#they fixed his nose scrape. it was a good nose scrape i want it back.

[ghosttotheparty]

saw this prompt @newgrangespirals @steddieas-shegoes; needed to write it but also i kind of derailed it bc my brain has a mind of its own and its focus is steddie so i apologize also on ao3

He’s met with silence. 

Eddie supposes Murray Bauman must only ever be met with silence after speaking; he doesn’t seem the type of man to hold an easy, casual conversation. Especially now. 

Even Argyle is silent, his fork stalled on its way to his mouth as he looks from Murray to Jonathan, whose face is red, then Nancy, who’s equally flushed. 

Eddie looks at the table, his vision blurring. His hands are shaking.

“Murray,” Joyce says in a lethally calm voice. Eddie had forgotten she was here. “Go.”

“What do you mean, go?” Murray says, his voice quieter like he’s starting to sense what he’s just done. “We’re in—“

“Murray,” Joyce snaps. Eddie flinches. His fingers are knotting with the hem of the tablecloth, his food uneaten on his plate. “Go. I will deal with you later.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Murray’s chair scrapes across the uneven tile floor, and his footsteps retreat. And then there’s silence again. Tense, tense silence. 

“Steve,” Nancy says quietly, and Eddie looks up at her, glaring even though she hasn’t done anything to him. Jonathan looks at her too, anxious. Joyce sips her water, her hand shaking, and Hopper has his head down, his face hidden in his hands. 

“I’m good,” Steve says shortly, and Eddie looks at him, his stomach flipping. Steve is smiling a little, but it’s an awful smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He pushes his plate away with a breath like he feels just as sick as Eddie does, and he nods, but he doesn’t look like he’s really here. “I’m…”

“Steve, it— it wasn’t—“

“You told him my name,” Steve snaps, looking at her across the table, his eyes wide. Nancy looks like she’s going to start crying, and Eddie finds that he really doesn’t care if she does. “And you still…”

He laughs. Dryly, humourlessly. Eddie feels like he might throw up. 

Steve closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose the way he does when he feels a migraine coming on, and he laughs again. 

“Steve—“ Jonathan tries to say, but Steve just holds his hands up, shaking his head. 

“I’m just…”

He pushes his plate farther away, moving his chair back with a loud scrape, and then he’s leaving too, going upstairs. Eddie watches him go, watches Robin get up to follow him before she deflates, seeing the way Steve gestures for her to stay, to leave him alone. Robin’s hands are shaking, and Eddie can practically feel the anger radiating from her. 

The silence is back after a door slams upstairs. 

Joyce sets her glass down loudly, and she puts her hands flat on the table next to her plate, taking a deep, shaky breath. Hopper says her name softly, but she holds a hand up, shushing him. 

“I have never…” she starts slowly, her voice shaking with anger. “I have never been more disappointed in my life.”

“Mom—”

“Jonathan,” Joyce snaps, fixing a look on him, and he falls quiet. “…I did not raise you to be the other man. And Nancy, I…” She puts her hands on the table again, taking a measured breath before she looks at Nancy. “I am not your mother, but I think I am well within my rights to say I’m disappointed in you, too.”

“Ms Byers—”

“I don’t want to hear a word out of either of you,” Joyce says calmly before she touches her face, rubbing her chin anxiously as she stares at her plate in front of her. Nobody is eating anymore. Eddie still feels sick, but he also feels like he’s blended into the wall, like everybody’s forgotten that he’s here at all.  He looks at the table, at the fraying tablecloth that’s clutched in his fingers. 

“Unbelievable,” Joyce mutters to herself. “I can’t…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. Nancy takes a shuddering breath. She might be crying. 

“Eddie, dude.”

Eddie looks up, his eyes meeting Argyle’s. He’s looking over at Eddie anxiously, his head tilted a little bit, and as they look at each other, the others look at Eddie too. And suddenly he isn’t in the wall, but he’s the centrepiece of the table, the showstopper, the freak. 

It’s like they all remember what Murray said at the same time. 

“Eddie,” Joyce says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. Kinder. Eddie looks at her. “Honey, if… if it is true. None of us have any problem with it.”

If it is true.

They all know it is. Eddie can tell just by looking at them that they all know. 

He feels so… small. Like he’s fifteen again. Like he’s new in high school, like he’s walking down the hallway and feeling all the stares, the eyes and eyes and eyes looking, watching, analysing, judging. Even though Joyce’s gaze is kind, and Hopper gives him a slight nod when their eyes meet. 

Eddie’s chest feels so tight he can’t breathe, each breath shallow and weak, and he’s kind of lightheaded, and he feels fucking nauseous. 

“I, uhm.” He clears his throat, his stomach churning, and he untangled his fingers from the tablecloth, taking a sharp breath. “Excuse me,” he says quickly, breathlessly, moving his chair back so fast it tips on the uneven tiles. He feels like he might pass out as he goes upstairs, hearing Argyle say something quietly behind him.

Upstairs feels even quiet than downstairs. Like every room could have an echo. 

Eddie finds a room that’s empty except for some cardboard boxes, and he shuts the door behind himself before he goes to the opposite side of the room, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to the wall. It’s cold. 

He’s breathing too fast, and his head feels light, like if his eyes were open his vision would be dark. He wraps his arms around himself tightly, squeezing as he exhales until he wheezes, until there’s nothing in his lungs, and then he inhales as slowly as he can. In, in, in, until he can’t anymore. He holds it. Exhales. Does it all over again. 

Until he can breathe without suffocating. 

He turns to rest his back on the wall, and he slides down to the floor, closing his eyes and pulling his knees to his chest, exhaling shakily. 

He’s never felt like this before. 

He feels so… lonely. 

He feels almost cold, even though sunlight is streaming through the window, beams of golden light glowing across the floor. 

He cries. Even though he tries not to. He can’t help it, and the tears are absorbed by the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Steve’s hoodie. Eddie hates that he’s wearing it, even though Steve brought it just for him. Even though Steve specifically made sure he brought a black one, even though it smells like Steve. Eddie hates that Murray noticed that it’s Steve’s. 

He stays there for a while. Until the sunlight dims. 

He only lifts his head when the door breaks open, and Steve’s voice says, “Eddie?”

Eddie stands quickly, wiping his face and sniffling as Steve finds him and shuts the door behind himself. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, his voice wavering. “You okay?”

Steve nods. He doesn’t look like he’s been crying, but his eyes are shining blankly. And Eddie aches. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t really have to. Steve blinks at him, hesitating. 

“I kind of already knew,” he says like it’s a question. “I just…” He exhales, swallowing, and Eddie knows he’s talking about Nancy and Jonathan. It. “I, like, convinced myself I didn’t care? That it— it didn’t matter?” 

Eddie listens, leaning against the wall, watching Steve push his hair back anxiously. 

“I mean— the world was ending, who gives a shit if— if I get cheated on? It’s so fucking stupid.” He doesn’t seem to realize he’s even talking to Eddie. He’s just talking. Saying what he didn’t say downstairs. “But I’m so… Jesus. Hearing it out loud, like— like Murray was fucking proud, like it was funny, I’m just… I don’t know.”

Steve deflates, leaning against the door, looking at Eddie, and his eyes are shining. 

“Embarrassed?”

“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Steve,” Eddie says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“...I trusted them,” Steve says quietly, weakly. 

“You trusted them,” Eddie repeats. “What they did is their fault, Steve, you didn’t do anything wrong. Trusting them wasn’t wrong,” he adds adamantly, watching the way Steve’s eyes shine. “You thought they were— they were trustworthy. You didn’t know they’d do something like that.” 

Steve sniffs, looking at the floor. His cheeks are flushed, and Eddie hates himself for thinking he looks beautiful. 

“You have every right to feel hurt,” Eddie says gently. Steve looks at him. He swallows. “And to feel angry.”

“What about you?” Steve asks quietly after a moment. Eddie blinks. 

“What about me?” 

Steve looks at him. His eyes flick back and forth between Eddie’s for a moment, intent and searching before he speaks. His voice is so soft. Kind. 

“He just outed you in front of all of us,” he says quietly. “You’re not angry?” 

Eddie blinks again. 

Steve looks at him so kindly. Eddie likes being looked at like this. Like Steve is listening to him even though he isn’t speaking. And Eddie realizes that Steve just knows, that he doesn’t question it. That he knows how Eddie is feeling, but is waiting for him to say it himself.

Eddie’s lip quivers, and he feels like a child again. 

“I…” He hesitates, taking a breath as a wave of nausea washes over him again. Steve just looks at him. “I’ve never come out to anyone,” he says weakly. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. “I’ve never gotten the chance to. My— My dad found some zines in my room when I was fourteen, and I didn’t… I didn’t have to say anything.” His voice is shaking. He’s never told anyone about this, not even Jeff. “The only time I ever heard that man say anything about God was when he was trying to beat the queer out of me,” he says, laughing the way Steve laughed downstairs. Humorless. Almost hysterical. “And he— he called Wayne to tell him everything because he…” 

Eddie trails off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“I told myself no one would ever know when Wayne took me in, but I swear it was like overnight, the whole town knew,” he chokes. “Because of— of my hair, or my clothes, or— or because people associate queerness with evil and— and Satanism, I don’t fucking know, but everyone knew and I…” 

He covers his face, his face hot with embarrassment as a sob escapes him, and it feels so stupid to be so upset right now, but Steve just waits patiently, listening and looking at him. 

“People keep taking it,” Eddie chokes, his face wet with tears now, looking at Steve desperately. “It’s mine, and people keep taking it from me.” 

Steve nods. 

And then he’s coming close and wrapping his arms around Eddie, and Eddie is crying into his shoulder, his hands clutching at Steve’s shirt the way they clutched at the tablecloth earlier, his fingers gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles ache. He’s shaking. But Steve’s hands feel steady as they run over his back, and Eddie wants to die. 

Because Murray told them to have sex. And Steve is still here, holding Eddie while he cries, even though he knows Eddie is gay, even though Murray told the whole table that Eddie likes Steve, that it’s so painfully obvious that he likes Steve. That he’s pining, yearning. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his face into Steve’s neck, his shoulders shaking as he sobs, and Steve moves a hand to hold the back of his head, his fingers pressing into Eddie’s curls to cradle his skull. And it’s almost fucking tender, and Eddie doesn’t know how he got here. Or where he’s going to go. 

Steve is murmuring to him. Quiet I got yous and It’s okays, his voice breathy and soft in Eddie’s ear. Eddie melts against him, and Steve holds him tightly, swaying with him, rubbing his back and scratching his fingertips over his scalp carefully the way he does when Eddie has nightmares. 

Eddie whines into his neck, choking on his breath, and Steve’s arm tightens around his waist like he’s preparing to catch Eddie if he falls. 

“I know,” he whispers softly. “It’s not fair.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

It’s not fair. 

It’s fucking bullshit. 

The whole world thinks it knows him better than he knows himself. Even if they’re fucking right. It’s not fair. He’s never gotten to speak for himself, never gotten to really introduce himself. 

He aches when he finally stops crying, his fingers relaxing but still holding Steve’s shirt loosely, and his hands are sore. Steve runs his hand through Eddie’s hair. He waits, holding Eddie close even though he isn’t crying anymore, touching him gently, kindly, as Eddie catches his breath. 

“You know what I’m angriest at?” Eddie asks softly after a few moments, his voice weak and breaking from his crying. Steve touches his head again. 

“What?” Steve whispers. 

“...He’s fucking right.”

Steve is quiet. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as they burn again. 

And then Steve is shifting, holding the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at him. Steve looks into his eyes intently, and it’s almost too much, but Eddie can’t look away, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt. 

“About everything?” he whispers softly. Tentatively. 

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes, and he nods. 

He feels sick again. He can’t breathe. 

Steve’s hand moves to Eddie’s face, and he’s so fucking warm. His thumb brushes over Eddie’s cheek so lightly Eddie can barely feel it. And Steve’s face relaxes, like he’s deflating, as he touches Eddie’s face, as his other hand presses into the small of his back. 

“I really fucking hate him,” Steve breathes. His eyes flicker across Eddie’s face, and they linger on Eddie’s mouth. Eddie whispers his name. Steve hesitates, stammering silently for a moment before, “Can you say it?”

Eddie steps back a little, and their hands fall even though they’re still close enough for Eddie to see the green in his eyes. 

“...Say what?” he asks hesitantly. Steve looks at him, his eyes shining, and he looks so desperate suddenly. 

“Everything,” he says breathlessly. “I wanna hear it from you.”

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears, but Steve looks like he’s begging, and Eddie is weak. 

“I’m gay,” he says softly, whispering like he’s worried someone outside might hear. “And I…” He takes a breath. Steve’s eyes look back and forth between Eddie’s like he’s looking for it. “I have, like… a huge fucking crush on you.”

Steve’s eyes drop to Eddie’s mouth like he’s watching his lips form the words. Eddie is trembling. Steve suddenly feels like he’s across the room, like he’s far away even though they’re standing so close. 

“I might fucking be in love with you, Steve, I…” 

He chokes on his breath, and Steve is touching him again, reaching for his face and wiping away his tears carefully, stepping closer. Eddie’s hands find his waist, and he grips his shirt again. 

Steve says his name. 

It always sounds so nice in his mouth. 

“You don’t– You don’t have to,” Eddie says, trying to tear himself away, closing his eyes as Steve holds his face and wipes his tears. “I know, it’s…”

“Eddie,” Steve whispers, his hands tightening on Eddie’s cheeks, and he’s so close now, their noses almost brushing. “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

 Eddie’s eyes widen. He leans back to see Steve clearly, and Steve looks so nervous that Eddie aches. 

“Really?” Eddie asks weakly. 

“I…” Steve pauses, brushing his thumbs over Eddie’s cheeks and licking his lips, hesitating. “I might be fucking in love with you too,” he whispers. 

Eddie closes his eyes, exhaling as Steve strokes his cheeks again. He gasps for breath when Steve’s forehead touches his, his hands tightening on Steve’s shirt before he slides his hands over his waist gently. He can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Steve asks again, his breath soft on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah,” he chokes. 

Steve’s palms press to Eddie’s cheeks, and Eddie’s hands clutch at Steve’s waist desperately when Steve’s nose nudges his, when their lips brush. He feels like he’s dying. 

But Steve kisses him so softly, so sweetly. Holding his face tenderly in his hands and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling away to look at him, to check, even though Eddie is holding him against himself, even though Eddie’s chin lifts like he’s subconsciously searching for his mouth again. 

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and Steve is smiling at him. It’s such a soft smile, and Eddie forgets everything that’s happened today. Except Steve’s lips on his. 

“Please,” he breathes. Begs. Pleads. 

Steve kisses him again. One of his hands slides to hold the back of his head again, his fingers threading into Eddie’s curls, and his other shifts down to Eddie’s neck, his fingertips slipping under the hoodie as his thumb brushes over Eddie’s throat so lightly it tickles a little bit. Eddie’s hands press to Steve’s waist and slide to press into the small of his back, and he’s probably wrinkling the fabric of his shirt, but neither of them cares as they tilt their heads, as their lips part. 

They pull away to look at each other after a few moments, close enough that they’re sharing breaths as they both breathe hard, as Steve’s fingertips scratch over Eddie’s scalp lightly and Eddie’s eyelids flutter for a second. And then Steve is tilting his head and leaning down to kiss Eddie’s neck, his fingers twisting in his hair to hold him in place, and Eddie is dying, letting out a whimper as his eyes close and his hands reach for Steve’s arms. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of his upper arms, squeezing as Steve presses a slow kiss under his ear. His mouth is so warm. 

Steve kisses him when he lifts his head, and Eddie kisses him back desperately, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck, whining when Steve’s hands find his waist and pull. 

Then Steve pushes, reaching up to hold the back of Eddie’s head, and Eddie stumbles back, his fingers tangling in Steve’s hair and tugging when his back hits the wall.  Steve’s hand blocks his head from the wall, and Eddie smiles against his mouth, gasping when Steve’s tongue slips across his lip. 

“Steve,” he gasps, lightheaded as Steve sucks on his lower lip, as one of his hands slides under the hoodie to touch his skin. His palms are a little rough with calluses, scratching the sensitive scar tissue on Eddie’s waist lightly, and Eddie groans. 

Steve pulls away with a gasp, looking at Eddie desperately, frantically, his other hand holding his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, and his lips are shining, and his hair is a mess, and Eddie wantshimwantshimwantshim—

“Do you wanna leave?” Steve asks, his voice rough, and Eddie looks at his mouth, still panting. “I… I don’t wanna see any of them, I just…” He’s breathless too. His hand runs over Eddie’s scarring again almost mindlessly as his thumb brushes his cheek. “Do you wanna go?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. 

Steve smiles softly, his eyes shining at him, and he leans in to kiss him one more time, caressing his cheek. (Caressing. Jesus.) Eddie hums, savouring it before they part with a quiet, slick noise that seems to echo in the empty room. 

Eddie feels lightheaded again, but he’s smiling like he’s sleepy as Steve shifts his hands to press his chin up, smiling at how pliant Eddie is. Eddie laughs under his breath, his hands holding Steve’s shoulders. 

“I’m so fucking… relieved right now,” Eddie whispers, his head falling to rest on the wall behind him. Steve kisses him again before he pulls him close, hugging him tightly. 

Eddie buries his face in Steve’s neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly, wanting to jump up and wrap his legs around his waist, to cling to him like a koala, wanting to climb inside him, to be as close as fucking possible. Steve exhales roughly, pushing a hand into Eddie’s hair. 

Steve holds his hand as they leave, ignoring the others that are gathered in the living room, even though they’re clearly waiting for the two of them. Eddie lets the door slam shut behind them. Steve drives. Eddie reaches over and puts a hand on his thigh, squeezing gently as he looks out the windows and watches the world go by. 

He’s kind of anxious about this, whatever it is. Anxious that he isn’t what Steve thinks he is, what Steve hopes he is, anxious that he isn’t enough for him. 

But he’ll try his best, he knows he will. He’ll bring Steve fucking flowers, he’ll write him fucking poems if it makes him smile. He’ll ravish him the way he deserves, touch him the way he likes, tell him every chance he gets how fucking beautiful he is. He’ll kiss him good morning and learn how to make his coffee just right. He’ll memorize the pattern of his moles and name constellations on his skin. 

He’ll remind him every single day, as long as Steve lets him have him, what he deserves. 

[hoshifighting]

OMG, I LOVED THE ISSUE CLUB SERIES 😍 IT WAS AMAZING!!! I just wanted to ask if you could do a you giving seventeen head

you giving seventeen head (blowjob)

WARNINGS: oral, 69, blowjob, handjob, moaning, waking up with oral, fingering?, semi-public sex, risky sex.

seungcheol doesn’t usually ask for it; his pleasure comes from your pleasure. “you don’t have to,” he says softly, but you see the flicker of excitement in his eyes. he’s already half-hard by the time you nestle between his legs. you spit on his head, feeling the slickness coat your lips as you take him in. his hands glide over your hair, encouraging but never pushing. “touch yourself,” he murmurs, and you do, because seeing you pleasure yourself boosts his own arousal.

jeonghan, on the other hand, is unabashedly vocal about his desires. “want a quickie?” he whispers in your ear while you’re out. even if it means a detour to the nearest public bathroom, he doesn’t mind. back home, it’s all about the mess—the drool pooling at your chin, his hips thrusting lightly. in public, his eyes fixed on you as you suck cautiously, trying not to smudge your makeup. “don’t mess up your makeup,” he teases, but you know he loves it even more when you do. you can’t help but laugh, the sound muffled as you take him in. he’s shameless, always wanting more, and you love it.

joshua wasn’t a fan of receiving oral until you. now, it’s a ritual. you love seeing him lose himself, his head thrown back, his voice a constant stream of praise. you’ve learned exactly how to drive him wild, taking him deep, your head turning just right, your hands squeezing his balls. he’s on cloud nine, and his appreciation for your effort is evident in every moan and gasp. “just like that,”

junhui has a different approach. he likes to start soft, his cock slowly growing hard inside your mouth. “s-so sensitve” he moans, his sensitivity making him tremble as you take your time, feeling him pulse against your tongue.  he’s more sensitive that way, and you can see it in his eyes, the way they darken with lust. “i love this,” he admits.

hoshi loves a good 69, the way you moan around his cock when he’s eating you out. and the way he moans around your clit makes you squirm. “i can’t—” momentarily pausing from eating you out because of the way you suck him, is too much. “you’re too good at this.”, you smirk around him, loving how you can make him come undone. 

wonwoo’s like a bear, cute and cuddly, but with a dangerous side. he loves deepthroating, loves the feel of your throat tightening around him. “breathe through your nose, baby,” “deeper,” he loves the sensation of you gagging around him, your tears mixing with the saliva pooling at the base of his cock. wonwoo is your gentle giant, but he loves it rough when it comes to oral. tears stream down your face, but the way he looks at you—like you’re the most beautiful sight in the world—makes it all worth it.

woozi’s hands are always on you, guiding you. he loves the sight of you bobbing up and down, loves the sounds you make. “keep going,” he moans, his voice breaking with pleasure. he’s so expressive, his body reacting to every movement, every touch, you can see the strain in his body, the way he arches slightly, lost in the sensation. moans because, in response, you furrow your eyebrows when he does, and he knows you're clenching around nothing. 

minghao prefers a handjob, but when you give him head, you make sure to incorporate that preference. spitting on your hand, you stroke him while focusing on his cockhead, earning a groan of defeat every time. stroking him as you suck on his cockhead. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” the combination is too much for him, and he’s at your mercy, loving every second. “you always win.”

mingyu loves eye contact, even though it makes him blush. you lock eyes with him, watching his shy smile turn into a look of pure ecstasy. he likes it when you scrape your teeth lightly against his cock, his eyes roll back, as he bites his lip. loves the way your doe eyes make him feel both powerful and vulnerable. “s-stop looking at me like this, i-i'll cum.”

seokmin is easy to please. “oh god, yes,” the moment your mouth is on him and your hand is massaging his balls, he’s done for. “oh, god, i’m gonna—” he moans, it doesn’t take long, and he’s a panting, moaning mess in seconds. coming quicker than he expected, but you don’t mind. seeing him lose control is its own reward. his gratitude evident in every gasp and moan. 

seungkwan loves it when you wake him up with head. seungkwan loves the surprises. you’ve talked about it before, and every time you do, he’s in heaven. “good morning,” he mumbles, still half-asleep, but his hips are already moving, seeking more of your touch. he loves the mess, the feeling of your saliva and his precum mixing. 

vernon likes it lazy. he’ll slide his hand into your hair, guiding you down to his cock. he loves it when you lick the seam of his balls, then move to the head. “take your time,” he says, enjoying the languid pace. likes when you let his cock lay on your face as you caress him with your cheek, before sucking him, or after sucking him. it’s a slow burn, a lazy, intimate moment that he treasures.

chan’s into risky head. “we shouldn’t,” he always whispers, but his actions say otherwise. he loves the danger, the idea of getting caught. your mouth on him just before he goes on stage, or in the car, makes it all the more exciting. “careful,” he warns with a grin as you go down on him while he’s driving. the way you treat his cockhead like a lollipop, then suddenly deepthroat him, the cold base contrasting with your warm mouth, drives him crazy. and you love the way he gasps and tightens his grip on the steering wheel. or when he’s minutes away from going on stage. “are you sure?” you ask, but he’s already nodding, already unzipping his pants. 

[vivwritescrappythings]

take it all

toxic!simon riley x afab!reader

You meet Simon at a pub and go home with him.

an: i imagine this as after Soap’s death (sorry if this is a spoiler) and Ghost is trying to cope the best way he can. also i personally think Ghost is bi, sue me.

part 2

tw: smut!, toxic simon, afab and fem reader, drinking, mild dubcon (they were both drinking), biting, dry humping, oral m!receiving, cum play (in not a fun way), not proofread and bad writing.

word count: 2.6k

masterlist

MDNI!

—

Simon wanted nothing to do with you at first. He was at a pub on university night and you’d been dared to go up to the man sulking at the edge of the bar by your friends. You accepted with a nervous giggle, going through the methodical motions of fixing your hair and adjusting your top and making sure you had nothing stuck in your teeth before you approached.

You didn’t even get to open your mouth before he grumbled at you. “Not interested.” He didn’t even bother to look your direction, gulping down his Guinness like it was water and flagging down the bartender for another. It was hard to hold your scoff, your brows furrowing in indignation.

“Arrogant of you to assume I was coming over here to talk to you,” you snapped, arms crossing over your chest and your posture straightening. The force of your glare could’ve seared a hole in the side of his head as you focused on the ridge of his nose. It looked like it had been broken in the past. His fair skin was littered with scars that varied from shiny white tissue to an irritated red hue.

That made one side of his mouth lift into a smirk, dark brown eyes glancing at you out of the corners. It was a look you promptly ignored. You moved to the stool on his other side, sliding onto it and ordering another drink. The man next to you slid the bartender a bill before you had the chance to grab your wallet out of your purse. A form of olive branch, you assumed.

Somehow the night devolved into more drinks and a clumsy, vague introduction before you were following Simon back to his home. He lived walking distance away, his thick fingers circled around your wrist like a bracelet—or a shackle. He didn’t slow his stride for you, making you nearly jog along with him until he got you to his doorstep.

It was a whirlwind. He caged you against the front door, forearms against the painted wood above your head as his face dropped into your shoulder. His lips sucked and nipped at your neck like a madman, scraping his teeth over your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

“M’not a good guy, don’t want nothin’ more than a shag,” he mumbled into your throat. You found yourself nodding despite the fact that you firmly didn’t believe in one night stands. And you didn’t believe in going home with random men you met at bars. Simon had a way to convince you into things without even trying.

Your mouth sought his, desperate for a touch of his lips when his calloused fingers gripped your chin, turning your face away from him as he continued to pin you to his front door. “No kissin’,” he muttered against the curve of your shoulder in a way that didn’t leave any room for negotiation. You felt dizzy as you looked at the lights in the building across the street, your eyelids fluttering as his teeth dug into a sensitive spot on your neck.

“You gonna let me inside or try and screw me out here on your front step?” you asked, your voice sounding more strained than you would’ve liked. You could already feel how soaked your panties were getting, Simon’s thick thigh was shoved between yours—you wouldn’t be surprised if there was already a spot forming on his dark jeans.

He barked a harsh laugh against your ear, one large hand cupping the curve of your waist while the other produced a sparse key ring from his back pocket. It only took a bit of fumbling to thread it into the door. Opening it was a precise and smooth motion, keys getting dropped in a dish near the door and his hand swooping up to flick on the light in practiced moves.

The neatness of the space added a check mark to the box you’d already suspected he fit into: military—or serial killer. Only necessities were present, empty walls aside from the coat hooks near the door and the pot rack in the kitchen. It should’ve made you nervous, should’ve set off some sort of alarm bells. But Simon’s hands were all over you the instant the door clicked shut and he didn’t give you a second to breathe. He yanked the pretty denim jacket off your shoulders smoothly, hanging it up before crowding you further inside like a cattle dog nipping at your ankles.

Before you knew it, you were perched on his lap on the black leather couch and your purse was discarded on the coffee table. Simon’s hands found their way to your hips, rocking you against him as you planted sloppy, wet kisses on the wide column of his throat. He was so solid and warm beneath you, the skirt you were wearing pooling on his couch as the thin fabric of your panties continued to catch against the zipper of his jeans.

Your hips rolled against his as you desperately sought the friction. Pretty, soft moans fanned against the scarred, tattooed skin of Simon’s neck as your hands pressed against his broad, barrel chest for some stability. A heartbeat was already pounding between your legs, your clit nudging against the hard ridge of his cock with each glide of your pelvis against his. His fingers dug into the fat of your hips so hard that you were sure there would be bruises in the morning.

It wouldn’t take you much more to come, as pathetically fast as that was. The hazy smell of him had your chest bound in knots, dirt and cigarette smoke and the sharpness of his citrus-scented soap. You sucked a mark behind his ear, laving your tongue over it to soothe the reddened skin.

You were on the edge of it, mewling and twisting his shirt in your fingers as electricity raced up and down your spine. The alcohol made you feel so warm, your cheeks heated and eyes partially lidded. You didn’t know if it was the booze or the company or both, but everything was buzzing and it made you almost too sensitive.

Simon ripped you from the precipice before you could enjoy the sweet release. His hand closed around your throat and the other locked on your waist, stilling you on his lap. “No!” you yelped, your palm hitting his chest as your brows pinched together. The sound was strangled, his calloused fingers squeezing just enough to tighten your windpipe without truly choking you.

His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he looked up at you on your perch. “You’re not comin’ ‘til you use that pretty mouth of yours,” Simon grunted, manhandling you until you were on your knees between his legs. Again, there was no space for negotiation or protest.

You swallowed thickly, still reeling from your orgasm being ripped away so suddenly. The blistering euphoria fell away from you, wax melting from its feathers as it plummeted back to the earth and left you cold.

You watched Simon’s hands begin to undo his belt, your mouth going dry. His hands were divine, huge and veined along the backs of them. Nails were bitten to the quick and clean, thick and calloused fingers moving deftly to open his belt and unbutton his jeans. There were lines of tattoos on his wrists, faded and feathered from age.

You could’ve been a deer caught in the headlights with how you were staring, eyes wide and your weight back on your heels. If another man acted like Simon was, you would’ve scoffed before picking yourself up off the floor and storming out of the apartment. But there was something about him that made you stay, kneeling obediently as he reached into his blue and gray checkered boxers and pulled himself out.

Simon had a pretty cock, to say the least. It was thick and curved a little to the right. Your gaze traced a thick vein up the length of it, making you swallow. His tip was a flushed red, almost purple. It made you wonder when the last time he came was. You were willing to throw away years of promising yourself that you would never let a guy use you again just to get your mouth on a cock like that, saliva pooling on your tongue.

You didn’t make him wait long, your hands settling on his thighs as you moved forward to take the hot tip of it into your mouth. It tasted like salt and clean skin, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock. You were rewarded with a groan, his hands tightening into fists on either side of your head.

Letting out a breath through your nose, you sucked as much of his cock into your mouth as you could. Lips tucked over teeth and cheeks hollowed out, you always felt like you were in your element when you were giving head. There was something about the ability to bring a man to his knees with just your mouth and hands that delighted you, it made you feel like you had the power.

Simon was the same as the rest. He grunted pretty for you when you wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, moving it in tandem with your mouth. You couldn’t fit him all without choking, drool and spittle already leaking from the edges of your mouth and making the entirety of his shaft a slick mess. It was all over your lips and jaw, your foundation starting to rub away in places and your lip gloss smeared across his shaft and on your palm.

You had to take breaks to breathe, jerking him off as you sucked in desperate breaths. It was the only time you looked up at him, his dark brown eyes looking through you. He made all the right sounds, the grunts and the whimpers that he didn’t mean to let out. But he looked at you like you weren’t quite there, weren’t quite real.

It was the last time you looked up at him, your gut twisting in a way that you didn’t like but could blame on the alcohol.

Simon’s hand fitted to the curve of your jaw, three fingers stretching to the nape of your neck as he guided your mouth back to his cock. He bucked his hips up to cram more of himself down your throat, the hand on the nape of your neck keeping you in place.

His cock cut your airways off with every thrust, making your lungs burn. You focused on sucking in short breaths through your nose in between, your hands clenching against the hard muscle of Simon’s thighs. It was then your suspicions were confirmed, definitely military. There was no room for mercy in the palm of his hand as it molded to the top of your spine.

You choked and spluttered, your saliva turning viscous as his dick churned your throat. Tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes. The soft sound of him sighing met your ears, a hushed “fuck” muttered under his breath.

His eyes were shut tight, his head resting on the back of the couch as he fucked up into your throat. It almost hurt to turn your gaze that far up, but you felt too unmoored—you needed to see him. His free hand was wrapped around what looked to be two sets of dog tags around his neck, holding them so tight his knuckles turned white. You didn’t even see them earlier, they must have been tucked into his shirt.

Simon’s curses became louder, his hand squeezing around the back of your neck and giving you no escape. The laminate wood floor was imprinting its pattern into your knees, the caps of them aching. You still didn’t even try to get him to let you up, working on relaxing your jaw and throat and wanting to take it all. Something about him made you all too complacent, leaving you slack-jawed for him to fuck into like a fleshlight.

His nails dug into the skin behind your ear as he pushed you down all the way, your nose pressed firmly into the soft, curly blonde hairs across his pubic bone. He was so hot and heavy in your throat that it made you want to beg him to ruin you. Your jaw and throat burned, but you melted into the pain as it licked at you.

“Gonna fuckin’ come.” The words were rushed and low as they spilled from Simon’s mouth. You felt battered and bruised, your throat raw and aching. He took from you, and continued to, grinding his hips against your face to move his cock millimeters deeper into your throat. You swallowed obediently to milk his shaft, hearing him moan out a disgruntled name. Johnny? Maybe? You’d have to ask to know, your own heart pounding in your ears muffling the rest.

The pleasure of satisfaction still bloomed in you at a job well done, but it mixed with something nauseating when you realized he was thinking of someone else the whole time.

Simon’s cock pulsed like a wound against your tongue when he came, liquid pleasure like molten lava spilling down your throat with each breathless groan. “That’s it, take it all.” It didn't feel like praise anymore, his blunt nails scratching at the back of your neck combined with his grunts making you feel like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over you.

You didn’t swallow a drop, eyes screwed shut as he dumped rope after rope of come into your throat. Swallowing would’ve been the good thing to do, the obedient thing. But there was so much, some of it spilling out the seam your lips made and disappearing into the scratch of his blonde curls. It was insane, you wondered for the second time how long it had been since he even jerked off.

His hand dropped off you, letting you pull away in an instant. You thought to run to the bathroom or kitchen and spit into the sink, the salty white liquid dripping from the corner of your mouth starting to taste vile on your tongue. You just wanted to get rid of it like the memory of this night.

Simon was already tucking himself away, leaving you sitting like an idiot between his legs. You knew a half-assed apology was next, a pathetic fake compliment about how your mouth felt too good and made him blow his load early. It wasn’t his fault, it was yours. But sorry, no shag tonight.

Rose colored glasses were exchanged for red ones as his dark brown eyes met yours. They were blank, dark rings beneath them almost making him look like a corpse. He didn’t even have the good manners to pretend to be sheepish, his gaze settling on you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

You couldn’t even process what you were doing before you spat the mouthfuls of his come onto his black long-sleeve shirt. The white liquid was frothy from being mixed with your saliva, viscous as it landed on the center of his sternum and splattered. You spat again for good measure, making sure it landed on the silver dog tags before you wiped your mouth on your sleeve.

“Asshole,” you seethed, rolling yourself to your feet before you could even take in his surprised expression. Or the way the corner of his scarred, chewed up mouth twitched like he was going to smile. There was a flicker of recognition in his eye, like you reminded him of someone.

“Next time you just need to come, how about you call that Johnny fella or get a goddamn toy or something,” you hissed, not bothering to look at Simon as you stormed toward the door. You had the good sense to grab your purse, rummaging through it to find some gum as you saw yourself out. The slam of his front door was deafening, leaving the two of you in silence on either side of it.

You didn't realize you forgot your jacket hanging neatly on the hook next to his door until you woke up in the morning.

[hungharrington]

personally i struggle with emotional vulnerability so im not really an “I love you” person? the words get stuck and feel unnatural

BUT READER GIVINF STEVE A HANDJOB N THE FEELING STRIKES HER. she just rests her chin on his shoulder and does a cheesy movie-esque love stare up at him, all you know how much i love you right? love you sooo much stevie. you’re perfect and make me feel so safe, so loved, love you so much for all of that. love you love you love you love you whispered in time with the movement of her hand. leaving little sucky pecks on the chubs of his cheeks. acting as if nothings new when it’s all done, idk if he’d point blank ask or imply but just a “:] hmm? oh, i dunno what you mean stevie :]”

BABEY this was such a 10/10 request like…. the way i sent this to at least 3 different moots when i got it…. ur brain…. so have some subby!steve & as always it’s so in love MDNI this entire blog is 18+, i know the request is for a fem!reader but i’ve kept it gn!reader, 1.1k words, enjoy! <3

You don’t think there’s a prettier sight than how Steve looks when you have your fingers wrapped around his cock.

Cheeks bright flushed pink, eyes screwed up, his chest rising and falling quickly, the muscles beneath his tummy clenching and rippling as you move your hand up and down as fast as you please. 

He’s making those sweet noises you just adore so much — little low moans, each breath laced with a keen that you know will turn into a whimper when he gets closer to the edge. All of his noises go straight between your thighs but right now isn’t about you. It’s about Steve.

The couch cushions press into your legs as you shift, rearranging to be closer to him. You hook your chin over his shoulder, you spare hand creeping up his back, slow and soothingly. The wet sounds of his dripping cock sound fucking heavenly, doused in his soft quiet moans, as you curl your fingers into his hair. Raking them through, your thighs press tighter together when Steve lets out a particularly loud moan. 

“Mm, feeling good, Stevie?” You talk lowly, so close you know he can hear you. You press a kiss into his shoulder, nuzzling your nose along down to his collarbone, your hand fucking his cock a little bit faster. Steve keens, fighting to keep his hips still, trying to be good. His hands clench into fists at his sides. 

He’d had such a day and you had offered to take care of him and Steve just wants to be good for you. 

He nods quickly to answer your question, creasing his eyes open to meet yours and you feel his cock twitch at the sight of your adoring gaze on him— chin on his shoulder, hand gliding his cock so perfectly, dropping another kiss on the exposed skin of his shoulder. 

“Yes, fuck, yes— your hand is always so good, baby.” Steve pants lightly, eyes still fixed on you. They drop to your lips and you don’t deny him, pushing up and leaning in to kiss him. He’s messy with it, not quite the usual practice he has and when you thumb over his slit, Steve groans into your mouth. He breaks the kiss, a high whine escaping his mouth, hips jumping up to meet your hand. 

His forehead drops, leaning against yours and you lean in again, your next kiss on his cheek. 

“Good, y’so good baby. You know how I love you, right?” You murmur, nearly cooing, right as you scrape your fingers through his hair again. Steve shudders beneath you, his eyes cinched shut but a whimper still slips from his throat, loud and high. You speed up your hand, the squelching of it getting louder and louder. 

“Shit,” Steve curses, peeking his eyes open. “Y’can’t say tha- that right now or— ah— I’m gonna cum in a minute.” 

“Love you soooo much, Stevie,” you continue like you haven’t heard him, twisting your hand in that torturous way while your other hand strokes down the nape of his neck, your touch soft with love. Steve gasps loudly, his hips bucking again and all his moans melt into soft whimpers. You kiss his cheek again, nuzzling your nose against his as your adoring words pour out. 

“You’re perfect f’me, you know?” You whisper, your thumb teasing his tip again. Steve whines, his chest heaving with his whimpering heavy breaths. You can see his hands flexing, forming and reforming fists over and over. “You make me feel so safe, so loved, Stevie, love you so much for that.” 

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. He sounds so wrecked for you, voice all raspy from his moans. “Fuck, honey- you can’t just— nghm—“ 

“Love you,” you whisper lovingly, your hand twisting into his hair again and tugging lightly. You speed up your hand tugging his heavy cock, heat bubbling in your tummy at how it leaks all over your hand, the head of it flushed bright pink. You kiss his cheek again sloppily. 

“Love you, love you, love you so much,” You say, drinking in his fucked out expression— brown eyes hidden away, pink lips parted in a whine, his blush standing out against his tan skin. Steve trembles against you, breathing jagged. 

“You can’t—“ He whines softly. “I’m gonna— oh fuck, baby—“

“You can.” You hush him sweetly, another kiss to his shoulder. “C’mon, you can, Stevie. Wanna see you cum f’me, baby, wanna see you cum while I tell you how much I love you, yeah?” 

Steve heaves a deep stuttering breath, his hands finally moving from his sides to grip at your shirt— his fingers twist in and he tugs you impossibly closer. His face turns to hide in your neck as his whimpers start to catch, hips bucking up uncontrollably into your fist. Sweet whiney noises pour into your skin as his orgasm builds up and up — you sweep your hand along the back of his neck again and say it again, a low loving whisper of “I love you,” and Steve breaks. 

His whine is so noisy as the first stream of cum dribbles from his cock and when you don’t slow your pace, you feel his lips part and his teeth sink into your shoulder lightly. He whimpers pathetically, his top half turned to cling to you while you work all his hot cum from his cock, painting your hand and his thighs with it. 

“Mm, so good, love you Stevie, love how well you did for me,” Your murmurs tide Steve over until his soft whines of pleasure turn to whimpers of overstimulation and you finally release his cock. Your hand moves to thigh instead, giving a soft rub as you try to coax his face out. 

“That was big, huh? You came a lot.” Your gaze wanders to his cum-streaked thighs and you can’t help the tiny giggle that titters out of you — it’s enough to get Steve to lift his face. He’s so pink still that it makes you want to coo at him. He looks only a smidge embarrassed, more blissed out than anything. 

“I told you,” He huffs breathlessly, a lazy smile on his face as his head lolls back to rest against the couch. “You can’t say that and expect me not to…” 

He gestures wordlessly to his crotch and you laugh a little, snuggling back up to him. You kiss his neck, nosing up to kiss his jaw and Steve waits patiently, humming happily when you reach his lips. 

You pull back with a teasing smile, “I know but I don’t expect it to keep working every time.” 

Steve waves a hand, eyes slipping closed as his lazy grin spreads. “Mmhmm, liar. You know what it does to me.” 

His words are lovingly, like he loves that you know what he loves. You kiss his cheek once more. 

“Yeah, I do,” you admit gleefully. “And I love it nearly as much as I love you.” 

Steve’s dick gives a soft twitch against his thighs and he groans, face screwing up for a second. “Don’t,” he warns. He opens his eyes to glare at you but there’s no heat. You grin and kiss him again. 

[thoughtsforsoob]

when their s/o gets hurt - txt

note: hello!! I finally found some time to write so please enjoy! I’m doing my best in my classes so please wish me well 💘 anyone in school/uni, good luck! You’ve got this!! This was highly inspired by an incident that happened today after dinner 😭 pray for my scrape to heal soon without getting infected. Please enjoy this and let me know if you like it.

yeonjun

he’s more worried than you are. you actually have to help him not have a panic attack. you two decided to have a cute little picnic at a nice park. you made lots of yummy snacks and finger foods! He was munching on a pbnj while you were looking around. You found a cat and reached out to pet it but turns out, the kitty wasn’t wanting to be touched because they scratched you. The kitty scurried away and yeonjun rushed over to you. He was struggling to not scream his head off and hyperventilating. You look at him and put your not bloody hand on his shoulder, “baby, relax. It’s just a small scratch. well go get it checked now and they’ll just give me a little shot.” You kiss his cheek and after a while, he calms down and drives you to the urgent care room.

soobin

big softie tries not to show any worry because then he knows it’s going to scare you even more. you and him were walking and at some point, you got stuck behind him while talking on the phone. your friend had called about some plans for later that night. because you weren’t paying attention, you failed to notice the poll right in front of you. You crashed right into it and let out a yelp. Soobin was quick to turn around and gently pull you close to him. He checked to make sure you were okay and noticed the small bruise forming on your nose. He let you say goodbye and then took you to get ice for your face.

beomgyu

he’s like your best friend. he’s loosing his shit when it happens but then gets so worried and feels bad for laughing. you were walking down the street with him, enjoying an evening of shopping. You had a bag in your hand with the new gentle monster jelly sunglasses! you weren’t paying attention so you tripped over a crack on the side walk. You fell and the bag went flying, falling hard on the floor. Beomgyu started to giggle but when he heard you start to sniffle, he crouched down to pick you up. your palms were all scraped up so he rushed to grab your bag and took you to the nearest pharmacy to get stuff to clean your hands. it stung of course but he was careful. he was also sad to see you pout about your broken glasses so next week, a new pair was sitting on your best, plus another pair!

taehyun

he’s so calm, much like soobin. he doesn’t want to worry you but he himself is also not to worried. he knows his girl is tough and can get through anything. you were fixing up your hair to go on a date with tyunnie. While straightening a section of hair, you went up a little too high and burned your ear! You cried out in pain and dropped the straighter. He heard your cry and rushed over from the bathroom where he was fixing up his own hair. “Oh my, what happened hmm? A burn?” He examined the burn sight and wordlessly went to get some burn ointment. “You’re gonna be okay. Right? For being so strong, I’ll get you a little prize. How does that sound?” He’s collected and calm and you remain calm too.

huening kai

he was with you when it happened and he was panicking! he is such a caring guy so when it happened, he’s rushing to you to make sure you’re breathing and alive lmao. you were playing by the pool at your family home. you’d brought him to meet your parents and you two had an afternoon to yourselves. you weren’t listening to his warnings to not run and you fell! you slipped on water and he was flying out of the pool to help you up. you were luckily okay, just a scrape on your knee. That’s what you were thinking but kai was worried. He rushed you inside, made you tell him where the first aid kit was, and he nursed you back to perfect health. what a sweetheart, is what your parent says upon hearing about this.

[macfrog]

welcome home cowboy like me chapter five

he's back!!! and he's putting up DECORATIONS part v is yours, loves. if ya wanna read the first four (!! how did we get here) parts, you can check out my masterlist right here 😊 as always your support means the WORLD to me. i love talking with y'all & hearing your thoughts. lmk what we think of this one!!!

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel requests your help to decorate his house for sarah’s return…and a few other things, too

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! the smut is smutting. oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it the fuck UP), praise kink, lil bit of overstimulation, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), un poco consumption of alcohol, cursing, soft!joel at the end tbh i'm a sucker for him

word count: 5.4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

It’s where this was headed anyway, wasn’t it? You’ve fucked around with Joel three times now, and none of your clothes have ever made it off your bodies. This is a first. You’ve never had an empty house plus the time and space to really do it. Always someone about to walk in, or someone waiting for one of you. When, if not right this fucking second? “I want,” you breathe, fingers now taking hold of the waistband of his black boxers, “you,” you slip them down, “inside me,” exposing the base of his hard cock, “right now.”

The two front legs of your chair scrape against the wooden floor as you lift it to sit down. Your dad had an early finish today, so said he’d cook dinner. From scratch.

He’d refused your help when you offered to keep an eye on the chicken, was more offended when you said you’d cook the asparagus, and now, looking at your scrunched nose as you stare down at the lumpy mashed potatoes, looks just plain insulted.

“Sit, eat, don’t say a word.”

“I offered to help.”

His fork hits off the porcelain plate and he sighs. “I had a lot to tend to, alright?”

“Chicken, asparagus, and…mashed potatoes?” you say, dragging your fork through the mash – though it’s more lump than it is mash.

“Eat. It.”

You tuck in, ignoring the rattle of the table as you tug your knife back and forth to cut the chicken. Your dad’s face reddens as you chew your way through his meal.

“How was work?”

You throw your mouthful back your throat with a gulp and take a big swig of water. “Good,” you try not to choke out, “Sal let me go early ‘cause it was so quiet.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Bill was in lookin’ for screws or something. Was Anna who helped him–”

Your sentence is cut short by your dad’s ringtone, and he leans back in his chair to the sideboard behind to retrieve it.

“Yep?” he says, and you know who’s on the other end. Yep? means Joel. “Shoot, I forgot to ask her. Well, she’s right here, gimme a sec.”

He covers the bottom of his phone with his palm, and nods toward you.

“You alright to head over to Joel’s tonight ‘n help ‘im with the house for Sarah comin’ home?”

You narrow your eyes, head tilting. “What…?”

“He’s got some banner or something. Joel, what is it you got? Yeah, a banner. Decorations.”

He cocks an eyebrow and looks at you blankly.

You slowly nod, teeth pulling asparagus off your fork. “I can help.”

“She’ll be over in a bit, Joel. Alright. Alright. Bye, now.”

The phone is thrown onto the table with a clatter. Your dad silently resumes eating.

You clear your throat, trying to sound normal over something you feel very not normal about.

“You volunteerin’ me for things again? I thought we talked about this when you told Rita I’d fix up her flowerbeds for her.”

“Oh, we’re bringin’ up the past, are we?”

“Just sayin’,” you mutter, staring down at your lumpy potatoes.

“Wasn’t me, anyways. Joel asked for you specially this afternoon. Told him you were workin’, he said to ask you when you got back. Was his idea.”

Was it, now? That’s…interesting.

“What time’s he wanting me over?”

“Whenever. He’s in all night.”

Suddenly you’re not so hungry for overcooked chicken and not-mashed potatoes anymore.

You swallow down what you can – what’s edible, anyway – and head upstairs to get ready. Trying to act casual enough that your dad won’t sense your eagerness.

Sure, just grabbing my shoes. I just want the house to look nice for Sarah. It’s really her I’m thinking of. Okay, cool, see you, bye.

You throw a pair of sneakers on, check yourself once over in the mirror, and grab your keys.

“That was quick,” your dad remarks when you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s still powering through his asparagus.

“Just…wanna get it done. For Sarah, y’know.”

He nods. “You lookin’ forward to havin’ her back? Your ol’ pal?”

“Sure. Alright, I’m off. Don’t wait up.”

You practically throw yourself out the front door before he can get another word in, striding over to your car. You’re thankful when the late sun hits you to only be in sweat shorts and a vest top; it may be seven in the evening, but the heat is still stifling.

You pull up in Joel’s drive and climb out, giving the neighborhood a quick scan as you walk over to the front door, trying not to skip. Being handed an excuse to spend a few hours alone with him in an empty house feels like winning the lottery, you’re a little embarrassed to admit.

Joel’s in the living room laying out the decorations he’s bought when you walk in. He’s wearing a denim shirt and white Rangers tee underneath, his regular old jeans on the bottom.

His Hello is comprised of a glance up, a lift of his eyebrows, and a quick scan over your body as you approach. You take a deep breath to dissipate the bubbling feeling in your stomach.

“So, you asked for me specially, huh?”

He nods. “It was either you or your dad, and his ass ain’t as nice to look at as yours.”

“Oh, nice. Glad to be of service. Looks good,” you muse, nodding downward.

The supplies are sprawled out over the coffee table between you both. A huge banner folded up; the beginning of the word Welcome visible. A few packets of multi-colored streamers, balloons, and other gold and silver colored stuff lay around it.

“Probably won’t use it all,” Joel says, sniffing. “Just wanted to give her a big welcome home.”

“All my dad did was pick me up at the airport,” you scoff.

Joel looks up, misses a beat, then says, “Well, your welcome home gift is me.”

“Ha. Good one. C’mon. Let’s get started.”

You task Joel with blowing up balloons while you balance along the back of his couch to tape streamers to the top of the walls. It’s a struggle, though, since Joel keeps tying balloons and hitting them over to you, aiming for your head. He titters to himself when your hair begins to go static.

“That funny to you?” you yell, whacking the fifth balloon out of your face.

“Yeah,” he chuckles back. “You should see your hair, kid.”

By the time the streamers are suspended from the ceiling, dancing in the breeze from the open windows, Joel’s out of breath and sweating.

“Hard fuckin’ work,” he mutters, taking off his shirt. He throws it onto the couch without looking, but still, you suspect he knows exactly what you’ll do.

With a sideward glance to him, you lean back and fish it from the couch, throwing it over yourself. There’s something intoxicating about wearing his clothes, smelling him all over yourself, feeling the warmth from his body. Joel knows it. When he glances over at you to see his shirt hanging off your shoulders, he smirks.

“I think we deserve a break,” he says, eyes lingering.

When he makes off for the kitchen, you throw yourself down on his couch, head falling back against the soft cushions.

He returns with two beers, handing one down to you before laying back beside you. Your shoulders rub against one another as you both take a swig.

“Your dad really didn’t do nothin’? When you got home?”

“I guess you could say he did the barbecue,” you reply, shrugging.

“The neighborhood barbecue, that everyone takes a turn at hostin’? The same one he had you out buyin’ steaks and soda for, two hours before it started?”

“I don’t need a welcome home party. I am the welcome home party.” Your middle finger meets your thumb and you give your wrist a shake in the air, and Joel laughs.

“You deserve one.”

“You wanna throw me one?”

“Can do. If you want.”

You smile in response.

A few moments of silence pass. Comfortable silence. You lie, temple resting against Joel’s shoulder, listening to the trees in his back yard rustle, the birds singing. Peaceful, tranquil. Content.

You like talking with Joel. You like when he’s doing other stuff to you, sure, but you like just being around him. It’s different to spending time with anyone else his age. They all want to ask about your future, your career, are you dating anyone?

Joel just lets you be. Doesn’t push nothin’, doesn’t make you worry. Just wants to make you feel good.

Both mentally and physically, of course.

“Heard any more from Arthur Kennedy?” you ask, more just to hear his voice again than anything. You’re kinda worried he’s falling asleep over there.

Joel takes a deep breath, starts playing with the label on his beer bottle. “Nope,” he says, taking a quick sip, “and don’t wanna.”

“What is it with him, anyways? Why is he the way he is?”

“Just a dirtbag of a man. You get ‘em, y’know? Ain’t none of us really like him. I was pissed at your dad for askin’ him the other day.”

“What does he say at Frank’s? What kinda talk does he give?”

Joel shakes his head like he doesn’t even want to open his mouth. When you nudge him, he clears his throat and then speaks.

“Just all this, ‘I bagged this chick last week’, ‘I was messin’ ‘round with this little beauty’… ‘Tighter ‘n a’ this, ‘Wetter ‘n a’ that. We all know he’s just talkin’ load. The man’s too old to even get an erection anymore.”

You snort. “I bet I could run rings around ‘im, if I ever caught him talking like that.”

Joel half laughs, but it falls apart when his tone gets quietly serious again.

“Just…do me a favor, and stay away from him,” he says in a soft voice. “You’d have me up all night if I thought him ‘n his sleazy hands were anywhere near you.”

He turns his head to lean his jaw on your hair. You think over what he just said. The thought of Joel, awake all night with worry about some sleazeball being within a four-house radius of you makes your stomach flutter.

The idea of him being worried about you. The thought of what he’d do if he ever caught wind Arthur Kennedy had even so much as looked at you twice.

Before your stomach lurches out of your throat with the butterflies soaring around it, you decide to cut the moment short.

“Where’s the banner goin’?” You lean forward, placing your beer on the coffee table and taking hold of the sign.

“Was thinkin’ on that wall,” Joel nods to the wall across from the living room door, “so it’s the first thing she sees when she comes in.”

“Uhuh,” you reply, nodding.

“C’mere,” he says, standing up. “Climb on.”

“Climb on what?”

“My shoulders. I can’t reach all the way up there, what with the TV in the way and all.”

“You’re, like, six feet.”

“It’s a big banner,” he grumbles, kneeling to let you swing your legs over his shoulders. “C’mon. Up.”

“Pfft, okay, old man.”

“Old–? Did you just–? That’s not even funny.”

Joel straightens up and you clutch your stomach with laughter.

“Will you just get on, baby?”

“Alright, alright. Stay still.”

You carefully mount his shoulders and his steady hands wrap around your knees, holding you in place. You wobble as he straightens his legs, lifting you so high your head brushes off the ceiling.

“Alright, be careful. No sudden movements.”

“Right here?” you ask, positioning it.

“Little to the left,” he groans, craning his neck to see. “Right there, that’s it.”

You push the pin through the banner and into the wall, releasing your breath once it’s secured. Joel slowly shuffles over to the other side where you line it up and do the same there.

Once all four corners are in place, he steps back, your legs still wrapped over his neck, and you both admire your teamwork. Joel’s thumbs are gently rubbing your thighs.

“Looks good, huh?”

“Mhm,” you reply. “Anything else to go up?”

“Nah. That’ll do.”

“You just keepin’ me up here for company, then?” you ask, leaning over to look at his face.

He looks back up at you and snorts. “Sorry, darlin’.”

Joel slowly makes over to the couch and bends a little, letting you dismount him to stand on the leather cushion. You’re only slightly taller than him, even standing on his furniture.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, scanning from your lips down to your chest, curtained by his shirt, then over your stomach and down your legs. You know that look. You’ve seen it enough by now. It means…

“What’s next?” you innocently ask, and his eyes snap back up to your face.

Instead of answering, he steps forward, taking your waist in his hands and pulling you against him. His chin tilts up and you smile as you dip your head, connecting your lips.

You immediately deepen the kiss, feeling Joel’s hunger, and satiating your own, too. Your arms drape over his shoulders, relaxing as his form holds you, allowing you to fold into him.

His arms take a grip of you as he bends at the waist, lowering you both down onto the couch, laughing against each other’s lips. He pulls your thighs apart to lean his hips between yours.

His hands begin exploring your body, feeling from your hips over your breasts, making you moan into the kiss, and settle on the collar of his shirt, pushing the sleeves down your shoulders to remove it. In return, your fingers find the hem of his tee and pull it up over his midriff, hunger growing with each hot second that passes.

He leans back, giving you room to whip the shirt over his head, before his naked torso is back on you. His fingers then dance along the waistband of your shorts, untying them whilst his other hand plays at the hem of your vest.

Your shorts lying loose on your hips, he peels your top off of your body, and your shoulders lift to let it over your head. Joel takes the opportunity while your back is off the couch to unclip your bra, throwing the article to the floor.

“Nice,” you whisper into his mouth, and he chuckles in response.

His bare chest, decorated lightly with dark brown hair, is against yours; his lips move to your neck, biting another mark into the sensitive skin. Your head tilts back and you let out a moan, wanting more, but Joel’s taking his time. He’s making every second count.

You buck your hips against his and he lifts his head, giving you a knowing smirk and obeying your silent request. He begins making his way down, not forgetting to stop off by your tits and run his tongue over your nipples.

Your hands find home in his hair and your back arches some as he caresses the hardened buds, lips forming an O shape to suck on one while tending to the other with his thumb and index finger.

When you whine and your hips lift a second time, he moves across your tummy and toward your lowering shorts.

Eyes glazed with lust, you watch as he yanks them down, your panties the only thing separating you from him now. You hear your shorts hit the floor when he drops them, and places a wet kiss over your clothed cunt.

“Joel,” you moan, head falling back against the cushion. He’s driving you fucking insane.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, kissing the insides of your thighs. “Tell me, baby, tell me what you want.”

You writhe under his touch; he’s so close, and yet so far.

“Your tongue,” you whimper.

“Huh? Can’t hear you over your moanin’, pretty girl.”

“Fuck– Need your fucking tongue,” you say as clearly as you can, still whining some.

“Good girl.”

He uncovers your soaking cunt and tears – literally, tears – your panties off of your body, balling them up in a tight fist. You gasp, both delighted and relieved, watching him discard the ripped fabric by his side.

Neither of you give a fuck. You’re desperate to feel each other, be on each other, be in each other.

He dips his head to your sex, and drags a long stripe up to your clit, collecting your juices on his tongue as he does. His tongue runs between your folds, swirling around, licking and threatening to dip further, before he lifts away again.

You let out a long moan, hands still tugging at his hair, attempting to push his head harder on your pussy. He doesn’t budge.

“Patience, baby,” he’s whispering, lowering his chin again to place his soft lips against your swollen clit.

He knows what he’s fucking doing – teasing you and making you wait like this. He wants it to build, really build, before you cum. He’s not cutting any corners.

His lips center over your bud, tongue tapping against it as he sucks, and brings his fingers up to sift through your folds. Your cunt aches for him; your hips find rhythm against his mouth as you fuck yourself off of him, and he lets you.

Feeling how wet you are, he plunges two long, curved fingers into your pussy, and your back, sticky with sweat, peels off of the couch for the second time.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasp, feeling the stretch of his fingers inside you.

He hums against you, the vibrations of his deep voice pleasuring you more. He’s loving it as much as you are; tasting you, hearing you, breathing all of it in like it’s fresh air to his lungs.

Your breathing begins to falter, your chest rising and falling, your entire body ignited by his touch. You’re panting his name over and over, whining every time his fingers hit the spongey walls of your cunt.

He’s so fucking good at this.

He removes his fingers and replaces them with his lips, mouth planted firmly against your pussy. You widen your legs and he pushes down on your thighs, keeping them apart to make room for his jaw against your core, tongue licking between your folds again.

“Tongue,” you remind him.

“I hear ya,” he mumbles, and opens his lips.

His wet tongue slips into your cunt like it’s made to be there. You screw your eyes shut, pushing your upper back into the couch to lift your ass to him. His top lip cups around your clit as he eats you out, moans strumming against your sex, tongue exploring your wet hole.

“I’m close,” you whisper, and he removes his lips for two seconds to tell you to “Keep goin’, baby.”

“Doin’ so well for me,” he laps at your juices, “taste so fucking good, beautiful.”

He inserts his fingers again to bring you nearer your climax, and your mind starts to blank. You know what’s coming.

You can’t even form the shape of his name with your mouth as you draw nearer and nearer to your high; all you can focus on is the feeling of his hand fucking you, pumping in and out of your tight pussy, the way his tongue soaks your clit, the rutting of your hips all over his face.

It’s so fucking filthy, and so fucking good.

When Joel’s voice breaks through the fog in your brain, telling you to “Let go, baby, I’m here,” you obey him.

The edges of the room start to bleed white as your body lifts, fingers gripping onto Joel’s hair, hips digging further into the cushion.

It’s only ten o’clock; for all you know, Joel’s neighbors might be out in their backyard enjoying the warm night breeze. Do you care? Fuck no. You cry his name loud enough that the whole street might hear.

He coaxes you through it, drinking in your orgasm, moaning when your walls lock around his fingers and you cover his tongue in your sweet wet.

He slips his soaked fingers from your core and you whine at the loss; Joel makes up for it by gently massaging your aching clit as you come down, spreading your cum all over you.

“That’s it, baby, did so good. That felt good, huh?”

Still coming to, you don’t reply; you feel his weight back on top of yours, his safe arms wrapping around your shoulders.

“’s okay, darlin’,” he coos as your sight starts to return. He peppers your neck with gentle, wet kisses, bringing you back to earth.

Before even you realize it, your fingers are grasping at his jeans, blindly trying to undo the button and zipper. Joel laughs, lifting his hips to give you better access.

You giggle, loosening them and hauling them past his hips, and he sits up to drag them down his legs and shove them off near your shorts.

“What now, sweet girl?”

Your voice is low, serious. Barely above a whisper.

“Fuck me.”

He almost looks taken aback. As if he never thought he’d hear those words escape your lips. Like he’d been pushing you, further and further, expecting you to always hold back, always bounce back from the edge.

And here you are, clutching his arms and hauling him over with you.

It’s where this was headed anyway, wasn’t it? You’ve fucked around with Joel three times now, and none of your clothes have ever made it off your bodies. This is a first.

You’ve never had an empty house plus the time and space to really do it. Always someone about to walk in, or someone waiting for one of you. When, if not right this fucking second?

“I want,” you breathe, fingers now taking hold of the waistband of his black boxers, “you,” you slip them down, “inside me,” exposing the base of his hard cock, “right now.”

Joel’s eyes darken just as his huge cock bounces free from his underwear.

He’s watching your lips breathe out the words like it’s all he ever wanted to hear, all he’s thought about since that first night with your hands on his thighs, looking up at him so innocently.

Just waiting to be fucking ruined by him.

You slur the words again. “F-fuck me.”

“Yeah? ‘s that what you want?”

“Mhm.”

He’s kneeling over you now, helping you tug the underwear down his legs, precum-coated tip of his cock drawing circles on your stomach.

When he’s fully naked, he presses his body against yours, speaking to you between hot, wet kisses.

“You sure you can take it, pretty girl?”

“I’m sure,” you reply, lust taking over any remnants of your orgasm. Just fucking fuck me.

Joel’s hips raise, and he looks down to guide his cock to your hole. You bring your knees up, positioning them just under his biceps.

“Good,” he mumbles under his breath.

You’re so wet that when he runs his shaft through your folds, slicking himself up, his tip kisses the entrance of your cunt, drawing a gasp from you and a growl from Joel. You’re desperate for him to just slide in, make himself at home where he belongs, between your hips.

And when he does, it’s fucking euphoric.

He’s big. You knew this already. But feeling him inside you is different.

He pushes in halfway first, letting you get used to him.

“Okay?” he asks quietly.

You nod; your voice catches in your throat as he falls out of you, just to thrust in again and let his cock dive through your soaked, swollen folds straight into your warm cunt.

He’s so big that when he bottoms out inside you for the first time, your mouth falls open wordlessly, and your brain shuts down for a few minutes. Nothing but the feeling of him slipping in and out of your cunt slowly, fucking you dumb.

When he knows you can take him, he picks up the pace, dragging his hips back and forth against yours, filling you up until his tip kisses the edge of your cervix, and pulling out until he’s between your folds again.

You’re holding onto his shoulders like you’re hanging off a cliff edge. The feeling of his hot skin under your arms is the only thing keeping you grounded right now; the pressure between your legs with each thrust of his huge cock threatening to pull you off the edge of the abyss.

When his voice breathes in your ear between his groans, you snap back to reality. Thighs burning, nails scratching, pussy throbbing reality.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mhm.”

“Let me hear you, pretty girl, tell me how good it feels.”

He’s going faster still, balls smacking against your ass every time he bottoms out, sighs and whimpers passing your lips.

You whine his name, telling him, “Harder,” and he obliges, hips snapping ever stronger. His pubic bone grinds against your clit as he thrusts, the pressure spreading spots of pure bliss across your vision.

You look down to where your bodies connect, mesmerized by the sight of his cock pumping in and out of you. It turns you on even more.

“We look good, huh?” his voice lulls from above, and you look back up to find him watching you.

He dips his head and kisses you, and you start to near your second high.

“Joel,” you mewl, the feeling so good you can’t even form the words to tell him.

He knows, anyway.

“So good, baby,” he’s panting, sweaty forehead leaning against yours, “gonna cum all over me again?”

You nod, eyes screwing shut. He’s fucking you so good you’re barely remembering to breathe.

“Let go, darlin’, let me hear you,” he whispers, and you fold.

Joel bites into the crook of your neck and lets out a loud groan as he feels your pussy clamp around him. He fucks you through it, only slowing for a few seconds to let it wash over you, then picks the pace straight back up when you quieten and your breathing calms.

You’re so fucking overstimulated, but he’s not done, and you know what he wants. You want something, too. Maybe you two could work together.

“Joel?”

“Mhm?” He’s gone quiet, chasing his own high. You hear his breathing stammer when you say it.

“Want you to do it from behind.”

“Beh–” He’s almost gasping for breath, but when he understands what you mean, he wastes no time.

Wordlessly, he loosens his grip on you and pushes himself up, dick slipping out. You moan at the feeling of emptiness as it pulls out of you.

He gives you space to turn over, helping you move further up the couch with steady hands on your hips. When you settle, he lifts your ass up.

“Not gonna last long, baby,” he tells you, and you nod. Your right ear lies flat, sweat sticking you to the leather, hands splayed out above your head gripping the cushions.

You feel him line up again, his thighs against yours. Your breathing jilts as his head pushes in, followed by his shaft, filling you up, deeper and deeper until his balls kiss your clit.

You let a deep moan pass your lips. Joel groans, hips leaving your ass, only to smack into them again as he fucks you even deeper from this position.

He’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, cock spearing into you, tears swelling across your half-shut eyes. The feeling, the pain, too good to ask him to stop, but so overwhelming you can feel every thought, every instinct, every other feeling, leave your body with every thrust.

Joel’s all you know. He’s all you want to know.

Your legs start to give, and he places his rough hands on your waist to hold you up, pumping in and out of you at a punishing pace.

“Joel…” you whine.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m there, too.”

You feel his weight pushing on the back of your thighs and open your eyes to see him leaning over you, hands placed either side of your head. You lace your fingers with his and let him fuck you, totally mindless to everything around you except for the man at your ass, pummeling his dick inside you so deep your cunt is aching.

It pushes you over the edge.

Your walls squeeze his dick, threatening to pull him over with you. Your vision blanks for the third time tonight; what energy you have left is poured into the filthy cry which escapes your lips as Joel’s hard cock splits you open.

“So tight, baby, good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel begins to falter, his thrusts become sloppy, and he pushes your ass off of him so not to finish inside you. You kinda feel disappointed, wishing he’d just stay inside and fill you to the brim with his cum.

Joel gives himself a couple more strokes before you feel his seed coat your ass, warm, dripping down the small of your back and the underside of your thighs.

You moan at the feeling of him spilling all over you, the grunts he lets slip as his orgasm washes over him. You smile dumbly at the thought that you’re the one doing this to him; you’re the one covered in his cum. You’re his, even if it’s only in this moment.

He’s panting behind you. He almost collapses on top of your back, propping himself on his elbows to keep some of his weight off.

He gently leans down and nuzzles his nose against your ear, eliciting a quiet giggle from you.

“You okay?” he breathes.

You nod. “Better than okay.”

“You sore?”

“A little.”

“Baby…” he coos, and pushes himself up.

You sigh as his weight leaves you, and you hear his footsteps pad into the kitchen. You stay put, in part to keep from staining Joel’s couch with…well, Joel, but mostly because you’re too fucked-out to even move. Too fucked to feel your thighs, your back, never mind between your legs.

Joel returns with paper towel, and softly wipes from your back to your thighs, cleaning up his mess. He massages your muscles as he goes, and your eyes shut over with the sweet feeling.

When he’s done, he rolls you over and takes hold of your ankle, pulling you down the leather to his grasp, where he puts his tee over your head and helps you feed your arms through the sleeves. The Rangers logo sits just below your chest.

He pulls his boxers back on, before taking your outstretched arms and scooping you up in his. Your head falls limp in the crook of his neck, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

He carries you, completely dazed and fucked, out of the living room and upstairs. He makes a right at the top, down the dim hallway, past the same closet he went down on you in just two days ago, toward a door at the end. He knocks it open and takes you through.

Even in your half-sleeping state, you know exactly where you are. You’re in Joel’s bedroom.

You’ve been in here before, maybe only a couple times, when Sarah’s needed something or you’ve accompanied your dad to help repair something for Joel, but it feels different now.

It’s dark, the sun almost set on the other side of the house and the streetlights’ glow a burning orange right above Joel’s headboard.

He carries you over to the left side of the bed and lays you down in his soft sheets. He tucks you under the comforter and bends to place a long, tender kiss on top of your head.

You begin to swim in and out of sleep, waking to find him folding your clothes into a neat pile by the bedside, then again to watch him set a glass of water on the nightstand.

Your eyes are glued shut with exhaustion when you feel him lift the duvet behind you and slip in, taking your waist under his forearm and pulling you flush against his frame.

You listen to the faint sound of a cell phone dialing, and then hear his voice; soft, hushed, but still normal Joel.

“Hey, man. Yeah, no, everything’s fine. We were pretty late finishin’ up with these decorations, and then The Shining was on TV, so we stayed up to watch it. She’s pretty exhausted. I let her take Sarah’s room, I hope that’s okay?”

Your dad’s voice is faint down the line as you begin to drop off in Joel’s arms.

“Sure thing, thanks, Joel. You kick her out first thing, you hear? Don’t want her holdin’ you up for gettin’ Sarah.”

When you hear him slide his cell back onto his nightstand, you mumble something incoherent into his arm.

“What, darlin’?” Joel asks, head lifting to hear you better.

“I said, great welcome home party. Thanks.”

His lips press lightly on your shoulder, his breath hot on your skin. Whatever it is he says, you don’t hear it, already long gone to a deep, comfortable sleep.

----------

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[mashiraostail]

Plleeassee 'you can sit on my lap' with Halsin PLEASEEE

ur wish is my command I did SFW bc it felt right but lemme no if u want different :3

It was always the same, which was sort of what annoyed you. It's not that your day to day fights had been particularly hard it was just the constant bumps and scrapes and bruises that weighed you down. Never enough damage to justify wasting healing magic, but just enough that you were uncomfortable in your day to day. You left some wounds to heal even once you're back at camp, preferring to let the others get fixed up before you. Today you could feel the itchy irritation of a cut healing over, right across the bridge of your nose. It was a constant bother, like a bug flying around your face, a tickle that would not subside no matter which way you scrunched your nose up.

"This city air isn't doing anything for me either." You feel Halsin's hand come down on your shoulder, heavy and warm. For a moment you were confused, you'd not complained at all since setting off for the day, then you realized your discomfort may be less subtle than you thought.

"Oh..." You wave, "who am I to complain?" You did enjoy Halsin, well perhaps more than enjoy.... given your late night trysts. Though he was still unfamiliar to you in some ways, and lacking a formal name for what the two of you shared often left you uncertain in your day to day with him.

"Please, I think this city would benefit from some complaining." He looks down at you, "I thought I was the only one."

"No..no.." You resist the urge to peel the scab over the bridge of your nose away, you were certain you'd start gushing blood all over, which given your current location made no sense at all. It had actually been a rather tame day so far, and it was already almost over.

"I think even the most dedicated Baldurians have it in them to complain about the smell from time to time." You give in, and start to chip away at the corner of the scab closest to your tear duct.

Halsin just laughs, "I see, well I suppose it's good to know I'm not alone..." He removes his hand from your shoulder and looks around a bit as you walk, though he stays close to you.

You can't help but hiss at the feeling of your skin peeling back, beyond the first wound, you supposed that was karma for picking it.

"Are you alright?" Halsin turns over his shoulder at you, "I heard you-" He looks down at your hand by your nose, "leave that alone." He bats your hand away, "you should have let me clean it up days ago, see now? You've made it worse."

"It's itchy." You rub the bridge of your nose for emphasis, "and I can't help it. I've always picked at my scabs, where do you think all these cool scars came from?"

"I can't say I doubt that. But still, this city is dirty, it's best to not bare an open wound to this kind of air." He procures a small cloth and dabs at the blood as it appears, "it's good you didn't peel open this whole thing, and it's a wonder you've not complained till now."

You can't help but flush at the attention, if anyone with you notices they spare you, "I'm alright, I've dealt with much worse."

"I'm sure you have, but there's no need with me around.... To tell you the truth," He dabs the small cloth with his tongue and wipes the dirt and grime away from the edges of the newly opened flesh, "I enjoy doting on you."

You look down at your boots to avoid looking at him, you can feel your ears burning.

"It's hard to see the damage out here, do you think you can hold out till we set up camp for the day?"

"Of course-" You swallow your embarrassment, "I'm okay like this, I'll live."

"Oh I hope so." Halsin is smiling at you, "who knows what I would do otherwise." He hands you the cloth, "keep this, incase it bleeds anymore."

"Thank you." You look up at him, "you've been a big help."

"Don't thank me, just.." He guides your hand holding the cloth up to your nose, and uses it to cover the wound, "keep it clean until we settle in for the night." You can only nod up at him.

True to your word you do keep your wound covered in the cloth for the rest of your journey that day. It was a long one, boring too. As much as the little battles left you irate, a boring day of gathering information and talking to every no name on the street was equally irksome.

When you get back to camp Halsin seems busy with Gale, who despite his best efforts is always the most banged up by the end of the day. You almost feel bad for him, until you see him bright and pristine every morning. So you sit by the fire, content on sharpening a stick into some sort of miniature spear, humming to yourself.

When Halsin finds you all of the dark bark has been scraped off the stick leaving it white and brittle looking.

"You hide in plain sight you know?" He offers you a hand and you take it, allowing him to hoist you up to your feet.

"It's one of my many talents." You toss the sharpened stick down, "how's Gale?"

"He's fine, I apologize, I should have come to you first."

"No," You laugh, "I'm sure he needed it more than me. You're here now."

"I am." He smiles at that, wider than you'd ever previously given yourself credit for, "come, let me see." He waves you closer and leans down toward you.

Once you've closed most of the gap you feel his eyes wander beyond the gash over your nose, down to your neck and collarbones, all to way to your wrists.

"Now that we're close like this...when was the last time you've been healed? Has Jaheria been taking up the job in my stead?" He seems almost offended at the thought.

"No-" You shake your head, "No, I've been mostly alright."

"Alright? You're practically covered in cuts and bruises- let's go someplace more private, you should have a once over." He guides you with a hand sprawled out between your shoulder blades, not leaving room for protest.

"You should have come to me sooner." He breaks the silence once you're away from camp, surrounded by trees and brush.

"You're always helping the others, I'm used to this, I'd rather they get what they need." You insist, gesturing vaguely to yourself.

"You can all have what you need." Halsin seems perplexed, "there's more than enough healing magic to go around, you don't have to worry about that."

"well it must be exhausting, constantly casting spells, you're always taking care of the others, what about you?"

"What about me?" Halsin tilts his head at you quizzically, "I'm alright too."

"Well who takes care of you?"

"When you live as long as I have," He starts tending to some of the smaller cuts on your arms, "you learn to take care of yourself. It comes with time."

"That's not fair." You frown, "everyone relies on you. It must be a heavy weight, especially with no one to lean on, or to rely on to care for you."

"You." Halsin sits on an old stump, "I have you. We care for each other....unless I'm mistaken."

"You're not." You allow him to turn you around, inspect you every which way for any major damage left untended.

"Good. Come here." He waves you into him but you stand, flushed and confused before him.

"Here." He gestures again, "you can sit in my lap."

Nervously you do, slotting yourself against him. It hadn't been many times but you'd sought his company before, and the feeling of his large hand cupped around you thigh was welcome, almost calming. It doesn't take very much magic at all to get you right again, and you're glad to accept it, at this point the constant discomfort was bordering on pain.

"You must be exhausted, they were small injuries but they were plenty, it must have worn on you." His hand spreads over the small of your back, "I meant what I said before." On his lap it's much easier for him to rest his head against your chest, you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck as he does.

"I enjoy caring for you, perhaps it's self serving, but please allow me the pleasure of it more often."

"I wasn't sure-" You flush at the sudden tenderness, it wasn't brand new, nor was it unwelcome, but it was still fresh, still took getting used to. "I didn't want to burden you."

"Be sure now." He picks his head up, "you're more than asset to hinder or help me me.... and certainly more than a friend." He spares a glance down to your hand, where it has wrapped around his bicep. "Don't be modest, when you ask for me, I'm happy to go to you. If I can bring you any comfort on the road ahead, then I'd be honored to."

"Thank you, Halsin." You rest your hand on the side of his neck and he hums at the feeling, glancing between your bodies then back to your face.

"You don't need to thank me," His hand slides along the divot of your spine, a soft touch made firm by the rough skin of his palms, "just come to me, whenever you need, even when you don't need to, but only want to. I do miss you after our nights together. I'd take comfort in knowing you feel the same."

"I do.." You nod, "I just hate to steal you away when the others-"

"Steal me away all you like," He laughs, "Gods, that sounds heavenly. I'm sure the others can manage a few hours." He kisses you for the first time that day. Which wasn't unusual, often he waited for more private moments to voice and show his affections, it was welcome and warm and you were glad to be on the receiving end of his affections.

"And knowing you feel the same is all the better." He wraps his arms around you in a bear hug perfectly fitting of the man giving it.

"I'm grateful to have spent this time enjoying you." He takes a deep breath, like he's trying to get as much of your scent as possible.

"Can we stay for a bit? Like this?" You pull back and pin away a stray strand of his hair, his chest huffs with a light airy chuckle as he nods.

"Of course, but you'll have to tear me away when you're done. I fear I won't want to go anywhere once I've settled down with you on me like this."

He resumes his bear hugging and despite the tightness of the hug, and the closeness of your bodies you don't feel cramped at all.

[appleblueberry-pie]

Vampire Geto Suguru

A/N: Ok so this entire writing makes zero sense because it sounds like i'm making this a short story, but I realized like halfway through that there is no way for me to finish this unless it becomes a short story and I felt every single patient bone in my body disappear at the realization. So...it's gonna sound unfinished. But if you ask questions about Vampire Suguru x Half-Vampire Reader, I will answer questions. I want to answer all possible questions that can't be answered in this 'supposed-to-be-a-short-story.' Cuz it has amazing potential that my hands can't fulfill.

Suguru almost has everything he's ever wanted. Power. Local fame. And control over the city he could call his. His followers, devotees, were nothing but scum on the bottom of his shoe that he could scrape off anytime he wanted. In the heart of Tokyo, he owns a corporate building meant to attract wealthy families in hopes of healing them of their pains and sins. Almost like what a place of worship would be.

Near-wealthy men and women sit in the largest room the floor below the top floor, meant to sit there in honor of Geto blessing their eyes with his presence. He is all they need and nothing more. He often convinces the people who make an appointment with him that it's the same thing for them, as well. But he's good at manipulating.

Filthy rich men and women, sometimes entire families, come crawling to him to fix family problems, their perverted minds, their souls, their bodies, in hopes they'd be pure at the end of the night. Instead, they become his next meal. Peasant human blood tastes a little too rotten for his liking. So, he sticks to the next best thing. The poor should be thanking him for taking the load for them.

The only problem was that nowhere in Japan was there vampires. At least, not anyone past his bloodline. But he already erased them entirely. Human women reek of selfish desires, tainted iron in their blood, and sex. It's so clear what they want and he can never get past the smell. So, as far as the seas go, he's never seen someone he could busy his mind with for the next couple thousand of years. If not, eternity. But who knows how long his patience will last until then...?

His nose was guiding him somewhere, currently.

His feet following the invisible trail of the scent. The smell he's only picked up back when his bloodline was still alive. When they were in their prime. When they were farthest from their human counterparts. There's no way he could find what he's thinking of, right?

His nose led him into a small grocery store. Somewhere around the alleyways and crooked backstreets in between the tall buildings in Tokyo at 2 in the morning. Only his kind would be out at this time of night.

He walks in, the fluorescent light accentuating his pale skin and muscular figure. His black hair and clothing makes him stick out in the midst of the colorful food choices surrounding him. And in between the different smells of fresh ripe fruit and disinfectant chemicals, he could catch the natural musk of another him.

Another him.

Another vampire.

He ignores the cashier asking if he needed help and nearly speed-walked through one of the aisles, the scent only getting stronger. He grows more determined and turns the corner only to run into a shorter girl, dressed in black like he was. You both make eye contact.

You two share a very silent and quick understanding of who was in front of who. And who was what.

"Excuse me," You mutter.

You attempt to side-step him and ignore him like nothing ever happened, and he mirrors your movement, effectively blocking you.

You look back up at him, your eyes more piercing than the first time you made eye contact. He could see the color difference the moment you moved to look up at him. Now that he was close enough, he could also smell your irritation. You're not dead.....you're half-human. No wonder.

He clenches his jaw. He knows himself enough to understand that he wouldn't even consider letting you go, knowing he just found the first non-relative vampire in Japan since- he doesn't even know how long. Black coat, a neat white turtleneck and skirt underneath the coat. Leggings, socks, and shoes follow the black and white pattern. Original skin color being paler than usual. Somewhat of muscle definition hidden. He was scaring you. He can smell it. And your fangs are beginning to poke out. And can he hear you growling at him?

He finds himself smiling, pleased with how his night was now going. "I apologize for bumping into you. Please, allow me to pay for your-" You shoulder him hard enough to almost knock him into the stand of chips behind him. No one's showed him that amount of strength in a while. He follows close behind you, not letting the moment phase him.

You place your things on the front desk, and the cashier matches your pace, scared of the, now two, taller figures watching him do his job. Both you and Geto seemed to tower over him from across the counter, eyes unfaltering in their predatory stare. You just want to get the hell out of the store and Geto....he just doesn't like the guy. He squeaks out the total, and before you could dig in your purse fast enough to grab your wallet, Geto places his card on the counter. You don't even bother to turn around and just wait silently for the cashier to finish up. When the transaction is over, Geto moves to grab his card again and you're already halfway out the door, things in hand.

You don't look back, hoping he would finally stop pursuing you. Once you turn the corner, Geto's already there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. You let out a nasty hiss, nearly snarling at him and he raises his hands up. "I know. I'm not here to hurt you. I just...wanted to introduce myself." "I don't need your introduction. I know pretty clearly who you are. And what you are. Leave me the hell alone."

Geto's face dropped slightly when you tried to brush him off again and turned the other way with your groceries in hand. Once again, he's reminded of centuries of loneliness and his hand is already grabbing your arm. "Wait." You grunt in annoyance and slight fear. His man was a full vampire. You moved to Japan to avoid any kind of vampires. You wanted silence in your life from all kinds of people that would be after you to court you and kill you just because you're a half-breed. And the one time you thought you could finally have silence, there's a rich and powerful man in Japan who's almost like a Monk who can solve all problems of the modern man. And he's acting as if he's one of them, but turns out to be a pure blood. You didn't care if he told you sweet words.

You didn't want to die.

"Aren't you lonely? Being the only vampire in the city? I just want a companion. Someone who's like me. I don't want to sound desperate, but you're the only vampire I've meet in Japan in ages. Is friendship too much to ask for?"

You turn around, thankful for him letting go of you. "I left my hometown to escape all of the vampires coming after me. You being here is the only issue I have in Japan. Everything else is a blessing to come across. As much as I would like to help someone in need, all I want is to be alone."

Suguru wish he cared about your past as much as he cared for his own mental sanity.

For a half-blood, you were stronger than you let on. Getting you into the, very well decorated and furnished, basement was a hassle. You gave him a few nasty scars and ruined his shirt. But once you were thrown back through the heavy doors for the 4th time, you finally settled with the realization that you can't get past this man. Your ear piercing screams and bites turned into whimpers and cries as you attempted to comfort yourself in the corner of the cold room.

He felt bad. He didn't want you to be so...scared of him. But there's no other way for you to accept him. You tired yourself out and even broke one of your nails(it was already almost fully back) trying to escape.

Suguru sighed, discarding his tattered shirt. "I'm sorry things had to be this way. I do wish we can get along a little better when the time comes. But for now, it's just going to have to be like this." He sits on his old couch and sighs when one of his servants comes in with a pouch of blood. You watch her eye your captor down before smiling at him with the blood on a serving tray. "Good evening, Master-" Her voice obviously pitched to try and please him, when it did the exact opposite. You snarl and before she can finish her sentence, you tackle her to the ground, landing on the opposite side of the room.

She screams bloody murder as your nails dig into her skin, your mouth reaching for the crevice. She's never seen another one of you. Another vampire. She thought her master was the only one in the world, the only one meant to be considered and known. But here you were, ruining her ideologies. Killing her with your selfish nature. She wishes she could hurt you back, but you were bigger, stronger, and would haunt her in her worst nightmares in ways only Suguru said he could. You were everything he said he was. And she hated it.

Not like it mattered when your teeth breached her skin, sucking her unworthy blood for all she's known for. You groan at the taste of good blood for the first time in over 100 years. You stopped drinking blood back at home when you knew it'd get you nowhere, trying to hide. But you had a reason now. You had to leave this place.

Each swallow of warm iron made you feel brand new. You felt lighter. You felt energized. You felt angry that you stopped for so long. How stupid were you to give up something so good? Your outfit started to feel too tight. You were growing back to your natural height.

Suguru got up, watching you tear into his servant. He got a whiff of your scent once more, it was more potent, almost entirely different. He almost felt ashamed being turned on by it, but this is exactly what he wanted. Someone to indulge his fantasies in. You were perfect for him.

When you finished, you detached yourself from the girl's neck and stared at the dehydrated corpse underneath you. Suguru's voice was enhanced now that your hearing is back to how it's supposed to be. "I'll have someone discard the body." You ripped off the tight shoes on your feet and stood, meeting his eyes. You were a probably a couple of inches shorter than him. Definitely taller than you used to be.

"Let me go." You watched his eyes trail to your lips covered in blood and wanted to swipe him so bad. But you knew he was still stronger than you, even at full strength. You can smell it. (You would never admit he smelled so good.) Suguru smiles at your words. "I can't, Princess."

You step closer, almost attempting to size him up. "At least let me shower. Are you gonna neglect me of that, too?" "Only if I can't have the honors of doing it myself." You scoff, shouldering him on your way to the couch. He actually rubs his shoulder in pain this time. "If I let you bathe, you have to promise me that you won't try to escape. My home can only take so much damage." Suguru realizes he likes teasing you. "I'll let you prove yourself to me this one time. I hate that human scent lingering on you."

"I'm a half-breed." "You know that's different." You sigh this time, rubbing your face.

It's gonna be a while before you find a way to escape this lunatic.

[bokunoheros]

⋆˚࿔ heart 2 heart, ingenium 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

🪲 authors note:// pro-hero tenya, my beloved. hey! sorry! i fucking need him! shortest authors note i’ve ever wrote, take a shot. ngl, i started to spiral towards the end since I was writing off of pure hormones

topics discussed and warnings:// alcohol consumption, fluff and cuddling, kissing, like, gross amounts of kissing, establish relations, loving relationship that makes me want to cry, cunnilingus, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, readers gender is not specified but i use female anatomical terms, unprotected and sloppy sex, ❇️ I DO JOKE ABOUT VOMIT IN THIS FIC ONCE. ❇️

word count:// 3465 (edited)

ᯓ heed the warnings laid before you, your media consumption is your responsibility! ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

every WORD under the cut will be R-RATED- SO, +18 only, respect my wishes regarding interactions.

𝜗𝜚 edited and proof read by the lovely calius .ᐟ xoxo

✎ᝰ Tenya can’t handle his liquor.

He never could have, especially not around you. You were such a bad influence, but he didn’t really mind considering just how fucking infatuated he is with you.

It had been an especially hard day after his escapades as a pro-hero, leaving his body with a few bruises and scrapes around. Nothing a few kisses couldn’t fix, so you kissed his ‘boo-boos’ before you forced him into the bath.

As he focused on scrubbing a single day's worth of grime away— and totally not wasting the hot water as he stood mindlessly under the shower head— you cooked dinner.

Beef stew over rice, his favorite.

As you set the table— ‘table,’ more like the kotatsu you both kept in the middle of your living room— Tenya came out of the bathroom in his navy gingham pajama pants and this UA alumni tee.

Fuck, you loved him in that combo. You didn’t even know what it was about the outfit that drove you insane, made you ovulate, made you— but it was probably how the sleeves of his tee were tight around his biceps.

“Have a good bath?” You asked him, placing the last dish onto the table before standing back up.

“Mm,” he hummed, using his towel to dry off more of his hair, before tossing it down the hall and into the hamper.

You walked over to your small alcohol fridge, which was probably the fanciest thing you alone owned, and grabbed beers for the two of you.

Tenya sat down at the table, sitting crisscrossed under the blanket. You joined him, sitting beside him, tucking your legs under along with his.

“Ah,” he sighed, immediately digging into the meal you made. “You made my favorite.”

You smiled as you chewed your food, scrunching your nose as you shoved more into your mouth before you spoke up. “Is it good?”

You watched him hum, dramatically chewing his food. He swallowed, leaning over to you. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, briefly pulling you towards him so he could kiss your cheek.

“It’s amazing,” he chirped, kissing your cheek once more before he pulled away. “You’re always amazing.”

Five seconds into your meal and you’re already flustered, damn your husband. You sat down your food, going to open a beer can for him. “Here, I think you deserve it.” You quip, handing him the now open can of beer, then opening your own.

“So do you.” Tenya holds his beer up, clinking yours and his with a metallic clink.

You both took a swig, though you sipped longer than your husband. He recoiled ever so slightly, setting the can down before he began to dig back into your lovely meal.

Tenya ate like he hadn’t in weeks, despite you cooking lavish meals for him on the daily. Within minutes, his plate was empty and his stomach was full.

You chew the last bite of your dinner as you watch him guzzle his beer, “Was It good..?” You tease, taking a swig of your own beverage.

Tenya hums in response, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned his elbow against the mahogany kotatsu, holding his chin in his palm. You chuckle at him, scooting closer to him, almost joining him on his side of the table. Tenya cracks open an eye as you move closer to him, admiring you while you face away from him. When you get close enough, he takes your hand, holding you in his big palm.

“Thank you,” he mutters, tightening his grip on you briefly. You hold his hand back, placing your other on top of his, rubbing your thumb against his skin.

“Always,” you say, watching him open his eyes and shake his head.

“Mm, no,” he breathed, taking another swig of his beer, shaking it before realizing he finished it with a raise of his brow. “You do so much for me.” He sat the empty can down. Leaning down slightly, he used his free hand to grab your wrist gently, pulling your hand to his mouth. He kissed your knuckles, “I really don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, sipping the last of your beer as well. “Neither do I,” you slid your hand into his navy hair, roughing him up a little. Your stomach flips when he darts his tongue across the bony prominence of your knuckles. Christ.

You were high school sweethearts, that was a fact. Sure, you didn’t do more than confess to each other on the rooftop of the dormitories before explaining that the both of you were too focused on school to have this go anywhere— but you were still sweethearts.

“What would I do without you?” He whispered your name, looking up at you from below his eyelashes. He nuzzled into your hand, and you wanted to vomit in the best way possible.

You couldn’t help it, because suddenly the hand in his hair was pulling his jaw towards you. Landing the kiss with bridled ease, you gently kissed him. The buzz on both your cheeks was warm, and you could still taste the beer on his lips; especially so when he slid his tongue into your mouth like a damn professional.

You hummed at the much enjoyed intrusion, slipping your other hand out of his grasp so you could tangle your fingers into his hair, dragging your nails down his scalp until you reached the nape of his neck. He shivered, placing his hand on your neck like before, keeping you right where he wanted you while he flicked his tongue along your teeth. His other hand slid underneath the blanket of the kotatsu, finding your bare thigh quickly.

While glad you wore shorts; his fingers dug into your flesh, causing you to moan his name softly into his mouth.

Suddenly, he pulled away, leaving you fucking breathless. You admired his spit-shined lips as he backed himself into the couch, before he beckoned you closer. You shifted out from under the kotatsu, but it wasn’t long until Tenya got impatient and pulled you closer to him by the back of your knees. You yelped, but continued to let him manhandle you into his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips before he attacked your mouth again.

Gasping into his mouth, his hands roamed up your thighs, roughly pulling your hips closer to his, before gliding his hands up your waist. This man was insatiable, his tongue darted across your lips before inevitably plunging back into your mouth. You gripped your fingertips into his shoulders, moaning and gasping for breath as he absolutely ravished your mouth. His hands didn’t stop either, rubbing up your waist before dipping back down and grasping the curve of your ass, only to come back up and snake under your t-shirt. Those filthy, skilled hands kept crawling up your back until his thumbs found the clasp of your bra, and he unbuckled it with one swift motion. You yelped into his mouth, causing him to pull off, and begin trailing down your jaw to your neck.

“Christ, Tenya...” you huffed, trying to catch your breath as he started to nibble on your earlobe before sucking a red mark just below into your flesh.

He hummed into your skin, letting one hand slide down your back and under your shorts, fondling your ass while the other massaged your shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, this.” Tenya spoke softly, kissing across your collarbone.

Your eyes rolled back ever so slightly as he licked the dip between your throat and clavicle, one hand of yours teases his undercut at the nape of his neck.

“‘Missed you too,” You sigh, leaning your head back so Tenya could do as he pleased. You fucking loved when he got like this, when he got ravenous for you, and craved you like a damn steak.

You rolled your hips slightly, gasping when you felt his semi-hard erection brush against the inside of your thigh. The hand on your ass grasped the fatty skin there briefly as he took in a breath between his teeth. Your hands scratched at his back, trying to hint to him that you wanted this damn UA shirt off. He took the hint quickly, your smart boy, leaning away from you to tear his shirt off over his head, discarding it across the room. You're quick to follow suit, wasting no time pulling both your shirt and bra over your head before tossing it into the abyss that is your living room.

You lunge for his lips, taking him in a quick, aggressive kiss before you mimic his movements, kissing down his chin, jaw, and to his shoulders. Your painted nails rake over his strong pectorals and down his abs while your husband rubs his thumbs into your hips.

You sink your teeth gently into his flesh, causing him to choke out a moan while he drug your pelvis into his. With a moan, you licked the mark your teeth left before sitting up.

Your eyes said everything as Tenya read them, gently taking your lips again as he adjusted himself. He shifted under you, wrapping one arm tight around your waist as he brought you to the floor, laying you down under him. He hooked his legs under your knees, breaking away from your kiss to leave a sloppy trail of saliva down your chest, where he groped you gently, rolling your nipples between his callous fingers.

“Shit,” you sucked in a breath, glancing down to admire how his muscles flexed on his back. You grinned, arching your back as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. Scratching your nails over his broad shoulders, you started to gently push him down. You could feel him smile into your skin, popping off your nipple as he kissed down to your navel quickly. Tenya hooked his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts, grabbing the hem of your panties as he does, pulling them down inch by inch. He looks up at you as he bites the fatty skin in your stomach gently, before he rids you of the last bit of clothing you have. He launches the fabric behind him, quickly hooking your legs over his shoulders.

You yelp, “Tenya!” wincing as his hot breath hits your inner thigh. He smiles down at you, pulling you up so he practically has you sat on your shoulders. He kisses your inner thighs, the digits of his fingers gripping white marks into your skin. You watch him intently with hooded lids, anxiously waiting for him to flatten his tongue over your cunt.

You let out a breathy moan when his mouth finally makes contact with your sex, his hot tongue smoothing over your wetness. Your hands reach behind you to grab at his muscular thighs, desperately trying to ground yourself as he starts to lick up your slick. His tongue wraps around your clit, suckling the bud gently. You sigh, your chest heaving as you try to keep your eyes on him. His glasses are crooked on his face now, and it’s a wonder he didn’t have to rip them off during your belligerent make out session.

He pops off your clit with a wet sound, quickly diving back in to slide his tongue down further, teasing your entrance.

“Fuuck…” you mewled, nails scratching the fabric of his pajama pants. He hummed into your cunt, the sound reverberating through your entire body.

The sounds coming from your cunt and his mouth are fucking disgusting, but God are they the hottest thing you’ve heard all week. Tenya flicks his tongue over your clit, shaking his head in your cunt. You moan his name, rolling it off your tongue as you squeeze your thighs around his head. He grumbles something, probably relating to how fucking sexy your acting. You squeeze your thighs harder, knowing it will spur him on further.

Of course, you’re correct, and he starts to suck your clit with more vigor than previously. He goes back and forth between sucking and flicking his tongue against the bud, which drives you crazy. You let out a strangled moan, digging your heels into his shoulders. You’re so close— Jesus— you’ve started babbling under your breath, pleading with him to let you come. He wraps his buff arms around your waist, keeping you still as he licks you fucking raw. Your hips shake and you involuntarily hold your breath before he licks you to the brink.

You cry out, a breathy and once more strangled moan as you come into his mouth. His lithe tongue licks and sucks up everything your body is willing to give him, until you’re trying to kick off of his shoulders.

He releases himself from your cunt, taking a deep breath. His face is bright red; he adjusts his glasses on his nose before he lays you down comfortably. Tenya crawls back over your form, covering your face with chaste kisses.

You giggle under him, rubbing his shoulder. Gazing up at him with a light smile, you watch as he leans up to wipe his mouth of your come with his wrist.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He chuckles, glancing away like all of a sudden he’s flustered even though he’s just eaten you out.

“M’I just love you,” you hum, hooking your leg under his knee before switching places with him. You roll on top of him, mounting his hips.

“You love me?” Tenya smiles, admiring how you look on top of him.

“Duh.” You scoffed, leaning down to give him a brief kiss on the lips before stealing his glasses and adjusting them in your face evilly. You licked down his chest, wetting the valleys between his abdominal muscles, you lapped over his navel. Tenya leaned up on his elbows, gazing down at you. You slid your hand over the tent in his pajamas, using the other to wiggle under the band, slowly pulling them down.

You tug down his pants, biting your lip as you do. Using both your hands now, you use one final jerk to slip his pajamas down his thighs.

Surprising to you, he isn’t wearing any boxers. How’d you find out? His cock hits you in the cheek with a fleshy slap. You stifle a gasp as you glance up at your husband, who covers his face quickly.

“I’m so s-sorry!” He mewled, tripping over his words as you chuckled lowly at him.

You only hum in response, wiggling his pants down a little further. With your right hand, you hold his cock steady at the base as you collect your saliva in your mouth before gently drooling it over the swollen head of his cock. You watch as his back arches slightly, and he breathes out a hiss. He’s collected himself after cock-slapping you in the face, and leans back up on his elbows to watch you.

Making sure to hike your bare ass into the air as you lean over his pelvis, you lick a thick stripe down his frenulum, before sinking your mouth over his girth. Tenya takes a deep breath, balling up his fists as he leans his head back and shakily exhales. You hum around his length, wrapping your tongue around the underside of him as you tease the head of his cock with your tonsils. You hum around him, pulling off to lick around his length briefly. You glance up at him with puppy eyes, watching him as he pays complete attention to you, his lips slightly parted as he breathes.

You grin before taking him back in your mouth, letting your left hand grope at his testicles. You take him further until you have to stifle gags, your nose buried into his pubic hair.

“F-fuck,” he whines, his big hand tangling into your hair. He pulls you back up for a moment, just to shove you back down. “Sorry,” Your hands leave to grip onto his thighs as he holds you down. You try to breath out of your nose, even though his fucking dick is blocking your airway. He rutted his hips up into your mouth further, moaning as he used your mouth. He winced, deciding to pull you off. You took a deep, choked breath before Tenya manhandled you once more.

“Come here,” he huffed, pulling you towards his mouth, he took you roughly, before swapping places with you again. You struggled to breathe against his lips as he swung your knees over his shoulders once more. He pulled away from your lips, only to reach between the two of you to grab his cock.

He takes himself by the base, leaning on one elbow. He stared at you in the eyes as he sunk his cock into you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you moaned, your hands flying for any solid spot of his body to cling on.

Tenya hushed you, “You’re okay…” he cooed, pressing you into the floor as he split you in half with his cock. Kissing your forehead and nuzzling his nose into your temple, he supported himself on both elbows before setting a slow pace. Pathetic whines slipping from your mouth, digging your nails into his biceps.

You glanced between the two of you, watching as he slowly pumped himself into you. Looking right at back you were Tenya’s blue eyes, so lovingly. You could never really get used to his size, because my God he was big. His dick made you melt, honest and for true.

He kept rolling his hips gently into yours, glancing down every once and a while to admire how he disappeared into your cunt. You mumble small pleads under your breath, wincing and grasping at his arms when the tip of his cock brushes over a particularly sensitive spot.

“You’re okay, baby,” he coos, kissing the edge of your lips. You whine and mewl under him as he keeps teasing you with his slow strokes.

“Please,” you sigh, “go faster, Tenya, m’please…” you beg softly, scratching your nails against his skin. He huffs out a laugh, shifting on his elbows as he starts to speed up.

“You feel so good,” he leans down onto his neck, burying his nose into your skin. His balls lightly slap against your ass, “just for me.” You nod profusely, gasping into the air while he keeps speeding up his hips. “‘This what you wanted?” He asked softly, beginning to plummet his hips into yours.

“Oh, fuck!” You cried, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes, yes—“ you repeated, eyes fluttering shut as thrusts harder. Tenya takes a moment as he keeps fucking into you, his hands finding your shoulders to hold you dearly.

“‘Gonna make you mine forever,” he breathed, the sounds of your sex echoing off the walls of your home. You moan at his words, immediately knowing what he’s hinting at. “‘Like that?” He smiled into your skin, pressing you further in half. “You’re so pretty, I can’t help myself.”

You scratch your nails into his back, unable to respond as he fucks you numb. “‘Taking me so good,” he cooed in your ear and you wailed.

Good. Fucking. Christ.

Your husband was going to stop at nothing to get you pregnant, it seemed.

“T—Tenya!” You cried, tears rolling down your temple and mingling with the sweat on your scalp. His cock brushed everywhere you needed him, “Mm’You're gonna make me cum—“ you cry, literally, holding onto his strong build for dear life.

He snaked his hands between your legs and prods his thumb against your clit. You don’t even know what he’s fucking saying as he starts the whisper the nastiest shit into your ear. You convulse, shaking under him as you finally reach another orgasm. You cry and whine out his name as you squeeze around him, your convulsions only spurred on by how he presses his thumb further against your clit until it hurts.

He keeps ramming into you, falling quiet other than grunts and groans as he desperately tries to chase his orgasm.

When he finally reaches that sparkly fucking precipice, he slams completely into you, emptying his balls into your cunt with a loud growl. You shiver and mewl under him, feeling his cock throb and pulsate as he shoots white ribbons of come into you.

He collapses on top of you, forcing all of the air out of your lungs briefly. You curse under your breath, rubbing his back as you both come back to reality, your souls slipping back into their physical form.

“I love you.” He mutters under his breath, releasing your hips from his shoulders. You wince, your muscles still tense.

“I love you too.”

THANK YOU FOR READING! if you wish to see more of me, ₊⊹

my carrd // kofi (tip me!)

[ohdeerfully]

Can I request Alastor baking or cooking for reader? Maybe making one of his old mother recipes for reader while he wears a silly apron or something? I'm loving all of your one shots!

☀️ anon

short but sweet!! i made it a human al story, hope thats cool! i really enjoyed writing this one but now i want cookies (,:

btw tumblr is really lacking with human alastor gifs so sorry guys

Sweet Treat

Human!Alastor x Reader (fluff)

TW: reader is implied female but pronouns arent used/doesnt effect story much. other than that none!

join my discord!

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Alastor was always aware of your wants and desires as if the glasses he wore helped him read directly into your mind. You were tired? Okay, the bedsheets were freshly dry and warm. You were hungry? He already had a pot of aromatic food cooking in your kitchen. Thirsty? Here’s some ice water. Headache? Oh, here’s a remedy that he learned from a traditional healer in the city. 

You get the idea.

You had come home from a long day of work at the speakeasy you performed in, a hankering for something sweet filling your mind as your mouth watered at the idea of sugary goodness. You fiddled with your keys for a little, eyes slightly bleared from both a mixing of light alcohol consumption and just general sleepiness. No, those are your work keys… no, that’s to your office… Finally, you grasped your manicured fingers over the correct silver key and jittered it into the hole.

You slumped your body against the door dramatically as you pushed it open, a loud sigh escaping your lips to announce you were home. You knew Alastor was already home, seeing as his shoes were tucked neatly in the nearby rack and jacket hung up against the wall. Usually Alastor would join you when you were at work late, both to watch you perform and to walk you home, but he had been caught up with his own work and likely got home not long before you. A light smile dusted your face as you recalled how desperately sorry he sounded when he phoned you a few hours ago—it was sweet. 

Your own heels were unceremoniously kicked off in the general direction of the shoe rack—you’d fix them up later. Right now, you were mostly focused on the sound of a spoon scraping against a bowl as Alastor was doubtlessly stirring something. Your interest was piqued, and your stomach growled at the idea of food.

“Ah, you’re home a bit early,” He said as you rounded the corner, your gaze immediately fixating on the mixing bowl propped against the junction of his elbow as he stirred with his other hand. There was a plume of flour resting against the left rim of his glasses. “A bit too early for my surprise.” 

Your eyes then traveled down to the apron he wore, a black one that had a silhouette of a deer and text that read “best buckin’ cook.” You had gotten it for him as a joke for your anniversary due to his fondness for hunting and deer.

“Yeah, Ms. Ruby let me off early if I performed a couple songs in a row,” There was an eye roll as you said this. You pursed your lips as you approached him, gingerly taking his glasses off to clean the mess from the glass. His eyes held a slight squint as he looked at you, slightly unfocused without his aides. “I’m guessin’ you knew I’d want something sweet, then?”

A smirk crossed his lips as if you asked the most obvious question in the world. Which, considering how he always knew what you wanted, it kind of was the most obvious question in the world.

“What kind of suitor would I be if I didn’t know what my darling desires?” He leaned a little closer as he spoke, halting the stirring motion. His voice had dropped to a teasing husk, and your ears tingled at the hint of that Cajun accent you loved so much. It didn’t help that you were just a tad loopy with alcohol.

“And I love you for that,” You said, trying to ignore the heat in your face. You pressed the glasses back against his face, using your finger to push them up the bridge of his nose whilst simultaneously gently moving his face away from your own. “As soon as I wanted a treat I knew I’d come home to one.”

“It also helps that you always want one when you work late, love,” He mused, turning away and walking back to the counter that had a splay of ingredients. There was also a mess of flour—likely from the same incident that dirtied his glasses—but you bit back a comment. You knew he’d clean it up after.

With a hop you had sat yourself on a tall chair next to the kitchen counter, elbows resting on the cold granite top as you watched him work on mixing in the rest of the ingredients. He seemed a little nervous now that you were watching him, his stirring a bit stiff and measuring a little overanalyzed, but he kept working nonetheless.

The oven chimed when the preheating was done, and at that point Alastor was already in the process of portioning out little balls of dough. A proud smile donned his face.

“I think this is the fastest I’ve gotten to this point,” He claimed, not looking up from the task in front of him. You loved the way his brown hair fell in neat, light curls over his eyes. His glasses had begun to slip slightly down his nose, but he quickly pushed them back with a knuckle. “I nearly beat the timer.”

With an absent nod and quiet ‘congrats’ you eyed the nearly empty bowl and the discarded rubber spatula that sat nearby with velvety, doughy sweetness still clinging on the edges. You slowly raised your hand and inched towards it.

A hand snatched it up at the last second, and you slumped backwards in the chair with a defeated whine. Alastor waved it at you with a teasing grin. 

“So greedy,” He chided, although he did so unseriously. “I can’t believe you would spoil the taste before I even finished baking them… after I worked so hard…” There was a fake pout in his voice as his lips turned down, one hand on a hip and leaned against the counter behind him. You rolled your eyes in response and folded your arms.

“You know it never even tastes the same when it bakes,” You pursed your lips as you looked away from him towards the oven. You could see the faint silhouette of the cookies he had put in just a minute ago, now slowly flattening. “C’mon… Just a sample… please?” You drew out your plea, pressing your face between your hands as you tried your best to look at him with wide cutesy eyes.

It didn’t seem to work on him in the slightest, as he only looked down on you with a raised eyebrow. There was, though, a soft change in his brown eyes as his gaze swept over your face, though you were sure it had nothing to do with your current charming tactics. He was just, in all ways you can imagine, insanely devoted to you—he would tell you, very rarely as he had trouble expressing tender words, how he found you to be the most beautiful being he had ever been lucky enough to see. 

As corny as it felt if you thought about it too hard, you actually believed him when he said he would kill for you. It was something many men would exaggerate when courting, and they never truly meant it, but there was a glimmer of crazed obsession in his eyes when he had told you it one time. A look you had no choice but to take seriously—you tried not to think about it too much.

He sighed dramatically as he threw out his hand to bestow upon you… the spatula. You took it with a pleased grin and put a corner in your mouth to taste the dough. You could almost see the sparkles dancing around you as the light sweetness touched your tongue. You could see Alastor’s proud grin out of the corner of your eye but you chose not to meet his gaze and inflate his ego even more.

The two of you chatted idly about your respective days for ten or so minutes as you waited for the cookies to bake. You always had something to complain about considering the nature of your job—it was always either some drunk bonehead interrupting your show, or some drama between the other performers, or some hatred towards your employers… always something, and he always listened, equally attentive every time no matter how repetitive it was. He, on the other hand, never had much to say about his work. He was just a radio host, after all.

The little white timer finally went off, and Alastor cracked open the oven door to peek. He seemed satisfied enough with the result as he quickly removed them, gripping the pan with a small towel and carefully setting it down against the stove-top. The room was immediately filled with the warm, sweet aroma of fresh baked cookies. 

Just a few more minutes of waiting, but you could barely contain yourself when the cookies had finally cooled a bit and firmed up outside of the oven. When Alastor presented one to you it took all your self control not to just straight up bite it out of his hand. 

The cookie had a crisp, golden outside that gave way with a light crunch when you bit into it. The inside was soft and fluffy with a taste of vanilla and chocolate. You sighed loudly in glee at the experience, resting your head against your hand as you chewed.

“You really are the best ‘buckin’’ cook, Al,” You complimented, watching him as he cleaned up his mess from the process. “This recipe is new, right?”

“Ah, not really,” He admitted. You wanted to play offended at the fact he had never made these for you before, but the aura around him seemed to suddenly get a bit too serious for that. There was a vacant look in his eye, but his lips held a tender smile. You took another bite of your cookie as you waited for him to continue.

“It was one of my momma’s recipes, I actually found it today in the box of her stuff I keep,” He was washing out the dishes as he spoke. You could tell by the light glaze in his eye that he was reliving a fond but bitter memory. “She was the best baker I know.”

“If these cookies tell me anything, I would have to agree,” You were licking a glob of melted chocolate off your thumb as you spoke. “I wish I could’ve met her.”

Alastor nodded with a hum, agreeing with your statement. He told you many times before how much she would’ve loved you. You knew he didn’t like sweets, but you tried to prompt him to try one with you in an attempt to lighten the mood. He refused, as expected.

You stood from your seat and began to help him clean, much to his chagrin as he tried to push you towards your room to get ready for bed, but you forced yourself back towards the kitchen and stubbornly began rubbing the dough out of the mixing bowl. He sighed and yielded.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence that was only broken here and there by utensils clinging and water splashing. You rested your head against his shoulder as you absently ran a dry towel over the now clean rubber ladle, and he pressed a featherlight kiss against the top of your head in response.

Maybe he could teach you the recipe later.

[anzulvr]

idrk how to request— BUT WHAT ABT READER AS HIS SPARRING PARTNER ?? above average strength but obv he would win though he ended up hurting u, what do u think would he do? LIKE DOES HE DISREGARD THE FACT THAT THEY'RE IN PHYSICAL ED AND JUST CARRY HER AND THEN WHOO—

Summary: Karma × Reader getting hurt while sparring// fluff 🎀// I luv him pls sorry this took so long it deleted 😭😭

❝ sect. 01 pre fight ❞

— There weren’t many reasons you got paired up with Karma in to begin with,

One: you begged Karasuma- (he said no)

Two: Korosensei pulled strings for you, only because you're his favorite couple. (You’re literally the only official couple in class so he doesn’t have many options to choose from but still.)

You were so sick of Karma going easy on you. You're just as capable as anyone else in class, sure you came into eclass with zero fighting experience but you've been progressing over time. Even then, he didn’t budge on his stance on not wanting to throw hits the times you were paired up.

Karma wasn't one to underestimate people, anyone who wanted a good fight could get one- he'll even offer them a head start but you're a different story.

He wouldn’t lay a finger on you even for class, wouldn't that make him a shitty boyfriend?

Anytime you spare he guides your hand, takes your hits and high-fives you if you do it right, he does anything but retaliate.

So much so Karasuma refuses to pair you up together because the most Karma will do is dodge.

Luckily today Korosensei managed to convince him.

You spend half the class time begging Karma to just throw a jab swearing up and down you could take it.

"You nearly broke Nagisas nose but you can't hit me once? I'm asking you it's fine!"

"That's different, that's Nagisa, you're you."

he dodges as you swing your anti-koro knife

"So what?! Are you saying Nagisa can take it but I can't?"

"[Name] you know that's not what I'm saying. I just mean I can cope with giving Nagisa a nose bleed, I don't want to hurt you."

you swing again, this time getting the side of his torso

Karma grabs your fist and yanks you towards himself

“Got you.” He sticks his tongue out

"Im not saying you have to go ballistic— I'm just saying you can put up more of a fight."

"Alright fine, but if you feel like I’m being too rough tell me to stop.”

“Deal!”

❝ sect. 02 aftermath❞

— You should've kept your end of the deal but you didn't say anything cause he’d feel bad. The pain all over your leg and thigh was killing you.

He hadn’t even hit you — he kept tripping you over and over again, in his mind it was pretty harmless but enough of a jab to keep you happy except it wasn’t harmless you kept biting your tongue every time you fell on a rock and it burned even harder than the last time.

He didn't notice until you struggled to stand up and he saw blood trickling down your leg, he crouched down to where you were at in an instant.

"[Name]..! Why didn’t you say anything— , are you okay?"

"I didn't want you to regret sparring me! It's fine it's not bad just a little blood, plus I got you a few times too.”

"I’m so stupid. Sorry [Name], can you stand?”

Your leg was fine it was more of a big scrape that worsened each time you fell on something sharp and didn’t tell him, disinfecting it and wrapping it up would fix it.

He pulls you up from your hand, "I'm pretty sure Korosensei has the shed packed with medical supplies let's go there."

Karma’s willing to carry you on his back if you want him to.

❝ sect. 03 at the shed❞

— He has you sit on a stool inside the shed while he looks for bandages, "Towels... paper... Korosensei's weird stash of Magazines... where the hell are the bandage wraps?!"

You point behind him "Karma isn't that a first aid kit?"

"Oh yeah- good job [name]! Wait let me take a picture of his stash to blackmail him with first"

(He has his priorities straight)

He quickly takes a picture of Korosensei's pile of Magazines and returns to the issue at hand. He gently cleans your wounds and wraps them, something he's done plenty of times for himself, not much of a difference.

You swing your other leg, "this is kinda weird… I'm usually the one doing this for you."

He smiles for a moment "I thought the same thing!"

Once you’re leg is all wrapped up he asks you to stand up to see how everything felt.

“Thought of how I can make it up to you yet?”

"It’s not a big thing! Plus this is the first time I've gotten injured in a fight so I feel pretty cool.."

"Pffft yeah?, you look cool too— imagine the crazy stories you can make up when people ask how you got that."

"Im gonna tell people I survived a lion attack."

"Sounds good, I'll tell people I saw it go down so it's more credible."

With one hand still on your bandages he kisses you and for a moment you forget where you’re supposed to be, he pulls back and laughs for a second.

“Ditching class to kiss a guy [name]? Wouldn’t expect that from you.”

“We’re not ditching- and you initiated it, let’s go before Korosensei finds us and lectures us again.” You shivered at the thought.

When you come back to class Korosensei was frantically looking for you.

“Karasuma told me he looked away for a second and you too were gone! I looked everywhere- where were you?!"

Funnily enough Korosensei looked everywhere except the shed he was so worried he forgot to check the area yet flew internationally 10 times.

"We went to look in the shed for medical supplies."

"The shed of course! Why didn't I think of that... anyway I'm glad you're alright, what happened to your leg [Name]?"

"A lion... it's alright I took care of it."

"A lion..?"

"Yeah- you should've seen her teach, she won a fist-fight with a huge lion, all by herself."

Korosensei’s face flashes green “full points!”

He didn’t actually believe that but from the look on his face he got the hint Karma was the one who took care of your injury and that’s all that mattered to him.

a/n sorry if this is bad😭, tell me if there’s any spelling mistakes pls !! And sorry for the late post :)

[adventuringblind]

So Powerful, So Vulnerable

Landoscar x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Mafia AU, more crack than anything with the way I wrote it.

Summary: Lando has a meeting on neutral ground. Oscar has to make the switch. How'd she get caught in a petty crossfire?

Warnings: Attempted r@pe, gun violence, knives, blood,

Notes: This was far more fun to write than I expected. Another request done!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

She sighs, watching Lando hit his head on the steering wheel of the car. She wants to laugh at his dramatics. You'd think he wouldn't be so whiny since he's in charge of the areas strong Mafia, but she knows the truth.

"I Just - they had one job!" He moans and throws in a fake cry for good measure.

Oscar keeps throwing her looks from where he's spread out on the backseat. He and Lando also make it a point to keep her in the passenger seat and switch who drives. "It's an easy fix. Ten minutes tops, in and out, then back to our original plans." The Aussie shrugs.

"You'll make the switch?"

"Obviously, and if they shoot first, I'll shoot better."

~~~~~

The club rages around her. Not her preferred method of doing business. Dealing with people isn't her strong suit unless it's with a bullet to the head from the top of a building. Knives are fun to when things get messy.

The crowd is safer than the car if this does go south. Not that she's expecting it to, but better safe than sorry.

Oscar is already gone. He drops the money and gets the hostages while Lando goes to meet them on neutral ground. Simple as that.

Her job is to look pretty and watch the door that Lando had disappeared through. Mocktail in hand to make it look like she's part of the normal crowd.

Technically speaking, they'd only been together for the last year. Her and Oscar much longer than that. Though she has a sneaky suspicion Lando kept assigning both of them to the same jobs for a reason. If any jobs came up that required Lando to go out and needed people with him, they were the first he contacted.

If she had to guess, she'd say he orchestrated this relationship. She wouldn't have it any other way. It's not like any of them know how to do anything normally.

She tries not to grimace as a man saunters up to her. His movements unflattering and he smells like cigarettes. Her nose scrunches up in an effort to fight back her gag.

"You here all alone?" Even his voice is grating to her ears! Can this get even worse?

"My boyfriend is busy killing the guy that flirted with me earlier."

"Yeah right, anyone with that kind of attitude must be hard to flirt with." He scoffs. How mad would her partners be if she stabbed this man? No - she can't - they are trying to finish a deal. She'd blow the whole thing if she did that.

Actually - this guy looks familiar... She takes another drink of the non-alcoholic beverage.

"You alright? you look a little flushed."

"Yeah I'm-" Shit, she knows this feeling. More than that, she knows this man.

He's a hitman for the other gang. The one who has Lando's men. The one he's meeting with right now.

Her heart lurches. The fog in her head and heat are too much. Her body is going to give out on her.

She ends up stabbing him. The knife strapped to her thigh finds a home in Mr. Hitman's chest. He cries out in pain but doesn't pull it out. He smiles at her instead.

She tries to bolt, but three other sets of hands pin her. They drag her outside. The ground scraping against her skin in an uncomfortable way.

She sees the hitman fall to the ground; hears the thud as the pull her out the back where he was trying to follow.

Damn, she kind of liked that knife too. She'll have to go back for it later.

They already have Lando outside. Her blurry vision is enough to see him covered in blood, licking his lips. "You trying to take my girl?"

"Shut it, Norris. This is payback for what you did."

They start attempting to remove her clothes. Like she was going to go down without a fight. Her nails dig into the skin of whoever is close by. She pulls as hard as possible, skin from another getting stuck in her nails as she does.

Her body doesn't have the energy for more than that. She misses her knife. This would be easier if she still had it. The stabbing motion isn't difficult, and gravity would help.

"Get your filthy, fucking hands off of her!"

There is another round of fists clashing. "Maybe you shouldn't have killed four of my guys."

"You killed mine first! They made the deal exactly as intended and you still put a bullet through their skulls!"

This was all a setup then. They were planning on them showing up. Though, there is no way they know about Oscar. If they never intended on sending someone to make the switch, then they wouldn't have anyone on the roof.

Hands are everywhere, wrestling with her clothes. They don't get far, their intentions now clear. The shot echoes off the buildings. To close to be from the roof.

The man directly in front of her crumples to the ground. The spray of the blood from the shot sticks to her skin.

"I believe Lando said not to touch her." Oscar stands there holding the smoking gun.

She watches the fight break out around her. It's messy and loud, but her boys come out on top. As per usual with these things. She would've gladly joined in if these stupid drugs would let up.

The boss had scrambled away with his tail between his legs. Serves him right after this stunt. "Did he really not like you that much?" Oscar throws a raised eyebrow at Lando.

"Jealousy, I think." They work in tandem to heave her body upright and support her back to the car. "What happened on the roof?"

"I was waiting for any kind of signal but got nothing. Nobody showed up. So, I came back down and was greeted by six guns pointed at my head."

"They shot first, I presume?"

"But I shot better."

She doesn't need to see the smirk to know it's there.

~~~~~

The hot water of the bath feels exceptional against her skin. They'd scrubbed at blood for far too long. The raw skin finally being soothed is relaxing.

The drugs still haven't worn off. Her motor function is lacking, and her words are slurring together, but it's better than it was.

Lando and Oscar are keeping her upright. Her body resting against theirs. Fingers caress her skin. This is safety.

"Can't believe we've had to cancel our date." Lando plops three rubber ducks inside the bath. Oscar's ducks, mind you.

"Frankly, I think we could consider that a date. We went out, got covered in blood, now we're having a relaxing bath."

"You just don't like going out."

She's going to fall asleep here. Relaxed and at peace with her boys. The possibility of drowning unlikely. "I love you both."

"You're drugged and still got blood on you."

"Sexy."

"I killed someone for you."

"Romantic."

[beenbaanbuun]

i miss pinkgi so thoughts on helping mingi dye his hair pink using box dye as a joke but he ends up actually pulling it off is running wild in my head…

this is actually so cute!!

like that little cutie pie would just be so giggly and sweet as he presents the box of pink dye to you. honestly he just wants to make you happy, and you always talk about how fun it would be to dye his hair. pink just seemed like a fun colour, and it shouldn’t be too hard to get out if he decides he hates it!! nothing a bit of brown box dye and a dream wouldn’t be able to fix.

and he’s so happy when your face lights up and you drag him to the bathroom to get started. he isn’t sure whether or not you’re doing a good job, but with the way your fingers are massaging his scalp, he’s actually finding it pretty tough to care about all that. he just relaxes into it and closes his eyes as your fingernails scrape against his scalp.

and of course, when you wash it out for him he gets giddy all over again. actually he suggests the two of you take a shower together, but he has to settle for second best - a sink wash… ugh - when you remind him that you’ve just cleaned the shower a few days ago and you really don’t want to have to do it again when the dye inevitably stains everything. he doesn’t mind though, because at the angle he’s sitting, with his head tipped back over the sink, he gets a perfect view of your cute concentration face as you rub some conditioner into his strands.

and when he stands up, hair dripping wet and hot, hot pink, you can’t help but let your jaw drop because what the actual fuck?? this was supposed to be fun and games and now he looks like that??? upon seeing your shocked face, he turns to the mirror to check what he looks like for himself.

“what? do i look bad?” he fusses, rubbing a hand over his new pink locks. he doesn’t mind it too much, but if you think it looks bad then it would have to go; he wouldn’t be able to bear it if you ever stopped finding him hot.

“bad?” you scoff, “mingi have you seen yourself? you look good! no, wait! better than good!”

he finds the way you fumble over your words as you compliment him very sweet. he turns to you with a grin, “better than good, huh?” he takes a step closer, “high compliments.”

you blink at him as he bends down to your level and leans his face in close. his breath tickles your nose, which you scrunch up in turn. he can’t hold back his chuckle.

“you’re cute.”

“you’re cuter,” you pout.

“cute enough for you to take that shower with me?” he tests the water, “i’ll clean it all up…”

you nod.

“i guess so.”

[sassenach77yle]

“A bargain’s a bargain,” I said, with a nod at the cup in his hand. “Drink it.”He lifted the cup and poked a long nose reluctantly over the rim, nostrils twitching at the sickly-sweet scent. He let the dark liquid touch the end of his tongue and made a face.“It will make me sick.”“It will make you sleep.”“It gives me terrible dreams.”“As long as you don’t chase rabbits in your sleep, it won’t matter,” I assured him. He laughed despite himself, but had one final try.“It tastes like the stuff ye scrape out of horses’ hooves.”“And when was the last time you licked a horse’s hoof?” I demanded, hands on my hips. I gave him a medium-intensity glare, suitable for the intimidation of petty bureaucrats and low-level army officials.He sighed.“Ye mean it, aye?”“I do.”“All right, then.” With a reproachful look of long-suffering resignation, he threw back his head and tossed the contents of the cup down in one gulp.A convulsive shudder racked him, and he made small choking noises.“I did say to sip it,” I observed mildly. “Vomit, and I’ll make you lick it up off the floor.”Given the scuffled dirt and trampled grass underfoot, this was plainly an idle threat, but he pressed his lips and eyes tight shut and lay back on the pillow, breathing heavily and swallowing convulsively every few seconds. I brought up a low stool and sat down by the camp bed to wait.“How do you feel?” I asked, a few minutes later.“Dizzy,” he replied. He cracked one eye open and viewed me through the narrow blue slit, then groaned and closed it. “As if I’m falling off a cliff. It’s a verra unpleasant sensation, Sassenach.”“Try to think of something else for a minute,” I suggested. “Something pleasant, to take your mind off it.”His brow furrowed for a moment, then relaxed.

“Stand up a moment, will ye?” he said. I obligingly stood, wondering what he wanted. He opened his eyes, reached out with his good hand, and took a firm grip of my buttock.“There,” he said. “That’s the best thing I can think of. Having a good hold on your arse always makes me feel steady.”I laughed and moved a few inches closer to him, so his forehead pressed against my thighs.“Well, it’s a portable remedy, at least.”He closed his eyes then and held on tight, breathing slowly and deeply. The harsh lines of pain and exhaustion in his face began to soften as the drug took effect.“Jamie,” I said softly, after a minute. “I’m sorry about it.”He opened his eyes, looked upward, and smiled, giving me a slight squeeze.“Aye, well,” he said. His pupils had begun to shrink; his eyes were sea-deep and fathomless, as though he looked into a great distance.“Tell me, Sassenach,” he said, a moment later. “If someone stood a man before ye and told ye that if ye were to cut off your finger, the man would live, and if ye did not, he would die—would ye do it?”“I don’t know,” I said, slightly startled. “If that was the choice, and no doubt about it, and he was a good man … yes, I suppose I would. I wouldn’t like it a bit, though,” I added practically, and his mouth curved in a smile.“No,” he said. His expression was growing soft and dreamy. “Did ye know,” he said after a moment, “a colonel came to see me, whilst ye were at work wi’ the wounded? Colonel Johnson; Micah Johnson, his name was.”“No; what did he say?”His grip on my bottom was beginning to slacken; I put my own hand over his, to hold it in place.“It was his company—in the fight. Part of Morgan’s, and the rest of the regiment just over the hill, in the path of the British. If the charge had gone through, they’d ha’ lost the company surely, he said, and God knows what might have become o’ the rest.” His soft Highland burr was growing broader, his eyes fixed on my skirt.“So you saved them,” I said gently. “How many men are there in a company?”“Fifty,” he said. “Though they wouldna all have been killed, I dinna suppose.” His hand slipped; he caught it and took a fresh grip, chuckling slightly. I could feel his breath through my skirt, warm on my thighs.“I was thinking it was like the Bible, aye?”“Yes?” I pressed his hand against the curve of my hip, keeping it in place.“That bit where Abraham is bargaining wi’ the Lord for the Cities of the Plain. ‘Wilt thou not destroy the city,’ ” he quoted, “ ‘for the sake of fifty just men?’ And then Abraham does Him down, a bit at a time, from fifty to forty, and then to thirty, and twenty and ten.”His eyes were half closed, and his voice peaceful and unconcerned.“I didna have time to inquire into the moral state of any o’ the men in that company. But ye’d think there might be ten just men among them—good men?”“I’m sure there are.” His hand was heavy, his arm gone nearly limp.“Or five. Or even one. One would be enough.”“I’m sure there’s one.”“The apple-faced laddie that helped ye wi’ the wounded—he’s one?”“Yes, he’s one.”He sighed deeply, his eyes nearly shut.“Tell him I dinna grudge him the finger, then,” he said.I held his good hand tightly for a minute. He was breathing slowly and deeply, his mouth gone slack in utter relaxation. I rolled him gently onto his back and laid the hand across his chest.

“Bloody man,” I whispered. “I knew you’d make me cry.”

62 ONE JUST MAN ~an echo in the bone

[babydollmarauders]

Airport blurb! For any of the Hughes brothers or Trevor them accidentally hitting their girlfriend with a puck

you would think that after spending the past few months playing hockey, the Hughes brothers would spend their few day christmas break relaxing. but no.

instead i currently watch on the side of the outdoor rink as my boyfriend and his brothers play a game of 3 person hockey. no goalie, just them trying to get the puck away from each other and into the net.

Quinn tried to get me to play goalie, but Luke assured him that that’s a bad idea, and i have to agree.

i keep my eyes on my boyfriend as he gracefully skates across the ice, handling the puck. but it’s not long before i’m broken out of my trance by a yell of my name. i whip my head towards Quinn but his face is morphed in horror. it doesn’t take more than a second to realize why, as something smacks straight into my nose.

i hear a crunch and searing pain spreads throughout my face, starting at my nose and working its way throughout the surrounding area. i drop back, falling on my ass on the snow behind me, and i can hear the sound of skates scraping against the ice as the boys rush over to me. tears fall from my eyes, dripping onto my cheeks as Luke drops down beside me. my hands grip my nose and i can feel the blood quickly coating them.

“baby, i am so sorry. are you okay?” Luke’s hands come up to cover my own, pulling them away so he can assess the damage. “shit.”

“ahh fuck, that’s definitely broken.” Quinn hisses. i glance over to find him wincing.

“oh, that doesn’t look good.” Jack cringes. “i’ll go get mom.”

“i’m so sorry, babe. i didn’t mean to, i swear! it was an accident! i- i-”

“it’s okay, Lukey. it happens. i probably shouldn’t have been standing so close to the ice.” i tell him through tears.

“no! don’t try and blame yourself in order to let me off the hook. not this time. it was all on me.” Luke assures me, holding my face in his hands. “fuck, i feel so bad.”

“being a hockey girlfriend has its risks. i didn’t necessarily think this would be one, but it’s okay. i promise.”

“here comes mom and Jack.” Quinn exclaims, and Luke drops his hand from my face as i look over to find Ellen.

“oh, honey.” she coos, holding out a hand to help me off the ground, which has now effectively soaked my jeans with melted snow. “let’s get you to the hospital.”

Luke groans at the word ‘hospital’, obvious guilt eating away at him.

“she’ll be fine, Luke. maybe just a couple stitches.” Ellen tells him. “it’ll all be okay. why don’t you boys go inside and do something more calm while us girls take a trip to get her fixed up?”

“no, i wanna go with.” Luke tells his mother, and Ellen looks towards me, an eyebrow raised in questioning, silently asking if that’s okay.

my hand reaches out to clutch Luke’s, pulling him towards me.

“i want him to come.” i say.

“hey, wait! i wanna come too! i’ve broken my nose several times, maybe i can be some help.” Quinn chimes in.

“well if you’re all going then i wanna go to!” Jack pipes up, obviously not wanting to be left out. Ellen sighs at her sons, shaking her head a little before speaking up.

“fine. Jack go run and grab my keys and everyone’s wallets. Quinn, Luke, take your skates off and we’ll all go get in the car.” Jack takes off running towards the house, being the only brother with his skates already shed.

i stand by Ellen, waiting for the boys to unlace their skates, slipping into their shoes that were waiting for them by the ice. we meet Jack by the car, who holds six wallets. handing them to each of us as we get in the car.

“why do you have your fathers wallet?” Ellen questions as she starts the car.

“you said to grab everyone’s.” Jack shrugs, sticking Jim’s wallet in his own pocket.

“why would that mean- nevermind.” Ellen shakes her head, pulling out of the driveway and starting the route to the hospital.

“how did you even get that from him?” i wonder, turning in the passenger seat to look at my boyfriend’s brother.

“took it from his pocket while he slept on the couch.”

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VII ║Fleabitten

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 6: Mustang | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, handjob, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: I know I made you guys wait for this one, I'm sorry it took so long! It's no secret that I'm dragging my feet because I don't want this packtrip to be over, but we all have to brave and face the inevitable 🥺 I hope you enjoy spending the last night in the mountains with Jack and his Darlin' ❤️

Fleabitten: A colour consisting of a white hair coat with small pigmented speckles or freckles.

You’ve never considered yourself a creature of habit. 

You have your routines, of course. But habit is more. It’s a dependency, emotional and physical. It’s something that’s hard to give up. It’s a prickle under the skin that is only soothed when said habit is fulfilled.

Surely, habit is hewn over time. A quiet, imperceptible chipping away at your bones until it becomes part of you. It must take more than a week to make a habit out of something. 

Except, it feels a lot like habit when you wake up to pink skies and take your first breath of sweet mountain air to start the day. That first mug of coffee warmed over rekindled embers from the night before. How Scotch always prances into a little canter to warm up when you hop on, but not until he knows you’re fully sat with the tips of your toes through the stirrups irons.

It’s the way you angle the brim of your hat and flip up the collar of your shirt even before the sun hits just so. It’s the all-consuming awe that pins you to the spot, wherever you are, whatever you’re in the middle of, when the sunset paints every inch of earth in rose gold.

And for the past three nights, it’s the assuring weight of strong arms around your waist that has lulled you to sleep, the kiss of warm breath on your temple - a familiarity that runs too deep in too short a time for you to comprehend.

Habit.

It’s the sixth day of the pack trip - first thing tomorrow, just after breakfast, Jack will be leading you across the mountain, back the way you came, to get back to the ranch by mid-afternoon.

Words are scarce when the two of you approach the last Statesman campsite on the trail, the neat stone pit now a familiar sight.

Even the horses are subdued. Scotch stands obediently, flicking his tail while you untack him, when he would usually be nudging at your hands with his velvety nose, snickering for a cheeky apple slice before supper.

It’s second nature to you now, hanging the sweaty saddle pad on a low-hanging branch to dry before setting the saddle and bridle on the wooden post for cleaning. Jack follows, standing on the other side, handing you a wet rag. You get to work, scrubbing out the grime and sweat from the well-worn leather.

His eyes are on you, a phantom weight on your shoulders - they’re not exactly sore, having grown used to long hours in the saddle over the week, but you are tired, albeit the good kind. One that a good, long soak in a hot bubble bath would fix, with a certain cowboy in the same tub -

‘Whatcha smilin’ ‘bout, Darlin’?’

Glancing up, you match his arched eyebrow with one of yours, planting your elbows on the spine of the saddle and standing onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. Well, a portable shower ain’t the same, but -

‘Shall we clean up, cowboy?’

Jack groans deep into your neck, the taste of soap thick on his tongue.

‘Is this how you jerked off thinking about me that first day?’ you tease, your grip sliding slickly along his cock.

‘Oh fuck,’ he pants, brow scrunched up in pleasure-pain, scraping his teeth on your collar bone. ‘Didn’t feel half as good, darlin’.’

A moan slips from you when one large palm finds your backside and squeezes, his fingers digging into the plump flesh as he whimpers by your ear. Bowing his head, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking on your sensitive skin until you arch into his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for him to come all over your hand - sticky, milky strands slipping thickly down the gaps of your fingers, stringing between them like spider webs. You’re reluctant to let go, humming soothingly into his ear as the last of his orgasm shudders through his body.

He holds you tight, his heart a sharp staccato against your chest, as the slow trickle of lukewarm water washes away all traces of him.

Once the portable shower is empty, you take your time getting dressed. Jack wipes you down with your towel while you rub his hair dry with his. Walking back to camp hand in hand, you grin when the horses come into sight, chasing and egging each other on like puppies at the dog park.

Thousand-pound puppies, more like. 

Dropping the dirty laundry by a tree to be packed later, he whistles with his fingers. ‘C’mon boys, supper time!’

The trio line up smartly by the wooden post as Jack preps the feed, measuring out the grain and hay pellets by sight, filling their buckets. Their nostrils flare and ears prick up at the sight of their dinner, but other than a stray nicker or two, they remain impressively patient.

Their buckets are dropped in front of their hooves when he’s done, and you may be imagining the sharp intake of air as the horses await the okay from their cowboy.

At his nod, all three practically lunge at their supper, munching happily. You laugh, and Jack watches on proudly.

A quiet desperation slinks in when you’re not looking, winding tighter and tighter around your ribs like a vice that leaves you short of breath as the minutes and hours slip by. You’re restless, your legs bouncing in agitation, your eyes darting about, frantically trying to commit everything to memory, yet never lingering anywhere long enough to do so.

But it’s not really about the things you can see. It’s the bitter bite of smoke in the clean mountain air. It’s the orange heat of the campfire that you wear like a favourite cardigan. It’s the simplicity of getting from point A to point B, with nothing but grassland and forest in between.

But real life isn’t simple. Things that you vowed to push to the back of your mind at the beginning of the trip bubble to the surface for an unwelcome moment. You have bills to pay. You have a deadweight of a house to sell. You have an ex not pulling his weight -

‘Darlin’?’

The white noise that you weren’t even aware had filled your ears subsides, and your gaze snaps up to Jack, blinking. The weight of the knife in your hand comes back to you, and you glance down at the bell pepper you were in the middle of dicing up.

You give him a shaky smile and carry on with your errand. ‘Sorry.’

He brushes a thumb on your cheek. ‘You were thinkin’ mighty loud.’

Not wanting to dampen your last night together, you shake your head and lean over to kiss him. You huff, ‘Just hungry. Get cooking, cowboy.’

Jack knows you’re fibbing, but he says no more. He can admit to himself that you’re not the only one struggling with loud thoughts tonight.

You’re right, he should turn his focus to making dinner instead - chili and cornbread, classic southern comfort food. Lord knows the both of you can do with some comfort tonight.

‘Want to help me with the cornbread?’ he asks, knowing you’d want to keep your hands busy.

‘Damn, I sure miss the days when you insisted that I shouldn’t help with anything at all,’ you tease, which makes him chuckle.

‘C’mere, darlin’.’

He’d measured out the dry ingredients for the cornbread back at the Halfway House and tipped it all into a mason jar - flour, cornmeal and raising agents. You whisk the batter with a fork as he cracks in three eggs and pours in the milk (he usually uses buttermilk, but it has to be shelf stable milk on the trail) until it’s smooth and thin. You carefully pour the mixture into a well-oiled cast iron skillet, which he then nestles in the heart of the fire. The batter bubbles like slow-burning lava as it cooks, the savoury sweetness filling the evening air.

‘That’ll cook in a half hour, so we should start on the chili,’ he says. ‘I normally simmer it for at least an hour, but I think we’re both hungry, right?’

‘I’m fine with express chili, cowboy.’

Jack sets a deep-set saucepan on the pit, drizzling in olive oil to preheat it. He knows the recipe by heart, but with no fresh beef mince on hand, he has his usual substitutions when cooking it on the trail. Into the pan goes finely diced cured sausage, onion, red bell peppers, peeled carrot ribbons and celery.

‘Is that Poppy’s recipe?’ you ask, tummy rumbling at the vivid scents as the pan sizzles.

‘It’s my mama’s, actually,’ he smiles, stirring with a wooden spoon. ‘It’s the one recipe Poppy allows on the trail that is not hers.’

‘If that isn’t a stamp of approval, I don’t know what is,’ you chuckle. ‘And where’s your mama?’

‘Still lives with my old man back home in Kentucky,’ he answers, scraping in minced garlic, a good squeeze of tomato paste and one big can of plum tomatoes, which he crushes one by one with the back of the spoon.

‘What do they do?’ you ask, genuinely curious. His family hasn’t come up in conversation in the past few days.

Jack is happy to indulge you. ‘Pop used to run a little corner shop in town, but he’s retired now. My ma’s an equine veterinarian, used to have a practice, but she shut that down a few years ago and is mostly a lady of leisure nowadays.’

You nudge his shoulder with yours. ‘Horses run in the family, I see.’

‘Never stood a chance,’ he jokes. ‘She still helps out on my uncle’s farm if they need an extra pair of hands. My cousins mostly run the place nowadays.’

The saucepan sputters at the generous pouring of barbeque sauce (homemade of course, Poppy’s secret recipe) that goes in next, followed by a can of beer, a beef stock cube (crumbled), Worcestershire sauce, balsamic vinegar and honey.

‘Are your parents from the same town?’

‘No, ma’s from the city, moved to the backwaters to marry my country bumpkin daddy,’ he replies, flashing you a meaningful smile. 

Your cheeks heat up unbidden, and you bite your bottom lip, the shyness that rears its head  feeling very alien after being so comfortable around this cowboy for these few days. You meet his eyes though, cocking your head to one side. ‘Is that so?’

He grins, stirring the chili as he continues. ‘My papaw Henry nearly disowned her, didn’t even go to the weddin’, but he came round when I was born. Turned out he got on with my other grandpa Noah like a house on fire. They used to come and spend a week in the mountains with Champ and I every year before Henry passed.’

You reach out and squeeze his free hand. ‘And where is Noah now?’

‘He lives in a little cabin off the main house with my uncle. Can barely walk, but he still rides every morning,’ he shakes his head fondly, tipping in the drained kidney and black beans.

He’s quiet for a moment as he studies the chili, simmering away, then gives you a sidelong glance. Despite a deliberate attempt to keep his tone light, the weight of his words cannot be erased by simple inflection. ‘I’m sure they’d love to meet you, darlin’.’

But as soon as he hears himself - the absurd wishful thinking in it - he shifts in his seat awkwardly, clearing his throat. You fuckin’ clown. How is this appropriate conversation when he’s known you for six days? Hell, you’d only just started sleeping together what, three nights ago? Fuck, has it only been three - ?

Two gentle fingers hook under his chin, turning his face towards you, cutting off the jumble of voices in his head. You shuffle closer so that you’re pressed right up against his side, warm and soft, and when you kiss him slowly and sweetly, it tastes like reassurance. 

‘I’d love that too, cowboy.’

The chili is the best you’ve ever had - smoky, spicy and balanced out with a touch of sweetness from the barbeque sauce. The cornbread fresh from the skillet is so moreish, there’s nothing but crumbs left in the skillet when the two of you are done.

You’re close to bursting, sprawled lazily on your sleeping bag, your back propped up against a log. The fire has died down to a low-burning flame, and you’re right on the brink of nodding off. 

But as it turns out, Jack still has a trick or two up his sleeves. 

He reaches over you to grab one of the saddlebags, rifling around and you laugh as he unveils, one after the other - a bag of jumbo marshmallows, Graham crackers, and a bar of dark chocolate. 

‘Can’t say I pegged you for a s’mores kinda cowboy,’ you tease as he lays out the ingredients on the ground. 

‘It’s a Statesman tradition, we always close out a pack trip with s’mores. C’mon, I’ll show you how to make a proper one.’

You huff a laugh. ‘Oh, are we really going there?’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

‘The shortest way to an argument is anything to do with s’mores.’

‘Don’t worry darlin’, I’m sure we’ll kiss and make up.’

Jack gets up and steps briefly out of the orange halo of the campfire to rustle up a couple of sticks for the marshmallows. Knees creaking as he sits down next to you, he pulls out the knife from the holster he wears on the back of his jeans, sharpening the wooden ends with a telling familiarity.

The chocolate bar is wrapped in fancy, gilded packaging, the words organic and bean to bar glowing gold in the firelight as you turn it over in your hands. ‘Huh. No Hershey’s?’

The cowboy waggles one perfectly pointed end of a stick at you in warning. ‘Rule number one - do not mention the H word in front of Poppy. You will be evicted and barred from the state of Wyoming till kingdom come.’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ you chuckle, tearing into the packaging and breaking up the chocolate into tidy squares along the grooves.

Sheathing his knife, Jack reaches for the saddle bag once again. ‘Can’t forget the secret ingredient.’

You blink in incredulity at what he brandishes, the familiar whiff registering. ‘Is that - applewood?’

He winks, testing the weight of the logs in his hands. ‘The applewood infuses the marshmallows with a sweet smokiness - I’m tellin’ you, the Statesman s’mores is somethin’ else.’

With a shake of your head, you grin. ‘Alright cowboy, show me how to make some proper s’mores.’

Twenty minutes later, you wish you could take it back.

‘Scientific’ doesn’t even begin to describe Jack’s process. You’re huddled in a blanket, hugging your knees, watching as he turns over the marshmallows with methodological precision and infinite patience - neither of which you possess. He’d confiscated yours when you tried to stick them straight into the flames, declaring that you’re unfit to make your own s’mores.

The night air is singed with the delicate note of apple blossoms, while four chocolate squares slowly warm on graham crackers where they sit on stones around the campfire. 

You sit poutily, glaring at the fluffy white blobs that look just as pale as they were straight out of the bag.

‘I could’ve made about three s’mores by now,’ you gripe.

Jack doesn’t look up from the fire, but the corner of his mouth curls in amusement. ‘You’re on holiday, remember? Relax. Patience is a virtue, darlin’.’

You tilt your head in a challenge. ‘Do you really think I give a damn about virtue, cowboy?’

His grin turns brash, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners. ‘No, ma’am, and I thank my lucky stars that you don’t.’

‘C’mon Jack,’ you whine. ‘Let's just eat the stupid s’mores and go to bed.’

‘Good things take time,’ he says simply. And then, with the minutest flex of his tone, he changes tact. ‘Will you be a good girl for me and be patient?’

You watch his smile widen as he obviously hears your breath hitch.

Biting your lip, you goad him, ‘Oh, is that how you’re going to play it, sir?

The gentleman in him recedes, and the rake glimpses through in the way he eyes you with a deliberately smarmy want. ‘I don’t hear you complainin’ when I take my time with you, darlin’.’

Your mouth hangs open in affront. ‘Are you seriously comparing me to roasted marshmallows?’

He leans over and purrs into your ear. ‘Well, your pussy is just as sweet, and soft, and warm -’

You groan and push him hard on the shoulder. ‘Thanks ruining marshmallows for me, cowboy!’

With a laugh, Jack nods towards the fire. ‘Grab the graham crackers please, darlin’. They're done.’

Sure enough, while you were distracted, the fluffy white blobs are finished with a perfect, golden crust, but have enough structural integrity to hold shape on the ends of the sticks.

‘You ready?’ he prompts.

A graham cracker in each hand, one with chocolate and the other without, you admit, ‘I hate this part, I always make such a mess.’

He smirks, ‘Didn’t think you minded makin’ a mess, darlin’.’

You roll your eyes at him, with no real annoyance. ‘You’re insufferable, cowboy.’

Cushioining one marshmallow on the chocolate side of the cracker, he instructs, ‘Now put the other one on top and grip the whole stack firmly. Got it?’

At your nod, Jack carefully extracts the stick, wriggling as he goes, one thumb against the end to keep the marshmallow from sliding out.

With a dramatic flourish, he ta-das. ‘There you go, a Statesman s’mores for my cowgirl.’

Something in your brain short-circuits at him calling you his cowgirl. 

Not just his. 

But the cowgirl to his cowboy.

Unable to conjure up any words, you fixate on the melted marshmallow on his thumb. Grabbing his hand and bringing it to your face, you wrap your lips around it, sucking the sweet smear of residue right off his smoke-tipped finger.

His gaze is dark even as the red and yellow flickers in his eyes when he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, his voice a soft rasp. 

‘Good girl.’

‘So - what happens tomorrow?’

Your question is quiet, half murmured into the hollow of his neck in the twilight zone, on the cusp of sleep. Your head is tucked under his chin, his arms around your waist under the blanket.

‘We’ll get back to the ranch around three. The team will get the horses settled in, unpack everything, and you can have a nice hot shower. Then we’ll have sunset drinks and dinner.’

You hum noncommittally. The silence cackles for a beat, before you venture, ‘And then?’

For once, Jack doesn’t have an answer.

He doesn’t sleep that night. 

He holds you close, running a calloused palm against your back when you shift restlessly in your sleep, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his own.

The sun rises pink and gentle. This camping spot was a deliberate choice - it hangs over a small slope, facing east with an open view of the plains below, where the horses are dozing, the Bighorn rising from the horizon straight ahead. 

He must have drifted off without him noticing, because he wakes up to your lips on his.

He blinks, lids heavy with slumber. ‘Mornin’.’

You smile through hooded eyes, cording your fingers through his hair. ‘Morning, cowboy. It’s a pretty sunrise for our last day in the mountains.’

‘Who says it’s our last, darlin’?’

His challenge lingers between you, the tension sinking its hooks into his skin and pulling - until you close the gap and kiss him. 

It’s sloppy, clumsy, teeth clunking against teeth - it’s too damn early - and he pushes you back to nip and suck his way down your neck, undoing the top three buttons on his flannel that you’ve taken to wearing to bed before pushing it over your head.

‘Jack,’ you whine as his hands push your tits together, smearing open-mouthed kisses all over them.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts, the harsh sound catching in his throat. Grinding his cock between your thighs, his big hands push your panties down in a hazy frenzy, followed by his sweats, which he kicks off blindly.

‘Please,’ you choke out, voice breaking as your soft, naked body arches into him.

He hushes you, breath hot and heavy in your ear, teasing his length slickly between the wet lips of your pussy. ‘Yeah? Desperate for this cock, are you, darlin’?’

Through a broken moan, you whimper, ‘Yes, please please please, Jack -’

‘So pretty beggin’ for me,’ he grins, but he knows it probably looks more like a pained grimace as he trembles above you. You're soaking the curls at the bottom of his cock even though he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

‘Please, want you inside me, cowboy -’

He holds out, letting the arousal swell and mount between you with a recklessness that is unlike him, demanding, ‘How, darlin’?’

‘Hard, want you to fuck me hard -’

Rolling you onto your side so that he brackets you from behind, he opens you up with one hand under your right knee, pushing it against your front so that he can see your dripping cunt. Running his thumb over it, you jerk in his hold, moaning for him. ‘Jack, please -’

‘What did I say about patience bein’ a virtue, hmm?’ he teases through gritted teeth, dipping one finger shallowly into you, which is enough to make you keen.

You’re babbling incoherently as he lines himself up against your entrance. ‘Fuck me, please, need you inside me -’

You break off into a strangled sob when he pushes the blunt tip of his cock into you, a hoarse groan in his windpipe as he feels you stretch around him. It feels different, more intense, but his sleep-clouded brain can’t grasp why. He pumps into you slowly and deliberately, eyes screwed shut as your cunt squeezes him, his fingers sure to leave marks where they hold onto the swell of your hips.

‘So - so good, Jack,’ you pant.

‘Yes, darlin’,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, fucking you in firm strokes now, palming your tits from behind. ‘This gorgeous pussy grippin’ me so tight, gettin’ so wet on my big cock.’

‘Only for you,’ you declare, rolling your hips so he hits a particularly deep spot inside you.

‘For me,’ he echoes with a groan, planting one foot on the ground to fuck into you harder.

Snaking one hand between your legs - hot and sticky - two thick fingers find your clit, drawing back the hood to rub circles where you can really feel him.

‘Fuck!’ you exclaim, almost bending backwards.

‘Good girl, takin’ me so well,’ he cooes into your ear. ‘She’s goin’ to cum on my cock, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, Jack,’ you whine, getting impossibly wet now. You leak messily down your thighs as he feels you begin to clench around him, your voice running ragged. ‘Please, sir -’

He fucks you through it, jaw clenched so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t crack under the pressure, his hands holding you down as you buck and writhe.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls into your cheek, his pace slackening to a languid rhythm. ‘Do you hear yourself? Hear that drippin’ pussy when I fuck it nice and slow?’

Turning over your shoulder, you kiss him, pupils completely blown as you slur drunkenly against his lips, ‘Yes, cowboy. S’ fucking good.’

Jack smiles and he sucks on your bottom lip, you’re so wet that he barely has to roll his hips to sink deep into you.

But even as he lets the moment consume him, something niggles at the back of his mind. It feels too good, as if there's some detail he’s missing - 

And then it strikes him, like lightning on a clear day. Every joint and muscle in his body locks up when it does, and he feels you stiffen instantly in response. His words tumble out in a panicked jumble. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck! I forgot the condom, shit, I’m so sorry darlin’ -’

When he tries to pull out of you, you hook one foot around his shin and stop him with a hand on his hips. ‘Wait, Jack - just wait.’

He shakes his head in confusion. ‘Wait - why?’

Twisting around so that you’re looking him in the eye, you tell him quietly, ‘I got tested after my ex and I broke up, and - I haven’t been with anyone since.’

While he takes a moment to process, his cock throbs almost painfully inside you. He answers, ‘I haven’t had unprotected sex since my last girlfriend, and I got tested afterwards as well.’

You smile, one hand finding his and slipping your fingers into the gaps between his. ‘I’m just - I’m not on the pill, so we can keep going as long as you don’t cum inside me.’

‘Fuck, darlin’, it's dangerous, talkin' about me cummin’ inside you like that,’ he chides, brow creased in mock reprimand.

You wink. ‘We’ll save that for next time, cowboy.’

‘Next time,’ he promises, with a determination that soothes the anxiety in him.

And so your breaths mist and intertwine, catching the morning light as he thrusts into you, again and again. He doesn’t know where this will go, except for the vow of a next time, but he knows he has this -

The orange wash of dawn over you, his spend on the soft skin of your stomach and your beautiful tits when he cums, his heart beating - hard and sure - with what has deserted him for long years.

Notes: I didn't have as much time to edit this chapter, and I'm still trying to get more comfortable with spending less time overall on both writing and edits, and being more ok with mistakes/typos. The flip side is that what goes on the metaphorical paper is more spontaneous.

There will only be two more chapters before Palomino wraps up. Thank you for sticking around and for being so supportive despite the slow updates recently. It's strange that we're approaching the end for real now, excited isn't quite the right word, but I am looking forward to giving this story the ending Jack, Darlin' and you guys deserve ❤️

Thank you for the love. Comments, reblogs and asks are always appreciated, as always 🥰

Update: I can’t believe I forgot to mention a huge thank you to everyone who gave me all the cool tips for the s’mores and ideas for their last dinner on the trail! This one is for you guys 😘