” “s-suguru!”  you exclaim. “t-that's because...you told me not to –!” you jump in sugurus lap at the end of your sentence when he gently pinches the bundle of nerves between your thighs. 

 “i know sweet girl. ’s just so fun teasing you~” he practically purrs to you. suguru could be so mean sometimes! but you love him, even when he pokes fun at you. 

 you look up at him briefly to give him a small smile, before putting your attention to his fingers pulling apart your smooth lips that were already sticky with your arousal to get a better look at your pretty pink pussy. suguru can't help but whistle at the sight of your delicate flower. “look at her. isn't she just lovely?” hearing him refer to your cunt in the third person had you biting your lip to stop the moan that threatened to slip out, feeling yourself clench around nothing. 

 suguru drags a single one of his thick digits up and down the entrance of your drooling hole, picking up his pace a bit, enjoying the squelching noises your pussy makes as he strokes it. collecting enough of your juices on his finger, he slides it inside your rigged, tight walls and wiggles it deep inside you as his big palm kneads at your aching clit. “ always so fucking tight..” his voice rumbles out, and your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure. you arch your back while he continues to prod and poke inside of you.

 suguru busies his unoccupied hand by pushing away any part of your robe that touched his lap, then unties his own yukata to reveal his painfully stiff lower half. he had also decided to stop wearing underwear beneath his robe, thankful for his idea now as his angrily red cock begged for some kind of stimulation. he slits it upward in between your plump bottom, so now every time you pushed against him, your thick round ass cheeks would give his now full hard on some much needed friction.

 he slightly bends you forward briefly to admire the sight before him – his two toned, veiny, and ridiculously thick cock was enveloped in the cellulite of your fleshy rear end that involuntarily jiggled about with any slight movement. the obscene view made him let out a staggering groan. he lands a crisp ‘slap!’ down one of your big cheeks that makes you yelp in surprise. your eyes widened as the sting from the impact began mixing with your pleasure. 

 unbeknownst to you, suguru was in awe, watching the swell of your curved ass moving in ruptures that imitated moving water from the ‘thwack’ he gave it, enjoying the vibrating sensations to his aching length. he shudders, feeling himself twitch against your soft skin, his bulbous tip releasing a drop of precum out of his slit. 

 suguru had to seriously control himself before he threw you up in the air and fucked into you right then and there with his lengthy girth ruthlessly. he wanted to bury himself to the hilt in your wet cunt that was grasping his beefy finger so tightly. he wanted to see your twinkling eyes quiver as fat tears fell from them while you cried out on his cock. he could practically picture you bouncing on his lap, desperately trying to meet his thrusts like the good girl you were. 

 get ahold of yourself suguru, he muses, shaking his head, gritting his teeth and sucking in a harsh breathe. he needed to focus on stretching out your tense little hole first so you could take all of him properly. above all, he wanted to make sure you'd enjoy yourself just as much as he would.

 he pulls you back to his chest, holding the side of your hip with one hand as he begins a steady pace with the finger inside of you. “tsk, naughty girl. already sooo wet for me. was it ‘cause of our kiss? or have you been like this the whole time?” you moan out his name once he’s finished, indirectly answering his question. 

 “aww, my poor baby. 's my fault, i’ve spoiled you rotten. now when my pretty princess goes too long without me payin’ attention to her, she gets so needy, hm?” you open your big thighs wider to accommodate his rapidly moving hand, confirming his claims as his digits pump in and out of you. you feel his rough finger trace every inch of the ridges inside the slippery walls of your cunt. 

 your panting now as suguru continues to play with your body – the feeling quickly becoming an addiction you have come to crave at an unhealthy rate.

 “oh! oh y-yes! m’ sorry suguru, p-please, need you…to pay attention to me!” you squeal out, feeling him add another one of his fingers inside of you, because how could he refuse his baby's delightful request? he guides the hand on your wide hip to rock against him, and you move them in juicy circular movements as his fingertips continuously graze against your g spot, causing your pussy to gush all over his hand. 

 you can feel drops of his warm sticky precum dribble in between your ass, and suguru uses it as a lubricant while he humps behind you, grunting heavily in your ear. as he increases the speed his fingers surge into you, he matches it with the grinding of your bodies.

 “i know princess, i know.” suguru gasps out. “my little doll jus’ needed me to take care of her desperate pussy.” he pants. suguru just loved to watch his kind, quiet girl spasm out in ecstasy in front of him, because of him. he achieves so much satisfaction from knowing that he’s tinkered with your body so much, he’s practically trained your cunt to be his personal cock sleeve. you can't go mere moments around him without your pussy leaking down your legs. 

 “‘d-desperate…only for you, my love …” you breathe out in your angelically soft voice, causing suguru to moan at the dirty words you whispered to him. you both extract the same feelings of greed and unadulterated lust out of each other. you can dive into each other's darkest desires without any shame. 

 “are you feeling good, little one? talk to me gorgeous.” suguru hums, wanting to hear more of your seductive words and noises in your sultry voice.

 “ah...a-ah! oh god! mph…! feels so good sugu-suguru ! love it so much..” you cry out, thrashing around as an entertained suguru smiles at your words of affirmation, pressing a wet smooch on the side of your face. 

 your moans and pants now begin to increase in volume unapologetically. suguru is so happy when you let loose like this, it’s when you're the most confident in yourself. just looking at how exquisite you look as he fingers you, he pledges to find new ways to crack into your hard shelled exterior so he can see you like this more often. 

 maybe he could find out what extracurricular activities you're passionate about to keep yourself busy during the day. but suguru knows in his selfish heart that he wants you to spend all your time with only him, as you both continue to taint each other while you lose yourselves completely to your urges. right now, he’s determined to help you let go of the last strings of sanity you're clinging onto to keep yourself from descending to madness from the enthralling level of pleasure you're experiencing. he wants to hear you scream his name out so loud, the entire temple will know what he's doing to you. 

 so he adds another finger into you, now pushing three of his digits into your soppy cunt. the strong grip he has on your hip is bound to leave ghosts of his touch on your skin the next day as he helps you grind down on his lengthy fingers while you fuck yourself on them, babbling out broken sentences that get interrupted by your cries and hiccups. he’s pumping into your burning heat so fast now, that every thrust makes your huge breasts bounce around erotically. you are such a sight to behold in suguru’s eyes. he looks at your pupils practically glow with hearts as you turn into a puddle of mush.

 you're close – he can tell by the way your pulsating hole quivers around his digits, sucking them in so much he can barely pull them out, leaving his hand covered in your tasty fluids. the room is filled with the symphony of obnoxiously pornographic squelches your poor cunt makes.

 surguru leans his head over your shoulder and spits a fat glob of his warm spit onto your clit, presses his thumb against it, and rubs tight juicy circles into your love nub, making you start to see white. he grasps one of your small hands in his large ones and holds it against your squishy chest, pinching and pulling at your sensitive nipple again while he turns his face to you to lick up the drool still spilling out of your pink lips. 

 “my sweet, sweet girl. you're so damn beautiful, so gorgeous. ‘gonna come on my fingers? don't be shy, let yourself go. wanna hear my pretty bird sing. come for me, little one.” hearing his sweltering voice whisper such vulgar words to you was all it took for you to release the balloon threatening to burst inside of you. your orgasm hits you hard, disorienting you as your vision blurs. your fluttering cunt sprays down sugurus arm and lap, drenching them in your juices. your hips finally give out, suguru having to support your body as you fall back on to him, letting out a final loud moan. 

 you sit against him in exhaustion, your chest heaving as you try to catch the breath that was ripped out of your lungs. suguru pulls his fingers out of your gummy walls, watching in amazement as strings of your slick stay attached to his digits. he holds his hand soaked with your cum up as the bright light beaming in the room catches it, a sheeny glow that reflects all over his palm leaves him starving for your taste. 

 he begins licking his hand clean, rolling his eyes to the back of his head as he shudders at the rich taste of you on his tongue. not wanting to waste a single drop, he laps up your essence that's all over his palm. once he's finished, he looks down at your tired out face and laughs to himself. already fucked out, n’ i havent even put my cock in you yet. suguru wasn't complaining though. he enjoyed seeing your mind and body so blown from pleasure you can barely move or form coherent sentences.

 he leans his forehead against yours and presses your cheeks with his hand to pucker your lips for a kiss, entangling his tongue with yours yet again to swirl the taste of yourself in your mouths. suguru sucks on the fat of your bottom lip, nibbling on it softly before pulling away slightly to give you a dazzling smile. 

 “how’re feeling now, little one? all better?” you somehow find the strength to nod your head, closing your eyes as he peppers your face with more kisses. “yes…i feel…m-much better. thank you…suguru…” you murmur, still reeling from your powerful climax. 

 “‘s good my love, i'm glad. because now… 'm gonna make you feel even better.” his smile quickly turns into a mischievous smirk as he gently pushes you forward so you could feel his long shaft throb against your backside.

 suguru was just about to put his hands under your arms to lift you up and raise you down onto his pelvis, when there was a sudden knock at the entrance door of the room. you quickly sit yourself up on suguru's lap, wrapping your robe around your still exposed front, and tried to look as presentable as possible before the door slid open. suguru pouted. he was just about to fuck you silly on his dick.

 it was suguru's secretary, manami suda. she bowed her head briefly before strolling to the center of the room. the way she swished her hips as she walked showed off the fit her sleeveless dress had on her body. she turned her full attention to suguru as if you weren't even in the room and spoke. “geto-sama, you have one more healing ritual before the day ends. afterwards, there's a meeting you must attend with all the members…” manami trails off and raises an eyebrow at you when she notices you suddenly stiffen in the middle of her talking. 

 due to the placement of both of your robes and you hiding sugurus bottom half as you sat on him, manami was unaware of the movements of the jujutsu sorcerer she spoke to and how they were affecting you. during her drabbles about his upcoming schedule, suguru busied himself with grabbing your hips and grounding his stiff rod against your supple heat, your leftover cum assisting him with his desperate humping. while you tried (and failed) to keep as still as possible, suguru gave out a thoughtless, automatic response to his secretary. “thank you, manami. go ahead ‘n let the last one enter then.” 

 manami nods and gives a final bow, sashaying away and flipping her salmon colored hair to give you a skeptical glance before she exits the room. when the sliding doors slammed shut, you hide your now reddened face in your hands, suddenly feeling self conscious. you now realize that you must have been so loud before. what if manami, who already seems to detest you, or someone else in the temple had heard you? how would you be able to face them, you thought.

 clueless to the internal conflict you were facing with yourself, suguru wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head with a satisfied hum, before sitting both of you up properly on his pedestal while the two of you wait for the last pitiful mortal to come in. 

 “let’s get through the day as quickly as possible, hm? can't wait till we’re back inside our room.” he whispers seductively to you, contributing to the warmth rising in your cheeks. honestly if it were up to suguru, he’d still fuck you senseless infront of whatever monkey was coming in to complain about their problems. he’d have even continued what he wanted to initially do to you before manami came in, uncaring if anyone walked in on him filling his girl up.

 if others didn't get that he constantly needed intimate time with his woman, he had no problem satisfying their curiosity by showing them all the dirty things he does to you. the thought only manages to spur suguru on, and he decides that he wants to see you melt even more for him. however, suguru takes into consideration how modest you thrive to be in public settings with him, and decides to have some ‘pity’ on you.

 so while suguru continues to play his role as a kind hearted cleric during his final healing ritual of the day, he periodically raises his hips up to grind himself between your puffy folds, no barrier separating the two of you now, embracing you securely so you're constantly reminded of his longing for you.

 surguru gets so worked up from this, he changes his mind on being nice and asks you to at least cockwarm him, feeling his hard cock involuntarily twitch against you from the need to feel your cunt swallow him greedily. excuses for your refusal fall on deaf ears as you try to reason with him. after grumbling, suguru eventually realizes you may have been right after visualizing the risky idea: 

 the crown of suguru’s fat sensitive cockhead bumping against the squishy spot deep inside of you that pushes you over the edge, a spot only he can reach. unable to move, both of you falling to pieces at the guaranteed snug hold your pussy would have on his engorged length. his poor dick would have no choice but to release hot beads of his precum inside you that would only add to the mess of your sloppy pussy as you clenched, feeling your heartbeat from within.

 suguru almost thought he’d cum on the spot from just his filthy imagination alone, and you would no doubt follow suit as he feels your cunt spill more slick on him every time his bulb-shaped tip repeatedly catched on your abused clit, stimulating it with his agonizing thrusts. suguru will give you both what you need later, when he pounds into you mercilessly for hours in your shared bed, fucking you within an inch of your life. he can't wait to feel your pussy leave a mess down his heavy cock, milking him for everything he’s worth.

[h3rmess]

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY

Written by @h3rmess ✰

navi☆

-> cowboy!satoru x afab!reader x cowboy!suguru

warnings - SMUT! use of swear words, use of some spanish (im not native so please correct me if I got something wrong!!) Spanish translation at the end!!

notes - im literally screaming satosugu as cowboys have me in a CHOKEHOLDDD - smut is not usual from me pls don't cringe, or I'll cry

Wandering into the unfamiliar town, I looked around for anything that could indicate my next move. My horse, Lucky, was worn out beyond belief. The summer heat was like no other as she trotted through the desert. I dismounted, spotting a stable a few steps away from us. I led my girl into the stable, the shade it provided, relieving us instantly. I looked around to see if anyone was there.

"Hello? Anybody here?" I hollered, receiving no reply. With a huff, I stroked Lucky's head, comforting her, urging her to hold up a little longer.

A whistle echoed through the stable, catching my attention instantly.

"Well, ain't she a beauty!" His boots clicked on the ground, his hands in the loopholes of his jeans as he made his way in front of us.

"She really is." I looked at Lucky, petting her as she shook her head, neighing.

"I wasn't talking about the horse, muñeca." His voice deepened, igniting something in me.

He made his way closer towards me, inspecting me with careful eyes, his long black hair flowing out of his hat.

"What's a beauty like you doin' 'round here?" He neared me, his slender eyes making me feel like I had to submit to him.

"Oh! I - uh, got a lil' lost." I tried my best to maintain composure.

"Well, don't worry, amor, we'll take good care of you." He slung his arm around me, the proximity only worsening the heat I felt.

"W-we?" I stuttered, causing him to chuckle and turn his head to look behind him.

"Satoru!" He shouted.

As if on cue, a man came in riding a gorgeous brown horse, looking absolutely majestic.

"Yeah? Oh my!" He exclaimed, immediately jumping off his horse and walking towards me. "Who's this?" He asked the black hair man.

"She hasn't told us yet. What's your name, guapa?"

Me breath hitched before I told him, a satisfied hum leaving both their mouths.

"Pretty name for a pretty lady." The man with white hair spoke, taking his sunglasses off to reveal his huge, blue eyes. The colour mesmerised me, causing me to freeze in place, completely unable to move.

"¿Qué pasó, princesa? Cat got your tongue?" The person who I figured to be Satoru taunted, moving closer to me.

My heart beat quickened and I began to swear, thinking only one thing about these men ; they are so fuckable.

"What did you come here for, hm?" The black haired man spoke, his tone making me want to drop to my knees.

"My- uh- m-my horse, Lucky. She's dehydrated, and I wanted to get her some food, water, and rest." I stumbled over each word, making a fool of myself.

"Hear the way she's stuttering, Suguru!" Satoru nudged the black haired man as they both chuckled.

"She truly is precious. Can't let a gem like you get away now, can we?" Suguru's hand found its way to my chin, holding it firmly and lifting my head up to look into his eyes. "We'll get ya all fixed up, alright? Don't you worry, linda."

I nodded dumbly at the two men, following them into where the horses were kept, leading my girl on behind me.

They kept to their word, making sure Lucky had enough food and plenty of water and then allowing her to sleep. I was so grateful to them for lending us their resources out of the kindness of their hearts.

Those same hearts that I hadn't known wanted nothing more than to bend me over.

"She's all rested now, alright?" Satoru spoke, taking his hat off and taking a seat in a room separate to the stable. His legs were spread apart as sweat leaked down his semi-exposed chest. I tried to look at any modest part of him, but no matter how hard I tried, he managed to turn my thoughts lewd time and time again.

He sat on one side of me, Suguru, on the other in a similar position.

Would I be able to take them both? They both look so damn sexy right now. I wonder how big they are...

My thoughts caused my thighs to squeeze together. I thought about how they would manhandle me and I wouldn't complain. I yearned for friction, anything to give me a little bit of relief.

"¿Qué estás haciendo, muñequita?" Suguru asked, his hair out of its prevous bun and now falling sluttily onto his shoulders. It only made the heat between my legs grow, my thighs squeezing closer together.

I hadn't noticed, but I was staring. Intensely. I was undressing him with my eyes.

A finger snapped in front of my eyes, which happened to be Satoru's.

"You okay, querida?" He asked, his voice playful.

"Huh?" I replied simply, turning my head to face him.

"You've been looking at us like you want to fuck us since you got here." Suguru chimed in, making my face flush in embarrassment.

I tried to speak, but no words came out.

"You want us to fuck you, hm?" Satoru hummed, his sweet voice making a squirm slightly.

I nodded furiously, waiting for either of them to make a move.

"Use your words, mami." Suguru sent me over the edge as he placed his hand on my thigh, inching up closer and closer to my heat.

"Yes. Please, I need you... both of you." I mewled pathetically, embarrassed by the words that had just come out of my mouth.

With no hesitation, Suguru slipped his hands under my thighs, hoisting me up onto his lap. I felt his hardness underneath me, instinctively rolling my hips slowly over it, earning a soft grunt from him. His hands found my waist, caressing it up and down, further riling me up.

Satoru took my face in his hands, turning my head towards him and kissing me. He ate at my mouth, covering every single inch of my lips. I groaned into the kiss as Suguru's hands slipped under my skirt, holding onto the rim of my panties.

I grinned against him even harder, feeling Satoru's tongue slip into my mouth, digging its way down my throat.

"Calmate, girl!" Suguru announced, holding my hips to prevent any more movement.

Satoru pulled away from my lips, finding his way to my neck and sucking on the tender skin. I whimpered at his movements, making me grip on to Suguru's shoulders tighter than before.

His hands reached under my skirt, placing a singular finger pad on my clothed bunch of nerves. I cried out, needy and desperate, already fucked-out.

"So pretty..." Satoru whispered on my neck, the sensation paired with the praise, only making me wetter. I whined as I leaned into Suguru's chest.

"Please..." I cried as he massaged me, longing for closer contact.

"Hmm? Please what, amor?" His eyes were stuck on my tits which were squashed against his chest, making his cock twitch.

"I need you.." Satoru pulled away as I spoke, whisking me up and placing me on his lap, taking over Suguru's role.

"Need us how? Dime qué quieres, muñeca." Suguru's lips kissed my collar bone as Satoru unbuttoned my top.

I could only whimper as Satoru's left hand slipped beneath my panties, playing with my slick.

"She's so wet!" Satoru exclaimed, his lack of speech only to be blamed on him being completely immersed in the moment.

His finger moved to Suguru, who opened his mouth and sucked on it, tasting me.

"So sweet..." He groaned, palming himself through his jeans as he kissed my neck once more.

"I need to taste straight from the source. Would you like that, hermosa?" Satoru asked, pushing me down onto my back and moving himself in line with my still covered heat.

I nodded as he tugged at my panties before he stopped and looked up at me.

"Quiero oírte decirlo. Tell me that you want it." He asks for my consent as his face is between my legs, possibly being the hottest thing I've experienced.

"I want it." I tell him as he smirks, kissing up my thighs and sliding my panties down my legs.

"So pretty for us." He says, delving into my folds.

"The prettiest." Suguru adds.

TRANSLATION :

Muñeca = doll

Amor = love

Guapa = pretty

¿Qué pasó, princesa? = what happened, princess?

Linda = cutie

¿Qué estás haciendo, muñequita? = what are you doing, dolly?

Querida = dear

Mami = mommy

Calmate = take it easy

Dime qué quieres, muñeca = tell me what you want, doll

Hermosa = gorgeous

Quiero oírte decirlo = I want to hear you say it

[billthedrake]

LITTLE BRO'S HOMECOMING

Joseph Murphy didn't even have to knock on the hotel door. He'd texted Kyle to get the room number and as he strode up to 1139 in the downtown Boston hotel, the door opened right up.

Kyle was dressed in his Marines cammies - either he hadn't had time to change since checking in or else he wanted to be in uniform for the older man. A big smile formed on the 21 year old's face. "Hey," he muttered as he stepped aside to let the beefy cop enter.

"Hey yeuself," Joe hissed in his thick New England accent as he stepped right up to the young Marine and placed his hands around the stud's waist, drawing him in.

Their kiss was hot. A tongue heavy, facing sucking kind of kiss. Officer Murphy didn't do finesse, and it turns out Kyle Smith was A-OK with that. It had been TOO long since they'd been together, or even seen each other. They'd had a conversation before Kyle's deployment about whether they were dating. The cop didn't feel comfortable with that, and Joe hadn't even reached out to the Marine over the last few months. It was only an instant reply that Kyle received when he said he was coming home that made him realize there was still a spark there.

More than a spark. Officer Murphy was pawing at the ridge of hard military cock in the camo pants. And Kyle was feeling up all the cop beef through the man's long-sleeve Pats T-shirt. THIS was the young man's type to a T. Some heft on his bones, thick muscle, a beer belly. It had been the body Kyle had been into since he first started jacking off. Joe reminded him of his middle school wrestling coach - and even, if he was honest, of his own father.

Officer Murphy was even a dyed-in-the-wool working class New Englander like Kyle's father, only more brash even.

Indeed, the booming voice came as he backed off. "How's my fuckin' parn stah doin?" the cop bellowed, fingers tracing the long ridge of Marine meat sticking up in the uniform.

"Holy fuck, I missed you, man," Kyle said with a big grin. Maybe that was too much to say, but he felt it.

"I bet ya did," Joe said as he crouched down, fingers already fumbling with the uniform. "I know how to take care of this bad boy."

The cop's fingers felt good as they undid the trousers. "Are we gonna wait?" Kyle asked. "I mean, we said..."

Already the cop's big mitt was on the young stud's boner, pulling it out and gently stroking it. "You got a couple in ya, Corporal," he growled. "Come on, Jesus, four months and ya gonna fuckin' blue ball me?"

Officer Murphy didn't give Kyle a chance to answer. The question was rhetorical anyway. Because already he was taking the thick, long tool into his mouth.

"Oh fuck... fuck yes," Kyle hissed as he felt the police officer's hot wet mouth go down on him. The cop sucked dick like he kissed. No finesse. But it was amazing, especially after no sex for the last four months.

The Marine didn't realize he was carrying around so much tension in his body, but as Joe blew him, he felt himself relax, his stance widening just a little and his hand placed gently on top of the man's medium-short hair. He'd experienced a Joe Murphy BJ in full Boston Police uniform. THAT had been incredible, but even now he loved looking down on the man's thick-set daddy bod, face getting redder as he bobbed up and down more quickly. Kyle was still in full uniform, for his part, and he suspected that was driving Joe wild.

"It's not gonna take me long," Kyle warned.

The cop spit out his cock. "Dont ya dare, buddy." He wiped the spit off his chin with the back of his hand and leaned back. Kyle loved that view of him, the way it showed off Officer Murphy's broad rounded shoulders and massive chest.

Kyle knew what the man meant. He actually didn't have a lot of experience with other men. He'd met Joe Murphy when he was still 18, still a senior in high school. But the sex was electric between them. Joe was such a deeply sexual man, and the cop's hunger for a younger top, a much younger top, fueled Kyle's own lust.

"On the bed, Officer," he hissed.

Joe broke into a huge grin. Standing up, he started undoing his jeans and kicking off his sneakers.

"Keep that fuckin' unifo'm on buddy," he growled.

Kyle nodded. "That's 'Corporal Smith' to you, Officer."

"All right, Corporal," Joe chuckled. "Don't hold back. Just go for it, OK?"

Kyle was getting lightheaded now, he was so horny. Especially seeing Murphy pull off that T and reveal that beefy daddy bod. His big brother had teased him once when he showed him a picture of his cop lover. "You a chaser, Kyle?" Brandon had laughed. Kyle stood his ground those. The beer belly on such a meaty frame did something for him. He liked having a lot of daddy to hold onto.

That lot of daddy was naked now and crawling onto one of the queen beds on all fours. Kyle got in place.

"Aw yeah, eat my hole, Corporal. Aw, fuck yeah... root around with that tongue buddy. Get up in daddy's ass. Oh, fucking nasty, buddy."

Kyle remembered the first time he rimmed Joe Murphy he was worried the man would get freaked out. But it was one of Kyle's favorite things to watch in porn, so he just went for it. As they say, history was made. He and Joe rarely had sex without some ass eating.

Still, both knew it wasn't going to be a long rim session. Their absence had been too long. Kyle leaned back up on his haunches and gave a light slap to the cop's surprisingly smooth rump. Leaning over, he pumped out a couple of squirts of lube, which he applied to his boner, and then to Joe's hole.

The cop wasn't exactly slutty, but he was wanton in taking taking cock. Spreading his legs and wiggling his ass some as Kyle fingered him. Then, as Joe felt that thick piece of Marine cock bore in, he hissed and did his best to relax.

"Easy, buddy... easy... I'm fuckin' tight... ya gotta open daddy back up for business OK?"

"Yeah," Kyle hissed. He didn't want to cum yet. He knew if he could get through the penetration he'd be good for a bit.

Joe's verbal streak quieted down as Kyle slowly penetrated the older man. Murphy had lied about his age when they first met on the app, but the cop was 50. Squarely middle aged. The young man sometimes wondered why he was wired for older men, men like Murphy. But now that he was boning Joe, he didn't feel the need to question, his heart and mind and cock knew this is what he wanted.

Finally his balls pressed against the man's ass.

"God, yes," the Marine hissed. THIS was what a homecoming should be.

"I can feel your uniform against me, Corporal," Joe said in a surprisingly quiet tone. "So very hot."

Kyle held the man's waist. The skin was hot to the touch. "I dreamed about doing this in the barracks," he hissed. "Even fantasized about banging the Master Sergeant."

That got a chuckle from Joe beneath him. "I bet ya did, buddy. Just as I've had the hots for the new rookie on the force. Fresh faced fucker."

Kyle pulled back and pushed back in. Not fast, not yet. But he could feel the cop's insides open up for him, some.

"Anyone else fucking you, Joe?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

The reply was quiet. "A couple, Kyle," the cop answered. "It gets lonely, you know."

"Yeah," Kyle said, sadly. He wished he was the only one. But they'd never had that conversation. This was probably not the time to have it. "Man, I wish we didn't live so far apart."

The next thrust was hard, real hard. It knocked the wind out of Joe a little, and if Kyle hadn't fucked the cop like this before he would have been concerned.

"Give me a sec," Joe finally hissed.

Kyle slowed his roll and watched as the man reached over for his own squirt of lube.

The Marine didn't need to be told to resume fucking. That's how it was between him and Joe. Perfect synchronization of needs. The minute he saw the man reach down to jerk his cock, Kyle started fucking hard. Jack hammer thrusts in and out of the man's now relaxed hole.

"That's it, stud... horse hung Marine gonna fuck my cop ass..."

"Fuckin' take it, Officer," he hissed. Getting into it.

With other men Kyle had fucked it wasn't like this. It was usually fucking for his own pleasure or for the bottom's. But he and Joe Murphy were on the same wavelength, the older man rapidly jerking while Kyle threw his strength into hard fucking the beefy daddy.

Just the sight of the man's bare back, strong and full, and the love handles and the way Joe's face turned redder when he was getting close to cumming. Kyle felt that light headed feeling again and knew the cum was already traveling up his piss tube, pumping out from his balls.

"Oh FUCK!" he whimpered.

"SHIT!" Joe grunted.

Their orgasm was simultaneous. Kyle's body clenched and held still as his dick continued to unload inside the man. It had actually taken a few times to talk Officer Murphy into barebacking, but now he couldn't imagine sex between the two any other way. This was just sex, and it was just the hormones talking, but Kyle was in love with the man.

He started to pull back, but he saw Joe's hand reach back, as if to stop him. "Don't, Kyle... stay in me for a while longer, OK?"

The Marine nodded and placed his hand softly on Joe's lower back, feeling up the clammy sweaty muscle. He wondered if his dick was going to go soft. It usually did after a cum like that, but being connected with the police officer meant it still felt rock hard.

***

Brandon Smith waited in the hotel bar, sipping his beer. He was always a little nervous waiting for Preston, but he was getting that pit-in-his-stomach now. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But it only took the sight of his sorta boyfriend in the mirror to brighten up. Preston Weldman cut the vision of a real executive, as tall as Brandon, and his figure looking fit in slacks and a sport coat. The gray temples were the icing on the cake, so to speak. Brandon felt an instant chub in his jeans.

"Hope you haven't been waiting long," the business exec said as he sidled up to the hunky 32-year-old. He placed a hand on Brandon's shoulder. Not obvious but the touch felt electric between the two men.

"No," Brandon shook his head. "Anyway, it's good people watching here," he said.

Preston smiled. "Scoping out the business daddies?" he whispered. He knew Brandon's type. It was how they'd met each other on an app when Brandon was back home visiting family. Leaning in more, he growled. "You're looking really good, Sergeant Smith."

Brandon's heart pounded. "SO good to see you, Press." That had been his nickname for the man. Then, his eyes sweeping up and down, something clicked. "You're not wearing your wedding ring?"

Preston shrugged. "You disappointed?" he joked. "The divorce isn't final but it feels like it, you know?"

Brandon nodded and with concern asked, "How you doing?"

"We'll talk about it later, OK? We have the whole weekend, right?"

Brandon smiled. Long distance was tough, and there was military life on top of that. But maybe that's what worked for this divorced hunk. He had his own busy career to deal with, and his kids, too. "Yeah. I have some stuff I wanna talk about too."

"Yeah?" Preston replied. "You wanna talk about it now, kiddo?"

Brandon shook his head. "I think the guys are up in the room waiting for us."

Preston's lust was visible on his face, even if he normally had that WASPy repressed thing going on. "Sure you're OK with this?"

Brandon laughed. "I was gonna ask you the same thing, Press." He stood up and set down some cash to pay for his beer. "It'll be way hot."

"You're bringing out my naughty side for sure." Preston was definitely in a good mood.

Brandon leaned in and whispered. "How do you think I feel? He's my brother." Then he pulled back and gave a wink to the man before grabbing his overnight bag. "Come on, let's go up."

Even on the elevator ride up, the two couldn't keep their eyes off each other. Preston still couldn't believe he'd scored a young man as hot as Brandon Smith. 6'3" ex-football jock, his body honed by years in the US Marine Corps. The 26-year-old was like a porn character come to life. The superstitious, or realist, part of Preston knew this affair was on borrowed time, that Brandon would move on. But he'd sure as hell enjoy the ride.

***

Joe had dozed off but the knock on the hotel room woke him up. He was naked in the damp, disheveled hotel bed. The kid had gone for seconds, all right, and the middle-aged cop felt well and truly fucked. Like, a sleepy, tired and satisfied level of truly fucked.

The man felt bad for telling Kyle about the hookups he'd had. But he didn't want to hold back from the young man. Besides, there had just been two men over the last few month. They hadn't meant a thing and certainly couldn't hold a candle to Kyle fuckin' Smith.

Another knock came. Louder.

"All right," Joe called out. "Coming!"

He jumped out of the bed and sauntered over to the door. He could hear the shower running, and realized Kyle was in there.

Brandon and Preston were surprised to see the door fling open to reveal the full nakedness of a thick-set 50-ish man they'd never met. Lightly furred front, soft dick dangling beneath.

"Come in, fellas," Joe said. "Kyle's in the shower." Unceremoniously he turned and let the men indoors.

It took a second for Joe to pick up on their reaction. "Why be shy, right?" he said in his thick accent. He flashed an impish smile. "I can cover up if it bothers you though."

"Guess you're right," Brandon said. He held out his hand. "I'm Brandon."

Joe took the hand in his own strong mitt and shook it. "Definitely see the family ressemblance."

"Joe," the cop said.

"Preston," the businessman said as he greeted the cop.

"Jesus what the fuck kind of name is Preston?" Joe quipped.

Brandon got angry. Protective and angry. "We can call this off," he said through gritted teeth.

"Call what off?" came Kyle's voice as he stepped out, towel wrapped around his waist.

Preston's eyes noticeably showed excitement. If he had to pick, he'd choose Brandon's body, but Kyle had a shorter, more compact build that was scrlpted with tight, rounded young muscle.

Kyle immediately picked up on the vibe. "Jesus, Joe. Did you shoot off your mouth again?"

The cop looked genuinely contrite. "Sorry fellas. Guess I'm shitty at first impressions. Preston," he said, turning to the other daddy in the group. "I'm sorry man. Really. That was a shitty thing to say."

"All right," he said in a clipped Yankee accent. "I guess we're not here on a date or anything," he joked.

Joe nodded. "Yeah, the Smith brothers are the stars of the weekend, right?"

Brandon looked at Kyle. "You guys already get started?" he asked his brother.

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, couldn't wait, sorry."

Brandon turned to look at his lover. "I wouldn't mind a little one-on-one time with Press first."

"Yeah, babe?" Preston asked. He wasn't sure how this scene would play out. But as much as he wanted to see Kyle in action, he was drawn to Brandon first and foremost.

The hunky marine pulled Preston closer to him, then guided his arms around the man's waist to draw him into a kiss. It was soft and sensual. Brandon Smith was SUCH an amazing kisser, and inspired Preston to give his best in return.

"We can give ya guys some space," Joe spoke up. Amused to see a version of what he and Kyle had just experienced.

"Yah," Brandon almost said. Only Press' hand gripped his arm.

"It's OK if they watch babe," he said. The older man had a playful look on his face. "I kind of want 'em to."

Brandon looked at Preston in amusement. This buttoned-down divorced dad had a way of surprising him. "OK, he said.

Kyle was still in his towel as he sat on the bed, feeling Joe settle in behind him. The cop's mitts felt good feeling up his ripped Marine muscles. If Kyle hadn't just fucked the man, twice, he'd be boning up fast.

"You OK with this, Kyle?" Brandon asked.

Kyle nodded. "Go for it, bro. It'll be hot to see you guys."

That was all the green light it took for Brandon and Preston. It was like it was just them, alone in the room, even as they were also aware of putting on a show. They slowly stripped each other and made out.

About the only thing to break the spell was the cop's outburst when Brandon removed Press's button-down shirt, revealing a DILF-y gym-toned body.

"Holy fucking shit, he's a frickin' magazine model."

The cop's loudmouth approach had rubbed him the wrong way, but now he enjoyed having Preston's amazing body recognized.

The lovers were soon naked and Brandon was reclining them down on the other bed. Kissing softly even as their bodies humped more urgently. They were matched in height, but Brandon had some more muscle on him, and Preston was feeling up every inch with his hands.

Soon the older man was parting his legs, letting Brandon's body find that spot between them. Their kissing grew more impassioned, until Brandon leaned up.

"Fuck you feel so good, Press," he sighed. "I love ya, man."

"Love you, too, Big B." This was the only thing that made Preston self conscious about having an audience. But he knew this was part of sex between him and Brandon. The emotional openness.

"I need to be inside you, Dad," Brandon hissed.

"Please," Preston said. "I need you, Son."

Joe felt Kyle's body tense in his arms. The cop was a pervy enough man that the dad-son play didn't phase him. But he sensed it hit differently for Kyle. This was his brother, talking about "Dad." Joe just held the 21-year-old tight against him and kissed the side of his neck.

"OK?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Kyle whispered back.

Then Joe felt Kyle's hand grip his forearm, pulling it down. Joe thought the kid was rejecting his embrace but instead Kyle guided Joe's hand lower, right to the towel, where there was a ridge of hard dick. The kid was turned on.

"Jesus, it's a like a Lifetime movie," Joe almost said, but restrained himself. Everything was so frickin sensuous between the other couple. Even the lubing of cocks and the fingering of Preston's hole. The man was glas Kyle was into more animalistic fucking. The kid always had been, even at 18.

At last the divorced exec lifted his toned legs, and Brandon gingerly positioned the ankles on his meaty shoulders. The two locked eyes, silently, lovingly.

And Brandon entered his daddy lover.

Preston winced at entry but after a second, his hands were on Brandon's muscle ass, coaxing him to push in further.

"Not gonna last long today, Dad," Brandon hissed. "You feel so fucking good."

"We got all weekend, Son," Press countered. Before Brandon he didn't enjoy bottoming. Hell, the times he fooled around with men he usually preferred getting head. But this Marine had a way of rocking his world, turning it upside down. Of making him want cock like this. "Fuck me. Fuck your father."

Brandon let out a low deep grunt and powered in. Slowly, sensually at first. God he was SO turned on. Being with Press, hearing that roleplay talk. But also know his little bro was watching. "I'm gonna go a little harder, sir," he hissed.

"Do it!" Press urged.

And like that came a serious of slow, rough thrusts.

"Yes!" the exec grunted. Only Brandon could make him love it like this, too. Hard, with a roughness to each inward push of that meaty cock. "Attaboy."

Brandon had a few trigger words and that was one of them. He knew orgasm was coming now. So he humped more excitedly, hard stokes working to get himself off with this perfect man's ass.

"Yeah, Dad," he hissed. "Gonna cum!"

He felt Press's hands caress his sides, encouraging him to give it up.

"UNNGH!" Brandon grunted and unloaded.

"Yes!" Press said excitedly. He loved watching his Big B cum, loved seeing that mix of youthful masculinity and almost childish need. Already he was stroking his dick to get his own nut.

Brandon took a second to come down from the high but when he did he started working his dick in and out of Press's warm hole. Fucking slowly but hard, the way Press liked it.

The older man wasn't a loud cummer, but Brandon knew how to read the signs. Sure enough. the middle-aged man's body clenched and white hot sperm flew out. Preston Weldman came a lot when he orgasmed.

Brandon pulled out and only then was self conscious that his brother and his brother's lover were looking on.

Kyle had a look that was clearly horny and maybe a little embarrassed. "Why don't we give you some space, Bro?" he said quietly.

The older brother rolled off Preston's body. "We freak you out, Kyle? I guess I should have warned you that we do the roleplay thing."

Joe spoke up. "Don't let the kid fool ya, he loved that shit."

"Jesus, Joe," Kyle objected. But the man was right.

Preston leaned up. He felt a strange fondness for Kyle, a dude he'd never met. "Kyle, it took me a while to get into it." He ran his hand up and down Brandon's strong back. "I don't know... your brother's a persuasive man."

"Eight inches is a lot of persuasion," Joe quipped. He'd just witness the other brother's endowment, and Brandon was as hung as Kyle, for sure.

"Joe, what the fuck?" Kyle pestered. But Brandon and Preston were smirking.

"Fuckin' Christ. What the fuck are we for? It's supposed to be a fun weekend, right?" He patted Kyle's chest affectionately and gave a soft, contrite kiss. "Come on, let's go get a pint and we can talk more at the pub." The cop pulled his meaty body back from his younger lovers and stepped off the bed. "Apparently we need to talk about 'ground rules' or some bullshit," he bellowed.

Brandon had to admit the policeman was growing on him.

[starspyder]

𝘐 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘺 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘕𝘦𝘢𝘵 // 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

Summary: Dean Winchester is a hardened man. While he would love to, he can’t maintain a proper relationship due to his line of work. With how much of a sweetheart you are, Dean finds it almost impossible to keep you at an arm’s distance.

Warnings: implied age gap but it's not fully mentioned (reader is 27, Dean is 40 in this if ur curious), moderate angst, AQUAPHOBIA WARNING (almost-drowning), witches, canon-typical violence, Dean saves you hehe, fluff, lowkey grumpy x sunshine, Dean is in denial and thinks you deserve better than him, self-hatred, guilt on Dean’s part, you’re both into each other but he’s so scared of hurting you, Southern!Reader bc i said so hehehe, Dean is YEARNING

Gif from Pinterest

Word Count: 1462

Dean would never consider himself soft. Sure, he was good with kids, but only because he basically had to raise Sam by himself. Those experiences in his own childhood slipped from his hands like sand in an hourglass, and that little ball of softness went right with it. 

Until one case in Louisiana, when it practically fell right into his arms. 

He and Sam had been there tracking a coven of witches in New Orleans, like something straight out of American Horror Story. Based on the news reports, the victims were all friends or family of one of the suspected witches– likely her initiation into the group, to prove she was worthy. A young girl had gotten caught in the crossfire, simply because she was roommates with one of them, and accidentally led the Winchesters right to the coven. 

He’d seen you right before they began the real hunt, having gone back to your house for a final round of questioning. Truthfully, he’d gone by to flirt his way into checking the house for any hex bags, but your witchy roommate was good about keeping it out of her living space. When he didn’t find anything, he couldn’t seem to deny your offer for a cup of coffee, while you did your best to inquire about the case. 

“Why do you think Rebecca is involved?” You asked, somewhat nervously. 

You sat across from Dean as he sat on the couch, cross-legged in a papasan chair, one hand tapping your thigh nervously and the other holding your floral patterned mug. 

“We’re just trying to rule her out as a suspect, Ma’am. As soon as we do that, the sooner we can get to figuring out what’s been happening around here.” He had reassured you. “Are you sure you haven’t been noticing any irregularities in her routine?” 

“We have each other on some tracking app, just to be safe, y’know? She tells me that she leaves her job at 7:30 every Thursday, which is a fifteen minute drive from here. Rebecca would always tell me when she should be home, just in case anything happened,” You sighed. 

Dean’s eyebrows raised as he waited patiently for you to continue. 

“About three months ago, she just kinda’ stopped doin’ it. She’s been going out a lot more than normal, with a big group of girls– met ‘em at work, she said.” “Do you know where they’ve been going?” 

“Mostly just to clubs around town. I checked one day because she hadn’t been home all night and I was worried. Her last location was some place near Lake Pontchartrain, a few miles deep into the woods. I tried finding it online, but nothing turned up. Rebecca hates being outside, she hates camping and all that stuff, so there’s no reason for her to be there.” 

“Do you happen to have an exact location?” 

Your head shook. “It’s a big area, not a lot of cell towers.” 

Dean leaned forward and took your hand, which had still been tapping against your leg. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me, Sweetheart.” The next night, a Thursday, Sam and Dean had tracked the coven down to some ritual spot in the middle of the forest. It didn’t take them long, considering that half a mile out, they could hear terrified cries for help. 

They found you, tied to a tree and begging for your life as the witches teased and taunted you– even the girl who you told them you considered your best friend. 

“You know, Y/N, you’re just too sweet sometimes. You even let an entire coven slip under your nose, because you couldn’t think for a second that your best friend would ever hurt you.” Rebecca sneered, kneeling in front of you and tracing the swell of your cheek with a knife.

“Please, Becca, don't hurt me, I won’t tell anyone!” You cried, tugging against the ropes that cut into your wrists. 

Dean was ready to jump out and kill her right then, but Sam’s arm across his chest kept him at bay. For now. “Don’t hurt me! Please, spare me. Killing you is the key to getting everything I’ve ever wanted! You’re the one who kept telling me to do what I wanted for once!” Dean watched as the large bonfire cast an orange glow over your terrified features, and his chest ached that he couldn’t quell that fear. It made him think back to Lisa, how much he cared for her. Only after a week, wasDean absolutely enamored with you. 

It didn’t take long for the brothers to swing into action, killing the witches with surprising ease. They were plenty in number, but their skill couldn’t rival the brothers’ experience. 

As Sam cut your ropes, Dean was chasing after Rebecca as she chanted out a string of Latin. By the time he killed her, the damage had been done and you were writhing on the forest floor, water coming out of your mouth like there was a well in your lungs. 

You collapsed into Dean’s arms, grasping at your throat as your eyes watered, chest heaving through the pain. 

“Find the fucking bag!” Dean yelled, maneuvering you on your knees, face pointed at the ground as you drowned in open air. Sam dropped to the ground, fumbling through piles of leaves and dirt to find the offending item. In the scramble, the hex bag was kicked near the fire, causing Dean to yank his gun out and shoot it, breaking the spell. 

You gasped for breath like a fish out of water as you coughed up the last of the water wheezing and panicking from the fear. “It's okay, you’re safe.” Dean comforted, holding you to his chest as your body was wracked with sobs.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart.” 

When they were leaving town, Dean made one last stop to visit you in the hospital where you were recovering. 

“How are you feelin’, Sweetheart?” He asked, sitting next to your hospital bed. The doctors had decided to keep you for observation for a few days, citing potential damage to your lungs. 

“Like hell,” You said with a grin. “Y’all headin’ off?” 

Dean nodded. “Gotta head back home. Do you have anywhere you’re planning on going once you’re out of this dump?” 

“Not really. I don’t have any family I’m close to, so nobody to couch-surf with. I’m definitely leavin’, though. ‘M not quite sure where I’ll end up.” 

He could hear the tinge of sadness in your voice. He knew what it was like to not have a family, a place to call home. He knew it all too well. 

“Come with us.” 

The rest was history. 

Dean couldn’t help but think back to that day often. How lucky he was to have saved at least one life that day. Your life. 

He often felt dirty. You were a bright young girl, who could’ve had a great future, had you not been caught up in the mess of their lives. Not once did you ever complain, going with the flow and learning what you could to help them. You were so selfless, almost to a fault; you put up with his temper, his yelling, and when he was feeling particularly annoying. You helped clean his wounds when he was hurt, and when he was once sick, you made him tomato and rice soup, that tasted just like what Mary would make when he still held his innocence. 

Dean took his whiskey neat, while you stuck to those same girly cocktails that Sam swore he didn't like.

You were too good to be tarnished by the likes of Dean Winchester. 

Dean would always be an eternally bitter man who was constantly angry at something. He rose early due to incessant nightmares, drinking black coffee at three in the morning to stave off his near constant exhaustion. When those nightmares were about you, as they often were, nowadays, he would poke his head in your bedroom just a few doors down, his heart rate calming at how soft you looked, wrapped up in your blankets and a small light on your desk casting a warm light around the room. 

Your skin would always glow under the light, illuminating your features and the curve of your nose, how your hair fell into your face and how you would let out a wistful sigh every so often. 

You were such a stark contrast to the man who stood in your doorway almost every night. If Dean was marble, you were a flower that could be crushed under it. He was the knife, you were the sacrificial lamb. No matter what universe, Dean would ultimately be your demise, just like everyone else in his life. 

As he would gently close the door, he would take one last look at you and whisper one sentence. 

“You’re too sweet for me.”

[fortheloveoffanfic]

An Indecent Affair: The First Encounter

Sheriff Hassan x reader

Summary: On a rainy night after a town meeting at the school, the island's sheriff and English teacher act on mutual feelings.

Author's note: Look at me, back with a terrible title.

Warning: SMUT/NSFW, unprotected sex, a smidge of dom/sub dynamics, itty bitty bit of breeding kink.

Hassan chose Crockett because it's quiet; a sleepy little island four hours off the coast of the mainland, where the most serious crime was disorderly conduct by the town drunk. After his lengthy stint at NYPD came to a messy end and his wife's passing, it seemed like the perfect place to start afresh. He could reconnect with Ali and hopefully not face the same discrimination that he had in New York.

Of course, it only took a few months for Hassan to determine that he was wrong about both of those things. Ali is still upset about his life being uprooted and the people of Crockett have been less than welcoming.

Well, most of them.

He's managed to make one friend – sort of. Hassan doesn't actually know if Y/n would call herself his friend, but she's the closest thing he has to one.

She's also his son's English teacher, which is probably why she tries to make small talk when they bump into each other around town or waves at him when she passes him while he's making his morning rounds and she's jogging.

Jogging in a pair of tiny shorts and a tank top that usually seems a little too tight on her breasts, from her arsenal of skimpy workout clothes. Those moments usually make him extra grateful for the lessons of undercover work; being able to hide her effect on him with stoicism has been more of a blessing than he'd ever imagined it could be.

Because he sees the most exciting part of that boring little island when he's doing foot patrol at seven am.

If only Y/n knew what goes on in his head when he gets to his office with the image of her like that fresh in his mind. The light sheen of exertion making her skin shine, those tiny shorts hugging her ass while the top of breasts remain visible. She'd probably slap him in the face and call him a pervert – sometimes, Hassan wants to do it to himself.

But most times, he wants to bend her over his desk and –

“God,” he hears her huff as she stops to stand beside him just as after they've stepped out of the school, “It looks like it's gonna rain.”

Turning to look at her, Hassan furrows his brows. He heard what she said, but it takes another handful of seconds for him to process her words. Because of course his mind had been run amuck with lewd thoughts when it was her turn to speak at the meeting. She'd been saying something about wanting to encourage the children to read more by starting a book club, but she was saying it while dressed in tight, light wash jeans and a green, knitted sweater that doesn't make any effort to hide her curves.

“Oh,” he glances up at the grayish, milky sky, “yeah.” He wants to say more, but nothing else comes out.

“Figures tonight's the night I decided to walk.” And then, as if on cue, a drizzle starts up, “Great, great,” Y/n hastily adds.

“I can give you a ride,” Hassan hastily offers, the words leaving his mouth before he can fully think them through.

Caught off guard by his offer, Y/n stutters, “Uh…you don't have you – I wouldn't want to put you out –”

“You wouldn't be,” he threads his fingers through his beard and adds, “just…..doin’ my duty.”

Y/n huffs a quiet chuckle, just as the drizzle grows a little heavier. Thankfully, they're both still standing on the school’s front steps, where the roof extends far enough for them to stay covered. “The sheriff doubles as a taxi service?”

Cocking his lips into a half smirk, “protect and serve.”

Licking her lips, Y/n shakes her head. “Protect me from a head cold?” She giggles and his heart leaps a little. Though it isn't really the sound that rouses that effect, even if she does have quite a melodic laugh, its more knowing that she's laughing because of him.

“Pretty serious crime in my book,” he determines softly. She turns just in time for their eyes to meet; Y/n's laughter settles with a gentle hum and her smile softens. There's a glimmer in them that he doesn't think he's ever noticed before and it takes the sudden sound of thunder, like a whip cracking before a microphone, to snap them out of their little moment.

Shaking his head a little, Hassan swallows thickly and lifts his denim jacket over his head, leaving some room for Y/n to duck under it as well. “Shall we?”

“Yeah.” He thinks that's what she says, but it doesn't matter anyway because her stepping under the cover of his coat is enough of a response. That's probably the closest they've ever been, and it takes that proximity for him to realize that she's at least a foot shorter than him – which does nothing but fuel his dirty thoughts.

It would be so easy for him to back her up against a wall. Box her in, lift her off the floor and –

“It's locked.”

“What?” Despite his jacket over their heads, they're drenched by the time they get to his car.

“The door,” she grins, pulling on the handle for emphasis, “still locked.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah,” Hassan scoffs, using his free hand to rummage through the pockets of his jeans until he finds his keys. It doesn't take long for him to help her in and then get into his car after that. “Kinda defeats the purpose of offering you a ride, huh?” He jokes, tugging the door shut after clambering into the driver's side.

Y/n doesn't offer anything above a breathy laugh as Hassan gets the car started, and when he looks her way that time, Y/n hastily shifts her gaze to the road straight ahead.

She doesn't trust herself to keep looking at him, god knows she almost let impulse overrule better sense when they were standing outside of the school and then again when they'd just reached his car.

He's the sheriff. She teaches his son Shakespeare. It's wildly inappropriate and they are decent, professional people.

Which, arguably, makes the thought of it that much hotter. The tall, hunky, jaded sheriff and the young English teacher – the raunchy story writes itself.

And that's why she turns away when Hassan fixes his dark eyes on her while starting the car. Because she'll give in that time, and they're still in the school parking lot. Because the last thing she needs is the mayor, principal, a slew of parents and some of the other teachers witnessing her lunging for the sheriff.

Besides, she won't be able to bear the embarrassment of rejection. And she'd like to not have to walk through a storm.

The drive to her house, which is just one block over from Hassan and his son's, is racked with silence and a tension that Y/n figures is concentrated to her side of the car; every time she looks over at him, Hassan seems as cool and unaffected as ever. Wet hair matted to his brow, flannel shirt clinging to his broad frame and one hand firmly gripping the wheel while his other arm is casually draped along the edge of his door.

How dare he make something as mundane as driving look like foreplay?

“All good?” Hassan quips when he catches her eyes lingering.

“What?” She swallows thickly, feeling her cheeks heat up, “yeah. Totally. Good.”

“Good,” Hassan hums, returning his gaze to the road ahead as he turns onto her street. It's coming down in buckets by then, and Y/n is actually a little taken aback by how quickly the weather has deteriorated. It's been a little overcast all day, but that's hardly unusual for October and they haven't had rain in almost a month.

Y/n keeps her eyes trained outside the passenger window for the rest of the drive, which doesn't even last for very long after his last turn. When he stops at the curb in front of her house, a simple affair with exposed brick, a Dutch gable roof arched windows, Y/n doesn't get out immediately.

“Thanks for the ride,” she finally turns to him again.

Hassan nods stiffly, fingers absently tapping the bottom of the steering wheel, “no problem.”

“I owe you….like a coffee, or something,” Y/n offers, impulsively adding, “unless you'd rather I returned the favor right now.”

Immediately, she wants to kick herself for saying it, or even better yet have the ground open up below her.

“What?” Hassan rasps, head snapping up as he shifts in his seat.

“I….” Unable to gauge his reaction under his stoicism, Y/n tries to do some damage control. “I don't know why I said that,” she shakes her head hastily, “sometimes I just say….”

“Things you don't mean?”

“Really stupid things,” she huffs.

Hassan emits a slow hum. “What exactly does that mean?” He knits his brows, as if he's thinking really hard on the matter, “return the favor.”

Dragging her lower lip through her teeth, Y/n shrugs. She's already opened the can, best just let the worms out – or whatever would be a proper reconstruction of that phrase. “Whatever you want it to mean.”

He reaches over the consoul, the warmth of his large palm permeating the wet fabric of her jeans. “I've got some ideas,” his hand glides upwards, only stopping when his fingers are close enough to brush the area right under the zipper of her jeans.

“This is very inappropriate, Sheriff,” Y/n looks down at his hand on her thigh before panning her gaze back up to meet his.

“Then you could just say no,” he suggests.

Y/n means it; it is incredibly inappropriate. She'd never slept with a parent, but then again, a parent has never looked as good as Hassan el Shabazz.

“Oh fuck it.” Hastily unbuckling her seatbelt, Y/n leans over and grabs his face. As she presses her lips to Hassan’s in a heady kiss, he grips her hips and practically drags her into his lap.

“Shit,” he mumbles when her back hits the horn, “We can't –”

“What?” She breathes, words tumbling into his mouth.

“Well,” his words are barely making it out as their lips work hungrily, and when Y/n grinds against his crotch, Hassan groans loudly and squeezes her waist. “Not in here. I can…. barely…..fucking move.”

Snorting a chuckle, Y/n finally pulls away. Her chest is racked with heavy breaths and she's still gripping a fistful of dark blue flannel on one hand. “Fair. Wanna come in?”

“Do you even have to ask?” He shoots back, kissing Y/n hard one more time before she clumsily stubbles out. She leaves the door open for him and jogs up the short, paved path to the front steps.

Under the protection of the porch, and with the aid of the light she'd left on before leaving home, Y/n rummages through her small purse, finding them right as Hassan starts taking long strides towards her. She gets the door open just as he reaches her. Not waiting for them to get inside, Hassan snatches her hips again and crushes his mouth to hers.

Y/n stumbles backwards into the house, blindly discarding her purse as Hassan kicks the door shut. When he shoves her against the closest wall, she elicits a quiet oof that he eagerly muffles.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He probs, trapping her between his firm body and the cool wall.

Smiling through slower kisses, Y/n's lithe fingers travel down his front to grab his crotch, the size of the bulge there making moisture pool in her center. “I think I've got a pretty good idea.”

“Yeah?” The word is a hoarse whisper as Y/n undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, “that's not even half of it, babygirl.”

Dipping her hand into his boxers, she gasps as she closes her hand in around his impressive girth. “What else?” She croons, using her thumb to spread around a bead of precum.

Lowering his head to lay his lips on her neck, Hassan alternates between pressing feverish kisses to her soft skin and nibbling on the area around her pulse. Simultaneously, his rough hands dip under the hem of her sweater, first flattening to rove the dip of her waist before journeying upwards to knead her breasts through her bra.

“Better if I show you,” he declares after tugging his teeth away from her neck. Making short work of pulling the sweater over her head, Hassan reaches for the button on her jeans, handling it so roughly that it pops right off, the soft sound of it hitting the floor drowned out by their heavy breathing.

“You're wearing a skirt the next time we see each other,” he warns while peeling off her pants and underwear. When they reach her ankles, Y/n can't seem to kick them off fast enough, her shoes getting lost in the hurry.

Hassan's jeans and boxers don't make it past his knees before he's grabbing the back of her thighs and hoisting her up. Y/n’s legs immediately hook to his hips and he barely lets a second go to waste before sliding into her.

“God!”

“Fuck!”

Their unison exclamations are accompanied by his vice grip on her hip tightening enough to leave bruises and her nails sinking into his shoulder blades. He fills her so completely that it burns and Y/n swears she can feel him in the lower part of her stomach.

But she wants more.

“Move. Please,” she whines desperately.

Eager to comply, Hassan stirs a steady pace of rough, controlled thrusts. With each roll of his hips, he removes himself almost completely before driving back into her. Every time their hips connect, Y/n swears he's hit something no one else has ever touched and she can't help the pitched yelp that breaks her lips, combating the sound pouring rain and rolling thunder.

Gripping the back of his neck, she cups his cheek with her other hand, urging his face closer. His tongue swirls around hers and she completely relinquishes any remaining semblance of control.

Reaching between them, Hassan presses his thumb to the bundle of nerves between her thighs, rubbing it in vigorous circles and effectively adding to the growing pressure in her stomach.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Hassan encourages when her legs start stiffening. “That's it babygirl,” he praises when her hips buck enthusiastically, “I wanna feel…..just like that,” he grunts through clenched teeth when Y/n finally pulses around his length. “Fuck!”

Hassan's release is on the heel of her, generous ribbons of his hot product drenching her walls. There's a stutter in the drilling motion of his hips, but he still manages to ride out their highs with an almost assaulting pace.

And then, when they're done, he slumps forward, his weight pinning her to the wall.

Despite the coolness provided by the storm raging outside, their both sweaty and there's a stifling heat surrounding them. Her legs are as good as jelly, and when Hassan gingerly detaches himself from her, the only thing keeping Y/n upright is his steadying, one handed grip. With his free hand, he reaches between her sore thighs; collecting the bits of silky moisture in curled fingers before slipping them between her folds.

“Shit,” Y/n hisses, leaning her head to his chest, which is somehow still guarded by his wet shirt.

“What?” Hassan prompts.

“I'm not on…..anything,” she admits. In the moment, it was the furthest thing from her mind, and even now, she's more concerned about his reaction than what it might mean for herself.

In fact, there's an odd sense of satisfaction that accompanies the thought of risking it all for the sheriff – knowing that of all the women he could chose from the island, the mainland or wherever the fuck he wants to, she's the one that he fucked brainless, and there won't be any denying it.

But that's something that she doesn't want to think about right now.

“Really?” She can practically hear his smirk and it forces her to loll her head back so she can try to make out his expression in the dimess, only illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. “Then maybe we should see what happens if we do that again.”

[charleslee-valentine]

Flesh and Blood need Flesh and Blood

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month event: Day 6- Underestimated

Word Count: ~3,100

Warnings: Blood and violence. Accidental killing. Period typical ableism & ableist language. Mild panic attacks. Domestic abuse. Religious aspects.

_________

“Take him home. Now, boy.” Drayton Sawyer barks in his middle brother’s face, keeping his yelling hushed to avoid causing a scene.

“Y-Yessir.” Nubbins, for his part, gives a nod and takes off running, only stopping when his clammy hands wrap around the handles of a wheelchair.

Franklin’s wheelchair.

It’ll be a long walk from here, takin’ the road shoulder all the way from the gas station to home, but Drayton’s got a mess to clean and customers to serve that oughta take priority over drivin’ the boys home. Couldn’t be arranged unless it was planned, and nothin’ about today had been goin’ in that sort of direction.

The boys were all together in the station’s yard, running not wheeling or wobbling to the best of their abilities. Using whatever toys they could scrounge together they’d made a game, pitchin’ crushed soda cans, wads of dry gum, a bouncy ball, and so so long as they could smack it around with a bat. Ain’t no objective, though eventually they started trying to catch each other’s swings.

Bubba’s only nine still and learnin’ to upkeep all the things he’d been taught. It’s harder work for him to retain things in his brain, so he stumbles when he walks and struggles to hold a fork at supper, but that’s just Bubba. Mangled little face and all, that’s the Sawyers’ kid brother and he’s goin’ to be included in their play.

Ain’t up to no yuppie scum t’ decide who’s doin’ what and where. Don’t stop them from sharin’ uncalled for opinions.

“That boy out there, you ought lock him up ‘fore someone gets hurt. Teenaged, child, whatever. Don’t matter to them like that. Those are freaks of nature, ‘n whatever they are, they’s goin’ ruin it all the same. Comin’ after the comfortable. You know what I’m sayin’.”

The man wouldn’t stop lecturing Drayton about allowing Bubba to play in the yard with his brother and a friend, like that was the worst option. Like he had any clue of when Mama was perfectly willing to let the state take Bubba for a price, just before her disappearance from the picture. Had a lot of nerve bein’ so ignorant out loud.

Well thing is, Franklin was playing batter, and the man was storming over to lecture here too, and Drayton wasn’t quick enough comin’ ‘round the counter to stop it, and he just reacted. Swing the bat.

Broke the man’s nose on the first swing, saw blood and panicked. Kept swingin’ and jabbing with the bat ‘til his instincts told him the threat was gone and he could stop. Just like swatting a bug.

Except a man’s skull was spilling its contents all over the ground, and nobody even said a word. Nubbins went straight to helping his big brother carry it, Bubba took the bat and ran it inside. The practiced nature of what they were doing, hiding the evidence, didn’t really occur to Franklin just yet. His mind was focused on the trouble he’d face from the law or his parents or even God for this, nevermind if the Sawyers didn’t care.

Now Nubbins is just pushin’ him along like it’s not an issue in the world, and Franklin can’t help but worry out loud, “Oh Lord, why’d I do that?”

“D-Do what?” Nubbins tilts his head and leans down into Franklin’s line of vision, slowing their forward progress from leaning on the wheelchair so heavily.

“You saw me! I killed that man!” Franklin’s voice cracks harshly, his cheeks tinging pink from the embarrassment of that, as if that’s worse than homicide.

But Nubbins straightens out some and casually reminds him, “He was mean.”

Franklin blinks away the surprise of his casual nature and sputters, “Lots of people are mean! But I hit him ‘cross the head with a steel bat! That’s mean too, dontcha think?”

“Nawh.”

“Naw?! Nubbins I'm goin’ to prison. I beat a guy to death and my fam’ly gonna hate me, they ain’t never gonna let me back! Not even God’s gonna want me, it’s gotta be a sin to kill another man. Oh Lord I’m goin’ to Hell Nubbins!”

With Nubbins behind him and nobody around for miles, Franklin won’t deny he started crying.

Nubbins shocks him out of it again with a curious comment, “Wh-What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Franklin sniffles, picking at his nails nervously.

His friend downright giggles, “Hell. What’s Hell l-like? I-I never been there.”

Sometimes he forgets the Sawyers aren’t of the faith, seeing it’s so common in his own life. Had to lie downright and tell his mama that they’re church goers alright, just a different sect so they’ll never see them on Sundays. Think he said they was witnesses or somethin’. Sometimes it felt like God was more important to them than even he was, a lonely child ignored for the sake someone they don’t even know’s grace.

Now ain’t the time to be doubtin’ his beliefs, so he sticks to them, and explains, “Hell is where the bad people go when they die.”

“You isn’t a.. a bad people. That other guy was. H-He was mean to Bubba. Anyone m-mean to Bubba gots to sp-splatter.” One of his hands comes down on the rubber lined handle of the wheelchair, making a dull thud that rattles Franklin’s bones. Almost worse than his comment, “H-He smashed up r-real good too, Frankie!”

“Oh God, I’m gonna be sick..” Franklin gets overwhelmed until it tightens in his stomach and feels funny in his throat. He covers his mouth, “You got a bag I could throw up in?”

Despite Franklin’s urgency, Nubbins sounds so casual, “Jus’ lean o-over.”

“My spine is paralyzed silly, I cain't just lean any way I wanna.” Correcting him works to calm Franklin down some at least, staying level headed so he don’t yell at Nubbins over forgetting a good excuse to breathe normal.

“Oh. I c-can help lean ya.” He offers patiently, impressive for Nubbins.

Franklin decides a few deep breaths’ll do. “It’s alright- No I don’t think I’m gonna be sick no more. It’s alright.”

“My sick lasts a.. a l-lot l-longer than that!” There’s something like admiration there in his voice. Like it’s got nothin’ to do with Epstein-Barr and it’s just some talent Franklin has that makes him feel better.

He laughs softly, “That’s ‘cause you got a condition.”

“Nuh-Uh.” Nubbins argues, even though it isn’t true.

“Oh, alright.” Franklin just agrees ‘cause that’s easier. And things are good for a while, pleasant. ‘Til his worries come out again and the reality of running away from murder with Nubbins sets in, “You think your brother is mad at me?”

“N-No. Not you. H-He don’ hit no o-outsiders.”

“I ain’t an outsider. I’m your best friend.”

Switching to pushing the wheelchair with only one hand, he shakes out the other, happy from hearing Franklin say that. Nubbins wants Franklin to be happy too, “That’s true. B-But.. I won’ let him hurt ya! I-I’ll take the beatin’. It’s no t-trouble.”

Somehow, that brings more dread into Franklin’s heart, “Critter, that don’t make me feel better.”

Not knowing a better way to settle it, Nubbins just shrugs and keeps down the path towards home, imitating buzzing car engines as they pass, or the crunch of Franklin’s wheels along the cracking road. Ain’t all that worried honestly for the crime scene they’re leaving behind.

That’s when Franklin remembers that the second he had swung the bat, Bubba got overwhelmed by the confrontation and run off towards home. Can tell he’s in there from the curtains being drawn up tight when he knows for certain they was open when he got dropped off this morning.

Nubbins seems to remember about the same and takes off jogging a little faster down the rest of the drive, shaking Franklin’s wheelchair around accidentally. He lets it slide since it’s a big brother’s concern for his sibling causing the rush and don’t ask him to slow down.

After dragging him backwards up the stairs, Nubbins shoves the door open and calls out, “B-Bubba, you home yet?”

If they’re quiet, they can both hear a quiet chuffing noise deep in the house somewhere, Bubba making noises like a pig to soothe himself.

“C’mon L-Leatherface, answer me if- if you’s here!” Nubbins raises his voice some impatiently while pulling Franklin inside after himself.

This time they get some babbling in response, and though Franklin wishes he understood the little Sawyer’s language, he’s not a master yet.

It’s a good thing Nubbins answers his question just fine, “Yeh, I-I got Frankie with me. You c-come out. I need- I need helps with supper.”

Out of the basement he emerges, no sign of the distress beyond an extra layer of clothes, a soft jacket he wears when he needs the comfort. Don’t know who it belonged to for it to be so large, hanging down past his curled up hands and almost to his knees, but he loves that thing. At some point, Franklin realized it was a woman’s robe and thought it might belong to his mother, but she’s a mystery to Franklin too.

“Cook gonna be o-ornery when he gets home, so’s I-I want you to help make s-somethin’ good!” Taking on the big brother role, Nubbins bosses him around, “Me ‘n F-Frankie, we gonna clean up and get- get the house nice, s-so you gonna cook!”

All together they get it presentable, sweeping the floors and wiping down the counters. Franklin is assigned to the dining room only since he’s never been in the kitchen, setting up a fancy table cloth and some plates. Never seen the place look so tidy before, wonders if they only do cleaning up for the holidays or guests.

Somehow it all feels like he’s preparing for the gallows, sentenced to a hanging the very moment Drayton gets home and subjects him to whatever punishment he’s got to face. An eye for an eye, killed by the same bat maybe? The police called on him and shooting him blank in the head when he cries. Hopefully not one of the oldest Saywer’s signature beatings, he’d almost rather one of the other choices.

He’s shaking like a leaf by the time Drayton cracks the door open, talking to them at a low tone ‘cause he knows they’d be close, not stupid enough to hide after this.

“Boys. Today’s uh- been a big day, huh?”

Draytons words trail off into a chuckle, but everyone else stays silence. Franklin gives a wet sniffle, on the verge of tears again.

Putting his hands on the back of the master chair, he leans forward and glances down the table, showing a crooked smile. “Supper don’t look too bad. Uh. I brought you uh- somethin’ down from the station-“

Over his shoulder, he gestures to a grocery bag he left by the door.

Nubbins starts bouncing in his seat, drumming his palms against the table, “I-Is it the beeve!?”

“Don’t you go ruinin’ the surprise!” Drayton kicks the seat of his chair, all that modest cheer melted into fury in the literal blink of an eye, “Did you tell him?!”

Franklin swallows thickly, “Tell me what, sir?”

“About the meat!”

“No.. I.. No sir. I don’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about. Either of ya.”

“In that case-“ He goes off to retrieve the bag and brings it to the table, raising it up along with his eyebrows at the same time, nudging it forward until he unveils what’s inside. Butchered meat, it seems, but the third piece comes out with lightly burnt skin left on, and a tattoo. “Congratulations, Franklin! You’re one of us now!”

“My- My firstie t-time was a long time ago. You’s jus’ a l-late bloomer like Bubba!” Nubbins adds, clapping Franklin on his shoulder over and over, like he’s petting a dog.

Franklin who’s mouth has gone so dry he’s got to down half his whole glass of sweet tea, “You’re talkin’ about killin’.”

“Uh-huh! Mine was a.. Bank man! B-Bank man come to take Drayton’s truck away, h-he put his hands on me, a-an’ I slashed his ugly neck r-right open!” Nubbins excitedly imitates an over-exaggerated spraying of blood by pushing air between his teeth and making the splatter with his hands.

It’s amusing, but the gravity of what they’re telling him holds Franklin’s joy down deep inside, “I jus’ don’t understand why. I never known anybody in the whole world to be like this. Killers this way.”

“We gots to eat.” Clearly repeating what somebody else told him, Nubbins gives a noncommittal shrug, “D-Dogs in the world ‘an stuff, w-we gots to eat each other.”

Ah. So he is right about that. Drayton cooked up the man he killed on accident and brought it home as some kind of treat for the boys.

Franklin tries to avoid havin’ to do the act by bringing up his own condition, diabetes type one, “Surely that ain’t good for my blood sugar. I got that disease you know, makes my sugar go up and down and I gotta watch it real close-“

“B-B-But you been eatin’ it j-jus’ fine all this time!” Nubbins interrupts him.

That’s when it clicks. He’s been doin’ what they do. Gettin’ so close to the Sawyers, the town loonies, was gonna end in somethin’ like this he s’posed. Everyone who said he’d always be a weak little baby, well they just didn’t know that he had it written in the stars he was gonna be a killer.

“Sally said the meat tasted rotten.” He comments vaguely, realizin’ he really is special this time.

Nubbins scoffs, never the biggest fan of Sally. “Sh-She would.”

“Oh hush. You aren’t to lay a hand on her, you hear?” Franklin scolds, but it’s just gently, just to make sure he isn’t doin’ the wrong thing by sittin’ at this table and not running.

Well, wheeling. He’d probably not outwheel Nubbins’ run, even if he’s got the arm strength to cave in a human skull.

“Never ever.” Making a cross over his heart, Nubbins declares it to him, “I swears, o-on my s-sick Granny.”

Dead granny. Franklin knows the woman ain’t still kickin’ no matter how much Nubbins insists she is. Though with this revelation he’s goin’ through lately, it prob’ly ain’t a lie that she’s in the upstairs of their house.

“Jesus. Well alright.”

The rest of the agreement is eat the evidence of his crime with the boys, then he’s free to go home. Seems so simple, it gets Franklin’s heart just pounding in his chest.

“I don’t.. Gotta keep up the killin’ now, do I?” He asks, on his way out to get driven back next door.

“Wouldn’t imagine.” Drayton is the only one out here yet while Nubbins runs around like a madman packing back up a bag of toys he’d scattered all around, forgetting Franklin wouldn’t get to stay forever.

“And I’m allowed to go home?” Franklin keeps asking, sounding feeble and scared.

This time he gets a scoff, like he should find that obvious, “Don’t do kidnappin’. Never let the boys keep one longer than a single night. After that- Lights out.”

One more, “And you really won’t hurt my family?”

“Not the girl, anyhow. No promises on your old man.” Drayton cackles, downright, like some kind of witch.

Franklin knows the bastard ain’t kind, certainly not to his own uncle Lefty or his wife, or actually his kids now that he thinks about it, but he’s not sure his Daddy deserves death over that. “That ain’t funny.”

“Wasn’t joking.” The oldest Sawyer assures him, cold smile dropping away again. “Siblings, they mean a lot more to the heart. You’ll understand that someday way I do.”

He extinguishes the cigarette he’d been smoking right in Franklins face by crushing it against a window sill, “That’s your little sister an’ I’ll respect it. Not a hair outta place on little Sally’s head.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“In exchange for that you keep your damn yap shut.”

Eagerly, to show he ain’t gonna two time, Franklin nods his head, “Yes sir! This stays between me and y’all and the Lord.”

He gets a disgruntled comment under Drayton’s breath that he doesn’t even hear, “Shit, you’re jus’ like your uncle, boy.”

His faith been tested today, but he oughta lean into it while he can. Keep himself from goin’ completely off the edge. Somehow the Sawyers seem to have managed that much, though, like Drayton said, they’ve got each other. God is so far away, nothin’ at all like a sibling he can hate or hold in his arms, depending on the day.

God severs the spine of a little baby and leaves him to die with prayers and prayers from his family that never quite reached him. Little babies grow up into boys in wheelchairs, who can’t even eat a handful of sweet berries without his body threatening to give up on him. Grow into killers, given the right support. Ain’t gotta let himself lose now.

Drayton seems to hear all that thinkin’ somehow, some twisted way of his, and goes back on his word on the truck drive. He waves Franklin away, “Go on and get. Nubbins’ll get ya back home. Tell ‘em I needed your help handin’ me tools down the station and lost track of time. They’ll believe that.”

A test of will or an alibi, he ain’t quite sure, but he nods his head. Just one thing he’s worried about, “If they don’t?”

“You tell me. We’ll do what needs done.” Drayton says it like it’s simple, and clenches one hand, bringing it up in the air and then back down. Franklin realizes he’s miming stabbing someone or beatin’ ‘em with a hammer.

“Um… Thank you Mr. Drayton. For not killing me too.” They both flinch when Nubbins finally slams the door open so hard it clatters against the wall, earning him a quick slap before they can continue on their way. “Um. Goodnight, sir.”

Halfway down the trail, Nubbins glances back at the shrinking house light.

“You scared of big brother, a-ain’t ya?”

“A little.” Franklin confesses.

Makes him a little sad when Nubbins whispers, “Me t-too..”

It’s them two that’re bonded. Theres bad on both sides, from a rotten temperament to a lack of care, to stuck up Sally and mean old Drayton. His home is with his best friend, in his heart, just as Sawyer as any of the others. That’s his comfort for a long time, knowing he’s capable, got backup when he needs it, and a dead body under his belt. Ain’t no invalid.

[oneeyedgrimes]

Copies.

A/N: this is my first time trying this concept! This was based off a blog I saw if i can find it I’ll tag the person! If this does well enough or people like it enough I’ll do a part 2 this is just testing the waters! Also the gif is what Daryl looks like when they see each other

Y/n and Daryl were raised very similarly growing up, both with shitty dad’s and a mother that would’ve done anything for them but was take from them early, which also caused them to have VERY similar personalities, like damn near the same people.

When y/n found the group she had been on the brink of starving to death she was the last person alive after watching the small group that consisted of 5 other people that she’d been with almost since, die right in front of her her sister included and there was nothing she could do but run. She was by herself for weeks or what felt like it anyway when 3 men found her in the middle of the woods leaning up against a tree with an empty water bottle next to her.

The moment y/n realized she wasn’t alone she hurriedly stood up picking up her crossbow pointing it at one of the men as he did the same to her, though she was outnumbered with a the other dude pointing his gun at her, she looked at the 3rd boy who seemed to be nervous about the whole situation “ I-I’m Glenn, this is Shane and Daryl, we uh heard something out here thought you were a walker-“ “ walkers? Tha’s wha ya’ll are callin’ these sick sons of bitches?” Y/n scoffed lifting her crossbow higher, she let go watching as her bow flew past ‘Daryl’s’ ear shooting a walker right thru its head watching as its body dropped to the ground. “ tell me why I shouldn’t put one in the three of you next” she grabbed another bow putting it back into her arrow. Daryl started to speak “ ‘cause we’ll have ya on yur ass before you can’t even try.” “ oh is that a bet?-“ You raised your crossbow higher before the boy with the baseball cap started to talk. “We have a camp!“ “ Hey- aye man the hell you doin.’ ” Shane cut Glenn off but y/n heard what she needed to.

She slowly lowered her bow finally taking a good look at the three guys, they looked clean, well Glenn and Shane did, Daryl looked a bit dusty but it was nothing compared to you. You looked at Glenn “y’all’s got a camp somewhere ‘round here? Ya got room for one more?” She cocked her head to the side watching as Shane leaned over to talk to Glenn, she took the time to look over at Daryl who hadn’t talked the entire time, though he’s sat his crossbow down against a tree and was watching as Shane and Glenn bickered about letting y/n come to the camp before he finally spoke up “ jus’ let ‘er come if she tries anythang’ we can handle her ass” y/n lifted her brows at him and she felt the tiniest hint of a smile on her face, he too had the redneck accent though his was a bit thicker than y/n’s.

It was Shane who snapped you out of your thoughts, a bit rudely. “ hey listen here, we gon take you to our camp, ‘cause you look like a pound of shit alright but if you try anything we’ll have your ass on a platter you got it?” Y/n just rolled her eyes huffing “ yea’ I got it asshole” she mumbled the last part under her breath as she picked up her bag and swung her crossbow over her head watching as Daryl did the same.

[matthewtkachuk]

you are the artist and i am the paint - quinn hughes

One week with Quinn in the offseason reveals several truths (aka best friends to lovers with a dash of mutual idiocy)

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

warnings: the ush (drinking, angst, etc. etc.), could be an artist au if you squint

words: 4.6k

a/n: this is the canucks thanksgiving video's fault. also @hotanddistraught's fault. big ups to @antoineroussel for making me a custom gif and also proofreading the hell out of this thing love you. currently stuck in a calgary airport hotel because canadian airlines suck, but the canucks nabbed a win so ya'll get a treat <3

Summer is bittersweet.

For every positive feeling you have over taking a break from your schooling and having the opportunity to make some cash at your summer internship, there are ten more negative ones that revolve around the end of the hockey season taking your best friend away from you. 

It’s silly, likely, to let one person’s presence, or lack thereof, dictate the general tone of your four month break from school. A bit ridiculous, really, to miss someone terribly when you saw them just last week when you dropped him off at the airport and leaned into the hug at departures for a minute too long. And pathetic, most definitely, to watch his private instagram story more than once for the brief glimpse of a real, genuine smile.

Passing on the opportunity to go out for drinks in Yaletown—on a Wednesday in May for no reason other than the majority of your friend group was free of academia for the next few months—was not at all typical behavior for you. Your friends liked to joke that there wasn’t a happy hour in the metro Vancouver area that you hadn’t personally shut down. 

The teasing didn’t really bother you; what was so bad about mixing your frugal nature with yummy cocktails and appetizers? That blasé attitude was likely at least 90% responsible for the confusion in the group chat. The other 10% related to your friend Daniel’s confirmation that he would be showing up and using his ‘family credit card’ to get the first round. If there was nary a happy hour you met that you didn’t like, there wasn’t a free round of drinks you didn’t love.

Regardless, they finally leave you alone almost 45 minutes after arriving at the first club, other than the occasional shaky photo of someone’s drink every now and then. 

The silence is kind of nice without your loud mouthed roommate and the rest of your friend group who had spent the better part of the late afternoon pregaming. Nice, but lonely, and it only reminds you that your best friend is on the other side of the continent. Luckily for you, the true reason behind your uncharacteristic skipping of girls’ (+ Daniel) night out makes itself known by the erratic vibration of your phone somewhere in your duvet cover. 

Less luckily for you, you can’t find the damn thing until you grab the bottom corners and shake out the heavy blanket and send your phone flying onto the floor. It’s a struggle to grab it before the phone call ends and flop back onto your now half-made bed, and it’s obvious by the way you struggle to catch your breath while also muttering a greeting into the phone. 

“Were you working out?” 

The question has you doing some strange combination of a laugh, wheeze and choke that takes a solid minute to pull yourself out of before you reply, “Nope.”

You can almost picture the exasperated yet fond smile that might be taking over Quinn’s face as he asks, “You doin’ alright without me?”

“Never,” is your answer before you quickly shift gears into recapping the latest roommate boy drama and how much you hate your manager. 

It’s a long conversation, the kind you have with a friend you only catch up with once a year despite only being away from each other for a week. You love hearing about the shenanigans Quinn’s getting up to with his brothers; love the feeling of relaxation and relief that practically radiates through the phone and his tone as he speaks about home. When he tells you about thinking about maybe taking a class at UMich this summer, you only encourage him—which is a far cry from the taunt Jack threw at him when he had first brought it up. The skin of your cheeks grows warm when you overhear his mom asking who is on the phone followed up by a sweet “My mom wants me to tell you she says hi.”

At some point throughout the night you turn off the big light and turn on your salt lamp, jump into your pajamas and tuck yourself deep under the covers. It’s easy then, in the warmth and comfort of your duvet and with Quinn’s voice lulling you to sleep to close your eyes. 

“So, uh, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come stay here for a week or two in July...?” You think you maybe hear him ask.

Unfortunately for Quinn, your only answer is the rustling of sheets and a soft snore. 

-

The beginning of summer passes a lot like it began, although with you partaking in more after work drinks with friends than not. You work and you don’t study and you certainly don’t mope around downtown Vancouver counting down the days until September. 

Quinn starts taking a class that fits in with his schedule of spending as much time as he can with his family and friends back home while also keeping up his offseason training regimen. He’s pretty tight lipped about it all, secretive and reserved in a way you’re not quite used to from your friend of several years, answering in half truths and changing the subject when he can. It’s not really your business anyway, and so you let him get away with terrible segues that you would normally tease him for. 

He does ask you again a few weeks later if you want to come down to Michigan for a week or two, turning your protests about not being able to afford it into not wanting to intrude or let him pay your way into conceding that you can give him a week in mid July. 

That’s about the time Jack grabs the phone from his older brother’s grasp, turning the regular phone call into a Facetime that gives you the gift of watching Quinn chase after him, his awkward little run having no right to be as endearing as it is. 

“I’m glad you’re coming,” he says later, having locked himself in the master bedroom of the house he shares with Jack (and sometimes Luke). His hair’s a mess and his cheeks are flushed 

“I’m really glad, too,” you smile. “Now tell me what class you’re taking.” 

“Would you look at the time, sorry we gotta head to my parent’s house.” 

You roll your eyes, but let him go with the explicit promise that he’ll call later. 

-

Somehow May and June simultaneously fly by and drag all at the same time. Each eight hour shift takes a hundred hours to pass, while your days off come and go in the blink of an eye. Every day you get closer to the date circled in red ink on your calendar; no indication of what the date means other than the word Michigan written in bold, capital letters. 

When July hits, it really hits you that you’re getting to see Quinn 

There’s a giddy sort of feeling in your stomach, the kind that usually pops up right before Quinn comes home in September. You’ve never been to Michigan before, it didn’t work with the mix of your serving job and classes you’d regretfully chosen to take the last couple of summers in an attempt to get ahead in your degree, and the first year you hadn’t really known Quinn well enough for him to take you home to meet the parents. 

Not that that was what this was, of course. You weren’t Quinn’s girlfriend or anything, nervous to earn his mom and dad’s approval, gain the acceptance of his brothers. It wasn’t like that at all with you and Quinn. Besides, you already had it from the times the family had flown to Vancouver—it was just a fact of life, parents loved you. And Jack and Luke loved to team up with you to embarrass Quinn.

You were just excited to see a friend two months earlier than you would normally see him, that’s all. 

Super casual, super platonic, super friendly. Super. 

Which is why you’ve had your bags packed since you flipped over the Canucks calendar Quinn had jokingly gifted you for Christmas to a picture of Thatcher.

Kimmy graciously offers to drive you to the airport, even if you could totally take the skytrain if you had to. “Just remember I’m your favorite roommate,” is the only explanation she gives, ignoring the fact that she’s your only roommate.

“You know you’re only going for a week,” she says bright and early Monday morning, eyebrows raising high above the line of her sunglasses. 

“Shut up,” is all you can manage, tossing your luggage in her trunk and skulking over to the front seat where you buckle in and immediately make a grab for her coffee mug.

“Thought you’d be more excited,” she mutters, pulling out of the parking garage.

“I am excited,” you reply, downing half of the mug even if it isn’t made exactly the way you like it. It’s black and bitter and doesn’t have an ounce of sweetener or cream in it, but it’s caffeine and you feel like the human embodiment of Quinn’s eye bags right now.

Kimmy has the grace to keep her mouth shut for the entire car ride, only turning up the radio a little when a Taylor Swift song comes on. She keeps quiet even as she pulls into the departures lane and hops out to help you with your luggage and wrap you up in a big hug. 

Quiet, until she opens her mouth at the last minute that is. “Bye babe, say hi to your boyfriend for me!”

It makes you want to toss your personal item at her, but you refrain from making too large of a scene in the last place you want to be making a large scene, settling for scratching your nose with your middle finger and offering a rebuttal of “he’s not my boyfriend!”

“Sure babe, see you in a week.” 

Rolling your eyes you walk into the airport. Security and customs are an uncharacteristic breeze, leaving you time to grab another coffee and try to become more of a human before the six hour flight to Michigan. Quinn’s blowing up your phone, the consequence of a three hour time difference and his career requiring many early mornings that yours did not.      

“Quinn’s lucky I love him,” you grumble angrily later, attempting to shove your overstuffed carryon into the overhead bin. The thought gives you pause and you freeze with your hands against the piece of luggage. It’s true, you really do love him. 

Luckily a flight attendant pops up behind you and one well timed shove gets the bag into place and you’re able to continue your moment of crisis in your seat. It’s not like you didn’t know you loved him—he’s your best friend, of course you love him. You love all your friends, freely and openly and purposefully. But you love him love him. Like, wanna wake up with your head on his chest love him, want to plan your future around him love him, want to wear a hideous jean jacket with his name and number on a patch love him. 

Crisis is probably too harsh a word, it’s more of a gentle realization, the slow pulling of a train into a station after a long journey. 

“You love him.”

Startled, you turn to the older woman in the window seat you weren’t willing to pay $50 to switch to. “What?”

“I know that look on your face,” Chatty Cathy continues. “Same one I had on my wedding day.”

Just because you’ve had the realization on your own doesn’t mean you’re ready to have the conversation with someone else. Not Quinn, not Kimmy, not your mom, and definitely not someone else’s grandmother. “I’m just visiting a friend.”

She gives you a knowing look. “No one visits just a friend in Michigan.”

It’s enough to have you putting in your headphones and turning the volume up on your favorite playlist. 

You don’t escape Chatty Cathy after you deplane, she’s right behind you all the way through the terminal. 

There’s a message from Quinn when your phone finally connects to the wifi at  Wayne County Airport that simply states “Here” which leads you to believe he’s probably waiting in his car at the pick up area just outside and so you’re not looking for him as you walk. 

The woman finds who you presume to be her husband first, sinking into an embrace that makes even your cold heart melt a little. 

And then you hear your name being called and Quinn’s standing right in front of you. Realistically it’s been a couple months but it kind of feels like you’re a military wife and your husband has finally returned from war. Abandoning all pretenses, you drop your bags and fling yourself at him. 

He catches you easily with a chuckle in your ear. “Missed you too.”

After what you know is an inappropriate amount of time, you finally disentangle yourself, dragging your hands down from his shoulders to his chest. “You look good, Q.”

Before you can grab your bags, Quinn’s grabbing them with an “I got it.” You follow along like a lost puppy, passing by the woman who raises her eyebrows and smiles. “Who’s that?”

“No one, I just sat by her on the flight.”

He shrugs. “C’mon let’s drop off your bags at home and then my mom really wants to see you.”

-

“You don’t have to help with dishes,” Ellen tells you after supper as she washes a large pot in the sink. 

“My mom raised me better than that,” you laugh, drying the dishes she’s already cleaned. 

“She certainly did.” A pleased smile takes over your face and your stomach warms at her words. “You know, I used to worry about Quinn the most. Jack’s never had issues making his feelings known, and Luke’s still close to home. Plus Jack’s got Dani in Jersey. But my Quinn has always been such a quiet boy with his heart on his sleeve and I worried about him being all alone in another country.” 

“You don’t worry anymore?” you ask, thanking her for handing you the pot. 

“No,” she stops and looks at you. “He has you.”

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, or to tell her that you have him too, so you don’t. 

Quinn enters the kitchen a minute or two later and shoos his mother out. “Let me finish those, mom. You go sit.”

It’s oddly domestic, doing the dishes side by side in his family home. Almost like it was the home you shared together as part of a joint life you’d built. 

Except not, because you can hear his brothers arguing in the next room until their mom shushes them both. 

When you’re finally done with the dishes, there’s a movie set up in the living room, with the only option of seating the small loveseat. 

The look on both Jack and Luke’s faces tells you it was on purpose.

-

Quinn and Jack are both too tired after supper to drive home, and so everyone stays the night in the Hughes’ home. Quinn’s old bedroom became the spare room, and the spare room became a sewing-storage-office room hybrid, and so you find yourself in the same bed as your best friend. 

It’s no big deal, really, you’ve done it before. Just, not before finally giving into the realization that you were in love with him. 

You try to sleep, but your mind and heart are racing. 

“Are you sleeping?” you ask into the darkness. Quinn’s close enough that you could conceivably reach over and touch him, but you keep your hands to yourself. 

“Trying to,” he grumpily grumbles back, bringing a smile to your face. 

Your flip onto your side so that you’re facing him in the dark is far less graceful than you’d planned it to be in your head, but you manage. “Why did you decide to take a class this summer? I’m sure you could have found a million other ways to fill the time.”

It’s quiet for so long that you wonder if he really did fall asleep, until his far more dignified roll over signifies that he’s as awake as you are. “I’m only a couple semesters away from my degree,” he says like it explains everything, and maybe if you were someone else it would. But this is your best friend and you kind of want to know everything about him. 

“I mean, same, but if I was making several mill a year I can’t say that I’d be rushing to finish my degree.”

He’s quiet again and you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing again, shoved your whole foot in your mouth when you should have left well enough alone. “I know, but it could all go away in a second. One bad hit, or an accident, or something else outside of my control.”

His tone of voice nearly breaks your heart at the same time as the words he speaks plunges your heart into ice cold water. The thought of Quinn hurt, of him losing everything scares you. “Don’t say that, you’re going to be like Jagr, still playing at 50 years old.”

“I hope not,” he laughs, and it settles the feeling in your chest. When he yanks you closer, it all but dissipates. Tentatively, you sling an arm over his abdomen and rest your head on his chest. 

You mull it all over in your head, distracted by the way he plays with the ends of your hair until you speak up again. “You’re more than hockey, Quinn.” He hums out a non-committal answer and you figure humor is the way to move forward. “Besides, you can always just bum off Jack and Luke.”

He tugs on your hair in response, but doesn’t say anything else. 

-

“Ta-da!” 

Jack’s a real smart ass from the backseat that he’d insisted on sitting in as Quinn pulls into the driveway of a very nice house. House might be putting it lightly, as a kid you’d called this kind of residence a McMansion. 

“Shit this is nice,” is your initial reaction. 

It makes Quinn smile, which is exactly what you were going for. “It’s alright.”

You shove him and then unbuckle your seatbelt. “Shut up.”

The grand tour Jack promised is pretty lackluster, a handful of guest rooms that mean you won’t have a bed buddy tonight, a kitchen you’re certain neither of them have used on their own and enough bathrooms that you don’t have to worry about how long Jack takes to do his hair in the morning. 

There is one door that catches your attention. It’s one of the only ones that is shut, and when Jack shakes the handle it doesn’t budge. “This is where Quinn keeps dead bodies.” 

Quinn’s somewhere else in the house but he hears all the same and shouts back, “I don’t keep dead bodies!”

Jack nods solemnly and stage whispers, “That’s actually true, they’re buried in the backyard under the pool.”

Super human hearing Quinn shouts again, “there are no dead bodies!”

You roll your eyes but continue the tour until you end up in the living room where Quinn’s reclined in the lazy boy, texting. It’s too tempting to pass up, and so you plop on the arm of the chair and peer over his shoulder. “What’s Petey up to?”

He drops his phone quickly, a blush beginning to form at the top of his ears. “Wasn’t Petey.” It’s a strange reaction, one that has you suspicious—not that you have a reason to be. But if it wasn’t Elias then who? Was it a girl? The thought makes your stomach hurt. 

Shoving down the conflicted feelings, you ruffle his hair a little to be a nuisance until he slaps your hand away. “What’s in the locked room Quinn?”

“Nothing.”

You poke him hard in the upper arm once, then twice. “Don’t make me poke it out of you.” 

It institutes a little poking war that has you giggling until Jack breaks it up. “Get a room, you two.”

It’s a little awkward then, and so you slide off the chair’s arm. “I’m gonna go change and then lounge by the pool if anyone wants to join.”

As you walk away, you hear the unmistakable sound of a slap and then Quinn’s voice muttering “Idiot.”

-

The week flies by way too fast. Between meeting all Quinn’s friends and drinking them under the table, spending time with his family, and being shown around the places that meant so much to him. It has you wishing you’d found a way to make two weeks work, but it had been hard enough getting your shifts covered for the time you were here. 

“Quit your job and stay here,” Quinn tells you when you say as much. 

Huffing, you move from laying on the deck chair to lean on your elbows so that you can glare at him. It’s a moot point, since your sunglasses are covering your eyes anyway. “Quit being stupid. Some of us have tuition and bills to pay.”

“I could pay your bills,” he says quietly. Sincerely, even. 

His gentle disposition is no match for your sarcasm, however. “Oh yeah? And what would I have to do in return? Be your kept woman? Do your laundry? No thanks.” Although, the thought of returning to school in the fall while balancing your jobs means the idea isn’t as horrific as it could be. Plus you’re pretty sure Quinn’s one of the least disgusting people you know…

“Nah, we can hire out someone to do the cleaning.”

You relax back into your chair because frankly your upper arms were getting sore. “Okay so in this hypothetical scenario, you’re gonna share your vast fortune with me with nothing expected in return?”

“Yep pretty much.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe.”

Lounging around doing nothing gets boring as the sun beats down on you both. It’s your last day in Michigan and you kind of don’t want it to ever end. 

“Let’s go for a drive?” you blurt out impulsively. 

“Okay.”

Quinn takes you for the highlight reel, showing you around various places that mean something to him, including a stop at his parents so you can say your proper goodbye to them and Luke. 

And then you end up at a cozy little diner where you order a large fry to share and two milkshakes. 

“You’ve got a little something right there,” he says, pointing to the corner of his mouth. “Nope, you missed it. Still missing it.” 

It takes you a full minute to realize he’s messing with you. “Shut up!” you laugh and kick him under the table. He captures your leg, pinning it between his own, nonchalantly picking at the fries on the table while you visibly struggle to free yourself. “Jerk!”

“I like having you here,” Quinn admits a beat or two later. 

The dramatic indignation leaves your body at his admission and you slump a little in the booth. “I like being here… jerk.”

He smiles, but doesn’t let your leg go and for some reason you don’t seem to mind. 

When the bill comes, he’s a lot faster to slap down his credit card than you are. Probably because you were expecting them to bring a machine that you could use your card at rather than let a random stranger take your credit card to the back for whatever nefarious purposes they so chose. 

The debate of the security of tap versus having your credit card taken from you carries over from the table into the car, and by the time you get back to Quinn’s, you’re satisfied you’ve won this round. 

“I don’t want to go to bed yet, if I go to sleep the morning will come quick,” you say softly when Quinn asks if you’re headed to bed when you get back. 

“Yeah, I know.” He’s quiet again, an inner conflict raging across his face until, “Come on, I wanna show you something.”

It’s like you know before he’s even led you towards the stairs that you’re finally going to see what’s going on in the locked room. “Are you about to show me your dead bodies, Quintin?”

His exasperated sigh is more fond than annoyed, “There are no dead bodies!” When he pushes the door open, you quickly come to realize it’s a makeshift painting room, with various colored paints scattered around the room and a sheet covering the floor. At the far end of the room lies an easel with a finished painting set on it. 

“She’s beautiful, Quinn,” you say, taking a step closer to admire the artwork in front of you. You barely manage to stop yourself from trailing the delicate lines of her face with your fingers. 

“She’s you,” he admits shyly, head ducked down and rose flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. “You’re beautiful.”

“I didn’t know you saw me that way,” you whisper, eyes locked on the physical representation of Quinn’s vision of you. 

“You never asked.”

Finally you tear your eyes away from the canvas, spinning around to face him. “Quinn—“

“It’s not—I don’t expect anything from you or anything. It’s the final project for my class. I didn’t tell you I was taking an art class at first because I was worried it wouldn’t work out, but then we were given our assignments and the final project was to paint something you, well, something you love.”

You say his name again but he keeps talking, almost a man possessed as if he can’t stop the words from falling from his tongue. 

“I love you, like, Capital L love you. I have for a long time. Maybe since the night we met, I don’t know. One conversation and I knew you were it for me. But, like I said before, I don’t expect any—“

You can’t take it anymore, you’re impossibly endeared to this man and his awkward rambling and his slightest hint of a lisp, and you press your lips to his. 

Quinn doesn’t reciprocate at first, frozen in place and so you wait, counting the seconds until he finally moves, gripping your face in his hands and kissing you like he means it. 

-

You don’t stop kissing. 

You kiss and you kiss and you kiss; that night you kiss as you strip each other of your clothes, the next morning you kiss morning breath and all when you wake up together. You kiss over breakfast and you kiss at red lights on the way to the airport and at departures. 

“Stay,” he says, kissing you again much to the displeasure of the pretty college coed who’d asked for a photo and his autograph not five minutes ago. You lean into it, tilting your head and sliding your hand through the hair at the base of his neck. 

“Can’t,” you reply when you pull back. “Bills to pay, remember?”

“Let me take care of it for you.”

“As if.” You laugh and pat his cheek. “I gotta go, I’ll see you in a couple weeks. Love you.”

The words are enough to have him let you go, but not before reciprocating and one last, lingering kiss. He stands to the side with his hands in his pockets, determined to watch you leave until he can’t see you anymore. 

“Told you so,” a voice sounds from behind you in the security line. 

Spinning around you see Chatty-although-not-incorrect Cathy. There’s no mistaking the look on your face this time, no amount of deflecting would ever be seen as anything less than extreme deception and so you shrug. “Guess you did.”

[wonderlandoffanfics]

Manifest Fantasies (pt 1)

My first ever posted fan fic! I decided I'm not great with smut but I tried my best, and will continue to try in other things. This fic is Bartolomeo inspired - I'm really sorry if I didn't write him properly, I kinda got self indulgent to certain degrees. Most degrees.

This first bit is pretty tame, but the second bit I'll be posting has the smut, so I'm keeping the warnings on the whole thing.

Enjoy!

Part 2 swimsuit addition dat dress tho

WC: 3480

CW: fem reader, MDNI, bit o’ fluff turned smutty, vaginal penetration, no protection mentioned, cockwarming, Barto’s fangs doing as they do, praise kink (for him, of course), aftercare with brief non-sexual urination

You had never really been interested in pirate life. Pirates seem to be everywhere but you enjoyed your quiet island life. Sometimes their stories would take you to a daydream of adventure and lead you to believe your way of living was dull. But you always snapped out of the daze when the danger came into play. It’s safer here at home on the island you grew up on. Why ever leave and live in uncertain fear?

Working in a bar is enough for you, you hear all the stories from pirates that come in to port and they take their dangers with them when they go. Fantasies are worth a lot to you, as someone who likes to write. Every night you go home and jot down what you’ve heard that day, the vibrant stories giving you joy each time you reread them and dream of the places you would never see and things you would never experience for yourself.

Most of the townsfolk are too afraid to come to the bar; in fear the pirates may do something to them. You’ve never had much trouble, but you have heard the few brave local patrons get things stolen, or worse, they’ve been physically injured to a point where they don’t return to your bar.

You’re always kept on your toes because of this. Pirates are unpredictable. Tonight’s visitors are no exception. A bunch of new faces have come in and sat in the room looking for a good time, a few new groups, you believe, since they don’t appear to be interested in each other. They all appear more menacing than you’ve dealt with recently. It’s time to play extra nice and obedient.

There’s one you think is a captain, at the bar with a few others; he has the most intimidating aura. He’s got to be over 7ft tall, with vibrant green hair standing tall upon his head, piercings and tattoos, and teeth like you’ve never seen; fangs really, is a better description. He’s muscular, lean, and keeps some type of weapon, a dagger you think, in the front of his pants. Not someone you have interest in making upset.

You get behind the bar and take their drink orders, serving them promptly before going to tend to other patrons. You notice him watching you; he’s not being subtle by any means. It makes you weary and unable to focus on your tasks.

You’re snapped out of it when another pirate, in the back corner calls to you rudely asking for more drinks for his table. You smile and indicate to them you are coming and go get them their next round.

Placing the drinks on the table you try to walk away when one of them grabs you firmly by the waist, knocking the tray from your hands. “Where are you going sweetheart? We want drinks and company over here.” The man says with a rough voice. “That’s not a service we provide here.” You state trying to wriggle your way free. “This isn’t a request you can turn down, this is our bar until we leave, so we own you now.” He grunts out as he starts to fondle you.

As you’re about to try fighting back harder, something breezes past you and slams the man back through his chair and to the ground. Then you’re grabbed again, pulled towards a large body, but not held there against your will. “I don’t think ya wanna be doin’ that ta someone nice enough to serve such ugly assholes with a beautiful smile.” The tall man with fangs spits out at the men.

He’s standing with you between him and the other group of pirates, grinning at them, and crosses his pointer and middle fingers on each hand. The three men, all standing at the table alert now, try to all run at you at once but slam into something and fall back, confused. You had flinched at their abrupt movement toward you and held onto your savior, now equally as confused at what happened; you let go and step back.

“What….?” Is all you are able to breathe out; “You idiots better leave this bar before ya embarrass yourselves anymore.” He says while making faces at them from behind the wall he seems to have created between you all. The men grumble and stand up, looking like they are ready to try again, angrier now that they are being mocked.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He says and moves you behind him. With one hand twisting his fingers together and one ready to punch, he knocks the one who had grabbed you through the table this time. You can tell he’s out cold in an instant and the other two men look stunned. They quickly pick up the man and rush him out of the bar, cursing you both as they leave.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess, miss!” the fanged man turns to you with a silly grin and blushes. “N-No, thank you so much for saving me from them!” you don’t even care about the table and chair, hell, he could have popped that guy through the wall and you’d still be grateful. “Please stay as long as you like, your drinks will be on the house.” You smile and go back to get him another pint.

After a bit of talking you learn his name is Bartolomeo, and you were correct in thinking he was the captain of a pirate ship. He’s on a grand adventure to help an infamous pirate become king, and he talks of him like you’ve never seen. Stars in his eyes and tears streaming down his face. How is this the same man that just saved you?

You close the bar early and just tend to him and his few crewmates that are with him, talking about his life on the seas. He says everything with such passion, it’s hard not to hang off his every word. You can’t wait to write his stories down later.

He asks you about yourself and if you’ve ever been off the island. “I’ve been content to live here my whole life, meeting new people through this line of work and writing down tales that are told in this bar. I don’t think I’m fit to have my own adventures, I prefer being safe, here on the island.” Just when you say it, you realize how unsafe the island was for you just hours ago.

“Well, if ya wanted, miss y/n, you could join my crew and write about your own stories. I’d keep ya safe, promise!” Bartolomeo chimes at you with the same wistful face he’s made while talking about his own life. He grabs your hands in his and gives you starry eyes, “There’s no safer place than behind my barrier powers, and on the side of the future King of the Pirates!”

“I woudn’t be much help on a ship, I’m not a fighter and I don’t know anything about sailing.” You’ve never had an offer like this before. “That’s okay, we can teach ya things and take care of ya. We would really love to have a woman on the ship.” He starts to panic after saying that, “not for anything weird or nothin’! Ya know, we’re just a rowdy bunch o’ guys that need a ladies help on the ship sometimes, like a big sister or somethin’. I promise, nothing bad would happen to ya!”

You’re shocked by the invitation and feel his honest sincerity. “Would I have time to think about this? I appreciate the offer, but this is my home and I need to think about if I would be able to leave it behind.”

“Of course, miss y/n! We plan ta leave in 2 days, you just let me know if I can do anything for ya in the meantime while ya think on it.” you smile at each other as he leaves that offer with you for the evening and takes his men back out into town.

-____________________________________________________________-

After writing Bartolomeo’s stories out last night you started thinking about what it would be like to live the adventures you’ve heard about over the years. Strangely, you trust that you would be kept safe. With a ship of 50+ men, you were bound to be protected well against most things. Especially with Bartolomeo around to watch out for you.

But then you also think; a ship of 50+ men. That in itself seems dangerous for you to be a part of, after last night having just three men try to keep you for themselves, maybe this is just a nice way of keeping you like that. How could you be sure that nothing bad would occur once you’re out at sea?

You walk along the beach in the early afternoon and see Bartolomeo up ahead so you wave and he comes running toward you smiling wide. “Miss y/n!” he calls to you. “Hello, Bartolomeo, do you have time to chat?” you ask and smile back. His energy does give you more comfort about the decision you have to make. “My time is all yours, miss y/n!” he beams excitedly.

You talk for a while about your concerns and he reassures you that you would get your own room on the ship (near his in case you need him), a lock on your door, and if any of his crew dares to make you uncomfortable than he would deal with them personally. He offers for you to meet the whole crew if that would bring you additional comfort in making the decision and you agree to that.

He decides you should see them at their rowdiest to make sure you understand the worst of what you may be around. Still comforting you in that you can stay near him the whole time and he will be sure you stay safe, not that he doubts his crew in the least. By evening you are on the ship with all his men, in the largest, loudest party you have ever been a part of.

Everyone is drinking and laughing, some are playing table top games, and a few are singing shanties as well. Bartolomeo introduces you to the crew, not that you would learn all their names in one night, but it was nice to see their reactions to you possibly joining them. They were all so excited and had each had ideas of things they could teach you about pirate life and being on a ship. He was right; it would appear they just want a female presence, like a sister, to enjoy time with. You imagine the amount of testosterone flowing around here was enough to make them go crazy sometimes.

As the evening progresses, Bartolomeo guides you through the inside of the ship, giving you an excited tour of his home. He shows you the room nearest his that has been cleaned and readied for your possible arrival, and seeing it makes you think how you could really make a home with this rowdy bunch of jokesters.

He begins to walk down the hall a bit more to continue the tour, but you stop him by tugging on his wrist. “Bartolomeo….. But, why me?” you ask, still not 100% sure of your answer to his invitation.

He turns and leans down at the waist to be face to face with you, “Because I can tell ya care.” He says plainly like you should already know. “Ya care about people, and have this look on your face when ya hear stories like ya wish you could be a part of them in the best of ways. I go with my gut and my gut says I need ta be the one to show ya the world…. Your world, if ya want it.” He says while standing back up at full height, slightly blushing and grinning with a hand on the back of his neck.

You sit in the moment quietly while a smile creeps on to your own face, “Well, how am I supposed to say no to that?” He looks at you, gleaming. “I’d be delighted to join your crew, Bartolomeo, thank you!” With that, he picks you up and sits you on one of his forearms; you wrap your arms around his neck to hold on due to the surprising lift. He takes you back out on deck to where the crew is still partying; carrying you like a prize he just won.

“We have a new crew member!!” He yells excitedly at the men and they all yell back with the same enthusiasm. Bartolomeo sets you back down on your feet after the party goes back to the standard loudness it was before the announcement. 

“If we’re leaving tomorrow, I should go home and pack my things. I’ll meet you all back here in the morning, sound good, captain?” You ask Bartolomeo and he quickly stammers out, “ya don’t have to be as formal as the rest of them; Barto is fine, miss y/n. We’ll be here waiting for ya!” you giggle back “If I don’t, neither do you, just y/n is fine, Barto. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you again.” You lightly squeeze his hand with yours as you turn to walk away from the festivities on the ship deck.

-____________________________________________________________-

It’s been a handful of months since you started your pirate life but you’re still shocked every morning you wake up at sea surrounded by men. This was never the life you envisioned for yourself but you’ve enjoyed every minute of it. Barto had kept his promise of an atmosphere of safety and keeping you as such when there was any danger nearby. He made sure you were his first priority if the ship was under attack, looking for you and once located, taking you to a safe place on the ship or creating a barrier around you (or the ship itself if needed).

You have settled well, being a den mother/older sister figure to the men. You cook (some of the men help since cooking for 50+ multiple times a day is a large feat.) and clean, and your favorite thing to do is talk to Gambia’s grandmother on the transponder snail every day. You’d be lying if you were to say she hadn’t made you feel even more comfortable living on this ship, even though she was back in her own home, she told you from the start how wonderful this crew is and how you were safe with them.

Today the ship was scheduled to dock on an island you were excited for. It was much like your home town but larger and with more shops. You had been meaning to pick up some things to decorate your room with a bit more; a change in scenery can help when you are at sea for long periods of time.

Barto instructed the men to find certain things and off they went into town. You were always impressed that someone with such a soft heart was able to command with such strength. You found yourself watching him more and more as he did his captain-ly duties. Knowing how your initial impression of him was one of concern and intimidation, you were now realizing that you’re fond of every aspect of his being, even the side that made people in town nervous. You knew that walking next to him, you would continue to be safe, no one would bother you after seeing him glare and bare fangs if they even looked in your direction.

Barto would accompany you anywhere you wanted to go. Since there are so many crew members to do other tasks, he was free with you to do as you both pleased. You took him into store after store looking for new and interesting things and he never complained or seemed to be bored of watching you shop.

After finding just the right things to put out in your room, you see a clothing store across the street that has things of your taste in it. “Would you be willing to help me pick out some new outfits too?” you ask, knowing any man would probably hate this. You see Barto blush and turn his face away but still answers that he “would be honored to be your side no matter what the task.”

Running around the store while Barto sits near the dressing area and waits for you, you grab numerous things that you would love to try on. You don’t want to make him do this all day, even though you probably could, so you hurry back to him with an arm full of pieces. “Okay, I won’t grab anything more than this, but we have to go through the whole pile.” You grin excitedly, popping into the dressing room to get changed into the first set.

The main bundle of outfits was for everyday on the ship; different patterned pants and shorts, with crop tops and t-shirts that matched each bottom. All very cute and fit nicely as you walked around and showed off like a runway was in front of Barto. Next you had a couple of sleepwear items; a cute nightgown and a set of boy shorts with a button up top. Each time you came out he was quietly looking just past you and gave you a thumbs up with a weird smile.

You decided to test a theory and tried on the one swim suit you picked out next. The bikini top was solid red on the right breast, and yellow on the left, and the bottoms were black and tied on the sides. You peek out from behind the curtain, “I need you to be honest with this one…” you step out and reveal the suit, “is it too much?” you turn slowly and watch his reaction.

Bartolomeo’s mouth hangs open for a moment before he stands up quickly and takes off his long coat to cover you, you see him red faced and looking around the store. “Are ya trying ta attract a crowd?!” you giggle and slip away from his coat, going back behind the curtain, “okay, any other thoughts?” you ask and he goes quiet, uncharacteristic of him, you look out again to see what he’s doing.

His face is that of pure bliss but he’s staring at the ceiling, tears dripping down his face. You hide back behind the curtain and try on the last outfit, hoping to tease him a bit more. You’re not even sure where or when you would wear this but it was too pretty not to at least try on. It’s a red dress; the top of it secured around your neck like a collar and has an open diamond shape down the front to show your cleavage. No sleeves, backless, and a high slit on the left leg as it drapes down to the floor but hugs your curves. You smile at yourself in the mirror, proud of this before you even show him.

“This is the last one, promise! Are you ready?” you ask while you twirl once in front of the mirror. “R-ready!” he calls back to you after making sure no one else was around, just in case. You draw back the curtain and pose; one hand up on the curtain still and the other gracing your hip and accentuating the slit down the leg.

Barto stands up and again and walks towards you, putting his hands up on the curtain rod and boxing you into the space, blocking any on lookers from seeing you with his large frame. He’s inches from you and in a quiet voice says “Ya know this makes keeping my promises more of a challenge, right?” You sense your body heat up and take a step back; he takes the chance and draws the curtain back to a close.

You see him eye the dressing room and go to grab the dress you just had on. You look at him a little stunned and questioning. “It suits ya too well ta let anyone else have it… it’ll be for special occasions.” He mutters as he grabs everything else from your hands and goes to pay. You guess you pushed just far enough, and smiled seeing him motion to you to follow him out the door.

That was not the reaction you thought you would get. Did you push it too far?

You get dressed again in your own clothes and pick up the stack you wish to keep, leaving the dress hanging up and thinking maybe it was too much. You step back out of the dressing room with your pile in hand and have a hard time looking him in the face. “Ready to go back to the ship?” you ask.

[jujumin-translates]

★ Main Story | Act 13 - Budding Spring | Chapter 6 - Current Location

Hisoka: …But this is just the pre-thing.

Sakyo: Right. This doesn’t affect the final verdict. It’s only a temporary poll.

Kazunari: Exactly! Aah, we got way too worked up!

Taichi: If we do our best during the real thing, we’ll totally be able to make up for it, right!?

Misumi: We still have a whole year~. Let’s do our best~!

Yuki: …Still, the fact is that our votes didn’t go up with there being so many other troupes competing.

Chikage: Taking a quick look at the rankings, you can really see that the influence of well-known celebrities and influencers really gave them a strong start.

Chikage: I’d say that this was an unfair fight, given the conditions were that only social media voting would count for this.

Sakyo: Even so, SNS Votes are still part of the main competition, so I don’t think we can necessarily say the playing field is going to change drastically.

Sakyo: If we’re currently seventieth, I doubt we’ll be able to move up to the top ten just in the first quarter…

Izumi: Then what are we going to do…?

Itaru: Considering the Newborn Fleur Award only just dropped, it’s not like we’ve got any wikis to browse for strats…

Itaru: And we still don’t have a clue how much of an impact Theater Votes are going to have.

Homare: All we know for now is that… it’s of the utmost importance that we move up the ranks in each of the four rounds of voting between the first and fourth quarters.

Omi: We have four total chances, so we have to be sure to take them all.

Azuma: We don’t have to jump up the rankings all in one go, we just need to gradually make our way up to at least tenth place.

Tsuzuru: Four rounds, huh… should we do performances that’ll stand out and be talked about as much as possible?

Sakyo: No, wouldn’t it be better to stick with keeping each troupe’s performance in MANKAI Company’s style, as opposed to doing something unconventional?

Tasuku: That’s true, the most important thing is making sure that the fans who usually come to our theater are satisfied.

Tsumugi: I think prioritizing getting Theater Votes is the way to go. Each one of those counts for one more point than the SNS Votes do.

Tenma: All we’ve got to do is continue on like we’ve been doing and give the audience the best performances we can…

Masumi: We don’t need to change what we’ve been doing.

Tsumugi: Right. We just need to keep putting on good plays. Just like we always have.

Misumi: Yeah, yeah! None of it matters if all you care about is the rankings~!

Muku: You’re right… I have to do what I can.

Juza: Yea. We’ve been steadily gainin’ experience and growin’ as actors. Even if it’s kinda crude, ‘s’all we can do.

Banri: So that means we’ll just be doin’ our usual performances, right?

Homare: For our usual performances, Spring Troupe’s performance is up next, correct?

Tsuzuru: Kinda nervous having us start out like this… If we screw up here…

Itaru: It’s a little terrifying to think about how we’ll be affecting things in the long run.

Citron: There is no need to worry! We just have to put on a Spring Troupe play like we always do!

Sakuya: Yeah. We were like this during our first performance, but if we hadn’t pushed on, we never would’ve been able to connect with Summer Troupe.

Tenma: Exactly. Summer Troupe wouldn’t have existed if it wasn’t for Spring Troupe’s performance. You guys can definitely do this.

Tsuzuru: Right, we have to do this…

Citron: If we could do it back then, then we can also do it now. We can be sure of that!

Chikage: I’ll do my best, too.

Sakuya: We’ve got more experience than we did back then, and we’ve got six people now, too. I’m sure we’ll be just fine.

Banri: ‘Course, we’ll be supportin’ you guys, too.

Tsumugi: Let’s all do our best to work all the way through the fourth quarter.

Sakuya: Let’s do our best!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

momo has entered the chat.

momo: Fleur Special Award-winning MANKAI Company placed 70th? Something’s sus here momo: Can’t believe that a troupe that literally just formed and hasn’t even performed yet is ranked top for a theater award, something’s definitely sus here momo: Can’t believe they’re really doing this social media voting thing. And why was the pre-thing ONLY social media voting? There’s gotta be a troupe that was buying votes or rigging it somehow momo: People were actually suggesting to use throwaways online cuz you could use them to vote as much as you want momo: And online popularity and IRL popularity are totally different things anyway

Iv: yua troupe def only got first cuz it was created by that famous vtuber, and the fact that they got like double the votes compared to second place is like so gross and weird fr Kar: That sucks. You doin okay? momo: God no. What am I gonna do if my oshi is shocked by MANKAI ranking so low? I can’t do this, I’m literally getting mental illness just thinking about it /neg shiki: It’s really disappointing the way things turned out with this. Social media really just does have a huge influence, doesn’t it? momo: Winning just cuz you’ve got big social media presence is so not fair Iv: i mean, tru, but it fits the era and it’s still a good thing, there’s tons of fans who wanna see their oshis but can’t actually go to the theaters, y’know? Kar: I mean, this is probably what got some people into theater, so it’s just a matter of strategy, ain’t it? Dunno, that’s just what I think momo: I mean, maybe, but still

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[violettduchess]

I need some help and I thought maybe one of my favorite writers could help me out. Could you write me an example of a character showing tenderness with a touch? Everything I keep trying to write doesn't sound right and I am really curious what you would come up with spontaneously as an answer to this and hopefully it will inspire me!

Hi anon-

This is entirely off the cuff, just random things I thought of for a few characters. Nothing is edited or proofread (I hope that's spontaneous enough 😉)

Chevalier: You're so lost in your letter writing, you don't notice his quiet approach. But your attention is caught by the feel of his hand as he brushes your hair aside, almost roughly, to rest his his palm against the back of your neck. It's a simple touch, but one you know speaks volumes for him. He sees how absorbed you and he doesn't want to interrupt. But you should know he is there, ready for when you are finished.

Gilbert: In the middle of the crowded ballroom, buzzing with the excitement of bejeweled party-goers and fizzing with champagne laughter, Gilbert approaches where you stand, glass in hand, speaking to several of the princes. He steps close, wrapping an arm around you, his hand coming to rest at your waist, fingers pressing just enough to feel them through the satin of your gown, a touch that is electric with possession, yet tender with the reminder that he is at your side and always will be.

Clavis: His words hold the dinner party captive, spinning a tale slowly, with just the right amount of showmanship and dazzle to keep everyone hanging onto each word, eyes alight with amusement and expectation. He smiles at his audience, never losing his rhythm but suddenly, under the protective shield of the soft tablecloth, you feel the warmth of his hand as it touches your thigh. It's warm even through the fabric of your gown, reassuring as he tenderly strokes down towards your knee and back up. I may be talking to everyone at this table, his touch says, but my thoughts are with you, as always.

Leon: Nervous does not even begin to describe the heavy ball of spikes rolling around your chest, constricting your breathing. No big deal. Just the coronation where you and Leon take your places as monarchs of Rhodolite. Your husband glances at you, so uncharacteristically quiet, and takes in the pale of your cheeks, your parted lips and shallow breath. And he reaches down, gently catching your chin in his white-gloved fingers and tilts your face upwards to him. His thumb strokes your skin as you sink into the sunshine of his warm gaze. It'll be ok, he says without words. We're together. We got this.

Silvio: The boat rolls over the choppy waters and you wonder how on earth you'll be able to survive this without losing your very expensive dinner over the side of the impressive barge. You hear him coming even over the slosh of the waves, the jangling of his attire a sound you have come to know and love. "What are ya doin' out here-" His words die on his lips when he sees how green you are. "For fucks sake..." The words are rough but rounded with sympathy, tenderness. He reaches for your hands, pulling you a step towards him. And then he presses at a spot about three-fingers length away from your wrist. "I got this." He holds tight, pressing at just the right place and shockingly, the nausea slowly begins to ebb. You look up at him, eyes wide with surprise and are met with a dazzlingly smug grin. "Told ya." His long fingers tighten for a moment around you, reassuring. "Let's get you back inside, landlubber."

Cyran: The morning sun is doing its best to get past the curtains of your bedroom. "Too early..." You turn, rolling with a grumble onto your other side and roll right into a strong pair of strong arms and a laugh, rough with sleep. Cyran's hand comes up to stroke the back of your head, smooth down your sleep-ruffled hair. It's a touch so tender, so achingly familiar, that you find yourself smiling against the soft linen of his sleep tunic. "Want me to fight it for you?" He continues to stroke your hair, his calloused hands shockingly light and gentle. You grin and he can feel it. "Fight the sun?" His hand stills, cradling your head as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "For you? Anything."

[nalgenewhore]

act of affection

elide x lorcan, modern au, they r smitten kittens, NSWF (18+) word count: 3246

He’s there, in the doorway of her bedroom, with an opaque plastic bag, the sharp edges of a take-out box almost ripping the weak material.

The girl turns in her chair and smiles, one foot wedged on the cushion so she can rest her hand on her knee. “Hey.”

“Whassup, baby?” His slow voice slides over her like syrup, familiar in a way that’s healing while it singes her skin with the echo of his fingers. “You doin good?”

“Mm-hmm,” Elide leans her chin on her knee as she grins dopily at him. “Aelin’s dyeing her hair.”

Lorcan’s eyes skip to her phone, propped on her desk and the wall. He nods a bit. “Dope. Same colour?”

“I got pink this time,” Aelin cuts in with a gleam to her electric eyes. She snaps the edge of her plastic glove as he gets close enough to see the barrette situation she’s rigged to section off parts of her hair and the dye saturating the edge of her hairline. 

“Ay, that’s kinda sick, ‘lin.”

“Right?!” 

The pink haired girl turns back to the mirror, and he focusses on Elide. Lorcan’s thumb finds her cheek, following the rounded curve before pinching it. He bends down for a chaste peck (uncharacteristic, but he hates an audience) and asks again, “You good?”

She stretches a bit to chase his kiss, wanting to seal her mouth to his. “Mm-hmm, I had a nap.” Much like what he’d been doing when she called him, voice weak and watery, after what he’s pretty sure should be considered for her worst shift of all time. He can’t understand how people are so rude to service staff.

Lorcan approves. “D’ya eat anything?”

“Yeah, Emrys felt bad and gave me an extra staff meal.”

“What’d you get?”

They answer at the same time, lips brushing lips. “Pesto pasta.”

It makes her laugh, the synchronicity, makes her break away as her head tips. He’s watching her fondly, standing to his full height. “Alright, I mean, at least you got something,” he chuckles. “But I picked you up some food, s’way better.” He sets the bag down on her desk in front of her. “Indonesian fried rice, extra shrimp.”

“Extra spicy?”

“Baby, c’mon, you already know,” he clicks his tongue. “Whatchu take me for?”

Elide melts. “I’m getting used to being spoiled, y’know.” She’s already reaching for it, fingers digging into the knotted handles to undo them. In a second, she’ll give up and rip the bag open. 

“You should get used to it,” Lorcan replies, casual yet with a mark of arrogant surety that she finds so attractive. His next kiss lands on the corner of her mouth, like he can’t keep himself from touching her (he can’t). “Imma go smoke.”

“‘kay,” she sighs. He turns, and Elide reaches out, her bony fingers catching in his belt loop. Raising his arm, he looks back at her, and she realises he already has a joint tucked behind his ear. “Don’t take too long.”

He grins, reaching back to unhook himself from her. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweet girl.” 

When he drops her hand, her fingertips are cold. Cheeks rouging, she watches him walk away, tracing his broad shoulders, slouched, beneath a sage and light grey speckled sweater, his faded jeans baggy. 

As she slowly rolls back to Aelin, she wonders idly if he’s dressed that way on purpose after she told him she liked that sweater and when he wears his pants that way (it’s nothing he wouldn’t wear; her soft heart still hopes it’s a little bit because of her).

Her friend is staring at her, and Elide blushes. “What?”

“You’re too cute,” Aelin answers. “He’s so, like,” she makes a face, like she can’t find the word.

“So what?”

“Smitten. Like, the way he looks at you, and how you look at him, too,” she elaborates. “You’re so into each other.” She massages more pink into her roots, glancing past her phone into the mirror. “He cares about you, like, a lot. And I like that.”

Elide shakes her head. Her cheeks are burning (is it because of how obvious she’s realising they are, or because it feels good that her friend likes her boyfriend?). “Yeah,” she says softly. “I like that too.”

“Oh my god,” Aelin fakes a groan of annoyance. “Go get him already, what’re you doing watching me dye my hair?”

“Ok, ok!” Laughing, Elide sits up. “Hey, thanks for calling me. Work was so gross.”

Her friend stills, eyes flashing back to the screen. “Me and your boy are going to find those creeps and teach ‘em a lesson.” 

“Does Lorcan know that?”

“Not yet, but he’d so be down.”

Elide knows that Aelin is right. “Yeah…” she hasn’t told him what happened to make her shift so horrible, kept it vague saying she had a difficult customer. He’ll be pissed, if she tells him about how the table of men leered at her, their girlfriends sitting by meek and resigned, and she doesn’t want a pissed Lorcan tonight (or ever; he shuts down, shuts her out, because he doesn’t like being angry around her). “Ok, I’m gonna go. Talk later, yeah?”

“Yeah, girl. Love ya!” The call ends before Elide can echo the sentiment, which is just like Aelin.

She decides to text her friend instead. Then, she slides her phone onto her desk and gets to her feet. On her way to the door, she catches her reflection in the mirror. 

Her fussing gaze makes her fix her tank top, tugging the tight and buttery-soft material down a bit (she ignores her flushing cheeks as she remembers what prompted her to dig this top out of her dresser). 

Elide slips into the hallway and pads to her balcony. “Lor?”

He glances at her, the filter of his blunt tucked between his lips. “Hey.” Earthy smoke curls from his lips. 

She smiles with a shy glance to the side. “Hi.”

That lopsided grin, her favourite, pulls on his mouth. “What’re you actin all shy for?” He snakes his arm around her waist, wanting her closer, always closer.

“I dunno,” she lies, embarrassment staining her cheeks. Lifting her hand, she rubs the soft knitting of his sweater. “You make me, like, nervous. It’s weird.”

“Mm, you make me nervous,” he answers. “Got me changing my outfit hella times before I see you.”

The nerves slip away like a wave leaving the shore, a cocky smile taking its place that matches the cocky tilt of her head. “Yeah, I noticed the sweater. Did you wear it because of me?”

Lorcan ducks his gaze. Blush always looks strange on his cheekbones, seemingly too carved and proud for something so soft as raspberry red. It’s what her cheeks are made for, and he loves that. “Shit, bro, you forreal gotta call me out for what?” She thinks it’s funny, the way he talks to her, so familiar, so improper and wrong, every loose word falling from his mouth. It’s charming, like how the way he wears pants so baggy they sag off his hips is charming.

She laughs and pulls the joint from him, bringing it to her own lips. Just as she’s taking a hit, plump skin hollowing beneath sharp bones, he fingers the stretchy cotton blend of her tank top. “On my ass ‘bout my sweater, but I never seen you wear tank tops ‘till I said-”

“Stop!” Her hand curls over his mouth, eyes round and blinking.

He pushes it away, ignoring her as he smirks, “I say one thing about wanting to fuck the shit outta you if I seen you in a tank top, an’ look at you now, ‘lide.”

The way she looks at him changes, and the heaviness of her eyelids has little to do with the baby hit she had. “Shi… you tryna smash, shawty?”

Lorcan gapes at her for a second before unchained laughter explodes from him. It’s her put-on voice, sliding down several octaves, his borrowed words that sound so unnatural coming from her heart-shaped mouth. “On god, shawty? After you’re fed, yeah,” he snickers.

“Better not be talking shit, on god, I’ll fuck you up,” she threatens, still playing in his tone.

“Oh my days, shut up.” He bends to let her hold the smouldering joint for him. He’s in her space at this height, so it takes one shift of his head to press his lips to her, inhaling into her.

Elide readily takes the smoke, and they trade shotgun kisses till not even the roach is left, just the filter. She’s tugging on him, impatient, barely letting him toss it into the repurposed plant pot.

Lorcan cups the back of her neck, bringing her up for a real kiss. She’s eager for it, her hands framing his jaw, sliding through the soft hair of his trimmed beard. Like their lips, their feet get tangled; she’s falling, almost but not because he’s there. His hands envelop her hips (they fit him so well) and give her little squeezes as he walks her back to her bedroom. “I want you-”

“You do?”

“Always; don’t be askin dumb shit,” he mutters. “But, you gotta eat first.”

She slides away with some reluctance, though she knows he’s right. “Wanna watch a show?”

“Yeah, baby.”

Elide rubs her palm over his cheek, their voices quieter now as if there’s people listening, even when there’s not. “You’re so good to me,” she whispers. 

“‘s’all ‘m tryna be.” All he wants to be- hers. His nose bumps her cheek. “What’re we watchin, pretty girl?”

“Ted Lasso.”

He laughs- should’ve expected that. “All you wanna watch is Ted Lasso, there’s not even new episodes.”

“I don’t even care, I’m watching it all over again,” Elide sniffs. “You’re my biggest hater.”

“Nah, never. Just teasin’.”

✵✵✵✵✵

It’s later, when the food is finished and they’ve smoked again, which is why they’re lying down now. 

He’s rubbing her back with his knuckles, his other hand holding her thigh where it’s hitched on his hip.

Abruptly, Elide closes her laptop and puts it on the floor. Her hand catches his cheek just as he goes to turn away, pulling him to her lips. It’s soft, it’s plush, it makes his head spin. Lorcan’s almost dizzied, definitely stupefied, as he sinks into her mattress; her hands fall down his neck.

He kisses her back, teeth finding her bottom lip to bite and suck. Lorcan moves his hands to her waist to pull her over him.

It’s easy (familiar) to straddle him, and she lets out a soft breath when he licks the bitten flesh of her lip. “See why I like my leg there?”

“Yeah, I like it there too.”

Elide leans on him and savours his shaking exhale when she kisses down his neck. Her hands, cold fingers and all, push his shirt up. “Off.” She helps him most of the way until he has to work it over his shoulders.

They part when he pulls it over his head, and there’s a pout on her lips at the momentary pause. Lorcan laughs at her, kissing her sweetly. “Greedy.”

It’s sweet until she slicks her tongue over his and grinds on him. He kisses her back, and her skin is warm when he puts his hand on her thigh. Pushing down on it, Lorcan makes her go on, pushing their pelvises together. His other hand goes up her torso to cup one of her breasts. “Take this off,” he tells her, about the tank top.

She actually sits up, her hands spread over his chest. He’s breathing hard while he stares up at her tilted head. “Are you going to make me, Lor?”

He chokes before huffing out a laugh. “Swear you act so different when I let you be on top.”

“I get why you like it up here,” Elide rolls her hips over him. His hand grips her side. “It’s more powerful.”

“Enjoy it, my girl, ‘cause I’m so close to flippin you,” Lorcan says casually, and she shakes her head with a look in her eye that says she might not mind it at all. “Don’t be pissy later.”

She bends down, like she’s going to bring her lips back to him, but it’s only for a tease as her soft hand cups the bulge in his boxers.

“You’re killin me,” he whispers.

“Don’t move,” she whispers back, her hand taking out his cock. He shudders at the soft touch tracing the tip.

“El,” he moans out, “stop, stop playin with me.”

“Shh,” she presses against his mouth with her hand now slowly twisting around him.

Lorcan tugs at her striped cotton boyshorts, and Elide mutely realises he wants her now just as bad as she wants him. She balances on one knee as he helps her yank them off. After, she sits on him, breaking another noise from him at the feel of her, soaked and silken. He looks at her with lidded eyes. “Can’t really tell if I want that off,” his voice is gruff. The black makes a stunning contrast against her milky skin, and her body looks so lush the way her tits stretch the material. She’s unbelievable.

Her sweet little grin is somehow in tune with the way she pumps him. A hitch in his throat makes her lips find his neck.

He grabs her nape to kiss her properly and grabs the wrist of the hand around him.

“Get on me before I flip you, mean it,” he murmurs before slipping his tongue past her lips.

Elide nods, bracing one hand on his sternum as she notches the head of his cock in her. It’s with an aching slowness that she slides down on him. He groans at the feeling as he fights the urge to slam her down.

There’s a flush to her chest when she’s finally taken all of him.

Lorcan draws her down and thrusts into her, his rough breath echoing in her ear. 

“Fuck-” he lets out when she moves her hips against him. 

She shudders at the feeling then, feels him twitch inside her and pants out. “Lor…”

“Sorry, ‘m flipping,” he whispers and does it before she has the wherewithal to tell him not to, and by that point, she’s laid out beneath him and he’s brought her leg over his shoulder.

Elide cries; he watches how she takes each deep, hard thrust. Lorcan welcomes the sharp sting of her nails digging into his back. His head leans on her shoulder while he keeps giving it to her. “Not- fair,” she gasps, her pupils blown. Her other leg wraps around his waist.

He says sorry by sucking on the inside of her knee. After a few more thrusts, the headboard slams into her wall and rattles anything that’s hanging on her wall. Elide’s small moans keep growing.

Turning his head, his eyes are heavy on hers. “You wanna cum?” His voice tightens under the squeeze of her.

She nods, bites out, “Need to.”

Lorcan falters once, fucking into her hard. It’s almost too much. He almost loses his mind when she pushes her hips into it. “Too much?”

Elide’s lips part. “Want more.”

He goes into her without any pace, chasing the orgasm that builds for them both. 

Soon, their breathing is the only thing he can hear. Her moans are sharper as she arches her back. Through it, Elide’s eyes catch on his, and she’s cumming on him. 

“Talk to me,” he says, his mouth agape watching her finish. 

It’s surprising that she can talk to him, yet her voice is wrenched from her lips. “Fuck- you’re so good for me, feels so good,” she cries out. “Cum in me, give it to me, oh.”

He doesn’t need much more than that to let go and bites her thigh to prevent a moan from erupting when it happens.

Lorcan is slower now, gentle rocking into her. He flinches at the wince she makes when he drops her leg, lets it fall to his hip. “You hurting?”

“No,” Elide swallows and brings a soft peck against his lower lip. “Never.”

“And you’re bein honest-“

“Always, with you.”

He still kisses her in apology as he pulls out; for a moment, he watches his cum drip from her. When Lorcan’s sated gaze meets hers, Elide pinkens and looks away. Softly, he presses his lips to her cheek before his heavy body drops beside her, on his back. 

After a few silent minutes, their minds coming back to themselves, here’s a cocky smirk on his lips as he drawls, “You pissed ‘cause I flipped your ass, huh.”

She’s pouting at him, but her hands are tugging at him closer and closer so it undermines her projected upset. “I never get a turn,” Elide mumbles, still spacey from his dick. “I thought you’d think I was pretty on top.”

A small laugh escapes him; Lorcan cranes his head to nip at her jaw. “Looked real fuckin pretty all laid out for me too,” he promises. “Looked too good on top, I had to fill you.”

Elide squirms away from his words, her cheeks flushing hot - he can feel it how their skin sticks together like the way your thighs stick to plastic chairs in the summer sun. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “That’s- oh my god.”

“Nah,” he laughs lowly, “you’re playing li’l miss innocent now, after actin all tough and shit.”

“I am tough.”

“Toughest gal around,” he confirms. “‘specially when you’re begging me to cum inside ya.” His voice stretches to a high key as he croons her words back to her, “‘oh, please, you’re so good for me, cum with me, I need it’-”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” she yelps, her hands pushing his jaw shut. “You’re literally the worst ever, that’s, like-” Elide swallows, cheeks burning, “that’s so not cool, man, I don’t even sound like that!”

He finds her mouth to lay a small kiss against it. Then her arms hook around his neck, and she gives him kisses that linger, making him sink into her, one forearm notionally balancing his weight off of her, but there’s no real space between them; it’s like they’re a part of each other on an atomic level.

She tilts her head to the side to press her lips to the corner of his. “Shower with me?”

“Yeah,” he hums, but he tucks his face into her neck. She moves to sit up, her body pressing into his. Before she can, he slides his hand around her wrist and keeps her down. “Chill, woman. Can’t I just lay with you?”

Strands of his hair move when she exhales with force. “No, I can tell you’re going to fall asleep, and you got cum all over me.”

Elide can hear the joke in Lorcan’s voice when he replies, “You told me to give it to ya.”

“Because,” she clicks her tongue, “I knew you’d cum if I said it. Now get off.”

Lorcan sighs (dramatic) and rolls over, lifting his arm to rest his forearm across his brow. “Annoying the fuck outta me,” he mutters. “Put it down good, and you’re still bothered.”

“Hmm, maybe you should’ve let me try on top,” she quips before crawling over him.

“Ah, you’re never lettin that shit go.”

“I mean… you could make it up to me.”

“You got ideas?”

“A few.”

✵✵✵✵✵

an: i have a couple other ideas that would b interconnected with this one, so might turn into a little series. (btw i am trying a new writing style (tbh idk if its actually much different than my normal style) so if it sucks tell me pretty pls) idk if anyones seen street dreams but the argument that ends in "pull up your goddamn pants ya loser" kinda inspired this vision of lorcan. (ALSO STREAM 'C U GIRL' BY STEVE LACEY HUGE INSPO FOR THIS TOO)

tag list: @sassyhobbits @empress-ofbloodshed @celestialams @the-regal-warrior @icecream52 @elentiyawhitethorn @goddess-aelin @julemmaes (lmk if u want to be added/removed<3)

[jungle-angel]

The Animal Doctor Is In: Part 4 (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett thought you had enough critters in the house until Peach shows up

Warnings: Mentions of animal cruelty, abuse and neglect, animal parenthood, critters with a happy ending, human parenthood etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @sebsxphia @kmc1989 @callmemana @attapullman @sorchathered

It had been one of those beautiful spring Sundays when you, Rhett and the rest of the family had gotten up early to go to church and had planned to go to the local diner afterwards. As always, Pastor Jim had kept his sermons short and to the point with a few little traces of his sick and twisted sense of humor laced in. You and Rhett weren't sure if you'd be able to sit through an hour and a half of it, even with the windows open. The days were getting hotter which meant there would be no shortage of overheated parishioners.

"Whatcha thinkin for chow, darlin?" he asked, adjusting Amy on his hip.

"Oh God, a big plate of apple cinnamon pancakes, a side of bacon and a tall glass of orange juice with extra ice," you told him.

Rhett couldn't resist the thought of that nor could he resist the thought of Herbie's steak and eggs special with homefried potatoes and grainy wheat toast on the side. As soon as you, Rhett and Amy were loaded up in the truck, you made your way down towards the diner that Herbie McMillan owned, one frequented by Wabang's collective of old-salt ranchers and first responders.

The diner was absolute heaven, a bit of a greasy spoon that hadn't changed since the 50s when Wabang was still somewhat in its infancy. Waitresses went back and forth between the booths and the counters with pots of steaming coffee and plates of food fresh off the griddle stove. Herbie himself was right at the grill, scraping the cracklings, cracking a few eggs, bacon, ham, sausages and corned beef hash on the stove.

"Smells damn good Herbie," Rhett remarked as you, him and Amy seated yourselves at the counter.

"Man what are ya'll doin here?!" Herbie laughed.

"What else would we have come for Herbie?" you asked him.

"And here I thought ya'll wouldn't be by till lunch at least," he remarked. "Got Momma's southern barbecue and her cornbread on the menu."

Rhett and Herbie went back and forth about the goings on in each other's lives before he took your orders and brought them over along with your drinks. "There we go and here's a little somethin my grandsons added to the menu," Herbie said. "A little somethin they call Jawa juice."

"Oh that's right I forgot, yesterday was May 4th," Rhett chuckled.

You and Rhett enjoyed yourselves immensely, going back and forth with Herbie and the other regulars while you enjoyed breakfast with each other. Once everything was paid for and the tip left under your empty glasses, the two of you headed for the truck to make way for home.

"Aw c'mon you piece of shit car key," Rhett mumbled, trying to unlock the truck doors.

A noise suddenly caught your attention from close by. "You hear that?" you asked him.

Rhett scrunched his eyebrows together. He followed the sound which grew louder the closer he got to the dumpster and when Rhett rounded the corner, he found the source.

"Aw shit, he darlin!"

"What's up?"

"Got another one."

You knew all too well what that had meant, another poor stray out on the streets that needed help. You gasped when you saw a poor cat come creeping out from behind the corner of the dumpster, emaciated with the outline of her ribs in plain view. One eye was shut and covered with marks that didn't look to be anything natural while bald spots had covered her body.

"Oh my God, Rhett......"

"She's definitely got a bad case of mange," Rhett observed, pulling a handful of cat food from a pouch in the pocket of his jeans. "Looks like she hasn't eaten in forever either."

The cat meowed loudly as she crept closer to Rhett, sniffing the food in his hand before taking a little bit of it. He gave her a little water from his Yeti which she drank eagerly before you wrapped her in one of the shitty truck blankets, loading her into the carrier you used whenever you had to take Garfield to the vet.

You took the cat straight to the vet where she was promptly looked at and would be kept until her mange had cleared. You and Rhett had made it a point to come and see her every day that you possibly could. Sure enough, on the day she was due to go home, you and Rhett learned that her previous owner had been arrested and would indefinitely be doing jail time.

"She's probably gonna need a name," Rhett chuckled on the way home with her.

"She's got this peachy colored fur, maybe Mango?" you mused.

"I dunno my peach," Rhett said, giving your thigh a squeeze. "Kiwi would be kinda cute if she was green."

You gave him the look when something suddenly clicked.

"Uh oh," he joked. "Whatcha thinkin?"

"Peach?"

And so it had stuck.

You and Rhett were surprised at how well Peach had taken to her new home, curling around Royal and Cecelia's ankles, purring and meowing when she jumped up on the cat tower in the living room. But it was when she was near Garfield that she purred the loudest.

You and Rhett laughed at how inseparable Garfield and Peach had become as the days rolled on, never finding one without the other unless it was for a vet visit. The two of them were almost always curled up in Royal's lap at the end of the day while Peach often nested into the couch to watch Cecelia work on her knitting or a crocheting project.

But you and Rhett were especially shocked when you woke up one sunny summer morning to find Peach and Garfield both in their little house box, all penned in under the stairs, snuggling their litter of newborn kittens. Amy was excited as ever to see the kitties and Rhett smiling and shaking his head at Garfield who wore the biggest cat grin on his face.

[searchingforgravity]

Merry Christmas Baby - Day 4 (Elvis/ Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: It's Christmas Eve in Memphis and you are alone once again. Living far from your family has never been easy for you. You think you'll spend another Christmas alone until you see a man with jet black hair sitting alone at the bar. You strike up a conversation and discover that you won't be alone on Christmas after all.

TW: Car sex, semi public sex, smut, oral (male receiving), dirty talk

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Word Count: 2874

A/N: Thank you for the request with this one, and happy reading! Also a note that Elvis isn't famous in this one.

"What'll it be, sweetie," the bartender asks as you approach the dim lit bar decked out in Christmas lights. "Just a vodka soda, thanks," you say and smile at her softly. She nods and heads off to make your drink. Sitting down at the bar stool, you sigh in anguish. Another Christmas Eve alone. Part of you curses moving away from home. You have no friends and you're barely getting anywhere in your career. You silently hope that things start to turn around in the New Year.

As the waitress brings your drink you sip on it, looking around the room. Except for the town drunk in the corner and a few girls drunkenly laughing at a table, it's pretty desolate. You decide that after this drink, you'll head out. You wonder why you thought it was a good idea to go out tonight anyway. Your eyes start to well up at the sudden pang of isolation you feel when you hear the bell ding, signaling that someone had entered the bar.

When your eyes instinctively go over to the now open door, you see the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your life. Surprisingly, he's alone. Almost as if feeling your eyes on him, he looks over and lands his gaze on yours. A rush of heat runs through you on it's own accord and you are quick to look away. You can hear the girls at the far table giggling louder and look in their direction. They are completely mesmerized by him as they swoon like school girls. You outwardly roll your eyes and sip again on your drink, although, internally, this man leaves you feeling just as wired as them.

"Hey there, handsome, what can I get for ya'," the same bartender asks the mystery man who decided to sit two seats down from you at the bar. "I'll just have a bloody mary, darlin'" he drawls. That accent, good God. You try your best to ignore this man that suddenly has you forgetting about your loneliness and thinking about things that aren't meant for public places. You distract yourself as you swirl your small black straw around the glass, the ice rattling gently inside. You almost choke on another sip of your drink when you hear a female voice approach right beside you. "Hey sexy, what are you doing here all alone?" she questions, her voice five octaves too high to be natural. She turns her back to you and flips her hair, nearly hitting you in the face with it. You internally groan at the arrogance of this girl as you decide to slide into the next seat over. She leans forward towards the man, making sure to put her breasts on full display. You hear him clear his throat gently as he puts his drink down, facing her. You look over and see her friends whispering quickly to each other, their eyes glued to the scene before them.

"What's a pretty little girl like you doin' out here on Christmas Eve? You away from home?" he responds without answering her question. "Oh yeah, me and my girls decided to come see Memphis for the holiday's. Maybe you could show us around," she breathes, leaning closer. A surprised cough leaves his mouth as he chokes on his drink. You don't have to guess at what this girl did to make him so flustered. "Sweet heart, I don't think I'm the typa man you want. And I'm just passin' through. Don't know my way 'round here much," he mumbles, shifting in his seat. She suddenly straightens up, embarrassed. "Oh, oh I see. I'm barking up the wrong tree aren't I?" She engages with him only for a few moments longer before returning to her seat. He's gay? The way you two looked at each other, you were sure there was some sort of spark. Your face falls slightly as you feel a wave of disappointment ring through you.

After about another fifteen minutes, the girls leave and you are almost done with your second vodka soda. You're about to call over the bartender when you are surprised to hear a voice from beside you. "Hey, watcha drinkin' sweetheart?" the mystery man says lowly, closer than you thought he was. You jump slightly at the unexpected question before looking to your left. You're immediately met with ocean blue eyes gazing into yours. "Oh," you whisper at the beautiful man beside you before collecting yourself as best you can. He has a soft smirk on his face that is making you feel like you need to take an immediate cold shower. You smile back despite yourself. "Oh, I was just about to close out. You don't have to get me anything," you say, thinking he is just trying to be nice since you're alone. His face falls slightly at hearing you say this.

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't. Was really lookin' forward to talkin' to ya'" He breathes as his eyes quickly travel to your lips and back up again. The way he's looking at you...he can't possibly be gay. "I ain't gay, baby," he states, as if reading your mind. "Just needed to give an excuse to that girl. Didn't wanna break her heart," He mumbles as he absentmindedly leans in closer to you. It makes you catch your breath, your heart beat speeding up. "There was someone else I was interested in," he almost whispers the next part, his knees slightly grazing yours at how close you are. You pull back slightly. If you are going to go home with this man tonight, and you are praying to God you are, you're going to make him work for it.

"What was wrong with that girl talking to you? She seemed nice," you challenge and you turn your attention back to your now empty glass, swirling around the melting ice cubes. The man calls over the bartender and gets another round for the both of you, making you roll your eyes, smiling to yourself nonetheless. He takes his time before answering, considering his response. "I didn't lie. I don't think I'm the guy she wants," you quirk your eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean?" "I don't think she'd be able to handle what I have to give. It's something for a woman, not a girl," he mutters as sips his drink. This almost makes you choke on yours at his words as you take a sip of your own. Heat flushes to your face as your mind momentarily goes blank. He definitely isn't the type to beat around the bush. You decide to test him further. "Oh, and what makes you think you can handle me?"

He laughs out loud at this, something dangerous forming in his eyes when he looks back at you. "Never met a woman I can't, sweet heart," he mumbles as he brings his hand to squeeze your knee, letting it rest there. "Is that a challenge, Mr.?" you question, suddenly realizing you don't know his name. "The name's Elvis, baby. And it is if you want it to be," he breathes, his words going straight to your core. You shift slightly in your seat and a knowing glint forms in his eye. He knows he has you right where he wants you.

After he gets the bill and pays for your tab as well, he leads you out to his car, opening the door for you. You are amazed to see it's a beautiful pink Cadillac. You wonder what this man does for work as he helps you over to it. As you go to get in, you see his eyes glance down your body as he softly bites down on his bottom lip, making your heart flutter and your stomach flip. "Watch your step, honey" he whispers as he grabs onto your waist, your balance slightly failing you. With your body now pressed into his chest, you don't want to pull away, and with the soft sigh that leaves his mouth when you do, it seems he feels the same.

When he gets in the driver's side, he looks over at you. "You sure you wanna do this? A pretty girl like you getting into a strange man's car," he muses with a hint of humor as his eyes rake you over again. "With a car like this, I think I would be okay with you being a crazy person," you throw back, making him laugh for the second time that night. His laugh is like music to your ears. You wonder how it's possible that a man this gorgeous can exist.

As he starts down the road to his place, a tension starts to settle upon the two of you. The same tension that was there at the bar; the one that made you want to rip his close off right there. Neither one of you bothered to turn on the radio, now growing tired of the Christmas music on every station. You allow your eyes to wander to his body as he concentrates on the road. Your eyes travel to his pants and notice a prominent bulge. While he's distracted you carefully trail your left had over to it, giving it a little squeeze. At the surprise of your hand on him, he swerves a little on the road before getting his bearings. "Jesus, baby," he grits out and you see his hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel. He tries focusing on the road as you gently palm him through his pants, eliciting soft moans from his lips.

"Don't tease me, woman," he grunts out as his hips buck into your hand, craving more friction. You make a mental note that teasing gets him hot and bothered, and you suddenly pull your hand away, causing him to whine at the loss of contact. He clears his throat to disguise his noise as his jaw set. "Don't play those kinds of games with me," he mutters as he slightly speeds up, needing to get home as fast as possible. "Why, what are you going to do about it, big man," you breathe as you trail your hand over his thigh making his leg jump. "I'll stop this car and fuck you right now if you don't quit," he grunts.

You choose not not heed his call as you let your hand trail back up to were he needs you most, his dick now hard as a rock. You whine teasingly as you gently palm him again. "Such a fuckin' tease," he groans in frustration as he pulls into the nearest empty parking lot. He turns off his car and immediately starts undoing his belt. "Here's what's gonna happen, doll. You're gonna suck me off, then ride me 'til you cum and you're not gonna tease me a God Damn minute in the mean time," he groans as you hear him pull the zipper down on his pants. You clench your thighs together and lick your lips in anticipation. He looks at you expectantly and you only nod, completely lost for words. He smirks to himself at this. "Good, now get your pretty mouth over here," he mumbles.

You lick your lips again as you see his erection poke out from his pants, making you release a small whine as you inch closer. His eyes snap to you as he hears this. He can't help but bite his lip. "Shit, I wanna cum and you're not even doin' nothin' yet," he groans as he pulls the seat back, allowing you to scoot closer. You crawl in between his legs and as you reach his cock, you steady yourself on his thighs before taking as much of him as you can down your throat without warning. He jerks up in surprise at this as a startled moan falls from his lips. "Fuck!" he shouts, looking up at the roof of the car. "What happened to you bein' a tease?" he gasps more to himself. You pull off of him to respond. "Just giving you want you want, Elvis."

You suck him off at a relentless pace, having him moaning and writhing underneath you, his hands falling to your head as he starts gently thrusting into your mouth. "Baby, slow down. I want it last a little longer," he grits out, his orgasm already building. You ignore his request and speed up your actions, bringing your free hand to play with his balls. His gives a surprised gasp as his head falls back. "God Damnit, woman," he grunts as he pulls you off of him. He takes a second to catch his breath and unexpectedly pulls you up to him, crashing his lips into yours. You freeze for a second before kissing him back eagerly. His fingers fumble with the button on your pants as you help him discard them on the floor. You do the same with your panties and finally your shirt and bra. He does the same with his shirt, bringing his hands to your breasts after as he leans forward, capturing your right nipple in his mouth and circles the left with the pad of his thumb. You groan loudly as you throw your head back, your hands tangling in his hair. He travels his lips back up to yours, slipping his tongue into your mouth, swirling it gently around yours as he lines himself up at your entrance. He pulls away gently to kiss at your neck, making your eyes flutter.

"Ride me, sweet heart," he pleads, waiting for you. You quickly come back down to Earth as you steady yourself on his chest, slowly sinking down unto him. You suck in a sharp breath as you come down all the way on his cock, his hands coming to rest on your hips. "Hell," he groans as he leans he head back on his seat, pure ecstasy overtaking his features. "Shoulda loosened you up," he groans as he brings his hand to your clit, rubbing in soft circles while staying still, allowing you to adjust to his size. Your forehead falls on his at the pleasure he's giving you, your labored breathing mixing with his. "God, don't stop," you whimper, your eyebrows knitting together. "I won't, baby. Not till you're nice and spent," he whispers back, kissing your cheek.

After touching you for a little while, you ease up on your iron grip enough to raise you hips, before slowly coming back down. You both moan at the motion. You quickly find a rhythm, bouncing on him at a steady pace. "That's it, baby," he encourages as his hands return to your hips, helping you. You let a whine slip from your throat at the sensation of him around you as you bury your face in his neck, nipping and sucking gently. He groans at this as he softly starts thrusting up into you, needing to take control. You don't have it in you anymore to fight him as you let him set the pace. Soft grunts leave him mouth every time he buries himself all the way inside you. "You look so good around my cock, mama," he gasps out, looking in between your bodies. You follow his gaze and see the steady pace of him burying his cock inside you and pulling back just to repeat the action, your pussy taking him so easy, it's like it has countless times before. "Oh God," you groan at the sight, picking up the pace. The sight awakens a second wind in you as you take him harder, softly slamming down into him. He throws his head back once more. "F-Fuck, that's so good baby," he whines as he matches your pace, his thrusts hitting deep inside you.

You start getting weak as you feel your orgasm approaching. "Elvis, oh God," you groan and he steadies you on his hips, understanding. "I want you to cum inside me. I-I'm on the pill," you whimper and he groans, picking up his pace as he kisses your neck, his thumb coming down to your clit. At this, you're coming apart, clenching around him again and again. He releases a string of profanities, releasing himself deep inside you.

You both just sit there for a moment, catching your breath. You lean your head to rest on his chest and feel his heart beating rapidly at the exertion, his chest heaving. "Damn," is all he says as he runs his fingers through your hair. "Me too," you breathe, causing a smile to play on his lips. You look around and the glass on his doors are completely fogged, making you smile to yourself as you kiss his chest. "Uh, do you want to me take you home, baby?" he asks, hesitation in his voice. You pause as you think of your response. "You don't want me to come over to your's, do you? It would be nice to spend Christmas with someone," you admit, hope in your voice. He smiles again as he kisses your forehead. "I'd love that, sweet one. Oh look, it's midnight. Merry Christmas baby," he mumbles. He helps clean you up before starting down the street to his place.

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