#sal s&m

[aiiaiiiyo]

[llimerrence]

One of my favorite things about logging onto tumblr at the end of the day is seeing Sal talk about some fandom I don’t have the slightest idea or really interest In. I read every post. I’m sitting there just like “oh my god, yes. What else?” As I shove popcorn in my mouth. Other people post like that too, of course, but Sal does it the most often.

But just. Logging in, seeing other people’s interests, getting all the out of context info, and just watching them enjoy themselves??? My favorite part of tumblr

[carolmunson]

how to train your wyvern

sadist!eddie x f!masochist!reader desc: when bratting becomes intentional disrespect, eddie has to go to new measures to make sure you stay in line.

cw: minors dni, smut, d/s dyanmics, spanking, slapping, spanking (with hands/with implements), degradation, humiliation, mean names, pet names, pet play (but not the mainstay of the fic), references to other women, emotional sadism, physical sadism, p in a (f receiving), fingering (f receving), oral (m receiving), mmf threesome, spitroasting, facials, rice kneeling, mouth soaping

He could take it to some extent, a little smart remark, a mean joke here and there. A sarcastic reply to a question with an obvious answer. That was fine, nothing a little stern look couldn’t quell. But every now and again there would be nothing he could do and it would drive him fucking insane.

You’d been bratting for days, and nothing — nothing, was working. 

It started last week and some change ago when you decided to invite yourself over after his mid-day shift at the garage. He was exhausted, but he still had to fix a pipe under the bathroom sink that hadn’t stopped dripping – and also repair the cabinet door that he slammed off the hinges when he was annoyed about the broken pipe. 

Normally, having you around after a stressful shift was nice for him. You’d fawn over him, make him dinner, get him a drink, rub his shoulders – suck him off, if he asked. This night was different, you clambered into the trailer and snapped the door behind you, cheeks bitten by the cold and snow in your hair.

“What’s your problem?” he asked softly from the kitchen, cracking a beer open and quickly catching the foam off the top of the can. 

“You forgot to pick me up on your way home,” you huff, “I had to take the bus and then walk.” 

His eyes widened, suddenly remembering that your car was in the shop. He wasn’t working on it, so it slipped his mind, “Oh honey, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to forget. Sal’s working on your car so y’know it just – out of sight, out of mind.” 

He puts the beer on the table and takes your coat from you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His warm lips sooth your snow soaked face, but the frustration still remains. 

“Why didn’t you just call?” he asks, seeing the furrow on your brow still stuck in place, “I would’ve come to pick you up.”

“I shouldn’t have to remind you,” you grumble, “You’re such an airhead sometimes.” 

“Hey,” his voice isn’t gruff or mad, more hurt than anything, “It was an accident, you don’t have to say shit like that.” 

You take a breath, pushing it out of your lips, mulling over whether the insult was worth it, “Sorry, that was mean. I’m just cold and annoyed.” 

His lips press against your cold cheek this time, “It’s okay. Um, get yourself cozy – I gotta fix the sink in the bathroom.” 

Your face falls, “Oh.” 

His face falls too, “What’s wrong?” 

“I just – I came all the way over here and we’re not even gonna hang out,” you frown. 

“It won’t take me that long, baby. I just have to fix the sink and the cabinet and then I’m done,” he explains while you kick your shoes off. Your eyes roll dramatically when he mentions the cabinet. 

“So first it’s just the sink, then it’s the sink and cabinet. You’ll finish those and go ‘Oh let me work on the leak in the shower, let me WD40 the door’, you always do that. You start a project and then start fifty of them and I just sit here,” you huff. 

He juts his lower lip out in a teasing frown, “Aw, so sorry I wanna make the place habitable, honey.”

When you don’t crack a smile his shoulders fall, “I promise I won’t be long. You can even sit in there with me while I work on it if you want.” 

“You hate when I do that. When I hover,” you say. Eddie smiles, pressing kisses to your cheeks while he pulls you in to hold you close to him. 

“So it must mean I missed you all day today if I want you to hover when I fix the sink, huh?” he jokes. You relent, giving into his kisses, and his warm chest, and the caress of the tendrils of hair falling out of the low bun on his head onto your nose. 

It’s not long before you're sitting on the shut toilet seat and he’s half concealed in the cabinet, t-shirt riding up while he lies on his back. You’re not focusing on what he’s telling you, something about his day or a customer. Something about Dustin and the new one shot they were putting together next week. All you were focused on was the sliver of his belly peeking out of his shirt, begging to be touched. Begging to be squeezed. You slowly get to your knees and sink onto the fuzzy dark green bath mat by his hips, reaching out slowly to graze your fingers over his happy trail. 

“Jesus!” he shouts, body jumping, a loud CLANG! sounding as a result of him dropping whatever tool and part he had in his hands. 

You laugh, “Oh no, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

He shimmies out of the cabinet with a small red cut gleaming on his forehead, “Babe you can’t do that while I’m working. That’s so dangerous.” 

“I got bored, you were looking so cute. How could I resist?” you ask, “Let me look at your head, I’m sorry.” 

You peer at the little cut, it’ll definitely heal in the next day or so, but it’s enough that he’s wincing when you go near it. 

“Don’t be such a baby,” you tut, pressing a kiss just next to it, “Is that better?” 

“Yeah, it’s better,” he smiles, “But please, I’m barely balancing this tubing in my hands – no distractions please.” 

“Fine,” you say sweetly while he lays back under the cabinet. You wait a moment before your hand reaches out again to drag your finger over a clothed rib. 

His body tenses, “I’m not kidding, baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, “I’m just fucking with you, I promise. You’re just so cute when you’re mad.” 

You let him continue, back to his original one sided conversation where he starts explaining the Wyvern appearing in the campaign and all the differences between a dragon and a Wyvern. Your eyes glaze over and your hand reaches out for a third time, sliding a finger at the top of his jeans to trace the waistband of his boxers. You hear him huff angrily in the cabinet, face hidden by the door.

“I asked you to stop, baby, please,” he urges again, “I had a long day.” 

You roll your eyes, standing up and slapping on the cold water in the sink before you walk out of the bathroom, “Whatever.” 

He emerges a few moments later, fuming, soaked, brows furrowed – almost teary with frustration. He wanted an apology but he never got one, opting to put you over his knee so you’d learn a lesson that would sting well into the next day – but it was a lesson that wouldn’t quite stick. 

After his show at The Hideout he’d pulled you onto his lap in one of the booths with the rest of the band. They’d rehearsed all week, canceling two date nights at the last minute in lieu of the show – and the practice was worth it. They got the whole crowd jumping this time, even if it was just thirty to forty people. His hand slid over your thigh, back and forth to bring down his speeding adrenaline, the smoothness of your worn jeans soothing him. He talked over you in conversation, leaning forward past your shoulders to interject. You huffed dejectedly, sulking into resting your chin on your hands with your elbows on the table. Tensing when a group of girls came over to join their after show debrief. 

After all the introductions they start talking music, the girls giggling and smiling. You’re not mean, so you indulge in the conversation – but that grating happy, bubbly friendly voice behind you booms over yours, his chest vibrating against your back when he speaks. “So who’s band is it? Who’s the brains of the operation?” one of the girls asks, glossed lips shining in the low light. The boys clamber to answer for each other, all attesting that the band is theirs as a group, no one’s the head, they all make their own decisions – but they’re all talking over each other.

“It’s obviously Jeff, he’s lead guitar,” you piped up, “It’s Gareth and Jeff.” 

“Isn’t Eddie the lead?” one of the girls laughed, her painted nails tinkling against the glass of her beer. 

“You asked who the brains was. Look at this guy, he look brainy to you?” you tease, running a hand through his curls. The table laughs, including Eddie whose cheeks are tinged red, but his grip on your thigh tightens under the booth. Excuse me?

To add insult to injury, you took his half finished beer out of his hand, taking a few sips to finish it  while your empty bottle stood at the center of the table. You felt his chest press up against your back, leaning forward towards one of the girls sitting next to him, “S’cuse me, we’re just gonna go grab another drink.” 

“Sorry!” she says, scooching out of the way while Ed nudges you forward to get out. You know he doesn’t really want another drink, he just wants to be mean to you. You know you’re riling him up in the way that he likes, you’ve been waiting for this all week. 

“You think you’re bein’ cute tonight?” he says to you when his calloused fingers wrap around your forearm, walking you towards the bar, “Last week wasn’t enough? Want me to make it worse this time?” 

“I think I’m being funny,” you shrug, “Everyone else thinks so.” 

“Yeah, you’re real funny,” he rolls his eyes, ordering another beer that you snatch before he can grab it. 

“Not an eye roll, baby,” you smirk while you take a sip of the beer, “You’re so bratty tonight.” 

“You’re one smart comment away from me taking you home,” he warns. You can see from the glint in his eye that he’s still buzzing from the show and there’s only one way for him to get relief from it. It normally ends with you sobbing on his bed, tied up and begging for more of whatever pain he feels like dishing out.

“Ooh, you’re so tough, Ed,” you tease back at him. His jaw clenches while you drink the beer he just bought. He snarls when he gets you home, shoving you into the bedroom, pulling your clothes off while he berates you over and over again. Lips and teeth gnashing, kissing, biting, growling over you while he does it. But you didn’t give in, you couldn’t. His frustration was too delicious. You didn’t cry when he paddled you, you didn’t even make a sound that resembled unhappiness. You just alternated between pouting and smirking, little remarks pouring out of your mouth with your moans. Every burning strike making you jump and keen and purr.  Eventually he gave up, resorting to a long lecture about bratting and boundaries while you both showered and got ready for bed. He counted every eye roll. Seventeen. 

Two days ago, you dropped off some lunch for him at work and normally he’d melt at the gesture, but he knows why you did it. This was the incident that made it clear that all your behavior had been intentional. Still mad about your two previous punishments you showed up in the one dress you’re not allowed to wear to the auto shop. The hem was a hair too short, bending over would put on a whole show to whoever was looking, and boy, were the guys at work looking. The fabric was light and fluttery, one gust of wind would send it up like Marilyn’s. With the right bra, your chest would heave out of it, but even braless it held you in place just right. It was his favorite dress on you – just for him. 

His jaw clenched when he saw you walk in, leaning suggestively over the front desk to ask where he was. The guys snickered and leered at you, elbowing each other to get the other’s attention. You didn’t even bother to wear tights. Everyone would see the leftover welts from a couple nights ago if the wind blew into the shop the wrong way.

Before making eye contact with Ed, you looked back at them and waved, smiling, working the sway of your hips into your walk. Your knee high boots clicked on the smoothed over cement floor while you approached him. He was found leaning up against a car he just finished working on, wiping his greased hands off on a rag, his face unimpressed with you. Now normally, this is whatever, Eddie’s used to you getting attention from guys. But at work it was different because even though they ogled, the minute you left they’d start to shit on him. 

You let your girl walk around like that? Act like that? 

You must be real pussywhipped Munson.

Gotta make her behave when she’s got an ass like that on her.

You never settin’ any ground rules? 

Better put a ring on her finger before I do. 

“C’mere, wanna talk to you for a second,” he said calmly nodding you over to him, slinging the rag over his shoulder. It was unfortunate how fucking hot he looked at work, even more so when he was disappointed. Old t-shirt covered in oil and grease stains, sweat collecting in some spots, clinging to him. His cover all opened and hanging open at his waist, boots shining in the industrial light. 

“Aw, what is it babe? You look so upset,” you mocked him loud enough for everyone to hear, lips in an exaggerated pout, “What’s got you so mad? I wore your favorite dress.” 

“Yeah! Don’t be so pissy, Munson,” his co-worker joked, “She wore your favorite dress.”

Eddie ticked his head over to the back room where the guys took their breaks, implying he wants you to follow him. You click behind him, giggling at the guys comments, joking back with them, tossing little waves their way until Eddie shuts the door behind you. 

He walks slowly over to the coffee pot set up, pouring himself a cup and turning to lean against the counter. He takes a sip, watching you over the edge of the mug. His stare makes you shift uncomfortably, his calmness was sometimes more terrifying than his rage. 

“We’ve had a big talk about this dress, baby.” 

“The weather’s nice,” you said softly, crossing your arms. 

“It’s January,” he deadpans, he takes another sip of coffee, “S’there something you need to talk to me about? You’ve had this lil’ attitude all week. Now you’re bringin’ it to my job? That’s not fair.” “I don’t have an attitude,” your tone is petty and touchy, “You’re just being sensitive.” 

He nods while he puts the mug down, voice still measured, “I really hate taking this mean guy thing into our real life, sweetheart – but you’re really not leaving me any choices. Is gettin’ spanked not enough for you? Am I not gettin’ that ass red enough to teach you a lesson?” 

“You’re not even good at it,” you lie, tossing his lunch on the table in front of you. 

“I’ll remember that,” he says with a smug smile, “Thanks for lunch. I’ll see you when I get home.” 

He approaches you slowly, hand reaching around to grab your ass to pull you in close to him. You whine at the grip over your welts from the other night and he snickers into his goodbye kiss. His stubble grates against your cheeks while he holds you in place to slide his tongue into your mouth, just enough to leave you wanting more. 

“Bye, princess – love you,” he lilts, letting go of you to grab his lunch and sauntering out of the room. 

The caning he administered that night was brutal, but you still didn’t cry. You yelped and whined, you begged him to stop, you called him all his favorite names to get him to go easier on you. He called your safe word after ten minutes – scared that you were too caught up in the challenge of not giving into him that you’d ignore your own safety. After making sure you were okay, he took his pillow and slept on the couch. 

He canceled your date night last night to work on the finishing touches of the one shot campaign he and Dustin had been working on for their monthly group ‘catch up’ at Steve’s. When he picked you up earlier this morning your attitude had nearly tripled in spice. Every word out of your mouth was a quick whip of the tongue. 

“Baby, please,” he begs, “Please just let me have one good day. Can we please have a good day?” 

You don’t reply, hopping out of the van and slamming the door behind you. He gets in front of you before you get to the door, eyes pleading while he leans in for a kiss that you don’t return, “Bub, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m just – I’m so tired. Can you please just be nice?” 

“What are you talking about?” you ask sweetly, a sliver of sarcasm in your tone, “I’m so nice.” 

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t start.” 

Steve opens the door before you can ring the bell, running a hand through his hair and dropping it into his pocket, “Surprised you didn’t break the window with how hard you slammed the door.” 

“It was the wind,” you lie, “Took it right out of my hands.” 

You brush past him and ignore Eddie’s gentle reach for your hand, heading straight to the dining room to hang out with Robin and Nancy while the ‘kids’ set up their game in the living room. 

“You look beat,” Steve says to Eddie while Ed kicks his shoes off, “You okay?” 

“Something’s been up with her this week,” he huffs, “Longer than a week, even. M’so tired of her attitude, it’s getting out of hand.” 

“Did you talk to her about it?” Steve asks, watching as Ed rifles through his backpack to pull out his binder full of DM documents and his pencil case. 

“I keep trying,” he shrugs, “I’ve given her more than enough chances to talk to me about it. Even playing hasn’t gotten her to open up and normally y’know, once the water works start and she’s had a rough week she’s all out with it. It’s all about that release with us, does that make sense?” 

He sighs while Steve nods along with his rant, “And instead she showed up at my work the other day just to piss me off. Wearing her little dress, showin’ off to all the guys. After we went through the whole trust chat and everything, after the scene – which I had to cut short cause she just didn’t even cry? Wild. After the scene she told me she did it on purpose – as if that wasn’t already clear, but I didn’t need her to confirm it, y’know?”  

He stands up, flipping open the binder and making sure everything is accounted for. Steve chuckles to himself, leading him to the kitchen to grab them both a drink. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Ed grins down at the paper, “I’m not like you, I just know how to smack her around. You like all that mean girl shit.” 

“It works. You want me to step in while the game’s going?” Steve asks. Eddie takes a breath, hearing your happy laugh bubble out from the dining room. He savors the sound for a moment – the smiliest you’ve sounded in days – and shakes his head no. 

“Nah, it’s not worth it,” he says while he heads out, meeting the group in the living room. 

After a couple of hours they took a break. It was always an all day affair, stopping to catch up with each other, getting lost in conversations. Eddie walked by you in the kitchen, hand plopping itself on your head while you reached into the fridge to get a beer. 

“Hey, I’d prefer you didn’t,” he softly suggests, “You’re just gonna get mean.” 

“I’m not gonna get mean.” You roll your eyes when he gets between you and the fridge. 

“I said no,” he reminds you gently, “Please? I’m not drinking either. You’re already in whatever mood you’ve been forever – getting drunk s’just gonna feed it. Can I get you something else?” 

“You’re being such a fucking buzzkill, you know that?” you snap. Eddie doesn’t react how you expect, no anger flashing in his eyes, no playful frustration. He just looks hurt, nodding curtly before stepping out of your way back into the living room. “Whatever you say, baby,” he shrugs. His shoulders round forward, settling in the couch and watching the conversation bubbling and tittering around him. He tosses you a look through the archway, shaking his head in disappointment. It was clear he wasn’t having fun with this anymore. You jump when the fridge closes and look around to see Steve next to you, alone with you in the kitchen.

“You think ‘cause you’re Eddie’s girl I won’t embarrass you in front of everyone here?” he asks pointedly, “You don’t get to act like that when you’re in my house.” 

“Fuck off, Steve,” you sigh, your eye roll rivaling even his best. 

“You better feel lucky that I didn’t get the okay to put you in your fuckin’ place,” he hissed while the conversation got more lively in the living room.

“Cause if you think for one second I wouldn’t bend you over that coffee table in front of all your friends and show ‘em how I deal with brats like you, you got another thing coming,” he continues. You shrink under his words, frown painting your face while he stares down at you — but that angry attitude, the reminder that Eddie couldn’t even bother to give you a solid warning, woke that mean girl right up.

“You wouldn’t do shit, Harrington,” you mutter, crossing your arms. 

“Yeah? Try me,” he offers. He shakes his head, hands on his hips, “You swear you’re so tough. Your bullshit is tired. He’s bored with you, look at him.” 

You look over and he’s frowning while everyone gets back into position to play but still lost in their conversations. His legs are splayed out in the recliner at the head of the coffee table, slouched down enough that his chin is in his chest. 

“He just looks sad,” you mumble. 

“Whose fault is that?” Steve asks. 

You sulk, “Mine.” 

You huff one final time before going into the living room. He peers up at you when you come up next to the recliner, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. His eyes close at the feeling of your lips against him, opening them when you break away. He scans the room to make sure no one is paying attention before pulling you in for a chaste kiss, “Kneel.” 

“Ed –” you start, heat running to your cheeks. 

“Kneel at my feet for the rest of the game. Do you understand?” he asks quietly. You nod, kneeling down beside him while he got up to start the campaign where they left off. To everyone else, you were just watching everything play out – to him you were finally obeying. But it could never be that easy – just like the devil, you had to have the last laugh.

When the game was over, Steve and Eddie hauled off to smoke outside, talking quietly with each other – deliberating over something. You took that time to snag a beer from the fridge, confident you could finish it before they made their way back into the kitchen. However, talking with Robin made you less aware – hopping from one subject to the next, both big chatterers you had neglected the beer in your hand so it was only three fourths finished when the sliding doors opened and the boys showed up in the kitchen. 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, continuing his conversation with Steve while he grabs your coat and slides the can gently out of your hand, pouring the remaining contents out in the sink. You put your jacket on while he throws it away, starting his round of goodbyes to the group. 

“Let’s pick up some dinner, hm?” he asks when you both get back in the van, eerily calm, tossing his hair up off of his neck as the heat blasts. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, “You’re not mad? About the beer?” 

“Oh, I’m upset about the beer,” he says with a nod, keeping his eyes on the road, “But I can’t expect you to listen these days. You’re making your own rules, aren’tcha?”

“No, I –” 

He smiles, finally turning to you while he pulls into a drive-thru burger joint, “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna be very unhappy with how things go when we get home.” 

The food tastes like ash in your mouth. 

“C’mon, on your knees,” he says casually once he’s done undressing you down to your underwear. The ride home had been silent aside from the radio. You stepped in the trailer and he barely gave you a moment of reprieve before stripping you down in the bedroom. All tired eyes and frustrated grunts while each item of clothing got tossed onto a chair in the corner of the room. You obey his command but your eyes shoot up at him with a furrowed brow when you make it to the ground. He sighs while he puts your collar on, he looks defeated and worn out.

“Hey, wait,” you urge, taking his hand while he finishes clasping the buckle behind your neck. He looks down at you and falters at the look on your face — not playing, not in your role. Serious, concerned. 

“No choking, please,” you ask softly, “Not tonight.” 

He meets you down on the scratchy carpet while continuing to hold your hand, pressing a soft and gentle kiss against your lips.

“Of course not,” he agrees, “No choking.” 

His hands find your face, fingertips brushing against you like you’re made of porcelain, “Do you trust me?” 

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss before you can answer, taking your breath away in the process. Heat bloomed in your cheeks at his attention, the way his eyes glittered when he looked at you like that. Hungry, aching. 

“I trust you,” you whisper between his kisses. You catch his gaze and he looks at you expectantly.

“What’s on your mind, huh?” he asks, “You okay? We can stop, we don’t have to do this. Could always just talk to me about it, you know I’m all ears.” 

“You’re not mad, mad are you?” you asked softly, “Are you really mad at me?” 

“M’not mad at you, sweetheart,” he assures, “Very disappointed, but not mad. Just like teaching you a little lesson. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you smile. He kisses your face, again and again. Reminders of who he really is. 

“At least I’m not Steve,” he laughs, standing back up, “He loves taming brats like you.” 

“I’m not a brat!” you gasp. 

“You sure?” he asks, looking down at you with a hardening demeanor, “No? You’re not?” 

You shake your head ‘no’, he laughs at you pitifully, “Coulda fooled me.” 

“Remember what I said to you?” he asks, going into the closet. His voice is muffled while he’s in there, “You’re going to be very unhappy with how I treat you tonight.” 

He emerges and your furrowed brows soften into sadness, eyes rounding into pleading when you see what he has in his hand, “No, sir, please…” 

“Pets don’t talk, baby,” he says gently while he clips a chain link leash to your collar. 

“But I don’t…I don’t want to,” you whine, tugging at the chain in his hand. He looks down at you without remorse, petting the top of your head.

“This is how you learn to behave,” he says, “Nothing else is working, so I have to punish you with something you don’t like.” 

“But…” tears pooled in your eyes as he took a few steps forward and tugged on the leash for you to follow. You frowned, crawling on all fours to follow him to the kitchenette. He tugged twice when he wanted you to stop. 

“Sit,” he mutters down to you, catching your eyes while he walks over to the cabinets above the sink, “Stay.” 

You huff, sitting back on your heels while he rummages through the cabinets, finally reaching in and coming out with a tall yellow Tupperware. He opens the top and looks into it, frowning, and then looking at you.

“I hate to waste food but you need this,” he says softly, walking over to stand in front of the sink. Next to him, he lays down a line of white rice by his feet. 

“Eddie, please,” you whined, “I’ll be good, I promise.” 

His head whips towards you, “What did I say?” 

“Pets don’t talk,” you whimper back. 

“Want me to beat that into you?” he hisses, reaching for his belt.

“No sir, I’m sorry.” 

He stands at attention, looking down at you, “Come.” 

You start to crawl forward but he stops you, “You’re gonna let your leash drag on the floor like that? You know better.” 

You shake your head no, reaching for the leather handle and putting it between your teeth before starting your slow journey next to him. You hesitate when you get to the rice. He very rarely goes back to these kinds of basics because he knows you don’t like them, you’d much rather be spanked. He reaches down to grab your leash and gives it a sharp tug, pulling you forward.

“Don’t make me warn you again,” his voice is stern and you inch forward, knees settling on the rice slowly. You start to whimper quietly to yourself, the sting is immediate. 

“Eyes up at me,” he instructs, fingers under your chin tilt your head up toward him, “You’re gonna kneel here while I get these dishes done.” 

“That’s stupid,” you whine while he wraps part of the leash around his hand so there’s little slack for you to move anywhere. The backhand he deals you at the sound of your voice is shattering, your thighs tighten at the feeling, lips parting in a low moan.

“Open your mouth again, see what happens,” he growls, “My number one rule when we play, for years, is only speak when you’re spoken to.”

 You grit your teeth, putting your face back to center and tilting up to look him in the eyes. 

“Shouldn’t expect a brainless pet like you to take orders though – that’s why we gotta train you.” 

You shift uncomfortably on the rice, trying to relieve the pain one knee at a time but it only makes you gasp as the pain increases. 

“You gonna cry?” He asks. You shake your head no despite the burn you feel in your nose and the rattle in your chest. Your knees sting with the bite of the rice, whimpering when he starts the dishes. He casts a few looks down at you while you stay looking up at him. 

“We’re gonna keep at this until you break, you understand?” he asks, you nod. It doesn’t take him long to do the dishes, you squirm when he looks down at you down the slope of his nose. 

“Stay,” he commands, walking out of the kitchen to the bathroom to get something, then back to the bedroom. You wait for him on screaming knees to return but he doesn’t. You hear the shift of weight on the couch, the creak of the springs in the cushions, the stomp of his boots as he spreads his legs wide. He whistles. 

“Come here, baby,” he calls out to you cooly. You hear the flick of a lighter and start your short journey to the living room. 

“Do I hear that leash dragging on the floor?” he asks with a warning edge. You let out an annoyed groan, pulling slowly at the chain link while it skitters across the tile. You put the leather back between your teeth, gingerly making your way over to him again. 

“Let’s check out those knees before I keep you on them even longer,” he mutters, cigarette burning between his lips. He waves his hand at you, encouraging you to stand.

“C’mere, pretty,” he says sweetly, the mask coming off briefly to wipe off the stray grains that stuck to your skin. It was certainly irritated, but there wasn’t any blood, no damage that would last overnight. Less frequent types of punishment, non-impact play, sometimes made him nervous — not as confident in the outcomes.

“It’s okay?” he asks, looking up at you. His calloused hand finds yours, a soft check in, a gentle touch. 

“It’s okay,” you nod while he presses a kiss to your fingertips, putting your hand back by your thigh when he’s done. He lazily places the cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the arm of the couch to settle. 

“You know where you belong, pet,” he says, voice dropping register again. The clink of his belt coming undone makes your hips twitch, the slow drag of the zipper of his jeans. He lifts his shirt up before he pulls it out, tattoos smattering dark against his pale skin. 

He leans back on the couch while you kneel between his legs with your tongue out, flattened against your chin. His cock makes you drool, spit pooling at the sides of your mouth while he lets his fingers drag over the underside, pink leaking tip peeking out from his foreskin. 

When he lifts it up off his stomach you audibly gasp at how wet the top is, hips shifting on your legs for friction. He leans it towards you teasingly and you eagerly lean forward to let your tongue stripe over it but you’re met with a hard crack to the face instead.

“Very bad,” he admonishes, “You’re such a bad girl.” 

He starts with slow strokes, soft little gasps puffing out of his mouth when he runs over the more sensitive spots. Your mouth waters despite the sting on your cheek, “Guess I gotta keep training you, huh baby? That’s too bad, was gonna let you suck it if you could behave first.” 

You let out a frustrated huff and he likes it.

“Let’s keep that mouth busy since I can’t trust you not to act on your impulses,” he says, his voice dripping with mocking disappointment, “You’ve been doing that a lot, lately.” 

He reaches into his back pocket and it’s clear now, what he got from the bathroom. The bar of Pears soap glowed amber in the side table lamp light when he unwrapped it. 

“Y’know, I forgot about this trick,” he says with a smile, like you’re having a casual conversation. You gulp at the sight of it, leaning back with your mouth shut.

“Steve reminded me today, when we were out having a smoke,” he continues, eyes and smile wolffish while he leans forward toward you. 

“You hated it last time,” he shrugs, “But you didn’t run that pretty mouth for a while. So it must’ve stuck, huh? Open your mouth.” 

You hesitate a moment too long and his patience runs out before the buzzer to obey goes off in your brain. His fingers work between your lips, pressing at the hinge of your jaw like you’re a dog who has a piece of plastic in their mouth. You sputter over his fingers, head turning and twisting to keep him from getting a hold on you but your efforts were useless. The bar slid half way into your mouth, wedged between your teeth. You knew better than to raise your hands and fight him, he’d cuff you before you could protest – better off not seeing how bad he could go tonight. 

“Much better. Y’look so pathetic with your mouth full,” he teases, “Really suits you.” 

“Since I have to do this myself now, who should I think about, sweetheart?” he asks you, your heart sinks. He lets his eyes flutter closed when he squeezes gently around the base, a dark laugh bubbling out from his chest.

“Should I think about Chrissy from the diner?” he asks, heavy lidded eyes staring at you, his breath hitches. He pumps in slow strokes, taking his time, “Think about her pretty blonde hair and her pretty blue eyes?” 

You whine, swallowing thickly while slimy suds start to leak out of your mouth, he smirks.

“Mmm, bet she’s a really good girl,” he moans, “Bet she’d never talk back to me.” 

Tears start to well in your eyes and he has the audacity to fucking smile. The bitter bubbles gather on your tongue as your salivary glands work to push the taste out, but there’s no point with the bar pressed deep into your mouth.

“You know I love a nice girl like that, baby,” he coos, pace quickening while he fucks into his fist, “Probably loves getting stuffed full. You think so?” 

His eyes open fully and he grips your hair at the scalp with his free hand, “You think so?” 

You nod, face burning with embarrassed and frustrated heat. 

“God, watching her pretty tits bounce when she’s on top of me? Fuck. Bet she’s so fuckin’ tight,” he breathes while he teases the tip with his thumb, brows knitting in focus and pleasure, “So fucking sweet, too. Not a brat like you, baby.” 

He leans his head back while he feels himself get close, edging himself – slowing down and speeding up. And then he hears it, your broken, sad, choked sob. The sound of the Pears bar dropping onto the carpet. His head perks up, and there you are, crying on your knees in front of him, wiping at your eyes.  “My poor baby, there you are,” he coos, tucking himself into the waistband of his underwear, “Finally got you cryin’. You don’t like that? When your master thinks about someone else?” 

 “No sir, I don’t like it,” you answer through blubbering and spitting up suds. He tuts, leaning forward, letting a thumb drag over a tear on your cheek. 

“I’ll be good, please don’t think about someone else,” you cry up at him.

“You’ll be good? Yeah? You’re a good girl?” he asks, sentences peaking up at the end like you’re a dog. You nod pitifully. “You see a good girl in here?” he questions, “Is there a good girl in the room with us right now?”

“Stop,” you huff, wiping your eyes again.  “Now that I finally got you crying I can really go to work, huh?” he smirks, “Think getting belted will put you in your place?” 

You nod while he pulls up his pants, “Let’s get that mouth rinsed out first.” 

He keeps up with ‘walking you’ to the bathroom, now a mess of tears and a soap slicked mouth. Shuddering and stuttering while you get cup of water after cup of water to spit out until the water runs clear. You still don’t settle, all the feelings of the week and some change of aggravation and anger surging and pulsing through you all at once. 

“You wanna tell me what’s got you acting like such a cunt this week?” he asks while you get situated on your knees on the mattress in the bedroom. Foolishly, you thought he might soften up when you started to cry – but now it’s clear he’s just getting started. 

“You just weren’t paying enough atten-attention to me,” you confess, quietly. He gapes at you, anger and disbelief flashing behind his eyes.  “All this ‘cause you weren’t gettin’ enough attention?” he hisses, “When’d you get so weak, huh?” 

“You kept w-working late, and ditching me f-for Steve, and D-dustin, and the band,” you whined. 

“Cry all you want,” he says with a straight mouth, “This is so disappointing, baby. Thought you were tougher than that. Gotta get you correct, don’t I?” 

“You kept c-cancelling, so I thought –” you continue.

“Hey!” he barks, startling you to look up at him, “I asked you a question.” 

“Yes, you have t-to correct me, sir,” you nod, “I need it.” 

“You need it?” he mocks back, “Get in position for me.” 

You oblige, bent over on the bed while he goes to get the belt that hangs next to the front door. You hear it clink with every stomp of his boots back down the hall, your thighs twitch with anticipation of him taking his anger out on you – much more pliable this time, much more reactive, no longer trying to stop yourself from feeling it.

“Attention, huh?” he repeats when he comes back in, “Well you got it, whore. I’ll pay attention to you all night.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe. You hear him open the top drawer of his dresser, the sound of plastic, zippers. 

“Maybe we can invite Steve over to help,” he suggests, “Does that sound good? A little extra hand to make the lesson sink in.” 

“Do you wanna share me, sir?” you ask while he reaches over you to press each wrist to the outside of your thighs, wrapping each of them together in thin rope he picked up at the hardware store. A shopping trip you are certain had the owner looking at you both with a cocked brow as you both left blushing.

“Something fun about watching someone use my toys,” he says playfully. The makeshift spreader bar finds its way between your legs, clicked into soft cuffs around your ankles. A vision, bent over and spread out for him. Eddie’s not an awful man, so he offers the courtesy of tucking a pillow or two under your torso to keep you raised and balanced, pressing a kiss to the middle of your back. 

“M’gonna really fuck with you tonight,” he threatens softly against your skin, “How do you feel about that?” 

“Orange,” you say back. Orange, the coolest flame. The okay. 

“And Steve?” he asks, fingers grazing your inner thighs. 

“Orange,” you reply, pussy clenching at the thought of being beaten by both of them. 

“Mmm, that’s a good girl,” he rasps low, “Really good girl.” 

“When’s the last time I made you cum, pet?” he moves away from you again and you whine, the ache of your cry still sitting in your throat to be reactivated. 

“Last week after your sh-show,” you answer obediently. 

“So mean of me, huh? To keep you so needy,” he says, and that’s when you feel it. The handle of the wand being pressed against your inner thigh, the low buzz as he turns it on. You gasp while he adjusts it, feeling it press up against you before he secures it there, hips already searching for more pleasure as he turns it up higher. 

“Let me make it up to you,” the way he says it, you know he has that devilish look pulling across his smile. The metallic flick of his switchblade sounds and your panties are the first to face its wrath, pulled away with ease once the right slices were made. He follows up with the straps of your bra and you want to protest but you know he’ll buy you a new one before the day ends tomorrow – he’s always ruining your shit and buying you more, his mouth running apologies as he does.

“S’that feel good?” he asks. 

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, eyes already rolling at the orgasm building in your lower belly. 

“What do you say?” his voice is expectant. 

“Thank you, sir,” you rasp out. 

“You tell me every time you cum, okay?” he instructs. You nod, losing yourself in the feeling of being restrained and used. Your eyes flutter closed while you succumb to the vibrations between your legs and the sound of his voice, the stomp of his boots. A soft gasp pushes out of your chest, hips pressing down on the head of the toy for more friction. 

CRACK! 

The belt is unforgiving against the fat of your ass and your gasp quickly falls into a loud wail, the cry in your chest pushing to your throat. 

“Okay?” he repeats. 

“Y-yes sir, I’ll tell you every time,” you hurry out, feeling the coil in between your legs get tighter immediately at the sting of the belt. 

“Sir?” you ask quietly, “Hit me again, please.” 

“Yeah?” you shivered at the low gravel of his voice. You hear him rev up, then the leather whooshing through the air to land in a hard ‘thwap!’ across your behind. You whine at the hit, hands balled into fists at the pain – but god was it good. It was so good. 

“I have to make a quick phone call,” he mutters, “Keep track for me.” 

He returns some minutes later, leaning over the mattress to look at you, “Look at you, what a fucking slut. You like this?” 

You nod pitifully and he rolls his eyes, your hips twitch at the sight. 

“You cum yet?” he sounds so bored when he asks you think you might cum again instantly. 

“Twice, sir,” you confess. 

“Twice?” he repeats, “Must not be enough – so quiet.” 

You feel the tip of something drag against the flesh of your thigh while Eddie draws two short vertical parallel lines, “Just using up your eyeliner to keep track.” 

“But thats –”  His hand cracks down on your fresh welt before you can continue, “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow. Get you a new lipstick, too. So shut up.”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp out. 

“Let’s get you nice and loud for me,” he mumbles, reaching between your thighs to turn up the toy's speed. 

“Oh, fuck! Oh my god,” you cry out, “Oh, shitshitshitshit.”

His giggle is grotesque when you feel the slide of your lipstick on your skin; your back, your ass, your calves. the waxy scent wafts through the air with the smell of your arousal, “Steve’s right, writing all over you is really fun. Wanna see what you look like, whore?” 

“Y-yes, sir,” you obey, hips stuttering while a third orgasm runs over you, “Three! Fuck, three.” 

Another vertical line is sketched on your thigh with the other two. The sound of his Polaroid goes off when he’s done with his handy work, leaving the picture next to you to fade into view. 

“H-hope you spelled everything right,” you tease, knowing exactly where it’ll get you, “Know how hard that is for you, ‘86.” 

He growls, a stinging dig he didn’t deserve, but you remember the ache of each canceled date. Every ‘I’ll make it up to you.’ Him mentioning Chrissy while he jerked off when you always suspected he’d secretly been checking her out when you went for lunch there. 

“Well that wasn’t very nice.” 

You groan at the blend of the crack of the belt on your ass and the sound of Steve’s disappointed voice. 

“Four, fuck, four,” you cry while your thighs shake — another line added to your collection. 

“Looks like your training isn’t done, peach,” Steve says sweetly, “You’re still being such a little bitch.” 

You hear him fall in line with Eddie, his ringed hand pulling at your hair to lift you up, “Say hi to Steve, sweetheart.”

“H-hi Mr. Harrington,” you rasp out before he drops your head back down on the pillow.

“Hi, angel,” his voice was low and syrupy, “So respectful.” 

“Heard he’s been real mean to you, peach,” he announces, and you can feel his hand skate over the hot skin of your ass where the belt has met you more than once tonight, “Making you be his pet, kneeling on rice, he’s so mean isn’t he?” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply breathily as the buzz of the vibrator turns up higher.

“I have to be mean, too,” he says softly, hand cracking down hard on your ass in a sweeping smack, “Remember what you said to me earlier?” 

“No, sir,” you whimper, the cry caught in your throat finally aching back out. Tears rapidly stain your face as you see Eddie come into view at the end of the bed.

“Why don’t you try a little harder?” Eddie bites, a short smack with his fingers bouncing off your cheek, “Use your brain.” 

“I said you — shit, five, FIVE, oh my god five — please turn it off Ed, please,” you whine, hips jumping to escape the vibrations, your clit beginning to ache. A wave of concern washes over his features at the sound of his name and not ‘sir’.

“What did you say to Steve earlier? Tell me and I’ll consider it,” he says, eyes scanning you hurriedly to check your face for signs of discomfort beyond what you could normally handle. You huff and cry, too overstimulated to answer him.  

“Don’t make me ask you again,” he warns, hand snaking back into your hair.

“I said he wouldn’t do shit,” you grit out, whimpering out a broken, “Six.” 

“You can turn the toy off, Harrington,” he says gruffly. Two more lines are marked on your thigh, you shiver when Steve traces them after he turns the toy off.

“Nice collection,” he says, cocking his head over to Eddie’s implements laid out on the dresser. You hear him rifle through his options, Eddie’s quiet instructions while they look together, ‘Too much, she’ll tap out,’ ‘She can only do a few with those,’ ‘You’re not experienced enough for that, you’re not here to practice on my girl.’ Warmth pools in your belly and soothes you despite the stinging on your skin and the bruised ache between your legs. They decide on the belt, it’s Steve’s favorite and yours, and you’re silently happy he joined in because Eddie absolutely would’ve caned you otherwise. 

“You have a nice break?” Eddie asks, he appears at the end of the mattress again – torso in your vision. You nod, feeling a wet spot under your cheek from drooling. 

He tuts, wiping some of it away, muttering, “You fucking dog,” under his breath.

“I’m not gonna do shit? That’s what you said, right?” Steve asks, you moan in frustration when the toy starts up again between your legs – setting turned up high. 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you stutter out. The last syllable leaves your lips and Eddie’s belt meets you across the thighs with a speed and precision you’ve never felt before. The sound that comes out of you is desperate and aching, barely coming down from the sting when the second comes down hard the side of your ass. 

“Didn’t think this one through, did ya, peach?” he asks, a grunt and flounce of his hair adding power to the next one. 

“No, sir. I’m s-sorry,” you cry, shoulders shuddering when he follows through with two more. The vibrations of the toy and his rough smacks of the belt blend together again and you gush between your thighs with a high whine.  “S-seven,” you whimper. 

“What a slut,” Eddie mutters while he adds another line to your orgasm tally, “Gettin’ beat makes you cum?” 

“Yes, sir,” you nod feverishly, easing your hips back down lightly over the vibrator wand. He slides the belt he’s wearing out of his belt loops and wraps it firmly around his knuckles. You look up at him petulantly with wet, glassy eyes. Another strike of pain hits your backside as Steve whips the belt against you again.

“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows raised, “You got somethin’a say?” 

“No, sir,” you raspily whisper. 

“Good,” he smiles, “Cause pets don’t talk, do they?” 

“No, sir,” you admit with a nod, yelping when the leather strikes your thighs. 

“You’re gonna cum ten times, baby,” he explains, “I’m gonna help you get there.” 

“Since getting whupped makes you cum so much,” he teases before both of them bring their belts down simultaneously. The release of crying is more euphoric than the orgasms, settling into the burn of each rise and fall of their arms, each crack of their belts and slap of their hands raining down on you.

“Ow, fuck that hurts so fucking good,” you wail, “Please more, please.” 

“You dirty fucking bitch,” Steve glowers, “You learning anything?” 

“Yes, sir – AH! EIGHT – EIGHT!” you scream, the choked sob in your chest wracking through you into a full on meltdown. They both drop their belts, Steve approaching you again with both hands gripping your hot, welted skin hard. You squirm under his touch while his hand barrels down on you again, the other turning off the toy. 

“You know something, peach,” he says, finger softly tracing whatever Eddie wrote on your back, “I think you act like a bitch ‘cause you wanna be fucked like one.” 

You squeal out a noise while he kneads the burning fat of your hips and thighs, spreading you open, “Does that sound right?” 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” you say between big breaths, trying to steady your sobs. You relax into the relief of the toy being turned off, shivering at the feeling of his finger going back to trace the words on your back. 

“Says here you’re an anal slut,” he smirks, “You like getting fucked in the ass?” 

“She loves getting fucked in the ass,” Eddie answers for you, a whiff of his cologne and cigarette smoke wafts through the room while you feel him detach the spreader bar from between your legs. 

“So how about I fuck you like that? Think that’ll drive it home?” 

You nod while Eddie uses his switchblade to cut open the rope on your wrists and thighs, your hands falling down towards the mattress limply. You lift one of them to push yourself up but Eddie catches your arm.

“Stay,” Eddie says sternly, “You didn’t answer his question.” 

“Yes, Mr. Harrington,” your voice sounds moody and petty. 

“Is that what you want?” Eddie asks, brows raised again. You can tell he wants your extra reassurance since this was newer territory. He didn’t share you very often, and not normally with someone so close to home. 

“Yes, sir,” you nod, he squeezes your arm twice in silent communication. A gentle reminder. A silent ‘I love you’. 

“Get her on her back, Harrington,” he smiles, “That’s how she likes it best.” 

Steve, though still stern, takes his time working you up to it – teasing your clit with his thumb until wetness pools out of you down to your ass. 

“You like it slow like this? Like getting stretched out?” he asks, “You’re not my toy, so I don’t wanna break you.” 

“Mmm,” is all you can reply as one of his fingers pumps slowly in and out of your tight hole, your hips moving in time. Your head lolls back over the end of the mattress where Eddie’s stood over you, the mix of his musk and body wash filling your nose while his balls sit over your mouth. 

“Oh, you can break her, Harrington,” Eddie nods, “Put some miles on her.”

Eddie pops open a bottle of lube and tosses it to Steve, “Two squirts is normally enough to get the second finger in, she’ll loosen up good after that.” 

Your thighs twitch while you hear your boyfriend’s low gravelly voice instruct someone on how to fuck you. How your body reacts, what your body wants. Like he’s always been studying you this whole time. You preen into his touch when his ringed hand slides town your torso to move Steve’s thumb away from your clit. 

“You like getting used, angel?” Steve asks, easing a second finger in slowly. You groan at the stretch, legs shaking when the pads of Eddie’s fingers swirl over your clit at the speed and pressure you like the most. “Mhmm,” you muffle out, hand reaching out to grab Eddie’s thigh, nails digging into his skin while you continue to drool onto his sac. He hisses at the bite of the assault, “Hands to yourself.” 

You whine when he takes his hand away, offering three short slaps to your clit with his fingers. 

“Nine,” you gasp out, hips jolting at the pleasure from the pain and the fullness of Steve’s fingers pumping in and out of you. You lay there like that for a bit, eyes fluttering closed while Eddie guides his cock into your mouth, slowly pushing in and out while his hand cups your face. 

“Think you’re ready for something bigger, peach,” Steve says softly, pushing your thighs up to press against your chest. You instinctively hold them up, never having to be told where and when to be helpful in providing access to you. You feel the blunt head of his cock push forward and you suck in a breath through your nose while Eddie’s length slides against your tongue. His thumb smoothes over your jaw bone. 

“You can take it,” he encourages, his hand moving downward to grab one of your breasts. A quiet groan bubbles out of his chest when Steve pushes himself in to the hilt, making you moan over his cock. 

“So tight, shit,” Steve grunts, a soft sheen of sweat forming on his forehead while his body finds balance on the mattress to begin thrusting. And thrust he does, not caring about your pleasure – only his. Eddie doesn’t mind though, he knows that part of what gets you off is the total disregard for you, that delicious taste of degradation and humiliation that comes with being used. 

“She’s good, isn’t she Harrington?” Eddie asks, hips moving a little faster while he fucks your mouth. Your eyes roll behind closed eyelids as the sensation of one of them pushing in and the other pulling out rocks you against the mattress. 

“Fucking Christ,” Steve gasps, “Yeah, shit – better keep her on a fuckin’ tight leash.” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair before both of them find a solid grip on your waist, drilling into you. You jump with each slam of his hips while your skin smacks together, waking up the buzzing sting of the welts they both left behind. You let yourself be used, moaning muffled by Eddie’s girth, pussy pulsing over nothing while they took turns teasing your clit and chest. Rough grabs turning into soft, feathery touches. Leather and lace, push and pull, back and forth.

“Gettin’ close, baby,” Eddie grumbles, the snap of his hips starting to stutter when he pulls out of your mouth. You obediently keep your mouth open and he laughs at you, tapping your chin closed. 

“No, you don’t get to swallow my cum,” he taunts, “You didn’t earn that.” 

You watch him fuck his fist, eyes burning with lust while he watches Steve pull you closer to him on the bed, your face finally staring up at him. You can smell the spice of his cologne, see the fire in his light brown eyes, his furrowed brow while he rapidly reaches his orgasm. Each thrust gets more punishing while he berates you into the mattress. 

“You take it so good, you fucking slut,” he hisses, “He trained you real fuckin’ good.” 

He leans over you, one hand supporting him, the other creeping up the front of your neck. You’re too fucked out to notice Eddie grab his wrist before Steve can put any pressure on your airways. Offering him a quiet ‘not tonight,’ with a shake of his head, curls bouncing next to him. Steve nods, not skipping a moment to use the same hand to smack you hard across the face – your back arches immediately. 

“Ten, oh my god, ten,” you cry out while your final orgasm rips through you, gushing down between your legs over Steve’s cock. Relieved and satisfied, the tears start to pour out of you again. Aftershocks of your orgasm making you writhe and whine, cry and shake. 

Suddenly, you feel Eddie’s cum shoot in hot spurts over your face. You sputter, eyes shut tight, face contorting while he purrs a low, “You want some more?” 

You whimper, letting out a pathetic ‘mhm’ with a nod in order to keep your mouth shut. You feel Steve’s knees walk over you, the ‘schlick, schlick, schlick’ of him fucking himself over you, using your cum for friction. 

“Say please, baby,” Steve coos over you. 

“Please, sir, please,” you beg, warm briny spend leaking into your mouth at the words. You catch the hitch in his breath before his own thick ropes of cum land on your face. You hear his ragged breathing, feel the shift of his weight while he leans over your body before getting off the bed. 

“Fuck, heh, she’s – damn – she’s good, man,” Steve laughs. Eddie laughs with him, ringed hand coming down to smear their cum into your face before cracking his palm against your cheek from above you. 

“As usual, rode hard and put away wet,” his tone is bored and it makes you shiver again, “Go hit the showers, Harrington.” 

You hear him step out and the bathroom door shut partway down the hall, the air stills now that it’s just you and Eddie. You let out a long, contented, shuddering sigh; too tired to cry, too tired to do much of anything. In the fog, he says ‘I’ll be right back,’ to you, and you aren’t sure how much time has passed between his leaving the room and his arrival. 

“Hey baby,” he croons, “You with me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumble. You feel the warmth of a wet washcloth smooth over your face, taking gentle care over your eyes and lips. “Can you open your eyes for me?” he asks, pushing your hair away from your damp forehead. Your eyes open halfway, looking at him through bleary vision – he’s handsome just the same. 

“Hi there,” he grins. 

“Hi,” you croak out. 

“Why don’t you rest a little?” He suggests, pressing a kiss to your cleaned off cheek, “I’ll be right here.” 

You barely register the last syllable of his sentence, exhaustion taking over before you can even agree to the sentiment. 

You wake up slowly, eyes blinking open to the dull flicker of the collection of drippy pillar candles on Eddie’s dresser and the glow of his bedside lamp. He sat up against the wall beside you, book in hand, something new he picked up from a friend at the garage. You lazily reach over and put your hand on his knee, groaning a little at the stretch in your skin where him and Steve had left their marks. 

“There you are,” he smiles, peering over his book, “You have a good rest?” 

You nod, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, “How long was I out?” 

“Couple of hours,” he said, starting to giggle, “You slept like a log. Just – out cold. I thought you died.”

You peer around the room and see that it’s been straightened up, the heats on. You’ve been covered up in blankets – water and aspirin already set up next to you. 

“Where’s Steve?” you ask, wincing while you sit up in bed, reaching for the pills to down them. 

“He went home,” he says, dog earring the page and setting it down at the end of the bed, “But he told me to tell you he owes you a night out.” 

“Ugh, a night out with Harrington – can’t wait,” you roll your eyes, sipping your water. 

“I told him you’d rather chew glass,” he laughs, the laugh fades to a look of fondness, “Hey.” 

“Hey.” 

“Was that good? Was that okay with you?” he asks, scooting closer to pull one of your hands between his. His fingers toy with your absent mindedly while he waits for your answer. 

“Yes, baby, it was okay,” you smile, chuckling at the dichotomy of his dominant persona and who he is after. 

“Just okay? Are you alright? Did you like it?” His questions are feverish and you can tell he feels guilty, teetering on getting too in his head. 

“Ed, honey –” you start, offering him a kind look that makes his shoulders relax, “I loved it. I love when we play. Adding Steve was really fun.” 

“You don’t want him, like, every time, right?” he asks. 

You pull a face, “No, ew. That’s like, a punch card kind of thing. Every five fucks he gets to join or something.” 

You both laugh in the low light of the room and he leans his head against the wall, looking at you through the slits of his eye lids, “I love you – I’m sorry it felt like I wasn’t connecting with you lately.” 

“It’s okay,” you nod, “I should’ve said something. I just, I don’t know – hate seeming like I’m being needy when I’m sad that you canceled a date. Like, we’re adults.” 

“It’s okay to be disappointed about it,” he shrugs, “I would be, too. S’not gonna hurt my feelings or start a fight if you’re just like ‘Hey, you’re bumming me out – let’s fix it’. I wanna fix these things – this is the long haul, baby. You’re not getting away from me any time soon.” 

“Um – but can I be honest about something?” you ask, nerves creeping into your chest. 

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Um, please don’t talk about Chrissy like – ever again.” 

His shoulders deflate, “Baby…I wish you told me, you should’ve–” 

“I know, I know, I should’ve said something when it was happening but I just. I froze?” you try to explain, “I didn’t like that.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he pleads, and you know he really means it, “You know I would never. I don’t really want her like that. I was just trying something new. I never want you to feel like there’s someone else.” 

You nod with a tight smile, “I just like – that’s why I’m scared to complain. Cause what if you wanna be with someone who will just like – brainlessly do whatever you want and not care?” 

He tries to fight a smile but he can’t help it, “Well, babe, I mean…you already sort of brainlessly do whatever I want.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you tease, swatting at him. He catches your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

“You can complain every day for the rest of your life,” he says simply, “And I’’ll feel lucky to be the guy you’re complaining to.” 

“So, why don’t we get you in the shower,” he starts, voice soft and smokey, “I’ll clean you off.” He presses a slow kiss to your cheek, crawling over you. 

“Get you all relaxed,” he says, before tilting your head up to take your lips in his. It’s loaded with desire, not a peck, but a hungry mouth on yours, “Patch you up a little.”  

“I already started dinner.” 

Kiss. “Your favorite.” Kiss. 

“We can eat.” Kiss.

“We’ll have dessert.” 

Kiss. 

“Your favorite, again.” 

Kiss. “And you can have –”

Kiss. 

“All of my attention –” 

Kiss. 

“For the rest of the night.” 

His big brown eyes linger on yours when he breaks away from his final kiss, lost in looking at you. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

“Yeah, I just – damnit –” he sucks his teeth, “I made myself hard again.”  You giggle at his frustration, leaning forward until your noses press against eachother.

“We can take care of that,” you start – 

Kiss. 

“In the shower.” 

[entomolog-t]

S c r e a m i n g

Life has been absolutely chaotic this year and it completely escaped my mind to post this wonderful commission of Mark, Sal and Betty from the amazing @freshpoof03

AFKHLAH

I love this so much and I am so happy I finally remembered to show it off! 💕

[morallyinept]

A Christmas One Shot follow up to my Joel Miller series, Five Days.

Five Days Series Masterlist

☝🏻It would be ideal for you to read the series first if you haven't yet, as this one shot follows on from this series directly. You can read it as a stand alone, but some things might not make sense.

Summary: Months after the final events in Five Days, you and Joel prepare for the next event in your lives at the commune - your wedding day.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x MatureF!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. However reader is of a similar age range as Joel; in her late forties/early fifties. Joel is slightly older at 56.)

Word Count: 7.7k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral M receiving/fingering/angst/mentions of death

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.

☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned. If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: An additional festive part, wrapping up Joel and Reader's journey, with a spangly Christmas bow on top. Thank you again to everyone who has read and enjoyed Five Days. Truly means the world. Happy Holidays! 🎄

Enjoy! 🖤

FIVE DAYS SERIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

Your breath fogs the pane, a condensed, misty cloud as you breathe, surveying the view below in the main square.

The small commune square is adorned with makeshift festive decorations, remnants of the world that once thrived with the capitalist depiction of it all. Buzzing with a distinct holiday cheer, despite the lees of the post-apocalyptic world surrounding it just outside the gates.

Improvised string lights hang from makeshift structures with a welcome, twinkling glow, despite the sky still being light outside, albeit a little more grey now. The pleasant threat of more snowfall lingers in the distance.

In one corner, a group of children - some of whose faces you can put names to now - their laughter echoing through the air, work together to craft snowmen from the scarce patches of snow that still adorn the ground from the recent flurry.

This winter hasn’t been as harsh as you’d expected yet, but the winter of your discourse still remains heavy on your shoulders despite finding some semblance of daily normality here.

You even have a job now, tending to the horses. It’s basically mucking out and feeding, but you’re keen to learn and prove yourself as someone who can pull their weight. Plus, being parted from the black mare for too long, whom you rode to and from the outpost, leaves you with a sense of unease.

Her big, glassy eyes fill you with some comfort the more time you spend with her; those gentle head butts into your own, when it all gets a bit much, reassures you she feels your pain and shares it with you. You’ve since discovered her name is Ashen.

You watch, curiously, as a trellis of flowers is lifted by several men and settled into place. A graceful arch, fashioned from salvaged and repurposed wood, and built and sanded down by Joel himself as a project over the last few weeks - a gift for your wedding day. It's now decorated in vines and dried wild flowers, preserved in their seasonal beauty and uniqueness.

You remember rubbing salve into his splintered hands in the evenings, massaging around his stubby thumbs and calloused palms as he winced and groaned at the rawness fading away before those hands would grip onto your skin and leave you gasping with fading imprints. He really is so good with his hands…

“Here,” Sal’s voice rouses you from your heated reverie and the view outside.

Turning, her hair is pinned neatly and she looks younger somehow. More at ease, more feminine than you’ve ever seen her. Flaming red hair matches her lips and her eyes sparkle.

You smile, taking the delicate lace that she holds out for you, and you step into it, allowing her to button you up.

“Are you nervous?” She asks you as her nimble fingers work. Your eyes are still transfixed out the window as rows of unmatching chairs are lined up by working bodies.

Seems like the whole commune is involved in contributing to the preparations.

You shake your head. “No. Feels right.” You say, agreeing with the stringent relief that prevents any butterflies from flapping their sickly wings. “Feels like it should have already happened, years ago.” You confess, smiling as you smooth down the lace around your cuffs.

“Joel’s a lucky man.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the lucky one.” Luck, despite everything, seemed to have had your back all along. Although the paths it led you down to find it, you’re not so sure about.

“Let me get a look at you.” Sal says as she steps back. You turn to face her and she sighs in awe.

“Christy has outdone herself. This dress is stunning.” Sal murmurs, her eyes glistening.

“She really has.” You say, admiring the mid-length, hand-made, gown that sits snugly against your body. Made from scraps of lace, Christy, the resident seamstress, has managed to make a dress that’s perfectly suited for the occasion. Simple, elegant, but meaningful.

“Look,” Sal says, adjusting the mirror and you catch sight of yourself.

The lace is delicate and stitched with love and envious talent, and weaves across the front of your collarbone and down your arms. There’s a slight dip in the back as it hangs a little lower down your spine before cascading into a waterfall of buttons, some mismatching, some with sparkly gems in the centre, but it’s forgiven and actually adds to the charm.

The dress is simply more than you ever thought possible, more than you probably deserve. More than you ever thought you’d have in this lifetime.

“You’re beautiful.” Sal says, dabbing at her eyes.

“Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”

She laughs, a little choke being swallowed down. “I just wish Kelper was here to see you like this.”

“Sal-” You begin with a choking lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” You shake your head. “I wish he could too.”

You spend a moment regarding one another; her eyes wandering into the painful territory of yours as you both recall the eviscerating loss.

Both thriving in it for a few moments, sharing in the grief that has lingered in the marrow of your bones for the past five months or so. Paused, sometimes, in that moment when Tommy relayed over the walkie-talkie the devastation that Kelper had perished in the fight against the infected horde.

It still seems like yesterday and centuries ago. And you were mad, hopping mad with him for a while after your return to the commune; mad that he could be so foolish, so selfish, as to leave you all without him.

But with time, taking each day, each sunrise and sunset, one foot in front of the other, the anger dissipated into raw grief. And it walks alongside you now, linking arms with all the other’s you've lost in your life.

Another name on a chalkboard above a fireplace, another ribbon tied to a tree. Another splinter in your heart.

While the anticipation of marrying Joel fills you with inexplicable joy and pertinent relief, the absence of Kelper, casts a malignant shadow, a blot on the sun.

The glint of excitement in your eyes is tempered by a soft sadness that hovers like a wailing banshee that’s attached itself to your side permanently it feels; it won't stop screaming in your ear. A tribute to the friend, partner, even soulmate, who had been your anchor in tumultuous times of endurance and survival.

Yet, as you stand ready to embark on this new chapter with Joel in a world that still seems so uncertain at times, still so… frightening, despite being safe behind reinforced walls, you find some strength in the enduring gravity of love.

Kelper's memory, a guiding presence now in some ways when he talks to you when you most need it, whispers words of encouragement, reminding you that even in loss, love persists in this broken world and it’s worth finding and clinging onto.

It’s the reason you’re still alive.

And it's something you hold on to, even if your fingers ache from gripping it too tightly.

Even when the grief consumes and you sob unabashed and uncontrollably into Joel’s broad shoulders in the middle of the night.

And he holds you through it, anchoring you and steering you back to yourself as you work through it; a golden compass bringing you home when you lose your way in the dark.

Sal picks up the make-up brush and hands it to you with a gentle smile as you dab at your eyes, and you chuckle.

“I love you,” she says gently, nodding.

You pull her towards you and cradle her tightly.

“I love you, more.” You say, clinging on and wondering if you’ll ever find the strength to let her go again.

“Well, I’ll be fuckin’ damned.” Tommy says, taking off his Stetson as he ambles into the room.

“Don’t ya say it.” Joel warns with a frown.

“Ya don’t know what I was goin’ to say.” Tommy smiles with an adept grin.

“Yeah. I do.” Joel says, turning, his hands fiddling with the tie.

Joel regards his younger brother narrowly as he steps into the room and bounds up to him. “Was gonna say ya look handsome, is all.”

“Yeah, right.” Joel scoffs. ”Help me with this thing, will ya? It’s all fuckin’ knotted up to hell.” Joel gruffs with a heavy sigh, tempting to forgo the tie entirely, lest he strangle himself with it first.

“Ya comb your hair?” Tommy asks, and Joel ducks as he goes to swipe at it.

“Leave off.” He says, checking it’s still in place.

For once, his unruly curls have been slicked down and back neatly, silver streaking through them that appears metallic in the wet gel, and seems more prominent these days.

As Joel dons the smartest plaid shirt he owns, and his standard pair of jeans that have seen better days, a mixture of emotions play across his weathered features despite his hardest at trying to mask them. It’s getting harder these days to keep it up.

The nervous excitement of marrying you, the love of his life, is palpable, but it dances alongside a more subdued undercurrent of opaque reflection.

“Ya nervous?” Tommy asks, as he straightens up Joel’s tie. He sees how his face is pulled tight in that ever present frown.

Joel nods, then shrugs. “Were you? When you n’ Maria tied the knot?”

“Was shittin’ myself.” Tommy admits with a bashful smile.

“Why?”

Tommy shrugs. “It’s forever, man.”

“But, that’s the point, ain’t it?” Joel queries after a moment’s pause.

“Yeah… I dunno. Maybe.”

“Ya regret it?” Joel asks, peering at his younger brother who still seems to be ageing at a much slower rate than Joel; it makes him grind down on his back molars.

Tommy immediately shakes his head, slick oiled curls tousling as he does so.

“No. S’not what I meant. I love Maria n’ I wanted to marry her. Just feels… different now, y’know? Like, to how it would‘ve been back then. Means somethin’ more than just vows now, I think. Somethin’... profound.”

“Profound, huh?” Joel snorts. He never thought he'd hear Tommy say something like that. Didn’t even know he knew the meaning of the word.

“Yeah, like serendipity or some shit. Wasn't lookin’ for it, n’ there she was. She makes me a better man, Joel.” Tommy says quietly.

He glances briefly at his brother’s eyes, the same dark eyes they share from their mother, and then back to the tie. “Ya lady do that for you?”

“Mm. She does.” Joel agrees, his fingers buzzing slightly at the thought.

“Shit, what did ya do with this thing?” Tommy chuckles, as he fights with the knot.

“I dunno. First time I’ve ever had to wear one.” Joel grits.

“Ya tellin’ me.” Tommy snorts.

Joel remains quiet, thoughtfully contemplating. Thinking about back before the outbreak, and what it would’ve been like if he’d married you whilst you were both still young and fresh faced. When he might've known how to tie a fuckin’ tie by himself.

And of course, he had intended to, even brought a ring; spent ages picking it out, but he never got to give it to you.

You’d left.

He briefly wonders what happened to that ring, where it is now on the planet.

A season of what ifs and unanswered scenarios plague his thoughts with spiked edges. Would you have even said yes back then? Would you have lasted, or would a quick divorce have followed?

He knows it’s fruitless to try and unpick it all whilst Tommy battles with the knot that now feels tighter against his throat, but Joel’s always been a brooding thinker, much to his detriment at times.

But he can't help but think about the journey that’s brought him to this day - the years of separation from you, the trials faced, the things he’s done in the darkest chapters of his life. The loved ones he’s lost along the way.

Sarah’s face flashes in his mind, her soft eyes and gentle smile beaming at him, and he bows his head, sighing.

“Y’alright?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters.

He takes in a slow, deep breath, steadying himself against the swirl of emotions he can already feel lingering in the dark corners, brewing, flexing their claws ready to tear deep gashes in his skin. They never really leave.

Tommy finishes manipulating the tie and he taps Joel’s shoulder affectionately when it’s done.

Joel turns to the small, chipped shaving mirror to get a better look at it, and hums in a mirthed satisfaction. “It’ll do.” He supposes.

“M’happy for you, Joel.” Tommy says, and Joel glances up at him through the mirror. “Ya deserve it, some peace. A good woman to come home to who’ll rub ya feet.”

“She hates feet.” Joel states rather po-faced.

Tommy smiles, breaking into an airy chuckle and so does Joel. The chortles between them sounding so foreign despite their intensity as they mutate into wheezed laughter.

And then Joel does something he feels like he hasn’t done for a long time, and should probably do more often.

He pulls his younger brother Tommy into a tight, binding hug.

“I love ya, man.” Tommy says.

“You too.” Joel mutters.

“C’mon, let’s get ya married.” Tommy states, clapping his back like thunder.

Tables adorned with scavenged tablecloths showcase a humble feast of canned goods, preserved fruits, and perhaps a few hunted game offerings in the Tipsy Bison.

The survivors of the commune, dressed in their best makeshift attire, share muted stories, laughter, and the precious company of one another, forming a close-knit family that has thrown up two fingers in the face of adversity as they pack out the chairs just outside the bar, some standing at the back of the makeshift aisle as the whole commune comes to bear witness.

The nip in the air has them huddling in coats and scarfs, but the atmosphere is incredibly warm and inviting.

Guthrie stands at the head of the trellis, bible in hand and in his smartest pressed shirt ready to officiate in a world where laws are just spoken words now instead of legal documents.

But it doesn’t matter, because in matters of the heart, it's more than binding.

Tommy and Joel wait in front of him. Maria sits with her baby bouncing on her knee, cooing quietly. Max looks on from the opposite side of the trellis, wearing an excited grin that makes his jaw ache.

Hands clasped in front, Joel’s fingers twitch as he clears his throat nervously.

“Not long now, brother.” Tommy says, clapping him on the back again, and Joel swallows thickly through the heavy wind of it.

As Joel stands at the makeshift altar beneath the trellis arch he’d spent days carving intricately, adorned with the dried flowers collected by good natured souls, the weight of the moment presses upon him.

The air, usually filled with the festive sounds of the commune, now feels dense and stifling around him. The tie feels tight once more at his throat as he swallows with a now dry, grazed windpipe.

The trepidation that’s lingered in the corners of his mind crystallises into an overwhelming wave of anxiety. And he hears that little voice creep up again from behind his shoulders.

She’s not coming, Joel. She doesn’t love you. She could never love you.

His heart races, the sound echoing in his ears like a distant drumbeat. The gentle flutter of muted conversations around him and the soft whispers of the cool, crisp breeze seems to amplify, creating a disorienting cacophony that pierces his eardrums.

Joel's breaths become shallow, each inhale a struggle against an invisible force tightening around his chest. Each breath in seems to scrape against his throat, the air refusing to fill his lungs with ease like it once did.

Joel's hands, usually steady and weathered by years of survival, betray him as they tremble uncontrollably. Eyes fixed on the path where you’ll soon walk towards him, Joel feels the world closing in, seeming to warp and contort, and the edges of his vision blur like a watercolour painting in the rain.

The trellis arch, once a symbol of hope and new beginnings containing his blood, sweat and tears, now seems to loom overhead, threatening to crush him; its shadow dancing with an unsettling rhythm.

The vibrant colours of the flowers mutate into a disorienting palette, dying and crisping before his eyes, and the string lights flicker like lightning, their glow suddenly too harsh, too bright.

Dizzy, he sways as he clutches at his chest, and feels Tommy pressing up against him, like a weighted tackle.

“Joel! Joel!”

His voice is distant, sounding further and further away as Joel spirals, the ground coming up fast; his knees cracking against it.

She could never love you, Joel! Not after everything you’ve done!

Rampant beads of sweat form on Joel's forehead, his hands clammy as they tightly grip on the edges of Tommy’s jacket as he wheezes.

The weight of the moment, the culmination of years of separation and the scars etched into your shared history, bare down on him.

The fear of losing this newfound happiness seizes him in a vice grip until it chokes the life out of him and it all goes black.

Told you Joel.

Told you that you were going to die alone...

He wakes to the sound of continual beeping in his ears.

Beep-beep-beep-beep...

Heavy headed and with a really dry mouth, he sits up to feel a hand pressing gently against his bare sternum.

Following the path of it, the arm adorned in faded lace, he finds your face, pressed tight in its worry and concern.

He did it, he let you down. Completely and irrevocably, just like he knew he would.

“Slowly,” you ease, as he sits himself upright against a pillow that feels like it's barely there.

“Don’t fuss, m’alright.” Joel sighs, glancing down at his chest, shirt open and no sign of his damned tie. “S’all this?” He tweaks at the wires curiously stuck to his chest.

“They thought you might have had a heart attack.” You say, gravely.

“What?” His eyes widen and snap to yours.

“It was a panic attack, Joel.” You say, softly. “You’re okay.”

He frowns, his eyes shying away from yours. He feels your fingers knotting into his hand, thumb stroking reassuringly over the thick gristle of his knuckles.

“I ruined our day,” he mutters through clenched teeth.

“No. You didn’t." You shake your head. "Hey, look at me.” You sway.

“I can’t. M’not supposed to see ya yet.”

“Joel. Look at me.” You press, delicately.

Slowly, he finds the courage to face you, head on, and he can’t believe what he sees. You, staring at him with the same adoration you’ve had etched into your features since the very beginning.

From that moment your eyes met when you were flighty, little things, when the world was kinder and had less teeth.

The same way you looked at him when you bumped into him outside The Tipsy Bison all those months ago, stunting him and making him believe that a bland, beige thing such as a miracle could really exist.

You, looking at him with those same adoring eyes when he made love to you again, after all those years that had passed between you. Decades of swampy regret and missing pieces that no-one else could really fit into or fill; connected with you again on some other level that could only transcend his mere understanding.

And he knows he's undeserving. That even though he shouldn’t listen to it, that insidious little voice is right. He doesn't deserve you looking at him like this.

But he never wants you to stop.

“Ya look… so beautiful, darlin’,” he chokes out.

You smile and pat his stacked chest. “You scrub up pretty well yourself, Mr Miller.”

You lean forward and place a kiss on his temple, just below the spikey, flower-shaped scar.

Joel closes his eyes, savouring the feel of you, your breath settling into his pores. Inhaling the smell of fragrant soap on your skin; the scent of the lavender perfume that’s made in the commune and dessciates the pillows in your bed.

“Ya got all prettied up for me.” He says looking up at you, fingers brushing against the side of your cheek with a dusting of powder to accentuate your skin tone, and a light sheen of highlighter that makes you glow. “Ya glowin’.” He confirms, awestruck.

His lips find yours, tasting the balm on them. Your fingers scratch in the waves behind his ears; his once slicked back hair now ruffled and fluffy again behind his ears.

“Everyone knows? They saw, I-”

You smile, softly. “It’s okay, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Joel. They were all worried, because they care about you.”

He frowns again and squeezes your hand. “M’sorry. Don’t want ya to worry.”

“Too late. You’re stuck with my worry.” You smile.

“S’not too late, ya know.” He says, tentatively with a small voice.

“Too late for what?”

He sighs heavily. He turns towards the machine that’s beeping annoyingly in his ear and jabs at a button, but it doesn’t silence it.

“If you even think about saying what I think you’re going to say, you’ll be spending months in here, Joel. Multiple broken bones.” You warn and he shakes his head, unable to contain the small smirk that threatens to tear up the corners of his mouth.

“M’not gonna say it.”

“Good.”

“But, it’s not too late.” He reminds you anyway with a gruff peep.

“Is that what you want?” You question, your heart is already trying to make a run for it out of any orifice that will allow its escape.

“God, no.” He looks at you sincerely, eyes deep and reassuring in their richness. "I always want you."

“Then stop being a dork.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Dork…”

You squeeze his hand and he places his other on top of them both.

“What’d we do now?” He queries and you can still see the weight he carries behind his eyes.

“I have an idea. Can you walk?”

Joel nods as he pulls off the sticky patches from his chest, and the infernal beeping finally stops.

Ashen comes to a halt at your gentle command, and Joel helps you off after dismounting the tan stallion that he rode with you up to the outpost those few months ago.

Since then, settling into a gentle sway of life in the commune had been a constant that you never knew you needed, or missed so much, as you began building a new life with Joel by your side.

But there was a mild fidget in you that couldn’t be settled; a part of you that always remained on alert, and Joel sensed it in you because that same sense lingered in him too.

Life experience had taught you both not to rest so easily, to leave a limb out of the tub and not fully submerge; to leave a backpack stocked with supplies by the door in case you had to go quickly in the night.

Old habits die hard.

But shared with Joel made them easier to accept, to shoulder the weight equally instead of alone. It could be left placed and fuzzy, in the peripherals to fade out for a while, but it was always there.

You both walk a few paces up a short incline, your dress is covered by a coat and scarf, and Joel’s shirt has been rebuttoned with a sweater and a coat of his own thrown over the top.

You feel the heavy weight of the handgun in your pocket, knocking against your thigh. Joel’s own is holstered to his waist under his coat.

The wind is a little harsher in its nip up here, but the view is worth it.

Looking down into the valley, the Wyoming mountains spread out in the distance with their snowy caps like shark's jaws on the landscape; the commune seems like a tiny dot in the centre of the horizon.

“It’s beautiful, no?” You say wistfully, as the wind pulls tendrils from your styled hair that stick to your lips.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Joel says, his arms wrapping around you. You feel him plant a kiss on the side of your cheek and it warms you, from your toes up.

“Look,” you say to him, and you pull him gently with you towards the shelter of a large tree, its branches, almost shed full of its leaves, swaying rhythmically in the breeze.

Under the canopy of the majority of its stripped branches, your fingers place Joel’s onto the rough ridges of the bark, trailing them towards some carvings.

“What's this?” He asks as he studies the letters.

“You made the trellis for me, for us in our garden. Well, this is my wedding gift to you.” You say with a warm smile.

Joel runs his fingers over the letters, a familiar S as he reads the name Sarah carved into the wood. Underneath, another name is carved. Kelper.

“This is what ya did with my “missin'” tools, hmm?” He queries with a cocked brow.

You grin coyly. “If I told you my evil plan, you'd have put the kibosh on it.”

“S’like ya know me so well,” Joel nods. “Ya came out here by yourself?” He frowns.

“I’m a big girl, Joel.” You remind him and he reluctantly nods after gritting his teeth.

He glances up to see ribbons fluttering in the breeze, and reaches up to feel their silkiness between his fingers.

“Ya did this, for me?”

You nod. “This is the highest tree in the valley. I’ve been all over this valley the past few months trying to find the perfect one. I was safe… Sal was with me.” You assure him when you see his nostrils flare.

You turn to look at the names on the tree. “They’re both looking down on us, Joel. From all the way up here. Sarah and Kelper.”

“Darlin’,” he says, as your eyes mist over.

He reaches for your hand and pulls you in close. He looks at the names on the tree, smiling into your hair as he imagines Sarah indeed looking down on him and smiling proudly.

At least, he hopes he’ll be able to make her proud going forward - the past, he’s doubtful about that.

“Ya amaze me every day.” Joel says.

“I just wanted a place that was ours, to remember them. They should both be here today. And this way... it’s like they are.”

Joel nods. “Marry me, here.”

“Right here, now?”

He nods as he strokes your arms. “Yeah… feels perfect. With them.”

You smile at him, wondering how you made it. Wondering how life, despite it's cruelty, had given you this perfect morsel of happiness.

“Have you got the rings?” You ask him.

He fishes into his jeans pocket and opens his palm to reveal two gold bands. Both a little misshapen from years of wear.

“I wonder who they belonged to,” you say, smiling at the metal hoops looking so dainty and small in his gargantuan palm.

“Two people that were very much in love, I reckon.”

“Yeah. They were. Utterly mad for each other.” You agree.

“Probably drivin' each other mad too,” he smirks.

“You like it when I keep you on your toes.” You remind him starkly and with a brewing grin.

“Mm-hm.” He murmurs. “Like a hole in the head.”

You reach into his palm and take the bigger ring and take his opposite hand in yours.

You glance at the tree for a moment, smiling, remembering. Then you look up at Joel. Look at the man who carried you on through this world, even if he wasn’t physically there for most of it.

“Joel,” you begin, letting the words flow freely. “I never thought in my wildest dreams we’d be here. I never thought that all those years of fighting, surviving… enduring. I never thought that they’d lead me back to you. Fate sure is a funny thing, isn’t it?”

“I sure as hell ain’t laughin’.” He says and you smirk.

You place the ring on his thick finger, sliding it all the way down. “I love you.” You say looking at him. “I’ve always loved you. I will always love you, until I die. And even then, I’ll still love you, Joel.”

Blushing, he smiles. Then he takes your hand, the remaining ring poised at the tip of your finger.

“Darlin’... I don’t think there’s anythin’ I could say that would make it feel truly real. Still feels like a dream sometimes. But then I wake up, and ya there beside me. And I don’t know how that happened, not really. It’s somethin’ I just can’t even wrap my head around, y’know?” His voice carries a blend of warmth and sincerity.

“I know.” You smile.

“Two lucky son’s o’ bitches. But you’re real, you’re here. I found ya. God willing, I fuckin’ found ya again. And I promise to cherish ya, darlin’, in all ya strength n’ vulnerability. Your stubbornness-”

You giggle and he smiles, tucking a wisp of wayward hair behind your ear.

“You're my home in this unpredictable world… I love ya, darlin’. Not just for who ya are, but for who we've become together." He gulps, holding back a choke as you watch his eyes glisten.

"Ya make... ya make me a better man. The kind of man I wanna be for ya. M'bound to ya. Ya have me bound to you, forever.”

“Joel,” you say as your own eyes water, and he bends to kiss you, taking your lips in his as the wind whips around you both, and pulls you tight into his warmth. Pulls you deeper into his heart.

I knew he was a good man, Goose.

You glance over Joel’s shoulder to see Kelper standing there leaning against the tree grinning at you.

You smile, nodding gently at your old friend before closing your eyes, tears falling from them like tiny diamonds scattered over Joel's shoulder, and clinging on tighter to him.

Joel inhales the scent of your hair, holding you hard in his arms as the breeze billows around you both and he swears he's never been more elated, more satiated in his bones and flesh.

If he were to die now, he would die happy, and it's a thought that now comforts him, whereas for so long, it's been one that terrified him.

He lets himself bask, lets himself wander further into this pastel dream and stay there, ruminating for a few more moments in the calm bliss of your arms.

Dad.

He’s roused, eyes snapping open as he hears the familiar voice; a voice he had thought he had forgotten, and then a face he was convinced had slipped his mind also is there, smiling at him.

Familiar eyes, that scent of coconut shampoo filling his nose, and frizzy hair that he could never tame in the way she liked when she was smaller, billows in the wind.

Sarah, his daughter, is smiling at him, clear as day, a few feet in front, and he feels it lurch in his chest.

So do you, as you feel his body stiffen under your embrace, and he steps forward, confused to be met with nothing again.

“Did you…?” Joel murmurs out, his voice lost on a confused gasp.

You turn to see what he’s looking at so intently, but there’s nothing there except the whisper of the wind.

“You alright?” You ask, pulling away from him to look at his face, eyes staring a little way down the hill and filling with water that he frantically blinks away.

“Yeah.” Joel turns to you, stunned and speechless for a few moments. The familiar, expected stab in his heart rearing its ugly head fails to ice him over.

Instead, he feels awash with a sincere warmth, from where it emanates, he’s not entirely sure.

“Y’know what? For the first time in a hell of a long time, I really think I am.” He says.

You smile at him as you nuzzle into his neck.

“Jesus…” he mutters as he wraps his arms back around you. “Thought I saw I fuckin’ ghost for a minute there.”

You smile, knowing that he saw what he needed to. The same as you do when you need it.

He rubs at your back. “S’getting a little cold, we should head back soon.”

“Can we stay up here, just a little while longer?” You ask gently, as you both watch the winter sun setting slowly behind the mountains.

“We can do whatever ya want, darlin’.” Joel murmurs, smiling into your shoulder.

By the time you and Joel made it back, the celebrations had moved into the Tipsy Bison as the expected snow started to billow from the sky.

Candles flicker on the tables, creating an intimate atmosphere that contrasts with the harsh wilderness beyond the commune's borders. Handcrafted Christmas decorations and salvaged ornaments add a touch of festivity to the surroundings, creating a unique blend of the old and the new world.

As the night unfolds, Joel and you move through the crowd, your smiles radiant with the joy of your unity as everyone wants a piece of you both.

The celebrations carry on with a mixture of traditional and improvised festivities - a dance floor, a communal song led by Max and a beaten guitar, with a surprisingly melodic voice which awes you at his secret talent. Guthrie dances with you, twirling you around as you smile and clap.

The large Christmas tree in the corner twinkles with gold, glittery lights that reflect in your eyes as Joel looks into them as he sways gently with you.

Impromptu speeches that celebrate love, survival, and the strength of the human bond follow with laughter, and Tommy leads a toast to the both of you with minimal embarrassment for Joel, much to his relief.

But despite the laughter, the warmth, you catch Joel’s face a little later, and the familiar need for a moment of respite creeps over his features as the frown tugs further at his smile somewhat as the night moves on.

His smile hides years of pain underneath it, convincing you he's fine when you ask him. Some days, he believes it himself.

But he doesn't want to spoil this for you, drag you away, but he also wants to have you to himself; be selfish and attenuate that need that flourishes hot in his veins.

He searches you out as you’re engaging with Sal, Max and Guthrie, and catches your eye, quelling everything loud around him.

In the middle of the chaos, there’s you.

You know him too well, even after three decades of separation, you can still read him without words, and you decide too, that you’ve had enough of smiles and wine.

You both slip out, leaving your expanded family and friends to celebrate as late as they want without you both.

In the secluded corners of your home, away from the festivities, you and Joel allow the weight of your tumultuous journey to fall free from your shoulders and leave it outside.

The echoes of the after-party seem distant, drowned out by the heavy thrumming of your heart in your ears.

Once inside the warmth of your shared home, the safety and privacy of the walls Joel had built once upon a time with his bare hands, those hands of his take to your waist and pull you towards him as he attaches himself to your lips.

He dips and slants, moaning softly against your mouth; pulling your head closer to his with a giant, swamping hand, slipping his other around you and drawing you closer against his taught body that always has a slight tremble to it.

Behind him, the lock on the door clicks shut as you reach for it. Your heart rate speeds up as you melt into him, skin melding together like melted candle wax.

You and Joel are very alone and very close, pushed up tight against one another; bodies reacting and heating up. His broad chest crushes into your own as you feel the increase in his heartbeat against your own rib cage.

You run your hand down his chest towards his groin, searching out that thick hardness you can already feel pressing against you.

Then, you feel him lifting you; arms swooping under you and pulling your feet off the floor.

“Joel!” You squeal as he heaves and steps forward.

"It’s tradition.” He says, stepping forward quickly towards the bedroom.

"Your back!" You wail, giggling.

You cling on around his neck, and he clumsily falls with you onto the bed laughing.

Your hands find his face as he lays on top of you, staring intently into his deep brown eyes.

“What?” He questions as you trace his lips with your fingers, watching as he kisses the tips of them.

“You’re so fucking strong. Do I ever tell you that?” You say with awe.

“Sometimes… not nearly enough.” He chuckles.

“Lay back, old man.” You say, winking at him.

“Oi, less of the old.” He says as you shuffle out from underneath him.

“It’s hot.” You say.

He watches you crawl over him. “Ya wanna be in charge do ya, darlin’?”

“Mm, is your back gonna let you lead?”

He scoffs, and then nods in defeat, retreating hastily backwards on the bed as you straddle him.

“Didn’t think so…” You smile, as you kiss him.

He slips his tongue inside your mouth, the remnants of a few whiskeys in celebration lace his gums.

His hands slide down your waist to cup your ass, squeezing it; pressing you against his crotch as you kiss him deeply, leaning over him. He breaks off, burying his face in the soft column of your throat that feels clammy already with anticipation.

He licks the salt of it, scraping his teeth against the soft perfumed flesh there, licking and nipping, sucking it between his lips hungrily.

"Ya too good to me, darlin’."

You keep your eyes on his face, noticing the way the tip of his tongue teases the middle of his upper lip as he looks hungrily at you. How his Adam's apple bobs with each thick swallow in anticipation.

How those deep, trusting eyes lance at you as you unbutton his shirt.

Joel watches as you trail wet, lingering kisses over his skin; skin mottled with freckles and silvery hairs, a liver spot here or there.

How you kiss and lick each scar delicately that he bears; the one on his hip from where he was shot at on outbreak day. The one where he was gutted trying to save Ellie from raiders.

He shivers as you explore every weak spot he’s ever had, birthing new life into the dead skin.

Watches keenly as you run your tongue around his nipples, sucking over them gently as he hisses in response. Shudders as you kiss down the centre towards his navel, swollen with age around his tummy that you lavish more affection and desire all over, running your cheeks against it.

Joel hitches his breath as you unbuckle his belt and free him from his jeans.

He’ll never get tired of watching you do that, of taking his throbbing, thick cock so slowly and hungrily into your mouth; hearing you whine in satisfaction as you taste him again.

Feeling how it tingles down to the root of him as he slides down your throat and packs you out until you can’t breathe.

He’s moaning like a dying man as you suck him with eyes that meet his with unspoken praise and worship.

He reaches down, weaving through your hair, letting it fall free of the pins that held it precariously in place all day. Combs through it as you lick up the length of him and suckle on the head of his cock, feeling it throughout your own body, the heat travelling in the streams of your arteries.

“Take this off,” he says tugging at the hem of your dress, and you’re soon naked on top of him, bodies growing warm and slick together as you kiss deeply and grind subtly against one another.

“Too long since I was inside ya.” He laments into your ear in a hot whisper.

“It’s only been a couple of days, Joel.” You smirk.

“Too fuckin’ long.” He corrupts.

He runs his thumb over your stiff nipple and cups your breast gently inside his warm palm. "Ya so beautiful, darlin'." He breathes.

He reaches down between your legs and slides his finger against your clit, watching as you jolt with the gentlest of brushes.

“So sensitive, aren’t ya?” He cajoles.

“Mmm,” you nod, hands on his chest as he slips in; finger stroking inside your wet folds.

He pulls out and slips another one in, marvelling at how you arch and mewl above him as he pumps slowly.

You wind you hips, pushing against his fingers as he fucks you keenly with them. Pressing deep against the right spots and stroking you closer with each curl of them.

“Look at you, so fuckin’ beautful.” He groans. "All for me, all mine."

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, fingers gripping into his chest meat as you feel yourself bunching tight already.

Grabbing his cock, he guides his engorged head between your puffy, wet pussy lips in place of his fingers.

“If ya gonna come, ya come on my cock, darlin’.” He pushes in gently, thick head notching into you slowly, letting you suck him in. Sliding slowly and purposefully so you can feel all of him.

Savouring, appreciating, falling further with you.

“Joel!” You gasp, the pinch of him still present as he enters; a sensation that’ll never falter.

He reaches up, mouth grazing over your breast, nipple between his teeth and gently sucks as you slide down the full length of him, taking him in deep, where he belongs.

Joel belongs inside of you.

He pulls you up, large hands crossed around your lower back as he lifts you up and down on his cock, sliding almost the full way out, leaving just the head precariously lipped inside you, until he brings you back down onto the full hilt of him, bottoming out each time he does it.

He grunts with you; warm breaths pelted into your skin like ink blots where they spread, staining you with him.

He begins slow, measured thrusts up into you; you push back, grinding with him, the tightness of your hole now slickly wonderful around his thick cock. He draws out a few inches at a time before pushing in deep, to the sound of plentiful, needy whines from you.

“Fuck, ya feel so good around me, darlin’,” he groans into your chest.

Laying back, giant hands caressing your breasts, he lets you work, lets you take control. Watches keenly, as you ride him deeply, with a heated fever as the sweat starts to slick down your back.

His hips push up to meet you when he senses you’re losing it, losing your control as your gasps pitch higher, becoming more frantic in their raspiness as your cunt tightens around him.

“Joel!” You gasp like you’re sobbing; the cadence stripped from your throat as he grunts in agreement with you at how good it feels, how good it feels to have you on the end of his cock soaking him with all the pleasure that he feeds you.

And it’s something he’ll never tire of. He’ll never want to stop giving you this, giving you all of him.

“There ya go, darlin’...” He ushers. "Ya close, ain't ya?"

“Mmm, yeah…” You can feel it, that glitter starter to gather under your eyelids, the bones in your spine pulling tight and ready to crack open the moment that hot bolt travels down it and into your core.

He winds you tighter around that spool, the slack almost unbearable. Your toes curl inwards, your thighs shake and your whole body tenses up.

"Come for me!" Joel growls, encouragingly.

Over and over he fucks into you, his fingers digging into your hips where they’ll leave bruises that he’ll kiss later.

Your voice is shaking as you stutter incoherently, a babbling mantra of his name. “Joel, Joel, Joel…”

“Ya keep sayin’ my name. This cock s'makin’ ya feel really good, hmm?” He grunts into your face.

“So good, Joel… Oh my God, don’t stop!”

“Are ya gonna come for me? Ya gonna come all over my cock, darlin’?”

“Yeah… I’m coming. I’m coming, Joel! Fuck!”

A warm, desperate shudder pours out of you at his command; your entire body convulses, fingers gnarl around his skin. You cry out, your lungs disintegrate into mottled dust as it leaves you; punching that glitter out of your back once more into the air for you to breathe in and choke on the metallic fragments.

“That’s it. Give it to me… All over me. Like that. Don't stop comin’."

His lips chase yours, brushing sweetly against them with a peck and smooch to remind you he’s still there; your tether, no matter how high you fly above him.

You clutch onto his shoulders, nails digging into the tanned skin as he pushes you back down on his cock, filling you up again. The constant symphony of his pants fill your ears, that subtle weakness in them; that tremor at the back of his throat as he draws closer to his finish.

“That, right there… fuck,” he grunts.

“That feel good?” You groan as your hips swivel intently.

“Yeah… s’way ya look at me like this.” He moans.

“How do I look at you, Joel?” You breathe.

“Like ya love me.” His voice cracks at the sound of it in the air. The realisation, the acceptance, The finality of his being.

“I do love you. I love you so fucking much.” You gasp.

“I love ya too, darlin’. Fuck, do I love you! Shit!” He strains, his muscles pulling tight, the tension in his jaw locking.

“Come for me, fill your wife up, Joel.” You urge.

"Fuck!"

He yanks you towards him, face tumbling into him as he catches you in a kiss as he whines against your lips as he comes deep inside you. Soft whines flow from his plush mouth into yours as he twitches and empties.

His thrusts gently still to an eventual stop, feeling the warmth of his spend flooding around his cock inside you.

He kisses you intently and for what feels like a lifetime, just connected to him; breathing him in down into your respiratory system where he'll always stay.

You stroke away the sweaty, grey curls from the sides of his face and temples, and he smiles at you; a smile he saves only for you, with glittery eyes.

You glance at the clock on the bedside table reading just after midnight, and smile excitedly at him.

“You know what day it is today, right?” You query with a grin, resting your chin on your hands as you lay across his chest, still connected with him inside you.

“Right now, I don’t even know my damned name.” Joel breathes with a heavy chortle.

You feel him slip out as he laughs, the wet warmth of him dripping out of you. “Jesus, ya kill me.”

“It’s Christmas Day.” You whisper to him, and he runs his thumb against your lower lip, watching as you kiss it gently.

“Well then, Merry Christmas, Mrs Miller.” He smirks, crushing you further into his chest.

You beam back at him, finally understanding your place in the world.

Finally understanding why you endured and survived as you take his hand in yours, the glint of your mutual wedding rings reflecting in the dim glow from the string lights outside the window.

You know it was to get to this exact moment, right here, where you're in Joel’s arms again, and nothing can get you anymore. Nothing.

Smiling, you lean up to your husband’s face and kiss him gently on the lips.

“Merry Christmas, Joel.”

The End

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: If you'd like to be removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who was tagged in the original series.

@secretelephanttattoo @morgaussy @darkheartgatita @sp00kymulderr @survivingandenduring @sin-djarin @lilmizmoz @yazsos @ryangoslingstanktop @barbellpedro @givemeth @anavatazes @alwaysmicado @the-blind-assassin-12 @kirsteng42 @missredherring @gasolinerainbowpuddles @millennial-teenybopper @maggiemayhemnj @harriedandharassed @stevie75 @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @chaoticfestninja @reddedmiller @doughmonkey @sonderosa @magpiepillsjunior @chronically-ghosted @pedroswife69 @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @marisemonteiroo @everythingiwanttoread @jjhayhay20 @nerdieforpedro @perennialdoll247 @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin @sscorpiiio @untamedheart81 @srmacaroni @violinchick @orcasoul @lucyeyelesbarrow @mandrillusphinx @loveisacowboyyy @suzmagine @disassociation-daydreams @anoverwhelmingdin @within-the-depths

[ad0rebrial]

SF Gang + Travis and their favorite way to hold their S/O? GN or M reader if possible :>

That’s what i’m best at😋 Making people happy and writing requests!! Thank you for requesting!!

SAL FISHER

He would hold you a lot. He is touch starved but he doesn’t want to rub it on you so he finds himself hugging you a whole lot or just holding you close to him.

He loves it when you spoon him

Cuddling is a big thing with him, okay? You could be watching a movie and are opposite sides of the couch and somehow he will make it over to your side.

LARRY JOHNSON

Larry is that one boyfriend who just walks up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. He also wraps his arms around your neck and what not.

He is also a very touchy person. He loves to hold hands, have his arms linked around you, grabbing your waist, all of that. Like he just won’t keep his hands to himself with you!

He most certainly loves to have his arms around you waist though. It just showed that you two are a “thing” because sometimes people can’t take the hint.

ASHLEY CAMPBELL

Ash is kinda a touchy person. She love to link arms with you and hold your hand.

She enjoys just being around you personally. She is just a your loving girlfriend who just loves you so very much!

Ash doesn’t have a favorite, she just love you for very much and shoes her affection in the most beautiful ways.

TODD MORRISON

Todd just enjoys holding your hand. His fingers are always entwined with yours!

He doesn’t know why he just lives holding your hands so much and finds comfort in doing so. When your thumb would brush up against the skin of his hand just makes his heart beat faster than usual.

I think you can say that he loves holding your hand. Out in public he just keeps you close as you two drag each other everywhere with your hands hooked on each other.

TRAVIS PHELPS

travis is a very touch starved person. That’s no lie either. He doesn’t know how to express his affection the way others do it. When he does do so it’s very brief.

Travis tends to second guess himself on whether he should do something that shows his affection but is worried that he may mess it up.

It may not seem like it but he does have a favorite! He loves hugging you in private. He would just stay in that hugging position for a long time and you just allow it because he deserves it!

[mackjlee9]

Adam Warlock x Top!Male!Reader [Smut]

I tried okay- it's been a while since I've written an actual smut

Masterlist.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3

Requested by sal the mon on Quotev.

Well, this is not how the Guardians' trip to Earth was supposed to go.

Out of everyone, (M/n) was the only one who was reluctant to sleep over at the Quill Residence, so he decided to sleep in his small room in the Bowie, they weren't gonna stay around for too long anyway so he didn't mind staying in the ship.

He thought he was gonna be the only one on the ship, until Adam came up to him silently as he made his way out of the house, "Need anything, Adam?"

The golden boy looked up from the ground at (M/n), and shook his head.

"I lost rock, paper, scissors for one of the rooms," the way he seemed defeated about not being able to stay in Peter's home almost made (M/n) laugh, but he simply smiled and continued walking around the back of the house, toward the backyard where the Bowie was.

He yawned as the ramp lowered, and they made their way inside, closing up again once they were inside.

"Well..." (M/n) yawned again, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the ship, the sound of metal filling their ears, "I'm going to bed, good night," his wrist got grabbed before he could walk inside his room, and he looked back, seeing Adam standing there, "What?" He asked quietly, feeling quite a bit flustered and hot with Adam so close to him.

"I'm not tired yet," for a moment, (M/n) was about to ask how the fuck was he not tired with all they did during the day, he was literally about to collapse from exhaustion, until he remembered that Adam was a Sovereign, and that was what he needed to think of to make him sigh.

"Fine," he opened his room door and took swift steps toward the electronic device that could easily be an iPad made by humans and he handed it to Adam, "This app," he pressed on the screen, and the app took a few seconds to load, "Has movies and series to watch, you can have it for tonight, and don't break it."

Adam scrolled down the app, reading the title of every cover that caught his eye, he was quite interested in all of it.

"Good night, Adam," he looked up and smiled at (M/n), mumbling a 'good night' back before making his way to his own room.

//////

Despite being exhausted, (M/n) had a hard time falling asleep, every time he closed his eyes, the image of a shirtless -and practically naked- Adam would fill his mind, making him groan and sigh as he felt hot and bothered, like really mad at his subconscious for constantly bringing that memory back whenever he got distracted.

Everyone back in Knowhere was so painfully aware of the hugely obvious crush (M/n) had on Adam, except for Adam himself, and (M/n) was too much of a coward to say anything.

Turning face up on his bed, he dropped his arm over his eyes and sighed, deciding to just ignore the memory to the best of his ability. Eventually, he will fall asleep, even if it takes a while for his brain to shut off for a few hours.

And it's only been roughly two hours later that Adam came out of his room, feeling his body tingly and warm, covered in goosebumps due to the involuntary shivers he felt whenever the scene played back in his mind.

He had a faint feeling that he was watching something he wasn't entirely sure he should, but he did anyway, intrigued by the cover and title. He should've known better.

Adam gripped the device in his hands, careful not to break it, as (M/n) had requested of him, and he took quiet steps toward the (h/c) haired male's room, his mind foggy and numb as a particular image flashed past. He shook his head when he arrived at (M/n)'s door, and slowly reached to open it.

As expected, the room was quiet, seeing as (M/n) was fast asleep, and Adam sighed in relief, he didn't know why he was relieved but he was, and made his way inside, careful to not make loud noises that could potentially wake (M/n) up. He placed the device down on his desk, and turned around to leave, until he heard a quiet sound coming from him.

Adam turned to look at (M/n) who had started squirming on the bed, the low brightness of the hallway light was enough to provide a good look at him, and Adam noticed a rather prominent bulge in (M/n)'s pants.

For a moment, all Adam could do was stare, feeling his mouth watering as his mind got plagued with sinful images, those he had just watched but slightly different. They weren't of a man and woman, they were replaced by an image them, (M/n) and Adam.

And he couldn't hold himself back.

//////

A deep frown marked (M/n)'s face, his jaw clenched as muffled groans filled the room, mixing with a constant and wet gawk sound.

His body shook hard enough to make him open his eyes, taking ragged breaths in as he felt like the room was spinning. (M/n) sighed, assuming he simply had a bad dream, but he knew that wasn't it, he probably had the hottest dream he'd ever had in years, and Adam was the cause and protagonist of said dream.

He would've gone back to sleep if it wasn't for a particular feeling on his lower regions, and when he looked down, he swore he could've cum right then and there, and he wasn't far from it.

Whether this was another dream or not, he didn't care, Adam was giving him probably the best head he's ever had -not that he had many, to begin with- but, fuck... he was really good with his mouth, holy-

"Fuck..." (M/n) observed with half-lidded eyes how Adam's hips were grinding down on his bed, his gold eyes closed as he whined needy around his cock.

Adam seemed to be enjoying this just as much as (M/n) was, perhaps even more.

His hands reached down to hold onto Adam's blond locks, pulling on them a little roughly as he started thrusting his hips up, listening to the wet sounds of him taking his cock deep down his throat. Adam's eyes opened, and he looked up at (M/n) through his glossy sight, feeling his dick leaking and throbbing inside his underwear.

"You're mouth feels... So good, Adam, fuck... I'm gonna cum," the Sovereign whined louder, trying to nod while his mouth was still being used, his whole body trembling at the thought of feeling (M/n)'s cum spill in his mouth and slide down his throat.

Groans and heavy breaths left (M/n)'s lips as he approached his orgasm, pulling Adam's hair as he kept his head pressed as close as it could be, releasing a loud moan as his cock twitched, thick ropes of warm cum spilling out of his slit.

He watched with a heavy stare how Adam's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hands held tightly onto his thighs, making sure to take every single drop of his cum.

(M/n)'s breath was ragged but it was going back to normal, simply assuming this whole thing would end there, but it didn't. It won't be ending now.

Adam slowly pulled away and licked his lips before taking a deep breath, "(M/n)...?" He let out a quiet 'hm?' in response, "Can I... Do something?"

His was clouded by the post-orgasm bliss, so he was feeling pretty complacent, giving a few slow nods to Adam's question.

He knelt on the bed and simply tore his clothes off of his body, making (M/n)'s eyes widen at the sight of Adam's naked body. Oh, the things I would do to him...

(M/n) watched attentively how Adam straddled his hips, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of (M/n)'s cock getting hard under him, and he took a deep breath. He didn't know what Adam wanted to do, but he was expecting to see him slowly taking his cock inside him.

A choked moan escaped Adam's mouth, his hands placing themselves on (M/n)'s chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt, releasing a high-pitched whimper, "So big, I... I feel so f-full..."

(M/n)'s teeth gritted, his hands reaching to hold Adam's hips harshly, feeling his mind going numb at how tight and warm Adam felt around his sensitive cock, "Oh my fucking..." He mumbled to himself, struggling to keep his eyes open, just to be able to see every little detail on Adam's expression.

They made eye contact when Adam looked down at him, tears sliding down his gold skin, which had turned some kind of copper colour over his cheeks and nose, giving the appearance of a rather cute blush.

"(M/n)..." Adam's voice was quiet and whiny, leaning down closer until their breaths were mixing, "I..."

He got interrupted by the feeling of (M/n)'s lips pressed against his, muffling his whimpers as he felt his hips being lifted and slowly lowered again. The movement made a shiver run down his spine at how he got filled up again.

At that point, Adam didn't care if (M/n) was gonna use his body like a toy, even more so at the realization that Adam's buffer and bigger body meant nothing with how easily was able to manhandle him. He loved it, and he never wanted it to end.

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

That Summer, Chapter 1

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: M

Story Summary: Frank Castle has been on the move ever since he "retired" as The Punisher after finding out the truth about his family's murder and handing his former best friend, Billy Russo, off to the Feds.

With his new identity as Pete Castiglione, Frank decides to settle down in a small town in Iowa, where he finds employment as a farmhand/handyman for you, a widow who's struggling to keep your farm running by yourself after the untimely death of your husband a year prior.

As Frank grows closer to you, his past -- and true identity -- begin to catch up with him, putting his chance of finding peace -- and both of your lives -- at risk.

Warnings/Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, The Punisher S1 Compliant ONLY, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Frank calling Reader "Ma'am" is it's own warning 🥵

Word Count: ~3k

A/N: This is all Jon Bernthal's fault for looking so damn good in a flannel shirt and jeans.

Title from the Garth Brooks song of the same name.

Taglist: @danzer8705 @carolinaxvz @thepunisherfrankcastle

BangBangBangBangBang!

Frank Castle grabbed his pistol out from under his pillow as a sudden loud knocking on his motel room door startled him awake.

He had pulled into a small town in Iowa around 2 AM and had gotten a room, hoping to get a decent amount of sleep… but apparently there was no such luck since someone was banging on his door at fuck-o’clock in the morning.

He let out a deep breath and relaxed as he realized that the commotion was actually coming from a few doors down, the banging now followed by a woman's angry voice yelling that she knew that someone named Roger was ‘in there with that skank’. Sounds like a lover's quarrel . 

He stashed his gun back underneath his pillow then looked at the bedside clock, which read 7:23 AM. 

He sighed. Might as well get some breakfast since I'm up anyway.

He took a quick shower then dressed, noting by the silence that whatever had been going on between the angry woman and the allegedly-cheating Roger had apparently already been resolved.

There was a small hole-in-the-wall diner directly across the street from the motel, so Frank decided to just walk over there for breakfast.

He headed in and sat at the end of the counter, groaning when his back cracked. 

He pulled out the bottle of aspirin he had bought at a gas station on his way into town and opened it, shaking out a couple of pills before popping them into his mouth and swallowing them dry. He'd certainly slept in worse places than the back of a van and cheap, shitty motel rooms back when he was in the military, but now that he was getting older his joints were definitely preferring a nice, soft bed to sleep in.

The waitress, an older woman whose nametag read Mildred , walked over and poured him a cup of coffee. “Welcome to Sal's, what can I getcha?” she said.

Frank quickly scanned the menu. “Uh, I'll have the bacon and eggs, eggs over easy, please.”

“Sure thing, hon. Coming right up.”

Frank looked around the mostly-empty diner as Mildred shuffled off to go put his order in with the cook.

An old jukebox stood along the far wall -- its choice of music being country ranging from the 1950’s to the 1980’s if Frank had to guess -- while a framed black-and-white photo of the diner sat above the jukebox, the presumed Sal standing proudly in front of the building and pointing to a brand-new sign.

Frank glanced back towards the door, a hand-written flyer pinned to a bulletin board catching his eye.

“You lookin' for a job?” the waitress asked, setting a plate in front of him.

“Uh, yeah, actually, I might be,” Frank replied, still looking at the flyer. He had been considering settling down somewhere for a while and figured that The Middle of Nowhere, Iowa might be just as good a place as any.

He pulled out his phone and flipped it open, only to notice that he had forgotten to charge it the night before and that the battery had died. “Ah, damn, my phone's dead. You happen to know where this is located?”

Mildred nodded. “Yeah, it's down at the end of Route Six, just past Eureka Creek at the edge of town.”

“Mind giving me directions?”

“Sure, when ya leave here head right on Route 3, go down a ways ‘till ya see the sign for the hardware store, then hang a left on the road right past it and go all the way down. Ya can't miss it.”

“Can I take the flyer?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” Frank finished his breakfast and coffee then pulled out enough cash to cover his bill and leave Mildred a nice tip before setting it on the counter. “Here ya go.”

Mildred walked over and took the money, counting it quickly before heading towards the register at the other end of the counter to close Frank out. “Thank ya, hon. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Frank took the flyer off of the bulletin board and folded it before sticking it in his pocket.

He headed back across the street and packed his duffle bag before checking out of the motel. 

He unlocked his van and climbed in, reviewing the directions in his head before starting it up. Right outta here, left onto Route 6 after the hardware store… past Eureka Creek all the way to the end of the road. Got it.

He turned out of the diner's parking lot onto Route 3 and headed towards the edge of town, turning left past the hardware store down a gravel road with a faded sign that declared it Route 6 .

After a few minutes of bumpy driving he crossed a rickety-looking wooden bridge built over a small waterway (what Frank presumed to be the aforementioned Eureka Creek), which transitioned to a winding dirt road leading to a two-story farmhouse.

To the right of the house was another building that appeared to be a cabin, and beyond that was a barn, an older model truck half-covered with a tarp, a tractor that clearly hadn't run in a while, and a fenced-in pasture whose fence was in dire need of repair.

Definitely seems like there'd be plenty for me to do around here, Frank thought as he climbed out of the van.

He could hear barking coming from inside the house as he shut the door and began walking towards the front porch.

He paused just shy of the front steps as the front door opened slightly and you appeared.

You eyed him warily from behind a screen door, which remained closed. “Yes, may I help you?”

“I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, especially with it being so early,” Frank began as he dug the flyer out of his pocket and unfolded it. “But I was told you were looking for someone to help out around here?”

You nodded, glancing briefly at the flyer in his hands before looking back up at him. “Yes, that's right.”

Frank cleared his throat. “I apologize for not calling first but my phone is dead, so Mildred over at the diner gave me your address. Is now a good time to talk?”

You hesitated momentarily. “Yeah, now’s fine, just give me a minute though.”

Frank nodded. “Sure thing, ma'am.”

He waited as you closed the door, hearing a heavy lock turn on the other side. He couldn't blame you -- he'd be cautious too if some strange person turned up on his doorstep unannounced.

After a few minutes, he heard the lock click again and the door open.

A large black and white dog came bounding out past the screen door, stopping in front of Frank and sniffing cautiously at his boots.

You followed, this time carrying a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses and wearing a much friendlier look on your face. “Sorry about him,” you said as you set the tray down on a small side table and closed the door once again. “He's friendly though, I promise.”

“Ah, that's alright.” Frank squatted down to rub the dog’s muzzle. “What’s his name?”

“Frank.”

Frank chuckled. Guess that's a sign that this was a good idea. “Frank, huh?”

You shrugged. “That was the name he came with. He's a rescue.”

Frank turned his attention to Canine Frank. “Nah, that's a good name, huh boy?”

He stood. “I'm Pete. Pete Castiglione.”

You introduced yourself in return. “Would you like some lemonade, Pete?”

Frank nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I'd love some.”

He walked up the steps to the porch as you poured two glasses of lemonade.

You handed him one of the glasses. “Here, have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Frank took the glass and sat before taking a sip of the cool, perfectly sweet drink. “Mmm. This is excellent. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” You took a sip of your own lemonade as Canine Frank settled himself at your feet. “So, Pete, do you have any farming experience?”

Frank shook his head. “Actually, no ma'am, I don't, but I'm a real fast learner and I don't have a problem with getting my hands dirty. And whatever needs fixing, I can do as well.”

Your eyes flicked down to Frank's battle-scarred hands. “Well that's good to know, at least. I'm afraid it's been a bit of a struggle trying to keep up with repairs around this place while also tending to the animals.” 

You took another sip of your lemonade. “Where’ya from, if ya don't mind me asking?”

“New York.” 

You eyed him carefully. “Long way from home. Running from or towards something?”

Frank chuckled and shook his head. “Bit of both, I guess.”

“Honest answer. That's good. Honesty’s important around here.”

Frank nodded. “Yes, ma'am. Honesty's important to me too.”

You looked out towards the farm, then sighed. “I’ll take you on on a trial basis -- let's say two weeks. If it seems like you're at least starting to catch on to everything then you can have the position permanently, if not then I'll give you the half month’s pay that I'll owe you and we'll go our separate ways. Sound fair?”

Frank nodded in return. “Yes, ma’am, sounds completely fair.”

You stood. “In that case, how about I show you around?”

Frank finished his lemonade and set his glass down on the table. “That'd be great.”

You led Frank towards the barn. “We're a small farm, with just 6 horses and 5 cows, a dozen hens, a couple of bee boxes, and Frankie boy here. We used to be much bigger but… well, it became too much to handle on my own.”

Frank had a feeling there was more to that story, but said nothing.

You tugged on the barn door, grunting in frustration when it didn't budge. “That's one thing on the repair list -- this damn door. It's always getting stuck.”

You tugged one more time, the door finally letting loose with a loud pop and sliding open.

Frank followed you into the barn, which was neat and tidy -- well, as neat and tidy as a barn could be. “I can take a look at that door for you now, if you'd like.”

You nodded and waved a hand at the door. “By all means, go right ahead.”

“Got a ladder?”

“Yeah, just a second.”

You walked towards the back of the barn and unhooked a short folding ladder that was hanging on the left wall. “Will this do?”

Frank nodded. “Yes ma'am, that'll work.”

He waited as you brought the ladder to him then climbed up. “Ahh, yeah, I see the problem right here. One of the tracks is loose so they keep catching on each other.”

He looked down at you. “You got a screwdriver handy?”

“Yeah, there's a toolbox over here.” You walked over to a large tool chest and began rummaging through it, quickly producing a screwdriver. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Frank quickly screwed the track back into place and stepped off of the ladder. “Go ahead and try that door now.”

You walked back over to the door, which now slid easily in both directions. “Ah yeah, there we go. Thanks.”

Frank shrugged. “No problem, ma’am.”

You led him towards the stables. “Alrighty, so here are the horses. We've got Sunshine, Missy, Eclipse, Nutmeg, and Amaretto.”

You stopped at a stable that was further away from the others. “And this is the aptly-named Midnight.”

Frank looked between the jet-black horse and you. “Why is he being kept separate from the other horses?” 

“He's not tame yet. I've been trying but haven't had any success.” You paused. “My husband was the horse trainer, I just don't seem to have the knack for it.”

There it is. “Was?”

You nodded. “Tom passed away just over a year ago -- car accident. He was coming back from Des Moines with a load of feed when his tire blew out and he ran off the road. Struck a tree, killed him instantly.”

Frank winced. “I'm so sorry. I know what that's like, though, I… I lost my wife and kids a few years ago too.”

“I'm sorry for your loss as well.”

Next you showed him the cows -- Lulu, Clarabelle, Daisy, Petunia, and Millie -- then the area where you kept the bees. “I usually handle them on my own but there might be an occasion where I would need you to help me harvest honey. You're not allergic, are you?”

Frank shook his head. “No, ma'am. That won't be a problem.”

“Okay, good. Let me show you where you'll be staying.”

You took him back around to the cabin. “Here it is.”

Frank followed you up the steps to the small porch and waited as you unlocked the door.

You opened it. “Come on in.”

He followed you inside and took a look around. To the left of the entranceway was a small kitchen, complete with a stove/oven combo, microwave and coffee maker.

“There’s a grocery store in town if you want to stock up on groceries,” you explained, “but you're also welcome to come have meals in the main house too if you'd like.”

Frank nodded. “I’m not much of a cook, so that would be nice if you wouldn't mind the company.”

“Not at all.”

Beyond the kitchen was a living area that connected to another side porch, then a small laundry room with a washer and dryer. “This was Tom’s and my place before we built the main house,” you explained as you showed him the bedroom and bathroom. “It wasn't much, but it was home while we needed it to be.”

Frank shook his head. “Nah, this is perfect.”

You handed him a key. “Breakfast is at six, lunch at noon, dinner at seven. Work starts tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Alrighty then, I'll give you your privacy, leave ya to get settled in. Let me know if ya need anything.”

“I will.”

Frank went out to the van to get his duffle bag as you headed back to the main house, Canine Frank on your heels. 

He headed back into the cabin and unpacked his meager belongings, hiding his pistol in the nightstand next to the bed before plugging his phone in to charge.

He put a load of laundry on to wash, glad to have his own washer and dryer to use rather than having to find a laundromat.

He returned to the bedroom intending on taking a nap when he looked out of the window, spotting you carrying a large square bale of hay towards the barn and looking like you were struggling.

He headed outside and walked towards you. “Here, let me help you with that.”

You stopped and handed him the hay bale. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“No problem. Where we headed?”

“Horse stalls.” You wiped the back of your arm across your forehead. “It's been taking a lot longer than it's supposed to to muck them out because I've been having to transport the hay by hand and in smaller bales ever since that tractor’s been broken, not to mention having to move the horses to another stall instead of being able to let them pasture during the day because of the fence.”

Frank glanced over at the broken-down tractor. “Listen, I'm not really one to sit around and be idle, so instead of starting tomorrow why don't I help you with the stalls then go ahead and get started on that repair list for you? I can fix the fence then maybe take a look at that tractor, see if I can't get it running for ya tonight.”

You nodded. “That would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You quickly showed Frank how to muck out the horses' stalls, and together the two of you managed to get them cleaned and re-lined with bedding in just a few hours.

“Okay, that's the last one,” you said as you finished mucking out the stall you used to temporarily house each of the horses. “Thanks a lot for your help.”

Frank shrugged. “That's what I'm here for.”

You looked at your watch. “It's just about time for lunch, so how about you wait till after we eat before starting on the fence?”

Frank nodded. “Alright.”

You led him to the back of the main house. “Lunch usually consists of something simple like sandwiches and chips,” you explained as you went up the steps of the back porch and took off your boots. “But there's chili cooking in the Crock-Pot for dinner tonight.”

“Both sound great,” Frank replied, taking his own boots off before following you into the kitchen. “I'm not a very picky eater.”

You washed your hands then went to the refrigerator and began to gather the makings for sandwiches. “I've got turkey and ham, cheese, and fresh lettuce and tomatoes from the garden along with some pickles. Help yourself to whatever you like on your sandwich.”

Frank washed his own hands as you set everything out on the counter along with two plates, a bag of chips, and some condiments. “Thank you.”

You made your sandwich and set your plate on the dining room table. “Something to drink?”

Frank nodded as he made his own sandwich. “Some more of that lemonade would be really nice.”

“Sure thing.” You walked back to the cabinet, pulled out two glasses, and set them on the counter, then pulled the pitcher of lemonade out of the refrigerator. “Go ahead and have a seat, I'll bring this over.”

Frank sat a couple of seats down from you, thanking you as you set his glass of lemonade in front of him.

He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, chewing and swallowing before asking, “What else is on the repair list?”

You huffed out a light laugh and shook your head. “Honestly too much to name, but I can give you a detailed list tomorrow.”

Frank nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you continued eating in silence, Frank stealing a glance at you as you looked thoughtfully out of the window. 

He could see the pain of loss on your face as well as determination to keep the farm afloat and silently vowed to do whatever it took to help you succeed.

[whaleofatjme1920]

What would the sallyface gang think of a plus sized s/o (like me :> ) I wanna see some rep and fluffy stuffs

The Gang with a Plus Sized SO

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, none?]

[AN: Sure thing love bug. I also ended up only doing the main three! <3]

Sal Fisher

He's quite the supporter! I feel like Sal is much more emotionally aware of other people's wants and needs because of his own face, so he's very in tune with you.

He loves you so, so much. Supports you whenever things get rough, emotionally speaking. You're allowed to be upset but he won't allow you to speak down about yourself.

Gods he loves to cuddle with you. Wants to hold you in his arms and caress every part of you. Especially likes it when you spoon and he's the big spoon. You can also lay your head on his stomach and he m e l t s.

Kisses everywhere! Every inch of you is so loved and adored by him. I can see you becoming his muse - always has to take photos of you, make art of you.

Larry Johnson

he's such a thigh guy. Look me in my multiple eyes and try to tell me otherwise. Just try. You can't do it, can you? He's ALWAYS going to be holding your thighs.

Will absolutely destroy someone for even thinking to bad mouth you. Won't allow it. You're a deity in his head. Larry doesn't tolerate disrespect period point blank.

Just a bit of a pervert. Won't elaborate, just know he's really, really into you.

Of course, that's not to say he doesn't love your personality but yeah, Larry prefers an SO like you. I think he likes it when you two snuggle when it's cold, or when he wraps his arms around, just the feeling of holding you grounds him.

Ash Campbell

I think she's crazy over how soft you are. Thinks you're adorable, sexy and beautiful all in one, and can't get enough of you.

She's also a thigh gal and tends to settle between your legs. Loves how strong you are, how warm, the plush feeing as she rests between them.

She's really big on covering you with her lipstick! Everywhere!! Your neck, your chest, arms, your stomach, your legs, you need to be covered in her lipstick kisses. She's got the most adoring eyes when she does so.

No insecure SO. She loves you SO SO MUCH, validates you, thinks you are the ultimate vision of beauty and your body, who you are, that's exactly why. No part of you ever needs to change unless you want to. She adores you.

[fluentisonus]

Graffiti written in the shape of boats:

CIL IV 9039 — "Neptunus"

CIL IV 1764 — "N[e]pt[u]nus"

CIL IV 5428 — "Receptus"

CIL IV 8396 — "Metrodorus"

CIL IV 8020 — "Venustus"

CIL IV 10532a-b — "Faustus" and "Nothus"

CIL IV 4755 — "Cresce[n]s Architectus" ("Crescens the Architect")

CIL IV 4742 — "Cresce[n]s Spatalo sal[utem]" ("Crescens greets Spatalus")

CIL IV 8991 — "[N]avigiu[m] Celeris" ("Swift Boat")

CIL IV 4225 — "[Th]alassae Fusa Optatus" (Poor grammar, aprox.: "Of/to the sea, broad and longed-for")

[image source (german)]

[aiiaiiiyo]

[plushiesssforcrying]

Now Playing... ☼ smoke.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

0:00 |───────── 1:22

Volume: ■■■■■□□□

character[s] ;; sal fisher

pronouns ;; he / him

note ;; brainrot drabble hnngg, sal is a chronic smoker, making out?, unclear relationship, IDK IT'S A DRABBLE

“hey, wanna see something cool?” the corner of sal's scarred mouth stretched into a small smirk. the second belt of his mask was unclipped, giving a well view of the bottom half of his face. without waiting for a response, he took a long drag of his cigarette before pulling down his prosthetic and exhaled.

the smoke escaped through the holes of the mask which were the mouth, eyes and nose. some escaped through the side of the prosthetic, enveloping his face with smoke. it was a cool sight.

sal must have noticed the other's impressed expression as he let out a low chuckle. he took another quick inhale and blowing it directly into [m/n]'s face, who quickly coughed and fanned the smoke away.

the boy glared at his friend, quickly planning his revenge. [m/n] snatched the cigarette from sal's mouth and took a deep inhale of the cigarette before grabbing sal's jaw, blowing the smoke into his mouth. parting scarred lips with his own soft ones before quickly pulling away.

sal's shock was quickly replaced with concern, accidentally inhaling a bit of smoke and coughing it out into his hand. satisfied with the outcome, [m/n] threw his head back to laugh with the cigarette still in-between his index and middle fingers. azure eyes glared at the boy under the mask despite his amusement.

the blue haired boy stole back what was left of the nicotine stick, which wasn't much at all. instead of paying it any mind however, he dropped and stomped the bud with the sole of his shoes before grabbing [m/n] by his jacket.

he was quick to lean in and press his lips on the boy's, who let out a small noise of surprise. once aware of the situation, their lips moved in sync. a hand intertwined with sal's electric blue hair, tugging on it lightly as the boy was pulled closer as humanely as possible.

sal's cigarette breath was evident compared to the alcohol in [m/n]'s, knowing he only had a bit to drink to be barely tipsy. he pulled away hesitantly, it was a little difficult to keep kissing with the mask still somewhat on sal. he carefully adjusted the item so he could have more room as sal only watches him do so.

once he's satisfied, he leaned forward once more to capture rough, scarred lips against his own. biting down his lower lip as if to ask to open it further, which was happily obliged.

sal and [m/n] spent their evening tangled in each other's tongue, taking their time in every second of the moment.

i was fr so confused on how to end this LMFAO

my writing is usually better than this i swEAR

[octopodinuke]

ΨHALECUM E⛧ERYNYAN!!!!!! MY NAME IS L🚫LI⸸A CU⛧IER BU⸸ Y🚫U CAN CALL ME LI⸸A!!!!!! I AM A FUCHSIA GAL ΨH🚫 ΨAN⸸S ⸸🚫 ⸸AKE D🚫ΨN ⸸HE AΨFUL AΨFUL AΨFUL M🚫NARCHY & MAKE ΨA⛧ES ΨHERE & ΨHEN I CAN!!!!!! SEAING ⸸HE ΨAY ⸸HE M🚫NARCHY ⸸REA⸸S L🚫ΨER BL🚫🚫DED PE🚫PLES MAKES ME FEEL S🚫🚫🚫🚫🚫🚫 SAL⸸Y & I HA⸸E ⸸🚫 SEA I⸸ HAPPEN. S🚫 I MADE ⸸HIS GRUMBLR BL🚫G ⸸🚫 ⸸RY & HELP ⸸HEM!!!!!! I CAN'⸸ CAN'⸸ CAN'⸸ ΨAI⸸ ⸸🚫 MEE⸸ Y🚫U ALL!!!!!!

Whalecum everynyan! My name is Lolita Cuvier but you can call me Lita! I am a fuchsia gal who wants to take down the awful awful awful monarchy and make waves where and when I can! Seaing the way the monarchy treats lower blooded peoples makes me feel soooooo salty and I hate to sea it happen. So I made this Grumblr blog to try and help them! I can't can't can't wait to meet you all!

(welcome, everynyan! ran by @tureenverse-grumblr-ooc. note that lolita comes from the fashion. the fashion. its her main aesthetic choice i promise im not weird i swear. hell of a typing quirk.)

[trialsinthelateromanrepublic]

trial of Fabia

date: 73 BCE charge: apud pontifices [trial before the priests], for incestum [unchastity] (sexual relations with L. Sergius Catilina pr. 68) defendant(s): Fabia (Vestal Virgin) (and others?) advocates: Q. Lutatius Catulus cos. 78, pont. by 73, cens. 65 M. Pupius Piso Frugi (Calpurnianus) pr. 72?, cos. 61 (ORF 104.I) prosecutor?: P. Clodius Pulcher aed. cur. 56

Cic. Catil. 3.9; Brut. 236; Sal. Cat. 15.1; Q. Cic.? Com. Pet. 10; Asc. 91C; Plut. Cat. Min. 19.3; Schol. Gron. 287St; Oros. 6.3.1

[elliot-needs-sleep]

hi! i would love it if you could do a fluff alphabet for larry johnson if you haven’t already! the whole alphabet would be great, but if it’s too much you can pick your favorite ones to do! thank you so much for all your works!!

Anon, if you're new, you will know that Larry is my absolute favourite, and thank you for this

I did every letter except T, U, X, Y, X

Fluff Alphabet: Larry Johnson

A - Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

He likes to just do random things, whether it's playing video games, listening to music together, painting, napping, or taking walks. He just likes your company!

B - Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He thinks your kindness and courage are very admirable.

C - Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc

If you're okay with being touched, hugs and cuddles to help keep you grounded. If you aren't, he'll do whatever he can to help distract you (like making jokes and listening to music, watching movies)

D - Dates - What's their ideal date?

Skatepark. Just chilling after dark at a skatepark. Can he even use a skateboard or roller skates? Absolutely not. Can you? Maybe. He will definitely try, but its just for the fun of being in a space that's really weird to be in after dark. That or like, being super high and going to an art exhibit.

E - Emotions - Did they hide the fact that they had a crush? How do they act around their s/o?

He didn't, actually. That's not really how he does things. He figured it out, didn't outright tell you, but he definitely wasn't hiding anything (Sal connected the dots and told you with his permission). He treats you pretty much like he treats everyone else, but with a whole lot more affection

F - Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? Why are they fighting?

He doesn't like holding grudges against people, especially his partner, so it's pretty easy for him to forgive you. Fights usually stem from Sal's mystery whatever (the meat freezer, as an example) because he doesn't want you caught up in what they're doing, because they could get in a whole lot of trouble for it

G - Goals - What's their goals for the future involving their s/o?

Honestly, its as simple as getting to be happy with you (and his friends)

H - Hugs - How do they like to give hugs?

I feel like he gives hugs like he'll never see anyone again. Bear hugs for a solid minute, probably does the thing where he picks you up and spins around

I - Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Honestly, yeah. After being with you, he started dealing with his emotions a lot better (and healthier). He's a lot happier

J - Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

It honestly depends. If you're with his friends, absolutely not. If you're with someone hes doesn't like, even then probably not. I don't think he would really get jealous.

K - Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like? Where's their favorite place to kiss their s/o

Your first kiss was just a bit awkward and I feel like it happened during a movie and he definitely was not expecting to kiss you. He likes giving kisses to your temples, forehead, and the top of your head (he's tall)

L - Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

He would not, no way. He's definitely not hiding that he likes you but he wasn't about to tell you. Oh no, he got Sal to connect the dots with you

M - Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

It's not on the forefront of his mind. Sure, he'd absolutely think about it if you brought it up, but he doesn't really think its that important

N - Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

Dear, hun, sunshine, a shortened version of your name, babe

O - On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

He's really cheesy. Dumb pick up lines, flirting, dumb jokes. Its so obvious (Sal likes to make fun of him alot) to literally everyone

P - PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He is very open about your relationship, he's not really one to brag per se, but he's always up for pda

Q - Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Has an innate ability to tell if you're feeling bad

R - Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Bout as romantic as you can expect a teenage boy to be, he's 100% cliche

S - Secrets - Do they keep secrets from their s/o? If so, what are they?

He'll keep secrets if its about the whole ghost hunting/mystery solving thing

V - Value - What do they view as important in a relationship?

Honesty and communication

W - Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon

He talks in his sleep, and by that I mean he says the funniest pick up lines ever in his sleep and he has no clue

[shallyne]

Well, anyways, I was bored and made a list with book characters that I like from A to Z (couldn't come up with something for Q)

Book Characters List

A

Aemmory Percyval Taxus

Aelin Galathynius

Andarna

Amara Maroni

Alpha Villanova

Abraxos

Annaleigh Thaumas

Aedion Ashryver

Alexis

Asterin Blackbeak

Aaron Warner

Apollion

Aidas

Ansel of Briarcliff

Ash

Addie LaRue

Avery Kylie Grambs

Ash Maddox

Alex Volkov

Ava Chen

Alessandra Davenport

B

Bryce Quinlan

Bryaxis

Bone Carver

Brie

Barney Fitz-Amobi

Bel Price

Bridget Van Ascheberg

C

Corvina Clemm

Cassius

Cardan Greenbriar

Chloe Green

Camila Dunne

Cinnamon Hotpepper

Cormac Donnall

Catherine Pinkerton

Cara Ward

Cal

Carter Price

Chrstian Harper

D

Danika Fendyr

Dante Maroni

Donatella Dragna

Declan Emmett

Dorian Havilliard

Dante Russo

Dominic Davenport

E

Elide Lochan

Evangeline Fox

Emilia DiCarlo

Envy

Evelyn Hugo

Ember Quinlan

Elspeth Spindle

Evangelina Sage

Elm Rowan

F

Feyre Archeron

Fenrys Moonbeam

Fallon

Felix

Fleetfoot

G

Gavriel

H

Hunt Athalar

Helion

Hannah Rooney

I

Imogen

Iris Winnow

Ione Hawthorne

Isabella Valencia

J

Jacks

Juliette Ferrars

Jude Duarte

Jesiba Roga

Jurian

Jest

Jack Brunswick

Jespyr Yew

Josh Chen

Jules Ambrose

K

Kenji Kishimoto

Kaltain Rompier

Kai Young

L

Lilith

Lyla

Lorcan Salvaterre

Lidia Cervos

Legend

Lysandra

Lehabah

Liam Mairi

Luc

Luna Caine

Libby

M

Manon Blackbeak

Morrigan

Morana Vitalio

Meghan Chase

N

Nesryn Faliq

Nazeera Ibrahim

Nash Hawthorne

Naomi Ward

Nightmare

O

Oraya

Oak Greenbriar

P

Pippa Fitz-Amobi

Purrcival

Q

R

Rhysand

Raihn

Ruhn Danaan

Rogan

Rowan Whitethorn

Randall Silago

Rhiannon Matthias

Razor

Ravi Singh

Ravyn Yew

Renelm Yew

Roman Kitt

Rachel Price

Rhys Larsen

S

Shara Wheeler

Scarlett Dragna

Stryga

Suriel

Sartaq

Syrinx

Sgaeyl

Sal Singh

Stanley Forbes

Stella Alonso

Sloane Kensington

T

Tristan Caine

Tristan Flynn

Thea Delion

Tairn

Thimble

Tandri

Trystan Maverine

U

Usha

V

Violet Sorrengail

Vale

Vincent

Vittoria di Carlo

Viv

Vivian Lau-Russo

W

Wrath

Wren

X

Xaden Riorson

Y

Yrene Towers

Z

Zephyr Villanova