#jut maybe let him go a little mad

[emotinalsupportturtle]

Loki really went "the laws of time are mine" didn't he

*cue "timelord victorious"

[steveharringtonat3am]

no thoughts just riding steve after a stressful day at work

smut 18+, mentions of alcohol, adorable boyfriend steve, reader on top, penetration

You’re still cursing as you swing the apartment door open, letting it close in a much harsher fashion than normal. You had spent the entire day irritated. Your boss, your coworkers, and even your clients had managed to piss you off. You kick your heel off, letting them fly into the corner by the door as you head to the kitchen.

You had spent the car ride practically dreaming about the wine you were about to have. The glass has barely touched your lips when a voice perks up.

“Tough day?” Steve calls from the couch, reading glasses perched on his nose and a book in hand. Something in you melts when you see him and your feet carry you over to him on instinct.

He sets the book down as you climb into his lap, putting your wine glass next to his kicked up feet on the table.

“It was horrible.” He rubs your back as you lay your head on his shoulder, taking a few breaths. You don’t wanna direct your anger to Steve so you have to calm down just a little.

“I’m sorry sweetheart.” His fingers tangle with yours as you sit up to face him. Steve has always been pretty, you knew that the day you met him, but he was especially gorgeous on nights like this. Maybe it was the pure domesticity of it. Your boyfriend, Steve Harrington, sitting on your couch in his pyjamas on a Friday night. You almost couldn’t believe it.

“I’m just glad you’re here.” You relax against him once more.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” His big hands rub up and down the exposed skin of your legs.

“Honestly it was so stressful just talking about it might piss me off again.” You mumble against his neck.

“Do you wanna talk about it while you ride me? That always works wonders for your stress.” You can hear the smile in his voice but the offer is sincere.

“Yeah?” You confirm, already excited at the idea.

“Go ahead sweetheart.” He winks as you shift his pants down just enough to reveal his cock. He’s already half hard so it only takes a few strokes to get him ready.

Ever the gentleman, Steve is already bunching your pencil skirt around your waist, eyes dark behind his glasses when he sees your red thong.

“What’s this?” He plays with the fabric over your hip, licking his lips.

“It doesn’t show panty lines.” You smile as you sit up and pull the fabric to the side to take the tip of his cock.

Steve is big. Bigger than most, so riding him is usually a challenge. Luckily, it’s one that you’re always up for.

“There you go baby…” He groans as you sink down on him, already soaked.

“God this is exactly what I needed.” You moan as you start to move up and down. You take it nice and slow, letting yourself adjust. There’s no urgency in your movements. You have all the time in the world.

“So, what pissed you off?” Steve kisses along your collarbone between words, making you giggle at the sensation.

“Just-just my coworkers being stupid. Can you believe Danielle didn’t overnight the contracts I gave her? Then Mr. Zelleman got mad at me for it! It was so-so stupid.” As Steve helps you move up and down on him, you start to care less and less about work and more about how incredible his cock feels.

“So stupid…” He mumbles in agreement, kissing at your neck in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. You can’t be bothered about it though, as you start to move faster. Your stomach tightens in a very familiar way. Steve’s hands tighten their grip on yours, hips jutting up to meet your own. You press your lips against his desperately as your orgasm hits you. Pleasure that you can hardly contain shoots through you as the warmth of Steve’s orgasm fills you. As the euphoria fades, so does your energy.

You slump against Steve’s chest, his arms coming around to hug you. There’s not a thought in your head as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Feel better?” He asks.

“…About what?”

[oneforthemunny]

1, A, ! (You don't have to write this one. 😈)

for the mind who came up with this game idea??? yes i do. your roll: cowboy!eddie, over the knee, and hand ;)

minors dni. dom/sub themes, spanking, a little mocking. teasing/meanish!eddie.

Eddie huffed, tossing the shovel down with a dramatic grunt. "You're just gonna stand there?" You didn't need to see him to know that his gloved hands were on his hips, jaw ground tight in annoyance.

You kept your back to him, defiant and furious. Too stubborn to retreat to the house in defeat that you hadn't got either things you wanted, so you stood, making him painfully aware of your displeasure.

"I told you I'd help you after 'while-"

"-It's been after while." You snapped, eyes rolling hard. "You always do this-"

"-Oh, don't you even start-"

"-You don't want me to do anything because I'll hurt myself, but then you put the things I ask you to do at the very bottom of your to do list." You turned, glaring at him pointedly.

Eddie's lips rolled, eyes slitting in a glare. "I do not." He snapped. "I told you this morning, I'd help you when I got done with everything I needed to. There's things I need to do, and I told you that."

You scoffed, starting to retort. Eddie stepped forward, boots heavy on the wooden barn floor. "And you're just mad I didn't help you when you wanted to."

"You said-"

"-I said, when I was done." Eddie snapped. "I'm not done, and your whining is only slowing me down." You pouted at him, petulant and little embarrassed.

Eddie softened at your grumpy look, arms crossed over your chest, lip jutted in fury. "Why don't you just sit out here, and keep me company while I finish this, alright?" He nodded towards the small stool in the corner. "Talk to me nice while I finish this up."

"Why don't I just go do it myself?" You grumbled, stomping towards the stool in the corner. "It can't be that hard."

"Quit that." Eddie clicked. "I've told you now. I'll help you put the feeder in, just let me-"

"-I can do it." You snapped stubbornly. "You act like I'm incompetent-"

"-What?-"

"-Like I'm stupid," You sneered. "I am more than capable of putting a feeder in the coop-"

"-I never said you weren't, so don't start puttin' word in my mouth that you know I never said." Eddie was beyond annoyed now, teetering on furious, patience running thin at your little bratty attitude.

"But you're not letting me." You scoffed, throwing your hands up in annoyance, giving him a furious eye roll. "That makes soo much sense. Wait for you, even though I can do it, but wait for you because-"

"-Why are you being so hateful?" Eddie snapped, voice booming loud enough to have Medusa stopping in the pastures, looking at Eddie with caution. "I told you I'd help you when I got done, you've come out here and been nothin' but mean-"

"-I don't understand why I can't just do it-"

Eddie gawked at you, disbelief, annoyance, all mixed up and apparent on his face. "Are you- You're seriously fightin' with me about this still? When I've told you why?" He blinked at you. "What? Are you just wantin' a spankin'? Wanting to get on my nerves and piss me off so I'll spank you? Is that it?"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, fused with furious heat. "No," You snapped. "I want you to help me." Maybe it was a little true? At least he'd give you attention.

"Alright," Eddie pulled his gloves off with a huff, tossing them on the wheelbarrow of hay besides him. "I've had enough. Get over here."

"What?" You squeaked, an excited thrill rushing through your body straight to your core. "No!"

"Yes," Eddie snapped, heavy soled stepped bounding towards you. You stood up but didn't back away, letting him catch you by the arm, hand firm on your upper arm. It nearly had you drooling, dominance oozing out of him, it was magnetic.

"You've been acting awfully mean all day," Eddie grumbled, sitting on the small wooden bench by the door, pulling you over his knees. "Shoulda known this was what you were wanting."

"I don't." You huffed, a half hearted wiggle over his knee in protest that he saw right through, shoving your little sundress up.

"Right," Eddie scoffed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "You've just been mean for fun then? Just to piss me off."

"You're pissing me of- ow!" You pushed against his leg, body bucking in the air at the first sharp smack of his calloused hand on your ass.

Eddie gritted his teeth, wrestling you back into place, before delivering two more searing swats to each cheek. You wiggled, writhed, put up on helluva fight- which he was used to, loved it, really. He'd told you at the beginning of your relationship, when you'd first started exploring your little dynamic, that you rivaled even the wildest broncos. "Rode and tamed them before, so I'll do the same to you," Eddie had grinned at you. "You're a lot wilder than them, baby, I'll give you that."

Your hips lifted when Eddie gave a harsh smack to the center of your ass, vibrations of pain and pleasure shaking right into your core, leaving you whimpering desperately.

Eddie snickered lightly. "Knew it, look at you." He tsked lightly. "Like a cat in heat, Christ almighty."

"I am not!" You whined, palms pressing into the wood of the bench, Eddie's hand pressing you back into place. "Stop it, Eddie." It was half-hearted, your body betraying you with every deep arch of your spine towards his touch.

Eddie scoffed, squeezing the fat of your ass firmly, grinning at how you squealed, your skin raw from his assault. "Should've just told me you wanted a spanking instead of bein' mean." He slapped your ass again, swallowing at the recoil.

"I didn't." You whined.

"Hmm," Eddie pulled your cheeks apart, looking at your drooling, puffy lips between your legs. So painfully wet, he could taste it, licking his lips at the thought of burying himself between your legs right here.

You shuddered, turning your face into your folded arms in front of you in excited shame. Eddie continued delivering sharp smacks to each cheek, a steady rhythm building, not missing the way your hips rose and fell, grinding desperately onto whatever was beneath you for friction.

When Eddie finished, giving you a final smack to the center of your ass that had you crying out, you looked at him with an exaggerated pout.

"Aw, look at you, baby. Just a pitiful little thing, aren't ya?" Eddie cooed nearly mockingly. He pinched your jutted lip lightly, grinning when you whined. "You gonna be good for me?"

"Yes," You purred, smug- you were finally getting what you wanted.

"Good." Eddie pushed down your dress, patting your ass. "Take a seat and wait for me. I'll be done soon."

Your mouth fell in shock, watching him adjust himself before grabbing his gloves and going back to work.

[steviewashere]

Strawberry Jalapeño

Rating: General CW: Alcohol, References to Sex Tags: Established Relationship, Recreational Drinking, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington gets White Woman Margarita Drunk at Mexican Restaurants, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is saving the last bite for them."

💕—————💕

A new Mexican restaurant opens up a block away from their apartment in 1992. Taqueria Las Palomas. They make it part of their date night circle. Tuesday dates are for the queer bar ten minutes sideways. Wednesdays they’d go to the park on a picnic. Thursdays are for non-competitive bowling that Eddie somehow always turns competitive. And Friday nights, well they’re—

“Margarita nights,” Steve had given. His smirk the size of the moon. His eyes glistening in excitement. His body vibrating with it. “Nachos. And margaritas.” He’d done one of his cute little hand gestures. Nachos was his right hand jumping into the air. Margaritas was his left. Funny enough, those are also the assigned hands in which he consumes them at the restaurant.

Point is, it’s a popular date night activity.

And it’s Friday. And Steve is practically bouncing up and down the sidewalk. Drifting from Eddie’s side. Nearly skipping to the destination. Every once in a while, Eddie has to catch up to him, pull him back by his left palm, and hook their elbows together just to maintain the distance. But, somehow, Steve still gets to the restaurant’s door first.

And, somehow, Eddie never gets tired of it.

Five bucks gets them the nacho platter. Three bucks gets them bottomless margaritas. Which, technically, three bucks gets Steve bottomless margaritas. For two bucks less, Eddie settles for a single Miller. He’s got to get Steve back home, alright? Can’t do that if they’re both wasted. (Steve gets especially drunk and ditzy. Who knew he was such a lightweight in the face of greasy nachos and some fruity little drink?)

They share the plate of nachos. Eddie will sometimes get a small bean and cheese burrito. Sometimes he’ll do in for a couple of carne asada tacos. But, typically, it’s just the nachos. He’s got kind of a light appetite all the time anyway. Steve, on the other hand, will get nachos and a burrito (Depends on his overall mood which one he gets. Mad? The steak burrito. Horny? A breakfast burrito. Look, don’t ask Eddie. He doesn’t know why the eggs and potatoes seem to do it for Steve).

But, because of Steve’s heavier appetite, they tend to tear through the nachos pretty goddamn quick. Which, really, is a shame. Eddie really loves the nachos. He’d eat them all day if he could. That being said, however, he usually lets Steve get the last bite. Usually being the key word.

Tonight, though, the nachos go by pretty quick, as expected. Steve’s got his breakfast burrito halfway gobbled through. And Eddie’s leaned back in his sticky booth, Miller up to his lips, guzzling down some lukewarm beer. Steve’s worked his way through three margaritas, his lips stained a deep pink, and he’s not swaying exactly, but he’s definitely a little bit clumsier. His eyes are pointed down at the plate of nachos.

One chip with all the toppings, jalapeños included (Eddie’s personal hell).

Steve’s fingers twitch on the tacky plastic top of the table. His bottom lip is jutted out. And his eyebrows are creased slightly. He’s adorable.

“Eds,” he begins.

“Go ahead, babydoll. If you want it, you can eat it.” He thinks he gets his point across clearly. Sure, maybe his breath does something a little mournful at the last chip being whisked away from him. But, unfortunately, his stomach doesn’t do well with jalapeños. Never has. Most likely never will.

Steve reaches out his right hand, dutifully, and grabs the tortilla chip in his loose tipsy grip. He brings it up to eye level. Eyes crossing at the little slice of jalapeño. Eddie holds back a chuckle.

Well, he tries really hard. Has to snicker into his can of beer. Steve looks like some puppy noticing a butterfly on a flower for the first time. He might eat it. Might.

Then, oddly, Steve brings the chip back down. He takes his margarita hand. Plucks the jalapeño from the top of the chip, places it on his also pink stained tongue, and brings his eyes to stare at Eddie.

He momentarily looks away from Steve’s puppy dog eyes. From his magenta lips and rose petal pink cheeks and his glazed tipsy sheen to his eyes. Tries to hide how hungry he is, not for the nachos, but for Steve’s beautiful face.

“Ed…Eddie,” Steve is whispering, a slur slightly noticeable in his speech. His margarita palm flops onto the table, patting incessantly at the back of Eddie’s right. “Eddie, gotta—I gotta surprise for you.”

Eddie looks back at him and hums. “What’s up, sweetheart? Whatcha got for me?”

Steve holds out the chip. His fingers are loosely grasping it. It could fall at any moment, really. But he looks like he’s trying really hard to just raise it to Eddie’s face. “Made this,” he murmurs. “Took the spicy thing off.” He knows what it’s called. Eddie should probably cut him off from his margaritas in a second. “‘Ts for you, Eds.” And then he’s bringing it closer to Eddie’s face, so much so now he has to cross his eyes, and jams the softened edge to Eddie’s lips.

It really is the perfect chip. Cheese and guac and sour cream, steak and some of the pico de gallo. And, yeah, Steve took the jalapeño off just for him.

“Eds, you gotta open your mouth. Saved it—Made it for you.”

So, he does. Lets Steve feed it to him. Eddie wraps his hand around Steve’s wrist, steadying his hold. His thumb rubs over Steve’s pulse point, it’s fast and warm. And he looks back at Steve, his eyes dilated, yet full of love.

“Thank you, baby,” Eddie says through his mouthful. Steve’s face stretches with his syrupy smile. Gooey with something. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“It’s cause I—Cause you were sad, Eds,” Steve conspires, leaning in—his hands spread wide and out on the table. “Was thinking of you ‘cause I like it when you’re happy.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he feels the need to say again. “You made and continue to make me very happy.”

“I also love you. Was thinking about that, too,” Steve says.

Eddie snickers a little bit. Steve’s a sentimental drunk, he should’ve pointed out sooner. A very sentimental drunk. His eyes are shiny with tears and his face is wonderfully pink, there’s guac in the corner of his mouth, his breath smells like strawberries and jalapeño. And he’s probably the most beautiful and kind person Eddie’s ever come to know.

“Love you, too, sweetheart. Now, finish up your sex burrito,” Eddie teases a little. “Gotta get you home soon and take care of you.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve slurs back.

They won’t actually do anything, Eddie knows that. He’ll get Steve some water. And they’ll curl up on the couch and watch reruns of Golden Girls until Steve falls asleep over the length of Eddie’s torso. And he’ll slither out from underneath him, carry his heavy body to bed, and cuddle him with both arms. But in the morning, Eddie will make sure Steve knows just how loved he is.

For now, he just gazes. Lets himself become drunk on what it means to truly and irrevocably love somebody like Steve Harrington.

💕—————💕

[xaviers-star-tassel]

⭐️ a pretty distraction

✦ pairing: xavier / gn!reader

✦ genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

✦ warnings: mildly suggestive, but no sexual content (only light teasing but no actual smut)

✦ word count: 2.2k words

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ: xavier invited you to his apartment to hang out, but you were too busy with work to even acknowledge in his own home. so, of course, he had to take matters into his own hands

⋆˙ ✦ note: i wrote this very quickly, so the quality might not be the best. though, i still hope you’ll enjoy it till the end :D (this man has me in absolute chokehold and i can’t stop writing about him) not proofread!

who would have thought that being a deepspace hunter would often mean more paperwork than action? well, you were aware, considering all the exams you had to go through. but it was still astonishing. filing reports was not fun, far from it. what was even worse, though, was having to work on them in the comfort of your—or rather xavier’s—home.

a few days ago, there was a big rampage caused by a wanderer in the streets, and the damages caused by it were immense. since you were there to take care of the raging wanderer, it was up to you to file up those reports. what you didn’t expect was the amount of papers you had to go through. it was a total insanity, and a part of you was thinking of burning the papers, but orders were orders. you chose this.

you were growing tired of it, to say the least. sure, you had enough time to finish the papers up till next week, but you did not want to procrastinate. you knew the second your body would relax on the soft mattress of xavier’s bed, with none other than xavier beside you, completing the reports would be close to impossible for the day.

perhaps you were just a bit stubborn, or you simply just enjoyed torturing yourself, but you needed to be done with your work before midnight. that was your goal, and you were determined to reach it.

but not all paths were smooth, right? your path was full of traps, set by none other than your neighbor and partner. it was driving you mad, and you were trying very hard to keep your cool. your patience may not have been made of steel like xavier’s, nonetheless you were doing great at avoiding all the traps set by him.

usually, xavier was a symbol of patience and understanding, especially when it came to you. he was supportive of you trying to do your work right, and he felt proud of you, too. not once did he praise you for doing a good job, be it verbally or with a head pat—which always successfully made you crave more. the little smile that lingered on his lips when he noticed how happy you were with yourself when you did well on a mission, or when you simply finished filing up reports. he was super proud of you, there was no denying.

yet even the mysterious hunter had his limits when it came to patience. xavier invited you to his apartment, expecting you to spend time with him, maybe even bake some egg tarts and then cuddle in the comfort of his blanket. so when you came up to his door, which he left open for you like always, and with stack of papers in your hands, he felt a bit down.

xavier tried to not let it show, but as you weren’t looking and paying attention, he stared at you like a kicked puppy. if he had dog ears, they would be flat on his head from disappointment. with lips jutted in a pout, and eyebrows tied in a frown, he sighed. he could only wordlessly sit next to you on the couch, feeling like he was invisible.

his deep blue eyes watched as you worked, taking a notice of each details. how your back was round and slightly slouched, then you occasionally stretching up from the soreness in your neck. how you mumbled to yourself as you read through the lines intently. how you often nibbled on the end of your pen as you read. he stared so much and for so long, it was perplexing that you didn’t notice.

in your defense, you did notice, but you were too deep in the papers before you to care about his piercing gaze. you were so focused on your work that it had entirely consumed you. and that was something xavier didn’t appreciate, not today at least.

“are you gonna be done soon? you’ve been working on those reports for the past three or four hours,” xavier’s voice called out to you, to which you flinched and your head turned his direction.

“i don’t think so,” you answered, still slightly startled from the little scare. “i still have a lot of papers to go through, and i want to have them done by midnight.”

these words made xavier sigh again, this time it was a bit more dramatic than the last one. were you really just rejecting him for work? he almost could not believe it. and of course, instead of taking a hint of his clearly frustrated state, your nose was once again bored into the papers.

there was nothing much xavier could do now, except for leaning his head down on the back rest of the couch, praying for you to be done soon. perhaps he was being a bit needy for attention, but he believed it was for good reasons. he hadn’t seen you in a week, and clearly he wanted to catch up on the time you were both busy with work.

normally, it was you who was the clingy one. texting him during missions, only to delete them afterwards due to the embarrassment that was eating you alive. frequently going on arcade dates, to which you always invite him to, and he would never dare to reject you. making him play a game of kitty cards with you, to which he often pretended to not understand properly just to see you smile when you won.

so when it was his turn to be needy for attention, he was so unfortunate to not get any. he tried to get your attention, and tried everything that came up to his mind. from telling you to take a break, to offering a cuddle session. he tried so many things, and yet nothing worked. to say he was frustrated was an understatement.

you hoped xavier wasn’t aware of the affect he had on you, how close you were to giving in to his tempting offers. stubborn as you were, you weren’t ready to give up, though. not when you were so close to finishing your work. nothing that xavier could distract you with would work, and you were sure of it.

for a few moments, at least. when you registered him getting closer to you from the corner of your eye, imaginary sweat beads arose on your forehead. it was getting hard to ignore his tactics when his strong arms wrapped around you out of nowhere.

xavier smirked to himself when he noticed the panic in your widened eyes, and when you tried to act as if nothing was happening afterwards. you were determined, but so was he. and unlike you, he knew your weaknesses, and he was ready to use them against you.

he waited for the right moment, and when it came, he lifted you up to settle you on his lap. he bit back a chuckle as he noticed you flinching. he needed to act innocent, like he wasn’t aware of the little twitches and squirms your body did in his hold.

“relax,” he whispered to your ear, “you can continue working. i’m just letting you be more comfortable.”

oh, just how sly he could be. you only played into his plan when you believed him, which he was more than happy about. he was patient for a few moments, simply just resting his chin on your shoulders as you worked. for a second, he made you think there was no ulterior motive. that xavier was truly just being mindful of your comfort.

well, of course he was, why else would he try so hard to get you away from working? it was for your own good, too, he said to himself. xavier couldn’t stand seeing you tired, or in pain, even if it was just a sore back. sure, he was mainly distracting you for his own benefit. he just couldn’t stand not having your attention on him when he was so desperate for it.

“you’re almost done. good job,” he murmured against the crook of your neck, his tone innocent and sweet.

goosebumps rose on your skin as his warm breath brushed your sensitive skin. you could feel your heartbeat increasing, and a part of you was worried he would hear it as well.

“thank you,” you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat.

xavier smiled at how nervous you were. you really could be so adorable around him, he almost didn’t know what to do with you.

almost.

he nuzzled his nose to the sweet spot just below your ear, to which you shivered in his hold. he nearly had you, silently watching how you succumbed to his tactics. he looked down to your hands, observing how you struggled to hold the pen, like a hunter would observe his prey.

“what’s the matter? you seem out of it,” his voice was sweet, yet teasing.

the more xavier spoke against your neck, the closer you were to your breaking point. it was driving you mad, and he knew. it only fueled him to taunt you more, to distract you further. his arms tightened its hold around your waist, you back pressed flush against his chest. you were in his trap now, with no escape in sight.

“if you feel tired, you should take a break,” xavier continued to whisper to your ear, lips dangerously close to your neck.

you shook your head, not uttering a word. you didn’t have any trust in your voice, considering how on edge you currently were because of xavier. knowing yourself, your voice would break the second you would open your mouth to speak.

you could hear xavier’s breathy chuckle behind your neck, making the hairs along the length of it rise up. “you can be so stubborn sometimes.”

he was right, you were stubborn, and very adamant. or so you thought.

when his hands began to slide down your sweater, caressing the skin of your tummy, with his lips barely touching your neck, the muscles of your body stiffened. you were slowly getting the hang of his intentions, and you could only curse yourself for letting him cage you like a bird.

“xavier, i promise i’ll be done by night,” you turned his direction, letting him feel the warmth that radiated from your flustered face.

“you’re not being fair, y’know?” he breathed out against your neck, pressing a barely-there kiss to the shell of your ear.

and you are being fair? you thought to yourself as he trailed his lips along the length of your neck. his kisses were feathery, ticklish even. you were too busy trying to block out the tingling sensation his lips left on your skin when he began to run his right hand to the collar of your loose sweater.

“i invited you here so we could spend time together,” his fingers pull down the collar, giving him access to your shoulder. “but all you do is work. isn’t that a bit unfair?”

xavier’s tone of voice was still the same. soft-spoken and gentle, yet a hint of mischief lingered behind that sweet tone of his. something about the way he spoke just now sent a series of shivers down your spine, but it also broke the rest of your concentration.

the pen that you held onto fell from your grasp, and rolled under the table. this was xavier’s cue to lift you up, and he carried you bridal style to his bedroom. his blue eyes were focused on your lips, how you pouted and frowned. he couldn’t help but smile.

xavier leaned in as he walked, only to press a little peck to your pouty lips. this soft gesture cause your heart to hammer against your rib cage once more, the heat in your face traveled down to your neck.

“you think a kiss can help you? i’m angry at you, just so you know,” you muttered, face pressed into his collarbone.

he chuckled deeply, shaking his head. “whatever should i do?”

once you were by the door of his room, xavier kicked it open. he stepped in, walking towards the bed to settle you into the sheets. he slowly crawled next to you, wrapping his arms around your frame. before he could push your face to his chest, you took in how his room looked.

“you had this planned, didn’t you?” you asked, the corners of your lips turning upwards.

the blinds of his room were closed, the only source of light were the star shaped lights hanging on the walls. on the nightstand behind him was a tray of macarons, most likely strawberry and blueberry flavored, judging by the colors. the room had a scent of lavender and vanilla, soothing yet sweet.

“i did, but you almost ruined the surprise. if i didn’t pull you away from the reports, my hard work would have been wasted,” he said teasingly, his hand reaching for the back of your neck.

xavier pulled you in, his lips pressing against yours. the kiss was slow, yet desperate, as if he were waiting for you for hundreds of years instead of four hours.

he pulled back to look into your eyes, and smiled. “are you still thinking about work?”

“maybe a little,” you answered truthfully, to which his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“then,” he began, slowly pushing you on your back. he was now hovering over you, his arms propped by your head. “let me help you relax and forget about work for now.”

© xaviers-star-tassel

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Desperate Fool - Part 3

Part 2

The comfort is here! This is just a morsel of the Nancy chapter, which means even MORE comfort with a pinch of angst.

~~~

It took a few weeks after Max and Lucas’s surprise visit for Eddie to work up enough courage to fly to Boston to knock on his sister's door-- technically sister from another mister, but he doesn't think that matters much.

Nancy's always believed in him, encouraged him to follow his passions no matter where it took him. Because even if you try and fail, Eddie, then at least you tried, and she’d always be there to catch him. In this case, maybe his passions took him a little too far.

It’s been almost eight months since they’ve talked, and he’s worried she won’t be there this time. Nancy is the fiercest person he knows, ready to stand up for what’s right regardless of the consequences. Hell, it’s what made her such a successful journalist. 

Which is why he’s worried he’ll buckle under the same scrutiny. This isn't a little mistake she can lecture away. Eddie has well and truly fucked up. If he could barely get through conversations with Robin and Max and Lucas, he has no idea how to navigate a conversation with Nancy Wheeler when she wants answers.

Before he can chicken out, the door’s ripped open by the woman herself. She’s different than he remembers. Her hair’s grown out, long and straight without her signature perm. The light pink pajama pants and matching pink slippers soften her edges. She looks good, aside from the bloodshot eyes.

This counts the fourth time Eddie’s ever seen Nancy cry: her freshman year when their cat died, a particularly nasty blow out between her and Mike before she moved for college, and two years ago when Jonathan finally proposed– happy tears, thankfully.

Now she’s standing here, staring at him through red-rimmed eyes and drowning in an oversized Corroded Coffin crewneck. He’s absolutely gutted at the sight. Only the fourth time she’s ever cried, and it’s his fault.

Another hard reminder of his many mistakes.

“Nance, please, can we talk?” He doesn’t know what to say that’ll fix it, but he has to try, she’s too important not to.

She suddenly throws herself at him, practically choking him with the grip of her arms around his neck, and for a moment he thinks she’s about to fight him. But her hand’s cradling the back of his head, and her other’s fisted in the back of his jacket. 

Nancy clings to him and shoves her nose into the crook of his neck. He wraps her up in a fierce hug in return, holding her as she shakes against him.

“Edward James Munson,” she says, forcing the words out around the tears, “I am so, so fucking mad at you.” Nancy lets go of his shirt just to emphasize her point by socking him in the shoulder. Only to grab at him again, like he’ll disappear if she lets go.

“I know, Nancy. I’m sorry.”

She coughs, and Eddie can feel where her tears have soaked his hair through, sticking it uncomfortably to his neck. “I missed you so much.”

He lets out a ragged sigh of relief. She still loves him, even after everything he’s done. Nancy Wheeler is too good for him– the whole world, really– but especially him. He doesn’t deserve someone like her, a sister like her, but he’s also selfish. So he holds onto her tighter, hoping that when he lets go she doesn’t change her mind

She leans out of his grasp to look him in the eye. He doesn’t know what she finds, but Nancy eyes are soft around the edges, filled with love, and she shoves his shoulder again. Not hard though, so she laughs when he dramatically falls backwards clutching his afflicted arm to his chest. He moans and groans, bottom lip jutted out in a firm pout as he bats his eyes at her, waiting for an apology.

“You’re such an asshole,” she says, but she’s smiling at him now and holding out her hand to help him up. He takes it, of course he does. Eddie relaxes, knowing that even though it's his fault she's cried, Nancy Wheeler will always be there to catch him whem he falls- metaphorically at least.

~~~

Part 4

[undeadcannibal]

Hey thought of some cute and funny Headcannons for Ghost, Gaz and Price teaching their s/o on how to make a “proper cup of tea.”

Summary: Ghost, Gaz, and Price show their S/O how to make a ‘proper’ cup of tea.

Genre: Headcanons, request(s) Characters featured: Ghost, Gaz, Price

Warnings: None!

A/N: Thank you for the request, Anon! I hope I didn’t botch this one. OTL Hopefully y’all enjoy ‘em!  ( Gif credit: xxx )

Ghost―

Depression was a bitch. Even the simplest things like making food for yourself turned into arduous tasks. Much like today. You were trying to get something - anything, really - into your system just so you didn't feel even worse later on.

Grabbing a mug, you filled it with tap water and set it aside on the counter so you could rummage around through your selection of teas. While you were browsing, you could hear Ghost entering the kitchen thanks his heavy booted footfall, prompting you to glance at him over your shoulder.

"Hey, hon."

Ghost nodded silently as he strode over so he could place a kiss to the top of your head.

"Doin' alright, love?"

Pursing your lips, you hesitated responding before eventually shaking your head. "Not really, no. Having one of those days, I'm sorry..."

He shook his head. "Nothin' to be sorry for."

Looking over towards the counter, he gestured to it silently with a jut of his head. "Making a cuppa?"

"Yeah," You nodded. "I was looking through the teas just now."

"What'd you settle on?"

"Mm," You shrugged your shoulders. "Maybe some Earl Grey?"

You watched Ghost squint his eyes down at you, causing you to laugh softly. "What? Don't tell me..."

Ghost's chest puffed up as he took a deep inhale and exhaled slowly as he nodded his head eventually. "No offense, love, but I know when you're not feeling well you tend to throw things into the microwave more."

"I'm 'fraid I can't let you do that. Let me take care of it. I'll make one for myself, too."

Playfully rolling your eyes at him, you nodded your head in agreement anyway.

"Fine, fine." Snorting softly, you'd also comment. "Brits and their tea." Shaking your head for good measure.

Reaching around, Ghost delivered a light pinch to your backside, pleased with himself once he saw you jump and yelp in response. Smacking your smaller fists against his hard chest. "Watch your mouth, brat."

Afterwards, he walked away so he could grab the kettle he brought over just because he preferred it over other methods.

"Here," After he filled the kettle with water, he placed it on the stove top to heat up. "I'll teach you how to make proper tea."

Feeling a little better with Simon's company and attention, you couldn't help but nod and smile at him. "Yes Chef~"

Gaz―

"What tea did you wanna brew again?" Kyle asked as he picked out cups for each of you; his was a royal blue with a union jack on it, yours was molded after a black cat with the tail curled up for the handle.

"Oolong, please."

He nodded and took the loose leaf tea bag out, choosing his own shortly after while you took care of putting water into the kettle, setting it aside for it to boil. While you waited for the water to heat up, you walked over to him, pressing yourself into his back as your arms wrapped him up in a loose hug.

"Doin' alright, dove?"

"Mhm." You nodded against him only to jump shortly afterward when you heard the kettle going off, causing him to laugh at you.

Reluctantly pulling away, you'd reach over to take off the kettle from the heat. Readying it to pour straight into your mug before Kyle called out to you.

"Wait!"

Your eyes widened as you halted in mid-air, whipping your head to look at Gaz like he was a mad man. "What? What's wrong?" You asked in a concerned tone, shaking your head at him.

"You're brewing Oolog tea, right?" He waited for you to nod in confirmation before carrying on. "You've gotta let the water cool for a bit before adding it in. Over-boiled water will make the taste turn a bit off. Also," As he rummaged around in the drawer for something, he'd pull out a thermometer shortly after, smirking at you cheekily. "You've gotta let it brew for two to three minutes."

Staring at him with a deadpan expression, you couldn't help but sigh.

"You've got to be kidding me..."

Kyle shook his head. " 'Fraid not, love. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

"It's just tea!" You exclaimed with a chuckle. "I doubt the difference in taste is that noticeable."

"We'll see about that." He'd reply as he took the liberty of checking the temperature of the water.

You ended up just letting him do whatever he wanted so he didn't fuss over how you made tea.

After the two of you were done, you didn't really taste much of a difference than how you'd normally make it, but for his sake, you acted as if it was the best damn cup of tea you'd ever had. Taking pleasure in seeing him light up with pride at his success.

Price―

"How do you take your tea, sweetheart?"

You were currently making breakfast for the two of you while he tended to the tea. In the time you'd spent together, you'd learned that when he wasn't busy with work, he tended to prefer having tea over coffee when he could.

"Um," Scrambling the eggs in the pan, you hesitated in answering. "I guess sweet is fine?"

"Just... sweet?" John asked, turning to look at you with an amused expression on his face.

Meeting him with a glance of your own, you squinted your eyes at him as if daring him to say something. "Yeah? Don't tell me you prefer unsweetened tea." You teased.

John shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Leaning back against the counter. "No, no. Not sure how they do things in the States, but we've a few ways to make a cuppa here."

"For example," He continued, gesturing vaguely towards the empty cups waiting on the counter top. "The kind I prefer has a bit of milk to it, few bits o' sugar as well."

"Oooh," You laughed softly, stirring the eggs in the pain as you joked with him. "My apologies, Gordon Ramsay, apparently I forgot to brush up on my tea knowledge."

Huffing, he'd glance off to the side with a disbelieving shake of his head. "The nerve of this one..." He mumbled to himself with a smile.

"I'm just saying," He'd begin, pushing himself off the counter so he could step over to stand in front of you. Towering over you with the height difference between the two of you. "Your poor taste buds deserve better, dear."

"Pfft, get out of here!" You laughed, waving at his face with your free hand. Before your hand fell to your side, he captured your wrist in a gentle hold, pulling it towards his face so he could kiss the back of your hand. The rough scrape of his facial hair coaxing a shiver to course up your spine.

"Never~" He spoke against your hand before he began to kiss his way up your arm. Stopping once he was close enough to you he could whisper just loud enough for you to hear. "Let me make you a right cuppa?"

How could you ever say no to that?

[doawks]

reminder, yoon jeonghan.

pairing. father’s bestfriend!jeonghan x f!reader.

warnings. some crying. dirty talk. unprotected sex━ missionary. some degradation mixed with praise. possessiveness. sir kink (2). hard dom (ish)!jeonghan. angst ?? or maybe not i could be exaggerating lol. age gap.

♫ reminder, the weeknd. 

˗ˏˋ#XiMENA SAYS! not proof read, per usual. ANYWAYS!!! this felt kinda rushed & i don’t know if i like it yet && it’s 4am so i’m tired lol ´ˎ˗

“Do you enjoy disrespecting me, YN?” 

Jeonghan was highly upset━ fuck that, he was enraged. The tips of his ears tinted a cherry red, nostrils flared, veined hand tightly wrapped around your throat whilst his lips were slightly parted - his warm breath fanning against your face. 

He had you placed on your knees in front of him ━  rough material of the woven floor covering underneath bruising your skin. 

He looked so fucking scary and honestly you should’ve felt intimidated or frightened, but it would be a complete lie if you said you were. Though he looked daunting, he also looked so, so good. Strands of his black hair partially covering his eyes, the light weighted gold jewelry delicately dangling from his neck, the head of his tongue prodding at his inner cheek━  God, you should not feel this turned on right now. 

“I asked you a fucking question, slut,” His lips were so close to yours, you almost thought he was going to kiss you. Oh how painfully wrong you were. “You enjoy sneaking behind my back and having boys fuck that dirty pussy of yours?”

No matter how it may sound, Jeonghan doesn’t get jealous. Or that’s what he tells himself, at least. 

You shake your head, jutting out your bottom lip, “No, Sir.” 

He chuckles, so dryly and humorlessly, an unamused look taking over his handsome features, “No?” His unoccupied hand reaches down to your panty clad pussy before his fingers sneak under the soaked fabric. He then scoffs in what sounds like disbelief, “What a messy little cunt,” Licking his lips, he begins to toy with your clit while looking into your eyes with a glint in his, “Can’t believe you let some little ameteur frat boy stick his dick in my pussy.”

Jeonghan clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side, “Did he fuck you nice and good, at least? Did he hit that spot that has you arching and begging for more? Hm? I guess not since you’re here on your knees grinding onto my fingers like a little bitch in heat.”

At this point, you’re a complete mess and Jeonghan hasn’t even done anything yet. He seems to have that effect on you.

“Please, Hannie . . . I’m sorry.” 

Jeonghan lifts a eyebrow, “Hannie?” Shaking his head as he continues to speak again, “That shit isn’t going to work on me, YN. Not tonight. So save all that whining and pouting ‘cause it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

There was no doubt in your mind that Jeonghan was going to go anything but easy on you tonight. You deserved everything he had coming your way.

When Jeonghan was mad, he could get mean. Very, very mean. Eye watering and lip trembling mean. And rough. Not too rough, though. 

As soon as he entered his spacious room, with you tailing along, of course, he simply turned his body around and gripped your waist - instantly pressing your bare back to closest wall, causing to softly wince at the coldness. For a split second it looks like Jeonghan’s eyes hold softness before they’re switched back to his dark gaze. “Should I fuck you up against this wall?”

The question was rhetorical. He didn’t expect you to answer though even if you did it would fall on deaf ears. 

His lips attach themselves to your collarbone, “Leave your legs a wobbly little mess while you’re gripping onto my shoulders for balance as I pound your cunt? It’s not like whores including yourself deserve to be properly fucked on a bed.”

“I-I’m not a whore.” You mumbled, coming out more brattier than you intended for it too. Immediately causing Jeonghan’s attentive ears to perk up in response.

He scoffs and removes his lips, peering at you with irritation, “Shut the fuck up. You are a whore and a nasty one at that. Getting fucked hours prior by some douche and now you’re here wanting to get fucked by your father’s best friend,” He shakes his head in disbelief, “It was silly of me to think that you were my good girl.”

It’s sad and embarrassing that out of everything Jeonghan had said, his last sentence is what caused your heart to clench. Jeonghan always referred to you as his good girl.

The day when you had your legs spread for him diligently as he brutally and animalistically lapped at your sopping pussy, after you came prettily on his tongue, he kissed up your soft, silky skin whilst whispering “my good girl.”

Or, the day you came home excitedly because you got the highest test score in your class and instead of squealing about it to your father, you found Jeonghan in your kitchen and decided to tell him about it in lieu. He was so, so proud of you and took you out shopping, fucking you in the backseat of his car after the long spree. The sounds of skin clapping was loud but not louder than Jeonghan’s praises as he was constantly telling you how much of a smart girl you were and how you were also his good girl. 

Jeonghan, noticing your long silence, brings a hand up to grip your chin, “Are you my good girl, YN?”

“Yes,” You nod slowly, “I’m your good girl, Hannie.”

A sigh flies from his divided mouth before he, finally, presses a kiss to your lips. One, soft singular kiss. It was so quick and unexpected. 

His hand releases your chin and comes up to cup your cheek, stroking the flesh tenderly, “I know, baby. But you’re also my little slut and I’m gonna fuck you like one.” 

Without saying anything else, Jeonghan guided you over to his bed, pushing your body down onto the mattress. He wastes no time as he’s unbuckling his belt, not breaking eye contact with you for a split second, after he’s finished, he pulling his boxers down and grabbing your ankles to pull you to the end of the bed. 

“You think you need my fingers to stretch you out a bit first?” His tongue pokes out teasingly.

“No! Please fuck me, Sir, please. . .” 

Jeonghan laughs, “You like calling me Sir, huh? You like me having authority over you?” He takes his painfully hard cock into the palm of his hand, giving it a few strokes before guiding it over to your pussy, tapping the reddened head on your puffy clit. “Can I slide in, angel?” 

“Yes, please,” You whine out, back arching off the mattress, “Want you━  Need you so, so bad.” You sounded so desperate, but honestly you couldn’t find yourself to care. You needed Jeonghan. You always needed Jeonghan. Truthfully, Jeonghan was one of a kind and it was extremely idiotic to believe that someone could even come close to him. 

“Of course you do. Needy little thing,” He tsks, shortly letting out a throaty groan afterwards once sliding into your fluttering hole. “Fuck,” His head drops, sweaty strands of hair dangling in front of your face. 

“Pretty fucking pussy,” He punctuates each word with a particularly hard thrust, “And it’s all mine, right?”

You heard him ask the question, but he was fucking you so hard, you really couldn’t find a voice inside yourself to answer. Which, of course, was not going to slide with Jeonghan. 

His hand comes to your neck for the second time tonight, the cold rings on his fingers contrasting with your warm skin, “I asked you a question. Don’t tell you’re that fucked out? I barely even started, YN. Fucking ridiculous,” Annoyance was laced in his gruff tone, “Don’t worry - you don’t even need to answer. You hear how loudly you’re squelching for me, baby? I bet she doesn’t do this for anyone else. This is all the proof I need.”

He was right. So right. 

Your hands sneak underneath his arms, placing your hands on his sides and pulled him closer to you, “Love your cock - Love you, I’m sorry . . .” 

You were a blubbering mess. The pleasure was so overwhelming, though so euphoric. You couldn’t think and could hardly speak properly. Tears began to prick your eyes, vision blurring. He was the only one who could do this to you. 

“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” He places a kiss to your forehead, hooking a hand under your knee and pressing it to your breast - giving him better access to reach deep inside you. He was basically balls deep. “But I love you too, angel. My pretty girl.” 

The way your cunt was clenching down on Jeonghan so greedily was enough to make a sane man go mad. And Jeonghan could admit, he was a sane man who was about to go absolutely mad if he was in your pussy any longer.

“Ah!” You cry out when you feel Jeonghan’s scheming fingers toy with your sensitive clit. “Gonna - Gonna come, Hannie!”

Jeonghan’s pace instantly quickens. At first, before his cock was even near your cunt, he had it stored in his mind that he wasn’t going to let you orgasm. He was going to fuck you, though, nice and good, but as soon as you felt like you were going to come, he was going to pull out. But now that the time is here, it feels criminal to stop. And besides, you looked so pretty as you were going to coat his cock. Plump lips slightly parted - drool trickling out your mouth, Lashes wet from all the crying, cheeks red and flushed━  God, you were such a heavenly sight that would never get tired of. 

Jeonghan leans forward, huskily whispering in your ear, “Come for me, baby. Make a pretty mess all on my cock.”

Jeonghan’s voice never failed to push over the edge. Whether he was talking you through an orgasm or asking you something as simple as “how was your day?” 

“Jeong━  Hannie!” You were a broken record stuck on repeat. It was like the only two words you could properly say was Please or Hannie.

He lets out a breathy titter, “C’mon. Come for me.” 

You came, Jeonghan shortly following afterwards. He takes a breath. Then another one. His forehead rests on top yours, “I’m not gonna let this shit again. I said I love you and I do, baby, but if I catch you fucking somebody else who isn’t me, it won’t end well. You understand?”

“Yes, Jeonghan. I’m sorry.”

“Mhm,” He nods slowly, you can tell he has a lot more he wants to say, but he doesn’t, and you didn’t want to pry it out of him so you drop it. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

[kiwanopie]

pls pls pls brat tamer yuta

thought about brat tamer Yuuta and blacked out. this was in my docs for some reason when I came to again.

Don’t be so mean to Yuuta!

cw: brat tamer! yuuta x fem!reader. smut. pussy slapping. multiple creampies. praise. edging. overstimulation. mirror sex. man handling. floor fucking. minors do not interact.

wc: 1.7k

“Please, I’m-“

“Sorry?”

Yuuta’s voice sends shivers up your spine from where his lips are planted on the sensitive spots of your nape, making hot tracks as his tongue skims over a good spot.

“I bet you are, baby.” He hums. “My sweet girl…”

Doesn’t mean he’ll let up though. If the way his grip tightens over your torso should mean anything. Tucked underneath you on the corner edge of your bed with your back pressed against his chest and his hands touching everywhere.

You don’t know what you did to deserve this. Actually, you know exactly what you did to deserve this, but you didn’t expect he’d be so harsh about it. Let him tell it and he’ll say his “Bratty baby decided to be mean for no reason.” Let you tell it and:

“Why’re you dodging my kisses?”

You roll your eyes from where he’s pouting over you, pointedly shrugging his hands off of your waist when he tries to pull you closer to him. “Why would I want your stupid kisses?”

Yuuta gapes a little at that, a little confused, a little wounded. “My kisses aren’t-? Where’s this attitude coming from?”

“I don’t have an attitude.” Which Yuuta finds hard to believe, with how your face gets all scrunched up in his attempts to crowd you in his space again. Cute little bottom lip jutting out under the shine of your flavored lip gloss and he can’t help but wanna coo at how squeezable you look when you’re throwing a fit.

Although, with the mood you’re in he fears he might come up short a hand if he actually tried to. The way you turn your shoulder at him has him following on your heels like a lost dog. “Not like you’re asking ‘cause you care.”

“Hello? Why wouldn’t I…?” Yuuta stumbles. “Baby, what? You were fine just earlier, did I do something wrong?”

Other than blow you off for like eighty percent of the day? Sure, he invited you to watch him train - bought you lunch when he realized he’d be at it longer than he anticipated, and gave you his phone to entertain yourself with when yours eventually died from being out so long. But he promised the two of you would actually get to hang out today! Not sit on those stupid stone bleachers till your bottom got all sore. Feeding him water in between breaks and pretending like this isn’t the unteenth time something like this has happened.

You’re fed up. He never wants to do what you want anymore. “No, no. Don’t even worry about it. You must be tired anyway. What with all the training you got in.”

Yuuta briefs a few long strides till he’s standing in the pathway to your bedroom door, walking back on his heels as you try to push past him. “I’m not? Is this about that? I didn’t mean to keep you out all day if that’s-“

“It’s whatever.”

“No. It’s not whatever. Clearly you’re upset.” His eyes follow you as he finally plops himself on top of your mattress. Yuuta’s long legs hang off the side so much his knees bend a little and he slumps when you opt to ignore him in favor of fishing your closet for something more comfortable.

“Baby- I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s going on. What’s got you all cranky?”

“Cranky.” You grumble under your breath. “Can't even be mad without you underplaying everything.”

You step out of your closet with a little dress on that makes his face hot. Pretty mint thing that makes you look softer than you already are, even as you throw him a mean glare on your way to your hamper.

“So, you are mad?”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are.”

“I’m not.” You hiss this time. “Maybe you’re just an asshole!”

Whoops.

Which, come to think of it, maybe blowing up at him for no apparent reason was a little much - but it can’t be helped. Especially when you immediately freeze in place over the tension that overcomes the room at your sudden outburst. Yuuta’s brows furrow as his jaw clenches and he stares at you with the kind of blank look that usually comes about when he’s mulling over something.

You expect him to get up and leave the room. Let your respective parties cool off after you’ve just crossed the line by cursing at him so harshly. You expect a kinder punishment than the one he actually has in store.

But instead Yuuta sighs and straightens his back, spreads his legs a little to make room for you. “Come here.”

“Yuu-“

“Mh. Sit down.”

This is just cruelty.

You whimper at the way his fingers skirt over your aching clit, wet sloppy sounds of your lips parting over his glossy digits as he feels around your gooey center. You’re dripping. Soaking the little sliver of mattress you’re hovering over but the meanest part is that it isn’t just your slick that’s making such a mess.

Through misty eyes do you still see the reflection of his throbbing cock splitting you open in the vanity mirror across the room. Slow rhythmless grinding that could just barely push you over the edge if it weren’t for all the-

Smack!

You must’ve been squirming again.

Your broken voice clips in tandem with the loud slap that comes from his sudden assault on your aching pussy, nigh earning another one at the way your hips jump too suddenly in his lap. This is your punishment. Watching in lust dazed envy as your lover fucks you slowly on his cock. Listening to his heated breaths, feeling his hands all over you, being wholly enveloped by him. His voice pitches as his cock swells in your already gooey insides. You can do nothing but whine as he belts his arms around you and cums again with a broken grunt in your ear.

You sniffle as he presses a few scattered kisses behind your ear, already raising his hips to continue. “Please… please let me cum, Yuu..”

“Hhm? No one’s stopping you?”

“But I need-“

“What’dya need an asshole like me for, pretty girl?” And even though he’s being bitter his tone is still sugary. “This little princess cunt can cum all on her own, huh?”

The way you tighten around him has him groaning drunkenly in your ear. “God, you feel so fucking good..”

“Yuutaa, I can’t- I can’t without you. Please…!!”

Yuuta breathes a sigh into the crook of your neck.

He’s been going at this for what feels like forever. At this point you’re so on edge that you’ve started to goosebump and you can’t help yourself but to twitch and whine whenever he grinds against a good spot. Through the overstimulation he’s unsatiated. He can’t fuck into his perfect little pussy the way he wants without risking you getting away with that nasty attitude of yours. Hurting his feelings like you did. And being anything other than his sweet - obedient little girl.

Because bad girls. - Brats like you don’t deserve to get fucked all nice and fair like you’ve been begging him to this past hour or so. They don’t deserve gentleness on their raw little clits or any moment of reprieve you should expect from taking load after load since being seated in his lap like this.

They deserve to be treated like a hole, because that’s all you’re good for right now.

The quick intake of breath he takes startles you almost as much as the feeling of your arms being pulled back behind you. You wobble a little on your numbing legs as he uses his knees to help support you in a stand, and shutter as he presses one last kiss to your nape before standing to his height completely.

And then he starts drilling.

Yuuta has to keep his eyes from rolling back at the way he watches your reflection drool. “O-Oh! Oh, yes! Oh fuck yes, baby!”

He keeps a concentrated frown as he thrusts into you through clenched teeth.

“You’re so-“ Pap! “Fucking spoiled,” Pap! Pap! “You can’t even…mfh, act like you’re learning anything fr’m this..!”

”m’sorry..” You babble. “So s-sorry! M’so sorry, Yuu. So-… p-please… fffuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“S’that all you can say? Does my brat even know what she’s apologizing for?”

Your face drops out of view of the mirror when the effort to keep your neck craned up becomes too muscle consuming, most of your muscles too busy constricting and spazzing in the wake of your first orgasm. Honestly, you barely have the wherewithal to speak let alone put together a coherent thought. But you figure not responding might come at the expense of the mind numbing bliss you’re experiencing at the moment.

“F’being so mean! I didn’t-“ You gasp at the way he presses his hips against your backside, grinding himself in so thoroughly that you nearly lose your train of thought.

“I just… wanted ta spend more time with you, Yuu…!”

Yuuta pauses a quick pensive beat.

And then you’re on the floor.

He presses a hand into the middle of your back to keep you arched all prettily for him, the other, knuckle deep in your hair as he mushes your cheek into the floorboards. “So, y’ thought the best way to do that was to call me an asshole?”

“I whasn’t ‘hinking…!”

“Ohh of course you weren’t, baby,” Yuuta shudders at the way you feel creaming on him a second time. “‘Can’t be doing too much thinking now, anyways.”

You’re every nerve ending in your body when he deepens his thrusts to curve himself over your messy form, completely and utterly lost in pleasure as he pulls your head up by your hair and meets your teary eyes with his own - pupils dilated by pure affection.

“Think you can tell me what we learned outta all this? Or have you completely checked out at this point.”

“D-Don’t… don’t be so mean to Yuuta!!”

He chuckles. The kiss he places over your ear nearly pushes you over the edge as much as what he says does. “Good girl! That’s my girl. So smart.”

Your eyes roll as he unceremoniously drops your head to fuck you with more earnest. Much to your poor pussy’s dismay. “Let’s spend more time together, baby. - Just you and me.”

He coos at the way your drool starts to gather in a cute little puddle under your cheek. “After I’m sure my baby’s learned her lesson.”

[bettyfrommars]

I'm on Fire//older!biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader//90's au//Part 7

⚠️Cautions: 18+Only pls, MDNI, eventual smut, mention of smut, mention of erection, flirting, crushing on each other, reader gets fired, alcohol consumption, jealous!Eddie, biker!Eddie, boxer!Eddie, biker!Steve, relationship drama, threats against loved ones, hints at a violent past, vindictive exes, aggression (not at reader), mention of handgun, angst, mutual pining, slow burn. Word count: 7.6k

Series Masterlist

Suddenly unemployed and in the wind, you wander into the bar where biker!Steve Harrington works the door, and new opportunities arise. Just as you and Eddie are navigating getting closer, someone from Eddie's past drops a bomb on him that he can't ignore, and he does his best to protect you from the backlash. Dirty deeds get done not so dirt cheap. I'm on Fire 90's playlist here

A/N: Nothing really, just wanted to tell those of you who have been supporting and encouraging this story how much you all mean to me, and how much I love hearing from you. Big love to my bestie for helping me put together the playlist for this series, it's all I've been listening to lately. Oh ALSO, I'm working on a smutty oneshot in honor of biker!Steve's character in this story, a little companion piece, *cumming* soon 🫦 biker!Steve oneshot here

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I'm on Fire Part 7: The Velvet Hammer

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Your eyes flew open early on Monday morning as dawn was barely breaking, to find that the emotions of sadness and fear were gone for the moment: they had been replaced by a white-hot anger that burned in your chest.

In a burst, you cursed, threw your covers off, and had an imaginary conversation with your ex-boss Judith, complete with shaking your fist in the air, eyebrows jutting together. She couldn’t just let you go and replace you without any warning---the whole thing was absurd. You made your coffee and went back to your room so that you could avoid Katie as she got ready for work. You weren’t mad at her; you just didn’t want to have to answer any questions or mull it over. In the state you were in, you were worried that you might snap at her for no reason.

A tiny part of you still hoped (prayed) that it was all a misunderstanding, and maybe you had some vacation days coming that you had simply slipped your mind. That small glimmer of possibility was immediately stamped out with a waffle-sole, steel toe boot when you found your other assistant Holly already behind the front desk when she hadn’t originally been scheduled to be there until noon. Her presence alone was not the final straw---it was the look on her face. The second she saw you, she blushed and got flustered, pretending to organize papers, trying overly hard to appear nonchalant.

You were hoping for Judith, that was the bitch you wanted to see, but Holly informed you with quivering hands that she had just left a half hour ago to catch a flight to Cozumel for a “rejuvenation retreat”. You could tell that being involved in any type of conflict, even passively, was making Holly’s anxiety spike.

“She told me to give you this,” Holly said, reluctantly sliding an envelope across the desk, and then in a whisper, she added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be the one to--”

You did your best to shake your head and smile and told her it wasn’t her fault. You walked to the other side of the gallery to check the envelope. It was your final paycheck, along with a typed note that basically said, “Thank you for the work you’ve done, but I’ve decided to hire another manager that is a better fit for the gallery. I am longer in need of your services. Best of luck in your future endeavors. Namaste, Judith.”

It was that Namaste that had you breathing out your nose like a dragon, crumpling the note up in a tight ball, nostrils flaring. The letter wasn’t even signed; Judith probably made Holly type it.

You went to get your things out of the cubby in the back room, and while you were there, you tried Judith’s house phone just in case, but there was no answer. That cunt really had the nerve to fire you out of the blue after working there almost a year, and didn’t even have the tits to say it to your face, forcing shy little Holly take the brunt of it. You were on the verge of going full Coffin King MC on her ass.

When you came out with your wire basket full of things, you apologized to Holly for putting her in the middle of this, as you reached around to take the mason jars full of colored markers, highlighters, and pencils that were on the desk dear the typewriter. “These are mine, I bought these. Tell Judith if she has a problem, she can come find me.”

You took one last look around the gallery that you genuinely loved, asked Holly to stay in touch, and had to swallow a lump in your throat as you crossed the street to your car.

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Eddie worked a long day at the garage, running tows, fielding resumes for part-time office help, and thinking about you. There was a disturbance in the force, as they say, and he hoped to get a call from you later so that he would know that you were okay.

Instead, at around 8:30pm, he got a call from Steve. Eddie could tell by the music that he was at the Velvet Hammer, which was a well-known cocktail lounge, frequented by bankers and bikers alike, where Steve worked as a bouncer from time to time. The waitresses all wore skimpy, edgy outfits, and there was professional pole dancing and strippers offering lap dances on the weekends.

“Dude,” Steve said once Eddie picked up. “Your girl is here, just thought you’d want to know.”

Eddie had been digging around for a lighter in the drawer of his nightstand, in nothing but a pair of boxers, but at that, he froze and straightened up, his brow clenched. “What do you mean she’s there? Where? At the Velvet Hammer?” It wasn’t only the location that took him by surprise, but the fact that it was a Monday, and you weren’t one to bar hop in the middle of the week.

Steve lowered the phone while he shouted to someone, the song Low by Cracker blasting loud in the background. “Yeah, man. She was here when I came in, I don’t know, it seems like she’s having a bad day,” Steve tucked the phone into his shoulder so that he could ask someone for their ID. “There was some dude bothering her earlier, but I took care of it. I can’t watch her every second though---” Eddie cut him off, clenching the phone so tight, the knuckle of his hand went white. “Who was bothering her?”

Steve rested the phone with the long, spiral cord on his chest to talk to someone else for a second, but when he got back on the line, Eddie had hung up.

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After you walked out of the gallery for the last time, you deposited your check, and as frugal as you normally were, you took a bit of cash out to treat yourself after getting canned in such a depressing way. You hung out at a B. Dalton’s for an hour and bought a book, and then you tried on some clothes at one of your favorite shops, but nothing fit right; you felt like you were crawling out of your skin. You went home and had lunch, took care of Charlie, did some laundry while watching daytime soap operas, started feeling worse about yourself, and then decided to go down and get a paper at the coffee shop to start hunting for a new job. You didn’t want to be home when Katie got back from work; you still weren’t ready to talk about it.

Coffee and a browse through the dismal job market turned into a walk around the park, and then you just kept going for 5 or 6 blocks until you realized you were standing on the corner across from a bar called the Velvet Hammer. Wasn’t that where Steve said he worked the door every so often? The exterior was black with dark red trim, and you thought maybe you’d been there for a drink once when you first moved to town, but you couldn’t remember. The sandwich board on the sidewalk out front said “Happy Hour menu Half off appetizers 3:30-6:30” and you decided to have a bite before you made the trek back to your car.

Steve was not there when you first arrived, and you were close to missing the happy hour cut off, so you ordered some food right away, and a cocktail to wash it down. The inside was also black and red, with a big chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a long mirror behind the bar, and an old fashioned jukebox lit up in a red and blue arch in the corner. There were two empty stages at the far back, with shiny poles down the middle, and a pretty, tattooed girl in a red leather romper waited on the scattering of customers that were there.

Whereas most bars played sports on TV, the Velvet Hammer played old black and white b-horror movies, and you were absorbed in a scene from Plan 9 From Outer Space when the bartender with the shaved head and double nose piercing asked with a dimpled smile if you wanted another drink.

Candy by Iggy Pop and Kate Pierson was playing, and it had you in a mood, so you nodded to say yes, please---I would love another.

A half hour later, you said yes to another refill and ate a few pretzels, looking around to see that the bar was filling up. There were two more cocktail waitresses there and each wore less clothes than the first. The movie on the TV now was The Creeping Terror from 1964, and just as one of the actresses turned to the camera and put her hands to her head for a silent, blood-curdling scream, someone tapped your shoulder and hissed, “BOO!”, right in your ear.

You whipped around on your bar stool, relieved to find out that the marauder was Steve Harrington.

He had his Coffin King’s MC biker cut on over a white t-shirt, exposing his heavily tattooed arms and hands, dark wash Levi’s, and he had his sunglasses on even though it felt like nighttime inside the bar.

He leaned over to hook his elbow on the bar, pushing his sunglasses into his thick head of hair to address you. “What’s up, lady friend? Who are you here with?” He looked around as he asked it, as if he automatically assumed you were with Katie or Eddie, and not just drinking alone at a bar on a Monday night.

You tugged at your ear self-consciously and palmed the new drink in front of you. “Just me, I’m afraid,” you took a sip, moving the red stir straws out of the way with your nose. “I’m about to light up that jukebox, you have any requests?”

Steve slapped the bar enthusiastically. “Hell yeah, I do, hold on,” he waved the bartender down and asked them to hand him some quarters. Apparently there was a stash of coins near the cash register there to keep the music going.

He clapped 10 or 12 quarters on the table in front of you. “Maybe some STP, anything Ozzy,” he continued, giving his requests. “I’m a sucker for that Alanis Morisette chick, too, but don’t tell Eddie,” he said with a wink.

“Anything you want, really,” he kept talking as he backed up, heading to his bouncer stool at the front door. “As long as it’s not fucking lame,” and then he smiled and flipped his sunglasses back down over his eyes.

A bit later, as you made your way back from the jukebox, some guy stepped into your path, immediately invading your bubble.

“Hey, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?” He asked, and his presence took you a bit off guard because you were so deeply concentrating on the song list you just put together, your head was in another world. The guy had slicked back, inky black hair, a teardrop tattoo under his eye, and incisors that looked like fangs.

“That’s okay, thank you,” you mumbled with a half smile as you went to walk around him.

But, he slid to the side, blocking your way again. “Just one drink? I hate to see a beautiful woman drinking alone.”

From across the room, Steve shouted at the guy with the fangs—apparently he knew his name---and when the guy snapped a look in his direction, Steve sliced his hand across his throat and shook his head, warning him to back off. Without a fuss, the fang guy ducked back into the shadows, hands in his pockets, sulking to find his table without so much as another glance in your direction.

Steve could see this shit coming a mile away; you were getting relaxed, and you were alone, and that level of vulnerability never failed to bring a bad element out of the woodwork. He didn’t mind keeping an eye on you, but it was getting busy for a Monday night because of the free darts and pool, and that was when he decided to call Eddie.

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Steve was smoking a cigarette when he waved Eddie in without a word, the two exchanging a quick hand grab in passing. Eddie’s gaze landed on you immediately; sitting at the bar, face tilted up to watch the TV, and that familiar thrill of being near you again stirred in him.

“Is this seat taken?” He was already straddling the padded stool as he said it, brushing up against your body as he did so.

You could feel someone approaching in your peripheral vision, and you were bracing yourself for another unwanted advance. But, then you smelled him; that unmistakable woodsy spice with bar soap and leather undertones. You felt his presence; big and sturdy and warm. There he was, right out of a dream, in his Coffin Kings leather, just like Steve’s, but with a long sleeve black shirt pushed up to the elbows, hair back in a knot so that it wouldn’t drive him crazy on the ride over, forearms and fingers patched in tattoos. He wasn’t wearing his chunky rings, and it made you wonder if he had been in a rush to leave his place. His knuckles were crisscrossed in raised white scars, as well as one particularly angry one that went all the way down his middle finger and back of his hand.

You made sure it was him first, and then you couldn’t wait to be in his arms. He turned in his seat to face you so that your hips fit in between his wide knees, and you fell against him, rested your head in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes for a second, soaking in the secure feeling of his arms locking around you.

He squeezed you so tight, something in your back popped, and then he loosened his grip, unsure of his own strength sometimes. “You okay?” He asked, his head turning so that his lips were pressed against the back of your head.

You had both of your arms against your chest so that your hands were balled up into tiny fists in between your two bodies. “I’ve been better,” you told him, shoulders hunched.

Some of your hair caught on the stubble of his jaw as you pulled back to find his lips with yours. You exchanged a few sweet kisses, foreheads locking together as you fingered the single earring dangling from his lobe, before stepping up onto your seat again. Facing one another, you each had a forearm resting on the bar, and Eddie cupped his hand over yours, protectively.

God, he was crazy about you, Eddie thought.

He could tell that you weren’t yourself. His eyes shifted around the room, jaw muscles flexing. “Did someone in here fuck with you?”

“No, no, it wasn’t that,” you avoided his eyes and looked at his hand that was on top of yours. “I got fired today,” you said as a reflexive, helpless smile flashed across your mouth.

Eddie set his head back an inch, lips parted, searching your face. “You’re joking?”

“Nope,” you offered a little snort. “Not this time, I’m afraid.” And then you gave him the Cliff Notes version of everything that had gone one from when Jeff came over the night before till now.

Eddie rubbed his thumb across your hand as you talked. He didn’t want to smother you, but if he wasn’t touching you, he thought maybe you’d just slip away. Was he touching you too much, or not enough? Healthy forms of attachment and displays of affection were not taught to him as a child; but he was an observant fuck, and a fast learner. The vulnerable side of him was the side that always got him hurt, heart trampled on, and so every time that natural urge showed itself, he would do his best to reel it back. There was something about you, though, that made him feel comfortable enough to show his affection in a way his heart ached to do.

The bartender brought Eddie a beer and set it on a napkin. He released your hand only to take a sip of it, thinking about what you’d just shared with him, and then his hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring pulse.

“By the looks of it, I’m not even sure she’ll even give me a good reference,” For all Judith’s faults, Moon River was one of the best, though, and you had dreamed about working there ever since you read an article about in Art World magazine.

“You should’ve called me,” Eddie put his other hand on your knee. “I would’ve come and picked you and---”

“Rescued me?” You gave him a shy look. “I know you would’ve. But you were working, and I’ve been trying not to make it a reality by talking about it. I haven’t even talked to Katie today.”

Much like Eddie, you weren’t used to reaching out to people when times got tough; your default was usually to hide and/or run as far away as possible. Even though you hadn’t done anything wrong that would warrant being fired in such a hasty manner, it still made you feel embarrassed, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to peel back all of those deeper layers with him in this early stage of dating.

There was a lull in the conversation as Creep by Stone Temple Pilots played in the background, and a bad feeling planted seeds in Eddie’s gut that had him wondering if maybe he had something to do with this. Was this Charlene’s doing? She had the reach, that was for sure, but to what end? She surely didn’t think that somehow hurting you would get him back in her bed. The math was not mathing, not by Eddie’s way of thinking, anyway.

He ducked his head to try and meet your lowered gaze, his fingers intertwining with yours on the bar. “Can I take you home after this?”

You took a deep breath and finished your drink in one final gulp, the melting ice crashing against your lips. You chewed a few bits as you answered him, “that’s probably a good idea. But I can call Katie, you don’t have to---”

“I’m taking you home.” His eyes were soft, but his tone let you know that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

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Katie came out onto the porch in a bathrobe like the concerned mother you never had as Eddie pulled the bike to the curb to let you off; you kissed him on the cheek as you dismounted. She worried that you’d been in a car accident or something by how late he was bringing you back. You had left her a note on the kitchen counter, but it said you’d only be gone an hour or two, not seven.

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The only thoughts in Eddie’s head as he made his way back to the garage were wondering how he could help make things better for you. He couldn’t muscle someone into getting your job back, but there were plenty of people who would hire you at various places if he told them to. Then there was that office assistant he needed, but he wouldn’t be able to even pay you half what the gallery did---you’d be better off getting unemployment.

The bad feeling that all of this had been because of him blossomed into a full blown knee to the stomach when he saw the unmistakable polished, cherry red of Charlene’s Porsche parked directly across from the entrance to his apartment. She was leaning against the back, elbows on the trunk, feet crossed at the ankles, grinning like Satan’s spawn as she watched him pull in.

He took a minute to calm himself down as he parked the bike, slowly dismounting, keeping his back to her as he took off his helmet. God, he did not want to deal with this shit right now. He would never physically hurt her, and she knew that, and it felt like she was really shoving that fact in his face.

Every muscle in his body was tense as he headed in her direction across the mostly empty, dark parking lot, especially those in his face and hands.

“Trouble in paradise?” She quipped, looking down at her nails, fanning them out like claws. She was in a tight, leopard print pencil skirt halter dress, and a cropped, bolero style fur coat.

First, he wanted to make sure they were both on the same page. “Are you the reason she got fired?”

Charlene crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged. “I might have convinced a handful of people to ignore Judith and never spend money in her gallery ever again unless she let that girl go, so, sure, I guess maybe I did have something to do with it.”

“You’re disgusting,” Eddie said it on a strained breath, a painful look on his face, bile rising in his throat. It was almost hard for him to look at her in that moment, he hated her so much.

“And you’re a fucking liar,” Charlene spat, jutting her chin out a few times, stabbing her finger in the air at him. “You told me you cared about me.”

Eddie had so many residual regrets for the things his dick made him do sometimes, it wasn’t even funny.

He cocked one knee out to the side. “So, you thought that by hurting her, I’d somehow get back in your bed? You’re out of your fucking mind, Charlene.”

“Baby, don’t you remember how we used to---” she pushed off the car and dove to grab his arm, but he stepped back, out of her reach.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, cringing.

“Fine!” Judith barked showing the palms of her hands in mocking surrender. “But I miss it, I miss us. I know you do too.”

Without hesitation, Eddie shook his head, his voice a deep murmur. “I don’t miss it at all. I don’t miss us, because there never was an us.”

“You don’t mean that,” she bit, pouting, trying hard to pull a few crocodile tears to the surface of her icy hazel eyes.

“Listen,” Eddie paused to chew his top lip. He didn’t want to knowingly break anyone's heart, not even Charlene's. At one point in their fling, he could tell that her feelings for him were way more intense than his were for her, and he should’ve called it off then, but the money made him greedy and careless. “I’m sorry you got hurt in all this, okay, we had some fun while it lasted. But you have to fucking fix this, Charlene, I’m serious.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fix what? It’s done,” she scoffed. “She’ll have to get a new job, big deal. It’s not the end of the world.”

“You’ve never had to work a day in your life. You wouldn’t last a week in her shoes.”

“I’d trade lives with her in a second,” she blurted. “If it meant you’d look at me the same way you look at her.”

He puffed out a long held, heavy breath. “It’s been fun catching up. I’m going inside. You know the way out.”

If he knew that any number of words—besides lying and saying he loved her---would get you your job back, or turn back the hands of time, Eddie would’ve stood there and negotiated all night, but he knew his efforts were futile.

He was a couple steps away when she called out to him again, and this time; her tone was frigid, void of any emotion.

“You should know it’s only going to get worse for her,” she promised. Eddie stopped in his tracks, flexing his hands, but didn’t turn around, and so she continued. “I’ll make sure she’s rejected by every gallery for a hundred mile radius, and then she’ll have no choice but to move away, or stay here with you and watch her dreams die.”

One of his hands clenched into a fist, knowing that it wasn’t a bluff, trying so hard to push down the violence he felt rising in him.

“And her friend, Kathrine Clayton,” Charlene continued, letting him know the creepy detail that she had somehow ascertained your roommates full name. “I wonder how the parents in town would feel about overhearing horrible rumors involving the woman teaching their kids.”

At that Eddie turned around slow, eyes narrowing, voice booming. “What do want, Charlene? You want us to go back to fucking again, is that what it will take?” He didn’t want to touch Charlene, let alone put his cock inside of her, but he’d do it one more time if it meant she’d leave you and Katie alone. Take one for the team, as they say.

“No, not really,” She shrugged, a bored expression on her face. “I’m fucking someone new now. He’s younger than you, and he can’t get enough of me. It took me a while to find a bent cock as big as yours, but I knew I would eventually.”

This bitch is fucking crazy, Eddie swallowed, full of shame for ever getting involved with her in the first place. “What did you do, put an ad in the paper?”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” Charlene continued, ignoring his second question. “It’s very simple. I don’t want you to see her anymore, I want you to end it. I hate knowing the two of you are...falling for each other, it makes me sick. Especially when I think it could have been us.”

Eddie’s temper flared, he slammed his fist into the palm of his hand and closed in on her in two big strides, forcing her back up against the bumper. “Why can’t you get it through your fucking head that you were nothing but a warm mouth to me? I care more about her after only a few weeks than I ever did about you.”

Seemingly unaffected by those words, Charlene sighed and dropped her arms to her sides. “Well, if you care about her as much as you say you do, I encourage you to think about what I just said,” she shimmied in her high heels over the driver’s side of her Porsche, opening the door. “If you continue to see her, I’m going to ruin her life and run her out of town, and it will be all your fault, big boy.”

She waved her fingers out the window as she zoomed away from the complex. Eddie stood in the shadows and watched her go, his eyes going black, considering what she said, and realizing what he had to do as a vast and familiar emptiness grew in his chest.

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The next day, you were playing with the zipper of your hoodie, sitting at the window alcove in the kitchen, holding a pillow at your stomach, thinking about the phone call you just got from Steve.

You didn’t tell Steve you’d lost your job, but word travels fast in these friend circles. Katie must’ve told Robin, and Robin mentioned to Steve that she could get you a job at the hotel, but Steve had a better idea.

They were hiring servers at the Velvet Hammer, and apparently the bartender with the shaved head who met you the night before was also the manager, and she thought you were cute and funny and you already had an “in”. At first, you were ready to politely decline his suggestion to bring a resume by, being that you had only worked a waitress job once right out of high school, but you weren’t sure you qualified as a Velvet Hammer Girl—you didn’t even own a spiked collar.

But then he told you what the girls there made as far as income, and it gave you pause.

“The base is minimum wage,” Steve said. “But they make crazy tips, especially Thursday through Sunday. You could pocket a couple hundred bills in a night, easy.”

Sure, you’d be applying to other galleries, but that process took time. First of all, there weren’t any in the area looking for managers at the moment, but even to get your foot in the door as a receptionist would take a while. It took damn near a month and three different interviews before you got on at Moon River.

You also considered that perhaps this was a sign that the gallery world was no longer for you. Maybe it was time to get a side hustle just to pay bills, and then you could start painting again and get your portfolio up to snuff.

You told Steve how grateful you were for giving you the heads up, and he let you know the best times to bring a resume by. He also told you that the resume was basically just a formality because he had already vouched for you, but a necessity, nonetheless.

With all the drama, you almost forgot that it was Tuesday, and little cartoon hearts swam around your head when you remembered your date night with Eddie. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but he’d mentioned over the phone a few days ago that the place was new and supposedly hip. He told you to dress warm, and he’d pick you up in his Chevelle so you wouldn’t have to worry about clinging to the back of the bike in your dinner attire.

That afternoon, you were sifting through your closet for possible outfits, while simultaneously making a pile to donate to Goodwill, when the phone rang: it was Eddie.

Right away, you could tell that his tone was different; his words came out forced, like you were the last person he wanted to be talking to. You shook it off as him being distracted at work, because you could hear the other mechanics shouting in the background around the noise of electric drills and loud music.

Eddie’s eyes squeezed shut at the sound of your voice: the purpose for this phone call went against every fiber of his being. He’d been trying to convince himself that you weren’t special to him all day, but so far, it wasn’t working.

“Hey,” he stiffened, trying not to melt into a stupid grin at the way you said his name. “Something came up, and I have to cancel our thing tonight. Sorry.”

He wasn’t ready to let you go altogether, which was selfish, but he’d take it one day at a time until he could figure out a way to keep you. He had no way of knowing how much Charlene knew. He wouldn’t put it passed her to have a private investigator watching his ass 24/7. Even worse, she could’ve hired someone to watch you, and that kept him up at night.

Your heart sank, but you also understood how busy and complex his life was. “Oh, sure, Batman rides again, I get it,” you gave a little laugh, hoping to relieve any worries he had about having to cancel. You knew him well enough to know that he was a man of his word, and bailing on the date was probably the last thing he wanted to do. If only you knew the half of his anguish.

Eddie offered no retort, there was none of the flirtatious banter the two of you usually shared so effortlessly. He just cleared his throat, “anyway, that’s why I called. I have to run, talk to you later.”

You were just in the middle of saying something back when the line went to dial tone; your mouth hung open as you pulled the receiver away from your face to look at it, stunned. You blinked, turning to your cat Charlie who was stretched out on top of a pile of clean shirts on your bed. “Did he just hang up on us?” But Charlie only yawned in response.

Eddie did not, in fact, have anywhere to run to. He clicked the phone down and put his face in his dirty hands at the desk, hating himself.

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Since your date got canceled, for whatever nefarious or benign reason, you decided to hike your resume over to the Velvet Hammer and introduce yourself properly to Shana, the manager with the shaved head and the fierce green eyes. She had clusters of black stars tattooed at her temples, and an anatomical heart tattoo on her bicep, right at her sleeve.

She basically hired you on the spot, but said they needed to give you a trial run for a night to shadow one of the girls to see if you could keep up the pace. She asked you to come in early for training on Thursday, and then you could start that same night if you were available. Paychecks came out every two weeks, but you’d be able to take home all of your cash tips immediately.

So, you had a job. A temporary one, to be sure, but still deeply appreciated, all the same. As much as it took a weight off of your shoulders, it also felt incredibly surreal. Also, you couldn’t help but wonder what Eddie would think.

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“Steve did what?” Eddie barked at Robin who was standing in the doorway to the office, dropping off Oliver for an hour on Wednesday. He hadn’t meant for his tone to be so gruff.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “She needed a job while she applied at other galleries, and he got her one. I thought you’d be grateful.”

He would be grateful, maybe later, when he was done seeing red with jealousy over all of the guys, he knew who would be hitting on you at that place. What if they tried to touch you? He couldn’t even think about it, he was about to pick the desk up and throw it across the room.

Robin snorted a laugh, watching him get so flustered, he dropped the same pen three times. “Dang, you really have it bad for this one, don’t you bubba?”

It occurred to him that he should talk to Robin about what was going on, about Charlene and the threats. She had always been a solid friend who afforded him years of good advice, but there was a part of him that didn’t want to get anyone else involved. It was his mess, and he needed to clean it up, if he even could.

That night, he sat in the chair by the window in his apartment with the TV on but the volume off, listening to I Stay Away by Alice in Chains, watching the phone as it rang, forcing himself not to pick it up. It was day 2 of trying to avoid you and pull away, and he was failing miserably at being cool about it. He had to say something to you, he couldn’t just make you suffer and not know what the fuck was going on in his head; that wasn’t fair to you. But then again, none of this was. It was official, he had inadvertently dragged you down into his filth.

He turned Charlene’s words over in his head, recalling the sincerity in her face as she said them, wondering how far she would take this. He’d seen her dirty deeds in action, he knew she was formidable.

The black phone under the singular light from the lamp on his nightstand started ringing again, but it cut off halfway through, as if the person calling had changed their minds or given up. As he sat there, he remembered how you rode his thigh the other night, the whimpers coming out of your mouth, and he had to palm his growing cock over his boxers. It was disturbing how bad he wanted you.

“Fuck it,” Eddie cursed, getting to his feet so that he could go over to the phone and call you.

But, just as he picked it up to dial, it was just about to ring, and there was someone on the other line.

“Eddie? Lover?” It was Erika. “You interested in a quickie to help you sleep? I drove by and saw your light on.”

-----------

After trying to call Eddie for the third—and decidedly final—time that night, you went out and flopped on the opposite end of the couch from Katie who was watching an episode of the show 3rd Rock from the Sun with a green beauty mask on her face.

“Still nothing?” She asked, peeling back a piece of string cheese. She knew you’d tried a couple times that night to get a hold of Eddie, and that he had canceled mysteriously on your date the night before.

“I know he’s got a lot on his plate,” you got comfortable, snuggling into the corner, ready to defend him even to yourself. “I just wish there was a way for him to let me know he’s okay. Send me an email or something. A few words, that’s all I ask.”

Your gut was telling you that something was definitely wrong, but, to be fair, you’d had your heart dragged through the mud before, and you worried that your gut was not a reliable source. You weren’t upset about the date being canceled, you didn’t even need to see him—even though that would be great----good communication was really all you asked for or needed. Your brain kept going back to the way he had been with you on Monday versus how he was with you on the phone yesterday; the two experiences were night and day. Had something happened between the time he dropped you off and the next afternoon? You checked with Robin, and you knew that Wayne was back on his feet. Maybe there had been some sticky Coffin King business that Eddie wasn’t at liberty to speak about.

You also tried to keep in mind that this whole little romance was as new as a spring daffodil, and even though you’d had a crush on him for over a month, you hadn’t progressed beyond kissing and heavy petting. Was there a chance you were reading the signals all wrong and he wasn’t as interesting in you as you thought?

Katie seemed to subliminally hear that question and answered you. “I wouldn’t worry about it, babes, the guy is nuts about you,” she turned to you and ate the rest of her cheese while there was a commercial on. “Robin said she hasn’t seen him this interested in a woman in years, and she’s known him since high school.”

“What else did Robin say?” This was helping you; this is what you needed. Why hadn’t she offered this information earlier?

She put two fingers to her mask to tap a few times, checking how tacky it felt, to know if she should wash it off yet or not. “She said that he got pretty jealous when she mentioned that you got the job at Velvet Hammer, and normally he doesn’t care what other women he’s dating do when they’re not with him.”

The silly truth was that, if Eddie told you he didn’t feel comfortable with you working there, you would’ve probably looked for something else. But, deciding to say nothing and be a ghost in the wind was not the right play to get what he wanted.

“I’m sure he’s just busy,” you announced, nodding to accentuate your point. “I’ll wait a day or two before I start freaking out.”

Katie gave you a thumbs up.

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

Eddie told Erika not to call him again and practically hung up on her. It had been a while since they’d last hooked up, and if not for the incident with you at Fight Night, he would’ve all but forgotten about her.

Not twenty minutes later, shirtless in his boxers, he heard footsteps padding up the stairs to the floor of his apartment. This was particularly disturbing because it was late, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He pulled his handgun out of its holster on the dresser and waited with it held low, standing just behind the door as the footsteps got closer.

“Who is it?” Eddie barked.

After a second of pregnant silence came the meek, “hi, it’s me. Erika.”

“Fuck my life,” Eddie hissed under his breath, holding the gun back and putting the safety on as he reached over to unlock the door and yank it open.

“I thought I just told you not to call or come over,” Eddie said, addressing her with raised eyebrows, just as he realized too late that he should’ve put a shirt on.

Erika was in a silver crop top and a pair of low-rise jeans, a pink heart dangling from her exposed belly button piercing. She was making a face and prancing back and forth a bit on each foot. “Can I please use your bathroom?”

Eddie blinked a few times, and then he scowled. “You came all the way over here in the middle of the night to use my bathroom?”

“No silly,” she giggled. “I came to see you. And to see if I left a pair of my earrings here the last time I came over.”

Eddie shook his head, slipping the gun back into its holster on his dresser with a sigh, and then shutting it in the top drawer. “I don’t have your earrings but go ahead. You know where it is.” What was he supposed to do? Make her pee out in the hallway?

He waited by the front door, standing holding it open, until he heard a flush, and then her high heels came clip-clopping back down the hall.

He pushed the door open further, holding his arm up high like an arch, making space so she could walk through. “Have a good night,” he said without meeting her eyes.

But she latched onto his chest, throwing herself against him, her lips grazing his neck, tongue lapping up to lick his earlobe. Eddie pushed her of reflexively but caught her so that she didn’t trip and fall, and now they were out in the main hallway that led to the stairs.

In perfect view of a large, street-facing window.

She was pouting, but he had her by both arms now, and he shook her a little, just enough to get her attention. “I don’t want this anymore,” his eyes were wide, searching hers. “Nod if you understand.”

But then she jutted her head forward, her lips making contact with his, her tongue flicking out dramatically.

“Fuck, STOP!” He growled pushing her away enough so that he could wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.

“But,” she gave him a coy look, adjusting her shirt. “I was thinking just one last time?”

She stole a quick side glance out the big window, but he didn’t catch it.

He composed himself, trying to imagine if he had a sister, how he’d want them to be treated in this moment, no matter how demented they were.

He took her hand in one of his and covered it with the other. “You’re a sweet girl, Erika. Go find a loyal, normal guy to care about you the way you deserve, okay? I’m not the one.”

He noticed a shift in her then, a sadness passed over her eyes; regret, maybe? Whatever it was, her appetite for him ceased and she seemed to curl into an invisible shell, shoulders sagging. She tugged her hand from his and tucked her chin, stepped forward only to hug his shoulder briefly as she went by.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” she said softly, pulling back to give him one last tortured look over her shoulder before she continued toward the stairs. “Please forgive me.”

Eddie stood there like a statue, hair hanging down his shoulders, hands paused in the air, wondering why the hell that had been so weird. Sure, Erika was a wild card, but showing up to use the bathroom, and then awkwardly trying to feel him up in the hallway, only to look like she was about to cry? It didn’t make any sense.

He followed a way behind her, and then made sure to put the bolt on the main door in the garage so that he wouldn’t have any more uninvited creeping visitors.

-----------

In the building across the street from Munson’s Garage, with a perfect view of the hallway outside of Eddie’s apartment, a man with a telephoto lens was taking pictures. Snapping what sounded like a billion at a time in the darkness of the abandoned warehouse. Click click click click click.

He was finishing up, packing his camera into its case, when Erika appeared reluctantly at the top of the stairs, her expression sullen.

“Here you go, dollface,” the much older, potbellied man said to her, pinching a wad of cash between his middle and index fingers and extending it to her. “You did real good.”

Erika swallowed as she took the money, her hands cold and shaking. Sure, she was upset that Eddie didn’t like her as much as she liked him, and she hated that new girl he was talking to, but she didn’t want to see anything bad happen to him.

“I don’t like this,” she told the photographer. “I wish I’d never agreed to do it.”

“Well,” the guy said, adjusting his fedora on his head as he put the strap of his bag over his shoulder, already out of breath from the mild exertion. “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, sweetheart, but no one gives a shit.”

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

Part 8

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Taglist xoxox @sidthedollface2 @leilalaufeyson02 @lilpotatobean2 @ireidsmut @kelsiegrin @nope-thanks @stylesxmunson @lofaewrites @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffinsmut @whatwedontdointheshadows @kurdtbean @falling-solar-system @emxcast @bexreadstoomuch @ms1oftheboys @hellv1ra @dream-a-little-nightmare @etherealglimmer @manicmagicmayhem @micheledawn1975@aysheashea @unfocused81 @truffleshuffle12 @notsobubblybaby

P.S. for some reason, half of these aren't tagging the people they are meant for, so I'm sorry if you find this and it seems like I didn't tag you 💗 I'm grateful for each of you.

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

Lucien slander incoming

Gwyn was up before Azriel in a scene fairly reminiscent of just two days earlier. The shadow singer was on his stomach, face turned toward the closed blinds, body blanketed in shadows. She’d forgotten to pull a blanket over her naked body which was just as well given his massive wing covered her with far more warmth.

She had to be careful where she touched lest she rouse him. One wrong touch of his wing and he’d pounce, and Gwyn didn’t think he’d let her out of the bed for the rest of the day. Shivering with desire, she managed to get out from beneath him, watching as one strong arm reached outward blindly for him.

In his exhaustion, he didn’t realize the pillow she slid beneath his armpit wasn’t his mate. She’d be back—she wanted to surprise him with breakfast and  track down some clean clothes so she didn’t have to slink around in one of Azriel’s strange, over-sized, button-up tunics. 

Gwyn didn’t dare let herself feel an ounce of shame as she made her way back into the library. It had once been her sanctuary—her home. 

And she smelled of a male. Clotho turned to look, brows raised before returning to what she was reading at the desk, but Gwyn caught the way her nostrils flared. Her stomach sank ever so slightly, though she kept moving. Had Merril replaced her, she wondered? Gwyn was too much of a coward to track her down and find out. 

Instead, she quickly gathered some of her clothing before changing into a familiar, soft blue dress, and made her way back out with the kind of stealth she’d employed in Montessere. As to how stealthy she was, well.. that was debatable, given the Day Court scholar was waiting for her just outside the library, arms crossed over her chest.

Eris Vanserra’s mate. 

That wasn’t an enviable position as far as Gwyn was concerned. She was better off hidden here than trapped with Eris, who had never once demonstrated himself to be anything other than a two-faced liar. Maybe his mate was, too.

“You stole something from me,” Gwyn said by way of greeting, holding her stare. 

Arina shrugged. “And?”

I already don’t like her.

“I want it back.”

Arina shrugged a second time. “Maybe I lost it.”

How mad would the High Lord be if she strangled her, Gwyn wondered. Would he be angry over a little light beating? A casual amount of stab wounds if they didn’t kill her? 

“You didn’t.”

Green eyes flashed with defiance. “Prove it.”

Gwyn couldn’t help the low, frustrated noise that escaped her. “What do you want, then?”

“The book.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Arina crossed her arms over her chest, hip jutted outward. Did she not understand she was a prisoner? This wasn’t the time to negotiate. Gwyn’s temper was going to get the better of her, and if she got caught fighting just outside the library, there would be hell to pay from everyone. 

“You can help me, if you’d like,” Arina suggested.

“I could also call Eris Vanserra to come get you,” Gwyn retorted. He was her…what? Cousin? Uncle? She hadn’t asked a lot of questions, to be fair, and didn’t intend to. The blonde before her wrinkled her nose, confusion written all over her face.

She didn’t know.

Oh, how fun. Gwyn could ruin everything simply because it amused her—could torment Arina, could hold it over her head. 

“Why would you call him?” Arina demanded, some amount of alarm in her gaze.

“You’ve angered a lot of courts.” Gwyn decided that for now, secrets were better kept just that. “Give me the cipher—”

“Even if I gave it to you, you wouldn’t know what you were reading,” Arina snapped, her patience at an end. “I am a scholar in the Day Court and you are, what? A soldier who got lucky? Another Night Court spy?”

That stung, though Gwyn understood why Arina thought so. “I know enough.” Arina snorted. “Your type always thinks so—as if wielding a blade makes you an expert in everything.”

“You can’t wield a blade?” Gwyn asked curiously. Arina didn’t look defensive, didn’t seem bothered at all.

“No.”

She was going to Autumn. Gods help her, Gwyn supposed, done with the conversation. “I’ll speak with the High Lord,” she said, hoping the mention of Rhys might change Arina’s mind. The scholar merely shrugged again, tossing strands of that golden hair over her shoulder as if to say, you do that. 

Gwyn left her, bag slung over her shoulder and pride wounded. Bitch, she wanted to scream. She swallowed it, frustrated, and made her way back into the House of Wind. Angry, Gwyn yanked open the door just as the person on the other side approached. Azriel stood here, eyes as wild as his sleep mussed hair.

Ah right. Mate, her blood sang at the sight. “You were gone,” he said, voice still thick with sleep.

Gwyn lifted her bag, offering what she hoped was a sweet smile. “I needed clothes.”

“For what?”

Gwyn held his gaze, the air filled with the salty tang of his desire. Wasn’t he exhausted? She still felt sore between her legs and though she couldn’t prove it, Gwyn was fairly certain she was walking bow-legged. 

“I thought it might be nice to walk through the house without giving Nesta and Cassian a show.”

“They’ve earned it,” Azriel mumbled, pulling the bag from her shoulder as though it offended him to see her carrying it. Gwyn couldn’t deny that she didn’t like the way the muscles in his stomach tightened, revealing abs just beneath his warm, scarred skin.

“You look unhappy.”

They fell into step, and Gwyn marveled at how easy it had become to talk to him. To be around him. So much had changed—she hadn’t had a chance to truly take it all in. The realization slammed into Gwyn hard, nearly knocking her backward. Azriel noticed—he noticed everything—eyes narrowed.

“I’m not unhappy,” Gwyn said slowly, her mind racing. “A lot has changed.” Fear flitted over his expression, squashed into careful neutrality. 

“Ah.”

“I see the ghost of myself, unaware of what’s coming,” she continued, chewing her bottom lip. “I wonder what she would make of all this.”

Azriel only nodded his head, dropping Gwyn’s bag on the floor of his room. There was a question there—as if he wondered if that was too presumptuous. It wasn’t. Gwyn wanted him to push her back to the bed, but instead he tucked his wings tightly against his back as he pushed further into the room, sliding a shirt over his head.

“I need to speak with Rhys,” he told her, not meeting her gaze. What was wrong? “I’ll see you later?”

There was some other question lingering, one he didn’t vocalize as he moved out of the room again. Gwyn stopped him, hand on his chest, to lean up on tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek. She didn’t know how to ask him to stay without it feeling too forward, so she only said, “I’d like that.” Relief shuttered across his expression.

“And you will.”

Azriel was gone then, glancing one last time over his shoulder as if he needed to be sure she was actually there. Gwyn, too, liked the sight of him from behind almost as much as she liked the view from the front. It took her a moment to shake the thought—to resist the urge to chase after him, tackle him to the ground, and have her wicked way.

Later, she reminded herself. With Azriel gone, Gwyn’s mind cleared enough to let her think. Arina. Eris’s stupid mate—what a match made in the hells, she thought grimly. She wasn’t sure who she disliked more, though she did understand, on some level, why they’d been paired together. 

Nesta and Emerie were up on the roof with Cassian, dressed in their leathers as they continued to train. Gwyn hadn’t seen them since the previous day, and Azriel had taken over their reunion for penis related activities. 

“I thought you’d be busy—hells, Nesta, what the fuck—”

“Stop talking,” Nesta breathed, pulling out of a stretch to see Gwyn. Emerie came, too, bouncy and full of smiles. From just behind her, Morrigan helped Cassian back to his feet, her brown eyes dipping down Emerie’s back.

What was that about? 

“So…” Nesta began, rocking on her heels, “how was last night?”

“You were so loud,” Emerie added, eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“How could you possibly know that over in Windhaven?” Gwyn demanded.

“Oh, Em wasn’t in Windhaven, she was—”

“Nesta!”

“Secrets?” Gwyn asked, trying to swallow the small twinge of hurt. She’d been going, but Nesta and Emerie had been here, together. They’d bonded over things and Gwyn would have been lying if she said she didn’t feel a little hurt. It wasn’t their fault.

“It’s not a secret,” Emerie said, shifting on her feet. “I just want to talk about it somewhere more…private.”

That led to the three of them turning right around with only a casual wave at an indignant Cassian. Gwyn peered over her shoulder to look at Mor again, who didn’t seem to notice at all. Her eyes were, once again, lingering on Emerie’s hips. Gwyn swallowed her questions as they made their way back down to the house. Once they were alone in a den, doors shut firmly behind them, Gwyn said, “Spill. From the beginning.”

Emerie’s cheeks immediately went scarlet while Nesta’s sharpened like a cat with a mouse beneath her paw. “Emerie and Mor are courting.”

“It’s not—you make it sounds so formal—”

“She came all the way up to the house with flowers and asked to show you the city,” Nesta argued, smile wide. “What do you call that?”

Emerie looked to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn wanted to know the answer. “Is she the one who fixed your wings?”

Nesta’s smile widened. “Not technically. She ah…she asked Rhys to talk to the High Lady and she did.”

“It’s become a whole thing in Illyria,” Nesta told Gwyn, lowering her voice as if the Illyrian’s might overhear. “No one realized the healing magic in Feyre’s blood could fix broken wings, so 

Emerie was the test subject.

“Once it did, we opened it up to any female in Illyria,” Emerie added, cheeks still bright red. “Twice a week, the High Lord and Lady go up to Illyria with Cassian and myself. We were doing it by sign-ups, but realized the males were keeping them from coming. Now Cassian rounds them all up.”

Nesta’s smile slipped, her gaze icy. “It’s not going well. A few of the females had their wings re-clipped, and rebellion broke out further north and every time Cassian quells it, another pocket pops up.”

“That bad?”

“I offered to go in,” Nesta said, eyes glowing softly. “Feyre, too. But Rhys wants to try and preserve as much as we can—diplomacy is, frankly, annoying.”

“What kind of diplomacy would even work?” Gwyn mused, wondering how you convinced a culture that pre-dated the Night Court itself to change their practices. 

“Killing the most vocal, outspoken leaders and installing people the High Lord can trust,” Emerie said softly, her face burning with satisfaction. “There have been whisperings of Dark Bringers coming in to enforce the new policies, too. I know it’s wrong, but…it’s kind of nice seeing some of the males who have hurt us face the wrath of Cassian’s sword.”

“Do you remember Balthazar?” Nesta added, as if Gwyn had ever forgotten him. He’d helped them during the Blood Rite—they all owed him a life debt. “He’s been helping change minds, especially among younger Illyrians. It’s the older ones that are the most vocal, the angriest. They think if females are made equals, they’ll turn around and punish them.”

“I wish,” Emerie mumbled. 

“Feyre held a town hall to let them voice their concerns but it turned into a bloodbath,” Nesta continued. 

“One male drew his sword and pointed it at Feyre and every dissenting voice in the room was gone like that,” Emerie said, snapping her fingers to demonstrate. “The High Lord was so angry.”

“Why are you laughing?” Gwyn asked.

“My brothers were among them. They should have known better than to threaten the High Lady,” Emerie said with satisfaction. 

“So you found a partner and started a revolution in the span of a month?” Gwyn questioned, impressed. 

Emerie beamed. “I guess I did.”

“Now tell us about you, so when I have to answer to Feyre later for going behind her back, I at least know what it was all for,” Nesta said, dropping onto the sofa, her smile returned. Emerie took the chair by the fireplace, leaving Gwyn to curl her feet beneath her on a little two-seater and explain, in depth, everything that had happened.

It was well past dinner by the time she finished talking—Nesta had asked the house for food at some point, though Gwyn couldn’t quite remember when. It was like old times, though—it felt like a lifetime had passed between the last time she’d really talked with her friends and leaving for Montessere. She wished they’d been there with her—that she’d been part of everything just as they, too, could have helped her navigate everything with Azriel. 

“So she stole your cipher and is holding it hostage?” Nesta demanded, outraged. “In my house?”

Emerie was already on her feet, reaching for the door. “We’ll get it back—”

On the other end stood Azriel. The three of them went silent at the sight of him, eyes wide. His lip was split and bloodied, left eye swollen and purple. Blood had dried over his cheek, standing his otherwise beautiful skin.

“Tomorrow,” Emerie whispered, sliding out past Azriel. He moved to let Nesta past, too, his eyes practically burning. 

“What happened?” Gwyn demanded angrily, walking toward him to lightly touch his face. Azriel hissed, turning away from her. 

“It’ll heal.” “Who did this to you?” she pressed, her anger bubbling beneath her skin.

“Would it help if I said I deserved it?” Azriel asked, a hint of humor in his voice. 

“No! Would you feel good if I looked like that and all I’d say is that I deserved it?” she snapped. Some of his amusement slipped. 

“It’s over,” he told her. 

“Was it Rhys?” she pressed, vowing that she’d tell the High Lord exactly what she thought of him if he’d hurt Azriel, regardless of being High Lord.

“No.”

“Az—”

“It was Lucien,” he told her, voice low. “I didn’t hit him back.”

“Who?” Gwyn demanded before she remembered, vaguely, Lucien had come by once or twice. “Why?”

“I pissed him off,” Azriel ground out. He wasn’t going to tell her, and in her mind, Gwyn just knew this had something to do with Eris. Everything going wrong had something to do with Eris. Lucien was a Vanserra, and Gwyn just assumed his loyalty was to his brother first. 

“Fuck him,” she said softly, her voice laced with venom.

“Fuck Lucien?” Azriel questioned, arching a brow. “No, fuck me.”

“You’re hurt—”

“Not that hurt,” Azriel murmured, reaching for her face. “I think seeing you undressed might help me heal faster.”

Gwyn couldn’t help her laugh. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she murmured, though she left him take her by the hand to lead her down the hall.

“Only one way to find out, Berdara.”

Indeed.

—

Azriel hadn’t expected to run into Lucien first thing in the morning. There the male was, though, striding up the steps toward the River House only a few paces in front of Azriel. Gods, he didn’t want to talk to another fucking Vanserra. Azriel intentionally slowed his pace, deciding if Lucien was there to see Rhys, he’d take Nyx off Feyre’s hands and waste his time teaching the baby swear words.

Maybe he’d take him up to the House of Wind and show him to Gwyn. And she’d take the baby in her arms and he could pretend—

“You know,” Lucien had stopped, unnoticed by Azriel who’d been lost in his daydream. “You’re a piece of shit. Do you know that?” Azriel blinked. “How have I offended you?”

But he knew. He knew the moment he saw Lucien’s clenched hands that Elain had ratted him out—had told him what occurred last Solstice and Lucien was out for blood. Azriel wanted to show his teeth and beat Lucien into the ground simply for being a Vanserra. Everything about Lucien offended Azriel. The fact that he was granted a mate he ignored for years on end, content to do nothing while he figured himself out, or that he bounced from court to court with no show of loyalty irked Azriel. He wouldn’t abandon Rhys, even if the decision’s his brother made were outlandish and horrible. 

Deep down, though, Azriel knew he hated Lucien because they were the same—born to fathers that didn’t want them and to mothers who couldn’t help them. Azriel didn’t like Lucien, but he’d never thought himself better than the seventh son of Autumn. Lucien did, though. He had that air about him, as if his good breeding and status as a High Fae somehow made him better than everyone around him.

“You had no right to touch her,” Lucien snarled, stepping closer. They were matched for height, but not strength and Lucien had to know it. Don’t pick this fight, princling, Azriel warned silently, holding his ground. “No right to go anywhere near her.”

“Did she have the right to touch me?” Azriel heard himself saying. It was the wrong response—something powerful slammed into his chest, throwing Azriel down the drive before he could catch his breath. Lucien was on top of him a moment later, hitting him in the face. 

Once.

Twice.

Three times. 

It was like when he and Rhys sparred—the force rattled the bones in his jaw, punctuated with magic Azriel couldn’t just barely argue with. That didn’t mean he couldn’t get a lick in…though some part of him wondered if maybe he deserved this. After all, if a male had touched his mate, knowing she belonged to him…Azriel might have done the same.

He would have done worse.

“Lucien!” Feyre’s voice cut through the early morning air. A second later, the two were separated as Feyre blew Lucien across the lawn, her face both radiant and irate all at once. Rhys hung back, arms crossed over his chest in the doorway, expression ripe with amusement.

What did you do? Rhys’ voice ribboned through Azriel’s mind.

That bullshit with Elain during Solstice.

While Feyre chewed Lucien out, hands on her hips, Rhys threw his head back and laughed. Didn’t I tell you.

“Yeah, yeah,” Azriel mumbled, ignoring the way his face ached as he pulled himself to his feet. Lucien looked as if he wanted a second round but Azriel was still a male and still had his pride. 

“That’s the only time I won’t hit you back, lordling,” Azriel snapped, ignoring how Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “Next time there’ll be nothing left for that mate of yours to kiss—”

“I’ll kill you—”

“That’s enough!” Feyre snapped, ending the pissing match before Azriel could have his second round. “There will be no killing of any kind!”

Azriel ducked his head as he made his way into the house, hoping he looked appropriately mollified. He certainly felt it. Rhys followed behind Azriel, a smile still dancing across his features.

“I could listen to her yell at him all day,” Rhys admitted, closing the door behind Azriel. “Music to my ears.”

“What’s his fucking problem?”

“Mating bond is riding him hard,” Rhys replied, sinking into his chair. “I need to get them out of this fucking house before I go insane.”

“They accepted here?” Azriel asked, surprised. 

“Feyre begged him to stay for just a week, unaware they were in the middle of the frenzy, and now its all I hear. Day and night, waking up Nyx, keeping me up when they drop their mental defenses…” Rhys’s expression was one of frustration. “I told Feyre to buy Elain a house just to get them out of my hair.”

“And you sent Cassian away,” Azriel mocked, dropping into the leather chair across from Rhys’s desk. “Perhaps you like Lucien better than us.”

“Cassian and Nesta would have burned this house to ash. You remember that mating ceremony, right?”

Azriel would never forget—the smell of Cassian’s arousal was forever lodged in the back of his throat. Azriel had spent a month up in Illyria while Cassian and Nesta made up for lost time, and even then sometimes he still heard them.

“I suppose you’ll be next?” Rhys questioned. Azriel hoped, certainly, though he hadn’t let himself think that far ahead. He shrugged, instead, deciding silence was the best course of action Rhys knew him well enough to guess what worried Azriel—that Gwyn was going to realize she could likely do better and then leave him.

He knew Rhys just as well as Rhys knew him. That had always been Rhys’s fear about Feyre, after all, even after she’d accepted the bond. Azriel wondered when it had changed for Rhys. When did he let himself believe she wanted him, and would remain, regardless of what she saw? 

Azriel didn’t ask. 

“I assume you didn’t come all this way to let Lucien hit you?” Rhys asked. This would be a joke for the next century, if not longer. 

Azriel scowled. “My magic. Where does it come from?”

Rhys arched his brow. “You know I don’t have the answer for that.”

“I think I do.”

Azriel dropped his mental defenses, trusting Rhys wouldn’t go digging for anything other than what Azriel pulled to the surface. It was a supreme act of trust between them—Azriel had guarded his secrets closely like a dragon hoarding gold. And though there was nothing Rhys couldn’t see, it was more that Azriel didn’t want him to. Rhys was allowed his secrets.

Azriel should be allowed his, too. 

Rhys did exactly as Azriel allowed, his presence dipping into Azriel’s mind to watch it all play out. Rhys withdrew a moment later and Azriel slammed the walls back up, ensuring every last stone was in place before truly looking at his brother.

“Well?”

Rhys steepled his fingers in front of his face, sighing deeply. “I’ve heard that voice in Elain Archeron’s head, too.”

Azriel’s blood ran cold. “And?”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. If your magic is derived from Koschei, it’s just that. Derived, but clearly not controlled.”

“We’re missing something,” Azriel murmured, though he didn’t know what. “I think I should return to Montessere.”

“We should,” Rhys amended softly, eyes cutting toward the closed door. “And soon. With Beron Vanserra gone, whatever deal he’d struck with their king should have died with him. Eris bought us a little time, though who knows how much. Did Gwyn ever manage to figure out what was going on?”

“No—a Day Court scholar stole her cipher and she’s been able to read the book she was translating without it.”

“She’s upstairs with the priestesses,” Rhys mused, rubbing his chin. “Both Helion and Eris are asking for her. I suppose I could negotiate for it…or you could simply steal it.”

Azriel’s shadows slithered around him, suddenly paying attention. 

“Find it,” he murmured, watching as they vanished into smoke. 

Rhys took a breath, waiting until they were truly alone. “Once you know where it is, get it back without making a fuss. I don’t want Eris claiming I harmed his mate any more than he already is. 

When we know what the book says, we can decide our next steps. We need to move quietly, though.”

“What are you thinking?”

“You get me through the door, and I rip open Gunnar’s head,” Rhys said with a relish. It was treason to suggest—could start a war if they were caught. Azriel didn’t care—diplomacy was Rhys’s job, at any rate—but he raised his brows all the same.

“And then what?”

Rhys shrugged. “His son is dead, his court in shambles…I’m sure the vipers are circling. A stroll through the palace will tell me who is sympathetic and who might be willing to sign a treaty agreeing to look elsewhere for their expansionist ambition, should it come to that.”

“It’s risky,” Azriel said, unable to suppress his grin.

“Sounds like fun to me,” Rhys replied, settling back in his chair. “Let me think it through a bit—give me a week. In the meantime, help Cassian with Illyria.”

“What’s going on in Illyria?”

Rhys gave Azriel the rundown of their latest project, speed running through a plan that had originally been meant to happen over the course of several decades. Nesta was human, and Emerie young, and he supposed to them, it was simply all too slow. He didn’t blame them for pushing for stronger measures, for wanting stricter punishments. Feyre, too, seemed frustrated by the lack of progress being made in the region and the loss of yet another generation of females while the males pretended to implement the changes they outwardly ignored. 

“Looking for resistance leaders?”

“And quickly,” Rhys agreed with a sly look on his face. “They’ve forgotten how it feels to go against us and I think a little reminder is in order.”

“Maybe it’s time,” Azriel murmured.

Rhys’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Say the word.”

“It would cause more problems than it would solve,” Azriel reminded Rhys, knowing damn well that Rhys didn’t care about problems when it came to his brothers. So what if the other nobles balked—let them see what happened if they refused the authority of the High Lord they were sworn to.

“Is there someone we could install in their place?” Rhys questioned.

“I could find out.”

“Do it.”

And that was that. Azriel spent the rest of his day with Feyre and Nyx, seated on the floor while the pair tried to convince the toddling baby to pick his favorite. Azriel cheated twice, pulling a piece of candy he’d swiped from Rhys’s desk to intice the child over while Feyre declared he was the absolute worst and she’d never forgive him. 

Azriel knew she would. She spent the afternoon fussing over his face and begging him to let her fix it before he went back upstairs, but Azriel had made peace with his wounds. This was his penance, besides. He’d gotten what was coming to him, he supposed.

Even if he stood by what he’d said all those months ago. He was glad Elain wasn’t his mate…but still thought Lucien was an unworthy male he could easily take in a fight if it ever came down to it. Besides, Azriel reasoned it might give Gwyn a reason to fuss over him, which he thought sounded rather nice.

He’d forgotten how violent she could be. Even with his head in her lap, wings draped around them, Gwyn explained in detail all the things she’d like to do to Lucien while scratching his scalp. Was this how cats felt? 

“We could psychologically torture him,” Gwyn said, still musing all the ways she could get him back.

“Oh? How would you do that?” he questioned.

“I’ll ask Nesta,” she decided, earning a chuckle. 

“She’d know.”

“Arina still has my cipher,” Gwyn informed him after a moment. Azriel opened his eyes to look up at her, finding her pretty face twisted in a frown. 

“I’ll find it,” he said, wondering if his shadows already had. They wouldn’t intrude while he was with her, and he couldn’t sense them nearby. It didn’t mean they weren’t—just that he couldn’t feel them. 

“And deny Nesta the opportunity of scaring it out of her?” Gwyn asked before her expression shifted. “Did you know Mor and Emerie were courting?”

It should have been a punch to the gut. Azriel waited for that familiar wave of hot jealousy to fill his throat like it used to. Every time he’d heard whispers of Mor being intimate with other people—males, usually—Azriel hadn’t been able to swallow it. Rhys had often taken him out to let him burn out his anger in the form of physical violence.

There was a beat. And then another. “Oh?” he finally heard himself say in a placid tone. He meant it, too. It was pleasant, that feeling. He only wished her well. 

“Surprised me, too,” Gwyn admitted after a moment. “But Emerie is the best.”

“She is,” Azriel agreed.

“And Mor is…nice?” she questioned.

“She is,” he promised, reaching for Gwyn’s free hand to press a kiss against the back of her skin. “You’ll like her.”

Gwyn hummed a non-committal sound as the pair lapsed into comfortable silence. Azriel had questions he didn’t dare ask her—not yet. Maybe not ever. He wanted to know if she was genuinely happy and if she had regrets. If she was accepting their bond out of obligation or because she wanted to. Cassian and Rhys knew their mates wanted them because humans didn’t have the concept—they had to decide on the merits of their feelings rather than the expectation of the bond. 

Gwyn had grown up as one of them—she knew what it meant to have a mate. And she’d accepted the whole thing so easily, so quickly, that Azriel caught himself second guessing everything at times. 

“Are you hungry?” Gwyn asked, reading Azriel’s mind. His heart raced at the thought—he knew what she was offering. Yes! The word nearly bubbled out of his throat, leashed only at the last minute.

“I am,” he replied, rising upward with what he hoped seemed sultry and not avoidant. He had her on her back in a moment, gazing up at him around a halo of reddish brown hair. “What are you offering.”

“I thought…” she breathed, but he was sliding her dress up over her thighs. That's it. Forget you offered, he thought silently. Pressing a kiss to her thigh, Azriel decided this was better, at least for now. Let her get used to it—they’d revisit accepting in a few years. Decades, maybe. 

It was easy to pretend it didn’t hurt him.

Mostly.

[lovebugism]

I love the steddie dynamic so much! What about one where the reader and one of the boys (you choose) are arguing with each other? How would Steve/Eddie react?

BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE | crossing a line

summary: you and steve have a tendency to argue like you're teenagers again. pairing: steve harrington / f!reader / eddie munson word count: 1.7k warnings: a hint of angst, allusions to sex, barely proofread a/n: i'm so glad you like it because i simply cannot stop writing for them. let the steddie universe commence!

You and Steve had the worst tempers, Eddie concludes. He figures it's because you two have been together for so long. Where he was typically quiet in his anger — a little passive aggressive with a hint of cruel sarcasm — he was still a simple man. All he really needed was a kiss on the cheek and an apology and he was golden.

You and Steve were meaner. Louder. When you two were angry at each other, it’s like you wanted everyone else to know about it. It had to became everybody else’s problem too. It was all slammed doors and cold shoulders and silent treatments. You and Steve held grudges and tended to them like little pets — it was almost laughable how long you two could stay mad over something so little.

Eddie was careful, though, never to choose sides.

It was how this relationship worked after all. Everything was equal. Always. He doesn’t want to tip the scales.

So he stays mostly silent while you and Steve bicker back and forth about the latter boy missing date night. The dinner was tense enough, full of sharp jabs and one-word responses, but the drive back was somehow worse. Maybe because it lacked all the stupid little quips from the both of you. It was totally silent. Eddie even tried putting in your favorite mixtape, but it didn’t soothe the sulking girl in his backseat.

You barely even waited until the car stops to get out. You slam the door so hard it shakes. Stomping to the front door, you spend too long fishing for your keys in your purse because you're too angry to take a second to look for them. And when you find the key ring you miss the lock one, two, three times. They hear the bang of the shut door all the way in the car.

You don’t even look to see if the boys are following you.

Eddie sighs deeply, bringing his chin to his chest. He turns slowly to Steve who's sitting quietly in the passenger seat next to him. “Take a breath before you go in there, man. Alright?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the brunette boy shrugs with a jutted out lip. He smells like expensive woody cologne and wine. His eyes still glimmer with the faint tinge of alcohol on his tongue when he looks over at him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re upset,” Eddie corrects. “And she is too. So just… don’t make it worse.”

Steve doesn’t listen, of course. But then again, when does he ever?

They enter the house just moments after you. The two boys become silent spectators to your antics. Everything you do, you do angrily — you rip off your coat and throw it to the couch, you toe of your shoes so rough you scratch the backs of your ankles, you even fill up the dog’s water bowl with a scowl.

Ozzy doesn’t seem to mind though, as he laps happily at the fresh dish in the kitchen.

“There’s the tantrum we’ve been waiting for,” Steve comments to Eddie, purposefully loud enough for you to hear. You can hear the stupid sarcastic smile in his voice.

You’re about to storm off down the hallway, but that stops you in your tracks. You turn on your heels to look at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I just said not to make it worse,” the wild-haired boy sighs in annoyance.

“You were an hour late to dinner, Steve!”

“The meeting ran late!” he yells for the hundredth time, angered that you're still blaming him for something he couldn't control. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Literally anything else! We had to wait for you like idiots! The world doesn’t revolve around you anymore, you know that, right? You’re not King Steve, me and Eddie can’t just sit on our asses and wait at your beck and call—”

“Holy shit,” the boy laughs cynically under his breath. “You sound like my mother right now.”

“Oh shit…” Eddie mumbles to himself.

You’re practically gaping at Steve, wide-eyed in bemusement. “You’re mother?” you thunder once his words finally hit you. It feels like a fucking freight train.

Steve knows he’s crossed a line with that one. Your face burns hot, more so in embarrassment than anger — maybe a healthy mixture of both — and he feels the fire of it radiating off of you. He said it to hurt you, after all, but not that much.

“Okay…” he lilts with his hands on hips. He tries to smile, make a joke of it. “You know that's not what I meant.”

“Yes, it was,” you argue. When you roll your eyes, he sees how glassy they’ve gone, all shiny with unshed tears. You’re stomping off before either of them can comfort you.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he tries to call after you.

“Fuck you!” you shout back.

Steve looks to Eddie then, with a sheepish chocolate gaze and a small “you were right” sad sort of smile. The latter boy just shakes his head. “You know just how to get under her skin, don’t ya, big boy?”

He tests the water as shuffles towards Eddie, trying measure whether or not he’s angry at him too. The dark-haired boy opens his leather-clad arms for him and allows Steve to melt into his hold. He’d figured as much, when Eddie was angry, you knew it.

Steve sighs against the boy’s shoulder, wraps his hands around his middle, and mumbles into the Metallica tee you'd gotten Eddie for Christmas the year before. “That’s what happens when you’ve been together five years, I guess.”

“So that’s what I have to look forward to then, huh?” Eddie jokes.

“Kinda. Yeah.”

He sighs. “That’s great.”

“You love us,” Steve quips at the boy’s disgruntled tone. He pulls back with a small smile and finds that Eddie's already grinning back at him.

“Yeah... I do.”

“I guess I should go and apologize,” the brunette huffs and parts from the other, looking like a kid that's being forced to do something they desperately don’t want to.

“That wouldn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Eddie responds with a nod, scratching at his stubbly chin to conceal his smile.

Steve finds you in the bedroom, of course, in the middle of peeling of your dress. The lace underwear you were wearing beneath it goes next. He feels like shit for not being the one to take it off of you first. 

You know he’s behind you, but you don’t seem to care too much, or maybe you just ignoring him altogether.

You’re still bare as you rifle through the too large dresser all three of you share. It was organized once upon a time — the top three drawers for underwear, the middle for sleep shirts, the bottom for lounge pants — now it’s just a mismatch of all of your stuff. It didn’t really matter in the end, you ended up sharing everything anyway.

You pull on a pair of Eddie’s boxers and then an old, faded Hawkins Phys Ed t-shirt. You don’t realize its Steve’s until it’s already over you and he sees you scowl about it in the mirror. 

He closes the door behind him, but not enough to latch all the way, as he walks further into the bedroom

“Baby,” he starts.

You’re not having it. “Go away,” you grumble like the cutest little storm cloud.

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, I don’t accept your apology.”

“Baby, c’mon,” he says with a little laugh at your words. “I’m sorry.”

He takes you in his arms and holds you against his front so he can press his face into the side of your neck. You’re still frowning, but melting into his warmth with each passing second. He can feel you start to relax against him and you can feel his smile forming against your skin.

You convince yourself that you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. That's why you're letting him touch you. Not because he holds all of his love in his hands and radiates a gentle warmth that soothes you almost immediately. Obviously not.

“I can’t believe you’d do that to me,” you mumble into the quiet, fidgeting with your fingers beneath his arms.

Steve feels you lean your head against the side of his own anyway. His sigh brushes against your collarbone. “I promise I’ll try and call ahead next time—”

“I’m talking about you calling me your mom.”

“Oh,” he laughs against you and then stops when he feels you tense in his hold. It's not funny to you. He grows serious again. “I only said that to make you angry.”

“Well, it worked,” you murmur.

“I know it did,” he concedes and rises from the solace of the nook of your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder. It bobs with each word that leaves his mouth. “I’m really sorry. It was mean. I was totally out of line.”

“I don’t know if I could ever forgive you,” you turn your eyes to the ceiling dramatically, a playful smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

He knows your fucking with him now, but he goes along with it anyway.

“I think I could make it up to you,” he mutters against your skin, pressing wet, warm kisses down your neck and then peeling back the collar of your t-shirt to sprinkle them on your bare shoulder too. Your skin cools in the places where his lips leave you, causing chill bumps to rise in his wake.

“Well, yeah, that would only be fair,” you sigh dreamily, like you’re concocting a fantasy of your own in your head. Steve can only wonder what you’re thinking as you spin in his arms to face him, pressing yourself further against him.

His eyes grow heavier and he draws his lip between his teeth at the sheer expectation of what you might make him do. He’ll do anything you asked him to. All of it.

You still make him feel like a teenager in that way. In how he could have you all the time and still never get tired of you — how you feel, how you taste.

You know it, too. That’s why you get all breathy on purpose, wrap your arms around his shoulders and stand on the tips of your toes so your wine-coated breath fans against his jaw. 

“I want you to…” you trail off but he’s already nodding anyway. He probably doesn’t even realize it. It makes you smirk. “…drive to Family Video and pick up every Molly Ringwald movie you’ve got on the shelf and have a movie night with me and Eds.”

Steve mourns the loss of the moment with a groan as he tosses his head back. “You know I hate those movies!” he whines dramatically, neck bare and adam’s apple bobbing. You grab his jaw in your hands and pull him to you so you can press a kiss to it. The skin is rough and stubbly with a five o’clock shadow.

“And I love ‘em. That’s why it’s a punishment, Stevie,” you tease, and tilt his face down so you can kiss the tip of his nose. He barely has the chance to respond to your touch when you peck his lips because you’re already skipping out of the bedroom. “Eds! Can you make some popcorn, please?”

have anymore steddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

[fel0ny-01]

4 times Soap wasn’t allowed on the bed, and 1 time he was.

1st Time - Price has ‘allergies’

“Can ah git oan th' bed?” Soap asked, his pleading eyes looking at Price, the tip of his tail wagging quickly between his legs. He’s not afraid of Price at all, he is the so called ‘Alpha’ of their little pack, but regardless, Soap likes to push his luck.

Price let out a heavy sigh, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose from where he was sat at his desk. This has at least got to be the 5th time this week he’s asked why isn’t he allowed on the bed, and it’s always the same answer.

“You’ll get hairs on it, and I’m allergic.” He stated, which earned an offended look from the Hybrid; who sent a glare his way.

“A’m actually hypoallergenic!” He replied with a snarking tone, to which Price raised his eyebrow humorously. He knew that was a straight up lie, as the hybrid was a Cattle dog cross, but he let him have his moment of pride before he continued, “Plus, ah barely hae ony fur except oan mah tail 'n' ears! ” He added, hoping it would sway his decision, but alas-

“No, Soap.” He shot out a high whine as he left the room with his tail between his legs, pouting. He just wanted to be allowed on the bed. He heard Price chuckle as he exited his office.

2nd Time - Soap is muddy

“Soap get off the bed!” Kyle groaned as the Hybrid just further pushed himself in the sheets. He swatted at Soap, who swatted back with his tail.

“Bit it’s comfy!” He laughed, wriggling about on his back, further splattering the sheets with the dirt that he’d collected on his run with Ghost.

“And you’re covered in mud!” He hissed, watching as he was now on his back with his head hanging off the bed.

Soap looked at Gaz with the biggest puppy eyes ever, and it almost made him forget as to why he was mad in the first place.

“So?”

And then he saw the mud caking his sheets and the smirk that painted Soap’s face.

“Get!” He shouted, as the dog was pushed off the bed with full force. And as soon as he hit the floor he sprinted out the room, the other sergeant chasing him down.

3rd Time - Soap’s ‘too energetic’

“Soap off.” Price ordered, as the dog was trying to curl up next to his Captain. He was digging in the pillows, trying to make sure it was super comfy for himself but it seems Price didn’t understand the importance. He looked at him with an offended look, his brows furrowing. He didn’t understand why he had to get off.

“Bit how come?” He mumbled, as he slowly moved away from his Captain who wasn’t really paying attention.

“You’ve got too much energy, go burn it off outside.” He ordered again, Soap’s lip jutting out in a silent retort. But he wasn’t getting him off the bed that easily if he could help it. He leant a hand on Price’s leg, his tail wagging slowly between his legs in attempt to earn a spot next to the Captain.

“Ah haven’t!” He whined as he watched John’s hand come to pet him between the ears until it stopped. (No positive reinforcement for bad behaviour, John remembers.)

“Soap, no.”

He let out a loud huff as he got off his Captains bed, and made his way out of the door.

4th Time - Ghost is trying to read

To be fair, Soap knew he might’ve been being annoying as he climbed over his Lieutenants chest, uninvited.

“Soap, what?” He mumbled as his book was out of sight and he was greeted with a fluffy tail hitting him in the face.

“I’m tryna git comfy.” He stated as he came to lie on his back next to his S.O, his arms crossing over his chest as Ghost looked down at him through lidded eyes.

“Well I’m trying to read,” Ghost replied with a tone unreadable to Soap, as Johnny got up and started doing his digging dance (Gaz affectionately named it), to which Ghost wrapped a finger around the collar on his neck.

“Well maybe a’m trynae read tae!” He grumbled, as his movement was stopped by the collar being forced against his neck.

“Soap.” Ghost started, but before he could even finish his sentence, Johnny was off the bed, his ears flat against his head and his tail thrashing in anger as he took off out of the room.

“How come am ah ne'er allowed oan th' bed?”

He huffed, storming off, his tail thrashing in annoyance. Suddenly, maybe reading wasn’t so important, as Ghost felt a surge of guilt settle on his chest.

5th Time - Ghost feels bad

“Soap, up.”

He looked up at his luitenant with a confused yet hopeful look on his face. He’s never let him on his bed before. (Well, Soap has been on his bed before, but without permission.)

“Sir?” He whimpered, his eyes closing, his ears pressing against his head. His fingers came to tangle in front of him as his tail threatened to start wagging.

“Don’t make me change my mind, Sergeant.” There it was. His tail was beating against his drawers as he clambered up the bed, Ghost’s hand coming to pet the spot between his ears, which earned a muffled whine from the sergeant. Soap situated himself between Simon’s thighs as his hand came to scratch the underside of his chin, which made his back leg kick in pleasure. Ghost let out a light chuckle before Soap rested his chin on his thigh; closing his eyes.

“Thanks ye fur letting me oan yer bed, sir.”

Simon smiled, “You’re a good boy, Soap.”

His tail has never wagged so fast.

[lix-ables]

🍬⁺ ᘏ. WE ARE FOOLS — H.HYUNJIN.

❤️‍🩹🩹 mdni. flirty rivals, teasing, sexual tension, mentions of blowjobs, voyuerism, slight humiliation on both ends.

❤️‍🩹🩹 masterlist

❤️‍🩹🩹 words. 1,012.

— do leave feedback, and consider reblogging, it helps me a lot !!

watching hyunjin getting punched was something you didn’t think you’d witness today out of all days, and the satisfaction it gave you - you had to admit it, it felt good. but the last thing you expected to do today was definitely not walk over, with an ice pack cold between your fingers, and you still found yourself doing exactly that.

“i’m going to kill him for punching you before i ever got to,” you start, your lips in a thin line, handing hyunjin the ice pack, who’s eyes looked up and glared at you, like he was staring at your soul. “in all seriousness though, what did you do for him to get that mad?” you watch him hiss a little as he pressed the ice pack to to his cheekbone where you could notice the bruise starting to form. “screwed around with his girl,” hyunjin sighs, and your eyes shift to the way his long fingers held onto the pack. “more like she came onto me,” he mumbles right after and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“you expect me to believe that?” you grab the ice pack from his hand, sighing at how good it felt in your hand - with the weather being humid, you needed that pack too. “i don’t expect you to do anything,” hyunjin frowns when he sees the ice pack in your hand instead of his. “though if you want, and if it makes you feel better, you can slap me. lightly.” “it’s not going to make me feel better. c’mere.”

with the ice pack in one hand, your other grabs onto his elbow, pulling him with you in the direction of one of the nearby classrooms, your fingers tight around the material of his blue blazer. leaving him to stand awkwardly by himself, you pull out one of the chairs of the last row, motioning him to sit down and hyunjin walks over, sitting down on the chair, while watching you with intent eyes, his fingers coming to loosen his tie and remove the top two buttons.

“do you just randomly carry a concealer and brush around?” hyunjin snickers as he sees you pull out a beige coloured box, and step closer to his figure. “no, i don’t just randomly carry this, don’t be dumber than you already are, hyunjin.”

“you’re trying to get someone’s attention, aren’t you?” he pokes, a smile settling on his face - a smile that made him take a sharp breath in, his long fingers coming to rest on his cheekbone where the bruise was. “now, why would i want to do that?” you tilt your head, putting the concealer down on the desk in front of him, pushing it forward and standing in place of it, so that hyunjin was now looking up at you, his eyes meeting your own. “i don’t know, you want be pretty for someone, sweetheart. and trust me, you’re not even that pretty. maybe cute, but not pretty,” he hums, and you huff, biting the inside of your cheek, your tongue jutting out after, and you open your mouth to say something, but decide against it. your fingers reach to touch the bruise on his face, his skin is soft at your touch, you think, and before you can even realise it, hyunjin pulls you closer, his fingers tugging on the sleeve of your blazer.

“how do you expect to cover that bruise up if you’re so far away,” he mutters, his eyes not moving away from your face for even a second. “you don’t need to do this, you know,” he finishes, before keeping quiet to let you open the concealer box, taking out the microfiber sponge and dabbing it with the powder. “trust me, i don’t want to do this,” you let out a short chuckle, before continuing, “and if you don’t think i’m pretty, you still watch me in class, don’t you? i don’t suppose you’re crushing on me, hm?”

“in your fucking dreams, doll,” hyunjin grits his teeth, going back to hiss when you touch his bruise with the sponge. “oh, too bad for you, i don’t have dreams about you,” you reply, smiling. “you wish you do, don’t you? i bet you think about me, in the darkness of your tiny room, maybe oh, touch yourself at the mere thought of me?” he smiles back, his knees now touching your bare thigh, the material rubbing against your skin.

“aww, look at you. have you been thinking about whether i dream about you or not, pretty boy? and at night? how cute.”

“no, darling, but now that i think about it, you being on your knees, begging to be fucked - a sight to see, but sadly, there’s no one who satisfies you, isn’t that right?” hyunjin coos, his fingers now touching your exposed knee, and you shiver under his touch. “look at you reacting to my touch. i really wonder what you’d do if i just…”

hyunjin’s hand moves slightly higher, still staying on your knee, before you move away, your eyes glaring at him when you feel your back hit the desk behind you, almost making you trip. “go fuck yourself,” you roll your eyes at him, reaching back for the concealer, shutting it close, turning away from him, before you hear his voice behind you. “so you can watch? you have been thinking about me jerking off, haven’t you? dirty little thing - pulling off an innocent image up until now, haven’t you?”

“you wish, baby,” you turn back around looking at him, your hands resting at your waist, as you watch him come closer and closer to where you were standing. “you can only wish i was dreaming about your dick, but unfortunate for you, i doubt you can even do anything,” you sigh at him.

“say that again, i dare you,” hyunjin leans forward, his lips inches away from yours, his fingers now on your arm, his grip tight. “fucking say it again, and i’ll make sure you make good use of that smart mouth of yours, hm?”

note. the last thing i post before my mid terms started tomorrow jksadjsoid hopefully this came out well, sigh. also happy november besties !! hope you enjoy this nonetheless, it’s something different i tried aaaaaa. part 2 when I'm back i guess.

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[cicerosboobs]

Kill for your Keeper

(a gn khajiit!listener and cicero based on "the cure for madness". tw: dark brotherhood type stuff, bloody makeout)

You had favored Cicero for months, generally since you met the madman for some reason. Astrids' attitude towards him pissed you off but..you couldn’t do much about it. You had given him looks here and there. Finding out you were the Listener threw you a bit. You honestly felt bad, knowing how much he had desired to hear the Night Mothers' voice for himself.

Then it happened; He had attacked all the members in the sanctuary...save you. You WERE there, but maybe he didn't know it. Or maybe he just didn't attack you. You were sent to find him...the werewolf sitting outside in a pool of blood. ...He didn't get many words out before your jaws were on his throat, claws digging into the wounds that were already killing him to confirm his fate. When you sat up, you could see the anger in him as he faded.

The spectrals gave you little trouble; You were too focused on finding Cicero to fight, and relied on spells or potions of invisibility to sneak your way past them all to the sound of his voice. He was laughing, but sounded more panicked than manic; He was hurt. Gotta find him.

When you finally stalked into the room he was in you became visible again and he cackled, rambling nonsense with tears running down his cheeks. Something about killing or sparing him. You weren't listening. Your entire front was coated in blood and gore from your little...encounter outside, eyes gleaming, tail flicking.

He was shocked when you fell to your knees, almost squirming for his weapon, but- you not only spared him but healed him in what was genuine worry painted obviously across your features (among other things). “I-”

He jumped- But melted into- The bloody kiss you planted on him after he was fully healed, shaking, breaking apart. “You missed me that much?!” He began laughing a bit and went on about the “dumb mutt” outside. Something clicked in his head as he looked you up and down. Your eyes bore into his.

“...Did you kill him for me, Listener?”

You froze as it dawned on you that you killed for Cicero, specifically, someone you loved, for the first time. Huh. You mindlessly licked your lips, nose crinkling at how bitter that whelps' blood was.

“…I did.”

He giggled his weird giggle and hugged your head, tugging on one of your ears, and getting very…close. His voice was serious after a moment even though he stared at the blood soaking your muzzle. He hadn't bothered to wipe the blood from his mouth. “Tell me how.”

“I got mad you were hurt-” ….You made a show of licking your nose, again. He bit his lip. “I was too far gone to remember my weapons, and I..didn't care what he was saying. Everything was a blur,” With a fake snarl you showed your crimson-stained fangs, “I just bit his throat open.”

Cicero let out a squeal and hugged your head again, giggling. “OH LOOK AT YOU! Listener! You went feral for your Cicero! Like a big, angry saber cat!”

“For my Keeper. For my Cicero.”

“Oh- YES, your keeper,” Cicero mushed your snout a bit, snickering as you mock snarled. He let out another laugh before he tugged you on top of him, making you grunt and staining his entire front with fresh blood.

You licked your nose again to make him laugh, then you licked his, and he smiled. Suddenly, his face fell. Dark. Angry. …Terrifying...exciting.

“...And what about Astrid.”

Your fur spiked up, and he noticed, looking wary.

“She's dead.” You looked away. He opened his mouth but you spoke. “Not yet, but she is going to be.”

The jester beneath you jutted his jaw out and looked up, toying with your fur. For a moment he didn't say anything. “...And she is dead, dead, dead...disemboweled, gutted, worm food-”

“I get it.”

“-all for me?”

“Yes, for you.”

“And why is this.” his voice was flat, but you could tell he was very, very excited about what you were about to say.

“I love you, Cicero.”

He SQUEALED and practically crushed his lanky body to yours with all four of his limbs excitedly declaring out affectionate babble, planting his lips all across your face and at times stopping to laugh and look to the side, pbhtbthgh-ing because he had too much of your fur in his mouth. A sudden gasp got your attention and you looked alarmed.

Cicero looked a bit sheepish. “...Floor's sharp...”

With a nod you stood, guiding him up and cracking your neck. Tossing your pack to the floor you dug out a series of pelts, stacking them in an even layer. You smoothed them down and offered him to lie down, instructing him to stay while you went and scrubbed the blood from your fur before it became rancid, or frozen. Ugh. When you returned he was half asleep, and you rested beside him.

“Say it agaaaain,”

“I love you, Cicero.”

[pintsizemama]

Elf

Day 7

Summary: You have to do some quick thinking when there’s an elf emergency.

Pairings: Frankie Morales x You, Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Rating: Mature

Warnings: language, fear for a child

Word Count: 817

A/N: This is part of the Single Dad Frankie series.

Day 6 Day 8 Christmas Masterlist Main Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

A piercing scream resounded through the house. You and Frankie dropped your coffee mugs onto the table and ran towards the sound, terror slicing through your hearts.

“Baby girl?” Frankie called out as you rushed into the family room. Maria was standing in the middle of the room sobbing. “What happened? Are you hurt?” Maria didn’t answer and cried harder. Frankie knelt in front of her and gently took her shoulders in his hands.

“I need you to tell me what’s wrong, baby,” Frankie said gently. You admired his calm among the chaos. Your own heart was pounding and your hands shaking. You were worried about Maria—and you knew Frankie was too—but your husband always kept his cool in stressful situations. His military training never really went away. You glanced quickly around for Ana. You had set her in her pack-n-play before going into the kitchen to get coffee. She sat happily in the pen gurgling to her big sister.

“Christmas is ruined!” Maria wailed.

“What? How?” Frankie asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Maria sobbed louder and pointed to Ana. You looked back and a flash of red in your daughter’s hand had you moving forward. Ah, shit. She had Lucy—Maria’s elf on the shelf—in her chubby little hands, gumming at its hat. You rubbed your forehead in frustration.

“Lucy’s magic is gone!” Maria cried harder. “She can’t go back to the North Pole, and Santa is going to think I’m naughty!”

“The elf?” Frankie’s voice was gruff with suppressed anger. “This is all about the damn elf? I thought you were injured, Maria.”

“I’d rather have a broken leg than for Lucy to lose her magic!” Maria cried dramatically. “Lucy will be in so much trouble, and I’ll never get a present from Santa!” Frankie sighed. He stood up, his knees popping loudly.

“Careful, old man,” you teased him. He just shook his head and walked over to you. You carefully extracted the elf from Ana’s hands and mouth. “Ana, Lucy isn’t a toy.” Her little lip jutted out and big fat tears filled her eyes. “It’s alright.” You handed her a teddy bear that was laying in the pack-n-play. “How about you give Teddy some hugs.” Ana took the bear and promptly tried to devour its ear. Frankie was staring at the elf with malice as Maria cried behind you.

“Maybe it’s time to tell her the truth,” Frankie suggested.

“Don’t you dare, Francisco,” you warned. “We are not ruining the magic of Christmas for her. I got this.” You turned to Maria and knelt in front of her. “Maria, it’s alright. I know exactly what to do.”

“Y-You do?” Maria asked shakily, her lower lip trembling.

“Yep,” you replied. “I’m gonna call the North Pole hospital and let them know what happened. They can send up some medicine for Lucy so she can get her magic back.”

“Really?” Maria’s face perked up. “They can do that?”

“Of course!” You assured her. “Same thing happened to my friend’s elf when we were little. Just a small dose of medicine and some rest, and she was good as new!”

“Yay!” Maria cheered excitedly. “I’m so glad she’s going to be ok.” Her smile suddenly fell. “Santa isn’t going to be mad at Ana, is he? I don’t want her to get into trouble.”

“No, Santa won’t be mad,” you said gently. “He understands that she’s just a baby and doesn’t know the rules yet.”

“Ok, good,” Maria said relieved. “Ana is such a good baby. And the best little sister. She deserves presents too.” You smiled warmly.

“Why don’t you watch a Christmas movie with Ana while I call the North Pole,” you suggested. “Then we can have some breakfast.”

“Ok!” Maria bounced over to the couch and grabbed the remote. You took the elf into your room to ‘make your call’. Frankie followed you in.

“What’s the plan?” He asked.

“I’m going to grab a box and some doll blankets,” you explained. I’ll fill one of her little baby bottles with food dye and water and write up some care instructions. Then I’ll put it all in the box and smack a label on the front to make it look like it was delivered from the North Pole. Then we put it on the front porch and act surprised.” Frankie’s eyes widened.

“How the hell did you come up with that?” He asked in awe. You shrugged.

“Just came to me,” you replied.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he said softly and kissed you. “Thank you for not letting me ruin this for Maria.”

“I got you,” you said with a smile. “Now go keep them busy so I can make a mobile elf hospital.” Frankie chuckled as he walked out of the room. You looked down at the little elf in your hand. “You really are a pain in the ass.”

Day 8

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