#Slender Beard-tongue

[msgexymunson]

The Rhythm Of The Night

Fem!reader v older!drugdealer!eddie

Overview: The weekend has landed and you're out clubbing, as you often do, and your hot drug dealer is tagging along. Safe to say, things get a little heated! 

AN: 90s AU, Eddie is 31, reader non specific around early 20s. I've been out for a while, struggling with mental health, so I hope this finds you all in a better state than I've been. Remember, comments and reblogs are my life blood. P.S. Before you ask, yes it is very much possible (if you know, you know)

Warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns, a lot of smut, some of it fluffy, slight age gap, NSFW (minors DNI or I'll tell your mother) female fingering, boob play, P in V unprotected sex (be safe guys and girls), drug taking, descriptions of drug taking and highs, sex whilst high (!!)

10k words

Masterlist

OK, it’s all good. You’re gonna be fine. You say softly to yourself as you hug your coat tight around you, too long sleeves hiding your chilly fingers. Hopping from one foot to the next you try to mentally coax yourself to a comfortable state. It’s clearly not working. 

You’re just going out. Clubbing, like you have dozens of times with your friends. And Eddie, your insanely hot drug dealer, is tagging along. No biggie. 

But it is a biggie. Since you’d met the messy haired rocker you were smitten; utterly taken by his rough demeanour, roguish grin and deep brown eyes. Eyes you could lose yourself in. You nearly had. 

Your schoolgirl crush had done nothing but expand on each meeting with him. Stolen glances and flushed cheeks peppered the memories of your rendezvous, along with perpetual flirtatious comments. You came to quickly learn that Eddie flirts just as easy as breathing. He’s a charmer; a salesman. Brushing it off as just Eddie’s personality was a different matter. Your brain told you it was just his nature; but your heart lingered on every word. 

Rubbing your hands together in their impromptu hiding place, you blow on them to attempt to warm them up, your mind wandering to earlier today. 

It was supposed to be just a regular pick up. You had needed to collect some ‘social medication’ from Eddie for the rave tonight, so you had bounced over there, happy to have an excuse to see him. 

The door had flown open sooner than you had expected, which forced an already chapped bottom lip to be sucked in between your teeth as you bit softly on the broken skin. 

"Hey bunny, you're early." Eddie's smile smeared across his face, buttery and filling; his teeth flashing with earnest and a dash of debauchery. His chin was marked with his rough stubble; a dark rugged nearly beard that was permanently etched across his features.

"Hey Eds!" You fired back with an innocent grin of your own.

You remember it clearly, him leaning on the doorframe shirtless, showing off countless cheap tattoos littered across his alabaster skin. You knew about the tattoos, but you had no idea about his pierced nipples. They gleamed in the light; the silver bars caught your eye and refused to let go. His teasingly muscular frame was fully displayed, making you dart your pink tongue out to lick your lips impulsively. He looked naturally muscular, erring on the side of skinny. More inclined to slenderness in your mind; you thought he was probably not fussed enough about his image to work out. 

Your eyes widened as you realised you were staring, and you forced your gaze away and back to his. A knowing smirk pulled at Eddie's cheeks, altogether a bit too sure of himself, as per usual. 

"Sorry, didn't have time to change, you know?" Eddie lied through his teeth. Of course he had time to change. You knew it as well as he did. A part of you had wished that he had stayed shirtless because he felt the same way you did, but you were almost certain the reason was just to see your reaction. 

"Yeah, sure, sorry to bounce in on you like this." You had shrugged in an attempt to act blasé about his partial nudity, despite how your cheeks had rapidly grown in heat. Just thinking about it now had your face flushing in solidarity. 

"Well, you are one for bouncing. Should've known, Bunny." He laughed, drinking in your figure with his eyes, before he gestured for you to make yourself comfortable. Eddie had made his way over to his desk to find what you wanted; scrambling through the drawers haphazardly. 

"Aha! There you are, you lil sucker" Eddie exclaimed whilst he tugged a familiar tiny plastic bag from the bottom drawer. It had hearts inlaid on the clip close rim; the contents were a crystalline, slightly yellowish substance. MDMA. That same baggy currently resides inside a fabric pocket in your bra. You try to forget its presence so you’re less nervous when it comes to getting into the club. 

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver!" You had made grabby hands at him which earned a warm chuckle. He held it out of reach, just to see your endearing pout. 

"Now, remember, plenty of water, sips not gulps. And don't chew your tongue." As he wagged a teacher's finger at you, he tossed the baggy. 

Rolling your eyes at that, you catch the bag clumsily. He had held out his hand and you had stared at it doltishly in a feeble attempt to get free drugs.

"Come on trouble, don't play dumb with me."

Eddie had given you an admonishing look, but there was no bite to it. As you huffed dramatically, you reached in your pocket and handed him a couple of crumpled notes. As he reached to take them, he held your hand for a second. You feel a flash of heat through you at the mere memory of his touch. 

"Now, I can't keep giving freebies to all the pretty girls, or I won't earn anything at all." 

You flushed at that; the apples of your cheeks had diffused into a deep magenta. He thinks you're pretty. That phrase had turned around and around in your head all day. 

"Besides, I'm broke right now." 

Before you could have processed how to speak properly, you had blurted out "come raving with me!" 

"Oh Bunny, that's not really my scene, you know that." 

"I know but, I mean, if you're broke, you could earn a bit of cash."

"I suppose you're right." 

"It'll be awesome, Eds, trust me." You grinned hugely as you gave him the details of where to meet, practically vibrating with excitement. 

It was only after you had left, with lingering thoughts of Eddie’s bare torso in your mind, that reality decided to hit you like a ton of bricks. 

I can barely speak to him without getting nervous or embarrassed and saying some stupid shit; how the hell am I going to survive tonight? 

Shaking your head, wishing it was some sort of etch-a-sketch, you focus back on your calming mantra, trying to block out the creeping nerves winding around your spine like unwanted vines. 

Huffing into the night air, you shimmy your coat sleeve up to check the time on your watch when a large pair of hands grab you by the waist and a gravelly voice whispers in your ear, “baby you come here often?” 

Jumping bodily, you twist to face your attacker and realise it’s Eddie. 

“Eddie I was about to punch you, fuck!” 

Eddie laughs deep in his throat, hands travelling to hold you by the hips. Your heart jumps at the unfamiliar gesture. 

“Sorry bunny, couldn’t resist. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” That grin, that damn wink. Any resolve you had melts in their wake as you stare up into those chocolate brown eyes. 

“Shall we, er, go?” You manage to stumble out, voice suddenly as skittish as a mare. 

“Lead the way, trouble.” Eddie smirks, giving your hips a final squeeze.

Trying your best to ignore the rush of blood to your cheeks you lead him around a few side streets and down an alley. You had arranged to meet your friends a couple of streets away from the club. 

“Well, look at the bunny leading me down some alley; what are you planning on doing with me?” 

You roll your eyes in his direction. “Yeah, you wish, Eds. We’re meeting my friends, just around this corner.” 

“Shame.” A further blush threatens to inch across your face at that, whilst a thought of a smile tugs at your lips. You look over to Eddie to catch him staring straight at you and quickly look away. Maybe he does like me? 

You’re unable to dwell on the look however, as the minute you turn a corner you hear a loud, obnoxious voice shout “BUNNY!” 

Before you can react a tall, lanky dark haired boy wraps himself in a koala hug around your middle. 

“Tech! Good evening!” You smile. He peels himself off you in order to give Eddie an appraising look. 

“Well, well, the infamous Eddie. Pleasure to meet you.” As he sticks his hand out. Eddie takes it, and finds himself pulled into a hug he was not expecting judging from the look on his face. Coughing, he pats Tech on the back. “Er, pleasure dude.” 

“Been pre gaming, Tech?” You giggle. 

“Only always!” He responds with a toothy grin. 

Pointing at your other friends, you introduce the short blond with the shy smile “Eddie, this is Panda.” She waves with her fingers and blushes. Pointing to the built guy with the dreadlocks you smile “And Mustard.” 

Mustard pouts, “I told you guys to stop calling me that!” His indignation is merely met with giggles from you and your friends. 

As you take Eddie’s arm and start leading him round the corner to the club you feel him bend slightly to speak in your ear. 

“So, anyone have a real name or is this gonna be a theme?” 

You giggle, “Well Tech’s name is Wojtech, it's Polish, so technically it’s his real name. Plus, he is our own very camp IT whiz. Panda, well we met her with that name, we kinda took her in, you know?” 

“Ah, that's good. I hear Panda’s are going extinct. Very humanitarian of you.” 

“Indeed.” You smirk up at him in time to see his warm smile pouring towards you, and feel a heat pool in your belly. 

Approaching a lit doorway with a metal barrier outside, your group stops behind a small queue of fellow party goers. You and Eddie hang back whilst your friends fumble about in various pockets for their entry tickets. You already have yours and Eddies clutched in your hand slightly too hard, crumpling the card with nerves. 

"And, erm… Mustard?" 

You giggle, dropping your voice a little lower given the content of your conversation. Eddie bends lower so you can whisper to him. "Yes, but he hates it. We were at an after party, he'd taken a crap load of speed. We were all winding down and he kept asking us to play Cluedo. Well Tech shouted, 'who do you think you are, Colonel fucking Mustard?' And we just lost it." You smile broadly at the memory while Eddie snorts out a deep laugh. 

Your friends get their tickets taken and after a brief pat down they're ushered through. Pretty soon you're next in line.

"Tickets please." Looking up, you meet the gaze of a tall burly doorman, all lack of neck and set jaw. His colleague looks equally unamused and threatening, eyeing Eddie up and down. 

"Here's our tickets fellas." He takes them, inspects them briefly, then pockets them. 

You hold your canvas bag out whilst he shines a torch in it.

 "Do you want one of these?" You fish in your bag and hold out a few candy suckers. Eddie's staring at you in disbelief.  

The shorter one looks shocked and shakes his head, but then leans over to grab one anyway. No Neck's face breaks into a huge childlike grin. 

"Now, I haven't had one of these in years! Thank you, miss. Do you have a grape one?" 

You giggle and fish out the flavour for him and he takes it with his large paw, fiddling with the wrapper. 

"Go on through, have a great night." 

"Thank you!" You beam at him and waltz through the door. 

Eddie strides to catch up as you start walking up a wide staircase, already hearing the tell tale thumping of heavy bass. 

Grabbing your arm, he leans in, hot breath in your ear making you shiver. 

"They didn't even search us! You've got balls of steel, Bunny." 

Blushing at the fact you impressed him, you lead him up the staircase and over to the coat check. 

"What can I say, I aim to please." 

"I bet you do." He whispers, and his lips brush the edge of your ear softly. A small gasp escapes your lips at the contact. 

As he breaks away, you know there's a smug grin smeared all over that handsome face, so you decide to not give him the satisfaction of a look, and instead focus on the coat check girl. 

"Just want to check this coat please, Eddie do you want to do yours too?" 

"Sure" He says, shrugging off his leather jacket. He's wearing his signature black jeans, hugging his legs deliciously, and a white fitted t-shirt. Simple, but damn, he looked fine. You swear you could just make out the balls of his nipple piercings, now that you knew they were there. 

Realising you were staring, you look up at his face. To your surprise he looks embarrassed. 

"I, er, didn't know what people wear to raves," he chuckles. 

"No, you look good. Real good." Coughing, you look away and take your own coat off whilst he checks his. 

As you hand your jacket over, you hear him whistle out lowly behind you. 

"Holy hell Bunny. This what you wear outside??" Turning to face him, you can feel his eyes roaming all over your scantily clad form as he strokes the back of his neck compulsively. 

You must admit, you look good tonight. Maybe a little extra effort went in knowing Eddie would see you. Maybe just a little less clothing than usual. So what?

Well aware that you looked your best in pink and blue, you had chosen a tiny blue bra top with pink edging, and a pleated blue mini skirt that barely covered your ass with hot pants underneath since you'll definitely be dancing on a podium somewhere in the club tonight. A simple pink choker and a few kandi bracelets completed the look. 

Eddie looks like he's about 30 seconds away from eating you alive. 

"What, this old thing?" You tease, giving him a twirl and a tiny curtesy with the tiniest of skirts. 

"Damn." Eddie's hand roams to his mouth, rubbing his stubbled face whilst he continues to gobble you up in his head, or at least that's what it looks like to you. You'd never known him to be speechless; he was usually the one with the witty comebacks. It was your turn to smile smugly for once. 

"If you're done perving, shall we go in?" 

"Oh I am so not done, but yeah let's go." He grins back. 

You roll your eyes at him but you're still grinning, excitement bubbling in your belly. Turning to the next set of stairs you lead the way, knowing full well Eddie's getting a choice view of your ass. 

What the hell are you doing? This has certainly swam out of the paddling pool of playful flirting and was quickly taking a deep dive somewhere. You know full well this is a Bad Idea™. The guy is a drug dealer, and you're flashing your goodies at him. You hardly knew the guy. 

A drink. It was definitely time for a drink. 

You enter the main area, a sort of meet up spot between the two dance floors. The music was quieter here, but the throb of bass could still be felt in your gut. Predictably, you spot your friends queuing at the bar. 

"What do you want to drink, Bunny?" 

"Oh, a vodka lemonade would be great, thanks." 

Eddie moves past you, close to your side since the room was heaving with people. You feel the not so subtle drag of his hand as it presses to your lower back, and dips just enough to get a feel of your ass before winking at you as he goes by. 

Well that was a bit fucking forward. Not that you didn't enjoy it, quite the opposite in fact. The fleeting touch had you biting your lip enough to taste blood. If there were still any doubts about what Eddie wanted they dissolved immediately. 

You sauntered over to your group of friends as they exited the throng of people congregating around the bar and walked with them over to a high table. No seats were free as per usual but it was at least a ledge to place drinks, and something for you to lean on. All these salacious thoughts had your knees ready to buckle. 

"Bunny! I got you a bottle of water for your party pack!" Tech practically sang out. You laugh and take it gratefully, depositing it in your little canvas bag. You know you'll need it later. 

"Thanks Tech babe." And you kiss him on the cheek. 

"Hey, calm it, I don't want guys thinking I'm straight!" He says animatedly. 

Mustard responds, "Tech, there ain't no way you come across as straight." 

"Hey, that's not true! You think I'm camp?" 

"As Christmas." Eddie's voice cuts through as he places your drink in front of you and casually throws his arm over your shoulders. Tech's eyes go wide as he not so subtly gives you a look and a nod. Panda giggles. Mustard? Well, he just looks pissed off. You notice Eddie's looking straight at him, and he's the only one who looked at Eddie and not you. You could practically smell the testosterone from here. Oh dear. 

"Bunny, you look so pretty tonight!" Panda squeaks across the table, breaking the tension. 

"Aw thanks babe, so do you, I love your top!" 

"Thank you!" Panda beams. "You look really good too Chris, by the way." Her face flushes, stealing a glance at Mustard. 

"Er, whose Chris? I only see Colonel Mustard." Tech says chuckling. Mustard throws him a murderous look. 

"Hang on, can I ask something?" Eddie asks, addressing the group. "Why do you call Bunny, well, Bunny?" 

You wince, your cheeks flushed with heat despite the lack of clothes. 

The gang look confused, glancing back and forth to each other. Panda quietly says, "I think you have to tell us, Eddie." 

"Huh?" Eddie looks puzzled, taking his arm off you for a second so he can see your face as he takes a sip of his drink. 

Typically, Tech is the one to butt right in and embarrass you. 

"Well, you gave her the name! She told us you called her Bunny and she wouldn't shut up about you and-" 

"OK Tech that's enough" you interjected, already cringing more than you are sure is healthy. 

"Oh really?" Eddie's clearly loving this. He leans on the table to get a close view of your face which you promptly hide in your hands. 

"Don't you have like, a job to do?" You say through your palms. 

Knocking his drink back, Eddie claps his hands together. 

"You're right. Whose first?" Tech sticks his hand in the air, and he and Mustard start to walk him over to the restroom to do a deal. 

"Don't think this conversation is over Bunny!" Eddie shouts over his shoulder at you. 

Panda's smile is wide. "He's cute." 

"Oh he's hot, but I don't really know him that well, you know?" 

"Yeah, but you'll never get to know him with that attitude!" 

You smile at her, she's always such a ray of sunshine. "Come on, I'm not ready to drop just yet, let's have a dance." 

You finish your drinks and make your way to the main room. The second the doors open the heat and the noise slam into your abdomen. You can practically feel the music vibrating through your lungs. The dance floor is smoky; lights are flashing and the room is heaving with dancing bodies. You shoulder barge through and find a spot for the pair of you right under the DJ booth. 

This is the reason you rave. The feeling, the music, the dancing. Being able to just let go and have no responsibilities, not a care in the world except maybe when you were going to take drugs. And when that happens, it's the same feeling but multiplied by a thousand. 

You and Panda dance away, feeling the rhythm and snatching shouted conversation in each other's ears here and there. Pretty soon you're both sweaty and laughing, and ready for a small break. 

"Bunny, I need medication, come on!" She drags you to the restroom where you sneak into a cubicle together. Fishing the little baggy out of your bra, you hand it to Panda first.

"Hearts? Cute." 

"Yeah? Eddie gave it to me. You think he meant something?" 

Panda took a bit out of the bag and put it on the toilet seat cover, smashing it into a line with a card. She passes the baggy back and you take a sizable crystal out and swallow it with the aid of some water. It tastes disgusting, but there's no way you're going to stuff something up your nose. Molly was like that, you'd grown somewhat used to it.

"Bunny, seriously, that man clearly wants you. You don't need a bag of drugs to tell you that." 

She's right of course. You're still apprehensive though. 

"It's just- well, he's a drug dealer." 

Panda snorts the line she made and wipes her nose. "Er, are you one to judge right now?" 

You laugh loudly and pass her the water. 

"You're right. I suppose a bit of fun won't do us any harm." 

"That's the spirit. Let's go have a smoke." 

You both go into the main hang out area and find a vacant sofa surprisingly. Your buzz starts to creep on slowly but surely. Panda's a bit ahead of you; the pros of snorting. 

"I really like Chris, you know." Her eyes are glassy as she tells you. 

"Oh I know. I don't think he does though. You should just take the leap." 

"Well, evening ladies." You look up and see Tech and Mustard grinning, pupils blown. 

"Nice of you to join us. Here, have a sucker, don't chew your face off." You pass the candies out to everyone, holding back a cherry one for yourself. "Where's Eddie?" 

As soon as you say that he appears, the biggest smile on his face. 

Panda bounces up. "Come on boys, I'm buzzing, let's dance." And she grabs your friends to lead them to the dance floor, throwing a wink back at you. 

"See you later Rock Star!" Tech shouts over his shoulder. 

You just about hear Mustard grumbling "why's he got a cool nickname? This some bullshit." 

Eddie flops down next to you, man spreading. You turn to him, elbow on the back of the squishy sofa, faces inches from each other. You can see from here he's clearly dropped, taken a pill or something. His pupils have grown, you can barely see the colour of his eyes. Apart from that he still looks put together. Probably more used to this sort of thing than you are. 

"So, Rock Star?" You smile at him.

"Yeah, we were talking, and some guy started talking about metal, and I said I play guitar, next thing I know I'm Rock Star. Glad it wasn't mayonnaise or something." 

You giggle at him, unwrapping your sucker and putting it in your mouth. Eddie fixates on your mouth immediately. Sensing the opportunity, you lick your tongue around it slowly, then suck hard. Letting it go with a wet pop, you look at his eyes again. 

Eddie's clearly flustered. 

"Are you- you having a good night yeah?" 

"Yeah we had a dance, I've just dropped, just waiting for it to kick in."  

Eddie reaches over to your face, fingers moments away from brushing your jaw, staring at your saccharine smeared lips. 

You hear an awkward cough to the side of you. 

"Hey, Bunny, it's DJ Skitz's set, you said you'd dance on stage?" it's Tech, hovering nearby, looking like an unwilling third wheel.  

Well shit. 

"Eddie, I've got to go. Come and watch, yeah?" 

"Couldn't drag me away sweetheart." You feel the heat pool between your legs, amplified by the drugs beginning to course through your system. 

"Come on then." In a moment of bravery, you grab his hand and lace his fingers between yours. He looks at your conjoined hands for a moment and then back up at your eyes. The look on his face is not what you were expecting. You'd grown used to the sparky wit, the smugness, the charm. Right now, he looks like a lucky little boy, shocked at the affection. You flash him a small smile and drag him into the main room and across the heaving dance floor. 

There's a small podium stage left. A girl you vaguely know is on the other side of the stage on a similar podium, a skinny redhead in yellow hot pants and pigtails. You take your position, dumping Eddie directly in front of you. 

The lights dim and your friend DJ Skitz is bathed in a spotlight. He begins his set, spinning some fast techno and hard-core that you love. Breaking out some glowsticks you lose yourself in the music, dancing, gyrating, sometimes spinning and shaking your ass. You nearly forget Eddie is there. Nearly. 

Looking down, you see him staring at you as if you hung the stars in the sky just for him. Tech's there too, wolf whistling and cheering you on. Panda and Mustard are nowhere to be seen. A part of you hopes they're off sucking face somewhere finally. 

The high is finally sinking those familiar claws into you. She's a sneaky bitch. You begin to let go at last. All the day to day bullshit, all the drama, all the hassle. Gone. You dance, just dance. Oblivious to the crowd and any expectations. Throwing yourself into the music, you dance. The thrill of the high leads you. You're guided through by the mistress of the beat. 

In almost no time at all DJ Skitz's set is over. Before you exit the stage you tell him how good the set was, how much you enjoyed it, and of course, hand him a sucker. He grins and takes it gratefully, complimenting your dance moves. 

As you are looking to get off the stage, Eddie holds out his hand to help you down. You meet him, bodies pressed together in the mess of people. 

"You wanna sit for a bit?" He asks. 

"Sure" you say as you flash a lazy grin at him. 

This time, he's the one to link hands with yours and drag you. There's not much space free given this is the lull between sets. He spots a single soft chair way off in the corner and drags you to it. 

"Mind sitting on my lap?" 

"Not at all." 

He sits, holding his arms out to you. You sink onto his lap, ass on his thighs. He wraps his arms around you and you melt into him, all social insecurities forgotten. Sparking a cigarette, he holds the butt to you, so you take a drag. Continuing like this, you share the smoke until there's nothing left. 

"So, I'm guessing you're done for the night, yeah?" You ask, staring up at him. 

"Oh, it was a very lucrative night. Might have to go out with you more often." He smiles at you. 

"Oh that can be arranged. So all out?" 

"Hmm, not quite. Two pills left. I was waiting for you, if you want one? Free of charge for the prettiest girls." He says, guiding a wayward hair out of your face. 

"Oh, how many have you given away to pretty girls, huh?" You joke, poking him in the abs. 

"None. Just you." 

The smile that creeps over you is entirely unbidden, forcing its way across your face. 

"So, you wanna go to the restroom or-" 

"Oh, I think we can be subtle eh?" He raises an eyebrow at you. Staring at him, trying to work out his next move, he fiddles with his mouth and then flashes his tongue for a fraction of a second. You see a streak of white in your vision as he guides your head towards him.

It's not a kiss, it's a transaction. You say it to yourself in your head without much enthusiasm. Leaning in, you press your mouth to his. His thick tongue pushes into your mouth, massaging your own, passing you the pill. Fingers twine their way into his wild mane as you grip on, afraid of losing a hold on reality. It would have been perfect, if it didn't taste like hairspray. 

You break away, the bitter taste of the pill too much. Gulping down water, you look at him again, taking in his flushed cheeks and heaving chest. 

"Very subtle." You quip, hitting him lightly, hand resting on his chest unwilling to move. 

"Yeah? See, I can do subtle." He says, as one large hand drifts down to cup your ass. 

'Hmm, yes, very subtle. Hardly noticed that at all sir." 

Eddie laughs, tipping his head back, giving you a full view of the veins on his neck. The feeling floods through you, making you want to dive forward to bite it. Before you can register what's happening, you're planting soft kisses to his throat. Eddie's  breath heaves even harder. 

"Holy shit Bunny, you're gonna make me hard." 

Moving reluctantly away, your eyes meet once again. The question burns in your head. 

"Why did you call me Bunny?" 

He laughs and looks awkward for a second. 

"Wait a minute?" He asks. You nod as he fiddles with his mouth again, you assume to take his last pill. He gestures at you for water and you hand it to him. Taking it gratefully, He gulps some down. You're going to have to replenish in a minute before you forget. 

"For courage." He laughs, taking your small hand in his own. 

"The family friendly version? You're sweet," he says, pressing a soft kiss to the tips of your fingers, "and cute," another kiss to the tips of your fingers, but this one lingers slightly, sending a quiver through your nerves, "and full of fucking energy, its unreal!" You laugh as he lands another kiss on your knuckles. 

"And the R rated version?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him. 

"Well," he says, visibly steeling his courage, "I've thought about you," he says, laying another kiss, this time to your wrist, "how good you would look," another kiss, in the crook of your elbow. He brings your face to his, his breath whispering in your ear. "How you would look bouncing on my dick, over and over and over." You gasp as his teeth graze your neck, the touch electrifying you. He bites down softly, sucking a bruise into your skin as you attempt not to moan aloud.

Pulling away, his eyes search your face for your reaction. To be honest, all you're thinking right now is how soft his lips are, how much you want them pressed against yours again. Or on your neck, your collarbone, your breasts… 

"Well, you didn't run a mile. That's good." He laughs slightly awkwardly, fingers whispering against your arm, erupting goosebumps in their wake. 

"Oh, I'm not running." You reply, pulling him in for a kiss. A real kiss. Locking lips, you take your time, tongue swiping into his mouth slowly. He responds in kind, licking into you, his hand dipping into the back of your skirt. You can feel his fingers squeezing into the flesh of your butt as the kiss deepens. 

Every move is electric, making your hairs stand on end. You want to engulf him in the moment, to swallow him whole in it, to bask and revel in it, never ending. Eventually you both break away, if only to breathe. 

"I don't know if its the drugs talking, but that was fucking amazing." You say breathlessly. Laughing, he takes hold of your hand on his chest. 

"I hope not. We've not gotten to my fantasy yet." 

Biting your lip, you feel his fingers drag down the cleft of your ass, drifting dangerously close to your hole. You whimper slightly; at the feeling, at the narcotics flowing through you, at Eddie. Especially Eddie. He was like a whole new drug you'd only just started experiencing. 

"Fuck, you're perfect Bunny." He says, admiration gleaming in his eyes. 

"Hey you guys!" You turn to see Panda, hand in hand with Mustard, a stupid grin plastered across both of their faces. Panda waves their woven together hands up triumphantly at you. 

"About time!" You grin back, doing your own sheepish nod at Eddie, purely for Panda’s benefit. 

"Wanna dance?" 

You reluctantly slide off Eddie's lap and both of you make your way to the dance floor. 

He barely lets you move, hands trailing across your figure, dragging his fingertips over your bare abdomen, grasping your ass or the back of your thighs. You reply  in kind, soft digits trailing over his stomach, raking across his chest, sometimes stopping to rest on a pierced nipple,  feeling the steel of it over his shirt. 

"I don't think I've been this turned on in all my life," you admit in a frantic whisper to him. The pill he had given you had well and truly come into effect and you were basking in its golden glow. 

"Shit Bunny, you can't just say that to me!" He gasps out, tongue darting out to lick at your neck while you dance. 

"I have to touch you," he says breathlessly as he grasps your hand and leads you away from the writhing crowd. 

Leading you down a corridor he pushes open a little known restroom door and ushers you into a tiny cubicle. 

"Fuck, you are driving me crazy, shaking your ass in that little skirt" He says, fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh. The feeling is explosive, hammering through your nervous system like a freight train on steroids. You'd never had anyone touch you when you were high before, and the fact that it was Eddie had you moaning before he'd even touched your pussy. 

"Hmm, be quiet little Bunny." He laughs as he presses his body against you, fingers tracing up and over your clothed heat. You whimper, pushing your body against him urgently. 

"Please touch me Eddie," you struggle out, wiggling your hot pants and panties to the floor until they rest at your ankles. 

"Say that again" He says as he grins wickedly, fingers stroking just to the left of where you wanted him, needed him.

"Please Eddie, please touch me. I-I need you to." You whisper, fingers wrapping the front of his shirt into a tight ball. 

"I think I need that on tape" He huffs out, desire shining in his eyes. His calloused fingertips finally meet your wet heat, finding your clit with hardly any hesitation. Gasping, your eyes fly wide open, staring straight at his. 

"Oh fuck Eddie, oh God, please, oh please make me cum" you babble at him, the feel of his rough, sure hands electrifying every limb. 

"Sweetheart, you are something else," he manages to say, eyes shining. He sinks two fingers into you then as you open your mouth in a perfect o, feeling them glide into you, your velvety walls already convulsing. The heel of his hand presses deliciously onto your swollen clit as his fingers rub your g spot. 

"Holy shit! Eddie, what the- how the fuck are you so good at this?" You whisper shout at him, small hands clinging onto his shoulders. 

"I'm sure it's just the pills sweetheart," he laughs into your ear, taking your earlobe in between his teeth and sucking softly. 

Your climax builds impossibly fast, buzzing through your nerves until every part of your skin is singing for him. 

The rush is almost too much. Your head is spinning; vision pulsing with your heartbeat which feels like it's moved deep inside your cunt. 

"Eddie, oh fuck," you nearly squeal at him, eyes wide and wild. 

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Little Bunny? Please, please come for me." His speed increases as you feel wetness squelch inside you. Reaching that precipice faster than you think you ever had, you freefall into it, gripping hard onto his shoulders. The buzz of your release sets your skin on fire, every rock of his fingers making you pulse and moan.

You come down, from this high at least. The other one, the drug fuelled one, is still firmly locked in. Eddie's eyes are fixated on yours; he's breathing as heavily as you are. 

"You are unbelievably hot, you know," Eddie says, fingers still buried in your cunt. He finally releases you and pulls you in for a devastating kiss. Tongues sliding against each other, you press your body to him, wanting to be closer. 

"Eddie, I really want you," you breathe out, fingertips pressing so hard into him they may well leave bruises. Sucking a love bite into his neck, he groans.

"Fuck. Yeah, I want you too, but maybe not in a restroom?" 

You pull away and gain eye contact, both of you giggling and high. 

"Suppose you're right," you laugh as you pull your undergarments back into position. 

"You wanna dance some more?" 

"Not right now, I feel fucked." He raises his eyebrow at you. 

"Not like that! Just super super high." You're floating right now, soaring, thoughts scare and about as substantial as dandelion fluff. 

"Oh shit you really are aren't you? Right, come on. I'll look after you." 

He leads you out of the stall and washes his hands before guiding you to a free seat in the main room which was starting to clear out a bit. Flopping unceremoniously into it, you feel your head fall to your shoulder, letting the seat engulf you in softness. 

"Wait right here, OK Bunny?" 

"Yup. Not going anywhere. Got jelly bones" You giggle and smile broadly at him. 

He shakes his head and leaves you for a moment, returning with a bottle of water. Handing it to you, you take it gratefully, feeling the cold water sips trickle down your throat. 

Eddie squishes next to you on the armchair, feeling your forehead with the back of his hand. 

"Well, you're not too warm, that's good. You got any suckers left? You want some gum or something?" 

"Hmm, gum would be splendid!" You say to him in a silly voice. Chuckling at you, he rummages in a pocket, unwrapping a stick of gum and putting it in your mouth. 

"Splendid?" 

"Yup!" You grin, chewing lazily. 

"Anything else I can do sweetheart?" 

"Please touch me." You see him pull a shocked face, looking you up and down. 

"Not like that! Just like, stroke me. My skin is all buzzy." 

Throwing his arm over your shoulder, he softly runs his fingers over your upper arm, his other hand resting on your thigh following the same movements. It feels so nice, each stroke calming and intoxicating. 

"Hmm this is so nice. Stroke the Bunny." You say as he laughs loudly at you. 

"You're fucking hilarious when you're high." 

"I'm hilarious all the time. I am a gift." You nod matter of factly at him. 

"I'll say." He plants a lingering kiss to your temple as you snuggle into him, head coming to rest on his chest. 

"Aw, look at the Bunny!" You look over and see Panda gleaming with sweat, still firmly grasping Mustard by the hand. Tech stands a little to the left, hands on his hips. 

"Is she alright?" Tech asks Eddie, looking more sober than the rest of you. 

"Yeah, she'll be OK, she's just really high." 

"OK, Bunny?" You hum in response, smiling up dopily. 

"Right, the ultimate test. Boop!" Tech says loudly, bopping you on the nose. You giggle, smiling up at him. 

"Well, she didn't cry with laughter. She's good. You wanna go home Bunny? We're about to leave." 

You frown. "Can you teleport me? I'm super cosy right now." 

"I can do the next best thing. Abracadabra, let's get a cab-a!" Tech announces, wiggling his fingers. 

You make your collective way out, grabbing your jackets. Eddie's arm stays glued around your waist making sure you're steady. 

Outside, he looks a little sad. 

"I guess I'll see you soon?" You gaze up at him in confusion. 

"Eddie, you're coming with us. After party." 

"Oh I don't know-" 

"Hey buster," you say, poking him in the chest making him laugh, "you said you'll look after me. Well we are going to Tech and Mustard's place. And you're looking after me. Got it?" 

"Yes ma'am." He smiles at you. 

After a very squished taxi ride which you're sure wasn't legal, but hey, a lot of this night wasn't, you arrive at their house and settle in. Dance music is softly playing, and Eddie's sitting on a chair. You're on the floor between his spread legs whilst he rubs your shoulders. Mustard and Panda are snuggling on the couch together, whilst Tech is laying on a bunch of cushions on the floor. A joint has been passed already between you all.

"You sure you don't wanna sit here?" Eddie asks. 

"And miss this back rub? Not in a million." You reply, reaching up to squeeze his hand. 

"Hey guys?" He asks the group. Various heads swivel to look at him. 

"Wanna play Cluedo?" Laughter erupts from everyone except Mustard. 

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up Rock Star." He says, but he's smiling as he says it. Standing up, he announces, "me and Panda, we're gonna, erm, have a nap." They take each other's hands and giggle as they leave the room. 

"I'll just turn the music up a little, shall I?" Tech shouts at their retreating backs. 

"Tech, you mind if we crash in your spare room for a bit?" You feel the pressure of Eddie's hands on your shoulders increase at your words. 

He huffs. "Oh great, I'm surrounded by couples. I'll just stick some headphones in eh?" He winks at you as you stand up taking Eddie's hand and leading him. 

You walk into the spare room, little more than a storage space. There's a few boxes stacked up and a bed, thankfully already made. As you shut the door, Eddie strokes your arm. 

"You sure about this Bunny?" His eyes are big and soft, making you remember why you crushed so hard on him in the first place. 

"Look, I'm not like, super high any more, but I'm definitely feeling it. I like you. I don't wanna think too much about it, all I know is that I wanna feel your skin on mine," you explain to him. No games, just pure honesty. 

"That does sound really good right now." He says, pulling off his shirt. You take a beat to drag your hands over his exposed chest, fingers tracing over tattoos. Running a finger across a pierced nipple, he quivers. 

"OK, fuck, yeah I'm still feeling it," he laughs slightly, eyes shutting for a moment. 

Taking the opportunity, you pull your top over your head. Eddie's eyes snap back open, staring at your lacy blue bra. There's no padding, you can feel your hardened nipples poking at the soft fabric, just barely visible through the flimsy material. 

You smile and pull your skirt and hot pants down slowly, leaving you in your bra and matching panties. 

"God damn."

Eddie's eyes are raking over your form, drinking it all in. He reaches out a hesitant hand, dragging a finger slowly over your collarbone, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. He moves his fingers slowly lower, tracing the hem of your bra, before stroking down to your nipple. The contact zings through you, making you gasp. 

Eddie smirks, hand reaching up to your bra strap, gently sliding it down your shoulder. Even that has you groaning. 

You reach forward and grab him by the belt, dragging him towards you, and tilt your head up to envelop his lips in a soft kiss. It's so delicate; a crush of lips, a flirt of tongues, edging, teasing. His hands trace your sides. Each miniscule movement whispers across your skin; a susurration of sensation.

Fiddling with his belt you dip your fingers into the waistband of his jeans. 

"Can I take these off?" 

"Fuck yes" Eddie says, large palms running up your sides, thumbs reaching out to graze your breasts. Fiddling with his belt you just about manage to unfasten it, unbutton his jeans and pull them down. He's wearing loose fitting boxers, but even so you can clearly see the sizable tent his hard member is making. You run your fingers over it gingerly, tracing the outline, and gently take it in a loose grip, rubbing up and down. 

"Jesus Christ that feels so good," he says, voice nearly a whisper. 

He reaches behind you and unclips your bra with one hand. It's so fast you look up at him in shock. 

"Oh shit, er- can I take this off?" 

You laugh out loud. "Well, you might as well now!" 

"Sorry, too excited" He laughs back, and peels the garment off your form. His laughter dies in his throat at the sight of your bare chest. 

You're all poised to make a joke but he doesn't give you a chance. Falling to his knees in front of you, he gently strokes at your breasts with his hands, and you feel his hot breath on your nipple. As he licks pointedly over it you can't help but tremble at the feeling, it's just so intense. 

Suddenly he takes it into his mouth and sucks. The moan that forces its way out of your throat is husky and laced with need. He plants open mouthed kisses all over your naked chest and stomach, sometimes nipping with his teeth, sometimes sucking a minute bruise. You quiver, feeling like your legs are about to give way. 

It's almost ridiculous how amazing it feels; a hot weight settles in the pit of your stomach, wanting to lash itself out into the world. Then he's sucking your nipple again, swirling his thick tongue around it. Everything's tingling; your whole body feels like a live wire. He takes the other nipple in his mouth and you whimper. A familiar feeling is building in you but you are almost scared to believe it. 

Surely he can't make me come without even touching my pussy? 

The thought is incredulous, but the feeling mounts as your legs wobble in time with the shaky breaths you're taking. 

"Eddie, Holy shit," you gasp out, fingers winding into his hair and tugging. He moans and doubles down on his ministrations, tweaking your nipple hard and running his knuckles over the hardened nub. 

"I think, fuck, I'm gonna-" the words are lost in a cry of his name as you reach a pinnacle you didn't even realise was possible. 

Taking ragged, heaving breaths you look down at him. He looks almost as shocked as you feel. 

"Did you just…?" 

"Yep." 

"Really?" The look on his face is half surprised and half smug at this point. 

"Hey it's news to me too!" 

He laughs and stands, picking you up in the process, and lays you down on the bed. 

"Bunny, that was really hot." Standing at the edge of the nightstand, he's staring at your nearly nude form as if it were some work of art. You take the opportunity to take your jewellery off and leave it in a pile on the bed. 

"I didn't know I could do that." You smile at him, shrugging. 

"I didn't know anyone could do that!" 

Pretty soon you're both laughing as he gets on the bed next to you. 

"I hope I wasn't too loud." 

Eddie snorts a laugh. "Bunny, be quiet for a sec and listen." 

You snuggle into him and listen. Oh. 

"Is she- squeaking?" You press your lips together, willing yourself not to laugh. Eddies shaking under you with barely contained amusement. Soon after there's a definite grunting noise. 

"Oh God I hope Techs put headphones on or he's gonna be scarred for life!" 

Peals of laughter erupt from the both of you. 

Laying there, stroking each other's skin, you feel more comfortable with Eddie than you've ever felt with any other man. This just feels right. There was no other way to explain it. Giving him a feather light dusting of kisses to his jaw, you realise your hand is roaming further and further south, reaching the waistband of his boxer shorts. You run your fingers across the very edge of it, dipping into the hem oh so slightly. Abs tense under your touch. 

"Quit teasing Bunny," Eddie says; he's almost bucking into your touch, willing your hand to go lower. You ping his underwear with your finger, watching it snap back onto his skin making him jump. 

"Can I take-" the sentence is cut short however, as Eddie pulls his boxers down and flings them across the room. Giggling, you look down. And stop giggling. 

"Jesus Eddie, it's huge!" You thought it was big given you felt it earlier, but seeing is most definitely believing. No wonder he's so confident all the time.

"Flatterer." He quips back, but you can tell how pleased he is with your words. Moving to straddle him, you rub your thinly clad core against it, earning a heavy moan from each of you. Eddie's hands grasp your hips and run inside your panties. 

"Take these off before I rip them off." You gasp at his words and look into his eyes. 

"Please?" He adds almost sheepishly. You smile and lean awkwardly to the side, pulling them off and away. You're straddling him then, entirely naked, soaking pussy dragging along his throbbing cock. Eddie's eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, firm hands holding onto the meat of your thighs, helping you glide back and forth. 

"Im- I'm on the pill. I'm clean. I promise. Can I just- slip it in?" You ask sweetly, dragging your hands up and down his lean sides. 

"Er, I think I've hit my head and I'm making this all up. Say that again for me, Bunny?" 

You giggle, and lean over him, breath whispering into the shell of his ear. 

"I wanna fuck you raw. Can I? Pretty please?" 

He groans so low it's almost a growl, pulling your face toward him for an urgent kiss. His tongue massaging yours and the drag of his pulsing cock rubbing against your clit is setting off fireworks in your head. 

You slide and slide against him, when his cock slips inside. You wish you could have the noise Eddie makes in your mouth on record; it's low and primal, a violent hum. You tease him a little, giving him tiny kitten licks in his mouth as you circle just the tip, and take in a little more, a little more. Suddenly pushing your hips down he practically whimpers, eyes scrunching shut as he's fully seated inside you. 

"Holy shit, Bunny what the- how is this so good, fuck!" 

You have to agree, the feeling of him deep inside you has you fluttering already, cunt throbbing around his manhood. 

You move to lift off him slightly, and slam back down. 

"Bunny, please, go slow," he says, his eyes pleading with you as his fingers grip you tightly. 

"I was trying to fulfil a certain fantasy?" You smile at him, and begin to grind back and forth at a languid pace. 

"And I appreciate that," he says as you giggle. His large hands run across your skin, running over your sides, your stomach, your breasts. Each touch has you moaning, back arched in pleasure. 

"This is too good Bunny. I want it to last." 

Continuing your slow, deep pace, you feel your swollen clit singing, dragging across his pubic hair on each pass. The feeling transcends any sex you'd had before. It wasn't in the same league. Hell, it wasn't even the same game. You lean towards him, hands tucking underneath his muscular shoulders, holding him close to you. 

"Have you had sex when you were high before?" You whisper to him as you grind deliciously back and forth and nibble on his earlobe. 

"Yeah, but not as good as this. This is fucking incredible," he responds, planting kisses over your jaw line. 

Your orgasm is creeping closer and closer as you moan in his ear. 

"I can feel you shaking baby. You gonna come?" 

You can only nod against his neck as he holds you close. 

"Look at me. Eyes on me Bunny." 

You lift your head, foreheads nearly touching. Your whole body is quivering, mouth hanging open. The hotness in your stomach is turning to liquid fire, reaching out to lick over your limbs. 

"That's it baby, let go." 

As if your body was waiting for permission, you feel yourself become truly overwhelmed by your own pleasure, exploding through you with an intensity unmatched by anything you've ever felt before. And it just keeps coming. Rolling over you in delectable waves for what feels like forever. 

Finally, the waves begin to ebb. Your legs are shaking uncontrollably as you try to regain some semblance of breath. 

"Wow." Is all you can manage. He smiles up at you, reaching to rub his thumb up and down your jaw, settling the softest of kisses to your lips. 

"Right, hold on Bunny." 

You're clinging to him as he turns you over until you're underneath him, his narrow hips slotted between your legs, without ever leaving your cunt. 

"Smooth," you say, smiling at him.

"Well, I try." He grins back, grasping one of your hands with his and holds it over your head, fingers entwined as he slowly pumps in and out of you. His other hand is hoisting your leg around him, keeping your knee high. You're in rhythm with each other, moving as one, meeting his hips again and again. 

Each thrust of his hips has you keening into him, sending more waves of intense pleasure coursing through your nerves. 

"Eddie, oh God!" You grasp at his shoulder, fingernails biting into his flesh. 

"Come with me my Bunny, come with me, oh fuck!" 

You come together, the feeling of him throbbing his release into you sending you over that edge once again. 

He nearly collapses onto you, barely holding himself up on an elbow as he brings his lips to yours. You kiss, and kiss, and kiss again. 

"That was incredible," he whispers on your skin, nose nudging yours. 

"Splendid" you grin back at him, making him chuckle. 

"Wait, let me clean you up. Where's the bathroom?" 

"First door on the right. There's a wash rag on the bedside table." 

"Your friends really look after you, don't they?" He smiled, grabbing the cloth and donning his boxers. 

He returns moments later and wipes at you with such care, cleaning you up. 

Whipping his underwear off again, he snuggles up behind you in bed. You were finally starting to feel a little tired, but you know it'll be a couple of hours before you can sleep with the ecstasy in your system.

Not that you minded. This was heaven right here, Eddie's warmth pressing against you, leaving paper trace kisses over your shoulder. 

"Eddie," you say in a moment of bravery, "what are we?" 

"I thought you didn't want to think about it." He says. You can hear the smile in his voice. His arm moves over your side, hand coming to rest on your own. 

Honestly, you're not sure why you'd said it. Well, there was one reason. You're not sure you could deal with this being a one night stand. The sex was too incredible for that. 

"I know I said that, it's just- I don't want this to be it." 

"Hmm," he hums into your shoulder, "what are we?" He leaves a soft kiss, "we're friends." You scoff a laugh and go to turn to him, but he holds you fast. 

"Let me finish. We're friends," he continues, kissing your shoulder again, "friends who fuck," another kiss, a lingering one that makes your toes curl, "daily." You giggle, lacing your fingers with his. 

"Friends who go on dates occasionally," he says, beginning to kiss at your neck. His length is hardening, you can feel it rubbing against the flesh of your ass. "friends who don't sleep with anyone else." He finishes, teeth nipping at your neck. 

The grin that flows across your features comes unbidden and nearly surprises you.

"Eddie?" He only hums in response, starting to suck a bruise into your neck, his dick falling into the cleft of your butt as he pushes against you.  

"I think that sounds a lot like-" you begin but he shushes you softly. 

"You said you don't wanna think. So don't." He unlocks hands with you, fingers tracing down your abdomen and gently sliding between your wet lips. Gasping as he lightly rubs against your clit, you buck against his throbbing length. 

"You are so sexy, you know that?" He huffs, slipping his member between your legs.

"Me? You're hot Eddie." He snorts in disbelief. 

"Why didn't you ask me out?" You ask, as you feel the tip begging for entry. 

"Hey, I tried to charm the pants off you." He said, nipping your earlobe. 

"Well, I suppose it worked, but I thought you were just like that with all the girls" you reply, allowing him to slip inside you. 

Moaning in unison, you rock against him. His breath is a whisper in your ear.

"No. Just you."

You keen at his words and he doubles down on his efforts on your clit forcing you to grip onto the bed sheets for dear life as if you'd float away. 

"Eddie, fuck that's- that's so good" you purr, backing into him. 

"You gonna come for me Bunny? My little Bunny? Go on, come for me," his voice is bordering on begging, rubbing tight circles on your swollen clit. Crying out, you clench around his cock, releasing again. 

Grabbing you by the hip, he thrusts harder into you, again and again, until he's moaning his orgasm out, burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

Bringing his hand up to your face, you drag your lips over his knuckles, settling warm kisses over each one. 

"You know, I don't really know you, not really," you smile. 

"Well, get to know me. What do you want to know?" 

"I don't even know how old you are. 28? 29?" You guess, kissing him again. 

He slips out from you and coaxes you to turn so you can curl into his chest. 

"31 actually." 

"Well, see that's a deal breaker, sorry," you joke, fingers tracing his chest tattoos. 

"Well, we had a good run," he responds in kind, kissing you on the forehead. 

You're not entirely certain where this is going, what the future may hold, but right now you're just happy to be in Eddie's arms. 

Masterlist

@eddiemunsons-missingnipple @corrodedhawkins @lunatictardis @roanniom @pxrxcxa @sillypurplemurple @sinczir @lightvixxen @eddiemunsonfuxks

[yeyinde]

ATROPHY | Joel Miller x F!Reader

》 SUMMARY: It's her, him, and the beats in between. A slow simmer of sex to something more. Something he isn't quite ready for, yet knows he can't let go of.  》 WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT (mild); allusions to death, assault; female gendered reader, female gendered anatomy; minor game spoilers; Joel isn't bad at feelings – he just doesn't want them. Joel is tired™ 》 WORD COUNT: 10,9k

His grief, sorrow, the ones that he tries to shove into a box marked apathy, are worn in the crevasses that line his weathered face. Deep canyons make him look ages older than he is. He wonders if she can see them. If she can peel the divots back and uncover the festering sickness, the rot, that sits in the folds. 

It's his own fault, he thinks, for stuffing his grief in the same place he keeps his worry.

》 NOTES: I did something different with my writing. It's still a Reader insert, but. I tried third person instead of the usual second. also, how this ballooned up to nearly 10k is lost to me since it was just supposed to be smut?? I had this clear image of older Joel laying in bed, his guitar leaning against the wall, catching the light of the sun as you slowly rode him, and now? I don't even know. ⤑The gif is mine. Please don't take or repost without permission

MASTERLIST | FAQ | AO3

Complacency is a death sentence in a world like this. 

Lazy Sundays spent between the warm, damp sheets. Boredom. Afternoons strumming his guitar on the front porch. Sleeping in. Drinking at a saloon in town. Music. Laughter. 

It doesn't exist. 

Shouldn't. 

And yet—

His guitar sits, abandoned, in the corner of the bedroom. The wood still carries the heat from his thumb this morning when he played a song alone on the porch. Eyes bleary, full of sleep, of rest, as he took in the varicoloured dawn cresting through the indigo sky.

Those same weathered, beaten hands that strummed the chords to Hurt are now occupied again. One perched on her hip, skin sateen soft and plush, full and warm and clean from the shower last night as she bears down on top of him in a quiet cadence, a muted, languid dance. The other cups the swell of her breast in his palm, nipple still damp from his hungry mouth, and flushed red from his teeth. 

This should just be a fantasy. 

A dirty thing in the recess of his mind when he has a moment to himself breathe. A thought, a whim. Something to needle away at the last vestiges of his consciousness when he sees her in the wild—vibrant, young, and free—and then sullied in the back of his head when he leans against a tree, and thinks of the dirt on her skin, the blood on her delicate hands, and how they'd taste under his tongue.

But this isn't a dream.

When he sleeps, he dreams in black and white. The only colour that bleeds through is red. Blood red. Pulpy and vicious. Ugly. Garish. It splatters across the pavement where he laid Sarah down, where he lost Tess, and everyone else he never promised to save and still couldn't. 

He knows this isn't a dream when he blinks his eyes open, and she's there. Sitting atop him in a kaleidoscope of colour, drenched in ochre from the still rising sun. The only red is her blistered lips, the rough burn between her thighs from the scrape of his beard, and that sinful little tongue that slips between her teeth when he slides in deep. 

And then—his eyes drop to her side—that ugly wound that cuts her flesh, ripped over the seam of her ribs. 

He's awake. Lucid. 

She's much too heavy to be something carved from fantasy. 

He doesn't say this, of course—Joel isn't stupid, and for someone so considerably smaller than he is, she packs a hefty punch in those slender fingers that curl into a fist barely the size of an apple. The sharp jab of a rusted, blunt knife. Knows where to hit him, too. 

He tucks it away, and lets his hands explore, feeling the tangibility of her weight, her presence, under the tips of his bloodied fingers. 

(Broken on the same teeth that caused her to hurt.)

The knob of her hip bone juts out through her flesh, and he grazes it with his thumb, feeling the soft curve. 

Real, he thinks. Flesh and bone. 

He can feel the flutter of her racing pulse under his hand when he kneads her breast in his hand, and lets her nipple graze teasingly over the rough skin of his weathered palm.

The tight clench of her around him—pussy a perfect knot around the base of his cock, all pretty and tied tight like a bow—is another stroke of realism his dreams, nightmares, fantasies, could never imbue. 

It's a present he's sullied more times than he can count, each touch another tally to the neverending number of sins that pile higher than the hollow skyscrapers in Boston. 

Joel feels each breath that leaves her heaving chest. Each gasping hiccup of his name when she raises her full hips up, and then slide back down the length of him in a slow, languorous roll until he nudges against the seal of her womb, and steals the air in her lungs. 

It's real. 

A paradox, then. 

One of those things that shouldn't happen, but is. Like her, and him, and everything else in between.

He knows what the others in town say when they see her—pretty and soft with a ginger touch and a sweet curl of a voice when she whispers his name. It doesn't make sense for her to be all wrapped up in him, following along behind like a shadow to a man who's cut from ashlar, and reeking of rot. Ruin. 

He's calamity in ageing grey, and she's the ripe, forbidden fruit he's not allowed to bite. Poisoned apple. Cherry sweet. 

(He wonders if they'd recoil once they saw that her insides were gnarled; acrid and sour; bitter melon. Lemon drops.

That she is far more like him than they could ever dream.)

They glare at him from the corner of their eyes when she swells like a lighthouse in the midnight gloam at the sight of him wandering back from patrol, eyes all bright and beaming, and beautiful—Christ. 

She's a picture, he thinks. 

One of those pinup girls he'd find in dirty magazines as a kid. When he and Tommy would sneak a peek behind the barn, away from prying eyes. A portrait of lust. Desire in high gloss. 

A classical beauty—the type that would make men drown themselves at sea. A starlet in the golden age back when it mattered. 

Writers' muse, maybe: she would have been the girl everyone talked about—the one that eluded the tortured artist, made him pine. 

Hemingway would call her brutal. 

Cat in the Rain. 

(She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.)

He doesn't know much about poetry but he knows she's the type who could make a man want to stain his fingers in ink just to capture the curve of her lips when she smiled. 

A vixen. Hellion. Lilith. 

Her voice is a song when she says his name. A hymn. 

Dangerous. 

He doesn't know when this started. 

Maybe, when they brought her in with the rest of the group she was travelling with. Beaten down, hungry. Clinging to life with frostbitten fingers. 

Her eyes were flat; a stagnant pond. Lips a grim, blue line. Placid. Gone. She'd been out there for too long to ever find comfort behind walls, and he knows the feeling of trying to crawl out of your own skin when people stand too close. 

She scoffed at the idea of this place, of sanctuary. Resentful and derisive. He could see the distrust in her clenched jaw, balled fists. This world was a whim—evanescent—and what they gathered from the rest of the group, survival hadn't been easy outside of safe zones.

Wall after wall fell, she said, tone flat. Blank. Haunted by ghosts still lingering in the canyons of her eyes. Stopped believing in stuff like this after a while. 

Her eyes were stained—jaundiced and red, filled with burst blood vessels—and raw from how hard the edges of her knuckles had dug into the flesh of her eyelids. They spoke of sleepless nights. Ones interrupted by her own sense of survival, hyperarousal. 

He knows the feeling of jerking awake whenever his brain starts to lull, to slip into that dangerous facsimile of security. 

Pipe dreams. She wears her fatigue like its armour, wielding the brunt of her exhaustion like a shield. 

(Sleep often feels like a bad habit for people like her, like him.)

But like him, it waned slowly. 

The chips in her veneer cracked, split, and he saw the incipient filament start to seep in. Complacency. Comfort. 

A few months in, she stopped being so defensive when they invited her out for drinks, and when they talked about dinner parties, and birthday celebrations. Derision was still a heavy weight in her distant gaze, clutched in bleached knuckles like a claymore, when she looked at them, a touch incredulous. 

Joel understands the feeling. 

The itch in your guts, the discomfort in your chest. It festers, doesn't it? 

Children play close to the fences, making up games of tag, and hide and seek, as if those things with broken, pustulous faces weren't skulking within arm's reach just a breath away. 

This whole place is a vacuum. The interior is covered in thick molasses; stuck in stasis. They pretend that birthdays and holidays matter. Dance around the saloon at night with drinks in hand. Pale ale. Old booze. 

It's rigid in its structure: patrols that span the entirety of a day—from dusk to dusk in three shift increments—and daily checks of the fences, the gates. Trading with other communities. Rules. Regulations. 

It gives the idea of safety. Of security. 

(But the bruises on his hands and the gash in her side are proof that it's sometimes not enough.)

Slowly, though, as the days wore on and the fences stood proud and tall and secure, she softened. Tucked it away with a smile, and started saying, I'll think about it instead of clipped jerks of her chin, or nothing at all. 

Joel doesn't know if she ever really did think about it like she said she would. 

Broken promises carry a distinct sound. One he knows all too well. 

She never showed up despite the invitations. Never came to celebrate. 

She stood by the fence, and looked out, eyes wide, mouth flat. The coil in her shoulders, the tremble in her hands, reminded him of a trapped animal. Cornered, and tense. 

She'll bite someone eventually. 

(He just never expected it to be him.)

The tension didn't flee the crease of her eyes, but she tried to integrate herself into the fold, the community. Slowly. Slowly. 

He took stock of her in the same measure he does everyone new who wanders in. Assessing. Watching. Cautious. 

He could tell right away that she was a wildcard. A lit match slowly burning down the wick in a sea of gasoline.

Pretty, he finds, despite himself. Drawn in by her allure; a coruscating light in the middle of endless, unfathomable grey. 

He catches sight of the weathered face that blinks back at him from the frosted windows, hazy and thick with condensation that make the grey in his hair, his beard, look startlingly whiter than it was ten seconds ago. It's a jarring reminder of who he is. What he's done. 

It's not insecurity that keeps him from seeking her out, but self-preservation. Some people, he finds, just have this magnetism about them. A beacon. A light. A gravitational pull that drags you closer and closer. 

And hers is purely primal. Animalistic. She smells of sex and sin and makes him think of object permanence when everything around him had been clouded in the sharp shade of ephemeral grey. 

She's a fractured mirror. Medusa in the making. 

Joel's always avoided broken glass. 

(Ladders. Black cats. Cracks in the pavement. Pretty girls who swallow everything like a black hole—)

Too sweet, he finds. Forbidden fruit. Tart, ripe, and sugar dipped. 

(He never had much of a sweet tooth, anyway.)

Through his observations—necessary, he tells Tommy when he catches the way Joel's gaze follows her around when she moves; limbs ballerina lithe, swan songs after dark: just because we let them in, doesn't mean we can trust them—he finds out everything he needs to know. 

A rusted sign on the side of the road says, stay away. Danger in dulcet. Soft and sweet. A perfunctory bow in battle before the deadly blows come. 

He oscillates between finding her both too soft and too hard, and it's the unknown that makes him wary. 

She's a caged animal. Everyone is just kidding themselves if they think she's domesticated. 

Somewhere in the throng of people milling about, drinking and dancing like the world wasn't in shambles, she finds his gaze, matches his stare. 

Most people looked away. 

But she's not most people, is she? 

No, she's dangerous. Pretty in a way that's entirely too ethereal for the broken remnants of what remains. Left behind. Mouldering until death claims its victims. Until the spores released from the earth itself burrow in the rucked lines of your head, sprouting up like flowering buds. 

She makes men want. 

And while the pickings might have been slim, Joel knows there are several (and maybe a little more) above him in terms of desirability. He's older. Gruff. Rough around the edges without any whim of changing, or scouring himself down so that his jagged pieces don't pop something as tender and sweet as her. 

He doesn't put himself in the same bracket. Despite Maria's insistence, Tommy's needling, he isn't a bachelor. 

Hasn't made himself available.

And he isn't. 

Not since Tess. Not since—

None of that matters. He's too old to think about romance, about skin and sex, and warmth. And more.

The thought of it all leaves something sour twisting in the gnarled rot of what remains inside his chest. 

Despite that, or maybe in spite of it, she comes to him. 

(Somehow. Somehow.)

She asks him to dance, and the breathy tone of her voice tastes like a lit cigarette; it plumes nicotine in the air. Second-hand smoke. A contact high. 

He finds it disarming when she laughs after he says no. Firm. Hard. Dismissive. 

Not in your lifetime, sweetheart. 

The unspoken stay away rang clearer than the echo of her laughter. 

And that was that. 

But she came back. 

("If not a dance, then how about a drink?"

"Wastin' your time, sweetheart."

She grins, then, soft and coy. "Not much else to do with it these days besides chatting up a handsome stranger."

He pretends she didn't make him choke on his drink, and eyes her warily instead. Dangerous, he thinks. The type that just doesn't quit. One who is just small and malleable enough to slip inside the tiniest splinter.

Just like a raspberry, she'd rot fast. Festering. Clouded white and infectious. Worse, in many ways, than the parasites outside of the walls. 

"Just don't get your hopes up." He settles on after a moment, a lull, that makes her blood-red lips curl up like the curve of those stupid hearts dangling overhead. 

And hates that he doesn't really know if he's still just talking to her or the wandering eyes in his own skull when he says it.)

He doesn't know why she takes a liking to him of all people. Of all men. He might be out of touch with the reality they live in now, always on the fringes of waiting for things to buckle at the knee, and collapse into ash, but he isn't stupid. Oblivious. 

Joel sees the way she stares at him. Open, wanting. Curious. 

She shouldn't be. There's nothing in him—nothing left. His insides are polluted, gnarled. Ugly. A gurgling cesspit that doesn't know how to fix, only dissolve. Consume. He's acidic. Caustic. 

Bad for anyone's health. 

He can't keep anyone safe, and all he knows how to do anymore is push people away, and lie (and, lately, make Ellie so incensed with anger, she cuts him to the core and spills his choleric blood out onto the pavement where it hisses and sounds just like Tess). 

He's a patchwork mess of a man sewn together with a churlish hand. The broken pieces are borrowed and maligned, but they sometimes feel like they fit when he shifts, and spits enough contempt to keep everyone else from getting too close, and—

It's enough. 

(He likes it that way.)

But she—

His hands grip her tight sometimes—too tight—and the stains he leaves on her skin set his teeth on edge. It's too much like ownership. Possession. 

(And he finds the colour that blooms on her flesh to be too fucking pretty to ever sit comfortably in the gnarled pit of his guts.)

"Don't worry, Joel," she whispers when she catches him staring at the marks he left behind. Dark and ugly. Contrition tastes of old nickels. "You won't break me that easily." 

It's a bad decision. 

But he was never known for his good choices, and when she fluttered her eyes at him, hand pressed to his chest like she were allowed to touch him, he crumbled. 

She didn't give him much of a choice to fight back when all she asked for nothing but the warmth of his skin, and the taste of him on her tongue. 

Pleasures of the flesh. It's easy. Simple. He fucks her behind the saloon, rough and dirty, and swallows the sounds she makes against the brick like they're just for him. He takes her home, and knows that when he's nestled between her thighs, it's as close to heaven as a man like him will ever get. 

And then—it's over. She leaves. He pretends to sleep. 

Rinse. Repeat.

It carries on this way for nearly two years. Distant, cold. He can't remember the last time he had anyone warm his bed, but it takes the edge off, the stress and pain of Ellie's distance, her mistrust, and hatred, and she asks for nothing. 

She lets him grab her when he wants. Lets him bend her body into whichever shape suits him best, and says nothing about the fingerprints that he leaves behind, the astringent tang of rot when she slides out of his bed, his hands, and out the door. 

He lays back, the same hand he used to grip the back of her neck when he fucked her into the mattress now resting under his head, and he pretends doesn't feel colder now than he did before. 

There is no promise of forever. There's no promise of exclusivity, or monogamy, but he knows that she hasn't fucked anyone else since she got here, that those pretty thighs only ever parted for him, and he's too worn down to entice anyone else who wasn't looking for a sleazy fuck against a tree into his bed, anyway. 

Complacency begets comfort, security, wants.

They settle down in their borrowed homes, in their borrowed beds, and think about making the most of their borrowed time.

In that, they yearn. Family. Togetherness. Everything they had before they tried to drag into the now. Forcing a square through a round hole. A mismatched puzzle piece into the slot it wasn't made for.

Sometimes, they get lucky and it slips through. It distorts itself into something different, and new, just to fit through the preconstructed crack.

Joel doesn't think about then. He thinks about now. A broken world no closer to resolution, absolution, than it was thirteen, fourteen years ago. There is no roseate veil over his eyes; everyone else can see it. 

He isn't the type of man someone brings home. The one you push and push until he fits through the front door, and back into normalcy. Stagnancy. 

And she's not the type of woman who'd ever try. 

He likes that about her.

Poisoned candy apple. Pretty on the outside and rotted within. 

There is no future outside of the way he fits inside of her, and this is as permanent as the blemishes he leaves on her pretty skin. 

Then he dreams, and it's of her.

Lifeless, blue. The way her head splits open is beautiful in that macabre sort of way horrible things sometimes are. Flowers burst behind her eyes, petals budding out of the hollowed space that once made his chest stutter when the sun caught the crevasse of black that split from her pupil and bled into her iris. A small stream of ink. 

The canyons of gradient colours are now filled with blooms of enoki. Red amanita curls out from her ears. 

Where he once laid his palm over her chest is now a gaping hole flowering with a pulsing mass of candlesnuff and staghorn. 

Death cap where her heart once beat. 

Beautiful, he thinks, even as he howls her name.

He wakes up drenched in a cold sweat, and the curve of her name heavy on his tongue. His knuckles pop when he fists the damp sheets between his trembling fingers, but the ache feels good. The sting reminds him he's alive. Whole. 

He's awake, but the nightmare doesn't end. The sight of her body lingers in the back of his head when he strums his guitar and plays a song for the demons within. He thinks of her when he forks over the expired box of condoms he found on a run, and listens to Jesse ramble about how Ellie is doing in exchange for the loot. 

It's her he sees. 

She blinks at him, eyes that same shade that sometimes makes his breath hiss between his teeth, and then her crown caves in. Forehead splits down the middle. One half stands where it was as the other falls over on her shoulder. 

Fractals spill from the plumule that was once her brain stem until the two halves are bleached white like dead corals on a ruined reef. 

The flowering toadstool quivers. What was once her—wit, charm; that uncanny ability to make him feel like the ground beneath his feet was crumbling—is a mass of spores. Polluted. Rotted. 

Where she once stood is a puppet. Dead. Gone. 

Her head tips. Ink spills from the putrefying blood vessels, congealing in the air. It spools into a circle. A black hole. 

He lifts the gun, and feels nothing at all. 

Everything he could have felt, feels, is syphoned into the needlepoint of no return, the place where she once looked at him, and said, I don't want anything from you, Joel. I just want you.

He wakes before he can see the aftermath of pulling the trigger. 

A fluke, maybe. But it happens each night after that. 

He knows, then, that there's no turning back. 

Permanence doesn't belong in this borrowed home, but she somehow drags it through the foyer and into his bed, anyway. 

She stayed over last night. 

Joel doesn't think he tried to let go when he collapsed into the bed beside her, arms woven around her sweat-slicked back, locked tight like a pair of shackles that mean about as much as a prison or the law these days.

It was cold. Late. He didn't want her to walk back in the snow all alone. 

That's all. 

But Joel isn't a gentleman, and despite how much he wishes he wasn't, he's egregiously self-aware. 

He knows he's in trouble when it just makes sense to keep her close. When it's easier to have her within arm's reach than it is to meet at the front door, and let her in. 

(When he sleeps better if he can feel her burning skin on his.)

"You're thinking too much," she gasps, eyes lidded and heavy. Drinking him in. 

Joel doesn't know what a pretty thing like her sees in a man like him. 

He can't offer her anything except the cold comfort of a warm body, but even that is null. He knows there are younger men prowling outside her door, just itching for an opportunity to make her look their way. 

(She never does.)

"Yeah," he rasps, the word sticking to his teeth. "Never been much of a thinker."

"Really? Ain't that a surprise."

His hand slips from her hip, palm swatting at the soft flesh of her ass. The sting makes her tighten around him like a vice. 

"Watch your mouth."

The way she gasps his name, breathy and aching, makes him stifle a groan between clenched teeth, her voice rolling over him like warm sea breeze. 

She's a lot, he thinks, and yet—she asks for nothing. 

(Nothing but him. One of the things he can't give her. Won't.)

Still. 

Her nails press into his damp chest, catching on the smoked dusted patch of coarse charcoal hair. Bracing herself against the swell of his ribs, and slowly rocked back into him, taking him deeper and deeper into her soaked, tight cunt. 

The pulse in his neck throbs out of his skin, a tick she likes to press the flat of her tongue against and drink up the briny droplets of his sweat. He can see the want in her eyes when he catches her staring at the column of his throat, the way she bites her lip like it's a substitute for how badly she wants to sink those same teeth into his flesh. Mark him as her own. 

Possession. Ownership. 

Sometimes, he catches the glossy, rotund image of himself in the inky puddles of her pupils, blown wide with feverish desire, and he can see the same expression, the mien, captured in her startling hue. 

Mutual want. 

It's easier to give in sometimes. To let go. 

He can't, though, and selfishly, he knows she'll never ask. She will bite your lip, the inside of her cheeks, and your tongue until it's raw and bloody before she lets the words slip through the gap of her teeth. 

(He feels the rough, chewed ridges on velveteen flesh when he rolls his tongue between her ivory teeth, swiping over the insides of her cheeks; broken skin split and metallic—a testament to her own selfless desires.

He tastes it on his tongue long after she's gone. Wet pennies. Dandelion sour.)

It knots inside of him. She'd ruin herself before she asked him for more. 

Maybe somewhere in his avoidance, his distance, she knows he's ruining himself by just giving her this much. Nothing, and yet—

Everything to him. 

An impasse, then. Uncrossable when he's already two feet out the door. 

"Joel—"

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs, low. Rucked gravel. Falling rocks. It jars him how easily he responds to her. She says his name, and he'll drop anything in his hands to get to her quickly enough. "I know." 

The wound on her side pulls taut when she moves. It draws his eye like a beacon. Makes him grind his teeth together until it sparks pain down his jaw, the enamel sawed to the raw nerve. 

His hand slides over her molten flesh, trailing over the soft curve of her waist, until his thumb brushes the seam that keeps her insides from spilling out. The swollen, bruised skin is warmer than the rest of her body. Glossy where it tugs against the black threads keeping her whole. 

Joel didn't go with her on this particular trade. She went with some new kid they'd picked up, all varsity grins and clean hands. He seemed so damned eager to get her attention in the pub. Her age, too. 

Made a pretty couple, Ron said. Fucking loud mouth Ron. 

He was supposed to go, but when the kid caught him in the corner, nursing a beer that sat in his guts like a stomach ache, and said, hey, man, can I take your spot? he didn't know how he was supposed to say no and still cling to the degrees of separation he wedged between himself and the world. 

So, he raised his mug to his mouth, and forced himself to drink, to nod. 

Knock yourself out. 

The flash of sadness that flickered over her face meant nothing at all—nothing—but he felt something churn inside of his rotted guts. Atrophy, he thinks. He isn't meant for this. Doesn't want it. Need it. 

She's a bigger liability the closer she gets. A slow-moving black hole consuming all of the counterscarps he dug until nothing is left but crossable rubble. 

It's better, then, to cut it at the root before it infects the rest. 

So, he does. 

Maybe, he expected something different. For her to call this thing what it was, and then demand more of him, yell and scream and beg for the things he wouldn't give her—if only so he could break her heart into pieces, and force her to let go. To stop. 

Force himself to do the same. 

But she doesn't 

It's a quiet acquiesce; a little more than a nod, and a grim line of her pretty mouth. Okay, it says. If that's what you want. 

And that's what she always says, isn't it? If that's what you want, Joel. Whatever you say, Joel. Sure, Joel. Okay, Joel. 

A spitfire in ochre. A bright lighthouse in the middle of the grey sea. 

(The only person she dims for is him.)

Joel doesn't see her off. Doesn't say be careful or come back safe because words like those don't fit between his teeth. They aren't meant for the nothing between them. The chasm of everything she can't pry from his gnarled fingers. 

She leaves with him. 

He drinks alone. 

Despite whatever nonsense Tommy says, spouted over rationed potatoes and deer meat stew, he isn't sulking. 

"Let your girl go out alone? Unlike you, brother."

The way the words sat in his chest felt like an anvil. 

"Ain't my girl," he muttered. He wanted to be angry but all he felt was numbness. "Ain't my anything."

It's Maria who gets under his skin when she scoffs.

"Joel Miller, you're the biggest dumbass I ever met, save for your damned brother. Gonna push a good thing away and die alone." 

"No one asked you." 

Maria tries to fill in the blanks of something that doesn't exist. 

It peels back the gossamer from his eyes, and he sees, then, the way they skirt around him and her like it's something. As if his name is permanently attached to hers. 

He pretends he doesn't feel the burn in Maria's glare when he doesn't see her off at the gate.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't. 

He isn't there when she comes back, and hates, even more, that he feels something prickle inside his chest when Maria catches him near the stables, and says, I expected more from you, Joel.

It doesn't feel good when he bites back, that's your problem, Maria. Shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. 

Joel lives in his vindication, in his pettily forced indifference. She hasn't come to see him, anyway, and he's sure that she and Varsity jacket are meeting at the pub for that date he'll never give her. 

Doesn't matter, he thinks. And then, if only to burn himself in the flames, he adds: better this way. 

She'll know when he's not there. She's smart like that. Know him in ways he doesn't think anyone else ever could. Ever wanted to. 

(He hates it, and her, sometimes, for it.)

She'll understand. She might corner him one day with that dry ire dripping from the corners of her mouth, patronising and grim, and she'll do what she does best when she strips him bare and leaves him to rot. 

Her eyes are cobra pits. Her teeth leak venom. 

But she won't push. 

It'll simmer out when she blinks, knowing that this is it, and she'll say: okay, Joel. 

Okay. 

He braces for it—hates that has to because that means something, something he isn't ready to acknowledge—and—

And it's all moot. 

She never shows up at the gate. 

It punctures something in his lungs when Tommy looks up at him, face ashen and worried, and says: "she didn't come back. They didn't come back."

It takes an hour to find her, left for dead and beaten within an inch of her life by the side of the road. A wound in her side—a gaping hole he swears he can see through. Milky bones poke through, drenched in red, and—

His heart doesn't stop, but a piece of it breaks off and lodges itself in his throat. He can't swallow. Can't breathe.

Something curls out from the moon-white line of her rib. 

A bud, he thinks. Distant. Warbled. A saprophyte. 

He has the image of her in his head. The same one he sees when he closes his eyes and falls into a fitful sleep. 

Beautiful even as the cordyceps split her skull into blooming monkshood in hideous grey and plum. Pale and lifeless; a marionette on toadstool strings. A puppet in fluorescence. 

"She's—"

Tommy's hand reaches down, fingers curling around the sprout. 

Don't— not Tommy, too—

He pulls back, and Joel catches the tremble in his joints, the whites of his knuckles, when he spreads his fingers. 

In the palm of his hand sits a leaf. 

A leaf. 

The bark that leaves his chest tears right through the clot in his throat. Rips him open from the inside out. 

"A fucking leaf—"

He carries her back, and doesn't let go until the doctor is there, urging him out of the room. 

"You'll get in the way." 

He sees the looks they give him when he passes, but Joel never cared what people think. 

Doesn't plan on starting now, either. 

He's on the wrong side of fifty, and has more blood on his hands than the looted bars of soap could ever scour clean. He knows who he is, and maybe, maybe, knows what he wants, and Ron's loud mouth never meant much to him, anyway. 

Joel gets a name when she's sleeping after surgery—lucky, he overhears, got there in the knick of time, any later and—and brings nothing with him when he leaves. He won't need it. Doesn't want it.

He finds them chatting over an open fire, and beats them to death with nothing but his bare hands. 

He doesn't burn them. Doesn't bury them. 

When he's finished, covered in blood and aching, and satisfied, he drives an ice pick through their skulls (the same thing, he finds, that caused the hole in her side), and leaves them to rot. 

They say nothing about the blood on his shirt, or the broken, mangled fingers of his hand. He's content to leave them. To feel the agony as his broken bones split through cracked skin.

(He thinks of her—broken, blue—and clenches his hands so tight, the pain makes him blackout.)

He only lets Maria patch him up when she hisses about infection, and blood poisoning. 

Says nothing at all about what he'd done, where he'd gone. 

She doesn't ask. 

When she's finished, she says: "woke up yesterday."

He knows. Still: "that right?" 

"Gonna go see her?"

"Don't need me crowding around her bed."

"Maybe she, for some reason, wants to see your ugly mug."

"She tell you that?" 

"Didn't ask about you, if that's what you're asking." She snorts. Shakes her head. "Both a'you are really perfect for each other, you know?"

"We ain't." 

Her brow raises. Something prickles across her expression. "Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head with a small smirk. "Just… didn't know you knew the word we, is all." 

"We done here?"

He doesn't go to her. 

Stubborn as an ox, she comes to him. 

She says nothing about the bandages on his black and blue hands. Nothing about the way he can't make a fist through all the swelling. Her hands are soft, and warm, when they wrap around his. Small, delicate. A baby deer cupping the paws of a grizzly bear. 

His eyes flash with something that tastes of the same rotten satisfaction he felt gnarled inside of his chest when the man who left her for dead on the side of a road wheezed as Joel broke his nose, and then battered the broken bulb into a messy, mushy pulp. 

He didn't stop until grey matter leaked through the holes. 

She knows what he did. He feels it in the way she stares at the black, swollen mess of his fingers. Bones broke on teeth, on a fractured skull. 

He doesn't regret it. He doesn't even think he enjoyed it much, really. 

It had to be done. Had to. 

They took a life. Varsity Jack, she tells him. Stabbed in the heart when he tried to defend her with the same ice pick that ripped through her flesh. 

Her tone is flat. Empty. 

He sees bruises on her knuckles, those little fists were her only defence against them, and the red welt on the man's face makes sense now. 

He feels proud. 

She's not broken—battered, beaten, torn to pieces—but she still stands, whole, intact. Resilient. Strong. 

(A survivalist. The only time she ever alluded to more was to tell him that he was worrying for nothing. That, above all, she would survive. Outlive him, even.

"What are you so afraid of, old man?" A cheeky wink. Her tongue dips out, and touches the upper corner of her lip. "I'm gonna outlive you, anyway."

God, he thought, he really hopes she fucking does.)

It doesn't surprise him to see her eyes cloud with anger, arsenic white, when she brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. Anyone else might have asked why. Said thank you, even. 

She just murmurs, "I hope they suffered." 

Saccharine sweet. 

Rotten to the core. 

He saw the same shade of calamity in her eyes when she wandered in, grim and distant, as the one that stared back at him in the mirror. Her complicity in this doesn't surprise him. If anything, he wonders if she's angry he left nothing behind for her. 

The thought makes his lips quirk in a needle of something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

"They did."

The words are uttered like a promise. His busted pinky twitches, and it makes her smile. A bloom of petal pink flowering across her face. Soft and tender. The swell of a sea mark burgeoning out in the gloom of grey. 

And all for him.

Joel pulled her in close. Closer still. 

(Too close, maybe, because now he doesn't know how he'll sleep without her by his side)

His thumb slips over the tumid skin poking out from tight, black sutures. The threads are the only thing keeping her together. 

Beneath it is a bruise. Black. The tip of his thumb presses against the cresting peak. Knuckle to skin, it's a perfect fit. 

(In all the same ways he and she aren't.)

"I'm okay, Joel," she whispers, and the thick, dulcified tone of her voice shakes him from the labyrinth of his mind. 

His grief, sorrow, the ones that he tries to shove into a box marked apathy, are worn in the crevasses that line his weathered face. Deep canyons make him look ages older than he is. He wonders if she can see them. If she can peel the divots back and uncover the festering sickness, the rot, that sits in the folds. 

It's his own fault, he thinks, for stuffing his grief in the same place he keeps his worry. 

"Yeah," he intones, and he isn't sure if he's speaking to her, himself, or a god he hasn't spoken to since he was eighteen and Sarah got sick for the first time. Maybe everyone, all of them, all at once.

It makes her huff. "Am I losing you already, old man?"

"Ain't that old," he bites back, hips lifting when she slides down. It makes him nudge something that has her eyes fluttering, mouth dropping, slack. Her nails catch skin when they rake over his chest. 

Sex has always been an outlet. A comfort. It blankets that part of his head that never quiets—failures, failings—and offers a respite from it all. Her weight on his hips, chest, thighs doesn't dull it all but buffers it. 

White noise in his ears when her nails rake over his skin. The scent of her clings in the air around them—sex, kerosene, cinder, ash: the scent of a wet forest after a wildfire scorched the earth—and clots out the fetor of decay, of mildew, and moss, the earthy tang that reminds them of death. Of them. 

It's a distraction. Distance in skin, sweat, and heat. 

It's just sex, just—

"God, Joel," she gasps loud, sharp, when he pitches his hips into her, blunt and unforgiving, and hits deep. Carves out the shape of him in her soft, fluttering flesh, and tries not to get lost in the thick scent of her. 

It dusts over everything until he still smells her even when she isn't here. 

Temporary made permanent. 

It's the very thing he runs from finally catching up. He feels the graze of fingers ghosting over the nape of his neck when he looks at her, poised and centred above him. Aphrodite in flesh and bone. Her fingers prickle his skin with their sharp tips, and the indents left behind are soothed over when she gasps his name like it's something special. Meaningful. An orison murmured in the quiet box of a confessional booth. 

The curtain rustles. 

"Yeah," he grunts, low and filthy; the noise sticks in the back of his throat when he feels her tighten up around him. A little apple-sized fist of pleasure. He flexes his thighs, hands grasping her tight, and knows he's going to keep her here again tonight. "Fuck, sweetheart—"

The way she moves is liquid. Mercury. He watches, eagle-eyed and enraptured, as she squares her shoulders, and takes him to the root. The base. 

Her presence in his life atrophied his defences until they lay scattered on the sheets that reek of her. In the folds of his pillow where he rests his head at night. The featherlight wood of his guitar when she leans over his shoulder, and says, play me another one, Joel. 

He's a dog without an owner. A stray mutt on the outskirts of town, wandering through the city in search of sustenance. 

She's the one who keeps feeding him. Lays out a dish just for him, and scratches her nails behind his ears until the curl of his lips subsides. A slow broiled trust. He stops showing her his canines, his claws, when she shows him the vulnerable curve of her neck, and lets him mark her skin with his touch. 

Joel will mourn her the same way he does everyone else—achingly empty, and tearless—but he thinks, now, that he might think of her once, and then never again. He's selfish. Always has been. 

(Can't afford not to be when she looks better bearing his mark. When he sleeps easier with her breath in his ear.)

Just sex. The words are weak in the back of his head, and he feels the shaky resolve begin to crumble, chossy wobbling under unsteady feet, when her head falls back in a mockery of prayer, the utterance of his name heavier than the sins on his shoulders. Just sex. Just—

The grille falls, and shatters into smelted pig iron at their feet.

—it's just her, him, and the beats in between. A slow simmer of sex to something more. Something he isn't quite ready for, yet knows he can't let go of. Won't. Not now, not ever. He won't give her anything, nothing but the touch of his hands, and the weight of his body, but it's juxtaposed to the worry heavy in his chest, the anger still lacing the broken bones in his fingers when his thumb brushes the curve of her wound. 

It splits in her ardour. The bottom scab tugged too much, lifting from broken flesh. 

Ichor pebbles on the seam. It pools an angry merlot against the indigo scab, but when it slides down her flesh, it's Phlegethon red. 

His thumb catches it. It's warm, and sticky. He smears it over her quivering belly, and fights the urge to try and lick it clean. Knows, somehow, it would taste of Lethe. 

Joel's teeth ache when he grinds them together, tongue lashing across the ivory seal. He's thinking too much—abstracts, concretes; they blur together in a cacophony of want, take, run, hide—

Keep. 

"It's okay," she says again, as if all his secrets laid bare. As if the talons digging into his flesh somehow tapped a vein, an artery, that leads directly to his stem, and she's syphoning the thoughts in his head with the same ease that she steals the breath from his lungs. "It's okay, Joel. It's—"

She doesn't finish. Her words are shorn, bitten at the grain when he reaches up, holding her around the waist, and brutally fucks into her weeping cunt with the finesse of a starving man invited to a feast fit for a King. 

It jostles her. Breasts swaying, head bobbing back and forth as he nearly lifts her off the bed with the force of his thrusts. 

The brutality of it screams one shrill echo of it isn't. None of this is okay. None of it. 

She's chiselling him open until he's a raw wound exposed to the unforgiving air. Until he bleeds and thinks of her. Until the only sound that drowns out the terror raking across his synapses is her voice when she murmurs his name. 

"We're fine, Joel—," it carries the flavour of axiom. Aphorism when she says: "we'll be okay."

She trembles over him, muscles straining to keep up. This isn't her taking; despite being perched above him like a queen astride her throne, she gives. Lowers herself the way he likes. Circles her hips until he sees white behind his eyelids. 

The weight of her feels like an anvil. The heat is enough to liquefy his bones. 

"Keep goin'," he rasps the words out—a strange limbo of being both an encouragement and a demand. It lacks the bite it had before, when he'd bend her over and fuck her until he was satisfied, until the howling in his head, and the ache in his bones was eased with the soporific gossamer only sex could give him. "Just like that, pretty thing—"

It's a slip. An accident. 

Her rhythm stutters. Her ribs expand wide under his palms; ballooning up so much he wonders if she's trying to burst them at the seams or float away. Irrational, of course. Sex makes him stupid. Makes him hungry and needy, and has him feeling like he's almost, almost human, and—

He holds on a little tighter. 

Pretty thing. Her lips form the words in a soundless exhale. Pretty thing. She's used to him calling her all sorts of sobriquets smeared in a palpable stroke of derision. It's not contemptuous, but he makes his mockery of it clear with the flout in his tone. Sarcastic, caustic. 

Sure thing, beautiful. If that's what you want, sweetheart. Go on then, gorgeous. 

She always wore the same sour twist to her lips, the exaggerated eye roll. The heavy huff. 

It was never flirtatious, never complimentary. 

This—pretty thing—is the softest he'd ever regarded her. 

He watches her throat bob when she swallows, eyes tracing the nervous flutter as she struggles to grasp the concurrency of his words, the way he said them. Their meaning. It flickers through those depths that threaten consumption whenever they dust over the length of him. Thinking. Thinking. 

They were always abstract, but his words are concrete, and she isn't sure how to carry the heavy cinder he drops on her. Her fingers are used to the ephemeral weight of his scorn; the delineation of distance—unspoken but unignorable. Unequivocal in its separation. 

"Wow," she breathes, tremulous. She grasps at normalcy but he can see how much those two words have rattled her. She swallows again. Eyes narrowing. Viper pits. "Getting soft in your old age, huh?"

Joel isn't ready to acquiesce. 

He pitches his hips up, letting her feel the solid length of him—blunt, burning iron—and feels his chest flutter when she whines, head dropping back as he bludgeons into her core. 

"Fuck, Joel—"

He isn't soft. Isn't malleable. He's made of carbonised grief, anguish, despair. Reinforced with volcanic clinkers running rivets of apoplectic fury. 

He isn't soft. Isn't what she deserves, or needs, or should even want—

But the way she says his name is pyrolysing. 

Cinder. Soot. Ash. 

He spent so much time holding firm against the walls to keep her out, he never bothered to filter the air he breathed. She clots in his lungs. The scent of her builds. A mass forms. Metastasises inside of him. 

Her hands fall there, palms drawn to the steady thump of his beating heart. It drums under her skin, a stuttering rhythm that makes her own chest swell with her shaky inhale. 

His slide, rough skin scraping over her soft flesh. She burns hotter than the acorn stove in the corner of the room, and he feels the heat simmering in his veins. Scents the sulphur and volcanic ash in the air when she leans down, bending at the elbows to press her lips against his. It's chaste, as far as their usual kisses go. Biting and vitriolic. As if being sweet, tender, was forbidden. 

Maybe it was. He doesn't know what he'd have done if she kissed him like this back then. Honeyed rich, and molasses slow. It tastes like smoke but reminds him of the rock candy he'd make at home with Tommy when he was young. 

She moans into his mouth when his hands slip around her waist, her thigh. He holds her steady, and rocks up into her to the same tremulous beat as her clumsy, fragile kisses. The vibrations buzz on his bruised lips, and the tingle of her voice washing over him makes his cock twitch inside of her. 

The press of him, unyielding and firm, against her soft, soft walls makes him grunt. Another noise pulled into the cacophony of them. It's lower than anything he's ever made before. New. Novice. 

Fucking her now feels marginally different than it had only yesterday. It's raw. Vulnerable. 

He thinks of a slow burn. A candle wick. 

Wonders, then, if she feels it, too. This rawness that sits in his thundering chest; a scraped-out, hollow feeling that draws in more and more of her until the crater is filled with the essence of her sweat, the heavy breaths she tries to stifle in her throat to keep kissing him like she'll never get the chance to again. 

And that must be it. 

This isn't what he normally gives her—bruises and bites, beard burns over the delicate softness of her flesh; he leaves her kiss-bruised and drunk off of the taste of him, malt-heavy and whisky sour. 

Intimacy is saved for moments when she cums around him, tightening up like a strung bow in his archer's hold; when she squeezes herself into the nook of his shoulder, whimpering as he fucks her through her high, and chases his release in the spasming clutch of her willing body. When he cums, painting her stomach, her thighs, her ass, with the stain of his spend, the only physical proof he'd been inside of her, and smears the wet mixture of them on her heated flesh, still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasmic haze. 

It's reserved for the microcosm carved from their shared release, drenched in the glow of the chemical slurry that saturates their brains, releasing endorphins until they feel nothing but the buzz of each other. Skin to sweaty skin. Each breath a gasp. 

He lets her linger in these soft moments. This singular dissonance sits incongruously with everything else between them. But then she shifts. The microcosm that filmed around them bursts. 

She slips away after he does, slowly leaning over to pull on her discarded clothes, and wipe the stain of him from her body. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette when he watches her through lidded eyes as she stumbles around on fawn legs. 

She always hesitates for a moment. Joel often wonders if she's waiting for him to ask her to stay. 

He never does. She leaves. 

(Rinse. Repeat.)

But now—

"Easy, now," he murmurs, tongue slipping through the gap of her teeth to chase her taste. "Don't rush this, sweetheart."

Everything about this is unlike him, and she moans her disquietude into the scant space between them, brow knotting together when her stitches pull, and he leaves a bloodied trail across her waist, knuckles split and bleeding anew. 

They're both bloodied, he finds. Drenched in each other's sweat, spittle, and blood. 

It makes dizzy. Makes his fingers dig into her flesh, holding her closer to his heaving chest as he takes. His hips raise off the bed—a clumsy slant into her welcoming sex, and he feels her shudder when he hits deep, cock nudging that soft place inside of her that always makes her forehead crease. 

He can't see it when she leans down, peppering wet kisses across his grey beard, and painting hard through her nose when he presses the flat of his palm against the base of her spine and fucks into her with sharp, unrhythmical thrusts. 

"That's it, take it just like that—," he grinds the words off, and tastes the condescension in his tone. 

In response, she bites down on his pulse point. 

Another break in the routine. The rules lay scattered around them, smouldering embers of this incipient beginning to something neither of them is ready for. 

Her hands wiggle out from between their chests, bringing them closer together than before, and when she tangles her fingers in the damp curls behind his ears, he swears he can feel her heartbeat echoing through his ribs. 

He spears himself into her faster, seeking that place he knows will make her melt—

"Joel, oh—ah, fuck—"

—and once found, he cruelly angles the head of his cock into it, rasping out words of patronisation into her ear. 

Good girl, he says, and groans when her cunt tightens around him like a nautical bow. Taking me so good. Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum around my cock—

He can feel his release brimming up like a fever in his veins. White-hot and arctic cold. It sets his nerves on fire, and the pressure of her around him makes him see pure white. 

He thinks of church on Sundays when she chants his name like a hymnal—Joel, Joel, Joel—and finds nirvana when she sinks her teeth deeper into his flesh, unmarked and unclaimed until now. He'll have the perfect impression of her teeth embedded in his skin, and thought alone makes that gnarled spool inside of him loosen. 

Joel is taken by surprise when she cums—voice a shaky, shrill howl of his name, and the sound of it, the blood that stains his beard when she turns, baring her teeth and pressing them flat to his jaw, makes him grunt. It's raw. An oozing wound.

She flutters around him like the beat that echoes through his bones, and feels a hunger inside of him grow. 

The uncoiled knot inside of him rears, once dormant and dead to the world, now gnashing its jowls at the hands that prodded it from its slumber. Rapacious. A black hole when it yawns. 

The town knows she's his. Has since she sidled up to him, all soft smiles and viper eyes, and asked him to dance, for a drink, and what's a handsome man like you doing in a place like this? Got anyone I should worry about, Joel? Wanna dance? Wanna fuck—

And they know, now, that he's hers when he carries her in his arms, and knocked his forearm into the necks of anyone who tried to pry her from his clutch. 

They know. They know, but it's not enough. 

He wants to mark her, stain her. Leave her with the permanent smear of him on her pretty skin. 

Fuck—

This wasn't supposed to happen, but the keen awareness comes much too late. 

He fucks the frustration into the tight clutch of her willing, forgiving, body, and tries not to come apart at the seams when she mewls his name like he's just as much of a burden to her as she is to him. Bankrupt. Bereft of the walls and the rationale that kept him lightyears away from everyone else around him (until Ellie, the hospital—this place that reeks of stagnancy and burrowed into his marrow), he crumbles in her hold once more. 

His release hits him like a sucker punch to his gut, and the force of it makes him ache.

He doesn't pull out like he always, always, does despite the contraceptive she has, and spilling inside of her spasming cunt feels too much like heaven for him not to come apart at the seams. For him not to shatter into pieces when she pulls him closer, and murmurs, that's it, Joel. That's it—cum for me. Just let go, I got you—

And for the first time in a long time, he does.

It's an awkward assemblage of limbs that don't fit together, bodies that are too incompatible, but he tugs her down onto the mattress beside him, and makes it work. She rests the flat of her palm over his sweat-slicked chest, nails raking through the dusted grey smatter of hair on his chest. The inside of her thigh is wet with him, with her, them, when she slides it over his hip. 

Her head rests on soft tissue where his arm and shoulder meet, ear nestled into his armpit. His arm around her back, fingers resting on the curve of her elbow. It's then, when he finds his thumb brushing small circles into her dewy skin, that he realises what this is. 

Cuddling, he thinks, a touch derisively, in the apocalypse.

It was never a burning release, the aftermath of that intoxicating chemical bath of endorphins, oxytocin, and then a quick until next time. 

Being trade partners for most of the scheduled shifts—his brutality, and her knowledge of survival made them a perfect match outside of this clumsy moment of intimacy—meant that she often stayed for a few hours afterwards discussing plans, and who to barter with next or the places they haven't yet scavenged. Lying naked beside each other, shoulders sometimes brushing as they spoke—that was the extent of their post-sex ritual. 

This, he knows, is new. Different. 

It has the same cadence as last night when his massive hand swallowed her wrist in his palm, and he said, just sleep here, but it's a syncopation. Lighter, somehow, than the gruff way he demanded her company, the brutal divot between his brow. 

She moves, slow and languid, and for a moment he thinks about letting her leave. Repairing the chasm that crumbled between them into heaps of broken ruination and anguish, her hand brushes his when she pulls away, and he knows he won't. 

For such a massive presence, she's surprisingly small in his grasp. The bump of her wrist bone fits snug against the broken, swollen knuckle of his middle finger when he folds his hand around hers. 

The hitch in her breath, the rapid flutter of her pulse beating against his too rough, too worn palm are the only measure of her hesitation, her confusion. 

They're not themselves in this moment. 

The moor around him collapses. A sinkhole forms. 

He clings to her and drags her under with him.

The words won't form on his lips. His throat is bereft of what he feels in his marrow, unable to utter them aloud, to make them real. As if speaking his burgeoning desires is somehow worse than a death sentence. 

Wanting in this world is dangerous, and ruinous, but when Joel sees the dawning realisation buoying to the surface in those unfathomable black holes, he knows there's nothing more worrisome, more deadly, to him than her insatiable appetite. Her desire for more. 

More—

And just him. 

Something in her gaze splinters. Cracks. Her shoulder slump in something that tastes of the same defeat that taints the pinch in his brow. 

"You are getting softer, Joel Miller," she takes a stab at a joke but her hands shake too much for it to land properly. "Who'd have thought all it would take is old age and mortality—"

"Shut up," he grumbles, and fights the thrum of satisfaction that spumes in his veins when she lays back down beside him. "Didn't hear you complainin' this much five minutes ago."

"Yeah, well—" her hands settle on his chest, fingers carting through the damp, matted hair. "There's a reason I'm always on top, you know. Worried you might throw your back out." 

"You say that like I haven't already." 

Her chin scraps over the soft flesh where his bicep meets the curve of his shoulder, eyes bright in the morning sun that smears rays of ochre across the bridge of her nose.

She's pretty, he thinks, and feels that same gnawing in his guts, that same hunger, when she dips, and presses a kiss to his skin. 

"Poor baby," she coos, brows drawing together in mock sympathy. "I can't believe a little missionary ruined you so badly. Guess I should take better care of the elderly."

"Wasn't the missionary," he huffs. Her skin is soft, tacky, when he runs his fingers over her shoulder. "It was carrying your heavy ass home."

"Did my heavy ass snap your hips, too—"

"Christ," he bites out, but it lacks any heat. "You just never shut up, do you?" 

He hears the click in her throat when she swallows. 

"Guess you'll just have to shut me up, won't you, old—"

He presses his lips to hers, and steals the goading words from her quivering mouth. 

"Call me an old man again, and I'll spank your ass, little girl."

The condescending tone is thick, but where he expects her indignation over the same words spoken to her by everyone else when she said she wanted to go with him on runs—stay here where it's safe, little girl—it instead makes her suck in a sharp breath between her teeth. He feels the vacuum of it against his lips, and blinks up at her. 

"Did you like that—"

"No," she snaps, and drops her head to his chest. "God, Joel, you really know how to ruin a moment."

"Is that what this was? A moment?"

"Yes," she volleys back. "You don't think it was?"

He swallows down the tang of panic that salts his tongue, and presses his lips to her crown instead. 

"Ain't much of one, was it?"

"We'll make a better one," she murmurs, the lilt of a promise heavy in her words. 

When she settles in his fold, cheek laying flat against his chest—hiding her embarrassment he tones with a particular thrum of fondness so sweet it makes his teeth ache—he folds his arm over her shoulder, keeping her tucked into the bracket of his body. 

She's too small for him to ever be a perfect fit. Too hard inside that pretty little head for him to ever wiggle through. Too soft for him not to ruin her completely when he holds her too tight in his hands that overlap in a way that sometimes makes him dizzy, feverish with want, with fear. 

She doesn't click in the same way Tess does—did. 

A silent agreement of unspoken distance. Never ask for more, it hissed because you'll be brutally disappointed. Never hunger because you won't ever be satiated. Don't yearn. Don't want. Don't, don't, don't—

No, she doesn't click. She doesn't fit. Not with him. Not at all. 

(Tess left him whole. 

She devours.)

Consumes. 

Her eyes are black holes, and ever since she looked at him through the fanned ring of her lashes, and said: you won't break me that easily, he's been standing on the edge of her event horizon waiting for that perfect singularity to swallow him whole. 

(He thought her pull would happen quickly. Instantaneous. 

But she's been ripping him apart the entire time; morsel after morsel until all that remains is raw nerve. Scraps.)

A slow descent into comfort, kinship. 

She's on the same plane of existence as Tommy, Ellie. Maria, too, he supposes, a touch begrudgingly. His circle widens, expands. The bubble encompassing her, too, and he knows that he'd mourn her in the same hushed breath as the rest. 

I'll outlive you, old man. 

(He's never wanted something more in his life right now than for those words to come to fruition.)

For the first time since the walls reared, since the gunshot that still echoes in his ears like a reminder of his sins, his failures, Joel thinks of tomorrow. And the one after that. And after that. 

He thinks of her, and them, this, in the afternoon. Over old stew. Tommy's laughter. Maria's knowing glances. Ellie's anger. Her scorn. Distrust. 

Wasting the night away in the bar that's always several octaves too loud not to make him tense, antsy. Watching her dance around the room, ballerina nimble with a sprinter's pace. Listen to her joke and laugh with the men who look at her a touch too long, and a shade too intense, and—

Bringing her home after. Back here in this small house where he rots. Where he plays his guitar as if the chords of Hurt would ever be enough to drown out the bullets and the bloodshed. The clicks, the groans. The scent of moss, and fungus. 

Taking her to bed in the sheets that hasn't stopped smelling like her since he fucked her three times over Christmas until she sobbed into his pillow, and begged him for respite. When she brushed the grey hair from his temple with fingers that wouldn't stop trembling despite the ease in her grin, and the polynya in her eyes as she regarded him with more than just desire. More than just sex and sweat and the comfort that comes with losing yourself to the chemical high of another body tucked into the crevasse of your own. 

She doesn't fit. She doesn't belong. 

But fuck—

He knows he's gone when he can't imagine her anywhere else. 

"Sure," he says, and wonders when she let herself into his life, into the gnarled remanants of his chest. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

(He only dreams in black and white, but when he closes his eyes and dreams of her, it's in a startling palette of browns, reds, and blues.)

[blacst4r]

DECISIONS (2)

Pairings: Jey Uso x black fem x Jimmy Uso

Warnings: Infidelity

Summary: In the midst of relationship turmoil, Lola turns to the wrong one.

gifs ©️mocooper98

Lola's eyes peeled open, blinking a couple of times to adjust her vision due to the brightness of the room from the sunlight. She was lying on her side with a muscular, tatted arm firmly securing her waist. Her back was pressed against a hard chiseled chest that rose and fell as they peacefully slept. She shifted around to face a knocked-out Jon, smiling at the sight of him in slumber. She took the time to closely observe his features- his furrowed brows, the slight pout in his lips, his defined nose, his shaved beard that complimented his structure. He was perfect. 

She brought a hand up to caress his face, the pad of her manicured thumb brushed across his cheek. His features crinkled at the contact before his lids eventually parted, revealing those big, dreamy, orbs she could get lost in. 

"Morning" she cooed softly. 

"I could wake up to this every day," he said, making her face heat up as she smiled warmly. He leaned in for a kiss, their lips grooving passionately, with hushed whimpers as his tongue slipped into her mouth. His slender fingers seized her jaw, keeping her in place, as they made out for what felt like forever. 

His lips finally parted from hers ever-so-slightly as he looked into her eyes, "how you feelin'?" he asked Lola. 

"After last night? Sore" she chuckled as did Jon, "yeah we was fuckin like animals huh?" 

That was an understatement, several rounds in several positions, followed by a couple more in the shower.

"I thought you would never get tired," she recalled the incredible stamina that had him endlessly fucking her into oblivion with a carnal nature. He licked his lips from that same recollection, "couldn't help it, you had me sucked in...still do," he proudly admitted. "Look, I'm tryna see where this could go. We clearly feelin' each other, or we wouldn't have done this."

Lola silently agreed with him, the chemistry and sexual tension they shared was unmatched. She found Jon extremely attractive with great qualities, but whether she intended on sleeping with him, didn't matter now. He's expecting more of an outcome than just being a sneaky link. But Josh was still her boyfriend, and her fiancé who branded a diamond ring on her finger. Despite that being 4 yrs ago, she held out hope that the ultimate symbol of his love for her, would see them at the alter eventually. That things could change with her and Josh for the better. But was she ready to give up on the love of her life she'd been with for several years, over one night with his brother? And would they have even hooked up if they weren't drunk? Lola's mind was swirling with what-ifs she didn't have the answers too.

ᶓ ☆ ᶔ

Josh made his way inside the house that afternoon, curious after seeing Lola's pink jeep parked in the driveway. His brows were creased in as he headed upstairs in search of her. She was gone all last night, and hadn't responded to his calls or texts. They were technically on a "break," but that didn't mean shit to him as she was still there, just not in the same bed as him. Still wearing her ring, just not acknowledging the man that put it there. It was all petty to him, he just wanted to dead all of this and get the relationship back on track. 

He finally found her in the bathroom relaxing in the tub, her braids up in a bun and some sort of product applied to her face. Tyla's water played at a low volume from her speaker on the counter. Lolas eyes were shut, but opened as she felt his presence further in the bathroom. She took in his appearance, noting how fine he looked with that mug on his face as he leaned against the counter with arms crossed. 

"So where you been?" he started off, voice deep and gruff. 

"At my girls" she lied through her teeth. 

"You couldn't tell me that? I'm steady callin and textin and yo ass not answerin" he scolded her. 

"I had my phone on dnd Josh, I just wanted to get away from this" she explained tiredly.

"So what we doin' Lo? Huh? You wearin yo ring sayin we on a break but you still here after havin sleep overs witcho homegirls. Ion get it" he looked frustrated as he failed to rationalize it, "what you seein other people too?" he added.

Her heart spiked at the suspicion, though it wasn't a hunch Josh actually had. But if only he knew. 

Internally Lola was rattled, but on the outside she rolled her eyes, "I don't know what we doin' either besides fighting Josh! That's all we do, and I'm over it!"

Josh released a stern breath, swiping a hand down his face and rubbing his beard in deep thought. By now, the song had switched to truth or dare, how fitting. 

"I love you Lola, it's a reason I got down on one knee for you, I plan on makin you my wife but we can't get there till we resolve the shit we got goin on right now. Ion want us to tie the knot and still be havin the same issues," he voiced sternly, letting his words sink in before he continued, "look, no more break, either we in this or we not." 

"I'm in this Joshua, but we gotta work on us properly, not goin at each others heads, not bickering-"

"Not stayin gone" he interjected.

And not fucking his brother... 

She nodded with an anxious breath, "yea that too," bypassing the most important part ringing throughout her conscious.

Josh brown spheres bore into hers much like Jons did earlier as both men poured their heart out to her, "I'm in love witchu Lo, you my world forreal, and I'mma show you that, on me." He walked over to the tub and carefully bent down, planting a tender kiss on her lips that melted her skin- lingering long after he exited the bathroom. She was left to wallow in her filthy sins amidst the cleansing waters that couldn't wash them away. 

@cyberdejos2 @empressdede @abadbitchblogs @yana3sworld @solefae @trc-punzel @bebesobrielo

[donatellawritings]

can you write smut of richie going down on reader for the first time? i feel like he'd be so tender, hand holding, and def talk reader through it

explicit sexual content ahead

Richie Jerimovich loved the art of eating pussy - specifically, your pussy. It got him through some of his most draining days, it kept usually noisy and overworked psyche calm as it channeled its entire focus on one thing and one thing only, making you cum. You could tell that Richie had a bad day at work, wanting nothing more than to take his frustrations out on you.

He was wordless when he entered the front door of your stuffy apartment, hastily shaking his suit jacket off of his back, allowing it to carelessly fall to the floor. He’d texted you right before he clocked out of the restaurant, demanding that you’d be waiting for him, completely naked between the cold sheets of your shared bed. You understood and complied, knowing that he needed a release, your release.

Richie’s bright blue eyes met yours as he stepped into your shared bedroom, his gaze on you never wavering as he undid his tie with one hand, before tossing it on the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his dress-shirt to the tan skin of his forearm. “Been waiting for this all fuckin’ day, sweetheart,” he rasped, walking over to the foot of your bed, his hands wrapping around your ankles.

“It’s okay, Richie, you have me,” you cooed, licking over your lips as Richie gently tugged you closer to the edge of the bed.

“Open your legs, baby, let me see that pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he ordered, his voice now husky and raw as you obliged.

Richie’s eyes hung low as he watched your legs spread. He let out a breath, lowering himself as he took in the slight glisten of your already-wet and inviting pussy. God, he needed to taste you on his tongue, so fucking bad.

Pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss your sensitive and swollen centre, Richie made out with your slick folds, his tongue drooling lazily into you as he got lost in himself. Your sweet-tinge coated his tongue warmly as Richie swallowed. He needed more.

Wrapping his arms over the tops of your thighs, Richie roughly pulled you closer to him, pressing your legs against your chest as he leaned his face closer to your slippery pussy, nudging your clit with his nose as he licked long stripes up and down your pulsing entrance.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned, craning your neck down as your eyes fell on Richie’s, watching with an opened mouth as he devoured you whole.

The taller man pulled away from you, maintaining a dead-set eye contact with you as he allowed a long line of his cum-mixed saliva to drip down to your pussy, the contact causing your back to arch off of the mattress.

“Fuck me,” Richie groaned, before returning his head to its rightful spot between your thighs, sliding one of his long and slender arms up your abdomen, a hum leaving his lips and vibrating against your pulsing core as your fingers interlocked with his.

Pressing a wet and noisy kiss to your clit, Richie gazed up at you, a smirk tugging on his lips as your fingers tightened around his, “look at me, beautiful, god, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he teased mockingly, not missing the way your abdomen end tightened as menacingly pressed his tongue against your throbbing entrance.

Your head fell back against the soft push of your pillows, a low whimper crying out from your throat as Richie pushed his tongue inside of you, before pulling out just as quickly.

“Fuck, y’gonna cum so fuckin’ hard, right baby?” He rasped, licking ha long strip of saliva from your taint, up t your clit - repeating this over and over until you reached your free hand down to his short hair, pushing his face deeper into you needy pussy.

Now cocky and prideful, Richie pushed his tongue in and out of your tight hole, rubbing his rough beard against your sensitive folds as he moved his head up and down.

“Don’t fucking stop, please bab-”

Your hips, now having a mind of their own, rolled against Richie’s face as you craved friction, fighting to bring yourself to the delicious climax that awaited you. The warmth of Richie’s tongue, the cutting sting of his facial hair against your tender skin, the smooth slickness of his spit drooling onto you - fuck, you were so close.

“Come on, baby, fuck,” Richie pressed himself deeper, his eyes watching as you lost yourself your back arched, nipples hardened, and breathing choppy, “You’re doing so good baby, so fuckin’ good.”

Richie feverishly lapped at you, the sight of you chasing your orgasm, almost being enough to bring himself to cum as he grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding them against his tongue as you craned your neck back with a hoarse cry.

“Fuck, Richie fuck-“ you cried out, warm tears running down your cheeks.

The sweet-tang of your cum oozed onto Richie’s tongue, a satisfied hum now flowing out of his lips as he greedily drank you, lapping every ounce of your cum that leaked out of you, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, let it go, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his licks becoming slower and softer as you came down from your overwhelming high.

Pulling his face away from you, Richie ran a hand over his beard, a low chuckle, his eyes taking in the way his fingers were covered in your cum and his spit.

You remained laid on the bed, your breathing now slowly evening out as you swallowed thickly, struggling to speak as you stared at the ceiling.

You were so fucked out, without him properly fucking you, and that brought a cocky smile to Richie Jerimovich’s wet lips.

Unbuttoning his dress-shirt entirely, Richie walked over to where you laid, resting one of his hands on your waist as he leaned down, pressing a sweet and warm kiss to your lips, softly sliding his tongue against yours, he always loved when you’d taste yourself.

You pulled away with a drunken smile and heavy eyelids.

“I fuckin’ needed that, thank you,” he mumbled, pecking your lips a few times, his rough hand soothing the side of your waist.

“Glad I could help,” you smiled.

[bullet-prooflove]

Valentine's Day Bingo: King - Angel Reyes x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @witches-unruly-heart @keyweegirlie @trhett21 @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @thatonesexycancerian @weiwei0210 @anime-weeb-4-life @harperdoodle @cheyrenee @fanfic-n-tabulous @deliriousfangirl61 @daydreaming-belle @est1887 @thanossexual @creativitybeware @librarian1002 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @wnbweasley @delightfulbelieverwerewolf @spookyboogyuniverse @skyesthebomb @spaghettificationandpretzels @joyfulfxckery @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle @legally-a-bastard @bonsaijoons @justreblogginfics @vermillionwinter

Hitting the Lace Bingo Square

Angel has you sitting on the edge of the bed, your wrists bound behind your back and a black silk eyemask drawn down over your eyes. You’re wearing royal blue lace tonight; it highlights your skin giving you almost ethereal look. His thumb trails over your lower lip, dragging it down before he murmurs the words.

“You’re just so fucking beautiful Mi Reina.”

He tilts your chin up, and you can feel the heat of his body as he leans in close, his mouth brushing over yours. His lips are hot, almost searing as his tongue dips into your mouth. Your body responds to him, arching up as he grips your jaw, holding you in place. You whine when he pulls away and he smiles because his reina needs him just as much as he needs her.

He kneels before you, placing his palms on your bare thighs, parting them before he guides them over his shoulders.

You can feel his breath ghosting over the damp lace, his beard grazing along your inner thighs. His fingertips slip under the elastic, teasing along your wetness. It’s nothing more than a brief caress but your hips buck towards his mouth, and he just can’t help himself. He tugs your underwear to one side revealing your nakedness and his cock fucking twitches.

You have such a pretty cunt; he’s always thought so, and he can’t wait to get his mouth on it.

When he kisses you there, your breathing hitches. His tongue traces lightly over your clit before he sucks just slightly, making you breathe his name out loud. His tongue delves lower, pressing at your entrance, he holds it there and you whimper, trying to fuck it but he holds you in place lapping over it over and over again until you finally say the word he’s been waiting to hear.

“Please.”

He raises to his feet, cupping your chin once more before he removes the blindfold so he can see those beautiful eyes of yours.

“Does Mi Reina need her king?”

“Please.” You say again and he kisses you, his hand tangling in your hair as his tongue delves deep into your mouth. You can taste yourself on his lips and it’s such a sensual feeling, sharing yourself with your lover.

He undresses for you, his eyes locked on yours as he removes his clothes until he’s entirely bare for you, his cock hard and leaking.

“Stand up.” He requests and you follow his instructions, raising to your feet. He draws your underwear down before he sits on the edge of the bed and guides you into his lap. He holds you steady, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you let out a moan as he fills you.

“Move for me.” He tells you, his voice rough. “I wanna see you fuck it.”

He lies back, his gaze on that sexy ass of yours as he watches his cock disappear inside of you. Fuck you feel good, the way that perfect pussy of yours grips him, it makes him feel like he’s died and gone straight to heaven. Every single one of your breathes comes with a sweet little noise but it’s not enough for Angel. He needs you loud, he wants the people in the room two doors down to know how good he fucks his woman.

His hands come to rest on your waist. He rolls his hips, thrusting deep and the sound that leaves your mouth…

That’s exactly what he wants to hear.

“That’s it Mi Reina…” he drawls, one of his hand grabbing the slender chain between your wrists and tugging it down so your back arches and you take him that little bit deeper. “That’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”

He fucks you hard, his cock raking across that perfect place deep down inside of you, the one that makes you scream for him. He feels your climax coming, it’s in the way your body starts to tense, your movements becoming more frantic. The ecstasy rushes through his veins as you come for him. You clench around his cock, your walls hugging it so tightly that Angel sees fucking stars. He keeps your hips pinned against his, burying himself deep as he spills his release inside of you.

“Fuck.” He mutters, sitting up so your back comes to rest against his chest. His lips chase up the curve of your throat as he unbinds your wrists. “I think you managed to ruin both of us.”

You tip your head back into the hollow of his throat and laugh. It’s such a beautiful sound, one that vibrates through his entire body as he wraps his arms around you and gathers you close. His thumb chases over the scar just underneath your rib cage, the place where Skye shot you all those months ago and he’s reminded of how close he was to losing you.

“I love you.” He whispers, holding you just that little bit tighter. “I love you so God damn much.

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[whorediaries-09]

i didn’t say hi last time my bad💀 BUT how do we feel about harry potter smut? like f.i.lt.h.y.

we feel very 🕯️bonita🕯️ about it... come on...

blue jeans;

pairing- professor!harry potter x reader warning(s)- 18+ content. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- what have i done.

the slut club valentine's day event

i told you I wanted more but that's not what I had in mind

'didn't think draco malfoy could fuck you as good as i do did ya, sweetie?' your professor grunts, his bearded face tickling the crook of your neck as his finger circled upon your clothed clit. you buck your hips into his hand, reaching out for the friction of his fingers on your sensitive cunt, begging to be touched. your hands worked on his belt as the grip around your throat tightens, as he buries his sharp nose into your locks, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. a rush of warmth sizzled under your skin, as he pressed you against the wall.

'yes, baby? i asked you a question didn't i?' he inquires, his voice a threat to your already pounding heart, a malice weaved into his tone which sends tickles of fear down your spine. it was a threat to stop you from being quiet, a threat to hear the whimpers of fear and arousal he lit up within you.

'no-no-ah' you moaned as he teases your slit through your trousers. a grip on your throat tight, he weaves his fingers into your locks, pulling you towards his desk. he forces your back towards it, the mahogany of the desk digging into your trouser covered hips.

he pulls on your hair, tilting your head, to make you meet his emerald eyes. leaving a filthy flick of tongue on your lips parted with fear or excitement, he groans as you clench your thighs around his hand.

'no?' he inquires, even though he completely knew the answer. he takes his hand out from between your thighs, rubbing the slightly wet fingers on your lips. you part your lips, wrapping your lips around his fingers, sucking on your arousal.

'no, harry,' you gargle around his fingers, as you feel him tickle your throat. he leans down so lick your earlobe, and goosebumps arise on your skin at the action.

harry groans, his hand squishing your cheeks together, bringing your lips together in a fiery lip-lock, clashes of lip, teeth and tongue. it's a carnally filthy dance of lips teeth and tongue, a steady pace of both of your hearts beating rapidly against each other's flushed chests. he swallows moans and whimpers you let out of pleasure, making each of you want more.

your hands travels up to his tie, untying the silk around his neck .you bring his face closer, as he settles you down on the desk, the hand previously on your neck unbuttoning your trouser. he bites on your lip, a filthy lick on her teeth as his tongue dances with hers. he trails his kisses down your jaw, to the soft spot on your neck which he had memorized oh-so-perfectly. as his hands works on the buttons of your shirt, he muffles against your skin,

'we've got to be quiet now love. don't want-' his hands travel into your pants, circling your clit through your underwear, '-anyone to hear how you slut yourself out on your professor's cock now do we?'

*****

harry's tie was wrapped around your mouth, lips parted, spit drooling on the sides of your mouth. his fingers slid up and down the slit of your cunt as he tested a finger inside of you. you whimpered as he teased your clit, your hips bucking greedily as you tried to restrain out from the his leather belt tying your hands together. he took his finger out from your cunt, your hips bucking in air. he presses his hand on your stomach to keep you still. you moan, your head falling atop the mahogany of his desk.

he had got your shirt buttons missing, chest painted in tiny kisses, hair disheveled, eyes watery, brimming with greedy tears, cheeks flushed with a little too much teasing. he rubs his palm on your cunt as a warning before his next action.

his hand rose into air; cool metals of rings on slender fingers meeting your cunt with a harsh slap. you flinch, letting the arousing feeling of his spank sink into your body, tickles of agony giving rise to heaven-like goosebumps within the depths of your spine. It was intoxication, the pain and the bliss he bought with his harsh treatment.

'sir- i- oh' you moan out as he places another slap on your needy cunt.

'oh.' he mocks, enjoying seeing the bliss of overdosing pleasure succumb into you. he slaps your pussy again, followed by a searing moan and whimper ripping off you; muffled by the silk tie tied around your mouth.

'you like it don't ya?' he asks, even though he knew the answer. it was a rhetorical question really, as he spanked your cunt, your mind too numb to answer his question, to understand what his words meant. you were lost into the agonized sinned bliss his ringed fingers bought upon contact on your warm clit.

harry rubs his palm on your pussy dripping with slick, licking his lips. you looked so vulnerable, so exposed; it bought him sick pleasure when you moaned at another harsh slap on your cunt. you buck your hips into his hand, wanting more of the agony he bought, wanting to calm down the fiery fire of arousal which roared ferociously inside of you. tears left your eyes as harry spits on your cunt, the liquid cool against the warmth of your cunt.

he rubs his saliva onto your convulsing mound, rubbing on your clit, your vocal cords abusing whimpers in bliss.

'i. am. gonna. spank. this. needy. little. hole. so. many. time. that. it'll. be. destroyed. for. any. other. man. than. me.' he grunts, each of his words followed by a harsh slap on your cunt. you scream, the sheen layer of agony and pleasure dissipating, throats bleeding cries of mercy and pleas.

he rubs the the tip of his cock on your swollen clit, as if mocking you.

'look at this cunt swollen and red for me baby,' he groans. you groan, your cheeks hot as his filthy words register into your mind. he grabs your throat and pushes his cock all the way into you, in one big, blissful thrust, stretching your velvety walls out with his girth. whimpers get caught in your throat, as he starts thrusting at a steady pace, not giving you time to adjust to his size.

'face it little slut. you want this. you crave this,'

[amphibious-thing]

If you don't mind answering, what exactly makes something macaroni?

A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue (1785) defines macaroni as follows:

An Italian paste made of flour and eggs; also a fop, which name arose from a club, called the maccaroni club, instituted by some of the most; dressy travelled gentlemen about town, who led the fashions, whence a man foppishly dressed, was supposed a member of that club, and by contraction stiled a maccaroni.

To put it simply a macaroni was a fop. That is a man who is too interested in fashion. Because interest in fashion was considered a frivolous female trait men who were "foppishly dressed" were often ridiculed for their gender nonconformity. The Natural History of a Macaroni describes the macaroni as follows:

There has within these few years past arrived from France and Italy a very strange animal, of the doubtful gender, in shape somewhat between a man and monkey, which has generated so much within that time, that they form at present no inconsiderable groupe in most of the public circles about town. Its natural height is somewhat inferior to the ordinary size of men, though by the artificial height of their heels, they in general reach that standard; the face is quite effeminate, but sometimes distinguished by a little hair growing on it like a beard; the fore legs, or arms, are disproportionably long, the hind legs of a slender make. Its dress is neither in the habit of a man or woman, but peculiar to itself, and varying with the day; at present it is principally discovered by an Indian flesh-coloured cloth, or silk, clasped all over with broad shining steel, and buttoned at the neck with a large black collar;

~ Walker’s Hibernian Magazine, July 1777, p458

The term macaroni really just means effeminate if someone or something was perceived as effeminate it was macaroni.

However as the term was predominantly used in the 1770s and 1780s it's associated with the fashion from those decades. So while there isn't strict rules dictating what is and isn't macaroni there are certainly some key aspects to the fashion that come up a lot in satire.

The Hair Probably the most iconic aspect of macaroni fashion was the height of the hair. This was mocked in the satirical print What is this my son Tom. However in reality the hair was not worn that tall. Compare the caricature to Richard Cosway's self-portrait in which he is depicted wearing the fashionable style.

[Left: What is this my son Tom, print, c.1774, published by Sayer & Bennett, via The British Museum.

Right: Self-Portrait, Ivory, c.1770–75, by Richard Cosway, via The Met.]

The Suit Menswear of the period consisted of the same basic elements; shirt, stockings, breeches, waistcoat and coat. At a time when English menswear was characterised by plain monochrome broadcloth macaroni fashion was disguised by the fabric, cut, colour and trimmings of the suit. Fashionable were the tightly cut French style suits known as habit à la française. Popular were brocaded and embroidered silks and velvets, sometimes further embellished with metallic sequins, simulated gemstones and raised metallic threads. In contrast to the black suit worn by many Englishmen, macaroni wore pastels, pea-green, pink, purple, red and deep orange.

[Left: The Illiterate Macaroni, print, c.1772, by Matthew Darly, via Lewis Walpole Library.

Middle: The Sleepy Macaroni, print, c.1772, by Matthew Darly, via Lewis Walpole Library.

Right: The Catgut Macaroni, print, c.1772, by Matthew Darly, via Lewis Walpole Library.]

The Accessories But a macaroni's ensemble was not done without accessories. Some examples of popular accessories include red heeled shoes, shoe strings, dress swords, canes, nosegays and muffs.

[Such Things Are, watercolour, c.1787, by Captain Mercer, via Lewis Walpole Library.]

If you want to learn more about macaroni I highly recommend reading Pretty Gentleman by Peter McNeil.

[senualothbrok]

Hello, friend!

I hereby invite you to think about how, one evening, you're watching Gale gesture his way through his day. It's a comforting ritual, but tonight, after you've endured a dismissive wave for the lazier apprentices whining about their marks, an aggravated finger shake for a catastrophically wrong Evocation professor, a framing of the entire universe, a picturing of possibilities when he talks about his research... you decide you've had enough.

Not of listening to him talk (the only time you prefer him silent is when he's putting his mouth to other, differently delightful uses, but even then). You've had enough of having those lovely, eloquent hands everywhere--in the air, on the desk, scrolls, books, his glass of wine--and not on you, not in your own hands, not against your skin.

Gale stops mid-narrative when you slide into his space, eyes widening as you take his wandering right hand in both of yours. Even now it's so easy to fluster him and knock him off that confident stride with the slightest touch. Granted, the touch you're offering him is more than slight: kisses across the bumps of his knuckles and down the length of his index finger. When you slide the tip into your mouth, the sound he makes is incoherent and poetic.

You kiss his palm, tasting salt and ink, and then his mouth, where you taste the wine and him. You continue lacing your fingers through his, finding the pressure points that make him sigh, and the soft skin along the inside of his wrist that makes him shiver. However briefly you have all that energy contained, held like galaxies cupped in your hands, and as he murmurs softly against your mouth, settling into the kiss, you've never felt so powerful.

Hello friend! I can’t tell you how ecstatic I am to receive one of your legendary asks! I am in love with your writing and feel so honoured to be invited to share in this. Thank you so much, and I hope this cuts it!

-----

It is intoxicating, that power. Almost dizzying, as his breath hitches at the tingle of your tongue against his.

But you have never been one to hoard power. Everything that you have, you share with him, just as he gives you everything freely and without reservation. Between you, there is always a steady stream of desire, a give and take of control. You feel it drift into his grasp now, as his right hand dances across your jawline, the curve of your neck, the small of your back. You are the one quivering now, as his left hand slides under your shirt like he is unwrapping a priceless gift. It is your breath that catches as his fingers circle the secret spot under your breast that he knows as well as his own flesh. 

You are entranced by them - those slender hands that have doled out destruction as well as comfort, those lithe fingers that have brought forth explosions of pain and pleasure both. You watch your own hands running through the soft waves of his hair, grazing the bristles of his beard. Your hands look so small, so insubstantial, in comparison, until he slips your fingers into his mouth, and wraps your other hand around his hardness with an urgency that winds you. You echo his low moan as his fingers tighten your hold on his desire.

And as his touch becomes yours and you melt into each other, you have never felt stronger.

[ask-stede-bonnet]

Describe the prettiest man on earth!

6 feet tall

Long salt-and-pepper curls

Cute little beard

Big brown eyes

Covered in beautiful tattoos

Pert arse that won't quit

Grabbable waist

Perfect nose

Adorable ears

Pretty slender fingers

Cute teeth

Incredibly sexy tongue

Soft little belly

Muscular biceps

Strong, fuzzy thighs

Perfect laugh

Sexy, smooth voice

Heart-melting smile

Bitable neck

Clever, fantastic brain

Wicked sense of humor

Great big heart

World's best boyfriend

The love of my life

Future husband

[wrestlezaynia]

Synopsis: Sami and Kevin playfully wrestle for the Intercontinental Championship. The stipulation of the match? Whoever makes the other moan first is declared the winner. Who will come out on top?

Warning: Must be 18+ to read under cut.

Sami emerges from the bathroom wearing only the Intercontinental Championship. "So...what do you think?" He asks with a sly grin.

A glint emerges in Kevin's pale blue eyes at the titillating scene before him. A devilish smirk tugging at his lips as he grips Sami's hips, pulling him towards the bed. "Beau." He replies in a hushed whisper.

A gasp spills from Sami's lips as Kevin pulls him near, their eyes locked. "Thank you for your support Kev, it means the world to me." He whispers back, his soft doe eyes filled with adoration. "This is ours."

Kevin shakes his head in response, smiling lovingly as he gently tucks a strand of crimson behind Sami's ear. "No Sami, it's yours, you've earned this." He counters, admiring how good the title looks around his slender waist. "You better watch your back though, because I'm coming for it next." He warns, shoving Sami playfully on his back before pinning his wrists above his head. "One," he proceeds to count, pressing his lips to Sami's. "Two," he continues, kissing him again. "Three. And the neeeeeeew Intercontinental Champion, Kevin Owens!"

Sami giggles in between kisses, feeling himself falling even deeper in love with Kevin, if that was possible. "You're disqualified for kissing interference." Sami rebuttals as the giggling intensifies.

Sami has the most adorable laugh Kevin has ever heard as it fills the otherwise quiet room, echoing off of the paper thin walls. "How about a rematch?" Kevin asks, a noticeable gleam in his eye. "You versus me, one on one, anything goes and I do mean anything." He adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Sami smiles fondly at Kevin, the kind of smile reserved exclusively for your soulmate. "I've got a better idea." He responds, his honey eyes twinkling with mischief. "Whoever is able to make the other moan first is declared the winner." A devious grin spreading across his bearded face.

A self-satisfied smirk twists at Kevin's lips, feigning arrogance. When, in reality, he knows this is a fight he isn't going to win. Sami is and always has been his greatest weakness, his Achilles heel. "This is going to be the easiest championship I've ever won!" He quips smugly.

"We'll see about that." Sami counters with a smirk of his own, knowing exactly where to touch to drive Kevin wild. "On the count of three we start kissing." He instructs, eyes drifting to Kevin's lips. "One...two...mpfh." Sami whimpers as Kevin pulls him into a fiery kiss.

Patience has never been Kevin's strong suit, especially when it comes to Sami. The guy doesn't know when to shut up, so he decides to take matters into his own hands. Hands that are gently cradling Sami's face, kissing him soft and deep as a sigh of contentment escapes him.

The kiss catches Sami by surprise, but he gladly welcomes it, kissing Kevin back with fervor as he wraps his arms tightly around his waist.

When their lips are forced to part, they remain close, holding onto one another as they steady their breathing. They press their foreheads together and stare deeply into each other's eyes, contemplating their next move. "You know you're going to lose, right?" Kevin asks, a shit-eating grin spreading across his lips. "You can't resist me." He adds softly, whispering in Sami's ear. "Ce titre est aussi bon que le mien."

Feeling Kevin's hot breath ghosting against his ear sends shivers down Sami's spine as he continues to whisper sweet nothings to him in their native tongue. He doesn't have the fondest clue what he's saying (aside from a few keywords Kevin taught him), but hearing his soft, husky voice speaking to him in French is a major turn-on. "Kev." He murmurs breathlessly, the heat pooling between his legs.

Kevin is forced to bite his bottom lip to stifle any noise from escaping, but Sami is making it so hard, in more ways than one. Temperatures rise when Kevin licks the shell of Sami's ear, smirking as he feels his body tremble beneath him followed by a muffled gasp. "I thought your laugh was the prettiest sound in the world. I was wrong, it's your moans.” Kevin remarks, taking the lobe gently into his mouth.

Sami wants to argue that it wasn't a moan, it was a gasp but the objection dies as soon as Kevin nibbles on his earlobe. He can feel himself coming undone, his body shaking with desire. He can't take this anymore, he's ready to submit. He's ready for Kevin to take him. "Make love to me, Kev." He breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kevin inhales sharply at Sami's breathless plea, his heart beating fast as they make eye contact. "Looks like I won." He smugly boasts.

"No," Sami counters, reaching up to cup Kevin's cheek. "We both did."

A/N: I accidentally deleted the request bestie, but thanks for sending it in! If you have a request, feel free to send a prompt to my inbox. Thank you for reading, as always! 😊

@loki69zowens, @wrestlingdespairings, @domripley, @who-do-you-want-to-be, @sizzlingavenuestrawberry. Tags are broken, RIP. 💀

[strangelockd]

Big Bad Wolf

18+ ONLY CONTAIN HEAVY FILTH & SMUTT

Pairing: Sinister!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It's a beautiful rainy day at the Sanctum but your bored so Sinister decides to incorporate a fairy tale into the gameplay. You are all too eager to play along.

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: Angst, some fluff, deep love, p in v sex, creampie, swearing, Sinister is a bit of a soft!dom, pet names, oral sex (Fem. Receiving), Fingering, No condoms, porn with plot, praise kink, daddy kink

A/N: This smutty story has been rotting in my brain since I first laid eyes on this man. His hands always behind his back like a hunter hunting down his prey. I instantly fell in love with him. He will always be my fictional husband. The song that inspired the story while I was writing is Daddy by Ramsey. I feel like it fits his character so much. Its also my first smutt fic so please be gentle with me.

I really do hope you enjoy it.

Candles flickered in the Sanctum causing soft light to dance about the walls. Lightening cracks causing heavy raindrops to beat and bleed against the window resembling the seal of Vishanti. Lounging on a velvet chair reading your favorite book you propped your feet up off the cold wooden floor. Enveloped by a thick heavy red velvet blanket, it was so warm and inviting, it couldn’t be a more relaxing day. You take a break from reading to admire Sinister across from you, his spindly legs crossed and stretched out on the chair while reading, a look of pure contentment on his face. Candlelights illuminating his sharp angular features, you couldn’t believe how handsome he was, you felt like the luckiest woman in the world. This handsome man chose you above everything in the multiverse. Looking at him with a heart full of love, you couldn’t help but notice how adorable he was while mouthing the words when he reads. Stroking his disheveled beard  he was reading what appeared to be a Fairy Tale novel bounded in thick leather. His brows always coming close together when in deep focus. Biting your lower lip you began feel a deep need that you refused to fight. You wanted him to stroke something else of yours….

Setting the book down on the small table next to you, the candles danced at the sudden movement. Stretching your arms up to give a small yawn you looked at your lover and smirked to yourself, having a better idea in mind to spend the afternoon. Standing up from the chair you wrapped the blanket around you to keep as much warmth as possible. Quietly walking towards your husband you stood behind him reading over his shoulder. Nuzzling your face into his neckline where a freckle meets the collar of his robes you bit little nips into his neck, smoothing the sharp pain with your warm wet tongue. Then taking your palms you ran them down his chest feeling the texture of his dark blue robes that covered his hard toned chest underneath. Deeply inhaling his warm flesh you couldn’t help but be intoxicated by him.

A deep moan rumbed from his throat; closing the book he sat it next to him, he clearly got the hint. “Is my kitten in need of some attention?” Responding with slight breathlessness. “I’m bored,” giving your best pouty face. Taking his scarred slender hands he rubbed them up your arms. His black wedding band shimmering in the light, he pulled you onto his lap. Lacing arms around his neck you nuzzled noses, lips just a whisper away from each other. Gazing into your eyes with deep affection he softly lunged towards your mouth kissing you in such fervent passion--with a need that your all to familiar with. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you as his bride.

 Tongue dancing lightly against your lower lip beckoning you to have them parted. You opened your mouth and invited the warmth of his tongue. The familiar sweet taste along with the scruffiness of his facial hair caused the wetness to pool in your panties. You crossed your legs over to straddle him, rocking your hips back and fourth very slowly, trying to get some friction while feeling the familiar stiffening below your ass. Pulling away from your mouth he lifted your hand that carried your matching wedding band and kissed upon it. Continuing to kiss each knuckle till he reached your palm, his beard tickling your delicate skin, only to return back to your mouth. His velvet lips began to clash with yours harder, and you both became overwhelmed with yearning. He preceded to trail love bites along your jawline leading down the your breast. Placing tiny nips along your petal soft flesh. A small moan escaping your lips you tilted your head back in sudden ecstasy, giving him more leeway to reach all of your engorges zones.

You were obsessed with his hands, but you had a soft spot for his goatee. The way it trails down your neck leaving sensitive patches of red on your flesh. His arms locking you in tightly; like you were a dream he never wanted to wake from, he always made you feel safe. Releasing yourselves to catch your breath you rest your forehead against his and you couldn’t help but profess, “Its just that…Im  really wet and I need you”. His cerulean eyes now shimmering with mischief, a smirk drawing across his lips showing a sexy grin that always made you blush. “that can be arranged darling, but I have a better plan. Why don’t we make a little game out of this day?”

Raising an eyebrow with a hint of suspicion you took the bait. “What did you have in mind?” Softly guiding  you off of his lap, adjusting his stiffening trousers he grabbed your hand and walked you past the cluttered instruments and relics scattered around the sanctum, only to stop at the foot of the wooden stairs. Feeling his soft slightly blackened digits grab your chin with his thumb and index finger he looked deep into your eyes gently stroking your chin with his thumb. “Well I was reading the most intriguing story my love, you ever play the children’s game of hide and seek? Well, my fantasy has always been to incorporate that into the fairytale The Little Red Riding Hood. I’m particularly fond of the wolf and with that blanket you look deliciously like Little Red.”With a slide of his fingers purple magic enveloped you, manifesting your loungewear into a risqué little red riding hood dress. The black corset tightly snuggling your breasts together with the cream dress barely covering your ass high up on your thighs, completing the look with a red hooded cloak, black laced garter belt and knee-high white stockings. Bending forward to adjust your stilettos you gave a twirl for Sinister, noticing his eyes widen with hunger.

He grabbed your ring finger kissing up your arm and gave you another twirl. He pulled you to his chest and Slowly laced his arms around your waist and began to gently sway together, his dark robes swishing with the movement. Craning his head down to kiss and suck on your neck, you closed your eyes leaning your head back against his strong shoulder for him to whisper into the shell of your ear “ I cannot wait to devour you, you’re absolutely delectable,” taking a deep inhale of your hair he slowly grazed his palm to lift your dress ever so slightly to reveal you wearing nothing underneath . Groping your ass giving your earlobe a slight nip emanating a squeak from your lips.

Turning around to face Sinister, you rested your hands on his chest to playfully ask, “shall we set up the ground rules? I know that must be a foreign concept for you Doctor, but its only fair.” He pulled away and slowly walked back and fourth, hands never leaving his back. Chuckling lightly he twitched his lips creating a menacing grin ,“Well my pet, the obvious thing is that I turn around close my eyes and count to one. You’ll go and hide anywhere in this haunted house, its yours for the choosing. Ill then proceed to hunt you down like the wolf that I am, and if I win I get my reward.”  Stopping dead in his tracks he slowly turned to look at you, cocking an eyebrow gazing with a hungry glare causing your cheeks to blush a deeper crimson. Feeling your heartbeat accelerate,  goosebumps were beginning to form on your flesh. You knew damn well how this was going to end and you couldn’t contain the wet heat beginning to moisten your inner thighs.

…..

 

You tried your best to contain your giggles while quickly scouting for a place to hide. “57 …58 …” his voice playfully trailing off in the distance. Making the best attempt to prevent your heals from clicking on the heavy wooden floorboards you came across his office. Feeling the adrenaline start to kick into your system you quickly scanned the room noticing the huge black wooden desk along with a large floor to ceiling mirror conveniently placed across from it. Hmmm thats new….Squatting down to get on your hands and knees you crawled to securely tuck yourself underneath it… perfect. Attempting to steady your breath you heard, “Ready or not here comes the wolf.” A huge smile coming across your face you covered your mouth to quiet your giggled breaths.  “Come out…come out…wherever you are…” speaking in a sing songy tone. Sinister’s heavy boots creaking on the floorboards, he was close.

Peaking a eye through the crack of the desk he finally made it into the room. Pacing slowly around looking everywhere he could think of, hands still never leaving his back. He was heavy into the game keeping a stalking pace. Like a lion hunting for his prey, he was enjoying the thrill of the chase. “You can’t hide from me kitten, you know daddy will find you eventually.”

Turning to face the desk scanning the parameters and he noticed a bit of red hooded fabric sticking out from underneath the front of his desk. Eyes now glistening, his mouth twitched into a smirk at the corner of his lips….I found you kitten. Footsteps trailed out the room, you leaned your head against the heavy wood closing your eyes to catch your breath. YES! Looks like I have outsmarted him…in the blink of an eye Sinister manifested behind the desk squatting down to face you dead into your startled eyes. You yelped loudly, “BOO! Looks like the wolf caught his little red!” he declared with a snarl. Striving to crawl out of the desk he grabbed you buy the waist, his fingers digging into your delicate soft flesh. “Your not getting away from me that easy darling, this wolf is hungry for your sweet pussy and I’ve earned my reward.”

Releasing some playful giggles he hoisted you up like you weighed nothing and firmly laid you on top of the desk. Leaning back you couldn’t help but stare into his eyes, they always shimmered a brighter blue when aroused. He didn’t waste any time diving down to your sopping heat. Devouring your nectar like a starving man he ran his hands up and down your thighs. Feeling your stockings rip and the garter belt snap, he was feral and began to use his mouth to start tongue fucking you. The long goatee felt amazing against your sensitive mound. You needed more friction and you needed it now. Peaking up from your dress, his nose and beard now glistening with your arousal he crawled up to grab your cheek; claiming your mouth as his. Tasting and smelling yourself on his tongue you both shared a loud moan. He pulled away and with a husky whisper, “Taste what I do to you darling, fuck you are a work of art.” 

You let out a whimper at his praise while moving to arch your hips begging him to go further, “Tsk tsk, Feeling impatient are we?” Speaking smugly. You bit your lip and smiled while he began stripping off his bracers to toss them aside only to proceed in rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, revealing his taut forearms. He dove back down to reach deeper into your warm center. His flattened tongue licking from the base of your entrance, landing on your sensitive bud to suck and lick with slow repeating sensual circular motions. You leaned arching your back in pleasure with a responsive moan. Stephen was a God with his hands, but nobody can hold a candle to his tongue. Glancing to the side you couldn’t help but stare into the mirror, watching him devour you through the looking glass was highly arousing; it made your nipples start to harden and your center to moisten more.

Feeling his tongue shallowly penetrate your core he moved a hand to reach for your clit. Lifting his head to watch your pleasure, he moved his hand to caress your thighs bringing them softly back to your mound; using circular motions with his thumb to set a steady rhythm. “Keep your eyes on me kitten”, which snatched you out of your reverie only to intensely lock eyes, “yes daddy.” He released a low rough grunt of approval, taking two digits to plunge  them into your wet hole making  you groan in satisfaction. Arching his fingers pulling them in and out if you, it was causing a wet noise that sounded so obscene yet sexy. It felt like heaven. Moaning sweet nothings into the room you felt your face and chest flushed along with a warm feeling in your stomach, your climax was drawing dangerously near and he knew it. Sinister can read your body like brail and He was always a master with his hands.

Inhaling your scent he released a deep growl causing it to vibrate through your cunt making you shiver, “Fuck kitten I could just eat you alive.” He Leaned up to attempt at removing the top layer of his robes. But you shot up quickly to reach for his belt, pulling his body in between your legs, “allow me,” his arms outstretched he nodded in compliance mouth agape with pupils blown wide. You threw the red hood on top of the desk chair and began to slowly unfasten his belt in a teasing way. His lust filled eyes never leaving you, he was growling with impatience causing you to give a smirk. You loved pushing his limits. The leather belt echoed hitting the floor while you rushed to shed off the top layer of his tunic. You loved all the layers of Sinister’s wardrobe, when you fucked it was like unwrapping a present. He shed his undershirt revealing his taut lean frame that carried many scars along his chest causing you to hitch your breath. How was he always so breathtaking….placing kisses on each scar gently you released a pleasing hum, “I love you, your absolutely breathtaking do you know that.” Without missing a beat he gently guided you back down; cupping your face to trace gentle rubs along your lips planting a tender kiss on them to profess softly, “I was going to say the same thing about you…I love you more, in this life and in the next.”

Giving out a sigh of pure happiness, you sucked on this thumb making him release a animalistic growl. He always knew how to worship and make you feel like the goddess you are; he never faulted in showing it. Feeling impatient he leaned back and snapped his fingers to magic the rest of his clothing off. You couldn’t help but stare in awe, he was the perfect size and length, it was like he was crafted for you from the gods. You couldn’t wait for him to stretch your tight pussy. “Oh my, what a BIG cock you have,” playfully remembering your roll. “All the better to fuck and fill you with my dear”,  Leaning back over you to give an open mouthed kiss along your jawline. Gently tugging his goatee giggling “What BIG teeth you have,” he quickly bit into your collarbone leaving a big purple blemish “All the better to mark you with.” Giving a few jerks to stimulate himself he started working on removing your corset, the tremors in his hands struggled with the hooks on the front. Feeling him paw at your breasts through the thin fabric, “What BIG hands you have”,“All the better to feel you my darling” While giving them a tight squeeze. 

Growling in frustration he lost his patience, taking a firm grip on both sides he ripped your corset in half causing your tits to bounce out, your whole form becoming completely exposed for him. The sudden cold made your already budding nipples unbearably stiff. You grabbed your breasts to massage and juggle them, biting your lower lip to put on a sexy show for him. Sinister growled and took your nipples and began massaging and tugging with his thumb and index fingers. With a whisper his baritone voice leaning into your ear, “Fuck your just so beautiful….my goddess of a wife, your mine forever.” Basking in the praise letting out a pornographic moan of pleasure, your eyes began to roll back and your mouth forming an O. Chuckling at your reaction, it turned him on knowing he was the only one that got you off, "you don’t seem to be scared of your bad wolf, you should know better. You know I have a big cock to fuck you with right, thats all you want, to be devoured by the bad wolf." “Yes Mr.Wolf please fuck me, fuck me hard with your giant cock” You begged. 

Hands trailing down your naked form he grabbed his cock and started to slide it between your folds, lubricating himself before he made his way into your entrance. Moaning in protest you bucked your hips up towards him, with a malicious grin on his face he was enjoying the payback. “That’s right kitten, moan for me.” He slid into your entrance painfully slow at first savoring every inch of you swallowing him whole. Wincing at the sharp pain of his thick veined cock stretching you impossibly full it felt sensational. Quickly pausing and looking with concern he cupped your face, “Im not hurting you am I my love?”, “Fuck no” you coaxed. Giving a wink he chuckled “that’s my girl” and snapped back into the moment beginning to pick up his thrusting, hips dipping and rocking back and fourth always hitting you just right. Shoulder and arm muscles tensing up in the heat of the moment he couldn’t help but stare at were your bodies  joined. He loved it when your cunt swallowed him whole. The sound of smacking flesh echoing in the sanctum only encouraging him to drill harder into you.

Continuing to bottom you out he grabbed both sides of the desk for leverage and stability before he started fucking you in a pace you didn’t think was possible. He repeatedly kept hitting your sweet spot over and over causing you to see white stars and your eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy. Impulsively wrapping your legs around his hips, the heels helping to lock your ankles in place. “Ffffffuuuccckk.” moaning as your eyes fluttered closed. “That’s right kitten, moan for daddy”, “You feel so fucking good Stephen…so good.” Groaning at the praise he leaned over to pepper your body with kisses, never missing a thrust. Feeling your cunt stretch around him he never thought something could feel so good. Formed together your lovemaking was like heroin, one hit and you both always needed more. Keeping up the rhythm repeating his thrusts you felt your walls begin to quiver. He pulled out of you, your sopping core making a lewd popping sound causing you to stammer in protest. He walked to the big leather chair and sat down stretching his arm out to gesture his fingers in a come hither motion . “Come here my love, come fuck on daddy’s lap.” 

You slid the tattered costume off your shoulders and made your way over to Sinister, swinging your legs over to straddle him. Stroking his cock he helped position himself for you, eyes fixated on your beautiful form. Grabbing his shoulders for balance you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock causing a small hiss to emanate from his mouth. “Shit kitten, your pussy is still so tight. How are you doing this to me?” “Well Doctor your not the only one with tricks up his sleeve” winking at him you felt his member twitching inside you. Whimpering in satisfaction he tilted his head down to suck on your breast that were on full display in front of him.  He began with the right, biting hard enough to leave more purple blossoms on your flesh. He loved your breasts and he loved even more to mark you as his. Despite the universe being void of life, he still wanted you to have a reminder that you were his and his alone. He then preceded to suck tenderly on your nipple, tongue flicking and moving in circular motions. He continued on the other breast giving it equal amount of attention and care.

Feeling his facial hair tickle you he smirked against your chest to look up and gaze at you directly in your eyes. You felt a strange new sensation almost like and electric vibrating tingle on your nipple. He was using magic from his mouth to stimulate you. Emanating a needy moan from your lips. “Fuck baby this is new… it feels so…so fucking good” you tilted your head back and laced your fingers into his hair and began tugging in response. “Use me my pet pull my hair make me suffer for I am at your mercy, and you’ve possessed me with your witchcraft.” Obeying your husbands command you rocked back and forth on his cock, pulling tight on his hair causing his head to tilt back baring his teeth and delicious adams apple. Leaning down continuing to leave bite marks and hickies all over his neck marking him as well. “Fuck kitten” in a desperate filthy noise, “just like that please don’t stop.”

You carried on with your sensual pace and ground into him. Realizing to yourself that this was rough sex but this position wasn’t a fucking, Sinister wanted you to make love to him to savor every moan, every motion burning into his photographic memory. Feeling his pubic hair giving more friction to your clit you began to move back in forth at a more ardent pace. Sweat running down your chest’s Sinister was growling at this point and took the opportunity to lick the sweat trickling down your breast, simultaneously grabbing your hips to aid in guiding you. Scarred fingers digging into your flesh he began lifting your hips all the way up to the very tip and slam yourself back down, repeating the motion faster till you felt his cock twitch more. Rocking your hips in a circular motion rising yourself up and down, feeling every savory inch of his cock inside of you. He Stretched you out to the perfect form. “Im going to come but you will finish with me you got that,” you spoke with a heightened panting tone. “Anything for you my angel.” Eyes locked while nodding in agreement, you both were close to your climax, but you wanted to come at the same time. 

Trying your best to keep up the fast motions you noticed the pace was starting to wear off. Fucking him faster like a madwoman you got this sudden possession over you. Going up and down and such a insane pace, your tits bouncing up and down once again hearing the slapping of wet flesh. Keeping the heels on came in handy after all, it helped with the anchoring of your body. “That’s right little red, come on the wolfs cock. I want your mess all over me. I am right after you.” That was enough to tip you over the edge. Keeping your eyes still locked to maintain the intimacy you gave out a screaming moan feeling your walls tighten and flutter emanating a gushing sensation to flow from your core, you squirted all over his thighs. Sinister howled with pleasure and felt his climax reach, seeing stars he leaned his head back, cum spouting thick white threads of semen into your wet heat filling you whole. “Fuck.. oh my sweet girl your so good to me taking my milk. Nobody does it better then you.” Grabbing the back of your head he gave the deepest most passionate kiss in the world that nobody can ever top.

Still feeling his semi erect shaft in you you leaned your head against his with a smile of contentment catching your breath, “that was…….amazing”, taking his hands to support your back “yes yes it was, we should do this again.” Giggling to Sinister while clinging to his chest like a koala he grabbed the red hooded cloak behind him and wrapped it around the both of you, forming a cocoon. Despite his rugged persona, Sinister always loved to extend the intimacy after sex. After all, he hasn’t had human contact in many many years. Snuggling into his chest he rested his chin on top of your head. Playing with his hair as you always did after sex or before falling asleep. It was comforting to you knowing he always made you feel safe. “I don’t deserve a wife like you. You know that right.” He confessed with a soft tone. “And I don’t know what I did for the gods to bless me with such a perfect husband. Call it destiny or fate I wouldn’t change a single thing. You always deserved me. I always deserved you. You are my home Stephen Strange.”

He hugged you tighter with the sentimental profession. You began to feel warm tears trickle on your shoulder. Stephen never showed vulnerability with the exception of you even before the incursion. You came into his world of darkness and brought light not just into his fractured world, but his heart. He never thought he would be deserving of love again but the beauty tamed the heartless beast.You became his home and his eternal hope as well, that was something he could never repay. Wiping away his tears with a thumb you gave him a deep kiss. Soft yet tenderly parting your lips your tongues danced once again. You always wanted to show him that he was safe and that he was the only thing that mattered. Keeping the red hood wrapped on he pulled out of you causing you to wince. He swooped you up bridal style and began to walk towards the door. “Where are we going?” You asked nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck with a sleepy tone. “Were taking a long lavender soaked bath, we deserve it and then I’m taking you to bed. We can worry about sleep later.” “I love that idea Stephen”, “ and I love you, I love you in every universe (y/n)…..always have and always will.”

Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing

Back to Main Masterlist

A special thanks to the followers who requested to read more of my work. Your all very special to me <3

@bakerstreethound @sassenach-on-the-rocks @cherryfinolahobbes @celerrie @sherlux @budugu @cemak @blxckdragonfly @seanbeansimp59 @geeky-politics-46 @classickook @sobeautifullyobsessed @wint3r-h3art @doctorstrangeaskblog @withalittlehoney @icytrickster17 @kentucky-criedfricken @hunterofshadows04

[thelustybraavosimaid]

"Direwolves," Bran said. Still half-grown, they were as large as any wolf he had ever seen, but the differences were easy to spot, if you knew what to look for. Maester Luwin and Farlen the kennelmaster had taught him. A direwolf had a bigger head and longer legs in proportion to its body, and its snout and jaw were markedly leaner and more pronounced. There was something gaunt and terrible about them as they stood there amid the gently falling snow. (Bran V, AGoT)

This ties in pretty well with the Stark Look™️:

Longer-faced:

There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned's father, had a long, stern face. (Eddard I, AGoT)

--

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. (Tyrion II, AGoT)

--

The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain. (Melisandre I, ADwD)

--

"He's to marry Arya Stark. My little sister." Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. (Jon VI, ADwD)

Lean/slender/skinny/gaunt:

He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. (Bran I, AGoT)

--

His uncle was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was always a hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes. (Jon I, AGoT)

--

"The left is good. All is reversed, it will make your enemies more awkward. Now you are standing wrong. Turn your body sideface, yes, so. You are skinny as the shaft of a spear, do you know. That is good too, the target is smaller. Now the grip. Let me see." (Arya II, AGoT)

--

Theon Stark's the real thin one with the long hair and the skinny beard. They called him the 'Hungry Wolf,' because he was always at war. (Bran VII, AGoT)

Long-legged:

Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon's hand. (Jon I, AGoT)

--

Skinny as they were, her legs were strong and springy and growing longer every day. She was glad of that. A water dancer needs good legs. Blind Beth was no water dancer, but she would not be Beth forever. (The Blind Girl, ADwD)

--

That's a Brandon, the tall one with the dreamy face, he was Brandon the Shipwright, because he loved the sea. (Bran VII, AGoT)

Also:

The Weeper's red rheumy eyes gave Jon another look. "Aye? Well, he has a wolfish cast to him, now as I look close. Bring him to Mance, might be he'll keep him." (Jon I, ASoS)

--------

"It has a name, does it?" Her father sighed. "Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave." (Arya II, AGoT)

[zilladabasskilla]

Appearance HC for my Fic: plz read and interact with it 👉🏻👈🏻

Stan:

• Blonde/Black Mullet

• stubble with randy’s stache

• 5’9

• toned working man’s build

• pierced ears

• rings

• bruised knuckles from boxing

• blue/grayish eyes

• rounded nose, concave nose

Kyle:

• shoulder length hair

• bearded

• toned, plays basketball

• 6’2

• slender waist (ask Stan)

• glasses, occasionally

• emerald eyes

• convex nose

Cartman:

• goatee

• slicked back hair

• glasses

• heavy, but lost weight throughout the years

•5’8

• wavy, bumped nose

Kenny:

• tattooed, heavily (has a succubus “suffer” tattoo on his v-cut)

• mullet buddies with Stan

• gap tooth

• blue eyes

• piercings. Tongue and even there.

• cut/bruised arms and hands

• 5’9 1/2

• straight nose

Clyde:

• fuck boy wavy/short hair

• decent stubble

• pierced ears

• ripped, not built (basketball/sports freak)

• sometimes dark circles under eyes (slight drug problem)

• 6’0

• raised base nose, straight shape

Butters:

•shaved sides, wavy blonde hair

• clean shaven baby

• light blue eyes, scarred left from that.

• soft skin, roundish jawline

• twink body shape (slur)

• 5’7

• small, snub nose

[blue-istari-stars-of-the-south]

Tûl Harar WIP: Arrival of the Blue Istari

Just a WIP I am working on involving Manó and Aratacáno, and a few of my other OC's. Princess Fisrah of Tûl Harad, a city in Far Harad, helps her father in the welcoming of two strangers.

From high atop her throne that sat just to the left of her father’s even more grandiose one, Princess Fisrah watched the two men approach. They seemed to be a duo of peasant merchants, with their plain clothing and walking sticks, and the princess sniffed at them in contempt. The princess placed her decorated hands demurely in her lap as she only half-listened to the proceedings. Rings and gems glittered and made a gentle tinkling sound as she made the slightest movement. Sumptuous silk made a soft hissing with the adjusting of an arm or the crossing of a leg. A long, dark braid decorated with expensive baubles sat over a slender shoulder.

Normally, it was her brother Hadhokor who would take part in these sorts of things, him being the first born male by their father. But he was away now, fighting in some skirmish. But her father had seen fit to have Fisrah sit in Hadhokor’s place, telling the princess to take leave of her ladies and their gossiping.

“Strangers from the North,” she heard her father, the Lord Azhab, say with a sneer and a wave of a hand. “Why should I welcome you? Do you wish to bring the Elvish war upon us all? Don’t think that we are deaf to the rumors here in my court. There may be a huge distance between our lands, but word travels fast, especially in the caravans. My people have no need for more wars or for shedding blood. They’ve seen enough of that already.”

One of the two “merchants” stepped forward, the taller of the pair, a reddish tint coloring the silvery locks (his looks almost attractive, even, in Fisrah’s opinion), and he spoke, bowing politely to those assembled:

”You couldn’t be farther from the truth, your eminence. We are but humble tradesmen, my friend and I. We wish no trouble on your citizenry”

Fisrah took note of how her father analyzed the man’s words, his eyes cold and shrewd, sitting forward in his chair and rubbing his bearded chin in thought:

“I see. But how do in know that you’re just not trying to trick me with your silver tongue? And your silent friend. What has he to say about all of this? Or have you instead come to my city to kill me and steal my authority?”

The other man’s head popped up then, and Fisrah could almost believe that she saw a flash of anger there on the ageless Elven features. Though the two seemed to be old men clutching tightly to walking sticks, there was something to them that she could not name. She had never seen one of the Elven folk before, only heard the tales, but Fisrah supposed that this is what they must look like.

Who are these men who claim themselves mere merchants?

”Shall I have my guards search you and throw you into the dungeons to let your flesh be torn apart by my tigers for speaking such treasons?”

Flinching at the image conjured up in her mind, Fisrah idly pushed it from her head. She had better things to consider, places to be, other than such horrid and unnecessarily bloody events. How she detested talk like that!

Tension hung in the air then, staring daggers, neither saying anything to the other. 

It was then, that the princess shifted in her seat, moving gracefully to whisper in her father’s ear in a sweetened tone:

”Father, these men are tired, having clearly traveled from afar. Perhaps we might offer some food and shelter? It is obvious they mean no harm.”

Letting out a huff, the Lord Azhab finally sat back, his arms across his chest. It seemed to her that he did take heed of her words, thinking them over before giving his reply to the two men.

”I’ve heard quite enough from you.” Lord Azhab spat, “Not enough from your friend however. I shall like to hear what he has to say as well. I command it.”

Giving another small bow, the man moved aside, giving room to the other stranger. The princess saw how the silent one slowly hobbled forward, his gaze stern and unyielding as that of his fellow merchant (if that was what they truly were). It was like staring straight into the gaze of the Great Judge himself, having one’s very soul on display.

The princess could not suppress the shiver that slid up the length of her spine, swallowing hard. It was far from a cold day, and yet it felt like an icy wind blew right through the room. 

A group of armed soldiers stepped up, hands on their swords and ready to defend their lord. As if mesmerized, Lord Azhab waved them to step back.

What threat is an old and feeble man, in anycase?

Opening his hands in a friendly gesture, the silent one did finally speak:

”My good and mighty Lord of Tûl Harar, we two are bringers of peace. That is all. We bring no weapons or any enemies trailing behind after us. Nor do we have any dubious connections with the Northern forces from Gondor or otherwise. Let us go free, and we will trouble you no more.”

The man’s words took hold of them then, grabbing their attention and not letting go. Even Fisrah tried to fight it, but in the end had to relent to whatever spell was woven by this strange man who wasn’t just a man. And suddenly, the pair became tall and majestic as any king surrounded by subjects, ready to put out a hand and speak an order to them. 

“You…what power do you have that gives you the right to speak to me like that??” Azhab said, standing from his seat, hands clenched at his sides. 

A hush filled the room, as there was no response. Fisrah brought a hand to her mouth, letting out a soft gasp.

Yes, that was what they were. Spies. They obviously wanted to steal the wealth from her father and cast them out onto the street.

“Spies, then. That is what you are. Spies, and snoops.”

Turning, the lord quietly spoke to a man to stood off to the side, head lowered in respect. When Azhab turned back, he sneered:

“We will show you how we deal with spies, in Tûl Harar.”

[chloessleepystories]

Sisters part 9

Sisters … Sisters …

There were never such devoted sisters …

Time seemed to slow, and Chloe had a moment of feeling like she was stuck in one of her video games, the ones where you had to make choices and they all had consequences and sometimes none of the options looked any good. Kenzie had fled the room, having regained a sliver of her cognitive abilities at exactly the wrong time, possibly because of Chloe’s new programming and more likely because of the shock of seeing her mother and aunt in a passionate, nude 69. Mom and Aunt Lydia had transferred their worship of each other to devotion to Chloe, pulling at her clothes and begging to serve her. And Chloe’s father was at the door outside, demanding to be let in.

And the music, full of hypnotic subliminals, was still pouring from the speakers, as it had been for a couple hours without Chloe consciously realizing it. The music was making it really hard to think straight … but it didn’t even occur to her to turn it off …

Chloe shook her head. “Mom, can you – Mom, focus. Let go of me.” She grasped her mother’s forearms in both hands, looking into her glazed eyes. “Ugh, why are you naked?”

Her mother just giggled, then looked skyward as she drunkenly tried to formulate an answer.

“Never mind. Just – listen, I gotta deal with Kenzie, OK? I’ll be right back. You – Lydia, stop touching me there – no, don’t pout – Mom, you and Aunt Lydia *stay here*, don’t leave the living room. Stall Dad, I still gotta figure out what to tell him.” Her mother nodded, her grin a little sloppy as she lovingly studied her daughter’s face.

“You’re so pretty …”

Chloe sighed. Her mother’s face was shiny and smelled like pussy. “And leave Aunt Lydia alone for a minute. OK? No more sexy stuff with each other until I get back.”

Helen looked like a sullen teenager for a moment – a dumb, horny, sullen teenager.

“Promise?” said Chloe.

“I promise,” Helen sulkily replied, but then trembled, her eyes rolling back. Happy chemicals coursed through her, replacing her dopey smile. “Oh fuck it’s so good to do what you tell me …”

Chloe exhaled. “Hoo boy. Uh, good girl. I’ll be right back. Kenzie!!”

Whatever Chloe wants … Chloe gets

As soon as she was gone, Lydia moved in to pinch Helen’s nipple. Helen gently moved her hand away and, as she opened her mouth, another knock came from the front door.

“We gotta do something about Dave!” Helen hissed to her sister.

“Is that who that is?” Lydia ran to the picture window and looked out, not trying to cover herself. “It is!! It’s your ex! And … Ooh, he grew a beard!” She cocked her head, running her tongue over her lips. “You know, that’s working on him …”

“Hi Dave!!!” Helen trilled, through the door. “The kids will be with you in a minute!! They’re just getting themselves together!”

“Sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” he called. “Some … stuff came up.”

Normally, Helen would have been pissed at his cavalier attitude about when he showed up to spend time with their children, but today she couldn’t access negative emotions, it seemed like … or be cross at any man for any reason. “No big deal! It’s been a weird day around here!!” She giggled, looking at her sister’s curvy, luscious form. “Some stuff came up for me too!”

He knocked again, a solid pound-pound-pound. “Can you let me in?”

Lydia bounced over to her, taking her sister’s hands in hers. “What do we do?”

“Helen! Let me in!!”

A shudder ran through Helen’s body, and her nipples stiffened.

“Weellll … the best way to stall him is to let him in. Right? Then we’re obeying both Chloe and Dave. And … and if I have to leave *you* alone … what a great time for us both to pay attention to *him*!”

Lydia gave a breathy little squeal. “That’s so hot that you figured that out!!” She kissed her passionately, her arms going around Helen’s still-slender waist, and Helen went along with it for a moment before pushing her gently away.

“Nuh-nuh-nuh …” she gasped …

Meanwhile, Dave was getting real tired of standing on the porch. He was just reaching into the pocket of his jeans to grab his phone and text the girls when he heard the door lock click.

“About time,” he muttered. Aloud, he said, “Is everything Ohhhh …”

His nearly-ex-wife stood in the doorway, gloriously, shamelessly nude in the afternoon sunlight. She had never been more breathtakingly beautiful. She seemed to glow. A flush colored her chest and her cheeks, and her wide smile and lidded eyes sent a shock straight to his libido.

“Come in,” she breathed. “Please.”

She took his hand and he stepped slowly over the threshold, in a daze. There was some kind of music playing, but he barely registered the tune.

He stopped dead at the sight of his hot sister-in-law reclining on the couch, also, spectacularly, perfectly nude. Behind him, he was aware of Helen closing and locking the front door.

Lydia rose gracefully and glided to him, her eyes seductive, as Helen reached around him from behind and began unbuttoning his shirt. He could feel her warm bare breasts pressing into his back. Lydia’s hands touched the fur on his chest as she looked up at him, then slowly, never breaking eye contact, began to kneel.

“Ohhh … Fuck me,” he whispered in disbelief as she took hold of his zipper, already massaging his hardening cock through his jeans.

Helen’s breath was hot on his ear. “I’m choosing to take that as a command,” she murmured …

[dyrewrites]

Before Deluca -- new crew, new trick

When I caught up, Lucient was surrounded by screaming pirates—none of whom had bothered to stand, choosing instead to scuttle backward toward the forecastle. They gaped at him, likely at those shining eyes, with many making holy signs across chests and faces.

“How are we to speak to them, my love?” I asked Lucient, leaning ever-so to whisper it into his ear—delighting in how he tilted his head toward me and sighed.

Cold eyes snapped towards me after, the quirk of his smile carrying no mirth despite the sweetness in his tone, “Bête. And thoughts need no language, treasure, nor does the trick you keep describing our charm as.”

“Ours, you say, sogno mio, but I’ve not done it,” I reminded, rushing to grab one of the pirates as he made for the railing. Throwing him back among his fellows as easily as one might a sack of flour—or roll of silk—startled the others into grouping.

But, more importantly, it silenced their screams.

Lucient’s smile when I returned was bitten and hungry, the heat in his eyes seeping into his words, “Let’s remedy that, shall we? Try on him,” Pointing at the pirate I tossed, he took my arm in his and sighed as I pressed closer.

While I understood what he was telling me to do, there was some instruction missing and looking from pirate to Lucient, I said so, “Try how?”

“Think of what you want him to do,” he turned to me as he spoke, keeping that arm tight around mine, and teased my beard, almost cooing as he continued, “you must want it, treasure, and when you tell him, you must mean it.”

“And he’ll know, whether he understands me or not?” It seemed ludicrous, but I had seen Lucient do it enough times to trust he knew of what he spoke.

My doubt amused him and the pirates scrambled closer together at the sound of his laughter. Still he kept to me, never loosening his grip, “Trust me, mon amour...just want it and he’ll obey.”

Worry spiked with his last words, of how often he instructed me, how often I obeyed...but those were choices, weren’t they? His smile curled as I fretted, my thoughts ever open to him, and I sighed, repeating, “Want it, mean it, and that is all?”

He nodded, released my arm and stepped back, biting any words that may have wished to slither from those supple lips.

Lips I tried not to think of as I approached the target of my test. Something simple would be best to begin with, I assumed, and so I tried for simple. I wanted him to stand, just stand. Lucient said nothing of eye contact, but I kept it anyway, focusing through the dwindling light on the soft browns so wide and frightened before me.

“Stand up,” I commanded, firm, direct, simple—yet it echoed, my voice, grim that sound as though there were too many of me, and all of them numb with rage.

And he immediately stood, shivering, eyes wild and jittery but he stood.

“Bon travail, mon trésor,” Lucient told my ear, so close the whisper of his cooling breath tickled my neck. “Now do it again.”

Those yet on the deck, cowering together, kept their eyes on us but were not speaking—not shouting—and making no move to flee. A terrified jumble their thoughts, images without words radiating from them, yet easy to ignore if I focused on anything else. So I did, on the pirate beside the one I’d made stand. I wanted him to stand, keeping it simple.

“You,” I pointed at him, unable to help the smile as he jumped, and then—preparing for the echo—I pointed to the space beside his crew-mate, “stand here.”

The man shot up, shaking, and took the two ragged steps required to stand beside the other. Neither looked at one another, neither moved from their spots, they stood shivering and uneasy but they stood.

Lucient teased my ear with a tongue too cool, too sweet, “Look at my beautiful treasure, a natural.” Turning to steal that too sweet tongue, I was blocked by a slender hand. “Non, your lesson is incomplete.”

Tone firm, and low, I spoke to his lips—refusing to look at the heat in his eyes, “Then you need to stop your teasing.”

“Never,” he teased, licking my nose before turning away from me—taking that cool arm with him—to address the other pirates, “Stand, all of you.”

I had not witnessed his voice used on more than one and watching all four of the remaining men stand and line up beside the two I’d charmed...thrilled me. There were worries mixed in, of course, and a tinge of genuine fear with how eerily he echoed, but more it excited. The power of it, the control, and he smiled at me as my want of him sang too loudly in my swoon—slight as it was.

“I,” I didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t finish the thought, before he was on me again.

Teasing the hair on my cheeks, caressing the bare skin above it, his delight in mine spilled free from his lips, “Did you enjoy that, treasure?” I nodded, too confused, frightened, aroused—all at once, perhaps—to speak and so he continued, “Practice and you can do the same...more even. But we’re not finished,” peeling away from me, he turned to the men, his voice carrying a quieter echo, “Do you see the corpses on this deck?” As one, the men—including those I’d charmed—looked around and nodded, returning their gaze to Lucient as he commanded them, “Dispose of them. Return to this spot when finished.”

They moved immediately and did as instructed, picking up the burnt remains of the last crew without a single hitch in step or stiffness in their gait—moving as smoothly as any man going about his business. Even as four of them worked to move the remains of the Hunter, they did so with unimpeded motion. Fear welled in their eyes, jittering with the lack of control in their limbs, but it showed only there.

And my own returned, prickling my too-hot skin.

Lucient draped his arms around my neck, meeting the dark fear in my eyes with the bright pride in his, “Mm, do I frighten you, treasure?”

He did, and he knew he did, but so close—so cool against me—it no longer felt as fear. Still I gave him what he wanted, “Yes, sogno mio, you terrify me.”

“Good,” he said, kissing me too quickly before sighing and looking up at the bruise of sky above the dropped sails. With his head held so high, it was too tempting not to kiss the neck he exposed. And he swooned at my touch, giggling with my playful rub of beard on his skin. “You certainly aren’t behaving like a terrified man,” he told the smile I couldn’t wipe away.

“Oh, but I am,” I told him—truthful it was, if muddied by his closeness—and lifting him to rest on my hips, savoring that sweet yelp, I added, “I am in absolute awe of you, mon amour.”

The moon shining full, bright and silvery-blue above us could not compete with the eyes he offered me. So wide they flashed before hungry lips stole mine and that soft, cool tongue teased my own.

You are a beast, his thoughts scolded even as he shoved harder against me, gripping my face in his hands, speaking so sweetly after what you’ve done.

Sinking into that kiss, into him, I feigned ignorance—teasing for the chill rage that often followed his jealousy—as I asked, and what is it I’ve done, my love?

Tearing away, he took his arms from me and folded them across his chest, eyes yet sparkling through angry lids, “Put me down, you fiend.”

Slipping my hands to grip under his thighs—petulant thing that I was to remind him—I nibbled my bottom lip before testing the pinch his had become, “Make me.”

The promise that swelled in his eyes, that twitched on his lips, was interrupted by the shuffle of feet and clink of blades—untouched, forgotten in their fear—slapping against buckles as the pirates returned. And, much as I ached to ignore them and carry my delicious brat to bed...I set him down.

“C'est un bon garçon,” he teased, patting my chest and smiling at the no doubt twisted mess it made of my face. Then he surveyed the deck and addressed the pirates, without his echoing trick, speaking instead into their minds, you are all such good boys.

They gasped, not collectively—more a scattered wave ran through them—and their thoughts sang with renewed terror. None of it quite made sense, at first. But one word repeated loud and clear; demons.

And Lucient leapt on it, yes, we are terrible demons but if you help us to our destination we will allow you to live.

“My love,” I scolded, with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Looking at me, he sighed, “Then you speak to them if I’m so poor at it.”

“Not poor,” the giggle was slight but he caught it, huffing before I could finish, “Just too intense, perhaps, to negotiate.”

“What negotiate,” He shot back, “there’s no negotiating with food.”

Ignoring him, I shook my head and tried to address the pirates—the sensation of so many thoughts rushing into mine at once had faded with the focus but accepting that all of them could hear mine hadn’t. No harm will come to you—

Unless we get hungry, Lucient cut in.

I sighed, voice firmer, You are safe aboard this vessel.

So long as you obey orders and stay out of our things, he cut in again, smiling when I eyed him for it.

My sigh was more a groan then, we can procure any supplies you may need, and you can use the crew quarters here to rest. I apologize for the lack of beds, the—

They were burned with the previous crew, that cut came with a tilt of Lucient’s head and flash of his fangs.

And as the pirates began to murmur in their unknown—but quite lovely to the ears—language, I turned Lucient around to face me, “My love, this isn't going to work if you keep scaring them.”

Hand to his chest, he gasped, “Why, treasure,am I doing something with the pirates you don't like?” then he sharpened his tone, “How thoughtless of me.”

Shaking my head, fighting laughter, I kissed his cheek, “We can plumb the depths of your possessive nature later, my dream, for now I need you to be more hospitable.”

“Are you certain?” He gestured towards the line of men—that broke up as one began rushing about the deck—before smug certainty took his voice, “That one seems eager to assist,” more of the men shuffled off to find something to do and Lucient grinned, “Oh, and look, his friends are joining.”

Watching them bustle about, I couldn’t be certain which of us won out, but it didn’t matter, “We’ll need to fetch them supplies then.”

“Not from that thing,” he told their ship—floating still beside the Lune Royale—and surveying the crew so diligently tending to all they could despite the lack of light, he sighed, “but I supposed we can pick necessities up at the next port we find.”

“And until then, what will they eat?” I asked, but he didn’t answer.

One of the crew approached, purposefully avoiding our eyes and wringing his hands, The...the anchor, his thoughts sputtered into ours, how do we...raise?

Starboard bow, Lucient explained, press on the white handprint. The man nodded and rushed off toward the bow and Lucient turned to me, “There are supplies in the ship, treasure, so long as they didn’t spoil. The old crew may not have appeared alive, but they were and they required food as any other.”

Seeing an opportunity to ask something that had quite honestly confounded me since stepping foot on that ship, I asked it, “What were the old crew?”

Lucient smiled, and I did not care for the implications in it, but he answered, “Thralls, my love, forced into eternal servitude through blood—blood like ours,” before I could comment on the disgust that filled me with, he voiced it, “they were wretched and I’m glad to be rid of them.” Looking over our new crew, forced into servitude through fear, his smile spread but did not soften, “I much prefer ones we can eat.”

“But we won’t,” I told him, stepping closer behind him and slipping my arms around his waist—which he allowed, encouraging a tighter hold with how he hugged them—as I watched the crew struggling in the dark. “My love...where are the lamps?”

He would get them lit, and the crew would get us moving, but not before Lucient filled the air with the song of his laughter.