#and he is devilishly handsome to boot..

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

********************

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

********************

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

********************

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

********************

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

********************

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[fastandcarlos]

Soft Launch » George Russell

summary: follow the journey of george’s soft launch to reveal your relationship

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton and 629,492 others

georgerussell63: not many people I’d cook for, but tonight I’ll make an exception 🥺

28,492 comments

username1: you can cook for me anytime

oscarpiastri: chef russell on duty

username2: wait are we all just gonna pretend we don’t peep the sleeve

username3: @/username2 I thought it was just me wtf…the painted nails too

username2: @/username3 has georgie finally bagged himself a girl??? 🤔

lance_stroll: I thought the only person you cooked for was me

alex_albon: and here I was thinking the only love in your life was me

username4: this better not be a shitty soft launch russell

yukitsunoda0511: looks like you’ve done a good job!!

georgerussell63: @/yukitsunoda0511 thanks for all the tips yuki

username5: idk who this gal is but I’m already jealous

username6: all I want is to taste the cooking of george russell

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 838,293 others

georgerussell63: adoring the view in front of me these days 🩷

73,382 comments

danielricciardo: I can’t help the fact I make you smile so hard mate

landonorris: I think you’ll find that he was looking at me

georgerussell63: if I was looking at either of you…I wouldn’t be smiling

username7: is this to do with wine and pasta girl?

username8: you can’t just leave us like that george

username9: I have got SO many questions wtf

lewishamilton: 🫢🫢🫢🫢

username10: @/lewishamilton what do you know? share everything

charles_leclerc: what you looking down at on the right there?

username11: @/charles_leclerc surely it’s the girl from before??

username12: this is sooo unfair

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lance_stroll, maxverstappen1 and 1,392,503 others

georgerussell63: suited and booted (with thanks to my girl) 🤵🏻

56,328 comments

username7: not the secret pair of hands in the middle pic

alex_albon: she’s the only reason you were best dressed tonight

carlossainz55: SMOOTH OPERATOR 🏎️

username13: what sick pleasure do you get out of teasing us like this?

username14: I don’t think I can cope with much more of this

landonorris: all her hard work on the bow tie for you to just take it off 🙄

maxverstappen1: hair slick ✅ suit dapper ✅ you must be impressing someone

oscarpiastri: got her so whipped already she’s helping you dress??

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, pierregasly and 732,113 others

georgerussell63: enjoying the view in blue 🌊

42,832 comments

landonorris: gotta maintain that figure to maintain the girl

username15: adorable height difference confirmed 🥰

pierregasly: is your girl’s favourite colour blue by any chance?

charles_leclerc: gotta admit even I’m slightly invested in you two now

username16: we’re so close to a face reveal now

username17: just hurry up and tell us everything george

username18: I’ve never felt softer for this man

lewishamilton: the names russell…george russell 🕶️

georgerussell63: @/lewishamilton just call me then next bond

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, landonorris and 1,293,493 others

georgerussell63: date night with my love 💕

62,994 comments

username19: I can almost see a face!! 😬

username20: this soft launch game is torture…c’mon george we love her already

charles_leclerc: who knew george russell could be edgy on the gram

landonorris: glad to see all those social lessons I gave you are paying off 🧑🏻‍🏫

georgerussell63: @/landonorris ofc lando, I could ever have gotten a girlfriend without you 🙄

carlossainz55: how’ve you managed to get the whole of f1 invested in your relationship?

georgerussell63: @/carlossainz55 you’ve just got to be devilishly handsome

username21: even blurry they look so happy together

username22: they’re already my fave couple ever

lewishamilton: you guys are the cutest - btw I love 🫢🫢’s smile too

username23: @/lewishamilton just spill the beans already

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, schecoperez and 1,238,003 others

georgerussell63: introducing my love to how us brits do summer 🥰☀️

41,226 comments

carlossainz55: aww look at georgie all in love 💕

danielricciardo: surprised you didn’t need to pack an umbrella mate 🌧️

georgerussell63: @/danielricciardo if we’d have been another five minutes the heavens would’ve drenched us 😭

username24: it’s the little tiptoe reach for me

username25: the height difference is tooooo cute

maxverstappen1: why do I feel like I’m looking at photos that belong to those weird fics some of our fans write?

georgerussell63: just call us your otp

maxverstappen1: otp???

georgerussell63: @/landonorris found you a new student

schecoperez: no one prepares you for when your son finds his first love 🤧

yukitsunoda0511: dont forget the guy who taught you to cook pasta all those months ago 💔

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

likedby mercedesamgf1, landonorris and 934,774 others

georgerussell63: my love told me that I look good with black and white, so black and white it is 🩷

72,483 comments

landonorris: did she finally convince you to play some good tunes in those ears too??

oscarpiastri: I also think you look good in black and white if that counts for anything 🔥

georgerussell63: @/oscarpiastri you win my love for the most predictable comment in the world

username26: tell your love that she is spot on

charles_leclerc: must be serious when the admin team is giving you likes

georgerussell63: @/charles_leclerc they’ll do anything for the right price

username27: I just want a boyfriend like george russell…is that too much to ask for?

ynusername: 💕🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,585,603 others

georgerussell63: the best end to the best race, I couldn’t do it without all of your support y/n 🏎️💕

tagged: ynusername

103,482 comments

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

——————

replies and reposts are always appreciated ✨

 ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[midnightjewel]

☆ 𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 𝙶𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚃𝚘 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙺𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚜 ☆

𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚜? 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚍.

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟷 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟸

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚍: 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚞, 𝙺𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚘, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚊𝚋𝚒

☆ 𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚞 ☆

As you put the bowl of cat food onto the kitchen floor, fluffy, the family cat proceeded to devour it. Hitoshi insisted on nothing but the best for him! It showed, the cat was obsessed with the meal.

After washing your hands, you made a point to start dinner. Grabbing a knife and placing a bell pepper onto the cutting board, you softly smile as you hear footsteps coming down the stairs. They weren’t light enough to be your son’s so you assumed they belonged to your devilishly handsome husband.

With slightly damp hair, he made his way into the kitchen with nothing but sweatpants on. You slice vegetables for dinner but can’t help but bite your lip and look him up and down.

“Jesus, Toshi” you huff and he just chuckles and comes to hug you from behind “You look like that and you expect me to wait till Ryo’s asleep?” You giggle as he places soft kisses on your neck.

“It’d be smart of you to wait” you feel his lips smirk against the sensitive skin of your neck “Remember” he begins “All good things are worth waiting for” he snakes his hand under your t shirt and softly rubs your stomach.

“You’re impossible” you sigh as you place the chopped bell peppers into the metal bowl

“You have no idea-“ he bites the shell of your ear before the two of you are interrupted “Dad!” Your son calls from the living room where he watched TV.

“See ya later” he chuckles as he removes his hands from you and lazily strides to the living room where his son was waiting for him

“What’s up, mini me?” He peered into the room that was only illuminated by the television. It was true, you carried him for 9 months, spent 29 hours in labor and 2 hours pushing him out and he has the audacity to look absolutely nothing like you.

“ ‘mere” he did grabby hands towards his father. The lavender haired hero gently smiled and shook his head. The four year old was quite clingy as of recently.

“Sure” he responds as he sits on the comfy couch and his son leans into his side, snuggling up to his father. The sight was adorable to witness.

He grins at his son before turning his attention to the movie that played on the television. It was Shrek 2, a favorite franchise in the house. Adored by you and your son. Hitoshi never really watched those movies until he met you back at UA. But he enjoys watching them every so often now.

He wasn’t too focused on the movie, he had only seen the first one a handful of times. However something caught his ear, just the police sirens. They typically are an attention grabber, to be fair.

As he watched the scene unfold with a raised brow, the scene where they arrest puss in boots comes up. ‘There’s a cat in these movies?’ He thought to himself. Maybe he would have to indulge in watching this movie

They push the orange feline up to the stone wall and pull out a small bag “Cat nip” one of the knights confirms to which the cat counters back “That’s not mine…”

It all happened so fast but it had Hitoshi busting out with laughter. Sure it was a silly kids movie but he doubted that any child would understand what was happening. He understands though, and it was undoubtedly hilarious!

As you hear your husband’s laughter you walk away from the stove, turning the pot to a simmer for a few minutes. Hitoshi doesn’t normally laugh, not this loud and passionately anyways…

“What’s so funny?” You grin as you lean over the back of the couch. Hitoshi retells the scene and you knew what he was talking about almost immediately

“Oh my god!” You giggle “Of course you would find humor in that!” You continue your fit of laughter as you go to return to the dinner.

“What’s so funny?” Your son frowned his purple eyebrows “Why’re you laughing at the kitty! He’s hurt!” Ryo whined

Hitoshi softly chuckles as he pulls his son closer “You’re right” he stifles a laugh “I’m sorry”

☆ 𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚜 ☆

“Here ya go baby” you kiss the top of your 6 year old daughter’s head as you set the plate of chicken nuggets and orange slices (for healthy balance) in front of her.

“Dada’s not coming?” She looks at you with her wide golden eyes, they harbored tears in her waterline. Lately, your husband, Keigo had been getting caught up late at work. They were working on a huge drug bust alongside the police for the past two weeks.

Your daughter was a daddy’s girl through and through. Not having him home for dinner or when she got tucked in for bed was really hard for her.

“I guess not” you sigh “ ‘m so sorry baby” you ruffle her blonde hair. She was nearly a carbon copy of her father. Nearly because she just so happened to inherit a trait from you, her adorable little nose.

“Tell you what” you try to lighten the mood and she perks up at the enthusiasm in your voice “I know you’ll finish your chicken nuggets but if you promise to finish your oranges I’ll make some cookies!” You smile at her

“Cookies?!” She cheekily grins and you nod in response “Yes! I’ll eat all my oranges!” She gets to work, turning her attention back to her movie for the night, Toy Story 2.

“Alright” you pat her head and get to the kitchen to start on some dinner for yourself and Keigo. He would probably be coming in when the two of you were fast asleep, and heat up whatever you left him.

Towards the end of the movie, just as you pulled the chocolate chip cookies out of the oven the penthouse apartment door opened. You assumed you knew who it was but your suspicions stood correct when you heard

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed in delight “Hi princess!” you smile while looking behind you at the sight. The open floor plan of the massive two story apartment made it easy to see the two of them.

He hugged her tightly, as if he was trying to make up for the late nights and early mornings where he has been unable to give her the attention she deserves.

“Do I smell cookies?” He grins to you and you shake your head with a laugh. “Dinner first Keigo” you firmly state, pulling the leftovers out of the container you hadn’t even put in the refrigerator yet. “And the cookies have to cool” you remind the impatient duo.

“Come on dada let’s watch the movie!” She tugs his tan jacket sleeve after he put her down. “Slow down princess, I’m still in my hero costume” he chuckles as she juts out her bottom lip, pouting, giving him the eyes that he can’t resist. “Don’t care!” She exclaimed as she forced him to sit on the plush sofa, crawling up next to him and snuggling up to him, being mindful of both of their wings.

As you plated the cookies, walking over to the living room, you began to watch the movie playing on the large flatscreen television. It was a movie that you were familiar with from childhood.

Just as you approach the back of the couch to give them their cookies, the scene at the end of the movie where Jessie does some cool flips and tricks to reach and open the door knob, causing Buzz Lightyear to become “impressed” as his wings shoot out.

You roll your eyes, smiling at the more suggestive scene in a kids movie before your husband starts to hoot and holler at the scene that was just displayed.

“What’s so funny, dada?” Your daughter frowns in confusion. “Yeah what so funny?” You lean over the back of the couch as your husband’s laughter dies down a bit, knowing exactly what he was laughing about.

“That’s very accurate” he chuckles wiping a tear from his waterline

“What’s very accurate?!” Your daughter becomes frustrated as she tugs on his jacket sleeve, desiring answers. “Nothing nothing!” Keigo holds his hands up defensively.

“Mhm sure” you walk around to the coffee table, bending over in front of your husband wearing your lounge shorts causing his wings to floof up as his face became hot with a godforsaken blush tinting his cheeks.

“Gonna go take a shower” you kiss his cheek. “Tuck Kiyomi into bed and meet me for bedtime when you’re done” your touch on his shoulder lingers a little too long before you walk towards the stairs, up to the master bedroom.

Oh, the ending of the movie felt like an eternity after that…

☆ 𝙳𝚊𝚋𝚒 ☆

As you awaited for Dabi’s arrival back home you couldn’t help but bounce your knee in anticipation. Your boyfriend, a villain, constantly kept you on your toes. You never knew if he was ever going to return home safely or at all. He hasn’t been arrested…yet… but you always knew that maybe someday, he wouldn’t be as swift as he thinks he is and eventually get caught.

You hoped that day would never come but it was always a large possibility with his line of work. Yes, of course being with Dabi meant that you lived at the LOV hideout. Especially considering that you gave birth to his son, Akihiro, just 4 short years ago.

Your boyfriend protested the name when you told him what you chose one night while the two of you were laying on his bed, you were 8 months pregnant. It had “hiro” in the name, he wasn’t fond of it. That’s when you “kindly” reminded him that he wasn’t the one giving birth to the baby. He could never say no to your pretty face.

“Mama” your son catches your attention with pouty lips and big icy blue eyes. “You’re getting scared again” he puts a gentle hand on your bouncy knee. It makes you stop as you didn’t even notice you were doing it.

“Oh, sorry baby” you kiss the top of his head and turn your attention back to the movie your son had chosen for that evening while the two of you awaited the arrival of his father and a few of the other league members who’d opted to go out and cause havoc for the evening.

Not a moment too soon, Dabi walks back in the hideout. You could tell by the big clunky footsteps of his boots that you’d grown very familiar with.

“Dad!” Your son grinned from ear to ear as he looked over the back of the couch at the one man he put all of his trust into, the man that he adored. Dabi never understood why his son loved or idolized him so much…

“You’ve been good for mom?” The villain inquired, ruffling his sons hair. “Mhm!” He nods with a closed mouth smile “I helped mama with dinner and I cleaned my own plate!” He tries desperately to impress the older man. Though, he didn’t have to try. Even if Dabi was bad at showing it, he was always proud of his son.

“Wow I didn’t even realize it was so late!” You exclaimed, looking at your phones lock-screen. “I’m gonna go get your bath started” you rub the boys back “Watch the movie with dad” you grin at your son before dashing off to start his bubble bath.

Your son turned his attention back to the movie, while Dabi stood behind the couch awkwardly. “Lion King?” He breaks the silence, coming around the leather sofa to sit down with his kid.

“Mhm!” Your son eagerly nods “I’ve never seen it before! Mama says it’s good! I like the dad!” He smiles just as they’re getting to the betrayal of mufasa scene.

Dabi can’t help but stifle a laugh, his son was going to be so traumatized by this.

As mufasa is pushed off the cliff by his own brother, resulting in his death the gasp from your son doesn’t go unnoticed by Dabi who had somehow decided that this would be a good teaching moment for the four year old.

As you walked back down the hallway from the bathroom you couldn’t help but overhear the next moment of conversation

“See that” Dabi pointed to the screen looking at his son as the boy looked over at him with teary eyes “You can’t trust anyone, let that be a lesson. It really will be your own family sometimes” he lowly laughs at his sons horrified expression.

The boy had tears streaming down his face, his mouth agape with shock when you broke the silence

“Seriously?!” You began to scold your boyfriend as you lean over the back of the couch to pick your crying son up and hold him in your arms

“Dabi he’s only four” you roll your eyes as you walk away to get your son in the bath, muttering sweet nothings into your sons ear to get him to calm down

“Never too young to know” he shrugs, before turning off the kids movie and turning on some horror movie that was to his liking.

“Okay, I’ll keep your pettiness in mind when you want some later” you cheekily state and he looks over the back of the couch with an offended expression to which you chuckle before walking towards the bathroom once more to get your son ready for bed.

[baronessvonglitter]

Darlin’ Cowgirl

Jack Daniels x f!reader | WC: 3.1K

Summary: looking for a way out of a bachelorette party, an accidental butt dial becomes a booty call

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit and Mature, friends/coworkers to lovers, reader is at least 21, tipsy flirting/dancing, improper use of a mechanical bull, semi-public sex, fingering, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, smut, dash of romance with a happily ever after, no use of y/n, reader has hair and wears a dress

Author's Note: this was the first one-shot I'd ever written on AO3 and decided to post here as well 🤠🥃

JACK DANIELS MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You aren't looking forward to the bachelorette party. You don't even like weddings, yet somehow you've been roped into being part of your old college roommate's wedding party simply because you ran into her at the grocery store a few months back. It was only when you had the bridal shower that you realized you were one of thirteen bridesmaids. Great. Now you'll feel even more invisible than you already do.

You've been in a slump lately, and the only thing bringing out of it is your devilishly handsome coworker Jack Daniels, aka Agent Whiskey. You're an Information Security Specialist for the Statesmen, an ultra-secret espionage agency, so naturally you keep the details of your job pretty hush-hush. Whiskey, as you affectionately call him, is one of your few confidantes, despite the fact that he flirts with you at every turn. You admit to yourself that it's a nice distraction from your loneliness, even if you feel his flirtatiousness is just a bit of fun for him, his own distraction.

You take your time in dressing up for the night: a spaghetti strap black minidress with a plunging neckline and silver cowgirl boots. At the bar you meet up with your fellow bridesmaids and the bride-to-be, who are all in shades of pink and white, near exact replicas of each other, nearly indistinguishable. You stick out like a sore thumb and you know it.

The bridesmaids want to take shots so you take some with them, hoping your anxiety will dilute just a little. Your inhibitions are lowered just a little, but not enough to go out to the dance floor with the others. You watch as others watch them, in admiration as they laugh and gracefully (despite the Buttery Nipple shots they'd all consumed just minutes ago) and wish you could be part of them. You hang back at the bar, politely declining offers to dance from men who come by to not-so-subtly ogle you. You feel like a piece of meat. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come out, knowing you hate places like this. However, just as you're about to order a Lyft, you get an incoming call from Whiskey himself.

Confused and blushing you go to a quieter place of the bar, which is still very loud. "Hello?" you practically shout into the phone.

"Hey darlin'!" you hear Jack's voice on the other end. "You called me?"

"Um.. no, I didn't.."

He chuckles, warm and low in your ear. "Yes you did, darlin'. I was hopin' you were okay."

You quickly check your call log and sure enough, you'd called him about fifteen minutes ago, when you and the bridesmaids were doing shots. "I must have butt-dialed you," you shout back, giggling.

"Aw, lucky me," he drawls. "That pretty ass was thinkin' about me?"

You're too flustered to reply.

"Where are you anyway? Loud as hell over there."

"I'm at a bar for a bridesmaid party."

"That one you were talkin' about earlier today? No invite, huh?"

You giggle again. "It's for women only."

"Exactly! That's my kinda good time!" You hear him chuckle again.

"Actually it's kinda lame. I'm thinking of calling it a night."

"Don't you dare," he says with mock authority. "Wait there a minute and I'll be on my way. Text me the address."

You hang up and text him, wondering what he's up to. You've never hung out with him after work, even with all the flirting you've both done. You think it's strictly professional with a touch of playfulness, but you've never been one hundred percent sure.

You hang out at the bar, wanting to be visible to him when he arrives, but it's only after you're returned from the ladies' room checking your makeup, outfit and hair, that you see him, well the back of him, and he's mingling with some of the bridesmaids, who are obviously taking a much-needed alcohol break from dancing.

You gently touch his shoulder. "Hey there, stranger."

He turns, smiling, and the look in his eyes becomes one of pure lust. He drinks you in, unabashedly. "Damn darlin', you look so good it hurts," he drawls.

You glance at the bridesmaids, most of whom are checking him out with flagrant interest. "Did you meet everyone? Kaitlyn's the bride-to-be," you introduce them.

"I have, and her husband's one lucky sonofabitch, if I may say so," he places a gentlemanly kiss on the bride's hand and she in turn blushes. "Who's your friend?" she asks.

"A coworker," you say mysteriously, glancing at Jack, who has now turned his whole attention to you.

"You wanna dance, darlin'?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

Your stomach drops, just because you're pretty shy about dancing, and if anything you'd like to leave him with the impression that you can at least move in rhythm. "Maybe the next song," you suggest. "But first, how about a couple of shots? On me."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Darlin', I can't allow that. My treat," he insists, and orders a couple shots of whiskey for you and him.

"Had to be whiskey, huh?" you tease him, taking the shot glass in your hand.

"Of course." He lifts his glass to yours for a toast. "To coworkers getting to know each other better," he says, and there's a twinkle in his deep brown eyes that's hard to miss.

"To getting to know each other better," you grin and down the shot. It's like fire in your throat and stomach.

"Too much for ya to handle?" he teases, having downed his with ease.

"Depends.. which Whiskey are you talking about?" you tease back, feeling a little surge of confidence that either comes from Jack or from the shot.

"You're a little firecracker," he says in a low voice, his eyes blatantly going over every line and curve of your face, and downwards to eyeball your neck, the curve of your breasts. You wonder what he's imagining.

"Firecrackers are fun but dangerous," you warn him with a cheeky smile.

"We both know I'm all about that danger. Ain't nothin' I can't handle.." a subtle lift of his brows suggests he means more than mere flirtation.

"Is that a challenge?" You step closer to him, and the scent of his cologne, notes of leather and tobacco, catches your attention.

He notices your stance, the way you've shifted from a sweetheart wallflower to a provocative temptress. "What if it is?" he whispers into your ear, his breath tickling your skin and raising goosebumps on your flesh.

You follow his lead and whisper into his own ear, your lips grazing his cheek. "Then I accept.." you keep the ghost of a kiss upon his freshly shaven cheek and slowly pull back, looking into his eyes and seeing a newly effected desire there. "Dance with me." You bring him out to the floor, having completely lost sight of the bridesmaids. Nothing exists now but you and Jack and this chemistry that's been building between you.

His hands are on your hips as "Neon Moon" starts to play, a slow and soulful song that suits the mood you're both in. The colored lights sweep across the room, casting blue and scarlet and amber glows across the crowd. You're lost in each other, in the touch of his hands on your hips, the way he caresses them, loving their shape. You rest your hands on his broad, strong shoulders.

"You're a good dancer, Jack. You know what they say about men who are good dancers," you tell him suggestively.

"Really? What do they think, Gorgeous?" He pulls you even closer so your bodies are practically flush together.

"That they're good in bed," you answer with an arch of your brow, as if to imply it was beyond your belief.

He looks at you like a man looking at his first meal in a week of starvation. "Do you want to find out just how good of a.. dancer I am?"

Heat blooms across your body, and your pussy clenches in response. It only takes a moment to imagine what it would be like, riding this cowboy. You see him and you realize you have him right where you want him. "There is something I've been dying to ride.." you gently tug his shirt to bring him closer, as if in a kiss..

For a moment he looks like he's going to melt from the heat coming off you. "Oh yeah, darlin'? And what exactly is that?" he smirks.

Your face lights up. "That mechanical bull!" You grab Jack's hand and lead him across the huge barroom to the line to ride the bull. Sneaking a look at his face, Whiskey looks bewildered, but manages to cover it just in time. "That stupid thing? I can think of something more fun to ride," he smirks again and you resist the urge to drag him outside and let him have his way with you in the alleyway.

You only smirk back at him as the operator calls you to come forward and get atop the bull. Getting on top is easy, but staying on will be hard. As soon as you're situated, the bull starts spinning and bucking, slowly at first to let you get your bearings. You laugh and hold on, your body moving with the bull, anticipating its every move. Your hips grind down to the leather, thighs locked tight as you move your pelvis forward. Catching Whiskey's eye you blow him a kiss.

Seeing that the ride is winding down, he goes up to the operator and pays him to let you go again. This time, apparently on Whiskey's orders, the ride goes slower, allowing you to continue your little show for Jack. Keeping eye contact with him, you imagine it's him beneath you. Suddenly you gasp as you realize the bull is moving faster, and you watch as Jack's expression turns dark, lustful. You bite your lip as the speed increases. Pleasure pools in your belly, more specifically between your thighs, and the first stirrings of pleasure begin to radiate outward to your limbs, You rear your head back, face pointed up in ecstasy, and a rolling thunder starts in your veins.

You don't realize it until it's happening but you're being led away by Whiskey to a small corridor where no one can see you, and buries his face in your neck. "Tell me to stop if that's what you want," he says, his voice strained. "But by all that's holy, you are the hottest god damn thing I've ever seen."

But by then your leg is already hooked around his hip, shamelessly rubbing against him, the pleasure from the bull ride still fresh in your body. "I don't want you to stop," you whisper.

He growls low in his throat, which you dare to kiss, grazing your teeth across his skin. He gives a sharp hiss, and when he presses against you you feel proof of his desire, as if you needed any more. His hand goes beneath the hem of your dress and slides up, finding the edge of your lace panties. "Black?" he murmurs, his lips still against your neck.

"How did you know?"

You feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "I always know." His fingers trace your inner thighs before dipping into your heated, slick cunt. "Christ woman, you're soaking wet. For me." With his fingers inside you he kisses you, and you tip your face up to lean into his kiss, He slowly pumps two thick fingers inside as he slips his tongue into your mouth, mimicking the movements, earning a deep moan then a whimper from you.

"Watching you ride that bull, I just know it was me you were thinkin' of," he whispers huskily against your ear. "God damn if you aren't the most gorgeous thing I ever laid eyes on,, been wantin' you a long time, darlin'."

Through the haze of desire you smile, finding the temerity to feel touched by his words. "Took you long enough to show it," you tease, cupping the back of his head as you kiss, leaning against the wall as he fingers your wetness.

He groans again. "As much as I want to continue, I'd like to find a more comfortable place to fuck you." He pauses to look to you for consent. "That is, if you still want this."

You reply by palming his rigid cock, already threatening to poke through his tailored trousers. "I absolutely do.."

In a flurry of movement he brings you outside. The bachelorette party is the last thing on your mind, if you even still remember it, All you can think of is being with Jack. He leads you to his truck, the spacious backseat warm and inviting. He's on you again as that door is closed, His mouth finds yours, tongue claiming you. "I want to be gentle, but I don't think I have it in me right now," he admits.

You shake your head. "I'm not asking for gentle, I'm asking you to fuck me, Jack."

You've never called him by his name before, never been so informal with him, but the look in his eyes tells you it's perfectly all right by him. He lays you down on the seat. "Can I get a little taste of ya, darlin'? Been wonderin' what you'd taste like since the day we met."

This draws a sweet whimper from you, to hear he'd always wanted you. "God yes, please.."

He gingerly removes your panties, kissing his way back up your calves and thighs once they're off. You blush when he breathes in your scent. His hands cup the backs of your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders and you can't help but feel exposed. "Christ.. woman, you're gonna be the death of me," he mutters before taking off his hat and leaning in to devour you.

You give a sharp gasp as you lean your head back against the seat, hands mussing his hair as he laps at your wet cunt, licking up your folds and dipping his tongue inside you. He gently laps at your clit, using more pressure with each lick until he cups his lips around it and sucks, listening to how much you like it, how much more you need.

"Fuck!" you shout, a victorious roar as you feel yourself so close to that edge, and Whiskey is happy to let you use him for your pleasure. His tongue draws shapes upon your clit, alternating between swiping with his tongue and suckling it. Only when you come and he sweeps across every fold to drink up your juices does he stop.

You practically push him down, effectively trading places with him as you kneel before him. "My turn.."

His gaze turns dark even as his face lights up. "Hell, I'm not sayin' no to that, darlin'."

Smiling, you undo his trousers and pull them down with his briefs. His cock springs out, thick and long, perfectly curved, smooth, perfect. "God, I just knew you'd have a big dick.." you whisper, tracing with your tongue from root to head.

Whiskey exhales, watching you work on him. He palms the back of your head but doesn't urge you any further than what's comfortable for you. You use your hand to stroke his base while getting the first few inches of him into your mouth, daring to deep-throat him, wanting to see that look on his face, wanting to see him go crazy for you.

"Jesus, darlin'. I'm so on edge right now I might just burst if you keep doin' that," he chuckles. "Get on up here and ride me, gorgeous."

You feel your heart pound in every extremity of your body, especially your cunt, as you get up and straddle him, hiking up your dress. He stops you a moment and caresses your cheek. "This okay with you, darlin'? I have protection if you prefer.."

You smile and shake your head. "I'm on birth control, and I'm clean."

He smiles back. "Ah good. I'm clean too, darlin'." You know it has to be true, as the agents do periodic physicals and are prohibited from missions for the slightest findings.

Kissing him, you rise over him, using your hands to find him and bring him into you. He slides in without any resistance, and you take your time trying to get as much of him inside as you can. "Fuck, Jack," you whisper as he fills you.

Through the pleasure of connecting your bodies he smirks. "Is that an order?"

You giggle a little. "Looks like I'm the one doing the fucking." Just as you say that, he pushes up from under you, moving you up, filling you up just a little bit more. "God!!"

Sinking his teeth in to his lower lip he grabs onto your hips and moves you how he wants, watching your body for clues on what you like and what you want more of. He pulls the front of your dress down and frees your breasts, suckling on each nipple at a time as you melt on top of him, inadvertently letting more of him inside. He's fucking you and you're fucking him.

You grab his hat from the seat next to you and put it on yourself, riding your cowboy. Whiskey watches you, whispering your name, calling you his Cowgirl, bucking his hips up into you until he bottoms out, then lifting you with long strokes until you push him down to grind down. His thumb flicks over your clit, swirling the letters of your name and his, hearing your wild moans and shuddering sighs. You've never come so hard or so fast. You feel the first fluttery feelings deep within, and they shoot through your veins, lighting up your entire nervous system, and you scream his name as your cunt clenches spasmodically around his cock, and soon you feel him spill his cum deep inside you, spurting its warmth to your insides.

It takes a moment for you to come back to earth, and when you do, Whiskey is kissing you, tenderly, with the remainder of the passion you two just shared. "That was.. wow," you sigh, feeling shy around him now, of all times.

"It was spectacular, darlin'. I hope you know I'm gonna want you again," he puts his forehead to yours.

"Is that so?" You blush with elation.

"Of course darlin'. I'm hopin' to make this a long-term association, if you're so willin'. But on one condition."

You raise a brow. "Already calling the shots, huh? What's the condition?"

"That the only thing you ride is me. Ain't no way I'm being upstaged by a damn mechanical bull ever again."

You laugh, and he loves the sound of it. "We'll put a pin in that conversation."

He strokes your hair. The electric light from the bar sign lights up the inside of the truck, magenta and cyan. "You comin' home with me tonight, Cowgirl?"

You smile and give him a soft kiss. "You bet, Cowboy."

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

[roosterforme]

The University of Sugar | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You take Bradley to a work happy hour, but nothing about it makes him happy, since your boss is clearly flirting with you. Was that man blind? Could he not see your engagement ring? Bradley was ready to fuck some sense into you. And you were so willing to let him.

Warnings: Fluff, swears and smut

Length: 2700 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time! This was written for a request. Banner by @mak-32

Check my profile for my masterlist

Bradley was exhausted. He'd had such a long week, stayed on base late almost every day. He was ready to get undressed, take you to bed, and pass out for at least twelve hours. But when he unlocked his front door and walked into the living room, you were standing there in a cute little dress, all made up. Maybe he could squeeze in a quickie before he passed out. 

"You look like you're ready for me to take you to bed," he said with a smirk as he started to untie his boots. But then he remembered something that you had said... about... a happy hour? Fuck.

"You need to get changed. I don't want to be late," you told him, checking the time on your phone while he groaned. Now he remembered. He promised you weeks ago that he'd go to the happy hour with your coworkers from the math department at San Diego State University. But right now, he was dying to get in bed and stay there.

"Sugar," he whined, "Baby, I'm exhausted. Can't we just stay home?"

"No!" Now you didn't look pleased at all as he made his way closer to you. "Go get changed, Beer Boy."

He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you snug against him. "Come on, Baby," he crooned. "Doesn't our bed sound better than happy hour? I promise I'll make you cum. Twice."

You kissed him and smirked devilishly. "I'll hold you to that. After we get back from happy hour."

"Fuck," he groaned releasing you and heading to the bedroom to get changed. There was no way he was getting out of this one. He was going to have to chat with your coworkers all night. A bunch of boring math nerds. Because there was no way there was more than one hot, interesting math nerd at your school. You were an anomaly. You'd cornered that market. 

Plus, Bradley just knew he was going to feel like an idiot all night. You were smarter than anyone he knew, and it would be like a bunch of clones of you walking around sounding extremely intelligent. He didn't even know what he was going to talk about. 

"Ready?" you asked with a smile when he reemerged from the bedroom. You took him by the hand and led him out to the driveway. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone."

---------------------------

It was worse than Bradley thought it would be. Apparently the median age of college math professors was eighty. He held tight to his bottle of beer while you introduced him to way too many people whose names he would never remember. He tried to smile, but he had to stifle a few yawns while he followed you around the small auditorium on your campus.

Everyone knew you. Everyone liked you. Everyone wanted to talk to you. Which was all fine and dandy until Bradley got cornered in conversation with Professor Rosenthal while an extremely handsome man walked up to you and gave you a lingering hug. 

"Who the hell is that?" Bradley asked, completely cutting off Professor Rosenthal.

"Oh," he sputtered, turning to see where Bradley was looking. "Oh, that's Professor Philip Harding. The department dean." 

Bradley's brain was buzzing now as he watched Professor Philip Harding put his hand on your lower back while you laughed. You had mentioned him before. Many times. You told Bradley that you frequently ate lunch with Phil on the benches outside your building next to the rose garden. Bradley was the one who lovingly packed those lunches for you.

He watched as you slowly took a step out of Phil's reach. "That's a good girl, Sugar," he muttered, now completely ignoring Professor Rosenthal. 

But Phil closed the gap and was already next to you again. Was this guy blind? Or just stupid? Did he not see the engagement ring on your finger? Could he not comprehend that you were in a relationship?

"Fuck," Bradley growled, glaring at him as he set his empty bottle down and tore across the room. Phil was tall, dark and handsome, and Bradley knew you liked that kind of thing. Plus, if he was the department dean, he was probably as smart as you were. 

Jealousy pulsed beneath his skin as he came up behind you and wrapped his hand around your perfect hip. "Hey, Sugar," he rasped, leaning down to kiss your neck. He loved the way you melted into his touch, but Bradley kept his eyes on Phil who cleared his throat loudly. 

"Hello," Phil said, looking at Bradley with a thoroughly unimpressed expression. But he could just fuck right off, because Bradley wasn't impressed either. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Philip Harding."

You smiled up at Bradley. "Phil is the department dean. And his office is next to mine." Then you turned to Phil, and Bradley had to watch his gaze dip down to your chest as you said, "Phil, this is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."

"Her fiancé" Bradley added, rather too loudly. 

Phil just smirked at him. "Ah, yes. I believe I've heard mention of you before. You work on submarines or something?"

Bradley clenched and unclenched his fist. "I'm an aviator," be ground out. "A pilot. I fly an F/A-18."

"Right," Phil replied cooly before turning back to you and asking you a question about your calculus lecture. And then Bradley had to stand there and listen to you laugh while he felt like a complete idiot. 

After a few moments of listening to Phil's annoying voice, Bradley pulled you a little closer and said, "Please excuse us," effectively cutting off the conversation and luring you back toward the refreshment table.

"What's wrong?" you asked. "You're acting so weird."

Bradley's eyes bugged out. "I'm acting so weird? Sugar, what the fuck, Baby? That guy is flirting with you right in front of me."

"No, he's not," you replied with an eye roll. "He's always like that."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he growled. "Because it does not. In fact it makes me feel worse."

"He's harmless, Beer Boy. I eat lunch with him all the time."

Bradley managed to speak through clenched teeth. "The way you described him, I pictured a geriatric nerd with a receding hairline and fucking dentures!"

You burst into laughter, planting your hand on his chest as you cackled and gasped for hair. 

"He's not old at all!" Bradley complained.

"No," you said, trying to reel in your laughter. "I think he's forty."

"He's handsome!"

"So are you." Your hand slid up to the back of Bradley's neck as you grinned at him.

"He wants to fuck you!" 

"So do you," you replied calmly. "You're jealous."

Bradley took a few deep breaths. He would never, ever admit to that out loud. "He touched you," Bradley growled. He didn't even care if he was causing a scene right now. You were going to be his wife, and he would be damned if Phil didn't leave here tonight knowing damn well where he ranked with you. 

"I told him to stop," you said sincerely. "I don't think he'll do it again."

"He better fucking not."

You leaned up and kissed Bradley's chin. "I can't believe you're jealous of him. You have no reason to be." You searched his face and sighed, that needy little sound you made when you were ready to go. "I love you. And you look so hot right now."

Bradley's cock twitched for you, and he pulled you snug up against him so you could feel that he was hard. You moaned softly, and Bradley glanced over to see that Phil was looking this way. 

"Let's go fuck in your office," Bradley told you, possibly loud enough for someone to hear. And then he kissed you hard, slipping his tongue into your mouth until you were pulling him toward the door. 

"I don't know what's gotten into you tonight," you whispered, ducking your head as you led him out into the hallway. "But I'm not mad about it." 

Bradley followed you down the hall to your office as you clicked along in your high heels. He was very familiar with this room, and when you unlocked the door, he pushed you inside but not before he noticed Phil was also in the hallway. 

Bradley winked at the other man before he slammed the door shut behind him. You had a smug, needy look on your face as the fluorescent lights started to warm up and brighten the small room. 

"You're mine, Sugar," he stated simply, caging you in against your desk. "And next time you eat lunch with Phil, I want you to think about this," he whispered, reaching down so his hand was underneath your dress, grabbing the back of your thigh and making you break out in goosebumps. "And this." 

You moaned softly as he gently pressed his lips to yours in the sweetest kiss. "Bradley," you whined as his hand slid up to the front of your underwear. "I thought you were exhausted from work."

"I got my second wind," he promised, leading his gentle kisses along your jaw and to your ear. "Now pull your underwear down, bend over, and tell me how hard you want it."

The strangled noise you made had him laughing before he sucked on your neck. But sure enough, you started yanking down your own underwear, and then you turned your back to him. 

You looked up at him over your shoulder, smiling sweetly as you said, "Hard."

Bradley was working on his own button and zipper as quickly as he could. "That's my sweet Sugar," he crooned, and you bent over your desk, moaning his name. He carefully pulled your dress up so your ass was beautifully on display for him. His cock was gliding through your wet pussy as he gently kicked your legs a little further apart. 

You wobbled a bit on your high heels as Bradley ran his big palm along your ass, cupping and squeezing you. "Bradley," you gasped, wiggling yourself back against his hand. 

"You want it hard, Sugar? First, you need to promise me that if that asshole Philip Harding ever touches you again, you tell me immediately." Bradley knew his tone was a little rough, and when you met his eyes over your shoulder, you nodded. 

"Okay." Your voice was soft, just like your skin beneath his palm. Bradley squeezed you before spanking you one time. "Bradley!" you screeched, biting your lip and moaning. 

"Promise me," he demanded. "He never touches your lower back or any other part of your body ever again." His fingers skimmed up along that exact spot on your back.

"I promise!" you groaned, still pressing back against him. Bradley thrust into you, hoping like hell that Phil was still out in the hallway. He wouldn't mind one bit if the department dean heard everything he was doing to you. And if your current volume was any indication, then perhaps everyone else in the small auditorium would be able to hear you, too. 

"You wanted it hard," he grunted, absolutely slamming into you. "You're mine. Gonna be my wife."

"Yes!" you screeched, grabbing along the top of your desk, trying to hang on as he fucked you. Bradley ran his hand along the spot where he spanked you feeling the warmth there. 

"You're smart, Sugar," he praised, slipping his hand around to your clit and bending so his front was pressed to your back. "Now tell me who you belong to."

"You!" Your voice sounded a little hoarse, and he could hear it quiver as his fingertips spanked your clit. 

He growled next to your ear as he alternated between tapping and rubbing. "Say my name."

"Bradley!" 

"Good girl," he praised, pinching your clit until you screamed. And then he spanked your pussy through your orgasm, tapping just hard enough that your legs started shaking. 

"Fuck," you groaned, the single syllable loud and drawn out as Bradley took you by both hips and fucked you so hard, you were whimpering. 

"Mmm," he hummed, palming your ass. "I'd love to cum all over your pretty face right now, but you'll get that when we get home. I'll spread it all around. Mess up your makeup and let you lick my fingers clean."

"Bradley, please?" you begged, but he spanked your ass and shook his head, fucking your harder as he got close. "On my face!"

"No. You insisted we come to happy hour, and it's already going to be obvious what we did without my cum all over you, Professor Sugar."

"I love it when you call me that," you crooned, clearly enjoying this entire interlude. "Now fuck me until you come."

It didn't take long after that. He came inside your tight pussy, painting it up and chanting your name. His hands were tight on your hips, and as soon as he withdrew, Bradley knelt down behind you. He kissed along your ass and your thighs as you tried to stand upright on your unsteady legs. 

"Easy," he crooned, watching his cum drip out of you as he eased your cute underwear back up your legs. You spun to face him as he pulled your dress down. Your hair and makeup were a mess, your lips were a little puffy, and you couldn't stand up straight. You looked down at him, still kneeling before you. "I love you," he promised as you let your hands rest on his shoulders. 

"I know, Beer Boy," you whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. "I love you, too. And I love when we fuck in my office or the study rooms on campus. It's kind of our thing."

Bradley stood and kissed you softly. "Academia really suits me. I went to the University of Sugar."

You bit your lip and giggled as he led you toward the door. He took your left hand in his and spun your pretty engagement around on your finger as you made your way back to the happy hour. When Phil exited the men's bathroom a few doors down from your office and wouldn't make eye contact, Bradley smirked. 

"You were loud as hell," Bradley informed you just before rejoining the group. "And you look so fucking dissheveled, I can't wait to bust a nut on your face later."

"Beer Boy!" you gasped, following him with wide eyes as Bradley made his way back to Professor Rosenthal with a fresh drink. He had accomplished what he set out to do, and now Phil would think twice before he touched you again.

"So sorry we got interrupted before," Bradley said to the older man. "What were we talking about?" Then he listened to Professor Rosenthal talk about the politics of the math department, his upcoming retirement and his hip replacement. And all the while, you kept eyeing Bradley with a very satisfied look on your face. 

----------------------------

"Okay, Beer Boy," you muttered to yourself, sitting on a bench in the rose garden next to your building on campus. You were unpacking the lunch Bradley had made for you, which included a note with huge handwriting.

Sugar, Can't wait to get my hands all over you later. Love, Beer Boy

You snorted and tucked the note into your pocket. This is what he did now. Every day since he met Phil, Bradley wrote you a dirty lunchbox note. The first note last week had been about how Bradley wanted to fuck you in the Bronco when he picked you up from campus. And sure enough, he had done just that, in the parking lot behind the student union building. 

Of course Bradley knew what he was doing, because Phil had accidentally seen that note. And he hadn't eaten lunch with you since then. But now you were waiting for your new lunch pal, Professor Rosenthal.

"You win, Beer Boy," you whispered, texting him a photo of the note along with a little message from you.

I want your lips and tongue, too. 

You smirked and ate the lunch he packed you, excited to get home later. Excited to marry Bradley. Excited for everything. 

----------------------

Love checking in with Beer Boy and Sugar from time to time! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

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[stararch4ngelqueen]

Domestic Jason coming home from patrol (through a window preferably 🤭) to you singing and cleaning the apartment

Ima put Latina housewife (me) twist but imagine whatever song you want. Sorry this was too short!

—

Time Written - 7:14 p.m

—

The bedroom window was open, cream curtains ballooning outboards due to the warm, nightly breeze.

A smell of fresh cleaning products waffed through his nose when he hauls himself inside, catching glances of faint damp patches slowly drying along the hardwood floors.

Loud music played from the kitchen on a propped up tablet, not loud enough to disturb your neighbors, but just enough to prevent you hearing the heavy impact of his boot soles leaving prints along your freshly cleaned floor.

A smile automatically forms on his face at the sight of his girl mopping the kitchen tiles, wearing flops to keep your feet from getting wet. Nearby was a grey bucket half full with a concoction of diluted cleaning ingredients and warm water.

Not a single nerve in Jason’s body wanted to interrupt your work; especially your singing. Believing you were alone, coupling with the loud choice of tunes, you sang along to the lyrics without as much of a care in the world, especially when you believed your singing was awful.

You were his midnight songbird, that’s for sure. He adored your singing voice, even when you missed a few words or exhaled a few things in off pitch. It mattered little to him.

You clearly sang a lot better than he could possibly dance, that’s for certain.

It wasn’t long before you caught witness of red through the corner of your eye whilst you turned, brushing the mop over the same spot along the front of the stove.

“Look all you want, can’t touch without a price,” you tease after standing fully, using your volume buttons on your watch to control the connected tablet’s settings.

“Already put a ring on it, so it’s all free.” Came his quick reply, his smirk still hidden behind his mask.

You’d roll your eyes and scoff, under the supposed assumption that you were too disheveled in the midst of cleaning to receive these words from him.

Again, he didn’t care how you looked or what you were doing.

“Wanna help me with the last bit?” You motioned towards the un-mopped area by your front door.

Out of nowhere, he shifts his gaze elsewhere, purposefully stretching out his arms over his head whilst emitting a loud, over-exaggerated false yawn.

“Actually, think I’m gonna hit it early.”

“Jason,” you call him out, making him laugh and throw his arms back down.

Heavy boots lightly squeak against clean floor when he treads closer as you return the mop to its bucket, hugging your waist close once get got a hold of you.

“Missed you, babygirl.”

“Missed you too,” you smile, amused by his sudden burst of affection. You watch him unclasp his mask, pulling off the front to reveal his ever so handsome face. Dark, slightly silvery curls dampened with sweat nearly cling to his forehead, adding onto his rugged attraction you craved to see every night.

“Could listen to that sweet voice all night,” he hums against your cheek after pressing a kiss against it, trailing down along your neck. “How’s about singin’ a song for me later, hmm?”

Involuntary giggles left you when he found those ticklish, sensitive spots along your skin.

Questions on why he was home at this hour left your mind, all replaced by the feeling him peppering your neck with kisses. His faint stubble added onto the devilishly sweet sensation, making you forget your task.

It wasn’t until he pulled away, your unjustly habit of looking him up and down in his body clinging uniform made you quickly catch his mistake; one he attempted to hide in between pretty comments and loving gestures.

“Your boots got mud all over the floor!”

Jason’s laughter involuntarily grew a lot louder when you chased after him. A sight that every single cape wearing hero would talk about for ages if witnessed. “M’sorry! I’ll clean it up, babe!”

“You better, Jason Todd!”

[secret-smut-sideblog]

Lover, Please Stay

Astarion x F! Tav

(Pillow Talk part 2)

18+ complicated feelings, angst, jealousy, intimacy, talks of sex work, fingering (f!), oral (f!), forced orgasm (kinda), feral Astarion, tenderness

Tav keeping him at arms length, Astarion makes a plan to woo her back into his good graces. But his hunger, for her and her blood, proves distracting...

Masterlist, Part 1

-

True to her word, she was avoiding him.

Even leaving him at camp. He covered the sting like he always did.

"You doing all the work while I relax with a good book? Please, if you must twist my arm."

He hid the anxiety throttling him into a sultry smile. Waving goodbye to the retreating party with a wiggle of his fingers.

When they disappeared into the treeline, he turned with a scowl and pushed inside his tent. The hunger gnawing through him now in the forefront of his mind.

In avoiding him, she had inadvertently kept him from her neck.

Animal blood wasn't enough anymore. Sure technically it filled him, it did the job. But it was a meager substitution.

When her blood would burst into his mouth, it sent a crackling pleasure across the back of his skull. Sending fire in slow pulses as her blood pushed out into his veins. From his center ebbing out a warmth in rhythm to his swallowing. His cold body cracking apart with her molten river. It was a miracle he was able to stop that first night.

The bloodcall was a prickling hateful need, but the other need he felt towards her made him bristle more.

He couldn't stop thinking about the way they had crashed and smeared into each other. There was nothing practiced about it, nothing gained or lost. Just pulling mouths and pleading fingers and dizzy heat.

He felt his cock stir just from the memory and frowned.

This wouldn't do. He was too pent up, a dog in a kennel circling.

He would get back in her good graces, in one way or another.

When they had finally returned for the night, he feigned disinterest. Lounging back on a pillow outside of his tent, flicking the pages of one of his books with the tips of his fingers.

She wiggled out of her boots with adorable little grunts. Unlacing her bracers and beginning to lift up to the buckles on her breastplate.

"Here, let me." Gale stepped over, reaching for the buckles that sat on her sides.

"Oh! Thank you!" She chirped, lifting her arm to make way for his fingers, naturally let her hand fall on his shoulder.

"I guess it's only fair. You don't wear armor, so you have much less undressing to do." She hummed.

He saw the heat go to Gale's cheeks, clearing his throat.

"You know, I could continue to help you. In the future." He offered, a slight waver in his tone.

Astarion had stood before his mind had spoken to his feet. Striding over.

"Gale, dearest. You'll keep her here all night. Let faster fingers attend to our friend here."

Gale held his hands up in defeat good naturedly, but he saw a bite flash across his eyes.

A silent crackling energy passed between them.

"Our pale friend is right, I'd better return to the delectable meal I've been planning."

Gale stepped away, but not before squeezing her bicep, leaving a lingering touch there.

The wizard was lucky his blood was putrid.

Well, maybe he could still rip his throat out for fun.

As soon as Gale was out of earshot Tav sighed, speaking under her breath to him.

"Well, Gale wants to fuck me now too."

"Ah, you'll have to forgive the boy. I'm sure he hasn't seen such a ravishing creature before that dusty tower. Nothing but his hand and books."

Tav gasped, trying to kick him, but he slid away from her foot easily. His fingers snapping her buckles open with flourish.

"You're the devil." She chided, but he could see the smile on the corner of her lips.

"Devilishly handsome? I agree."

The last buckle free, he lifted the breastplate over her.

She moaned, rotating her shoulders in relief. Her undershirt sticking to her skin. The white fabric wet with her efforts.

He kept his eyes above collarbone with great effort. The outline of her full breasts in his peripheral.

"Thank you, my savior." She teased, sitting down to unbuckle from her shin guards.

He was hovering and she noticed, looking up at him expectantly.

"Darling, I couldn't help but wonder why you haven't been offering me your sweet neck."

She sat back up, hand resting on her thigh. Eyes searching his.

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd want to see me after the other night." She said plainly.

"But I guess I'm a service, after all." Said with impartial truth.

"Sure, here." She offered her wrist up to him.

He blinked, on the back foot again.

Like she had scooped into him and pulled the marrow of his person out. That uncanny ability to speak his thoughts through her mouth.

No, I'm the service. Not you, sweet girl.

"Let's wait, no reason to supp from you out in the open. With so many prying hungry eyes."

He trailed the backs of his fingers along the inside of her wrist as she lowered it.

"Meet me in my tent, okay?" He hushed, his voice coming out uncharacteristically soft.

"Of course, whatever you need." She smiled.

He felt like he needed to prove something to her, but what?

He rearranged the pillows for a third time. The candle lit canvas shroud of his tent draped in as much comfort as he could find. Or steal.

Blankets and plush pillows. Enchanted lights draped along the roof, a lavender candle burning on a plate.

He sighed, this was too much. He was being silly.

"May I come in?" She whispered outside of the closed flap.

"I'd like nothing more." He crooned, sitting as casually as he could manage.

She ducked in and blinked in surprise. Eyes trailing along.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" She started getting comfortable. Pulling the pins free from her hair and shaking it down her back. Leaving her shoes in a neat line at the entrance.

Something about seeing her like this again made his heart sing. That casual intimacy that he desired in the cradle of his tent.

She kneeled down across from him, pulling her collar away from her neck. Turning her head to the side, bending open for him.

He leaned forward and gathered her into his hands, burying his face in the curve of her shoulder. Breathing in.

She could feel his need, touching his arm uncertainly.

"Are you okay, Star?" She hushed.

He slid his hand down her back, his eyes closed. Fingers mapping her into his memory.

"Just- just give me a moment." His voice coming out gravelly.

"Do you want me to get undressed?" She whispered, and he nodded into the side of her neck.

She pulled her sleep shirt over her head, his hands only leaving her to toss it far in the corner.

Sat in only the underclothes hugging her hips, she waited patiently as his eyes drank her.

The spread of her hips dipping into her waist. The round full of her breast. The soft curve of her stomach. An oil painting come to life.

"You're very comfortable in the nude." He teased, trying to jumble his thoughts back into his slack head.

"It takes practice." She smiled. "People usually don't want to see the wares stored away."

He could feel the confusion strike his face.

"What do you mean by that, darling?"

"Oh, I figured the others would have gossiped by now. Huh, good for them."

She flourished down her body. "This used to go to the highest bidder."

His hands slowed, pulling away.

"You were a sex worker?"

"What makes you think I'm not still one?" She winked, and he felt a hard shock of sudden recognition in her mannerisms. This was his playing field.

"Tav..." He paused, trying to wrestle his thoughts into a carefully picked set of kind words. She didn't need to know that part of his past yet. He could stand to pretend to be at least somewhat competent for a while longer.

"I get if that turns you off. We can go back to just feeding if you want."

"Well, what do you want?" He leaned his head, looking at her. Dead heart phantom hammering.

She seemed to consider it. "I think I like you, and I want to be near you. In whatever way that means to you."

He leaned forward, sliding on knees to reach her.

He laced his arm around her back, their lips hovered across one another. Her breath tickling his lips.

Sliding his hand down her front, he held her eyes.

A collective breath held between them, only broken as his fingers dipped into her heat.

Her eyes fluttered shut, hips tilting forward.

He pressed his forehead to hers as she rocked into him, rubbing her clit with his thumb.

She tried to reach for his trousers. He huffed out a soft no and led her hands to drape over his neck.

He looked at her with lidded eyes, pulsing his long fingers into her molten heat. Curving and catching the spongy wall.

She squirmed, gripping onto his thighs. One single breath passed between them. Speaking in panting and soft moans.

He pushed her onto her back, sliding down. His mouth coming down to lick in long stripes above his fingers.

She shuddered, head falling back. Gasping out little cries for him.

All of her sounds, her arching movements, wrapping around his mind in a haze.

He ground his erection into the bunched blankets on the tent floor.

His arousal a warm rhythm inside his body for once. The practiced working of his mouth finally put to a worthy effort.

He twisted his tongue into her, slurping and suckling. Free hand holding her in place as her hips tried to escape.

"Fuck," She hissed, gripping his hair. Legs starting to shake around his ears.

He moaned low and deep into her. His cock throbbing, hips fucking into the blankets.

"Oh fuck, Astarion. I'm-" But she was already rising off of the blankets, head wrenched back.

He followed her up, gripping her ass.

She squeaked out a few rising cries then fell apart in his hands. Tremoring rising up through her body, rippling outwards from where his mouth was still pulsing. Her head lolled, little jolts from her cunt as the creamy slick of her spend met his tongue. Lapping it in greedily.

He gasped. It rocketed against his skull like her blood. He needed more.

He hooked her thighs over his shoulders and dove back into her. Hungry. Messy. Uncontrolled. Completely cutting off his breath. He didn't need it anyway.

Her eyes shot open, moaning out.

"Oh Gods," She whimpered, bracing herself next to her head. Holding on as he took her apart.

He felt crazed, his hunger for her blood and the slick he pulled from her one and the same. The sounds coming from his lapping obscene.

Closing his eyes, he growled. Fingernails biting down into her ass. Saliva and slick dripping down his jaw.

One more hard swirling pull on her clit and she was shuddering hard, a strained moan of curses flowing from her lips. Eyes rolling back in her skull like marbles.

He yanked her towards him in anticipation, fingers rubbing hard into her clit encouragingly.

Her second wave of creamy slick met his tongue, so sweet and rich. Lighting his skull up in streaks of pleasure.

He pulled his weeping cock from his leathers and stroked with his slick soaked hand. Once, twice, and he was gone. Spurting thick ropes under his body, whimpering out pulsing cries as the pleasure wrenched out of him.

He lapped at her as long as she would allow, eventually gently pushing his head back.

"Gods below, Star. That was... that was heaven." She gasped.

He murmured in agreement, head falling into the inside of her thigh. Fingers trailing the silk of her side, the arch of her ribcage.

"Do you want me to stay?" She hushed, scratching lightly along his scalp.

He moaned softly, nodding into her.

"Come here to me." She purred, pulling him up her body. Resting his head against her chest.

The beat of her heart a steady tranquil drum. Her arms and legs tangled in his. He puddled into her, both of her hands scratching in slow lines along his skull.

For the first time in a long time, he fell into a heavy sleep.

The night passing dreamless.

~

[earier]

DEVILLISHLY HANDSOME, saeko tanaka.

content. knight!saeko. now that i'm looking at it, lots of em-dashes. fantasy au. short, yet sweet. lowkey my magnum opus. so many synonyms were googled for this.

word count. 561

@kissunday @mayyhaps @vellichorira

The woods had turned against you.

Once verdant and serene, the forest trail now swells with the sounds of danger—steel unsheathed, jeering voices, and the crunch of boots against damp earth. You had strayed too far from the safety of the main road, thinking yourself clever, swift. But the bandits who emerged from the shadows were cleverer still.

Outnumbered and cornered, you grip a fallen branch as though it could ward off sharpened blades. A futile hope. The tallest among them, his grin a ruin of yellowed teeth, steps forward.

“Well now,” he sneers, “what a pretty little prize fate’s dropped into our laps.”

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

The thunder of hooves shatters the moment. Not distant, not hesitant, but a charge, wild and unyielding. A black steed bursts from the tree line like a shadow given form, mud and leaves flinging in its wake. Atop it rides a knight—armor scorched and scuffed, helm glinting wickedly in the twilight, a long sword already drawn and raised to the sky.

“You festering sheep-fondlers!” the knight bellows, voice sharp and roaring like a war drum. “Which one of you thought it wise to breathe near my soon-to-be-rescued companion?”

The bandits blink in dumb silence. That, it seemed, was all the time the knight required.

Steel danced—fast, chaotic, and unrelenting. The knight fought like a tempest, striking with precise chaos; each blow accompanied by either a gleeful laugh or some insult shouted with such passion that even the trees seemed to recoil.

“Try harder, you moss-brained knuckle-draggers! I’ve sparred with toddlers who hit with more spine!”

One by one, they fell—groaning, groveling, or fleeing into the woods with their pride in tatters. The knight gave pursuit to none. When silence fell once more, they turned to you.

“You alive?” they ask, dismounting with a heavy thud of armor. When you nod, so too do they. “Good. Would’ve been a pain to drag your corpse back to civilization. Not that I wouldn’t do it. I just prefer my rescues upright.”

You find your voice, though it cracks like a branch beneath too much weight. “You saved my life.”

“Damn right, I did!” they bark, clapping their gauntleted hands together. “Saeko the Storm-Wrought, at your reckless service.” They reach for their helm. “And now, since it’s only proper when rescuing a damsel, I reveal my devilishly handsome face.”

The helm came free. Your breath caught.

Gone was the imagined grizzled veteran. In their place stands a vision you had no words for; wild blonde hair spilling across her pauldrons, skin kissed by battle and sun, and eyes alight with mischief and mirth. Her smile was crooked and brazen and unfairly beautiful.

She winks, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Most don’t expect this under the iron, but I like surprises. Keeps things spicy.” You stare, dumbstruck. She cackles. “Oh, you’re adorable when flustered.”

She slings her helm beneath one arm and offers her hand to you. “Come. There’s a tavern three leagues south that owes me ale and meat pies, and I plan to collect. You’re buying dessert, though. Hero tax.”

You take her hand, still dazed, still watching her with awe. She grins wider.

“Stick with me, sweetheart. I save lives, slay beasts, and start bar fights for sport. By dawn, you’ll either be in love with me or terrified. Either way—it’s gonna be fun.”

[swampstew]

Really Really

Breaking news: local cryptid @quinloki was found guilty of leaving tasty treats in my ask box. Feeding the thot after midnight. I let the whoremone monster out and it was feeling some type of way♥

Man worth 3 billion berri is still a virgin, so I threw him in the blender. Warnings: spicy; post-time skip Eustass Kid x AFAB Reader; it doesn't go all the way in :) WC: 1.2K

inspired by this gif

Impatient.                                            

Not a word typically used to describe yourself but after six long months aboard the Victoria Punk, the fierce Captain Kid had once again overlooked your playful flirting as he stormed to his workshop; a hint of red on the tips of his ears were the only sign he’d heard what you said.

You weren’t sure what his deal was – you’d never seen him hook up, not with anyone on the crew and not with anyone on islands the crew landed at. Sure he’d go into strip clubs or make out with random people at the bar from time to time but not once had you seen him spend the night off ship. Or seen a one-night stand stumble from his cabin.

It was puzzling.

A devilishly handsome, well-toned man like him had women and men swooning over him, flirting and spoiling him with compliments, drinks, and food to gain his favor. Kid didn’t always accept the tokens and he almost never accepted them from you. Food and drinks yes but flirting? Almost like it went over his spiked hair; a blush, smirk or scowl the only response he gave you.

It made you…desperate.

Was he really that disinterested or was there something else?

Someone else?

So you did what any rational person could do – you got Killer drunk and tried to weasel out information. But the son of a bitch was like a sealed vault, refused to give up anything about his best friend. And he teased you for it.

“D-you like him or something?” the blonde finally asked.

“I—” you stuttered, “I’m just wondering why! Does he not like sex or?”

Killer didn’t answer right away, swirling his cup before taking a contemplative sip from his straw. “It’s not that, so much as…” he took another sip, “He prioritizes his ambitions and dreams. That’s all.”

“What does that have to do with fucking?”

“Absolutely nothing. He just hasn’t.”

“…Hasn’t? As in had sex?”

Killer shrugged, neither confirming nor denying. That stunned you into silence.

“Really? A guy like him??”

“If you’re so interested in finding out – you should ask him yourself.”

“I’ve tried! I flirt with him, wear revealing clothes, he usually ignores me!”

Killer began coughing, putting his drink aside as he shuddered between suppressing laughter and trying to breathe.

“F-ff-ff- ahh no he doesn’t. He just pretends to.”

“WHAT?!”

“He’s not an idiot, he knows what you’re doing. But he won’t do anything about it since you’re his responsibility; unless you were to, well, be aggressively transparent.” With that, Killer left you alone in the galley.

Transparency.

And Kid’s known the whole damn time and not even acknowledged it. That was frustrating. So much so you decided to try again the next day and be as blunt as possible.

You knew his schedule by heart, you skipped breakfast to hide in his workshop. Wearing a short skirt and oversized sweater, you took a pair of scissors and got creative. Carefully snipping away at the fabric, you cut away at your outfit to expose your bra and panties, not quite getting naked, enough to be as blunt as possible about your intentions.

The sound of thudding boots growing closer suddenly made you nervous but you swallowed your anxiety and snipped the strap of your bra before tossing the scissors and turned away from the door.

“The hell are you doing in here? Why weren’t you at breakfast?" stunned to find you in his sanctuary, a place he expressly forbade anyone from.

You turned your head to the side with a pout on your face, “Didn’t want to eat. I want something else.”

Slamming the door shut, Kid removed his coat and threw it on the table before roughly grabbing your shoulder to face him. His face turned bright red as his golden eyes traveled up and down your body. Studying the way the slit up your skirt gave him a view of your panties, the way your breast threatened to spill over the edge of the cup of the destroyed bra.

You heard his breath sharply release from his lips, “What the…the fuck happened to you?”

You narrowed your eyes, “You did. This is what you’ve driven me to.”

He backed away from you with shock and surprise on his face, “I did what?!”

“I want to fuck you,” you walked towards him, hips, thighs, and breasts jiggling with each step, “I’ve tried flirting with you, dropped hints, given you a share of my loot, and literally hand fed you and you’ve NEVER reciprocated in any manner. So, is it me? Do you find me atrocious? Unfuckable?” your voice became gravelly from the internalized resentment and embarrassment you felt from the efforts you’d put in all this time. “Please, tell me. It’s killing me. If you don’t want me, I’ll stop. But just say something. Am I making a fool of myself for wanting you?”

Kid’s back hit the door, eyes wide as he listened to your rant, “I-wha-no! It’s not you, it’s…”

You stopped a few feet from him, so desperate to hear his answer. You could see the bulge outline in his pants.

“FUCK!” he snarled, smacking his own face to cover his flushed expression, fingers digging into his skin until deep red crescents marked him. “I’ve never had sex!” he finally confessed.

“Really?” you asked, not at all expecting that response. “But…why not? You’re hot as fuck!”

“I JUST HAVEN’T OKAY?!” he lashed out, making you step back from him, a little intimidated by his embarrassed rage. “I’ve got more important shit to do than fuck around and spawn a bunch of bastards,” he spat through grit teeth.

“…Condoms exist…”

“I KNOW THAT!”

Your hip clipped the table’s edge and you stumbled backwards. Before you fell, Kid grabbed your arm and pulled you up, in doing so you fell right into his bare chest. You could feel the goosebumps ripple across both your bodies from the touch but he didn’t move away.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, a bit ashamed from the confrontation, “I just needed to know if you found me attractive, at all. I’ll leave you alone.”

Still holding on to you he barked out, “Have you fucking seen yourself? Who wouldn’t be into you?!”

“Well, you? Considering you keep blowing me off,” you mumbled.

That made him laugh, “REALLY? Shit and here I thought I was being a decent Captain by not sleeping with my subordinates.”

“Really? You parroted in shock, that was surprisingly mature and unexpected. “But I’ve never seen you fuck around with anyone so I just thought—”

“Does this seem like I’m not interested?” he huffed, using his metal arm to grab your waist and pull you into him. Felt his erection against your lower belly. “Fuck me for trynna do the right thing.”

He made you walk backwards, still pressing his body into yours, “I get hard every day just looking at you. When you say cheeky shit, I have to come here and jerk off so I can fucking think clearly. You’re my biggest distraction but—” his hand ghosted up your arm to caress your cheek with surprising gentleness, “—I’ve never not been attracted to you.”

“Oh,” you hummed, still as stone to preserve the moment.

With a click of his tongue, Kid grabbed your chin and planted a wet kiss on you.

Your eyes were crossed from the feeling, lost in a haze as you felt him swing your body around until you were pushed back on top of his coat. The withdrawal of his touch brought you to reality, mouth gaping as he stood in front of you but did not initiate further contact.

“Show me what you like,” he rasped out. “Touch yourself. Teach me what to do.”

[deanswhiskey]

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭? - 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; what happens when your car breaks down and a stranger is there to help?

wc; 2,495

warnings; smuttt!!! (p in v, fingering, cunnulingus), implied consent

authors note; pls lmk how you feel about this. i remember read a steve rogers fic (i think) that was sorta similar, i wish i could rememebr the fic so i could tag it for credit. also this was my first time writing smut in a couple lmk what you think about that too

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

the lonesome sound of your boots skidded along the dry asphalt as you walked up to the road. your care had broken down some miles back, you lost count, and now you're headed up the road to find some sort of civilization.

of course, your car had to break down on some back road in the middle of nowhere with nothing but open fields. your phone had died too before you could call a tow truck service. could this scenario be any more cliché? you thought.

you stopped to take a break. the bottoms of your feet pounded and your legs ached. a thin layer of sweat covered your forehead due to the heat that pounded against your skin.

your black purse hung from your shoulder as you reached in looking for your wallet, just as a check to make sure it was there. after a moment of digging, its not there. it got worse.

groaning, you look around to see if there were any cars. there were none; you sighed and continued up the road. you found a small rock to kick aimlessly to entertain yourself in some sort of way.

this continued for about another mile before you could hear a faint purring of an engine. you snapped your head behind you, forgetting all about the poor rock you'd been kicking.

squinting to look at the car in the distance, you could see a black muscle car making its way towards you. a small smile appeared on your face, maybe this person will choose kindness and help you out.

you waved the car down and you could see the car start to slow its way to you. when it slowed to a stop next to you, you bent down to look at the driver who stopped.

a devilishly handsome man sat with his left hand atop the steering wheel. his green eyes pierced into you, "what's a pretty girl like you doing out here?"

your cheeks heated at him calling you pretty, "well my car broke down a while back and my phones dead and i forgot my wallet, so i'm just walking to the nearest town." you shrugged.

"so that's what that car back there was," the mystery man said. he gave you a small smirk, "why don't you hop in, i'll take you where you need to be."

"really? thank you so much," you gleaned. you opened the passenger door and hopped in.

"i'm dean," the man smirked. he offered his hand out for a shake.

"y/n," you smiled and shook his hand.

deans fingers tapped the wheel in rhythm the the classic rock song softly playing in the background. “so where were you headed, sweetheart?”

“actually,” you look down at your hands, “nowhere in particular, just seeing where the wind takes me.” you smile over at him. “what about you, where are you headed?”

“same as you, sweetheart,” his green eyes stared at you. your cheeks flushing at the nickname again. “i’m actually headed to meet my brother a few towns over, we do this thing together.”

“well that’s nice, what do you guys do?” you asked.

“we hunt monsters,” dean bluntly said. you gave him a confused sort of look.

dean smirked when he saw your face, letting out a small chuckle, “kidding, doll, we used to work for the fbi, now we just travel the country. part time mechanics too, wherever we can find work.”

“you used to work for the fbi?!” you beamed. “what was it like?” your body now faced him, wanting to hear about his fbi journeys.

“ah, sweetheart, i can’t really say.” you frowned. “it was a messy job, though. my brother and i were the best.” he boasted while you let out a small chuckle.

after a moment of silence, dean spoke up again, “did you do anything?”

you just shrugged, “i used to be a writer for some shitty newspaper.”

“cant have been that shitty if you used to write for it,” your face was constantly blushing from all the names and compliments he was giving you.

you just smiled back at him and stared at the road ahead.

after a little while, and some more small talk later, you were finally starting to see some civilization; a bus stop, followed by some small local shops.

you groaned and smiled, “finally, i can get my car fixed.” the auto repairs shop moved closer as the two of you moved up the road.

it started to move further away, your smile and lessened, dean was driving away from it. “let me get you some food first. you need some food in ya’,”

“oh dean,” you glanced over at him, “i cant let you do that, i’m fine.”

“no, no, don’t give me that, i’m buying you some food.” he smiled at you, green eyes flashing in the sunlight.

dean wouldn’t let you put up anymore of a fight. he pulled into the small parking lot of the diner in whatever town you two were in. it looked like a little mom and pop diner.

the two of you sat in a booth far away from other people. you glanced over the menu, settling for a chicken sandwich with a side of fries; dean ordered a burger.

while waiting for your food, you broke the silence between you two, “why do you call me sweetheart, and doll?”

the smile on his face never seemed to leave when he was talking to you, “well, ‘cause you are one, sweetheart.”

“but you don’t know me.”

“you have the beauty for one,” your cheeks flushing again. does this man ever stop, you thought.

the waitress came and dropped your food and drinks off and the two of you dug in. you haven���t eaten since sometime yesterday, and with all the walking your hunger grew. you were very thankful for dean.

the sandwich was damn near perfect; you hardly spoke you were too busy eating.

you finished your last. it’s and wiped a napkin on your face, getting off whatever food may be around your mouth, and threw it in the plate.

the waitress came back and grabbed your plates, “can i get you two any dessert?” she asked sweetly.

you were about to tell her no thank you, since you really needed your car fixed, but dean interjected. “we will have two slices of your finest pie, ma’am,” he smiled at that waitress.

the waitress walked away, “dean, i really need to get my car fixed,” you spoke up.

“sweetheart, it’ll be okay, it’s just a little slice of pie,” those beautiful green eyes enticed you, convincing you to stay and eat the pie.

“okay,” you sighed and smiled, “but that’s it.” your finger pointing out at him, pretending to scold him. dean just chuckled.

the waitress brought out two slices of cherry pie, your favorite, and apparently deans too. the two of you dug into the pies, making small talk again while you ate.

the waitress came back with the check book and receipt, dean immediately snatching it and putting his credit card in there.

“thank you, dean, i don’t know how i’ll ever repay you.”

deans eyes flicker down to your lips, a faint of a smirk on his lips, “i could think of one way.”

the gears in your head clicked, “oh,” you said sheepishly, the heat rising to your cheeks once more.

dean licked his lips in a seductive manner, he grabbed your hand and the two of you made your to the counter where the waitress sat. dean paid and the two of you made your wait to the impala.

“c’mon, let me take you somewhere where you can repay me,” he opened the passenger door.

“are you sure?”

“more than sweetheart,” he leaned in and kissed your cheek.

the two of you eagerly made your way to a motel dean was taking you. your nerves were high but so was your sex drive.

deans hand sat dangerously on your thigh. his thumb stroked circles on the inside of your thigh. heat radiated through your body, you just hoped dean couldn’t feel it.

the car screeched a bit when dean pulled into the motel parking lot. the two of you got out of the car, you started headed towards the check in office.

“what’re you doing, sweetheart?” you look at dean with confusion, all he does is pull out a set of keys you can only assume are keys to a room. you were confused as to why he already had keys, but you quickly brushed it off.

he nodded his head in the direction of the room with a smile on his face. dean held out his hand for you to take as he lead you to the room.

dean turned to you when you both entered the room and the door was shut. his lustful green eyes looked down into your own. you wanted this as much as he did, and he could see it in your eyes.

a hand reached up to move some hair from your face and stayed resting at the side of your head.

there was the smallest bit of hesitation in dean and he started to lean down to kiss you. you took the liberty of meeting him the rest of the way.

your lips meshed together as the two of you kissed. what started out as a gentle kissed turned into a heavier kiss. deans hands cupped your face as yours rested on his chest, grabbing at his shirt.

dean walked you back and your body hit the door behind you; a groan escaping your mouth which caused dean to groan himself.

deans kisses moved from your lips down to your neck leaving you breathless. his lips left little spots that would soon turn into hickeys, then shortly moved back to your lips.

strong masculine hands gripped your waist pulling impossibly closer. soon they traveled, very slowly, down to your ass, gripping harshly before lifting you up. your legs locked around his hips.

dean made his way to the bed, sitting down on it so you were now straddling him, taking what little control you had. your hips rocked once against his, earning a groan from dean which put a smirk on your face. you did it again just to hear that groan, that oh-so-sweet groan; you practically slly giggled at the sound.

“oh really?” dean said pulling away with a mischievous grin on his face. before you could say anything he flipped to two of you over so he was on top.

deans lips moved down to your neck then right onto your chest, he gripped one of your breasts, it was your turn to groan now. he pulled back and looked down at your shirt, gently tugging at the bottom, silently asking to take it off. you nodded and he slid it up over your head. you were now left in a black lace bra.

“lace,” dean paused. “sexy.” smirk never leaving his face. you pulled in the bottom of his shirt, telling him to take his off, which he did. his perfectly sculpted body now lit by the dim lightning of the room. you ran your hands along his ab lines.

dean dipped his head back down and continued kissing along your breasts. slowing making his way down your chest and along your stomach. you squirmed under his gentle kisses, letting out a desperate moan. dean chuckles vibrated against your hot skin, making you want more.

dean reached your heat and looked up through his eyelashes, you simply nodded, needing your shorts off now. he unbuttoned them and slowly pulled them down and discarded them somewhere in the room. all that was left was your matching panties. it’s like you planes this for him, like you knew he would be here.

dean pressed a kiss against your panties then giving a small lick, to tease you. “please dean,” you half-whispered, half-whimpered out. that was all it took for dean to essentially rip of your panties. “you’re already soaked,” he said.

his tongue lapped in all sorts of motions that drove you wild. it swirled around your clit before sucking on it, stars in yours eyes started to appear.

deans hand slowly made its way up your thigh, his finger teasing your entrance. a moan passes your lips and he slips a finger in, pumping it slowly. eventually, he hands another, making you a mess.

the knot in your stomach tightens as dean continues to lick and finger you. “dean, i’m about to-” you don’t finish your sentence because dean interrupts you.

“i know, baby, let it go.” and with that you did, your moans and whimpers echo off the motel walls.

right as you catch your breath, you hear the sound of deans belt unbuckling. you were eager for his cock but you knew you were gonna be sore tomorrow.

with a thud, deans pants and boxers are now discarded. dean pulls out a condom from his wallet and you take the small package from his hand and pull it out. you place the condom on his erection and give it a couple strokes, small grunts escape deans lips and his head is thrown back.

“i wanna feel you dean,” you seductively say looking up at him.

within seconds, you’re pushed back down on the bed, deans lips hungrily attack yours. he pulls back, grabbing his cock and lining himself up with you. he pushes the tip in while you inhale sharply at the feeling; he pushes further until he bottoms out, you moan, his length filling you.

you tighten around his cock and dean groans. he looks at you, silently asking if he can move, you just nod. he starts slowly thrusting into you, leaving you a moaning mess.

he bends back down, kissing you, hard yet gentle. it was sweet, in a way, vulnerable almost. though, you could hardly kiss back.

soon, the knot tightens once more, “dean, i’m close.”

“i know sweetheart,” he grunts, “hold it for my baby, just a little longer.” you whimper in response, desperately needing to release.

deans forehead rests against yours, “come for me, sweetheart,” stars exploded in your vision as you climaxed. you haven’t felt this euphoric in a while.

deans own release followed after. he got up and discarded the condom, body going limp on the bed beside you.

“how was that?” dean asked settling under the motel covers with you.

you were breathing heavy with a smile on your face, “that was fun, baby!”

“i know,” dean started, turning his head to look at you, “who knew role playing could be so fun.”

“we should do that more often,” you smiled, leaning over to kiss to your boyfriend, this time with more passion.

you snuggled into dean, suddenly feeling tired. his arms wrap around as the two of you slowly drift off to sleep.

maybe you and dean should experiment more.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

[aspiringtrashpanda]

I wanted to write a little piece for all seven brothers but then it was already reaching 1k so I was like JUST FOUR IT IS! Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 28 Prompt: Demon Form 853 words The sounds of the House of Lamentation ft. Mammon, Leviathan, Asmodeus, and Beelzebub C/W insect imagery

The voices that shudder through the House of Lamentation are many, and yet, they outnumber the beings that live within the walls. In a way, it almost feels as though double the personalities exist in the home, for there are two sides to each of the seven demons lurking in their rooms. 

Mammon’s brash tenor bounces from somewhere above the lonely guestroom, the clink of poker chips taunting the low-level suckers he lured home from the bar. Through the unfamiliar groans of the fiscally conquered, another presence makes itself known. It’s a loud sort of flapping, the push and pull of air by a thin membrane. Warbling wind threatens to whisk away those who tried to backtrack on their game, Mammon’s wings beating fiercely. A blur of black, leathery flesh whips behind his confident smirk, his boot pressing onto the chest of the demon who couldn’t escape fast enough. 

“Now, ya can’t be such a sore loser, ya know?” He sneers, ripping the gold chain from his victims throat with a curved, ivory claw. “Ya lost to the Great Mammon, fair and square.” 

The screams of the downed demon fall on Leviathan’s deaf ears, his focus fixated on the pixelated dungeon flashing across his screen, the grunts and shouts of his witch piercing his brain through his cranked headphones each time she casts a spell. He mutters frantically to himself, accustomed to voicing his train of thought regardless of whether he is streaming, or playing all alone. His rambling pitches higher when he encounters a slew of monsters in the next level, his fingers smashing buttons in a pattern only the most adept gamers would understand.

“It isn’t fair!” Leviathan hisses, a lisp on the softer syllables as his forked tongue flicks between his lips. He nearly launches his controller towards the ground, his sprite perishing due to a lag that has yet to be patched in the beta. He’s sure it’s just his bad luck. Others probably cleared the dungeon with little difficulty. The lag only affected him.  

His heavy tail snakes over the sleek tiles of his bedroom, a slithering noise accompanying the fluid flexing of the dark scales that shine in the blue glow of the aquarium. It’s a consistent hiss, a sort of white noise as the appendage curves this way and that, pausing momentarily to slap the ground with enough force to startle those in the rooms next door when his frustration spikes. 

Perhaps it was time for a more relaxing activity, something that Asmodeus understands on a deep, spiritual level.

Asmodeus sighs, gentle and melodic as he pulls his naked frame from the steaming depth of his private bath. Rose petals cling to his smooth skin like the fans in the comments of his latest Devilgram post, reeking of floral desperation. Asmodeus doesn’t mind, picking the flowers from his skin and running the wet, velvety surface over his lips before holding it just above his shoulder. 

One would liken the snap that bounces through the bathroom to the crack of a whip, but they would be wrong. No, it’s the sound of Asmodeus’s tail lunging forward, piercing the rose petal with its sharp stinger. Black venom oozes onto the floor, an unsteady drip, drip, drip!

Asmodeus pouts at himself in the mirror, admires the tracks of water droplets as they hug his slender build. He shakes his wings, drenched and emitting the distinct sound of wet leather slapping together, and gathers a drop of his own poison on his fingertip. He licks it, entranced by his own reflection as he pops his lips and flashes his most sultry smile. He’s so devilishly handsome, he isn’t sure how anyone can handle it, let alone himself.

Though he often laments their indifference, he is grateful that his brothers are blind to his beauty. They treat him like a normal demon, and he supposes that without such a humbling crowd poking at him at all times, his ego would explode, which is the complete opposite of Beezlebub’s situation. 

For the constant buzzing in the kitchen speaks of his bottomless stomach, requiring constant sustenance lest it shrivel up and he die a famished husk. The plague of locusts infests the fridge, the pantry, the cupboards, grunts of satisfaction harmonizing with the clicking of insect wings. The forewings vibrate against the hind, veins crisscrossing the exoskeleton growth in a cell-block pattern, the noise interspersed by an occasional chirp when the wings rub just right. 

The kitchen becomes a whirlwind of sound, prompting anyone in the vicinity to itch at their skin in fear of bugs clinging to their limbs. It’s that smothering summer song, the constant threat of mosquito stings and horsefly bites, the choir of cicadas in the burning, blazing sun. It overwhelms the obnoxious chewing, the heavy exhales between entire beverages guzzled in a single gulp. 

If one didn’t know better, they’d think there were two beings in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in front of the computer, cashing in their big win. But no, just four fallen angels and the sounds of their sins. 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

[rockie-rhodes]

A QUIET MADE FOR TWO — Sean Macguire

In which you and Sean go for a little late night ride.

CONTENT: Fluff. Are they friends? Established lovers? The world may never know.

The fire crackled low in camp, most of the gang already turned in for the night. You sat near the dying embers, arms wrapped around your knees, the sounds of crickets and distant owls filling the silence. It had been a long day — a supply run that turned into a scuffle with a few less-than-friendly locals, and Sean had taken a tumble off his horse in the most dramatic fashion possible. Of course, he insisted he meant to do it.

“Y’alright there, love?” came his voice, cutting through the quiet like the familiar warmth of a campfire on a chilly night.

You turned your head and found Sean approaching, hat in one hand, the other tousling his already-messy red hair. His face was dusted with dirt and a streak of dried blood near his lip from earlier, but he was grinning — lopsided and boyish.

“I’ll live,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

He nudged your boot with his. “Come on. Let’s go for a ride.”

You blinked. “Now?”

Sean nodded. “Why not? Moon’s up, horses are restless. ’Sides, I reckon the night owes us a bit o’ peace after today.”

You didn’t need much convincing.

⸻

The two of you rode side by side, the camp fading behind you. The world looked silver under the moonlight, trees casting long shadows on the dirt trail, and the cool night air brushing against your cheeks like a kiss from the wind. Sean was quiet for once, only glancing over at you with that soft smile he rarely let anyone see, not the large, boyish one he usually flashes around.

Eventually, you came to a clearing near the edge of a lake. The moon reflected on the water like spilled silver, and frogs croaked from the shallows.

Sean dismounted first, tying his horse loosely to a tree before turning to help you down. He held your hand a little longer than necessary. You both sat near the edge, not speaking at first.

The quiet was comfortable.

“I thought you was gonna punch that lad earlier,” Sean said after a moment, laying back in the grass, arms tucked behind his head.

“I almost did,” you replied, lying beside him. “But I figured you’d do it first.”

He laughed — a real, full laugh that rumbled through his chest. “I do pride meself on bein’ predictably impulsive.”

You turned on your side, propped on one elbow to look down at him. “You scared me today.” Voice hardly a whisper, brows furrowing just a tad in concern as the sight from earlier flashes in your mind.

His smile faltered, eyes flicking to you. “When?”

“When you got thrown. You didn’t move for a minute.”

Sean blinked, and for a rare second, there was no sarcasm, no smirk, just honesty. “Didn’t mean t’ scare ya.”

You reached out, brushing that dried streak of blood from below his lip. “I know.”

His hands found yours, held it between them, his thumb brushing your knuckles gently. “Y’know,” he said, voice softer than you’d ever heard it, “I spend a lotta time talkin’ shite and makin’ a fool of meself, but I don’t think I’ve ever really said it proper — I care about ya.”

Your heart did a little flip.

You leaned in, forehead touching his, noses brushing, the whole world still and silver around you. “I care about you too, Sean. More than I probably should.”

“Ah, don’t say that,” he murmured. “Say you care about me exactly as much as a handsome, devilishly charming Irishman deserves.”

You laughed, bumping your nose against his. “Fine. Exactly that much.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his side, your head resting on his chest as his heartbeat thumped beneath your ear. The night stretched on, quiet and kind, and for once, there was no need for jokes, running or pretending. For a moment, it was enough to just sit in the hush of it all. But then Sean shifted, tilting his head down to gaze at the top of your hair.

“Didn’t think I’d care much for this kind o’ thing. Feels… peace-like. Dangerous stuff, that.”

You smiled and turned your gaze up to meet his. “Guess we’re both in danger then.”

He laughed softly, arm sneaking around your waist. “Reckon I don’t mind, if it’s with you.”

A/N: i will never not love sean. i cannot fathom the people who don’t like him— not trustworthy. left this loosely ended cause i will probably be adding to this little storyline. also do we like the second person pov or is third person better? lmk. mwah.

tag: @reddeadsredhead for the idea 🥹 bless 🤎🙏

[heartthrobxhook]

@lostxndbroken Aelric and Dark One Killian

Twenty years ago Killian Jones the dread pirate Captain Hook had killed the Dark One Rumplestiltskin. In that moment a shockwave of shadow magic erupted through the dark forest for miles, an elvan town outside the forest getting caught within this. The shadows clung to everything like a blite, an evil curse that killed many like a plague but there was one child that the shadows liked and latched onto him like a parasite being carried around. Killian was completely unaware of the effects of the burst of shadow magic outside the castle at the moment of killing Rumple for he had taken the brunt of it. There always had to be a Dark One in existence when they were killed, the killer would then become the new Dark One. Inheriting the magic and wisdom of all the Dark Ones pasts.

In these past two decades Killian had fallen into the role of the Dark One quite well, but in his own style of flair. He didn't wait to be summoned for deals or spending his days hiding in the castle in the dark forest like Rumple had. No, he spent much of his time in the large town of Baldur's Gate. People deeply feared the Dark One no matter who it was, though the devilishly handsome pirate was far more visually appealing than the crocodile-skinned warlock that the previous one had been. The Dark One would strut the street, doing as he pleased and going where he wanted. The crowds always parted for him and the terrified people would bow their heads and avoid direct eye contact, not wanting to be cursed with the shadows or simply stabbed with that wicked hook.

Each Dark One normally had their own dagger, one with runes and their name engraved on it. Killian used his power to shape it into a hook to wear. Of course with his magic he can have his left hand back any time he pleased now, but he had been Captain Hook for most of his life it was who he was and who he'd remain. Places he frequented often would address him as Captain in formal ways and Hook casually, they didn't have as much to fear from him as long as he was served and not disrespected. But the general population that did fear him always referred to him as the Dark One.

While in the market square this morning Killian stood at a jeweler's stall that was set up just in front of a gypsy styled carriage. He was picking up necklaces, draping them over his hook as he examined them closely. The Dark Ones loved gold and treasures similar to a dragon, the sight, the smell, the feel of gold, all of it. There was no one better that could spot fakes. A small deal he had made with the gypsy woman a year ago that he would make sure people didn't scam her with fakes and he could have his pick of his favorites, the three rings he wore on his right hand being some of those.

As he was inspecting the golden braided chain his shadows vibrated with excitement that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His shadow magic was like their own living entity and it currently sensed something nearby, like a piece of itself nearby or that of an old friend. Killian lifted his gaze to look in the direction his shadows were itching to go and saw a half elf that had a similar aura to himself, but nowhere near as powerful. He chuckled and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Go say hello." He said like a parent letting their child run off to go play. His literal shadow on the ground suddenly became black ghostly cloud shaped mass about the size of a house cat floating just off the ground, the shadow darted over to the half elf with incredible speed to join his shadows that too rose off the ground. All now swirling together excitedly around the half elf's boots like a small storm of black mist.

[swiftlymoniquesblog]

Gorgeous- Tim Bradford x Reader: Chapter 1

Warnings: Tim being a bit of an ass but that's what he does, alight fluff

Word Count: 1,554

Being a police officer was all I ever wanted to do. I was a legacy officer; my grandfather, my father, and if my parents had a boy, it would’ve been him, but they had me so naturally it was destined for me to become an officer too. Not that I ever wanted to do anything else; policing was always so fascinating. I spent countless hours watching body camera footage from my dad, reality shows, and documentaries; anything to learn the job without being on the job. Finally, the summer after my 27th birthday, I applied and got into the newest police academy at the Los Angeles Police Department. Okay, so it took longer than I initially planned, especially because my dad thought it would be a good idea to have a degree in criminal justice as a “backup plan” just in case something happened while being on patrol. So, after high school, I went straight into college and got both an associate's and bachelor’s degree in criminal justice. Then grandpa died and it shook all of us for a good year until Dad was finally on board for me to join the LAPD. And that brings me to today, sitting with the other rookies at a table, away from everyone else and in front of the class, waiting for my first briefing for duty at the Mid-Wilshire Division. I watched as the room filled with other officers and detectives, all of whom paid no attention to me. Twiddling my thumbs, two Sergeants came into the room and settled the room down: finally. 

“Alright quiet down. Looks like we have fresh meat here today,” one Sergeant said looking at my table. Please stand and introduce yourselves, your badge numbers, and a brief reason why you joined the LAPD. One by one, my other colleagues gave their speeches before it was my turn. 

“Hi, I’m Officer (Y/F/N) Jones, badge number 787, and uh, I became an officer because it’s all I wanted to do since I was born. Guess that happens when you’re a legacy,” I say and sit back down. 

“Ah yes, granddaughter of Captain Robert Jones and daughter of Lieutenant Justin Jones. Just because you’re a legacy, don’t expect to climb the ranks quickly. Both your father and grandfather sat where you do now to get to where they are. They both busted their asses and proved themselves. Remember, you’re a rookie at the bottom of the food chain here. Respect isn’t given, it's earned.” The second Sergeant said, shooting a devilishly handsome glare back to me. 

“Sergeant Bradford is right, you have to prove yourselves to get any kind of respect around here, is that understood?” Sergeant Gray, whom we later learned his name was, said and we all agreed. 

“Good. Now onto business. Detectives Harper and Lopez need our assistance identifying new suspects in relation to a series of unsolved murders in the last two months. Ladies?” 

“We don’t have a primary suspect as of today, but we are finding more leads, and we need help questioning people. There’s supposed to be a sale going down in Griffith Park, so we need all hands on deck,” Detective Lopez explained. 

“Rookies, this is a good day for you, ideal for learning. And with that, assignments. Walters will go with Nolan; Rodriguez will be with me and Jones you’ll ride with Sergeant Bradford. That is all; be safe out there.” Everyone leaves and walks over to their training officers. 

“Sergeant Bradford, I’m,” I’m cut off before I can finish.

“I don’t care who you are. You’re my boot, a rookie, bottom of the totem pole. You will not speak unless spoken to. Understood?” He says, and I’m afraid to answer him at first. “You can speak,” he snaps at me before I answer. 

“Y-yes Sir.”

“Good, follow me,” he says and walks off. “This is our shop, not a car, not a ride, shop. Each shift, you will prepare our shop. You will check the backseat to make sure nothing was left behind and if there was, you did something wrong. You will need to process it and add it to your report. You will need to grab all our gear and load it into the trunk before each shift,” he finishes his rules before telling me where I need to unless go to get gear.

“Sarge, where do I go to get the gear?” I ask and immediately regret it. 

“Didn’t I just tell you not to speak you are spoken to?” He says but proceeds to show me where to go. “Follow the other Rookies and they will tell you what to do. Be back here in five.” 

I see my fellow academy class over at the firearms counter and watch as they ask for equipment for the respective T.O. I follow their leads and gather up everything for Sergeant Bradford and myself. 

“Man, I love Nolan! He’s so cool and laid back,” Officer Walters says.

“Shit, you’re lucky. Bradford is tough!” I say, rolling my eyes in the process. 

“Just don’t let him hear you say that” Rodriguez adds. 

“Right, I just don’t know why he hates me already.” 

“Don’t take anything Tim says personally. He was hard on me when I first started. He just wants to make sure you’re fully prepared for what you can expect out there.” A voice from nearby says. We all look over to see Officer Chen leaning against the doorframe that leads to the garage. 

“Bradford was your t.o?” I ask.

“He was. He’s tough and he will push you to limits but all to make you a good officer. If he pushes you a little too much, just text me; he has a soft spot for me.” Officer Chen says, handing me her card. 

“Thank you,” I say. 

“Boot, let’s go!” Sergeant Bradford yells and I scurry off to the shop. I took off all the equipment that I gathered for our shift and dropped it all in the back of the shop. 

“Be careful with the equipment, Boot! It’s expensive.” 

“Sorry, Sir,”  I say before heading to the driver’s side of the shop. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Driving?”

“Oh no, you don’t get to drive this early. You must earn it.”I was shocked that I wasn’t able to drive this early like the rest of my academy did, but not working with Sergeant Bradford. 

“Seriously?” I complained.

Tim’s deadpan expression gave me a chill so I knew he meant business.

“I don’t joke about this stuff, Boot,” his voice was thick with seriousness with a touch of annoyance. 

“Yes Sir,” I say, biting some skin from the corner of my thumb. Suddenly the shop stopped short causing both of us to jolt forward.

“Quick, where are you?” Sergeant Bradford asked. 

“Uh,” I said, looking around.

“What street are we on?” Bradford asks.

“I think Marlow?” 

“You think? What if you needed backup, how are they going to get to you if you don’t know where you are? You need to know you’re location at all times, Boot! This could be a matter of life and death!” He says, growing more frustrated as he talks. 

“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well if you’re out on a call alone, you could be in serious trouble if you can’t get the help you need.”

I gasped, the realization of the seriousness of the situation hitting me; he was right. 

“I-I didn’t think of that,” I say, my voice breaking and barely louder than a whisper. 

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” Tim said, his voice suddenly softer.

For the first time since we met, Sergeant Bradford was showing me compassion. I offered him a small smile before he drove to the end of the street and I took note of where we were. I could feel a smile on Sarge’s face as he noticed that I was starting to take things more seriously. Throughout our shift, I kept quiet, looking and watching, and only answering questions when asked. Surprisingly, the day didn’t have too many crazy calls and before I knew it, the shift was over. We drove the shop into the garage and I unloaded all our gear.

“Hey Boot,” Sergeant Bradford said when I walked back into the station. 

“Yes Sir?” I ask, trying to make sure I pay full attention.

“So you’re first day although was very rough in the beginning, you did well in the end. Just don’t get used to the compliments because from now on, it’s only going to get harder.”

“Understood Sarge, thank you,” I say and head into the locker room.

“So, how was the first shift?” Officer Chen asked. 

“Honestly, Sergeant Bradford is scary! He yelled at me several times and made me feel like I had no idea what I was doing like I was incompetent!” I said to Lucy, and she just chuckled. “But then something happened. I guess he had sympathy for me because I was getting super hard on myself and he-he had compassion. His voice lowered and he even smiled a bit at me.” 

“Wow, I guess you made an impression on Tim and that’s very rare. Good for you,” Lucy says. “Now pack up your things and don’t stay out too late; we have an early shift in the morning.” 

Next Chapter

[valorant-reverie]

Malevolent - Tricks & Treats

What comes after. Arthur and John want to give Faroe a suitably exciting Halloween. A gift for @lighthouseshepard.

(Posted this yesterday but forgot to put it here! Please enjoy my first published piece for this fandom, with hopefully more to come.)

“I feel ridiculous.”

Arthur practically hears the pout in John’s voice, and cannot help the peal of laughter coaxed out of him as he smooths his hands over silk. If the gesture straightens out the mustard yellow waistcoat at all, he cannot see to tell. But it must offer some comfort as John’s broad form immediately seems less tense under his palms.

“I am sure you pull it off very handsomely, John - or should I say, sheriff,” he reassures further, his fingers finding and readjusting the plastic star pinned to John’s chest, “and I doubt Faroe would want you to look silly.”

John huffs. “You do. Look a little silly, that is.”

An affronted scoff, all for show, and Arthur lifts a hand to feel out the right horn on his hood. Confident that the drooping article is upright at least for now, he cocks his hip to the side and grins. “I do? What, you don’t find me devilishly attractive in this get up?”

He feels the horn flop to the side after all, and that eventuality paired with the awful line earns a real laugh from John, bemused as ever by the man in front of him.

“You are always attractive to me, Arthur,” he insists, in the plain and factual way that still makes Arthur a little giddy to hear, “but the tail dangling from your waist does somewhat… offset your usual charm.”

Arthur waves a hand dismissively and opens his mouth to say something else when he hears the dainty click clack of small heeled boots on the wooden floorboards. John squeezes his shoulder once in confirmation he did not require - it’s her - and then he hears a timid voice call from the doorway.

“What do you think, John?” Faroe asks, in her sweet polite voice, the same one that has both her father and their dearest friend wrapped tightly around her little finger.

There is a rustle of fabric, presumably Faroe turning on the spot to show off her costume.  John moves away, and Arthur wishes - not for the first time - that he could see the two of them together. He remembers Faroe distinctly even as other faces have faded from his memory, and he has an educated guess as to what John looks like based on extensive descriptions and his own explorations by hand and by mouth. But his heart aches because he cannot see as John kneels down to tuck a few coppery curls behind Faroe’s ear before nodding once, and she in turn pauses to tug at the rim of his cowboy hat so it sits straight on his tumbling dark hair.

“Perfect,” John assures her with a smile in his voice, and then there is another shift of fabric, him returning back to Arthur and placing a hand on his arm to steer him closer, “and shall I tell your father how you look?”

“Yes!” she exclaims - Arthur hears her hop on the spot with delight and feels his eyes prickle. 

“Very well. Arthur, it seems that Faroe is dressed as a witch. She has a pointed hat with a buckle on it, and she is wearing a black and white dress with a matching cape, and a woven basket for our…”

“Trick or treating!” Faroe hastily picks up where John has left off in his lacking knowledge, clearly unable to hold in her excitement for a moment longer, “Mrs Foster downstairs said I looked darling, and she gave me a Big Hunk bar!”

The chuckle that leaves John at the unusual name of the candy is quickly stifled by the alarmingly well-aimed jab of Arthur’s elbow in his ribs, and hidden poorly behind a cough into his fist.

“Yes, well, we’d best get going. Don’t want to miss the parade.” Arthur says, with John’s hand guiding him through the apartment in pursuit of Faroe even though he could navigate the space with ease by now. His apparent difficulties in seeing meant that most people look upon the two of them touching in public with pity rather than disgust, and while John would appreciate if people chose not to perceive them at all, one is far more preferable than the other - especially when a glance of any kind is quickly dismissed by the burning gaze of one Miss Faroe Lester, who is at once her family’s staunchest defender and most vocal member.

***

Even without his sight, Arthur realises how loud it all is. John seems to have acclimated to the constant roar of the city from dawn to dusk, almost taking a sort of comfort in the empty noise that uncountable cars and people and movement brought with them. But this is too much even for Arthur, and he cannot see any of it. There is music, different songs playing both nearby and further away. Food of all kinds emit their tempting aromas into the evening air, intermingling with exhaust fumes and smog and the distant promise of greenery from Central Park not quite smothered by the scent of civilisation. Children laugh and scream, and adults murmur as their charges dart around their legs, bustling and pushing.

Arthur feels Faroe press in between them. He also feels as John stands taller; before he had been hunched, as if shrinking down could ward off the assault of sound and sight and smells, but Faroe’s uncertainty seems to give him new purpose. Drawn up to his full height, Arthur has an empirically proven suspicion that John cuts quite the intimidating figure, the sharp brim of his hat and the flattering definition of his fitted shirt and waistcoat around his wide frame lending credence to his wild western persona for the night.

“Stay close to me.” John says, just loudly and authoritatively enough for both Faroe and her father to hear over the din of the crowds. Both of them are steadied by the words.

“The parade should be starting soon,” Arthur adds - he feels John guide them up a short set of stairs, presumably to a better viewpoint than standing at street level, “so we can see that and then go home, alright?”

“Will I get candy from back here?” Faroe asks. She is determined in her objective even in the face of her fear, even more so as Arthur feels the knock of her body against his, John hoisting her up so she is nestled between their torsos rather than caught between their legs.

“I am sure you will,” John reassures her in his most serious voice, “especially seeing as you are by far the best dressed witch I have seen all night.”

Arthur’s heart soars as he hears Faroe giggle beside him. He would have once done terrible things to bear witness to her joy just once more. Arguably, he had done terrible things to do so. But that past feels so blissfully far away when the man he loves - who once was not a man at all, but something so unfathomable that he still cannot define it - can create that joy for the daughter he never thought he would get to hold again.

He presses close. Faroe’s arm loops in a claim around his shoulders, anchoring the three of them together with John holding her so assuredly. Nothing could hope to separate them.

***

Hours later, when the night sky is rebelliously dark in spite of light pollution from the city below, and all the little monsters of New York slumber soundly in their beds, Arthur and John sit side by side on the couch. Arthur is in his nightshirt, forsaking any semblance of manners to stretch his thin legs out over John’s lap. John reads aloud, still dressed, though his waistcoat has been abandoned and his shirt is undone by a few buttons. His voice is soft and melodious as it once was echoing in Arthur’s head, even with the seasonally spooky subject matter he reads.

“It is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles. And yet when King Laugh come, he make them all dance to the tune he play,” John reads, “Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all dance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him.”

Arthur chuckles, then yawns, drawing John’s gaze from the pages of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. “Sounds a little too close to home, doesn’t it?”

“Like the King in Yellow, you mean?” John asks.

His solemn tone indicates that he has not received the revelation with the same humour that Arthur originally intended, and so he reaches out, one scarred hand carefully smoothing down John’s shoulder when he finds it.

“Sorry, dear heart,” he murmurs, “I was only teasing. Not the sort of thing to tease about though, is it? Forgive me. The festivities have clouded my judgement.”

“It’s alright,” John says with a sigh, “Perhaps we should… save the rest of it. For another time.”

Arthur nods. “If you like. Are you tired?”

“No.”

“Oh? Are you… distracted?” Arthur presses further. His hand lifts from John’s shoulder, rising to cradle the strong jaw that his teeth suddenly ache for.

John leans into his palm, eyes fluttering closed, a soft sound drawn from him at the tender touch.

“No,” he repeats, and then huffs before adding, “but I should like to be, I think.”

Unable to resist that offer, Arthur pulls his legs back from resting atop of John only to cross the distance to him, his knees on either side of thick thighs and a heat that draws Arthur back like a moth to flame again and again. Both palms cradle John’s face this time, and he leans down to bump their noses together, the promise of pilfered candy sweetening the air between them and tempting them all the more.

“Well, you know what they say.” Arthur murmurs, already grinning.

John tenses for a moment as if anticipating whatever is about to come from Arthur’s mouth. “What do they say?”

“Save a horse, ride a--”

He is silenced, thankfully, by a kiss.

[jessjustplay]

Currently Playing Final Fantasy XVI - 40 hours update (Part 1)

June 21, 2025

So much has happened since the last update. We visited a completely new area and progressed the other plot lines for the story.

You can't live in the past, no matter how nice it might've been.

It was cool to see that the emperor dude uses astrologers. I have been reading some historical fiction by Philippa Gregory which are set in the English royal courts of the 1400s and 1500s so her books and this game have a similar time era. The kings and dukes in the books I read also used astrologers.

I've been doing more side quests now, ever since I got a chocobo I realized I need to be doing them all. This one gave more information about bearers and their brand.

"The brand is more than just ink on flesh. It's a death sentence - milk of the wyvern tail lurking below the surface of the skin. One ill-conceived incision - a single slip - and the poison fouls the patient's blood. Failure means death." (Tarja or Clive?)

"The day I decided that I would take Cid's name was the same day Tarja took my brand. He always led from the front..." - Clive talking about how he felt like he had to get rid of the brand if he was going to start using Cid's name.

"Since then, Bearers have only ever had two choices: court the crystals' curse in service of their masters, or defy the brand and suffer the wyvern's wrath..." - Tarja

SO THIS INTERESTING INFO! The brand is a mark of enslavement (which has been obvious so far, I know) but Tarja putting it in an "A or B" option really hits home how difficult it is to be a bearer.

Hello Final Fantasy XII?? Felt like I was in the Dalmasca desert. Interestingly enough, Final Fantasy XII has a kingdom called Rozarria... that's a discussion for another day.

Dalimil Inn. This location was beautiful.

Clive's uncle is SO annoying.

Finally found out her name is Jote. I like her.

Interesting character.

"You and I have more in common than you might think. Not only are we both masters of the blade - and devilishly handsome to boot - but we are both the second people to bear our respective names."

Okay I admit, this made me laugh and it was the only time I liked Clive's uncle. Cahoots is such a funny word.

Okay Final Fantasy XIII??? Also what language is that lol

I think this sums up Clive's main objective. To get rid of the Mothercrystals so that people stop depending on them so much. We see this play out later in the game when people are marching towards Bokad to get into the Crystalline Dominion because they "need" more crystals. Clive says it's "because they don't know how to live without their crystals blessings."

It's almost like an addictive drug. A reliance. It's giving wifi dependence tbh lol I can easily imagine people moving to different locations if their wifi service in their area disappeared.

This random NPC was actually bigger than Clive which I thought was funny.

The water was overheating and the culprit was a bunch of bombs. LOL

He said it, not me.

I fight to build a new world now. A better world, where men can live and die on their own terms. - Clive

I think this was after Clive's uncle said that he (Clive) could take back the Rosarian throne. But Clive doesn't want it.

The views in this location are incredible!

Kupka, you have a beautiful home.

Who is this again? lol I just remember he is the one who picked up Kupka from our first battle. And then he is seen later talking to Barnabas, King of Waloed.

He really fell for Benedikta, huh?

Let the flames burn within you! - Clive

Battle 1 - Ifrit vs. Titan

Battle 2 - Ifrit vs. Titan

Battle 3 - Ifrit vs. Titan

3 battles!? Back to back!? Are they crazy!? This was intense. The 1st and 3rd battles were pretty "normal", but the 2nd battle had a different angle that was weird at first but thankfully when Ifrit shot his the fireballs they were still reaching Titan. I would have been mad if they fell down and "missed." I ended up dying in the 3rd battle with a Game Over but THANKFULLY when I clicked the "retry" button (or whatever it says) it restarted me at the 3rd battle and I was all healed up with my 6 heals back.

And to anyone who thinks that's weird or "bad" of the game... are you dumb? I value my time so the fact I didn't have to redo the first 2 battles was such a relief!

We saw Ultima again after the fight.

"With every sip you take, you grow in strength. And soon you shall achieve perfection." - Ultima

WHAT PERFECTION?

"You will accept us, Mythos. It is inevitable. You were created for this purpose. And you shall serve it." - Ultima

The other dude from above also calls Clive "Mythos"... what's that about!

"We see now. Human will is so insubstantial, it cannot exist in isolation. You mitigate its weakness by interweaving it with your consciousness. We believed we had merely to purge you of your will to claim our vessel. It appears we first have to sever every thread of the consciousness that supports it." - Ultima

OUR VESSEL? So this "body" that we see is obviously not what Ultima really looks like? It must just be a physical form for Clive (and us) to see.

"No matter. The time to build a new world is not yet upon us. We will contemplate..." - Ultima

It feels like this game has 3 major plots:

1. Clive wanting to destroy the Mothercrystals to create a new world, mostly because it was Cid's goal and he is carrying that responsibility now. I count Jill and everyone at the Hideaway part of this plot.

2. Dion/Sanbreque/Empire trying to take over, Dion dealing with being part of the family but maybe possibly not agreeing with his father's goals. I think Barnabas/the Royalists/Waloed fit in this plot because I think they both want to control the land. And I guess shove the Dhalmekian Republic in here too.

3. Ultima trying to control Mythos, who is inside Clive? Phoenix/Joshua is part of this, mostly wanting to stop Ultima.

OKAY THIS LITTLE GIRL, WHO IS SHE? I have seen her so many times. She is always around, trying to sell medicine, dealing with the destruction or violence in the places she's at. It is such an interesting perspective shift and I like that they've consistently been showing her around. !!! WHAT IS HER NAME !!!?

Click here for Part 2 update.