#like you can see the fraying of that arm band

[frnkiebby]

frank and fucking b&w photography~🎃

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

For You･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Pairing | Eddie Munson x sunshine!reader

Warnings | 18+ only, 2,700 words of tooth rotting fluff, followed by 2,000 words of pure smut, rounded off with a bit more fluff, swearing, oral (male receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex because this reader is responsible.

Word Count | ~4,840

A/N | Everything I write about Eddie exposes me more than any fic I’ve ever written. And yes, I think I will talk about Lord of the Rings in pretty much everything I write about him.

I thank a god I’ve never met, never loved, never wanted, for you

Catching sight of Eddie’s van through the window, you turn the burner off and jog from the kitchen, sliding along the floor in your frilly socks, just short of slamming into the wall. By the time Eddie’s walking up your drive, you’ve flung the door open. Excitement bubbling, you can’t stop yourself from bouncing on your feet.

“Happy Birthday, Eddie!” You yell, reaching out for him as he approaches. His smile sends a little heat through you he looks you up and down in your sundress. 

He’s so handsome, dressed for the late Summer heat. You love his jacket, love how he looks in it, but there’s something about Eddie in just one of his many band t-shirts. You can see the tattoos dotted over his pale arms, his bracelets, and his chain just peeking out from the frayed neckline of his shirt.

When Eddie reaches you, he lets you pull him into a hug, laughing at you still moving up and down.

“You’re more excited than I am,” he murmurs, pressing a short, sweet kiss to your lips.

“I love Birthdays.”

“I know you do,” he nods, remembering the last birthday of one of your cheerleader friends. You’d dragged him into town to look for a gift, there all day as you hummed and hawed over every possibility before landing on what you wanted for her. You then proceeded to spend an egregious amount of time deciding on the right card, even longer writing the message. The day of her Birthday, at school, you’d brought in a green and gold cake, getting practically the whole cafeteria to sing to her as she covered her face, giggling the whole time. 

Eddie’s just glad it’s a Saturday.

You grab his hand and pull him inside, then clench your hands tight in excited little fists. He just wants to cuddle you. 

“Okay, so, here’s the plan,” you start, straightening your fingers and moving your hands as you go through each step. “I’m making your cake just now, and I thought we could have some here and do your candles and stuff, because I assumed you wouldn’t like that in public later?”

"Damn right,” 

“Okay,” you smile. “And we can do your card and your gifts here, too. Then later, we’re meeting your friends for dinner. Just pizza - but it’s within walking distance so you don’t need to drive us and you can have your first actual, legal drink. And I thought, maybe, after dinner,” you say, standing close and looking up into his eyes, tone all innocent suggestiveness. “We could come back here? Does that sound good?”

He nods with enthusiasm, smiling at your soft laughter. Cupping your face, he presses another kiss to your lips, this time letting his tongue find yours, tasting a fading earthy sweetness.

A throat clears, and you jerk around to face your Dad, his expression impassive. “Eddie,” he says. “Nice to see you.”

“You too,” Eddie answers, trying to ignore the way you’re pressing up against his side, your hand on his chest, your arm around his waist. Eddie’s praying he didn’t hear what you said just before, or how you said it.

“It’s Eddie’s Birthday,”

“So you’ve mentioned, with increasing frequency, for the last month,” he answers. “Since you’ve claimed the kitchen for the day, at least let me move through my own hallway in peace.”

“Okay, Dad,” you say, grabbing Eddie’s hand and pulling him easily through to the kitchen, where he’s greeted again by that floral, sweet warm aroma that he’d tasted in your mouth.

He sees there’s three jars of honey open on the counter and furrows his eyebrows. “I was trying to taste for the best one, but actually it makes sense if you decide.” 

“This is...for the cake?” Eddie asks, taking the teaspoon you hand him and tasting the most yellow of the three. It’s grainy in the pleasant way that honey can be, a little too sweet. You give him water to wash away the taste, nodding as he tries the next one, more runny and lightly floral. 

“Yes,” you answer, turning to switch the stove back on, stirring together milk, butter and cinnamon. “Which do you like best?” 

“The last one,” he answers, licking his lips to get the dregs of it. The darkest, a golden brown, almost woody tasting. 

You grin. “I like that one, too.” 

“So it’s honey cake?”

You nod vigorously, spooning in his chosen honey before continuing to stir. “So, you know I’m reading the Lord of the Rings books. Slowly, but I am enjoying them,” you start. “And last month I was at the bit where the elves are giving them all the supplies, and they’re trying that bread, right? And Gimli! He talks about honey cakes that, um, how do you pronounce the word for the bear men?”

“Beornings,” he supplies.

“The cakes the Beornings made. And I thought, oh that would be so lovely for Eddie! To give you food from this world you love so much.” Your eyes are bright with the excitement of finally getting to spill the whole thought process to him. “And then, when I went looking for a good recipe, in the library I found this!” You grab the open book from the counter and hold it up. The picture on the front is long faded, the plastic covering from the library barely hanging on. “This is a 1965 reprint of a British cookbook that was first published in 1899. The foreword talks about how, at the time, this was like, the go to book for cooks and housewives in England. So, Tolkien was like seven when this came out, and in his biography it says that his Mom looked after him pretty much on her own until he was twelve.” You turn from his wide eyes to take the pot off the stove, wanting to give it a final good stir before you let it steep. “So, this is, entirely conceivably, the recipe for honey cake that literal Tolkien himself ate when he was a kid! And it makes sense then, that this would be what he was picturing when he wrote about honey cakes in the book! And sure, there’s probably been improvements to the recipe in the last eighty-seven years, but I just thought- oh. What’s wrong?”

You abandon the cooling pot at the sight of him, face a little red, bottom lip quivering, fingers pressed to his eyes. You reach up to brush some of the hair from his warm forehead. “Eddie?”

“Oh, man, what the fuck,” he says, clearly embarrassed. Eddie shakes his head, dragging his hands across his face and looking up to hide the tears bubbling in his eyes. He sniffs, giving you a brave smile that breaks your heart. “I don’t-” He laughs, trying to hide the next sniffle. “That was weird, I don’t know what that was.”

“Eddie,” you repeat gently. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” he chuckles, tears building again suddenly. “Fuck!”

“Come on,” you say, all but dragging him over to the kitchen table and sitting him down on one of the seats, dropping yourself in his lap to let him press his face to your shoulder. His arms are secure around you, his fingers digging into your hip a little desperately. For a few minutes, you stroke his soft hair, taking long, deep breaths that you hope he’ll copy. 

“Don’t wanna distract you, if there’s anything you need to do,” Eddie mumbles, his fingers twitching against your skin. 

“You need to leave everything in the pot for a while for all the flavours to come together,” you assure, smiling at him happily when he finally looks at you. “And I hope you know it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“‘m sorry,” 

“Don’t be.” You press a sweet kiss to his cheek, making an exaggerated mwah sound just to hear him laugh. Then, because it strikes you that he might need to hear it, “I love you, Eddie.”

“I’m starting to believe that,” he admits, rocking you both a little before running a hand through his hair. “I’ve uh,” Eddie looks up at you, eyes wide and earnest. “Well, I’ve never had anything- Nobody has ever done anything like this before. For me. Not for my Birthday,” he explains. “Not for anything, actually.”

“It’s just a cake,”

“It’s not,” he shakes his head vigorously. “I’ve had Birthday cake, sweetheart, but this. It’s you. You thinking about me for weeks before, planning things I’d like, researching what fucking cake a British guy ate as a kid!” It sounds a little silly when he says it like that, but he continues. “And I’m excited about it! I wanna taste it so bad, for every reason you thought I would, cause you know me and you think about me when I’m not even with you and, yeah,” he laughs, shaking his head. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I knew you’d do something cool, cause you’re you, but uh, it surprised me, I guess.”

“Well, better get used to it, because this is the treatment from now on,” you assure. “Every Birthday for the rest of your life. And you know it’ll improve each year. I’m already planning your 22nd.” You play with the ends of his hair behind his head, watching a real smile grow on his face. “Actually, since we’re on it, do you know if Blackie Lawless does singing telegrams, and if so, approximately how many hours of babysitting will I need to do to afford him?”

Finally, Eddie gives you a real laugh. Not embarrassed, not trying to hide something, but genuine joy. “It’s really not that great, Eddie. I got so excited about the cake, I didn’t get anything at all for us to eat for lunch. And I haven’t planned anything we can do before dinner past opening your presents.”

Eddie grabs your head in his hands, forcing you to lean down so he can smack a kiss to your hair. “It’s my Birthday,” he says, sticking his chin out. “And I want to sit with you on my lap all day.”

“Well, I need to finish the cake first-”

“All day!” He yells, pulling you right back when you try to stand, tucking his arm under your knees to pull your feet from the floor, watching you squirm and giggle. 

Bribed with kisses, eventually he lets you off the seat, staying close to you while you weigh, pour and mix. When you’re ready with the tin, he opens the oven for you and closes it with a flourish, pleased he made some kind of contribution. Forty minutes later, the room smells heavenly, even better than it did when he walked in. You make a glaze while it cools, then suddenly you’re running to the window and closing the curtains, though they do very little to stop any light coming in.  

“Don’t look, Eddie!” You cry, even as he hears the strike of matches behind him. 

You sing to him, presenting his cake burning twenty-one yellow candles. He closes his eyes to keep the tears back, scrunching his face like he’s thinking childishly hard about what to wish for. 

When the candles are out, curtains pulled back to let the sunshine in, you sit on Eddie’s lap, holding a plate out for him to serve the first slice. The sound of the golden edge as he cuts through it makes his mouth water. Inside, it’s light yellow and fluffy. 

The way you’re looking at him when he takes a bite makes him a little nervous, but the taste of it has him yelling with his mouth full. “Jesus H. Christ, you’re a witch!”

You cackle like one, letting him offer you the next forkful. It’s nicely warm, the crispness of the edge surrounding light sponge steeped in woody sweetness and the warmth of cinnamon. 

“I’m a God damn witch.”

Your Dad appears, wilfully ignoring the way you’re sitting on Eddie as he turns the coffee machine on and grabs himself a plate. 

“It’s Eddie’s cake, Dad!”

“It’s my kitchen,” he answers, simply, your glare doing nothing to stop him from cutting himself a considerable slice. He hums through a mouthful, slurps his black coffee as he leaves the room. “Happy Birthday, son.”

Eddie slaps his chest, eyes wide with shock, throws his head around in disbelief. “You’re a God damn witch,” he repeats. 

You sip milky tea, watching Eddie opening his card, a picture of a bearded collie in a party hat on the front.

“Reminded me of you.” Your giggle morphs into a squeal when he tickles your side in revenge. 

Inside, there is a long, rambling message that covers both sides, fitting messily around the pre written Happy Birthday on the right. A list of his best qualities, a favourite memory, why he deserves everything he’s getting today. All of my love, from...xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Fuck,” he says, pressing the fingers of one hand into his tear ducts. “This is what you wanted from the start, isn’t it?”

You bury your face in his soft hair to hide your own wet cheeks. 

He’s Eddie, so as much as he appreciates the shiny wrapping paper expertly folded and taped, the sparkly blue ribbon tied in wide bows around each of his gifts, he still rips into each parcel like a wild cat. 

A paperback copy of Stephen King’s It, published just last month. Inside, a bookmark woven from red and black card you made with the guidance of a girl you babysit. A Judas Priest patch you’d bought a whole second hand jacket for, picking it off with nail scissors before donating the jacket right back to the thrift store. New white laces for his Reeboks, because both of his shoes have one aglet which has long since rubbed away, and you refuse to wait for him every time he has to tie them back up any longer. A polaroid in a metal frame. The two of you sat in the Hideout, in the same position you are now. A little tipsy, so happy. The picture is dotted with round hearts drawn in black ballpoint ink. 

“One more,” you say, hand on his cheek, and you give him a kiss that tastes like honey and milk. 

Before you walk to meet his friends, you each re-lace one of his shoes. Eddie doesn’t have his jacket with him, so he safety-pins the patch to his t-shirt in the meantime. He reads you the first chapter of It out loud while you do your makeup, then tucks the bookmark in the right place when it’s time to leave. 

The photo, he stared at, his chest sore, while you were busy clearing away wrapping paper. 

At the restaurant, he shows off every one of his gifts, relays your whole thought process about his cake in perfect detail to Jeff, Gareth and Matthew. He drinks his first legal beer and shuts down every complaint about his pizza choice because it’s his Birthday and if he likes olive and pineapple then by God he’ll have olive and pineapple.

And you don’t make him blow out candles in front of a whole restaurant, but you do sneak away to ask the waitress oh so politely, please oh please, could you just put these cake slices in the microwave for three minutes twenty seconds and, oh, could we have five scoops of vanilla served on plates, please and thank you?

She does, and you do. Jeff, Gareth and Matthew pile cake and ice cream into their mouths and thank Christ Eddie found you because this cake is fucking ungodly and you’re a witch. 

“That’s what I said!” Eddie yells.

“Happy Birthday, man,” Jeff says, later, when they’ve given him their own framed photo. The four of them, Eddie, Jeff and Matthew with guitars hanging from their necks, Gareth holding his drum sticks high in the air. 

Eddie is unusually quiet on the walk home, but you know he’s happy, and that’s what matters.

“See you later, babe!”

“Bye, Eddie! Happy Birthday!” You call out into the empty street, closing the door then stifling a gasp and a laugh when Eddie hoists you up into his arms. He tip toes up your stairs, trying to make his footfall sound like yours in any way he can. 

The TV plays on, with no sound of your Dad moving from his comfy chair. 

Your door closes, he places you on the carpet in front of him and leans down for you, holding your face to kiss you like he’s really wanted to all day. You let him press his tongue to yours, tasting a little of the smoke from the cigarette he’d snuck on on the walk home.  

Your hands are flat against his stomach, fingers barely curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. When Eddie pulls his lips from you, you run your fingers down the front of his pants, feeling him half hard beneath his zip. 

“Baby,” he says, head falling back when you drop to your knees in front of him, hands tugging almost frantically at his belt. You help him kick off his shoes and step away from his pants, feeling your panties starting to get sticky between your legs. 

Eddie can’t look at you pressing kisses to his cock through his boxers. Your giggle at his cock twitching in excitement against your lips has him searching blindly for your hair. He threads his fingers through, hips jerking to grind his aching cock against your face. His groan is too loud when your mouth opens, pressing your wet tongue to the damp spot where his tip is leaking against his underwear. When you purse your lips and suck, Eddie’s fingers tug your hair enough to make you whimper. 

“Please,” he whispers to the ceiling, loosening his grip and stroking an apology to your scalp. 

“Look at me?”

Eddie has to take deep breaths to calm himself down when he drops his gaze to you, your fingers playing with the band of his boxers for a second before you pull them down just enough to get at his cock, tucking the elastic below his heavy balls. “Mmm,” you murmur, going straight for them. You suck one into your mouth, running your tongue along the soft, fuzzy skin. You rest one hand on the back of his leg, keeping yourself and him steady. The other, you lick quickly before returning your mouth to his sack, circling his cock with your slick palm. 

You hum happily, your nose brushing the base of his cock while your hand tugs at him. “You have an obsession,” he breathes, bouncing on his feet a little to dip his balls in and out of your loving mouth. 

“I love them,” you mumble, mouth full, giving a cheeky little suck to the hanging skin before dragging your curved tongue up the thick vein that runs along the underside of his dick. You purse your lips and kiss the tip softly, hand pulling back the skin to expose the ridges of his pretty pink head. You run him over the lines of your lips, covering your mouth in the drops of cum leaking from his slit. “I love your cock.”

You gather spit in your mouth, letting it out to cover his cock before you take him in, sloppy wet how he likes it best, the sounds of your mouth on him better than his favourite album. You gag a little when his head meets the top of your throat, pulling off with your brows furrowed like you’re annoyed with yourself. You take him back in with renewed vigour, adjusting the angle and bullying the back of your mouth with his cock until you manage to swallow him just right, nose pressing against the dark hair at his crotch, your tongue trying to edge out to get at his balls again. 

You can’t quite reach, so Eddie, always the gentleman, takes a hand from your hair and grasps the base of his cock, holding his sack up for you to tickle with the tip of your tongue. 

He’s covered in your saliva when you pull away, gasping and spitting more onto his soaked, swollen dick. 

“Will you fuck me now?” You ask as Eddie tries to wipe some of the spit from your chin with his thumb. There’s too much, and he ends up just dragging it across the bottom half of your face.. His cock throbs at the pleading look on your messy face. 

“Yeah, gonna fuck you right,” he answers when you reach up to let him grasp your arms and drag you up to your feet. He presses his body to yours, pushing you back to your bed as he kicks off his underwear. Eddie takes hold of your face, licking and biting at your swollen lips more than he is kissing you. 

He feels you move, hands reaching up to pull at the bows on your shoulders, straps falling away with the top of your dress, leaving your pretty tits on display for him. Eddie’s excited mouth moves to them next, your fingers in his hair as he gives your nipples wide, desperate licks. He runs his thumbs along the undersides, digging the rest of his fingers into the soft flesh at the top. Eddie gives your right nipple a little kiss, a suck, then a cheeky scrape of teeth. You tug his hair, pulling him from you to view your little pout. “They’re sensitive, Eddie.”

“’m sorry, baby,” Eddie murmurs, the apology ruined by both his exaggerated, mocking pout and his fingers continuing to play with your tits even as he says it. 

“Need a condom,” you remind him, smiling despite yourself when he stays planted in his spot, lifting your tits and letting go to watch them bounce. “Eddie.”

“Wh- oh, yeah,” he grins, leaning down to quickly suck a little bruise into the inside of your left boob before he turns, searching for the pants he’d kicked away. In the meantime, you tug your dress down, sitting back on your bed and wriggling out of your drenched panties.

Eddie returns to you, flicking his fingers against the wrapped condom happily. He drags his t-shirt off on the way, dropping it carelessly to the floor of your bedroom. 

Getting desperate, you lean back against your pillows, and dig the tips of your fingers into your leaking hole. You open your legs to let Eddie stare at your pink slit, dragging your slick up to help you play with your aching clit. The relief has your eyelids fluttering, your button already twitching under your fingers, glad to be touched finally after you’d keyed yourself up with Eddie’s cock in your mouth. 

“Please, Eddie,” you whine, watching him shake his head as he pulls his gaze from your displayed cunt. 

“I got you, sweetheart,” he answers, ripping open the condom and rolling it down over his blushing cock with his ringed hands, your own fingers rubbing more desperately against your sex. Eddie climbs up on your bed, grabbing your ankles and pulling you away from your cushions to get you on your back below him. “Open that pretty cunt up for me.”

You mewl, bending your legs to press your feet flat to the mattress, legs wide as you reach down. You use two fingers from each hand to pull apart your sticky lips, hips jerking into the air at the caress of the warmth he’s radiating.

Eddie taps your tingling clit with the tip of his cock just to see you throw your head back, petitioning him, “oh, please, please, please,” one more time.

It aches, when he slides himself into you, opening your tight hole up for him, but the stretch feels right, just natural. You moan his name a little too loud, hands flying up to grasp his shoulders, whimpering at Eddie’s harsh, “sh-sh-sh.” One with each good thrust into your gooey cunt, his warm wet breath spreading over your cheeks. 

The drag of his cock inside you is heavenly, causing increasingly filthy sounds as your cunt gushes, easing the way for him to use your hole. “Can’t believe it’s your cunt and not your mouth that’s going to get us caught,” Eddie says, stifling a groan. “Desperate little hole, noisiest I’ve ever fucked.”

“Eddie!”

“Shut up,” he breathes, giving you your favourite ringed finger to suck on to keep you quiet. You suck happily, grasping onto his wrist with both hands to hold him there. It keeps you from moaning out, but your girlish little squeaks continue along with the dirty wet sound of your pussy.  

Gritting his teeth, Eddie pushes himself inside until his whole cock is settled in your warmth, only giving you little jolts of his hips. It’s quieter, but the tip of him is hitting tortuously against the spot inside that makes your thighs shake. 

You look up at him, in love. Eddie’s hair moving with every thrust, the edges around his face a little sweaty. His pale face is pink in the cheeks, as is his neck and the top of his chest, so pretty smattered with dark hair that leads down to  his cock. His hair is thick and wiry there, rubbing against your clit enough that it’s matted down against his skin, covered in your slick. 

“S’good,” you manage around his finger. You watch his concentrated face, eyes constantly on the move from your face to your bouncing tits to the stunted thrusts of his cock in your pussy. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says, finally dragging himself all the way out to the tip before pummelling back inside, hoping that if he just ignores the desperate sound of the springs in your bed, then nobody else will hear it either.

“Gonna cum,” you mumble, your tongue pressed down by his finger. You caress his forearm, his name coming out of your mouth funny but it doesn’t matter. He knows it’s him fucking you right. 

“I can feel it,” he grins, your hole tightening in an unsteady rhythm around him. “Your little cunt can’t get enough of my cock, huh?”

Your head falls back, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him where you need him as your hips jolt, pleasure from your clit and deep inside peaking together. 

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers at your teeth biting down on his finger, unable to care when he can feel your cunt gushing wet and desperate around his twitching cock.

You hear Eddie’s breath falter above you. He drags his finger from your mouth, grasping your face with one hand and pressing his face to your neck. ”You’re perfect,” he whispers desperately, balls pulling tight. “I’m the luckiest-” He gasps at the sweet roll of your hips under him. “Fuck. I’m the luckiest man alive.”

You stroke the back of his neck as he comes, still twitching yourself, cunt squeezing him as his thrusts slow, slow, stop. Eddie’s weight drops entirely, squishing you into your mattress but you love how close he is, his cock softening inside you. He gives your neck a gentle kiss, then another before he looks up, his brown eyes telling you he’s sated and happy. 

He gives you a goofy grin that sends you giggling, only calming when he’s pulling himself out and you sigh, missing him inside a little. You settle back, feeling boneless and tired, as Eddie deals with the condom. When he returns to you, he’s pulled his underwear back on, and he gives you his soft shirt to sleep in. 

“Good Birthday?” You ask, when he’s thrown himself down next to you and pulled the covers up to your hips, lying on your sides and staring at each other. 

“The best ever,” he answers, both because it’s true and he knew you’d sigh happily and give him a sweet kiss, your soft hands on his cheeks. 

“I love you so, so, so much, Eddie!” 

“I love you, too,” he says, looking away, still a little shy with it, but it doesn’t matter to you. He means it, and that’s all that matters. You kiss him again, humming your joy against his lips. 

Eddie lies back, pulling you into his side, your head resting on his chest, your leg tucked up over his. You run your fingers through the hairs on his torso and let the sound of his heart beat lull you.

Eddie is awake long after you’ve drifted away, reliving every moment since you flung open your door to greet him. He thinks about how proud you were, singing a little off tune, as always, when you presented him with his cake. He’d almost cried, again. Had only just managed to hold them back. He was so concentrated on it, he never made his wish.

Eddie glances at the clock on your bedside table. Still his Birthday. Only just, though, so he hopes it still counts.

You shift a little, your cheek rubbing against his chest. Eddie closes his eyes, takes a breath, and wishes.

This, her, forever, please.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Brave [8 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve struggles to lead the pack after their losses. 

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse, Fighting, Monsters, Animal Death, Violence, Mildly described gore

A/N: whew, two updates so quickly? maybe i’m getting back to my old ways (hopefully). i really hope you all enjoy, and as always, reblogs and feedback of all kinds are appreciated and always welcome! thank you! mind the warnings ❤️

It is another four days ride before you see the sun again, briefly, the shimmering circle appearing for an instant between the black, roiling clouds. It is a pale shadow of its former self—much like the pack. You number so few now that even you are aware of the stark, bare place that has been left behind by the fallen. The thick cord of riders had once stretched back into the grass sea like a formidable chain, and now it is only frayed and fragile thread. 

In the distance, the storm rumbles as if in reminder of what lies behind. 

You can still pick out the outermost bands of it; dark spiraling arms set against an even darker sky, stretching back the way you had come for uncountable leagues until it fades into the horizon. The earth is still pitted with its fury. 

Steve rides at the front. He presses forward with a persistence that leaves even the pack struggling to keep his pace. He has spoken little since the pass, regarding all but the most important of tasks with grim disinterest. You have not stopped riding since the first night, since the fire, and you wonder if he intends to allow the pack even a moment’s respite. A single rider breaks away from the loose formation, and you recognize Carol’s choppy braid from the back as she steers her horse away and forward, falling in line with Steve. 

You do not quite know what possesses you to follow suit—you bear no rank, no true role in this pack—unless you count being the spoils of war, and you do not. But you follow suit, steering the horse with your knees until you’re close enough to catch snatches of their conversation over the wind. 

“We’re off course. You know that. We haven’t seen the stars in days, brother.” 

You watch the muscles in Steve’s back go rigid, and you imagine his hands tightening on the reins. This is the first time you have ever seen anyone come even mildly close to reproaching his decisions, and you can tell that Steve takes the incursion with as little kindness as he can manage. 

“Kez fin tor tuzor ugani.” You don’t understand the harshly uttered, guttural syllables, but you do understand the way his lips curl back from his tusks, and the sharp points gleam white in the midday-gloom. Carol doesn’t back down, nor does she shrink away, regarding him as calmly as ever. Steve scoffs at her. 

“We will find our way.” 

“But will we find it before water runs out? Or food?” She gestures behind her at the pack, dutifully marching along behind them. “They need time to rest. Time to grieve.” She seems to hesitate. “You need time to grieve.” At this, Steve whips around to face her, his teeth bared. 

“Tread carefully.”

“As should you.” Carol grimaces. Dry grass rustles and snaps beneath the hooves of your horse. You wince, staring down at the reins as you will the earth to open beneath you to save you the embarrassment of your eavesdropping. It does not, and your face warms as you shoulder the weight of their respective gazes. 

“How kind of you to bend your ear, Sweetmeat.” Steve says dryly, his lips pressed into a thin, unamused line. His icy eyes fall to Carol, who looks no happier than he. “I suppose you, too, have words for me?” Suddenly, you are aware of how exhausted he looks, the way it lines his features, pressing down on him with almost physical weight. Carol is right, you cannot help but think it. He does need time to grieve. You flounder, your mouth opening and closing as your face heats. 

“O-only that w-we—the pack, I mean. They’re tired, like Carol said—”

Steve looses an irritated growl, raking a hand through his sandy hair. 

“Let me speak plainly, little human. There is law, here.” His blue eyes are dark, angry. He looms over you, even on horseback, and your skin prickles. In the weeks since you had been taken, you’d almost forgotten what it was to fear him, to see the predator wearing man’s clothes, speaking man’s language—almost. 

“Should you choose to challenge my law again, Sweetmeat, you will know the price for doing so—and you will learn that it is dear.” He inhales deeply, licking his lips like he can taste the scent of your  in the air, before digging his heels in below the saddle, and turning the horse sharply away. 

“We ride until nightfall.” The command is so loud it carries out over the grass sea, vibrating in your bones like thunder. Steve narrows his eyes at Carol, and then you. “Then we wait for star-sign.” 

—

The persistent ache in your legs and back from the days and nights spent in the saddle are enough to make you wince as you swing down from it and plant your feet firmly into the dirt. Your face still stings with heat from Steve’s admonishment, and as the rest of the pack begins unsaddling and setting up camp, you avoid him as best you can, setting up your bedroll on the far side of the fire. As you’re laying it down, Carol clears her throat behind you. 

“I should thank you,” she says, sighing. “He mightn’t have stopped if I’d been the only one.” 

You grimace, your expression souring. “You heard what he said. He sounded like—” You pause, biting your tongue. 

“Bucky.” Carol finishes it for you, and you wonder if all orcs have such an innate sense of brazen impropriety or if you have been simply blessed to meet them all in this particular raiding party. “He… Steve was chosen. Dethak. To lead us, to lead this pack. He feels responsible.” 

You scoff. “He couldn’t have known! The storm, the, the…Zhat?”

“Zhut.” Carol reaches out to press her fingers around your mouth as you attempt to imitate her, unyielding even when you flinch. “Yes.” She nods when you have repeated it satisfactorily, but then her face falls as she is reminded of the pass. 

“And… yes.” Carol sighs. “He could not. But would you not feel responsible? Burying only the idea of your kin?” She pats your shoulder, and then tugs aside what remains of your sleeve to look at the wounds bandaged beneath. “Let’s get these cleaned, shall we?” 

—

It’s past dark by the time you shoo Carol away, gritting your teeth as you reassure her that you know how to change the dressings on your own. She’s worse than mother. You shrug back into your dress’ single remaining tattered sleeve, regarding it with only a moment’s worth of regret. It is the last thing that remains of your home. It’s fallen into ragged disrepair, now, The bodice shredded down to the under-layers, your legs visible between the surviving strips of cloth that now form your skirt. Once, you would have been terrified to feel the grass trail against the skin of your calves for fear of being stoned for your wanton sin—but no one remains in the village to cast stones at you now. 

You’re sitting down on your bedroll when you feel him, your skin prickling as Steve approaches you. You have never been quite so aware of anyone before, but Steve’s gaze always makes the hair at the back of your neck prick up. He clears his throat. 

“I would speak with you, Little One.” You clamor back up to your feet, your cheeks stinging. You prepare yourself for more harsh words, staring hard down at your tightly clasped hands. “I would… apologize. For my words.” You can tell he does not enjoy humility. “You spoke against me out of desire to protect the pack, and for that I cannot fault you.” You peek up at him from between your lashes. 

“I admit did not look forward to your punishment.” You reply, and he snorts. 

“Ah, we come to the truth of it. Stubborn, aren’t you?” Steve chuckles deeply. “With an attitude like yours, Sweetmeat, I expect you knew the village stockade quite well.” Your cheeks flush with heat, but it doesn’t stop your lips from pressing into an irritated line as you glare at him. 

“This is a rather poor apology,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you glare back toward the camp. A fire rages at the center, and the scent of cooking meat is carried over by the cool breeze. You turn back to him, and something akin to lightning zips up your spine as you find him staring at you. 

“Then I am sorry for that, too.” Commotion draws both your attention. 

“Look, sky!”

“I see sky!”

You look up. The air above still swirls with misty clouds, but it clears with each passing moment, starlight pricking through the black. In the village church they told you that those were Halith’s eyes—thousands and thousands of them, gleaming like diamonds in pitch. The eyes through which she looked down upon the world, through which she would cover it in her light. But you did not feel Halith’s presence in the church, and you do not feel it here in the grass sea. 

Your mother had told you they were something else—other places, other worlds. Other lives, and when you died, you got to go up into the sky and see them, one by one forever if you wanted. 

Your father called it heresy. 

“What are they to you?” You ask, and he hums. “The stars.” 

“The ones who came before.” It is the first time you’ve seen the sky clear in days, since before the pass. 

“Like heroes?” You ask, and Steve shakes his head. 

“Not quite. Those who have done right by the people, by the clan—they rest there.” He points. “That, there? It is the handle of an axe, is it not?” He asks, and you tilt your head, squinting.

“I suppose?”

“It is Molroch’s axe, the blade that split the sea so that the grass could grow.” It is as though the hard years melt from his face to reveal the boy beneath. “He led the people well.” There is a sour note you can taste in his praise.

“It’s not your fault. What happened in the pass—you must know that. It isn’t.” You do not realize you’re touching him until you are, your hand brushing the skin of his arm before you snap it back. 

For uncountable seconds, the only sound is the shifting of the grass around you. Steve turns back toward the camp, his large hand warm on your shoulder. 

“You should rest.”

“You should too.” He does not answer you, squaring his shoulders in a way that tells you that the conversation is finished, at least for now.

[aka-indulgence]

A Kraken’s Rage

So after making this post I’ve decided to make it. Here’s a kraken, angry because someone stole his wife >:(

————

The rain beats down on the deck, the sound of crashing rain and storm surrounding you. You hear men shouting as the ship rocks back and forth. Your dress is soaked. If it kept you warm before, you’re cold now. The chill bled right under your skin down to your bones. You shiver and shudder uncontrollably.

I’d rather be tied up under the deck…

You strain against the thick, rough ropes that tied your middle. You were hoping that, maybe with the rain, you’d somehow be slippery enough to slip out of them. Of course that wasn’t the case- you felt stupid. You wanted to itch your arms so bad, the rope was horribly coarse and whenever you moved the frayed parts would scratch your skin. You grab onto the rope with the edges of your fingers and pulled at it, to no avail. None of the men were paying you much attention, too busy attending to the ship.

Except for one, apparently.

“Ay lass, why don’t ye stop your strugglin’,”

Your face sours as the captain of the ship walks over to you, back straight and shoulders wide, like a soldier. And just because he mentioned it, you try twice harder to pull at your ropes, trying to throw your weight around to no avail.

“I see ye keep struggling fer hours now. Why don’t ye give to the sky? Yer not gettin’ out of them ropes. They’re tight, I made sure of that.”

You growled at him. “What are you doing paying attention to me? Isn’t the captain supposed to pay attention to his crew and make sure this ship doesn’t fall apart?!”

He laughed. Oh you hate him, you hate him so much. You hated how he looked at you. His band of pirates raided your seaside town and he had the gall to ask you to be his wench. Of course you said no, but the big man apparently got offended by a little woman saying no, and dragged you to his ship. You’re not sure what he’s planning to do to you by the end of this, but he does enjoy causing your displeasure.

“Never been on a ship while the storm be raging? This here ship ‘as handled just fine. Ye on the other hand might run off an’ do somethin’ stupid again.”

You shut your eyes and muttered under your breath. “Please… save me Sans.”

“Who be ye prayin’ to, lass?” You opened your eyes and decidedly looked away from the captain. “I’m surprised ya ‘aven’t abandoned hope. No one can save ye. Ye can’t save yerself less than throwin’ yerself overboard.”

You flinch when you hear the sound of a sword being drawn, and the menacing glint of the captain’s sword close to your neck. You strain against the rope, trying to keep your distance.

“Unless ye want me to end yer voyage right now.”

“N… no…” you whisper, gritting your teeth, shuddering in fear this time.

The captain’s chuckle was stopped when there was a sound, off in the distance.

It was no thunder, and though you don’t think you’ve ever heard something like it, you felt a shiver up your spine. Like the sound of landmasses creaking before they split apart. You’re sure the men felt it too, because all of them stopped what they were doing, their voices falling silent. Even through the rain and the waves, you could hear your breath. The captain turns his head towards the crow’s nest and yells.

“Wayland! What it be!?”

“I-I don’t know sir! But there be something in the water!”

“Going to need more than that there, Wayland!” The captain growls. The rest of the men have run to the railing, trying to get a better look.

“I-it’s coming… It’s huge!”

Everyone collectively yelped when something bumped into the ship, sending a couple of men off their balance. The captain himself grabbed onto the mast to steady himself. The men still at the railing start to yell and curse, throwing themselves off and towards the middle of the ship.

“It’s a foul beast captain!”

“Then what be it?!” the captain shouts, getting impatient.

The men get increasingly frantic as another sound shakes the whole ship, this time much clearer and closer. It rumbled deeply, as if the ocean itself was growling at the ship.

There was a moment where everything went quiet, and all you could hear were the crashing waves, and the rain.

…

A wail rips out of the water, the sound of a hundred grieving whales. Then, tentacles the size of redwood trees split the waves, slamming onto the deck and taking a tight grip on it, sending a couple men flying out of the way.

Your mouth opens. The captain murmurs under his breath.

“No…”

“KRAKEN!!” Wayland cries, as a tentacle wraps around the mast above him.

“I see that now, Wayland!” The captain growls, as he runs off to bark orders at his crew.

Your heart pounds as a familiar skeleton hand digs its fingers into the deck, causing it to splinter and crack under it. A skull rises out of the water, big red lights in his sockets swimming red with rage, the monster gritting his teeth, staring at everyone on the ship. He rises halfway up his ribcage. His eyelights scan over the scene, looking at every person until you meet his eyes. In a blink, his expression changes, eyes turning into a familiar seafoam color.

The unmistakable sound of his purr cuts through the screams of the panicking men for a moment.

“Sans,” you breathe.

A ‘small’ smile widens on his mouth, and you see a tentacle approach you- before someone slices their sword into it.

Sans cries, the sound as loud as thunder. His eyelights shift to red once more, glaring at the man who’d done it, still attached to the hilt. He grimaces, sending a wave down his tentacle, flicking both the man and the sword off as if he was merely a mosquito. He slams down both hands on both sides of the ship, making it look like a toy.

He shrills, his voice rippling through the air and no doubt striking fear down to the pirates hearts. A voice booms through your mind.

YOU

TOOK

HER

AWAY

FROM

ME!

Screams erupt. Chaos takes over around you as the men try to fight off his tentacles with guns and swords, to no avail.

Your jaw goes slack as you watch them get tossed around like ragdolls. You squeak when a man gets slammed down next to you, his sword thrown out of his hand as a tentacle weighs heavily on him, before he gets wiped over the deck. He snatches them one by one, throwing them off into the raging skies. You see a man’s cry end as he gets choked by the tentacle constricting him.

One man’s scream fade as he’s picked up high above the sea, in front of Sans’ snarling face. His mouth opens, revealing the sharp monstrous teeth, like sharp rocks below the cliff, and he lets out a sky-splitting shriek, drowning the sounds of the man. Lightning strikes, coloring the sky white and leaving their silhouette as black as night.

You hear an awful crunching sound, then silence.

Rain trickles down your face like a river, from your forehead, over your nose, down your cheek to your chin.

Ahead of you, liquid falls to the deck. It isn’t rain.

The portside of the deck has been ripped off.  A tentacle grabs onto the bowspirit and snaps it off like a twig. His shadows move and dance over everyone. A lot of men have resorted to retreating below deck.

This… this Kraken’s Rage… his anger, the tentacles hooked on the ship, making it creak beyond what it’s capable of…

This was all for you. Maybe you should be afraid like the men much bigger and stronger than you, running for their life. But all you felt was wonderment for Sans, who had miraculously found his way to you.

The storm surged along with the kraken. The ocean a deep teal and the sky dark gray. Thunder crashed as he cried. It was as if he was the storm itself.

“W-whoa!” you exclaim, as the ship starts to rock back and forth so violently, that a wave crashes over the deck, seawater spraying your face.

“Sans! Help!”

He turns to look at you, and reaches with his hand. A finger as big as tree bark start to claw and pick at the ropes, until they split apart. You stumble out of your bindings and make your way to his hand, when you hear a yell.

“Fire in the hole!”

Your heart drops as the world slow downs for a few seconds, a cannonball shot at Sans’ ribcage.

“N-no!”

Fear strikes you, as you worry for a moment that your beloved kraken had just been shot through the chest with a bullet. It hits his rib and you hear an awful crack. Sans wails like a whale that’d just been harpooned, and your jaw falls as he falls backwards.

… But it doesn’t last long.

He growls, a flash of red in his sockets, and his fingers run through the starboard, the men falling with their cannons. You look over the side, seeing how long it takes for you to hear their splash. You swallow. The ship was bigger than you thought it was.

You shake your head, looking away from the water, and back to Sans. You make for him, but before you could get his attention, a pair of hands close around your arm.

“Agh!”

“Yer not going anywhere, lass.” You grit your teeth when you realize the captain’s dragging you away from what’s left of the rails.

“What are you doing?! Your ship’s a wreck, you should abandon ship!”

“We might ‘ave a fightin’ chance if we can get farrr away from that there beast ‘o yers. He might stop if he sees he might hurt ye…”

“Urgh… let go of me you scoundrel!”

You go back and forth from the captain, struggling for your life. You stomp the captain’s boot, but that only gets him to curse and pull you harsh enough that it felt like he’s trying to twist your arm off. You yelp, hating that despite using all your effort, the captain was still too strong for you to escape.

Luckily for you, there was someone far stronger than him.

As soon Sans saw what was happening, he shrieks, bringing both of your attention to him. His eyelights had locked on the hands on you, and that set him off. He let out a continuous high-pitched gurgling sound, and before the captain could unsheath his sword, a hand had slipped in between you and him, separating the both of you. The captain roars in frustration- sounding like a helpless seadog compared to Sans- eyes widening when a huge shadow looms over him, a tentacle posing to strike.

He manages to dodge at the last second by scrambling out of the way as it hits the deck like a cannonball. The cracks and crunches as the tentacle continues downwards makes it sound like it reached all the way to the bottom. You peek out of Sans’ fingers.

“Ah, ye missed me ye foul beast!” The captain shouts triumphantly. You grit your teeth and brace again Sans’ finger, wishing you could fight him yourself.

The captain celebrates too early, however, as the planks below him creak under his weight and cracks, screaming as he falls down the floors of the ship.

You see a flash- water was quickly filling the ship. Without further ‘encouragement’ from Sans, the rest of the men were jumping into the water.

You’re raised to Sans’ shoulder, and he lets you climb onto it. You fold, clinging onto his neck, as Sans lets out the last of his frustration, ripping what’s left of the ship into splinters, the sails falling and some screams going silent as he drags the ship under the waves.

You pant, shuddering in the cold, as you see the ship turn to nothing but frothing bubbles and driftwood. Sans puffs his chest out, as if he’d just taken down a competitor.

A speck moves in the water- and the captain surfaces, flailing onto a piece of wood. His moment of peace is quickly broken by the snarl Sans emits, shaking the air around you. As the captain looks up, a tentacle raises above him, and it sways from the base up to the tip. He thrashes his legs, trying to swim out of the way, crashing down on him like a wave, surely crushing him under the water.

He won’t be bothering you anymore.

Sans stares down, bellowing a steam of breath from his mouth. There’s a group of men on a tiny lifeboat, but Sans pays them no mind. He turns around, and they yell when a tentacle drifts near them, sending a tiny wave that rocks their boat.

The storm was merely showers now, water dripping from your hair.

You were still so cold, shivering every few seconds.

There’s an inquisitive sound in Sans’ trill. He picks his hand up close to you and lets you climb on, and you practically hug your knees to keep yourself warm. You’re grateful when he covers you with his other hand, shielding you from whats left of the rain. And his hands were starting to feel warm… like there were little flames in his palms.

His eyelights dilated. As he tries to get a better look of you, you get a clear vision of his eyes. Those seafoam orbs look so kind when they look at you.

He trills again, sounding like a mix between a dolphin and a baby whale. Timid, checking you. It’s hard to believe that your gentle giant really was the same kraken from legends that have brought many to their watery dooms.

“It’s… it’s ok Sans. I’m ok, I’m ok now. Thank you.”

He didn’t need to speak in your mind for you to understand. He purrs, as gentle as lapping waves on the shore. He smiles as sunlight penetrates the heavy clouds and the drizzle fizzles into nothing. He brings you to his face and instinctively you take a step closer to press your cheek to his.

Mmm… he’s so warm.

The sun starts to warm you and though your hair and dress were still soaked, they weren’t dripping as much anymore. Your skin started to dry. Your breaths are shaky and you smile.

You kiss him.

“Thank you, Sans…”

[coneyislandbabey]

well, my boyfriend's in a band. -> e.roundtree

WARNINGS: maybe some profanities

SYNOPSIS: Nobody thinks the thing between you and Eddie can be as pure and real as you say it is. word count: 1,323

NOTES: written for this request!

A lot of people talked about you and Eddie, now that you were publicly together, but none of them knew what they were saying. They spun the story like it was as old as time, unchangeable, inevitable, as sure a disaster as whatever or whoever they were comparing you to in the moment. Him, a rockstar, high on the enormous tide of fame and cocaine, a man who could have anything in the world at the snap of his fingers. You, a couple of years younger, elusive writer from the Los Angeles scene, enigmatic partier– naïve, obviously getting taken for a ride.

It never occurred to any of them that a man like Eddie Roundtree could be truly, inescapably gone for you. Why devote yourself to one girl when you could have as many as you wanted at any time? People had been asking that question about Billy Dunne for the Six’s entire career, and they couldn’t believe another band member was making the same ‘mistake’. Fame should mean freedom. As if getting to give your all to someone and receive their all in return wasn’t a kind of freedom in of itself.  

Let them talk. What difference did it make to you? 

When you stepped onto the tour bus, the afterparty was already in full swing. You hadn’t been able to catch the show because your flight had gotten in too late, but it didn’t matter; you’d be joining Eddie on tour for the next few months, so you had plenty of shows in your future. All you cared about was getting to your man. You located him sitting on the far corner of the couch, squished in with Graham and Warren and Warren’s girl of the night. You had spotted him before he spotted you, and you took a moment to take in the face you hadn’t been able to see since the tour started. His warm brown eyes crinkled in laughter, the sweep of his burnt sugar hair over his forehead. He was so beautiful it made your breath catch every time you allowed yourself to drink him in like that. 

“(y/n)!” Warren shouted, being the one to notice you first in the fray of the party, pointing to you with one long finger as if the shout wasn’t enough. Eddie’s head whipped around, and his mouth stretched into the widest grin at the sight of you. You returned the smile with your own, squeezing through the small, packed crowd until you landed right in his lap. 

Eddie’s arms instantly went around your waist, hands settling warm and solid on your lower back. Yours went loosely around his shoulders, your head dipping down to a well-received kiss. His eyes were bloodshot and he was half gone to whatever booze and drugs he’d done already, but even through the haze of inebriation they were settled on you. 

“You’re here, I can breathe again,” he said, voice lazy. He was leaned all the way back, head resting on the window behind him, like it was the first time his body had been able to relax in weeks. You lifted your palm to his cheek, rubbing your thumb gently along his lower lip, curved up in that little smirk of his. 

You bent your face close to him so that only he could hear you. “Missed you, too, baby boy.”

Eddie leaned over the side of the couch, and when he came back up he was holding his lighter– red, engraved with his name in gold, a gift from you shortly after you had started dating– and a joint. He lifted the joint and you took it in your lips, he grabbed your chin and held your face gently with his guitar-calloused fingers as he lit it for you. You took a long drag, exhaling only after the joint was between Eddie’s lips. 

Eddie’s hands went back to your waist, skimming up beneath your shirt and skating across your spine. The whole time he’d been away and you’d been stuck in Los Angeles without him, you’d felt unmoored, but you hadn’t realized the extent of it until you were finally back in his arms, back with your anchor. This was where you were meant to be, and Eddie felt that just as much as you did. 

The next night, you stood in the wings with Rod watching the band play. They were all mesmerizing in their own ways, especially, of course, Daisy and Billy singing together, but your eyes never left Eddie. He always exuded confidence, but never more so than when he was onstage, and it was intoxicating to see. He wore that cocky smirk on his face, the one that either made you want to smack him or kiss him and nothing in between, his body moving as one with the bass. He’d never wanted to play the instrument, you knew, but god did he play it like it had been made specifically for him. 

Any chance he got, his eyes were on you, even onstage, even in the middle of a song. As the song came to an end, he caught your eye for the hundredth time that night, bringing his hand to his mouth and blowing a kiss into the wings for you. You laughed, pretending to catch it and press it to your heart, making him grin before he had to turn away and start playing the next song. 

“That guy’s got it fuckin’ bad for you, huh,” Rod observed, and you snorted. 

“Mm, he better,” you nodded. 

Eddie made a beeline for you as soon as the show was over, shedding his bass on the way and scooping you up in his arms. You squeezed him tightly, laughing as he picked you up off the floor and spun you around. When he set you back down on the ground, you grabbed his face and kissed him, skin warm from the lights and exertion everywhere you touched, hair sweaty where your fingers tangled with it at the nape of his neck. 

“You were enthralling,” you told him once you had pulled away. 

“That was my best show so far,” he said, “Had to pull out all the stops because I knew my girl was watching.”

“Well, you really blew me away,” you laughed. “But you blow me away every time, you always will.” 

You two skipped the afterparty that night, instead heading straight to Eddie’s hotel room. You needed just each other, alone, away from the hecticness of tour. You wanted Eddie all to yourself, you always did, and Eddie would give you as much of himself as he could at every chance, just as you did for him. That’s why you found him so easy to love; he knew what you needed from him, and was nearly tripping over himself to give it to you. 

The next morning, you were in a diner with Eddie catching a quick breakfast before the buses had to leave. Your eyes scanned the newspaper rack in boredom as you waited for your food, and your mouth drew up into a smirk as you spotted something familiar. 

You grabbed the tabloid and turned, showing it to Eddie. On the front was a photo of him on stage from the night before, eyes turned towards the wings, hand extended mid-gesture as he blew you a kiss. A smaller photo was superimposed in the corner, catching the two of you walking out of the venue later that night, your arm looped through the crook of his elbow as you walked back to the hotel. The headline was something invasive and completely false about your relationship, but you ignored it. 

“They love to talk about us,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

“These pictures are pretty good, actually,” Eddie said, grabbing the tabloid to get a better look. “I should get in touch with them and ask if I can have some copies of ‘em.”

tag list: @eonnyx

[astroboots]

Hi, can you please do 10 and 29 with Marc Spector for the kinktober requests? Thank you!!

Summary: Marc decides to punish you by making you sit still on his cock... it's not as much of a punishment as he seems to think it is.

Content: cock warming, forced orgasm and (light) breeding kink. Explicit as fuuuuuuuuck with a capital F

MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT FICS | KINKTOBER

He's still hard. Thick and imposing inside you as he keeps you seated in his lap on the sofa.

Marc's already come once, and as tightly as your cunt is clutched around him, spasming around the hardness of his length, you can still feel the warmth of him trickle out of you.

He must feel it too, because the next thing you hear, as his come is dripping out of you and over and down his cock, is a rasped gasp, then, "keep me inside baby."

All you can respond with is a whine and a nod. You try to squeeze down tighter, but it's no use, your legs have gone numb, and as you feel yourself flutter around him, wetness spill out of you. Whether it's your slick or his come, you can't even tell anymore.

You've lost count of how many times you've come, your frayed mind losing track after the fifth (or was it the sixth?) orgasm he had mercilessly coaxed out of you with his practised fingers and demanding thumb pressing right against your clit.

Marc is unforgiving today.

He's not letting go of you. One arm locked tight around your waist like a metal band whenever you've tried to squirm away from him from the overstimulation with each successive orgasm.

He's not letting you move. Every time you squirm or try to raise yourself or sink down further on his cock, that stubborn set of his jaw gets even more determined as his fingers sink even further into the plump flesh of your hips, the firm grip hard enough to bruise.

He's not letting you rest. His right hand is already snaking its way from where it's resting against your inner thigh, to where his cock is nestled snugly inside you.

"M-Marc," you manage in protest.

Despite his previous warnings and instructions, you shift in his lap out of sheer habit, hips lifting to arch away from the overwhelming sensation, only for his muscled forearm to tighten around your ribs.

In front of you, those gorgeous brown eyes narrow in warning.

"Thought I told you not to move, didn't I?" he breathes with a low simmering husk that sounds like simmering fire in his throat. "We wouldn't be here. If you'd just listened from the start."

He's still mad about that.

Of course he is.

You open your mouth to retort, but before you can jumpstart your brain, drunk on orgasm, to come up with a clever comment, gravity shift and his hips pull up from underneath you.

There's not even the courtesy of a handful of seconds for you to readjust or regain your bearings, before he drives up into you, deep and thorough, as far in as he can go, until his cock is kissing that perfect spot inside you that has your vision turn into a blinding white.

Your arms fling around the back of his neck, holding onto him for dear life as the thrust drives any remaining oxygen from your lungs. Instead of any words, the only response you have for Marc is a strange, squeaky little sound.

"Never listen," he bites off, with a gruff groan. It's not the first time he's accused you of this, and it's not going to be the last.

"Always so stubborn," he grits out, which is the most pot-calling-the-kettle thing you've ever heard. And if it wasn't for the perfect way that his cock was filling you, preempting the left hemisphere of your brain responsible for language and speech from any functioning brain cells to respond, that's exactly what you'd tell Marc this second.

But you can't. His cock is dragging out of your tightness until you can feel the remnants of his come, slippery and wet, leaking a long line along your inner thighs.

"I told you to stop moving," he groans as he punctuates his rebuke with another thrust.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but it's no use. All you can see behind the darkness of your eyelids, is the image of yourself riding Marc, greedily grinding down on his cock, chasing after your pleasure and desperately trying to bring him to the climax of his.

"Told you to wait," he reminds you, with a pained pinch between his brows that is an all too familiar deja vu to how you landed yourself in this predicament to start with.

Too similar to how he’d looked, seconds before he realised that he was going to come and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The way his fingers had desperately clutched onto your hips, willing you to stop.

But you had been too far gone. Too drunk on the blissful sweet drag of his cock.

The ache between your thighs too sweet.

The beautiful vulnerable expression on Marc's face too tempting.

So you didn't stop.

Instead you'd lifted your hips, ignoring the burn searing your calves as your strained muscles were screaming out for a rest.

You'd taken what you needed from Marc with every long, fulfilling thrust. Canted your hips with a forceful pace, that had left your thighs trembling from exhaustion. Revelled in the blissful stretch of him, thick and hard inside you, as your pleasure throbbed hot and white inside.

You'd ignored Marc's reprimanding moans, as he was alternating between bitten off curses in threats and sweet ‘baby’s as he'd resorted to pleading and then warning you he wouldn't be able to hold on and you needed to stop. Ignored all of it, knowing full well that Marc can hold a grudge for a very, very, long time.

You didn't stop. Kept going, power drunk, as you'd seen him bare that graceful throat of his and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Mesmerised by the way his thick lashes fluttered before his whole body stilled, tensing, and he let out the most beautiful moan you've ever heard in your life as you felt his cock pulse inside you, spilling into you thick and warm.

You were so caught up in the sight of him that your own orgasm caught you by surprise. Pleasure, ripe and overfull, fizzing through your veins, fast and electric, and you had come so hard you couldn't remember your own name anymore.

Everything is a bit of a blur after that. Breath coming in sharp and fast. The room spinning around you. You were too lightheaded and overcome with the force of your orgasm to keep track of what was happening. All you can recall is that by the time you'd come to yourself, you were on your back, staring up at the white of the ceiling. 

Marc was towering over you. His eyes narrowed, lips set in a grim line. The anger was so potent, you could practically feel it radiating out of every line of his form, and every instinct in your own body was pinging out that you were in danger.

If your legs hadn't been rendered into jelly from riding him at the pace you did (a demise entirely brought by your own making), you might have tried to make a run for it. Instead, all you could do was lay there as he stared down between your legs, watching his come leak out of you with unwavering attention. His thumb came up to push it back inside you, leaving you whining and trembling at the pressure inside you. 

"You know you're in trouble right, baby?" was all he had said before his warm palms clamped down on the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart. He’d pulled you back into his lap, languid fingers clenched tight around the plump flesh of your hips, with a firm grip that was hard enough to bruise.

Marc's idea of punishment is to make you fall apart with his hands. Fingers circling around your clit, over and over, refusing to let you give him any pleasure while he drowns you in yours.

And he’s right in part. It is a torment to not be able to reciprocate, but being the centre of Marc's attention in this way is hardly the effective deterrent that Marc seems to think it is.

With each orgasm, you melt in his hand, wanting more, needing more of him. Your body sinking into his lap, trying to take in every inch of him that you can and more.

You're drunk on him. Addicted. You don't think you could ever get enough of this.

Opening your eyes, you notice that he's still looking at you. Eyes softer now, almost indulgent in this moment. He's waiting for an answer from you, you realise.

Fuck, what was he saying? You don't remember.

Even if you had, it wouldn't help you now. Words are still eluding you, your brain’s cognitive functions severely limited right now, rendered dumb by the feeling of him inside of you. If he has any issues with that he should bring it up with his cock.

"Think you can do that?" he repeats.

You can’t answer. All you can do is stare up at him with wide eyes, blinking away the tears that are stinging behind your eyes from overstimulation as his thumb is circling slow lazy patterns on your clit again.

This time, as if he knows that you must've missed what he said, Marc leans in, until his lips are brushing against the apple of your cheek, pressing a kiss there before he continues.

"Want you to keep it inside this time, baby," he murmurs into your ear as he presses a succinct kiss to the shell of your ear, sending a shiver through your spine. "Can you do that for me?"

And fuck, when his voice goes sweet like that, like hardened sugar that’s melting over a low flame, you can’t resist him.

You're lucky he's never asked you to commit murder, or jump off a building with that register of tone, because you're pretty sure you would. Without an ounce of hesitation, you would do anything for Marc if he asked you that sweetly. 

"Yes, Marc, yes, I can,” you nod frantically, promising, “I’ll keep you inside this time."

There's a warm huff of breath against your bare skin, a quiet laughter from him that makes you shiver with joy.

"Good girl," he praises you, and when he pulls back, just enough that he can press those soft lips against your forehead, it feels like a prize. 

If this is your reward, you'd gladly take your punishment from him.

Dedication

To @thirstworldproblemss. I am so lucky to have this amazing ball of sunshine as my friend. I was not in the best of places last week and when I had exhausted myself to an inch of my life, you lifted me up like I was that eternally crashing boulder and you were Sisyphus and rolled me up that ever downward slanting hill. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for listening to my absolute insane madness and rants when I'm unhinged and tired and should really have gone to sleep like 18 hours ago. Thank you for holding my hand when I'm having meltdowns. Thank you for safekeeping my WIPs when I go insane and decide to delete them all. Thank you for being my safe place. I adore you.

[superblysubpar]

I Was Next To You, And You Were Right There Next To Me:

a best friends to lovers story - steve harrington x fem!reader

steve & reader's playlist | summertime magic masterlist

9.7k words

warnings: see masterlist for general warnings about reader plus she's established as not a fan of camping in this chapter - PS if you don’t know what a koosh is you are too young to read this - 18+ only babes! | nothing too crazy this chapter - mentions of alcohol and drugs being used / illusions and talk of masturbation / slight graphic warning about injuries (descriptions of blood and scary things and what not - this part is kind of angsty and ends not so fun, it might get your heart beating so sorry...)

📻 Now Playing: Brandy (You're A Fine Girl) by Looking Glass

"...already almost 80 degrees out and only growing hotter, folks! I don't know about you but I cannot wait for Newby Waterpark to open on Monday! Hawkins' newly renovated downtown is sure to bring in..."

Radio nudged lower as you sigh, flopping onto your pile of clothes that lay atop your baby blue comforter. The familiar tick and spray of a sprinkler outside mingles with children's laughter, the wheels of skateboards and bikes kicking up gravel. The grind of a lawn mower wafts the fresh scent of the cut grass through your window. Yellow curtains flutter in the warm breeze and the lilacs from the Harrington's backyard linger in the air. 

The sun is just rising, those cotton candy pink and sherbert oranges breaking through the white puffs of clouds above the homes that line the already bustling neighborhood that sits along Cornwallis.  

Summer - the first official day of it.

Your last summer in Hawkins for the foreseeable future most likely, and you're spending it working. It is important, you know this, a summer job is needed to show future employers that you didn’t spend your summer sitting on your ass - that you had ambition and drive and all the buzzwords. But how are you having to make adult choices like this? What happened to carefree summers filled with melting popsicles and no schedule other than the movie theater’s? How does it all look the same but feel completely different?

The embroidered daisies on your comforter are frayed, older, and have lost a bit of their shimmer like the girl who resides beneath them every night. Your walls are littered with the past, with memories and reminders of what could have been and what happened instead. The light bulbs in your lamps are milky, dim with minimal use the last few years, posters of bands you no longer listen to illuminated by them. 

It's not all old and coated in a bittersweet taste only the past can leave in your mouth - some things are new. Like the clothes you are currently laying on, carried to and from your new home back to the childhood one you somehow seek to get away from and stay in until you die. Your bulletin board now littered with reminders for the summer, to do lists, a few Polaroids of the only reason you came back one more year. 

Like the boy can hear you thinking about him, you hear the familiar plink of something hitting your window. Sure enough, as the radio trills out the beginning notes of 'Brandy (You're A Fine Girl'), you loll your head to the side to find him with his arms folded on your windowsill, a perfect smile above the chin resting on them. 

"Well, well, well, would you look at what summer dragged in." Steve's grin only grows wider at the roll of your eyes. He clambers inside the open window, still all too broad of shoulders and clumsy limbs, never quite figuring out the best way to enter despite years of practice. He dusts his hands off on his jeans before they rest on his hips satisfied. 

Some things about Steve Harrington have never changed in the almost 20 years you've known each other. He's still got jeans, a shirt, and shoes that match perfectly - clothes that are in with the latest trends. Everything in the Harrington household wrinkle free of course, and smelling like the same laundry detergent that costs a dollar seventy five more per bottle, but Vivian Harrington insists is the best. He's got the same old watch on his left arm that his grandfather gave him, but the leather band is a little more worn, it fits snuggly on his tanned wrist now. Of course, there's the hair. The only difference with that being the way he learned how to style it, and you suppose it's darkened a bit over the years - caramel and honey to match his eyes. 

Steve squints at the walls of your bedroom in the low lamplight, remembering how he helped you tack up posters and frames years ago. His nose scrunches before his tongue sticks out on the right side as he reads something on your bulletin board. He turns his head to glance over his shoulder at you, large hands dragging over a few of the textbooks you brought home.

"Missed you, city girl." His lips twist up into the familiar smirk under the unfamiliar scruff of what appears to be a mustache he's trying to grow. 

Your favorite pillow squished under your arms as you roll to face him, kicking your legs up. You watch the way his eyebrows furrow but his lips twitch at your quiet, "Missed you too, small town boy." His chest aches a little from the way you say it, like you really did but somehow didn’t at the same time. 

Steve's always been a nickname guy, these one’s his newest favorite all because of an obsession you both have with Journey. He had insisted on changing the lyrics, that it was your song, it made total sense. Although, Buttercup might be his lasting favorite and most used - because of your favorite song and his favorite movie of course. 

He spins, resting himself against your desk, and raises his eyebrows at you as you both sit in not quite an uncomfortable silence. It’s never awkward exactly, this reunion between you and Steve, but there’s always something different when you come home now. 

When you were little, a mere few hours apart had you running towards each other shrieking about who missed who more, Steve lifting your toes off the ground in a hug without a second thought. Now, months apart, and it felt like the air stilled, like there were words hanging there for both of you to say or hear in the silence but neither of you did or could. Despite phone calls to each other as much as possible, the truth was, you both had lives apart from one another now. It always took a second for your gears to line back up, a little oil in the form of jokes and awkward small talk until it was the well running machine your friendship had always been again. 

Steve’s fingers tap at the wood underneath them as he clears his throat, a stray piece of hair falling across his forehead as he ducks his head, feeling silly for the question he asks, “Um, can we…hug?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” You scramble off of your bed, tripping a little on the pile of shoes you dumped out last night. 

He catches your fingers and rolls his eyes, “Why are you apologizing?”

Humming as you shrug your shoulders and his arms wrap around you. A hug from Steve was something you wish you could have kept bottled up, pulled out while away at school on the really bad days and held until everything felt right again. They were warm, safe, and reminded you of Steve sharing the last brownie in the tray with you no matter what, of holding hands on a roof while you wished on shooting stars, and they always seemed to turn the world back on its axis when you felt like it was all a little off kilter. Maybe you didn’t have a plan or any idea what the future held, but his arms around you always had a way of reassuring you it’d all be alright and work out in the end. 

Your palms wrap up and underneath, pressed just under his shoulder blades and his go over, enveloping you so your face lies against his chest. It’s easy, like riding a bike, and it’s always the first piece of the machine that starts working again - or maybe the only piece that never breaks. You inhale deeply, relaxing into the other part of Steve you wish you could bottle for rainy days. There’s something about the way he smells, like his toothpaste and expensive things like leather, but it’s more. Maybe it’s rain right before a sunset, or the woods you explored as kids, you’ve never been able to put your finger on it. It’s just Steve, and no other boy has ever come close to smelling as good. 

He clears his throat and you realize you’ve had your nose pressed between his pecs and your body heats up, letting your arms drop. Stepping backwards, you look anywhere but him as your fingers become restless, “Sorry, just missed you, smell good.”

Why the fuck did you just say that? Best friends don’t tell each other they smell good, Y/N.

Steve’s smile is cocky, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks turn a little pink as he quips, “I smell good?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him to your closet, searching, thinking quickly on your feet. “I meant, your, uh, detergent,” looking over your shoulder and smiling, “You’ve got the good stuff over there, was thinking of stealing a bottle in August, Viv won’t mind right?”

Steve laughs a little as he flops onto your bed and your shoulders relax - crisis averted. The invisible line Steve and you had never crossed aside from that one kiss in middle school still drawn in the metaphorical sand. “No, no, I’m sure she’ll blame me or the housekeeper. Actually,” he tosses the pink and green ‘Koosh’ from your nightstand into the air as he continues, “She’ll probably think whoever’s sleeping with my dad took it.”

You spin, wincing and biting your bottom lip, “Shit, I didn’t want you to find out this way…”

“Oh, fuck off!” He tosses the neon toy at your head and you laugh, motioning for him to turn away as you hold up your swimsuit.

He sighs, hands over his eyes as he grumbles something about his dad, faltering when he hears clothes hitting the floor but recovering quickly. You roll your eyes - boys are too easy. 

Your summer uniform of a baggy shirt and jean shorts back over your swimsuit and you stand in front of him. Painted bright red toes tapping his shoe as you smile widely while you tease, “I mean, your dad’s not unattractive-”

Steve’s eyes shoot open as he sits up, voice hoarse, “Stop.”

Shrugging your shoulders and having too much fun at the way Steve’s ears turn red as you continue, “One time, he had on these pair of jeans, which is weird for your dad, you know? And I remember thinking: huh, Mr. Harrington’s butt looks-”

Steve’s hand is over your mouth, body on top of yours as he pulls you onto the bed and rolls. His lips fight a smile, twitching as his eyebrows furrow over his eyes that sparkle. Greens and golds shimmering in the morning sunlight as he leans in closer and whispers, “If you care about me at all you will never, ever finish that sentence.”

Raising your arms under him in surrender, Steve slowly removes his hand from your mouth, eyes watching you carefully. Steve’s warm, his weight against yours comforting and your mouth feels a little dry at the thoughts running through your head. Maybe this was a good time to tell him you weren’t coming back. That it was time to move - on, away - it was time to grow up and you wish he would with you. 

“Ohh, Dingus!” A voice sings from below your window. 

Steve winces as you frown and he gets up, rubbing the back of his neck, mouth opening to answer the question before it even leaves your mouth. 

“Steve, why is Robin here?”

He drops his head in defeat, fingers squeezing his neck as he sighs, “Okay, so I know, it’s your first day back, and we have our deal, but she had too much of this coconut cherry I don’t know what it was last night and well her parents are out of town and…” he keeps going and you sigh. 

You don’t dislike Robin, in fact, you really love her. Sure, you were a little jealous at first that it took Steve all of a month to find a new best friend when you left for early admission that summer. You hate that she was there for him and you weren’t. You hate that they all share a bond you’ll never know because they’ve been here in the hell hole of Hawkins, together, and you haven’t been. But, you’ve learned how to put yourself in a different category - you’re a different kind of friend, and that’s okay. You can share Steve. 

Except on your first day home. 

A rule you both made up in ‘86. The first day back for the summer was yours and Steve’s only. It’s catching up and eating too much junk food, laying by his pool and cooling off with movies before heading back outside to start it all over again. It’s stealing his mom’s good wine and ordering pizza. It was yours and no one else’s. 

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Steve’s finally finished whatever excuse he’s come up with and he stops, shoulders slumping, “You’re mad.”

Forcing a smile, you tuck your hands in your lap and shrug, “No.”

He groans, waggling his finger, and you have to cover your smile and he has to shake his head at the thought of how much he looks like his dad when he does it. “Don’t lie, I know you, Buttercup.”

Standing, you open your door and head down the hallway and shrug your shoulders. “I’ll get over it, of course Robin can hang out with us Steve.”

He starts to follow you out after clicking off your lamp, glancing at your bulletin board again and the picture of him, saying something about making it up to you. Waving him off, halfway down the stairs and looking back up at him as you grin. “Well, why don’t we call it even? You invited Robin to our hangout and I,” you blow out your breath and smile, “Well, Steven, I think your dad has a cute butt.”

Steve gasps but you’re already down the stairs as he chases after you and out the front door shouting something about please for the love of god take it back. Your gleeful, ‘never’ through a peal of laughter and a shouted ‘Hi Robin! Missed you!’ as you race towards his backyard is an image he wishes he could snap a picture of and keep forever. 

The radio still plays, the oldies station drifts out of your window and he glances up at it as he runs by, missing hearing it every day. 

📻 Now playing: Working For The Weekend by Loverboy

Murray stared at you unimpressed, a click of his tongue before the clack of his fingers returning to his keyboard, eyes moving to the screen as he mused, “You’re hungover.”

“I’m not.” A lie, a blatant lie. You didn’t think you’d ever been more hungover in your life to be honest. 

The alarm next to your bed had been slammed off by a large palm this morning, Steve grumbled from his diagonal position across your bed, something about how he couldn’t work, not today. Your bare foot kicked his shirtless and freckled shoulder, somehow your head ending up at the foot of the bed and his on your pillow all night. 

“Steve,” your tongue sat heavy in your mouth, thick and desperate for water. You smacked your lips together and whined, stars still blinking behind your eyes as you kept going, “You have to drive me, I don’t have a car.”

“I hate you,” he moaned, morose, like he was in physical pain - maybe he was. 

“I’m not the one who shoved whiskey down your throat all night!” You kicked at him again and he caught your ankle and hoisted it in the air without opening his eyes. Your yelp interrupted when something below your eyeline squeaked.

Tilting your head back in a grave mistake, you cursed, pushing yourself into an upright position, palms and fingers clinging to your comforter in search of stability since the room was spinning and Steve tugged on your foot with a whine that must have meant to stop moving and shaking the bed. The whiskey pusher in question curled up on your floor under a pile of your clothes instead of a blanket. 

Cups upon cups to your lips that tasted like peaches and cherries, Robin’s amazed and shocked voice still clear as day in your head as she shouted about how you couldn’t even taste the alcohol.

Steve and you had barely made it into the parking lot, clutching your clipboard and tugging on the strap of red spandex that dug into your shoulder. Ignoring the snickers and comments as the two of you practically fell out of the car together, hair unwashed and smelling of alcohol, exactly one minute early. 

Murray doesn’t believe you. You know it, he knows it, and the staff waiting just outside the door knows it. So he simply peers over his wire frames at you, handing over a clipboard and a scoff, “Okay, and I’m the mayor.”

You turn on your heel and his voice calls after your retreating form, just loud enough for everyone to hear, “Puke in the pool and Harrington and you get double shifts for the whole month!”

The too large for you raybans slide over your eyes as your face heats up at the whispers from the staff. Sandals clacking too loudly, swimsuit and athletic shorts too tight, your forehead dotted with sweat and expelling the alcoholic demons from your system before the sun has barely started its climb. This was all wrong and you clear your throat, determined to still turn the day around. 

“Good morning!” your voice squeaks and no one really stops talking. 

Steve’s eyebrows furrow at the crowd, mouth opening but you beat him to it, making sure everyone knows you’re in charge and not him - much to his dismay you’re sure. Repeating yourself a little louder, “I said, good morning!”

Everyone stops then and you go through logistics of lunch breaks and rules that all waterpark attendants need to follow, ending on, “Oh, and absolutely no making out in the supply closet.”

A girl you don’t recognize starts to raise her hand and you tack on, “Or the concession booth,” and it quickly drops. 

Steve starts to laugh, covering it with a cough into his fist as every employee glares at you. Tommy Hagan smirks like it’s a personal challenge, Andy rolls his eyes, Heidi blows a bright pink bubble of her gum and snaps it loudly as Carol scoffs. Rolling your shoulders back and letting the whispers of ‘pathetic’ and ‘jealous’ from the girls who peek at Steve bounce off of you. All another reason you didn’t want to come home again, the looming sign of ‘jealous best friend’ or ‘hey look at me I’m the third wheel!’ always above your head. 

“Alright! Assignments!”

Sheet flipping on the clipboard, you rattle off names and positions, staff talking amongst themselves until you tell them where to go, leaving in pairs. Andy argues with you about how he wanted the concession booth and your reply of that’s too damn bad earns a whistle from Carol and a wink from Tommy, mumbling something about ‘feisty’ as the two boys slink off to the obstacle course part of the park.

“Sinclair!” you shout and both teens step forward, smiling at you, “Both of you on slides.”

Their smiles drop immediately and Steve twists his lips up and you know he’s preparing to argue with you, to let you know that this pairing probably wasn’t a good idea from the way the two teen siblings glared at each other with disgust. 

“I wouldn’t-” Steve began and you interrupted.

“Harrington, I got it.”

“Right.”

Everyone left in the small circle lets out quiet oo’s, like he had just been told to go to the principal’s office. Rolling your eyes, you suppress your groan because of course he’s next on the list. 

“Harrington!”

His eyes sparkle and he stands up straighter, “Yeah, boss?”

Everyone’s lips twist and you recall your note he stared a little too long at on your bulletin board vowing to make him call you just that. 

Keeping your voice cool, you reply, “Lessons. Byers and-”

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve’s voice interrupts you again and you push his glasses into your hair, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“What now, Harrington?”

Steve steps forward, voice dropping as his eyebrows pinch together, “You’re not seriously putting me with kids all day long? Lessons? As in swimming lessons?”

Your clipboard drops to your side, hip cocking as your chin rises in a challenge, “As a matter of fact I am, do you have a problem with it?”

Steve narrows his eyes, raising his brows and hands, surrendering as he backs away, “No problem here ma’am.”

Steve heads off towards the pool, turning and miming how you were going to pay, finger pointing and then drawing a line over his throat as he shakes his head with a smile so you know he’d get over it eventually. You slide his sunglasses back over your eyes, newfound energy buzzing through you as you smile and keep going, “Right, where was I…Byers…”

Your body collapses onto the bench of one of the picnic tables. The sun is just breaking past its highest point, a layer of sweat glistens on your skin, your sandals new and unbroken and you kick them off, your arches relaxing into the hot cement. So far you’ve only had to put out small fires - a first aid kit delivered to the lazy river where a kid tried to belly flop into a tube and missed; an unfortunate cleaning incident in the kiddie pool that Steve was gonna make you pay for no doubt; an actual fire in the concession booth where Argyle tried a new snack invention out against Jonathan’s warning, and separating Lucas and Erica after she shoved him down one of the water slides headfirst. You hate that Steve was right. 

His voice pulls your attention, and you glance over at the deep end of the pool where he stands. He swipes water from his eyes and his teeth are almost as bright as the turquoise water reflecting the sun that ripples around his tanned and toned waist. He stares up at the six year old with yellow floaties wrapped around her arms where she fidgets near the edge of the pool. 

“Alright Bailey, so when I say three, you’re gonna jump.”

“Kay,” she shivers, unconvinced, pink ruffles on her swimsuit blowing in the breeze as she frowns at him. 

A line of a few more kids behind her wait their turn and Steve yells ‘three’ excitedly, holding his arms out. 

Bailey doesn’t move a muscle. 

A boy behind her groans, “Mr. Steve, she's not going to do it, she's too scared!”

Steve points at him, “Hey, I seem to remember someone being afraid of me taking my hand off of them to float by themselves Jack.” Steve wades over to the edge and smiles, “Bailey, you can wait to jump, but I bet you’re gonna have a blast once you do. I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

She pouts, eyes filling with tears and he reaches up and squeezes her hand, “Hey don’t worry, we have all summer. Watch some of the other kids try it, okay?”

Bailey nods and moves out of line as a flash of red fills your vision.

Murray towers above you, arm extended and dangling a can of coke that drips with condensation in front of your face. “I’m impressed, kid. You run a smooth ship,” he gestures with the can towards you, “For your hangover.”

Your fingers curl around the Coke, mouth parting to argue and he holds up his hand, “Spare me. If not for that then to soothe the heated lust you have for the Harrington boy.”

He starts to walk away, your nose wrinkling at his choice of words before you realize what they actually imply, shouting, “I don’t-”

“You do!” Murray’s arm waves, interrupting you as he disappears back towards the front offices.

“You don’t what?” a familiar voice says as it plops into the seat next to you. Your frown replaced by a wide smile. 

Eddie Munson sits with his head back, lips pulled over his teeth in a way that shows off his dimples, big brown eyes crinkling in the corners. He’s somehow still in jeans despite the heat, legs spread wide as he leans against the wood tabletop behind him. Pale arms revealing his tattoos in all their glory thanks to the roughly cut band tee draped across his form. He places a cigarette between his lips, lighter raised and you pluck it free, ignoring his scoff of protest. 

“You can’t smoke here!” Snagging the pack he had thrown onto the table and holding it away from him, “Besides, I thought you said you were quitting?”

He groans, “That was two years ago and before I started working with that prissy-”

“You’re in fucking love with her, admit it,” you roll your eyes, pushing Steve’s sunglasses onto your head as you give him a knowing look.

“I hate her,” he waves a hand, dismissive as his cheeks turn pink and he looks around the park.  

Your thumb swipes over the top of your Coke, wiping the condensation with a loud laugh, “Okay, I don’t believe that for one second, Eddie. I don’t understand why you can’t just-”

“Tell her how I feel? Well, sweetheart, I could ask you the same thing about a certain next door loverboy, couldn’t I?”

Your mouth clamps shut and he leans forward, face close to yours, “Not so easy being on the other side is it?”

A brown sack falls in front of the two of you, both of you looking up to see Robin disappearing towards Steve with a wave of her hand. Steve smiles at the two of you, water clinging to his body, chest hair curling and sticking to his skin, red swim trunks that contrast his bronzed skin - pulling on and highlighting certain things that make you have to look away.

Steve pushes a hand through his hair as he watches Eddie lean closer to you, a smile on both of your lips before yours falls. 

“For your drool,” Robin quips as a white and blue striped towel is shoved in his face. 

“M’not drooling,” Steve mumbles under his breath, pushing his face into the towel and trying to even his breathing. 

“I don’t understand you two.” She shakes her head, stealing a chip out of his lunch bag that he yanks from her with a pinched expression taking over his features. 

“There’s nothing to understand because-”

“She’s not staying in Hawkins and I am, I’ll only hold her back, Robs.” Robin finishes with him. 

He glares at her, unamused and she steals the bag of chips again, walking back out of the park, mumbling under her breath, “This is going to a long fucking summer.” She calls back over her shoulder, “Eddie! Break’s over!”

Eddie flips the sunglasses down on your eyes and nose as he stands, knocking Steve’s temple lightly with his knuckles as he passes. Steve and you watch your friends leave the park, and he sits in front of you, water dripping onto your feet as he steals your Pringles and you smile at each other. 

Blowing your breath out of your nose, you take a big bite of your sandwich. Steve shoves a handful in his mouth and speaks around the chips, “What’dhedotostopsmiling?”

PB and J thick in your mouth, you shove it into your cheek as you ask, “Wha?”

Steve shrugs, chewing and rolling his eyes as he gestures to his mouth too full to speak and you both start laughing around your bites of food, leaning into one another.  

Both of you relax, swallowing and breathing normally again. He clears his throat, taking a sip of your coke before he taps the table, “I said, what’d he do to make you stop smiling?”

“Oh,” your fingers pick at the crust on your sandwich as your brows furrow, “Uh, we were just talking about that girl he works with is all.”

Steve hums, “So…you’re jealous?”

“What?” you laugh around a sip of Coke, wiping at your lips, “Of her? No.”

Steve snaps a carrot between his teeth before frowning at it and grabbing another Pringle from your bag. He fiddles with the carrot as he replies, “She’s pretty,” he speaks around the singular chip easily this time, “We went on a date a few weeks ago.”

Your eyes roll as you mumble around the sweet bread that smells like honey, “Of course you did.”

Steve straightens, tone annoyed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shoulders rolling as you mirror his posture, “Just…you go on a lot of dates it seems s’all.”

It’s quiet for a bit before he nods once, fiddling with the paper bag, “It’s not like it was serious you know, just like, fun, you do remember how to do that right?”

Your eyes roll as he spins a cherry tomato and asks, “Have you even gone on any dates lately? Feel like you never really talk to me about it anymore.”

“Oh,” you swallow a grape and shrug, splashes in the pool louder, the sun above you hotter as you try to focus on anything other than him, “Um, not really, nobody really asks me?”

Steve scoffs, leveling you with a disbelieving look, “Honey, now I know that’s not true.”

“Yes it is!” you protest.

“Luke Bishop asked you out for New Year’s and you said-”

“Well, that’s different. That’s guys in Hawkins, I don’t want some small town…” your voice trails off as he purses his lips, realizing what you’re saying.  

Steve’s hot, he’s hungover, and he’s hurt and that’s the only reason he says, “Well, maybe you’ve got a stick up your ass because people in the city don’t know how to have a good time. Maybe you should try out the small town thing for the summer, have some fun - you used to like it.”

Your mouth drops open, “Um, first of all, you’re kind of being an ass. Second, are you seriously telling me I should hook up with guys all summer?”

“Yeah, guys. Multiple. All summer long. Go nuts.” He waves his hand nonchalantly. 

“Fine, maybe I will.” 

“Great, I hope you do.” He smiles, tight lipped and pulls the sunglasses off of your face and pushes them onto his, throwing a grape in his mouth. 

Steve doesn’t say anything more and neither do you. Does he really not see how you feel? Is that really what he wants? To see you with other people, to let you move away while he stays in the same town dating the same people, never growing, never changing, never leaving? 

Maybe it’s just those gears sticking, they need more oil, they need more time. 

He starts to stand and you grab his wrist, hating how your stomach feels and the look on his face, “Hey, can you take me to Rick’s Motors tonight? I’ll buy you a milkshake?” You bat your eyes and try to smile, making your tone light again. 

He stands, “Can’t, sorry, I have a date. I gotta go. The twelve year olds will start drowning each other by the diving boards if I don’t get over there.”

You watch the girls of the park, high schoolers, staff, and even the moms follow his retreating form like lions stalking their prey. His words ringing in your ears as a green monster battles with the whiskey in your stomach for the thing that’s making you more nauseous. 

Maybe Steve is right, and if he insists on dating the entire population of Hawkins instead of you, perhaps you could have some fun with someone else for the summer. 

📻 Now Playing: Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey 

Hoisting yourself up onto the windowsill, you hold your breath when you hear voices coming from his bedroom. 

Wait, not voices, singing, and a…sigh? Oh fuck, is that moan? Oh god, you are seriously not about to see your best friend having sex! You are seriously not hearing your best friend have sex! If this is karmic irony for telling him his dad’s butt is cute you take it back. 

Since Monday, Steve had been gone every night on different dates, like he had something to prove. Like he needed to fill his time with any person that wasn’t you.  

You knew it was silly, a summer Friday night, of course he had a date. He saw how you shrugged and said it’s fine at work though, squeezing your fingers before walking away. The machine was not a well-oiled one again yet, and you were determined to get it back on the right track. 

You had told Rick to fuck right off when he claimed he had no recollection of your deal made over winter break. Before he was hastily calling you sweet thing when you shoved the open envelope that was bursting with cash back into your bag and sighed, claiming to find someone else who’d want the money instead of him. 

A blanket on your front lawn as your parents cooked and relaxed inside, your brand new baby sitting in the driveway. As the sun turned from gold to orange and it dipped behind the houses though, you gave up waiting to show it off for Steve. 

The sky turned blush, then lilac, then the same color of your new car. As the moon started to outshine the fading sun, his maroon BMW finally pulled into his driveway and you grabbed your chucks by the laces and climbed out your window as quietly as you could. 

You had been sure you watched Steve walk into his house alone, but the sound of the groan mixed with Tears For Fears playing quietly made you doubt yourself completely. Your foot slides on a shingle, a quiet ‘fuck’ falls from your lips and a louder ‘Hello?’ comes from inside. 

Your shoulders hunch, your eyes squeeze tight as you cry out from your precarious position, “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain! I’m leaving, I-”

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice hisses, closer, and you peek one eye open. 

Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed together as he sees you balancing like you’re on a surfboard and not on the roof of his garage with one eye open. He’s half leaning out his window - shirtless, black boxers slung low on his hips, cheeks rosy and hair ruffled, oh god you totally interrupted sex. 

You look down at the roof, body hot as you try to scoot further away, “I- I wanted to hang out, but you’re busy, and-”

“I’m not busy.”

Your head whips up, taking in his appearance again and you tilt your head to the side, “You’re not?”

His expression turns confused, “What, no,” extending his hand out towards you, “Will you please come over to the window, I don’t trust your balance right now.”

You start to crawl towards him, thoughts running a mile a minute as your fingers lace with his and he pulls you through the window, grumbling, “You could have used the front door.”

“You never use the front door,” you stick out your tongue as your hands drop, fingers untangling themselves and he spins, heading to his closet. 

Steve’s sheets are rumpled, the radio playing quietly and his clothes leave a trail from the door to his bed. When you see the bottle of lube hastily shoved under the shirt by the nightstand you spin on him, “You weren’t busy?”

“Do I look like I was busy?” His head pops out of a yellow sweatshirt. 

He yanks on jeans, bouncing a little as he pulls them up his hips, eyebrows raised in your direction. You pretend to be interested in his dresser as you shrug. “Maybe just your hand.”

You whip your head over to look at him dramatically, his fingers stop on his zipper as his head shoots up, cheeks flushing darker and you gasp. “Oh my god, you were masturbating with your window open. Steve Harrington you dirty, dirty-”

His hand is over your mouth, his eyes are closed and his shoulders slump, “Please, please can we never speak of this again?”

You tap on his fingers and he peeks his eyes open to find you raising two fingers in a Scout’s honor, eyes sparkling above his hand as he lets you go. Your other fingers twisted behind your back to cover your tracks for lying because you absolutely plan on bringing it up again. 

It’s quiet, his stereo plays and he buttons his jeans, your bodies too close together. That stilled air is back again and you need to do something to break it so you whisper, “Do you want me to let you finish or are you good to go?”

He groans, hands sliding down his cheeks as he spins and leaves his room. Your feet are loud as you chase after him, skipping down the stairs, both of you jumping over the last two.  

“So it was a bad date, I take it? No, uh, happy ending?”

“I’m not hearing this, I’m not listening, this isn’t happening…” he sings to himself under his breath, heading out his front door. He stops in front of his car when you start to head back towards your house, “Where are you going?”

Spinning, you hold up your new set of keys and smile, “Oh, I thought I’d drive.”

Steve’s smile is brighter than the moon, but it does not last long when you barely make it to the woods that lead to Lover’s Lake and you quietly mumble something about the AC not working. 

“I hate to break it to you, Buttercup, but Rick sold you a fucking lemon,” Steve’s tone is clipped, annoyed you had gone car shopping without him and bought something because it was cute and your dream car - safety and properly functioning be damned. 

You hoist the Quick Mart bag into the air and crawl onto the hood, patting the spot next to you. Waiting until he sighs, scooting up the pale blue paint of the VW Bug, pretending to not be curious about what you have in the bag. 

“Well, if you keep talking about my baby like that I’m not gonna show you what Rick gave me for the AC not working…” 

“Better have been the keys to the lot cause the piece of shit he so-”

You pull a joint from your bra and he stops, glancing down into the open bag on your lap to see chocolate milk and gummy worms and he smiles, “Oh, fuck yeah!”

He reaches for the joint and you hold it above your head, eyes sparkling, palm on his chest. “Take it back.”

He drops his head back, looking up at the stars that slowly dot the sky, becoming brighter. He mumbles up to the heavens, “Your baby is not a lemon.”

“Thank you.” Ripping the bag of gummy worms open as he lights the joint. 

The gears are oiled, the smoke in your lungs and the looser inhibitions kick start the machine and soon you’re shooting chocolate milk out of your nose from laughing too hard and ripping gummy worms in half for wishes. 

Your head rolls, the cool blue metal beneath your cheek as you take in your best friend’s profile. His cheeks are hollowed as he inhales, dark scruff lining his jaw that’s more angular than it used to be, the slope of his nose fitting his face better. The curve of his fingers on hands that are a size that fits his body now, if not still big. Steve turned into a man somehow in the last few years, but as he passes the joint to you while ripping a gummy worm between his teeth, you see why it’s hard for him to move on, the boy you know from your childhood still there at his core. 

“Hey, Steve?” you whisper into the evening air, cicadas buzzing around you loudly, your summer mixtape playing out of your car’s open windows. Passing the burning paper back to him again.

“Yeah?” 

“So you masturbate fully naked, huh?”

He coughs around his inhale, head smacking the hood and you cackle, both of your sounds echoing across the lake. 

Steve groans, snuffing out the end of your fun as he sits up, “Well, that settles it. You’re definitely too high.”

You sit up as well, arms wrapping around his, “Oh, come on, Steve, Steven, Stevie,” he looks down his nose at you unamused as you tug on his bicep, “I’m your best friend, am I not?”

He sighs through his nose, thick fingers fiddling with the chocolate milk cap, “Yeah, of course.”

“So, as your best friend, I think I have a right to know.”

“No, you don’t. That’s not how this works.”

“Who says?”

“I say.” Steve flicks your temple and you blow out a raspberry. 

You lay back against the hood and stare up at the stars, finding The Big Dipper first before you search for answers in a greater world than you’ll ever know. 

Steve stares out at the lake, his knees drawn up and arms hanging over them. You wonder if he’s thinking the same things as you. That it’s all too big and there are too many unanswered questions. Maybe he needs a distraction, the weight to be lifted just like you do, just for one more summer. So you smile and push it further, the weed making you a little more bold. 

“I’m usually a shirt and panties gal myself.”

Steve’s breathing stops and you smirk, head tilted back as he lets out a breath that sounds shaky before looking back at you. 

You grin, hands resting on your stomach, as the heel of your converse drags on the hood, pulling your knees up. “Naked is a bold choice, why-”

He falls back against the hood again, hand grabbing yours and squeezing, “No more masturbation talk, I beg of you. I’d rather talk about my dad’s ass at this point.”

You lace your fingers through his and he rolls his eyes at your smile, both of you turning your attention back to the inky sky. 

It could be seconds, minutes, or hours that you sit there in silence, but it’s not the awkward, stilled kind anymore, it’s the kind you yearn for with other people. The kind of silence that’s simple and more powerful with the things unsaid than spoken. Your chests move in time together, slow breaths in and out, Steve’s thumb brushes against your skin in a way that has the high making every nerve in your body hone in on it. Steve starts singing along quietly to ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’. 

“What should I name her?” You pat the car with your other hand. 

“Stevie?” He smirks. 

“Ella? Doris?” 

It’s quiet for a second and then Steve turns his whole body, resting on his side, “How about just ‘Baby’?”

You mirror his position, smiling at the Dirty Dancing reference and agreeing, “It’s perfect.”

“For a smile they can share the night, it goes on and on and on and onnn…”

Steve clears his throat and traces his fingers along the metal beneath him absentmindedly, “I know why you like that movie so much.”

You roll to your back again, avoiding his gaze, “Because Patrick Swazye is a total hottie, of course.”

He hums, “Mmm, well, sure, but it’s cause of the actual dirty dancing in the one scene.”

Your body heats up, hands and legs fidgeting and he leans over you, finger in your face, smug and gloating, “Aha!”

Swatting his finger away with a groan, “Shut up!”

“Oh, so you can bug me about masturbating, but I can’t tease you for liking a little sexy dancing in a movie? What’s that about honey, huh?” His fingers are on your waist, jabbing playfully and you wheeze for air, laughing. 

“I give, I give, I surrender!” Swatting at his shoulders until his fingers stop. 

You’re both breathless, Steve’s eyes in front of yours, blocking out all of the stars - there’s only him. His lips part, tongue licking over his top one as he glances down at yours, bodies warm against one another. 

He whispers your name and you think that maybe something bigger is going to happen. Maybe all of those stars that shot across the sky with a promise of wishes fulfilled are finally rewarding you. 

“Well what do we have here?”

Andy’s voice rings through the night and Steve and you scoot apart from each other, glancing up to see half of Newbys staff and more holding cases of various booze and boom boxes as they walk past you and down to the shore. 

“Hi, Steve,” a tall blonde wiggles her fingers at him as she passes and you hop off the hood. 

Robin and Eddie change the pitch of their voices as they steal both the candy and milk when they run by. Waggling their fingers at him mocking, “Hiii, Steeevvee.” 

Steve throws a pinecone at Eddie’s head with impressive aim in the dark and smirks when he yelps. 

Tommy passes by with Carol and he looks you up and down in a way that makes you feel slimy, “Is Princeton Princess gonna come remind everyone why even the wannabe King of Hawkins couldn’t get her?” He pouts, “Or is she still pretending she’s too good for all of us?”

“Fuck off, Hagan!” Steve and you moan while flipping him off in sync. 

The bodies of your peers all disappear, the sounds of guitars and bass are louder than the ones coming out of your car, and the ember’s of a bonfire match the woosh you hear as flames catch and logs are lit. 

The first summer bonfire.

“Who calls pong first?” a voice shouts. 

Steve sticks his tongue in his cheek as he looks at you, raising his eyebrows. A silent conversation of how you could go back home, or you could have some fun and forget that you have to work tomorrow. 

You race each other to the sandy beach and at some point his hand slips into yours and pulls you along faster as he screams, “We’re first! Move, Munson!”

📻 Now Playing: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

“Robin, please I’m begging you, literally anything else.”

She pauses from where she restocks the cassette shipment, eyes narrowing at the wall as she tilts her head, seeming to think over your request before looking at you seriously and tapping your nose. “No.”

You groan in frustration and grab the Red Vines off the counter and stalk towards the front door, her shout calling behind you, “Hey!”

“Sorry! Red Vines are for birthday girls who are willing to negotiate!”

Her co-worker’s laugh leaves the store with you while the bell chimes overhead as the door slams shut. The tough licorice candy is no match for your teeth as you growl into your bite and Steve hands over the cherry slurpee left over from the movie with raised eyebrows. 

“She didn’t go for it, huh?”

You kick a rock down the sidewalk before sitting on the curb with a huff. 

“You know, I think it’s gonna be a lot of fun…” he starts again.  

Your glare is white heat down his spine as you rip into another Red Vine. 

“Camping, Steve. Camping! It’s going to be like 80 out and there’s bugs and rocks and, and trees, and-”

He laughs, hands covering his face, “Oh my god, it’s barely outside of Hawkins and what happened to the girl who used to go worm hunting with me? The city has changed you, Buttercup.”

The slurpee sucks through the straw loudly, gaps in the red sugary drink making you hollow your cheeks more and Steve feels his own cheeks and ears turning the same color as his tongue. He pulls it away from you, “Alright, easy tiger, I think he’s had enough.”

Your forehead falls against his bicep with a moan. Steve wraps his arm around your waist and squeezes. “I promise, you’re gonna have a great time, you’re going to be begging to go on more trips just like it.”

That’s how you found yourself in the middle of an Indiana State Park on the last weekend in June - glaring at your best friend. 

Steve’s lip is between his teeth, baseball hat turned around as his fingers rub his temple and he looks down at the rough sketch of the map he had sworn was an exact copy of the one at the trailhead. 

And maybe it had been, four hours ago. Before you both sweat through your clothes, before his canteen leaked and made the sharpie and lined paper look like a monster.  

“We’re lost?” You venture, palm swatting at things that fly at your sweat soaked neck for the fifth time in less minutes. 

“No, no, not lost, we’re-” Steve squints as he looks at the two wood arrows pointing in opposite directions and back down to the soggy paper. 

Sitting on a boulder, another five minutes pass before Steve finally drops the useless map with a curse and looks at you apologetically, “Yeah, we’re lost.”

Your head falls into your hands, fingers ripping at your hair before he snaps his fingers. “Oh! The walkies, I’ll try to explain where we are and…” 

You hop up, scrambling pebbles and pinecones under your feet as adrenaline fills your veins for the first time in hours at the hope of getting back to the campsite. It wasn’t your bed, but it’s something. 

Steve turns the dial of the walkie and you wait for static, but nothing leaves the tiny speaker. He clicks it again and then shakes it violently in his hand, “You. Stupid. Piece. Of. Shit!”

“Steven,” your head looks up at the sky, a deep breath through your nose, “Are there batteries in that thing?”

It’s far too quiet and Steve fears for his life tonight. Not because you’re lost in the middle of the woods, but from the look you’re giving him. 

Your hands shove at his chest once, “Steve! I listened to you swear to Henderson that thing had fucking batteries in it-”

“I thought there were! He’s always getting on me about them, because I did it to him one time, the little twerp is such a-”

Shoving at his chest harder, you scream at him, “We’re gonna die in the fucking woods because you have a tough guy complex and have to make sure everyone knows you’re cooler than a seventeen year old and-” you break off into a sob and shove him harder than the first two times and he stumbles backwards a little. 

“Hey!” His fingers wrap around your wrists and your forehead falls into his chest and you start crying. Steve’s voice softens, “Hey, come on, stop, we’re gonna be fine. We’re like ten? Yeah ten miles away from camp. If we start back the way we came…we’ll…we’re gonna be fine.”

“Sorry,” you sniffle and wipe your nose into his shirt. 

His palms soothe up your spine and when you tilt your chin on his chest to peer up at him, he cradles your face. The pads of Steve’s thumbs are rough, but gentle in their movement as he swipes at your cheeks with a smile, “Nothing to be sorry for.” He leans down and kisses your forehead. 

Chapped lips that are still warm and soft against your skin. Steve inhales the smell of your shampoo, the salt on your skin as he presses a second and longer kiss to your hairline. Your eyes flutter closed and your fingers tangle in the hem of his shirt, getting closer to him.  

Both of you realizing what you just did at about the same time, you pull away and clear your throats, arms dropping to your sides. 

It’s been quiet for over an hour according to his watch, and the sun is causing the pine’s shadows to slant longer across the dirt trail. Broken up by golden light that sparkles and highlights moss and leaves that hold the morning’s dew still. You have to admit it’s pretty. It had been all day. And really, you had been having a pretty good time like Steve said you would, as much as you hated to admit he was right. 

Steve had made a birthday weekend mix, the few hours driving out of Hawkins town limit filled with wind whipping your hair and singing along loudly as the sky turned from navy to lavender to rose and gold. A lull of speaking and the dawn sun making you all lazy and sleepy until Bohemian Rhapsody had come on. You had leaned forward in between the seats, squealing and asking for it to be turned up. Steve, Robin, Eddie and you taking turns belting out specific parts down to the guitar solo. All of you screaming at the top of your lungs, “So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?” Bouncing with energy as you arrived at the State Park, everyone hopping out and setting up their tents. 

And the campsite was pretty, you missed it. Close to the lake that Steve promised would have a killer sunset over it tonight, you squinted up at the trees ahead of you, pretty sure you’d never make it back in time for it. Despite thinking you had all day for this specific hike, the sun rose and started to set faster than your legs could carry either of you. And that was before you were lost. 

📻 Now Playing: I’m On Fire by Bruce Springsteen

You need a distraction, and sure enough, your best friend always seems to know what you need before you do. 

“Do you remember,” Steve starts, eyes on the trail ahead of you, thumbs looped into the backpack straps over his shoulders, “When we met?”

Your smile cracks the dirt and sweat that clings to your face, before you laugh, “Yeah, I shoved Tommy’s face in the sand on the playground when he told me that girl’s couldn’t like dinosaurs and you tattled on me.” Your hip bumps his.

Steve looks over at you, “I stand by that, you were a menace on the blacktop, specifically tetherball when we got to middle school, but, no,” he shakes his head, “That’s not the first time we met.”

“It’s not?” You’re lost in recalling memories, sifting through smiles and laughs and even tears, too caught up in it all to see how Steve watches you out of the corner of his eye. How his gaze moves over your face and wishes he had an ounce of the drive and focus you do. 

“Give up?” He whispers and you look over at him and he smiles, “It was when you moved in. You were outside with chalk and asked me if I wanted to draw with you?”

“Oh yeah,” you smile down at your shoes but then look up at him, “Why are you bringing this up now?”

Steve looks at you seriously, “I think the shit we scribbled on your driveway twenty years ago was museum quality compared to the map I barely wrote down before leaving on this hike - before the water ruined it. We were doomed from the start.”

You laugh, shoving his shoulder, “I’m never going camping or hiking with you again!” 

Your laughter trails off as you keep walking, Steve rubs at his jaw and you wonder if he’s up for actual reminiscing as you hedge, “Remember the first party we went to?”

Steve swallows, humming a little, “Mhm.”

Your voice is quiet, but you laugh, “I remember I came over to your house because Jackie told Shelby that Tommy told Carol that a boy liked me and wanted to kiss me at the party.”

Steve rubs at his neck nodding, “Right, yeah, I remember…”

Your eyes are glued to your sneakers now, watching the pine needles scatter with each drag of your heel, “And I asked you if you would kiss me, so I knew how to do it.”

“Yeah, listen, Y/N,” Steve starts. Your head whips over to him at the use of your actual name, no longer looking at the path. He sees it all happening before it does, eyes widening as your foot hits the edge of the path and holds out his hand and grabs yours, “Wait, watch ou-!”

You’re all limbs as you slide and roll down the side of the hill, Steve cursing and your fingers squeeze his palm tightly. Something burns, something stings, something hurts and it feels like days that you’re moving and falling until you’re not. Your breath is heavy, eyelids fluttering as his hand slips from yours. 

“Oh, fuck,” Steve’s breath is knocked from his lungs. His palm presses into black earth and he looks up, laughing when he sees the yellow tent and Robin holding the walkie in her hand in the distance. Of course they were barely away from camp. They’d probably been walking in circles for all he knew. 

Robin’s hand over her eyes as she squints, “Steve?”

Steve laughs, holding his side, “Oh, Buttercup, you beautiful, wonderful, clumsy person. I don’t know how you just managed to…”

He falters when he looks around and doesn’t see you. Standing, as he calls out “Y/N?”

Steve hears your whimper and his heart stops when he sees your crumpled body, crimson staining your temple and soaking your pant leg. He scrambles, tripping over his sneakers, “Y/N! Robin, get the first aid kit!”

His fingers shake, unsure of where he should touch or grab or hold, “Hey, hey, Y/N, can you open your eyes, are you okay, can you talk, Y/N, babe, please say something.” 

A cough gets stuck in your throat and you moan at the pounding in your head, eyelids fluttering, “Babe’s a new one.”

Steve laughs through a sob and then taps at your cheeks when your eyes start to close again, “Hey, no, no, no, you gotta stay awake, I’m so sorry, no, honey, stay awake…”

Thank you for reading and I appreciate any love left - I hope you can share my writing and get it circulated. As a reminder, there is no tag list for this fic / series. 💛

[yorshie]

Hey, Love your stories btw. Saw requests are open and just wondering if you would write how turtles would be with a partner that overthinks?

Kind of like comfort, mostly fluff scene?

Whelp. I wish I could say I didn't overthink this, but I am not a lying liar who lies. Hope this is to your style anon. I want to apologize in advance for somehow not being able to work Raph smooching his reader into the story, but his Reader is a little too angry for smooches

Bayverse Turtles x Reader, set in 2023 (turtles 22 ish)

G/N Reader (somehow i managed that, but names like sweetheart and babycakes are used.) No Y/N

Warnings/Summary : um... fluff. like comfort. n fluff. angst if you think about the fact that reader is not ok at the beginning of each scene. allusions to sexy times in some of them

Tether

Leo peered into your window, found you splayed out on your bed, legs up the wall and staring off into space. He let himself in via the window in your living room, making sure to step loudly as he made his way to your room. 

You hadn’t moved from that spot. He took the moment to shuck his swords, his belt, placing them across the surface of your dresser, before moving to fold his upper half on your bed, beside your gently rising chest.

“Hey.” That low, calm voice pulls you back from wherever you were, the soft touch of a careful finger against the angle of your cheekbone too common an occurrence to really faze you anymore.

“Leo.” You rasped, fingers idly rubbing against your chest as you drank him in. The bed shifted as he leaned a little further over you, lips plush where they pressed against your cheek. “I didn’t hear you come in?”

A soft snort, his movements still slow, still gentle. “I noticed. Where were you?”

You frowned, turned to stare at the ceiling before turning back to the blue banded turtle. “I was thinking.”

“Of course.” He stated it like it was a fact of life, as easy as breathing and as sure as the sun, no judgement in his too blue eyes.

You found yourself smiling despite still feeling a little lost, knowing he wouldn’t want you to apologize. “I don’t really remember how it started.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

You paused, thinking, before pulling a face.

It pulled a small chuckle from his snout. “You are the opposite of Dee.” 

At your questioning hum, he elaborated. “You both think too much. But he lets it all out, you hold it in.” He gently tapped the point above the center of your rib cage, before moving to brush that same, careful finger down the planes of your face. He continued when your eyes strayed back to the ceiling, “I’ll listen, if or when you need to talk.”

“I don’t know if it’ll help.” You still hadn’t reached out to him, thumbs rubbing over their counterpart’s opposite knuckles. “I just feel a little- untethered.”

He tilted his head, pressed the ridge of his brow against your face, tucked it under the curve of your jaw, slowly slid down to the bones in your collar. “I can tether you.” He whispered, against your skin. “Let me tether you.”

You probably would laugh at the corny line he delivered so seriously, if not for the fact that it was working. His weight, the immediacy of his presence, grounded your fraying thoughts, reeled them back in until you could see the edges of yourself underneath.

He breathed in deeply near the dip at the bottom of your collar, letting you feel the rush of air, let it guide you back. One large hand slipped up against your own, fingers interlocking as he urged your thumbs to stop moving.

A slow sweep of his thumb, far larger than yours, against the inside of your wrist, the callus on the inside of his digit whispering across the softer skin. 

“Shhhh… there you go.” He leaned further across the bed, pushed your face further upwards, the curve of his snout now against your cheek. “You’re not going anywhere, darling. I’m here."

This time, when he took in a deep, steady breath, his chest brushed against your arm, and you felt his air flutter across your face. After a long, silent moment, you turned your head towards his own, fingers twisting to rub against his knuckles instead of your own.

“There we go. Just breathe.” He took another steady breath, urged you to mimic him. It was as though you had forgotten the feeling, your lungs rushing with air, swelling to a point almost painful. Thoughts quieted, the mental bits of papers and half formed thoughts returning to their even piles inside the floor of your mind.

Leo shooshed you again, and you realized there had been a hiccup in your breaths. He shifted, his arms unfurling, letting you roll closer, onto your side. He moved to rest the dip where his snout met his cheek against the upturned side of your face, rubbing back and forth in a soothing motion.

“Leo.” You breathed again, feeling the heavy weight of his arm across your waist, loosened fist in between your shoulder blades. You tucked your face against the arm in front of you, rubbed your face in time with his against the pebbled skin.

“I’m here. You’re here. Just breathe.” He repeated.

He let you wrap an arm around his neck, fingers curling over the rim of his carapace, holding him in your space. He let out a hum, the sound deepening, becoming that comforting thump thump thump in his chest, faster than any heartbeat.

You hand tightened in his own, your head turning to find his gaze.

He gave you a small quirk of lips, his snout touching your nose delicately. “Hey, you.”

You know he felt the small puff of laughter, close as he was. “Hey, you back.” You let go of his shell, wrapped your arm around the back of his head, pulled him closer, just to hear that noise in his chest thump louder.

Vibration

Donnie found you in the least likely of spaces, curled up under his desk, his computer chair pulled in tight as if to make a tiny box. He had to fold in on himself to duck down low enough to catch your gaze.

You looked at him easy enough, eyes hazy and out of focus, wincing slightly at his soft whisper:

“Hey,” he drew the word out gently, “what’s wrong?” 

You didn’t want to tell him your thoughts were running a mile a minute, and the only place dark enough to hide from them was under his desk. You didn’t want to confess that your skin felt three sizes too small, and every breath felt like whatever made you, you, would escape if you weren’t careful.

“Overthinking?” Donnie shuffled closer, hands raising, pausing before he touched you. His head tilted to the side, considering, hazel eyes moving over your shivering, overstimulated form. After a long moment, he dropped his hands away from your space, instead reaching up just enough to grab his keyboard. 

“Hold on, sweetheart. I got something that might help.”

At this point you were desperate enough to just nod, closing your eyes and easing your head in your hands. After a few minutes of his typing, the keys clicking loud in the space, he turned on low music.

And, blessedly, you could feel more than hear. The beat vibrated through the lab, the bass high enough that everything not nailed down shivered. You had enough mind to watch Donnie move to close the door, before he was back on the floor next to you, one large arm braced on the overhang of the desk as he swayed into the little dark spot you had created.

“How are you doing? Is this helping?” At your shaky nod, he nods back, hand rising to softly trail the back of his knuckles down the outside of your nearest arm. 

You let out a soft gasp at the feeling, the fire ants dancing across your skin retreating under the coolness of his skin. “Dee?” 

“I’m right here, sweetheart. Tell me what you need?” He rubbed his knuckles back up your arm, paying attention to the way your limb stopped shaking.

You turned to him, stared at the column of his throat, not yet able to meet his too knowing gaze. “More. Please.”

He ducked away for a minute, and you heard the music change, the sound and vibrations starting to oscillate from one side of the room to the other.

“Thank god for surround sound, hm?” Donnie smiled at you when he came back, knuckles returning to their slow sweep.

That got a faint, brittle laugh out of you, your grip shifting on the arms of his chair, opening and closing against the elbow pads.

Donnie moved further into your little alcove, his shell blocking most of the light. “Do you want to come with me, go lay down?” At the quick shake of your head, he tried a different angle. “Do you want to sit in the chair, instead? The ground can’t be very comfortable, and I don’t know when’s the last time I cleaned under there.”

That- that worked. You unfurled, back cramping from how long you’d been hunched over in the little space. You let Donnie pull you into his lap, into his chair, fitting your knees on either side of his thighs and burying yourself in his shoulder.

“There. Much better.” His words came out in a chirp, cool hands coming up to rub along the curve of your back, switching to running his knuckles along your muscles when you shivered at too much skin contact.

The music drowned out everything, and in the all encompassing shake, his touch became bearable, an outside stimulus to focus on. It allowed you to just, stop thinking, stop worrying, condensing all those all-consuming thoughts into a smaller and smaller pile until you could shove them back into the box they’d escaped from.

You sniffled against Donnie’s skin, felt his head dip to rub his cheek on the top of your head, ruffling your hair. Not talking, not yet, just letting the vibrations do their work. Waiting for you to interact back, waiting for the all clear.

If you opened your eyes, you know you would meet his concerned gaze. After this long, being the object of Donnie’s sole focus wasn’t nearly as intense as it was in the beginning. Now, you could see the emotion there, behind the thoughts always moving, always considering a problem, defining a solution.

You tightened your hold, pressed a kiss to say thank you where the bones of his collar connected to his throat, and heard his low hum in affirmation. One hand left your back, tunneled into your hair, fingers rubbing firmly up and down the sides of your skull. 

“There, little better?” He asked, tilting back in his chair, long legs crossing before resting on the desk. He let you loop your arms around his neck, the hard surface of his plastron buzzing with the music’s vibrations more than your skin was. The thick sound of his churr keeping time like a particularly deep drum under the wave of sound.

You pressed yourself tighter to him in answer. “Thanks, Donnie.” 

“Anytime,” He kissed your temple, pet back your hair. “Anytime you need it.” 

Focus

Raph found you stalking back and forth along the canal in the Lair. He heard the angry slap of your feet, the harsh breathes coming out too fast, too strong, and felt a tightness in his chest long before he caught a glimpse of your face.

You didn’t notice him at first, a feat in itself, eyes on your tightly laced sneakers as you wore a ditch into the concrete, blinking constantly to be able to make out the surface.

“Hey.” He tried, not reaching out, not stopping your path of movement. It took two more calls, his voice slipping deeper, until a particularly rumbled ‘baby’ caught your attention, and you stopped so fast your knees protested.

Raph tracked over you, wanting to reach out, wanting to hold you, knowing it was the last thing you would want at this moment.

You were teetering at the edge of an abyss. Work, Life, Pressure. It was a mantra inside your head, everything that was wrong, everything that was out of your control. You couldn’t meet his eyes, only stared at the blearily outline of green and red, feeling yourself start to hiccup the longer you stayed still, knowing you were well on the way to making yourself sick. 

Raph rumbled again, a thump thump thump you could barely hear, a sort of mantra of his own. I see you, I understand, I know. When you jerked your head away, far too gone for comfort, he tried a different approach, finally moving to block your path.

“Follow me.” He jerked his head over his shoulder, but you were already moving past him, knowing where he wanted you, what he was after. You moved so fast, your steps jerky, angry, that he ended up following you into his weight room, found you practically vibrating as you fought to stay in one piece.

“The bag.” He ordered, another jerk of his head, tone brooking no argument. He wasn’t even sure if you could string together two thoughts to make a syllable at this moment without puking, but he knew you needed something physical, before you made yourself sick.

So he stooped to brace the bag, turned it towards you, winced internally at the thought of not being able to wrap your hands. He made a quick gut decision, grabbing an old pair of gloves and tossing them towards you. They were old, and smelled to high heaven, but they hadn’t fit his hands since he’d hit puberty, and they’d save your knuckles. 

When you gripped them, angry, he let the crack in his voice deepen. “You’re gonna wear them, whether you want to or not. I’m not gonna let you bust your hands.”

You rolled your eyes, tears still tracking down your face, but the particular scowl scrunching his features kept you from arguing, and…. Your hands were already aching, where you’d griped the thin bones in your hands too tight.

So you donned the gloves, took a stance, and swung before Raph could get a word in edgewise. The bag vibrated, but the shock transferred back up your arm, drawing out a pained hiss in the process.

Raph chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I bet that didn’t feel too hot, did it, sweetheart? You gonna listen this time, or are you dead set on hurting yourself somehow?”

You still felt the ache in your muscles, focusing on the punishment. You gave another jab, expecting more, expecting to connect with the sand filled bag, but Raph moved faster than you could process, his large hand taking the hit, curling around your glove to keep it in place.

“Don’t be an idiot.” He growled. “Slow down, think it through. You’re not doing anyone any favors punishing yourself.”

You wanted to rip your hand away, wanted to resume, but he held on tight, brought your glove forward until to pressed against the surface of his plastron, pushed until there was no more room to move forward. 

“You do that again,” he threatened out in a rumble, “and I’ll see that you regret it.” 

You shivered, but he moved away, ducked around the bag again, held it steady. 

“Now.” He intoned, and you knew what he wanted, what he was ordering.

So you fixed your stance, danced side to side, imagined your opponent. Imagined a hook coming your way, slipped past with only a faint jitter of hesitation before delivering a hard liver shot, ducking to the other side before jabbing on the rebound, your weight dancing effortlessly side to side the longer you went.

Raph kept quiet, now that you were thinking, problem solving, working out the frustration properly. He kept his eyes trained on your own, watching you come back, watching the tears slow, stop, and a hard determination take its place.

When you finally moved away from the bag, from him, he followed like a shadow, crowding into your space, stopping a hands breath away.

“You feeling better?” He mimicked your nod, continuing, “good. You need to talk about it?”

When you shook your head, lifted your hand to wipe at your face, he stopped you, grip firm and careful as he kept the filthy glove from touching your skin. You stared down at the gloves, nose wrinkling, not missing the chuckle that escaped him.

“Yeah. Sorry bout that.” He peeled it off your hand, before switching to the other, holding both your wrists in his much larger grip, thumbs pushing into sore muscles. “But I can make it up to you, if you’d like?”

You tsked, finding your lip curling up as he let that hopeful thump thump thump once more, moving into your space until he could cage you in between his arms. 

“Sure, Red. Make it up to me.”

Redirect

Mikey found you curled up on your fire escape, staring moodily at the dirty brick. He landed rather loud, wanting to warn you, wanting to see that wide smile break across your face like it always did when you saw him.

Instead, you stayed focused on the wall, and he deflated a little, before frowning, wondering if you knew it was him, or if you were so out of it you honestly didn’t realize you weren’t alone.

“Babycakes! You ok?” He let his voice carry, his suspicions confirmed when you blinked at the sound of his voice, twisted around in confusion. 

“Oh! Hey Mikey.” But you didn’t smile at seeing him, only pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapped your arms around them, laid your head across the top.

He moved to your side, folded in on himself, shuffled forward until he could press his leg, his arm against your own. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you ok?”

You hummed, nodded, not moving when he reached out, ran a hand through your hair. “M’ just tired.” You rubbed your head against your knees. “Can’t sleep.”

He tilted his head, considering you, the open window behind the two of you. “You wanna go lay down? I bet I could help you sleep.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You shook your head again, and he removed his hand, leaning backwards and bracing himself on his palms, nudged you with his leg. “C’mon, baby, talk to me? Tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

“Oh, Mikey,” you smiled at his insistence. “I’m just a little caught up at the moment.” At his confused look, you tapped the side of your head. “Thoughts too loud to sleep, Angelo. Wouldn’t be fair for you to deal with that.”

He frowned, moved forward again, tapping a quick rhythm on his knees, watching as you focused on the movement. An idea sparked, and he quickly shuffled forward, mimicking your pose once more, eyes quickly moving around until he found what he was looking for.

“Look,” He pointed, reached out to tilt your head the correct direction when you hummed in confusion. You saw a tall man walking down the street, dressed to impress, fashion impeccable. You turned a confused look towards Michelangelo, wondering what in the world he was about pointing out a handsome man to you.

“Where do you think he’s going?” He asked, nudged your shoulder until you gave a sigh, answering just to get him to stop:

“I don’t know-” at his puppy dog eyes, you tried again, “maybe, maybe off to a fancy dinner? A promotion?” You lifted a hand to your head, rubbed at the ache.

“Hm.” Mikey hummed, considering. “I bet he’s leaving a date with his wife, on his way to lead a double life,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, aware you didn’t realize you were leaning into him to hear his words, “as a strongman in the  illegal underground circus.”

You stared at him for a beat, taking in his pleased grin, before the first bubble of laughter caught you by surprised, escaped before you could reel it in. “What?” You asked, hand coming up to muffle the sound. 

Mikey tugged your hand down, claiming it in his grip as he pointed out another character. “Look at her! See how she walks so fast?” He glanced over at you, saw your eyes tracking the figure. “Bet she’s late for a super villain meeting, and she’s completely forgotten it’s her turn to bring the snacks.”

“Super villain meeting?” You echoed, unfurling a little, letting him pull you closer. “Shouldn’t you tell Leo about that?”

“Eh,” Mikey shrugged, fingers dancing up and down your sides when you leaned into him. “I was going to, but they keep bribing me with pizza.”

“That would work.” You nodded along when he agreed with your assessment, then pointed. “What about him?”

Mikey followed your gaze. “Oh. Him?” He paused a moment, glancing between you and the person. “Hey, how come the people you pick are handsome?”

You sputtered, “What? He’s the first one I picked!”

“Nu uh,” Mikey shook his head, grateful you couldn’t see his face. “You picked the first one, and he was handsome, too.”

“Mikey, you picked the first one.” Your voice pitched up at the end, clearly hiding laughter, and you could feel him shake behind you.

“No I didn’t, I clearly remember you did.” He insisted, hands slipping around your waist when you turned in his grip, legs boxing in your elbows when you jabbed a retaliatory finger into his plastron.

Jab. “You.” Another jab. “Are an absolute.” Jab jab. “Menace, Mi-” 

He kissed you, a quick press of lips before he bubbled your cheek. “Oh yea? Got you smiling, babe.”

You slumped against him, and he braced a palm behind him to keep from toppling back, concerned for half a beat before he felt the shivers of your laugh against his chest. He let out a soft churr, and you nuzzled into the sound.

“God, what would I do without you, Mikey?” You asked, looped your arms around him as far as they would go.

“You aren’t ever gonna find out, baby.” He replied, gathering you closer, letting you slot yourself against him, content to stay outside in the cold for as long as you wanted.

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 25: Sharing a Secret Comfort Item

It's Cirrus's first tour and she can't sleep. Aether knows exactly how to help.

Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for making the dividers <3

Twenty paces.

That's how many steps it takes Cirrus to walk from her bunk, back to the closed door of the back bedroom, up to the front lounge, and back. She knows this route intimately, even as the bus sways under her feet, barreling down a highway she's never been on.

The rest of the band is asleep. Cirrus knows; she can feel each of their breaths, steady and slow. But not her. She still feels like she's been thrown headlong into the deep end of a pool, she's barely been Up Top for three months before the Cardinal had set off with them and this group of ghouls across the world, the real reason she'd been summoned. She turns, taking another lap up and down the length of the bus.

She's not quite sure the Cardinal's made the right choice with her. Skittish, stand-offish, snap her teeth when the others get too close, can't settle or adjust. Another lap.

Cirrus isn't sure what time it is. She knows there's another Ritual tomorrow (or today?), she knows her new vessel will protest with exhaustion unless she goes to sleep, but she can't. Everything is too new and strange and she's still on edge. Another lap.

The next pass up and down the aisle, a hand shoots out from behind a privacy curtain to grab her wrist, and Cirrus nearly puts her fangs through her lip to bite back a startled yelp. Her chest heaves as the curtain slides open, Aether blinking blearily at her. He's propped up on an elbow, staring up at her. "Can't sleep?"

Cirrus breathes heavily through her nose, feather tipped tail lashing behind her. "That's the least of it," she huffs, a hot bolt of shame shooting down her spine at the idea she's woken one of the oldest ghouls in this group.

"You're fine," Aether assures, voice a little husky with sleep. She balks a little, his hand still wrapped securely around her wrist. "It's alright. I know what you're feeling right now. I was the same way when I was summoned."

Her tail curls around her own thigh, and she sags just a little into his grip. His skin is cool, his touch almost popping like carbonation, the quintessence clinging to him.

"Did it get better?"

"It did," he says, his thumb rubbing a small circle into the delicate skin of her inner wrist. "It took time, but it got better."

Cirrus takes another deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. The only thing she's really aware of is the motion of his thumb. "Fuck," she mumbles under her breath.

"Hey, Cirr, can you look at me, dearheart?"

She blinks, brows furrowed a little as she listens, meeting his starry gaze. "Yeah?"

"You want some help getting to sleep?"

Every muscle in her body tenses at the idea. "I don't want any magick," she says, her hackles raising.

"No magick," he hums, voice soothing down to her frayed core. "I've got something else that might help."

Aether groans, rolling out of his bunk, and Cirrus tenses even further at the idea of rousing him even further. "Aether-" she starts, but he levels her with a glance.

"It's fine, dearheart," he says, grabbing something she can't see from his bunk. "It's just that the only person who fits into that bunk with me is Dewdrop, fucking twig of a ghoul." His voice lightens as he talks about the fire ghoul, but he starts walking up front, his hand still around her wrist. She follows tentatively as he leads her to the couch in the front lounge. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to see if holding you won't help you sleep."

Cirrus gawks at him, blinking rapidly. But she sighs, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. "Okay," she says, and Aether flashes her a bright grin, one of his fangs gilded and glinting in the low light. He presses himself against the back of the couch, opening his arms, and she only hesitates a moment before crawling up alongside him, chest to chest so they don't fall off.

Aether gently rests his arm around her waist, big hand at the small of her back, a low, comforting noise sounding from the back of his throat. Cirrus's entire body goes slack, her face pressed into his collarbone.

"There we go, that's better, huh?" he says quietly, reaching behind him and throwing something soft over the two of them. Cirrus lifts her head for a moment, making a soft, confused noise, and examines it. It's a blanket, fuzzy and not-quite fleecy, and there's just enough light in the lounge for her to recognize it as purple, little stars embroidered in the corners.

She turns back to Aether, cocking her head and chirping softly in question. He chuckles, and she can feel the way it vibrates through his chest. "This is my summoning blanket," he whispers, smoothing a hand over her blue-black hair. "Omega gave it to me when I came from the Pit. It helped a lot when I felt the way you're feeling right now."

Cirrus hums, relishing in the softness of the blanket, the solidness of Aether's form against hers. "It's helping now," she whispers, her eyelids suddenly feeling like they weigh a ton each.

"Good," he chuffs, hand smoothing over her back under the blanket. "Get some sleep, dearheart. Long day tomorrow."

And she does.

[whore-for-chris-evans]

I lack the wisdom required to write this fic, but I hope someone skilled enough takes the initiative to.

Have any of you ever thought about Steve Rogers waking up from the ice and not going back to fighting?

He wakes up, Fury tells him he needs him, and Steve makes a choice for himself and says no, at least for now. Fury respects that choice, Steve gets a therapist (a good one, not Dr. Christina Passive-Aggressive Raynor) and uses his second chance in life to do the things he actually wanted to. Art. History. Maybe he goes to college again.

On top of all this, he figures out the internet (come on, he's a smart man. He's not gonna be clueless forever) and you know golden boy Steve would jump at the chance of using social media for a good cause.

And I also think Steve would be great at debates. The fucker (affectionate) has a way with words. He's also a nerd. He's well informed and has quick thinking skills. He gets into online fights a lot. Tweets and retweets a hell lot.

Gets Tumblr. (Steve would love tumblr don't lie to me) Reblogs things like it's his last day on earth. (But somehow makes sure to utilise the tag feature perfectly so everything is organised).

Some dudebro makes a misogynistic comment and he's there to verbally drop kick Dudebro into the next week.

Somebody makes an offhand comment regarding something historical and Steve gets his trusty motorcycle and drives his star spangled fine ass to the library and the next day there's a video circulating the internet of him citing sources (down the page number, paragraph number and line number) to prove why the offhand comment was grossly incorrect.

Someone angrily reposts his tweet saying "THAT IS NOT THE AMERICA OF MY DREAMS TALKING" and Steve proceeds to respond with "I'm a person. I can't be a country. What I can try to be is a good human being." and then absolutely demolishes the other person. (Yes to Steve reclaiming himself as Steve Rogers and not Captain America)

He also posts art. Like, everyday. But it gets slightly overshadowed by everything else he does and says.

He has a separate Instagram. For more personal stuff. Pictures of himself? Rarely. Pictures of birds and animals and trees and sunrises and sunsets? Absolutely. Pictures of the cat and the dog he rescued and now is a proud dad to? Everyday. (He's definitely a both person.) Maybe someday he'll step out of his comfort zone and start going live. Everyone loves him. Everyone rational, that is.

He stays away from tiktok.

2014. Fury shows up at his apartment and gets shot. Something stirs in Steve's brain as the masked assassin catches his shield. Those eyes seem familiar. Despite his reservations, he jumps back into the fray. The whole CATWS thing happens.

He finds Bucky. Brings him home. Fights tooth and nail for the charges against him to be dropped. He's got 70 years of military back-pay, he's got no problem getting the best lawyers (Matt Murdock is definitely among them) for the love of his life.

Anyways Bucky is set free. Moves in with Steve. People start gushing over him too. He stays out of Steve's internet life at first, but then the old Bucky comes back little by little. Maybe he'll join the livestreams. Maybe he'll make an Instagram of his own to post more of Steve.

People, being people, start shipping them. The two of them have a good laugh over it.

One day, out of nowhere, Steve shows up on one of his livestreams wearing a wedding ring. Comments go crazy. Bucky joins him on the couch, throws an arm around his shoulder, flashing his own matching band, smirking lazily.

The rest is mayhem. But they don't care. For Steve, life is perfect.

[I'd love to see Steve Rogers vs internet troll he'd eat that up]

I hope the good Steve Rogers authors see this. This has potential I think.

[kathegreat]

✶

cw: nsfw, blowjob, body worship, slight face-fucking, sam’s got a belly because i say so :), darlin’ being a huge fucking pervert, jockstraps, how did we get here, came about while working on their character designs, gender-neutral, no usage of y/n, 18+ only, mdni.

sam notes darlin’ has an astonishingly (not quite astonishing, ‘cause same) perverse habit of sluttifying their cowboy. goading him one evening to try on an indubitably washed-out, puny tee shirt they found in wherever-the-fuck back corner of his walking closet just to see his nips & pecs brawl patchwork of the crewneck that appeared like more of a v-neck with how wide his upper body was. to see the worn bottom hem’s fraying & crackling threads stretch around his waist, his pudgy midriff exposed, speckled with dark, dense hairs.

once again, they purchase something else that doesn't fit quite straight (because he’s not & i’m not) but this time, undersized backless jock straps in a pack of a dozen, overexplaining to him like always that the lights had been too dim in the shop or the typeface & product imaging were too small to notice, chewing at their inner cheek to suppress a creeping grin.

before he knows it, they linger on the velvet wingback chair in the corner just across the bedroom, legs propped over their knees as a finger rests against their temple, patient yet lurking. he breathes through his mouth, his heart drumming & steps out from behind the bathroom door, the hinges cautioning with a deafening shrill. they catch his darting silver eyes first, their legs & arms unfolding to an open-body stance before their gaze glides over his skin. he shudders, lips parting & before he realizes it, he’s walked & now stands before them, lower legs sweeping the warm skin of their parted legs, adhering to every whisper & murmur of praise they give him.

blood had already begun to pool in between his thighs, darkening the stain on his crotch when their knuckles trail up & their fingers hooked around the elastic bands latched & transversed underneath his bare ass. he stumbles when they jerk him forward by the rubber cords, breathing across the flesh of his stomach that flinches & heaves. he observes, eyes astray, face & ears sweltered, chest loud & labored as a batch of hair peeks above the garment.

with one final tug, he springs free against his navel, his heart leaping when they shift again. he’s preparing, anticipating the provokingly slow manner they'll sink to their knees & how they’ll stay there until the bones sore & ache. but instead, they hug his legs loosely with their own, feet hooking just below his thighs to tug him forward, sinking his cock into their awaiting mouth.

he releases a stuttered whine, recoiling as the impossible heat of their mouth consumes him, his fingers braiding into their hair as their tongue whorl & cheeks hollow. & when those sordid little gags & groans thrum around him with their fingers tangling in the elastic, he hisses in between clenched teeth. his other hand slams onto the top of the couch, the wooden feet wailing when they grate against the hardwood, his legs tremoring vigorously, gripping, clawing, tearing at the velvet fabric, polyfill fluttering to the floor.

he doesn't know how long they’ve been there. how many times he came as he hunches over, their nose now fully presses into him, head bobbing, mouth unforgiving & sucking, forcing him to thrust & grind his hips. he moans, praises, or pleads. god, fuck! he doesn't even know anymore. he doesn't think he can—

“you can take it. you can take it like you always do,” they say.

& he does.

[poppy-metal]

more toxic ballet jordan thoughts…….i am so sorry im flooding your inbox. 😭😭 thinking abt all of the dancers in your academy going out to drink and party. you knew one of the other dancers was into you, so when they start grinding on you from behind on the dance floor you don’t really mind. until you see jordan later on in the night.

“didn’t know you’d give it up that easily.” they say when they catch you at the bar, not even looking at you. you try to respond, confused, but they quickly cut you off. “hope you know that guy tries to fuck every new thing that comes to the academy. you’re not as special as you think you are.”

“we…we were just dancing.”

“you’re acting like a slut. and maybe cool it with the shots, it’s gonna fuck you up for rehearsals on monday.” you’ve had enough of them so you roll your eyes and try to walk away but they just grip your wrist harshly and whisper in your ear, “i don’t get what everyone sees in you, but we’re forced to dance together. and im not letting you fuck this up for me.”

big meanie toxic!ballet jordan!!!!! We love them.

no please keep thinking about them this is FEEDING me.

you feel scolded and chastised you dont even wanna drink anymore, pouting up at them as they glare down at you. grip on your arm like a warm brand. "I'll be fine. your dont have to worry about me at practice tomorrow -"

they let you go with a tick in their jaw and you spend the rest of the night discreetly watching them as you flit and flutter about, talking with the other dancers. you think its funny they're so worried about how you'll be in the morning, when you see jordan in their element - rubbing coke into their gums, grinding against some random girl out on the floor later. their eyes flick up to meet yours, catching you staring, and you flush at the heat in them. the way they roll their hips- you think about how they move against you at practice. but its not the same, that's in a professional setting. the sensual way they move in a club makes you look away, thoughts frayed.

n maybe they've drank too fucking much that night just to stop the burn of jealousy at seeing men fawn over you all night. but somehow they find themselves behind you later, hands on your waist, yanking your ass back against them.

your breath hitches - you open your mouth - feel them lean down, cinnamonny breath brushing against your ear - "don't talk, freshie. be fucking cool."

but how can you be cool when they're moving against you like that? it feels - like fucking. the way they drag you just slightly up and down over their crotch, pressing in deep with little hip thrusts that time with the beat of the song. you feel anything but cool. you feel on fire. an inferno in their arms.

"i bet," they say softly, lips skating over your lobe, sending a million shivers down your body, "if i slipped my hand down your skirt right now - you'd have a slippery little cunt, huh?"

your ears feel like two hot coals, ready to burn off your body. you can't even deny it, you're almost so wet its close to dripping down your leg. you can't believe they're touching you like this - know its because they're coked up - high as fuck and pissed off. if they way their ringed hand is digging into your hip is any indication.

"god, you piss me the fuck off." they confirm your thoughts. they dont pull away though, no, the words sound heated, despite their harshness, and they yank you back harshly against the bulge in their jeans. you gasp. "such a virgin. has anyone even touched you here, freshie-" their fingers skim dangerously close to the space between your legs, up your thigh, stroking over the band of your panties up your skirt "- you dance like you've never been fucked. it's a problem." hand fanning over your lower belly, coaxing you to move with them, "you need to fix it. before i fix it for you."

lips pressed to your ear, it feels like a dark promise - a threat - all in one. they step back away from you then, and you spin around, frazzled.

"what - what does that mean?"

they just settle you with a cool gaze, "don't be late tomorrow."

[3minsover]

Steddie Dancing With the Stars AU (posted on twitter a little while ago)

Eddie Munson used to be in a band.

They were successful, hit the mainstream at just 19 years old, and had almost 4 years of success. But it’s been 8 years since the band fell apart, and when Eddie’s manager suggests he do something like Dancing With the Stars, he’s initially appalled. He’s a Serious Musician. He’s not about to make a fool of himself fucking about in spandex on live television. But management feed him the Exposure line; it’ll make him a household name again, remind people he exists. So he has his people say yes. Though, he’d left it late to agree to the offer, so he’s only a back up in case someone else drops out. He’ll most probably not have to even do it. Sweet. Except, a week before filming starts, someone does drop out. bumping eddie up to main cast.

Shit.

He’s paired with a guy, Steve. Has no issues with dancing with a man; they’re not the only same sex couple this season and it’s cool to see even a little progress. What he very much does have an issue with, however, is Steve Harrington. Who made no effort to hide how disappointed he was that the man Eddie’d been replacing - some ex-football player - had dropped out last minute, and how he ‘guesses Eddie’ll do.’ Steve’s pushy and demanding, and frankly a bit of a bitch. But he’s a fucking great dancer. Even Eddie can see that. they get through the first couple weeks of live shows easily enough, but it’s tough faking a smile and agreeing that, ‘Oh, i’m just so lucky to have Steve as my partner.’

The night after the third live show, when Eddie had missed a step and nearly tripped Steve, when muscles are sore and nerves are frayed, they get into it in the parking lot out back of the studio.

Eddie confronts Steve about his attitude, and Steve bites back about Eddie’s own. It takes one of the other dancers to break them apart, all up in each other’s faces as they were. They’re told to cool the fuck off, start again on Monday. Only, when monday rolls around, Steve announces their dance this week is the Argentine Tango.

Eddie’s heard of it, another couple danced it last week. lots of twisting and stepping and flicking of legs. Fucking nonsense, honestly. Steve sits Eddie down and shows him the choreo he’ll be doing, gliding over the studio floor, arms raised at the elbow, hands floating in the air in front of his chest, and Eddie finds himself itching to be clasped within those hands. He almost slaps himself at the thought. They work through the first few sequences, Eddie giving lacklustre leg-raises between Steve’s calves. after a particularly half-hearted flick, Steve tightens his grip on Eddie’s biceps and jolts him, forcing Eddie to look at him. They’re chest to chest, nose to nose, heartbeats already elevated from the movement.

"You don’t get to fuck this up for me," Steve growls, eyes boring into eddie’s with a darkness he’s not seen in the month they’ve known each other.

"You think I’m doing this on purpose? I can’t do it, it looks stupid."

"It only looks stupid if you don’t try," Steve snarls in response. "Let’s keep going." He swings the pair around to their next position. And then Steve does something that has Eddie’s jaw dropping open.

Steve drops into a crouch, sliding one leg swiftly out to the side. the angle seems impossible, and it has Eddie thinking all sorts of things about how flexible Steve is. Steve’s hands have slid down Eddie’s arms and are circling his wrists, pulling on them just enough for Steve to keep his balance.

"Okay, and then you’re going to spin me round from left to right. Can you do that?" Steve asks. But Eddie’s unable to focus on the question, because all he can see is Steve, face-height with his junk, looking up at him through those long lashes.

"Uh. Can I- gimme a second." Eddie tears himself away from Steve’s grasp, rushes out of the studio and into the foyer. He’s lightheaded with lust and his cheeks are burning.

This isn’t happening. He doesn’t like Steve. He’d been secretly planning to sabotage their performance so they’d get voted off, but now. Now he’s already craving the featherlight touch of Steve’s fingertips as he repositions Eddie’s head, as he guides his hands to the correct place. He eventually returns to the rehearsal room, having splashed some cold water over his flushed face.

Steve does the move again, and Eddie spins him, staying silent but for confirmation of Steve’s instructions. And then Steve slowly raises himself up until he’s pressed back against Eddie’s chest, leaning ever so slightly to his left to look back at Eddie’s face.

"The Argentine is about desire. Want. Lust. It’s about craving. You have to look at me like you crave me," Steve almost whispers, and Eddie’s legs feel weak. Eddie swallows, blinks hard, can’t help the way his gaze dips down to trace over Steve’s plush pink lips. When he looks back up, Steve’s eyes are wide and searching. "Yeah, like that," Steve breathes, though Eddie had been making no conscious effort to look at Steve in any way other than the way Steve makes him feel.

And if Eddie realizes now that that feeling is desire, then that’s just gonna make this whole thing a fuckton more interesting.

[corrodedhawkins]

Perv friend Eddie asking to take an innocent polaroid of you one day when you're hanging out "Just because" but it's really so he can jack off to your face

Polaroids: Perv!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Thank you to the talented @sweetpeapod for the moodboard ❤️

Thank you to @bayouteche for helping me with this one ❤️ The outfits were all her idea.

Warnings: perv!Eddie, alcohol, swearing, fondling, non consensual touching, male masturbation, slight edging. 18+ minors DNI

“Congratulations on the album guys!” You walk up to the stage after their set excitedly. “I can’t wait to hear it!”

Gareth and Jeff stop packing up their equipment to stare at you blankly. “What album?”, Gareth asks.

Your brow furrows, “Eddie said the band was putting out an album and needed a cover model.”

You hear one of the cymbals crash as Eddie scrambles off of the stage. He slides up next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Well. I mean, what I meant was we need to plan out the cover of our first album in case we get discovered, sweetheart.”

He turns you around, hand on the small of your back to guide you. “Why don’t we get you a drink, huh? My treat.” Eddie shoots a glare over his shoulder, mouthing a “shut it” to his band mates as he shuffles you over to the bar.

The next day, you find yourself in Eddie’s bathroom trying on the outfit he’s chosen for the shoot. “Eddie?”, you call through the door.

“Yeah?”

“Um. It’s a little…small.”

You hear him laugh from the other side of the door. “Yeah? Let me see”, the excitement in his voice obvious.

“I-um. I don’t think I can come out.” You look down to see your tits practically spilling out of the tiny black lace crop top.

Eddie sighs. “C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t you want us to have the most metal album cover ever?” You can almost feel his puppy dog eyes boring into you through the door.

You turn to stare at yourself in the mirror. Eddie had picked you for this. He could have chosen Chrissy Cunningham, or one of other countless perfect cheerleaders, but he had chosen you. He must think you’re special. You couldn’t let him down.

With one last deep breath, you open the bathroom door, Eddie stumbling forward as he had been pressed up against it.

“Fuck”, he groans lowly, pupils blown wide when he sees you. He grabs your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, slowly circling you to look at the outfit. You feel like prey under a predators gaze.

He whistles as he circles you again, “Look at you, doll. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You blush, muttering a “thank you”, as you tug the hem of your too short skirt down over your ass, smoothing your hands down the ripped fishnets underneath.

“None of that”, Eddie scolds. He walks to the fridge and retrieves two beers, handing you one. “For your nerves. Can’t have you blushing for the camera.”

You take it and practically chug it, desperate to calm your shaking hands.

˚✧

You feel yourself begin to relax as Eddie’s van pulls into the quarry, the three beers he had plied you with soothing your frayed nerves. He cuts the engine as he practically runs to the back doors of the van, flinging them open. The camera is quickly slung around his neck before he jogs to the passenger side door and opens it for you.

“M’lady”, he holds out a hand to you and bows, waiting for you to take it. You giggle and grab his hand, stumbling out of the van as your feet crunch on the gravel below.

You make your way around to the front of the van shakily, waiting for Eddie’s direction. “So. How do you want me?”

Bending down, he pulls you close into his chest and picks you up.

You squeal, not expecting to be lifted. “Eddie! Be careful!”, you giggle.

He grips the backs of your thighs, right where they meet your ass, and squeezes. Once he sets you down on top of the hood of the van, he steps back to take a better look.

Eddie grabs the camera from around his neck, looking through the viewfinder.

“Perfect”, he whispers to himself. He presses the shutter button, snatching the Polaroid as soon as the camera spits it out. He shakes the photo, face splitting into a grin as the image appears.

“You’re a fuckin’ natural, doll.” He holds out the photo for you to look at.

Your eyes widen as you see yourself. “I-I’m hot”

Eddie barks out a laugh, “Of course you are. Now, you just sit there and look pretty for me.”

He takes stacks of photos as you pose, giggling to yourself as you try to look sexy.

˚✧

“Alright, one more outfit!” He drops the camera by the strap around his neck and shrugs the denim vest off of his shoulders.

You take his vest and move to put it on over your top, but Eddie stops you.

“Ah ah. Just the vest.”

“I don’t-”

Eddie huffs, “Just forget it. I should have know you’d be too scared.” He turns to walk away slowly, silently counting the seconds before you stop him.

“Wait!”, you reach out for him, jumping off of the hood, almost face planting. When did the ground start spinning?

Eddie smirks, fixing his face before he turns back towards you.

“I-I’ll do it.”

“That’s my girl.” He looks down at you expectantly, waiting for you to undress.

You look at Eddie shyly, “Can you close your eyes?”

“Of course, princess.” He makes a show of throwing his hands over his eyes, making you giggle.

The second you begin to undress, Eddie’s peeking through his fingers. He can’t help the moan that rips through his chest when he sees your bare tits on display.

“Eddie!”, you gasp when you hear the sound, quickly covering your chest with his vest.

“I didn’t see anything, I promise!”, Eddie swears as he draws the sign of the cross over his heart.

You hold out your arms, making grabby hands as you wait for him to lift you back onto the hood of the van.

“And for the finishing touch!”, Eddie scrambles to retrieve his guitar from the back of the van.

You sling it around your shoulder, almost dropping it in the process. You’re starting to feel fuzzy, like you could just float away at any moment.

“Be careful with her”, he warns.

You mumble out a, “sorry” before posing with it against your chest.

Once Eddie decides he’s gotten enough shots, he hoists you down from the hood with two hands on your ass. He carries you to the passenger seat, knowing you’ll fall on your ass if you try now that the alcohol has fully hit you.

His vest shifts against your chest, one bare breast slipping from beneath the fabric. He can feel your nipple harden against his chest trough the fabric of his shirt, and he’s instantly hard.

He sets you down on the passenger seat gently, laughing when you head lolls back against the seat. “M’tired”, you whine.

He pulls at the seatbelt, purposefully grazing your chest with the back of his hand as he slings it over you. He leans into you a bit too closely to secure your seat belt, and you laugh when his hair tickles the bare skin of your chest.

“I know, sweetheart. You can nap when we get back to mine, okay?” His hand twitches as it hovers over the camera slung across his neck. He could snap a picture of your bare tits peeking out of his vest right now and you wouldn’t even notice.

“Mmkay”, you answer sleepily.

Fighting with his thoughts, he stands there for a moment before he ultimately gives in.

He gently slides the lapels of his vest open until your tits are on full display, just for him. Watching as your nipples pebble in the chilly air, he can’t help but palm his erection through his jeans.

He hesitantly reaches out to cup your breast, the heavy weight of it in his palm making him groan. When he runs his thumb over your hard nipple, you let out a breathy gasp.

The noise makes his cock throb, and he knows he’ll be playing back that sound in his head for the foreseeable future.

He lifts the camera to his eye, snapping a few shots. The flash startles you, and you look up at him with unfocused eyes.

“Eddie? What you doin’?”, you slur.

He drops the camera around his neck once more, pocketing the Polaroids. “Just making sure you’re buckled in, doll. Gotta keep you safe.”

You hum, eyes sliding shut again, “You’re the best.”

He slams the passenger side door before climbing into the drivers side to take you back to his. 

˚✧

That night, when Wayne leaves for his shift at the plant, Eddie finally gets a good look at the Polaroids. He dims the lights and puts on his favorite Dio album, rummaging through his cabinet until he finds the tin he stashed the pictures in for safe keeping.

He feels like a chick losing her virginity, putting on music and mood lighting, but he wants to savor this. It’s not weird. It’s not.

Eddie settles himself back against the headboard, tin open by his side. He takes a stack of Polaroids, laying them out on the sheets in front of him. He wraps his hand around the base of his erection loosely, fist lazily stroking.

He picks up the first picture he took of you, smiling shyly at the camera, unsure of yourself. He can see your confidence build with every picture as the alcohol started to hit you. By the fifth or sixth Polaroid, you’re practically eye fucking the camera, posing like a video vixen on MTV.

He spits into his palm, using it to ease the glide of his fist over his cock. When he sees the next picture he groans, remembering how he could see just a hint of your panties peaking out from under your skirt as you shifted to your next pose.

Eddie’s cock twitches as he traces the head with his thumb teasingly, a bead of precum gathering at the tip. His other hand moves down to cup his balls, already drawn up tight.

His head tips back as he lets out a shaky breath, hand stilling before he can tip over the edge. He wants to take his time, work himself up before cumming tonight.

The slick sound of his fist pumping over his length echos through his room as he goes back to stroking himself, groaning as he twists his wrist on the upstroke.

His thoughts drift to carrying you from the van into the trailer, tucking you into his bed to sleep off the alcohol. All he had wanted to do was jack off to you as you slept, pulling your top down to cum all over your tits. As much as he hates to admit it, he probably would have if Wayne hadn’t been home.

He turns his attention back to the Polaroids, shuffling through the next stack until he finds what he’s looking for. You’re laid out over the hood of the van, chest bare save for his denim vest. His guitar is slung around your shoulder, pressed tightly against your body.

The hand on his cock speeds up, grip tightening as he looks through the rest of the photos. The Polaroid of your bare tits peeking out of his denim vest in the passenger seat is the next in the stack.

“Fuck”, he moans as his fist flies over his cock. He can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to push those pretty tits together and fuck his cock in between them, to watch his hot cum settle on your collarbone.

The second his eyes land on the last Polaroid of you with one of his big hands on your chest, thumbing grazing over your nipple, he remembers the gasp you had let out as he touched you.

Eddie bucks up into his fist, back arching off the bed as he cums with your name on his lips. He’s panting as he comes down, cum leaking from his hand down onto the Polaroid in his lap.

He sighs as he cleans up, carefully wiping his cum off of the picture as a wave of shame rolls over him. He knows now that he’s finally gotten his hands on you, his fantasies will never be enough to satisfy him.

This town already thinks he’s a freak, at least now he’s finally living up to the reputation.

Tag list:

@ghastlyentity @sweetpeapod

@e0509 @stardustmunson

@simpingoverfictionalppl @quinnswife86

@munsonquinns @thorfemmes

@khaleesibubblegum @manddoublee

If you’d like to be added to my tag list let me know!

Also tagging @escapinghawkins bc perv!Eddie is her jam

[naboman]

(Un)Broken

Synopis: In which Chifuyu reunites with the one he shattered countless school years ago, seeking redemption, but perhaps it's just too late to apologize." Pairing: Chifuyu Matsuno + Fem!Reader. Genders: Angst, Drama and Tragedy, Farce. Content Warnings: mentions of tryte of suicides, bullying and autodepressed.

Prologue: Broken Bones

"Broken"; Adjective, masculine Definitions: Made into pieces; fragmented, fractured. Examples: Me and you.

'Ah, yes... You remember? You put gum in my hair in sixth grade. After everyone started laughing at me, you thought you were the sovereign of the class; did you find it funny? Was it funny to see me running desperately to the bathroom to hide from the shrill laughter?

Freak.

Yes... Then I became your little pet, right? Because of you, my shoes are fraying. You threw them into the school pool and then hurled them from the rooftop. And why? Because I filled your notebooks with glue. And then you had to redo the homework all over again.

Now it wasn't so funny, was it?'

The few off-beat seconds seemed to last hours in Chifuyu's mind, who could do nothing as the girl passed a few meters ahead. The cold weather seemed to distort her image, who constantly let out sighs in the cold winter air. Even after three years, he could still recognize her. However, after the wearying misfortunes of the past, her striking and bright eyes seemed to have lost their shine over the years. As if her world had become grayer, darker.

He imagined she was living in a "faded coloring." Where the walls of her mind had gone from vivid and cheerful colors to cold and icy tones. The walls of her memories were peeled and trampled like the old paint that falls from the walls and crumbles, commonly without any value.

And amidst all those students, who quickly passed through the crowd in haste, Matsuno did not take another step. [Name] Tsubaki seemed so close, yet at the same time, so distant and alone. He wanted to go up to her and say some words of regret, which had been stuck in the boy's throat for a long time. But he couldn't. Why couldn't he? It was so simple.

As he wandered in his bitter thoughts, some intuition from the randomness of the mind made her turn her head to face the one who was devouring her with his eyes. That's when he saw. On the side of her cheek, there were some band-aids, and her right arm - hidden inside the coat thrown over her shoulders - was covered by a white cast. Broken. Who did that? And why did she seem not to care?

Indifferently, she glanced at him sideways, the blond wondered how many curses she had cast on him in that brief moment of eye contact. And whether she cast any curse or not, she wasn’t wrong, she had every right to hate him to the depths of her being.

And as quickly as she looked, she looked away. For some reason, he got the impression that as she walked, her steps only increased in speed and the rhythm of her light strides through the crowd. Soon, disappearing among the masses of uniforms.

Leaving him desolate with his thoughts, those that he had buried a long time ago in the back of his mind. In that dark and lonely corner, where the image of the girl drenched in dirty water with disinfectant was still vividly memorable, unfortunately memorable.

"Huh? " the thoughtful blond murmured, lifting his gaze to face Takemichi who was standing in front of him.

As he leaned his own weight on the stairs leading to the temple. It hardly mattered to him whether he was dirtying the Toman uniform or not.

"What the hell happened to you? You look all depressed " Hanagaki ventured to ask, needing to clear his doubt or he would lose sleep over it tonight.

And he didn't wish to make a call to Chifuyu in the middle of the night.

"Oh, that... " he murmured, glancing away, trying to dodge the question "nothing happened. Just remembered some embarrassing stuff ".

Takemichi made a point of sitting next to Chifuyu, soon giving the downcast boy a sympathetic smile.

"You can talk ".

Surprised, Matsuno thought over the offer. Soon, he agreed. After all, he had nothing to lose.

"Well... There's someone..." he searched for words to soften the subject, but everything seemed too confusing.

"Ah, I see. You've got a crush on someone!"

"No! Not at all! " he denied, stammering. But somehow Takemichi's deduction helped to lessen his nervousness "it's just that... Let's say you have the opportunity to apologize to the person you bullied, what would you say?"

"That was very specific " he commented, a bit shocked by the statement "and well... I don't know. I've never bullied anyone, i think".

"I kind of expected that... " he admitted, sighing in frustration, but now feeling less burdened.

It was like diving into a sea of regrets and for the first time feeling your lungs being refilled with fresh air. It was liberating.

"Well, continuing... " he cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to himself "this person came back to school, after three years. We had never seen each other again, nor had I had the opportunity to apologize. And also, I don't know how to do it."

Constantly, Takemichi watched the boy with blond locks tighten his fingers repeatedly; restless. Drawing in air forcefully, trying to sound uninterrupted and unshakable, when in fact he was just gathering strength to finish the story. But he was afraid. Afraid of judgment and what Takemichi would say when he finished pouring his heart out.

Then, Takemichi delivered a slap on the back of his friend's neck. The one who let out a grunt of pain, since he was caught off guard at such a vulnerable moment. Dragging his hand to his neck.

"What the fuck, what was that!? "

"Don't worry " Takemichi said, standing back up, extending his hand in a comforting gesture "if you're as sorry as you seem, then that person will surely understand."

"Takemichi... " he murmured in surprise, massaging the affected area.

"You're human. Everyone's an asshole sometimes " he considered.

"When did you become like this? "

"I don't know. Saw it in a comic."

Behind the wall, both blonds watched her water the school garden's flowers, while the watering can poured water on the dry flowers, [Name] watched the birds flapping their wings flying far away. Startled by the rustling of the tree leaves.

Chifuyu was not surprised. The girl had always had an affection for botany. And it reminded him of when he buried her cardigan in the soil of the small garden at the back of school.

Which didn't help much with what little determination he had left inside.

He shook his head, pushing away the thoughts. He didn't expect to see her working with a broken arm, although that effort wasn't enough to tire her or affect her recovery.

"Is it her? " Takemichi dispelled the pessimistic thoughts from the guy with just the tone of voice with which he spoke those words.

Matsuno looked in the direction of his crouched friend, hidden behind the wall, who couldn't take his eyes off the girl. She, who cared little about the environment around her, not even realizing the presence of the two.

"Yeah... " he answered in the same low voice.

"And what are you waiting for? Go there! " he encouraged, seeing a reluctant grimace forming on the other's face.

He didn't feel like giving in at the crucial moment of the situation. But he was apprehensive. His eyes glowed with determination, but this confident and resolute look hid fear. A suppressed feeling of being ignored or having his apologies denied – rightfully so, of course.

He peeled his legs off the ground and began to walk towards the girl, who was now crouched trimming the flowers and tossing the small branches into the basket. Slowly, he approached with his hands in his pockets, as if he were getting close to a skittish cat.

And when [Name] noticed the presence of the blond, she rolled her eyes, looking at him standing at the entrance of the garden. She couldn't avoid the surprise in her gaze, but shortly after, she stood up and put away the gardening tools.

Chifuyu felt a lump forming in his throat.

As he was about to start the dialogue, he was interrupted by [Name]'s velvety voice.

"Do you want something? "

He hadn't heard her voice in a long time, so much so that he couldn't even remember the tone and how her words used to be light and kind.

"Ah, yes... No! i mean no! " he declined, searching for words "are you about to leave?"

"Yes, I have a violin test today " she lied, holding the backpack between her free arm and turning to leave. She didn't plan to prolong the conversation more than necessary.

But before the young woman could take a final step towards the ring of plants - a.k.a. the entrance to the garden - she felt a hand on her shoulder, not with brutality, but rather a touch filled with patience and gentleness. However, it wasn't enough to prevent the shock. [Name] felt so much fear that she didn't even bother hiding the trembling of her hands.

Anxious. The feeling of uncertainty.

"Please, wait " he pleaded, softly "I'm sorry."

If she were in a favorable position, she would certainly raise an eyebrow. Unfortunately, as she was not in a position to do so, she simply waited for him to continue.

"Just know that I regret it. A lot! I wouldn't even be able to see you every day without saying this first."

She stayed silent, thinking about what she had just heard. The usual calmness that surrounded [Name]'s face didn't vanish for a second.

"And is this just for you to feel good about yourself? " she dared to poke where it hurt.

Although she was terrified, it was the only opportunity to be honest and let go of the docile demeanor she had adopted for Matsuno over the years.

"Don't feel bad, it's been a long time " she said, brushing her fingers on the basket handle, releasing the anxiety "it's not like you or I care. I don't want to be your friend or anything, just... leave me alone. " she added, swallowing hard, while he patiently waited for her to finish speaking "So... Please! Don't look for me anymore!"

She mumbled the last words. Summoning courage from where she didn't have it, she quickly moved away from the boy.

And as soon as she finished speaking, she dropped the basket and ran away in a hurry, without any direction. She just wanted to distance herself from Chifuyu as much as possible.

He failed.

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Six - The Dove Waltz

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

The tinny music box in Miroh didn’t even hold a candle to how the live band sounded while playing traditional Waltz music. 

It was a different song flooding the hall but the tempo was the same. Honestly, you were a bit happy the song was different, the last one got old after the first hundred times you did the dance with Minho and Seungmin. 

Seungmin’s arm wraps around you and rests on your hip while the other grabs your hand tightly. You can’t take your eyes off his even if you tried, they’re so sharp.

Even from underneath the mask, you can see how his eyebrows twitch and threaten to pull together. The corners of his lip move towards a frown but he snaps out of it, gulping and rolling his shoulders back. 

“You are going to do magnificent,” he whispers, pulling you chest to chest with him. 

Your nerves feel so frayed, your heart is your throat. This is it, Y/N. You have two chances to get this key. 

So much rides on this. 

After a swell in the music, Seungmin takes the first step forward. Your muscles act on their own and begin to follow the dance. 

The entire circle spins around in the dance. From what you can see in your peripheral vision, it’s magnificent. You almost wish you could just be one of the bystanders watching along the edge of the ballroom. 

Four box steps. 

Seungmin’s grip on your hand changes, he spins you out gracefully, then winds you back into him. 

His lips are by your ear when you come back to him, they brush against the sensitive skin. The fabric of his suit presses into your exposed shoulders and back. 

Both of you lean away from each other in the dance, your head turning and looking up at him. Has his eyes left you once?

The farther you get into the dance, the tighter his jaw gets. 

Leaning back to center, you lift your arms above your head, moving them around and out to the side. He leads you in a spin back to the waltz position. 

Instead of grabbing your hip, his hand splays over your lower back. Your free hand’s fingers interlock before he leans you back. 

The weight of the dress is something you never accounted for when dancing, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. 

Your head falls back in the dip. 

Seungmin leans down further. His lips press right into the dip of your throat in between your collarbones. Your entire body jolts in surprise, electricity shoots down into your fingertips. 

A tiny gasp parts open your lips. 

“You will come back to me, my love.” He says for your ears only. 

You gulp, you’re sure he felt and saw it. 

Seungmin lifts you back up from the dance with taut muscles. He hesitates only for a split second before spinning you away into the arms of a stranger. 

The next handful of people in the circle are a blur of faces you will never remember. Maybe they’ll be one of those people you see in your dreams and wonder where you’ve seen that face before. 

Each of them smell like varying combinations of tobacco, musk, and brandy. Some are more pleasant than others. 

Luckily none of them try to talk to you. They just wear content smiles upon their cookie cutter faces and twirl you away to the next waiting man. 

With each partner, your heart rate increases. 

Sparing a glance to your right, you see Lord Tybesin’s gold mask reflect the light in the room. He’s your next partner. 

Your current partner spins you out and back in. 

Left jacket pocket, Y/N. Its easy. 

If you can pickpocket Lee Minho, you can pickpocket Tybesin Faefiel. 

You’re dipped down politely and brought back up before you’re spun off into the waiting arms of Inuin’s ambassador. 

In a calculated manner, you place both of your hands on his chest instead of in the waltz position. He doesn’t seem to hesitate in putting his own grubby hands on your waist. 

The key is still in the same pocket. 

You both move into the first box step. 

“And there is the lady of the night.” He smirks. “I was counting down the partners until I saw your face.”

Lord Tybesin’s eyes flicker over your shoulder for a moment and then back to your face. 

“Plus, now we do not have any prying eyes.”

Second box step. 

You giggle and play with the fabric of his lapel. “Oh, my lord, you flatter a woman like me too much.”

“Nay, I believe you are just not accustomed to being praised and worshiped as you should be.”

Third box step. 

Over and over again in your head you tell yourself to lean into this fake role. 

“And how exactly should I be worshiped, my lord?”

You bat your eyelashes at him and gaze deeply into his icy eyes. His lids droop a bit and his face darkens a bit. 

His fingers fiddle with the strings on your corset. 

Last box step. 

You bite your lip, he watches it. 

“Lady Sigyn, the ways I believe you should be worshiped are not words for polite company.”

A chill rips down your spine and you shudder. From Tybesin’s perspective, it could be perceived as arousal, but it was anything but. 

Swallowing your disgust, you twirl out and back in. Despite your instincts telling you not to, you press your body backwards as much as your poofy dress would allow. 

A low hum comes from his chest in approval. Your skin crawls.

Both of you lean away from one another.  

“You underestimate me, Lord Tybesin. I am not as good as a girl as you take me for.”

He chuckles in your ear. 

When you come back to center, he whispers in your ear, “You are exactly how I like my women, Lady Sigyn.” 

Thank The Six he can’t see your face, it twists into something nasty. 

At the same time, you look across the circle and meet two searing brown eyes, staring you down from the other side of the dance floor. 

Seungmin’s jaw is so taut, his lips are pulled thin. 

Lord Tybesin pulls your arms above your head while you keep eye contact with Seungmin. 

“The things I could do for you.” Your heart jumps in your chest at his tone. “I can only imagine how sweet you taste.”

Finally, you tear away from Seungmin’s gaze to continue the dance, twirling out and then back in.

One of his hands comes up to grab the back of your neck while the other goes down to your waist.  

Even with all the antics you pulled, neither Seungmin nor Minho ever grabbed you like this for the dip. Your stomach twists in knots as his clammy hands grip you tighter. 

He dips you downwards, your head tilts back while your entire body tenses up with anxiety. Tybesin’s fingers curl around the back of your neck and dig into your skin. 

The grab sends your brain into a crazy frenzy, you feel like a caged animal; like some sort of prey backed into a corner. It’s a possessive and domineering grab.

The dagger attached to your thigh feels like it's burning against your skin, just begging to be used and plunged into his chest.

“No inch would be left untouched, my lady.”

Your stomach flips.

Before you can even gather your wits to attempt to take the key, Tybesin brings you back up from the dip. Your noses brush together, you fight against the recoil your body tries to make.

“A beautiful lady like you needs a wealthy, powerful man like me.”

Without a response, you’re twirled away from him.

No, no, no.  

When the next partner grabs you, your brain is barely there. His disgusting words are swirling around your brain and making your skin crawl. It feels like tiny bugs are running around the back of your neck. 

Ghost-like fingers curl on your neck where his did, it’s like you can still feel his hold.

Partner after partner intercepts you and leads you through the Dove Waltz, you do not register any of them.

Perhaps on their end, you meet their eyes and look like an active participant, but your mind has been shoved down into a deeper place where you can zone out and try to forget his words. 

Additionally, the weight of not getting the key on the first try weighs heavily on your shoulders.

Rage tickles up your spine, seeping through your senses. 

It’s not until a familiar warmth latches onto your arms that your eyes register the person in front of you.

“Sigyn,” Seungmin hushes. Taking the first step in the dance, his head cranes down to look you in the eye.

“He is filth .” Your teeth are bared when you respond with a shaky voice. 

Seungmin takes in your expression carefully, by his wide eyes, you can tell that he is taken aback for a moment, but his face morphs back to an unreadable one. 

“I saw how he touched you,” he growls. The grip on both your hand and waist tightens. The firmness of his touch grounds you and brings you out of the rage-filled haze that you had fallen into. 

“I can still feel it,” you admit under your breath. Seungmin’s eyes snap over to Lord Tybesin, his own anger pooling in them. 

“Perhaps I might need my dagger back.”

“Not yet.”

He looks back down at you, leading you into the fourth box step.

“You did not get it?”

You shake your head. “Nay, I was too blinded by my anger.”

Seungmin nods, his arms move and he spins you out, then back into his chest. With both of his arms around you, even more of the nerves fizzle away. His cheek presses against the side of your head, lips right by your ear.

“Make him regret his actions.”

A shiver shoots down your spine.

Both of you lean to the side, Seungmin stares deeply into your eyes.

Back to center, your arms go above your head and then out to the side. 

“Use this beautiful anger of yours, my lady.” 

Seungmin spins you out to the side, then back to him. His hand rests on your waist to support the dip, but his other comes up and slides right into the split of your skirt and immediately latches onto your bare leg.

A gasp tears from your throat.

His large hand wraps around your thigh and squeezes possessively for a moment before it runs down and grabs your knee. Seungmin lifts your leg up through the slit to brush up against his own clothed hip.

Your head doesn’t tilt back to look at the ceiling. Instead, you maintain direct eye contact the entire time.

“You belong to us.” His words are low when they come out of his mouth, lips pulled in a snarl. 

Seungmin lifts you out of the dip and twirls you away before you can think about it any more. 

Now your heart was racing for an entirely different reason. But your nerves were steeled. You were not going to let Tybesin get the best of you this time around, of that you were sure. 

That key was going to be in your hand by the end of this dance.

When his mask glints in the corner of your vision again, you’re ready. 

You’re spun into his waiting arms which wrap around you like a cage. Again, you rest your hands on his chest.

“We meet again, Lady Sigyn.” He’s so coy and smug, you wish you could slap him.

“So it seems, Lord Tybesin.” Your response back to him is immediately. “I could not get enough of you, I had to come back for more.”

“That is not the first time I have been told that.” He leans in further towards you, Tybesin’s eyes flicker down to your lips, your chest, then back to your face.

Your head tilts to the side innocently. “If you keep looking at me that way, my lord, I am going to start thinking impure thoughts.”

One of his eyebrows cocks up. “Is that so?”  He leans in further. “I have been staring at you all night, more specifically your dress.”

Your hand creeps over to the opening of his jacket.

“My dress, my lord?”

“Aye, I was wondering what it would look like on my bedroom floor.”

Is he serious? You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes at the terrible line. You’ve heard better from the drunkards at the tavern. 

Nonetheless, you giggle. “Oh, how naughty you are, my lord.” Your entire hand slithers into his suit jacket. He doesn’t react. 

“You have heard nothing yet, Lady Sigyn.” His nose brushes against yours. Is he going to try and kiss you?

If he does…

Closer and closer your fingers inch closer to the key. You feel the metal against your fingertips. You’re so close, you can taste the victory on the tip of your tongue. 

“Would you make my body sing, my lord?”

“I would make you scream .”

You do it all at once, in one fluid motion. 

Tybesin goes to twirl you out of his arms, as you unfurl from his body, you nimbly grab the key and slide it out of his pocket.

In the time it takes you to spin back into him, you flip the key around and tuck it into the corsage around your wrist. 

By The Six… please .

Tybesin makes no move as if he’s clocked what happened, he continues the dance, with his body as close to yours as possible. 

You just want him away from you. You have the key, can’t you make a run for it?

The two of you lean to the side and then back to center. 

“Won’t you come visit my room tonight, Lady Sigyn?” He whispers in your ear.

Both of your arms are brought above your head. And, just like last rotation, you lock eyes with Seungmin across the circle from you. 

He looks up at your wrist quickly, he sees the metal glint in the light and a beautiful, sly smile stretches across his lips. 

“I will have to think about it, my lord,’ you answer plainly. Your entire tone shifts now that the mission is over. But, you know you need to see it through to the end. “Perhaps a morning visit is safer, when Lord Skye is fast asleep.”

You’re spun out, and then back to the waltz position. “Such a clever dove, you are.”

Tybesin grabs you the exact same way, fingers on the back of your neck making you feel like a cat being picked up by it’s scruff.

He dips you backwards and takes a bold move.

Disgustingly warm, wet lips press right below your collarbones. 

A bolt of anger pangs through your body and you want to scream and kick him as hard as possible. Your mind blanks for a heartbeat as you try to pull yourself back into your right mind.

Play the part, play the part, play the part.

You’re stoic as Tybesin brings you back up to him with the most smug look on his face. One solid punch is all you need, one quick right hook to the jaw would bring you more joy than anything else in this world.

But you keep it all to yourself.

“I look forward to it.”

You’re spun away.

The key in your corsage.

You did it. You did it .

A pure jubilant feeling blossoms within your chest. It feels like an elephant is lifted off of your shoulders. 

There’s an extra pep in your step with every other partner you dance with for the remainder of the dance. You twirl and spin around as if you have no other care in the world.

Who cares how silly and floaty you look, you achieved your mission and can finally enjoy this dance the way you were meant to!

Man after man leads you around the circle.

The music hits a final swell, a final curl through the air.

Your final spin is stopped by a pair of strong hands gripping yours so firmly you think it might bruise. Seungmin stares down at you with black eyes, the color of them so dark it makes your heart stutter.

The music cuts off with the final note of the song.

The entire ballroom erupts in applause. 

“Seung– Lord Skye?” You ask with furrowed brows.

He holds you against him so closely. There’s not even an inch of room between the two of you. 

Seungmin says nothing, he continues to watch you as the applause dies down.

Couples begin leaving the dancefloor and mingling with one another once more. The traditional Dove Waltz has completed. 

What’s wrong? Did something happen? You can still feel the key tucked away in your corsage. Did Tybesin notice? Is he looking for you?

Your head turns to look around the ballroom for the ambassador.

With razor sharp quickness, Seungmin reaches out and grabs your chin and brings your face back to his. 

“Eyes on me, only me. Do you hear me?” He sounds lethal .

Your eyes widen and your mouth parts open. His grip on your chin tightens.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you answer quickly.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I hear you.”

“Good girl.”

Your agape mouth snaps shut.

Those words go right through you. It’s alarming the effect they have on you. 

You’ve always prided yourself on being a big, strong warrior who doesn’t take shit from anyone. But hearing Seungmin say that to you makes your knees feel wobbly all of a sudden. 

Seungmin moves quickly. His hand moves from your chin down to snatch your wrist. He turns on his heel and storms out of the ballroom with you in tow. 

Bodies blur past you, they all are blobs of color in your peripheral vision as Seungmin leads you through the throng. Voices mesh into a chorus of nothing.

The only thing you see is the back of Seungmin’s head. Your feet stutter in place a bit, he only tugs your wrist tighter, walking faster.

He drags you out of the ballroom and through winding hallways. The more steps you take, the further you get away from the crowd. 

SIlence begins creeping up on you. There’s a slight ringing in your ears from the absence of sound after being surrounded in it for so long.

You’re led up a flight of stairs and down another, even quieter, hallway.

Seungmin stops abruptly, you almost walk into his back.

He spins around and brings your wrist up level with his eyes, he slips the key out of the corsage and turns back to the door in front of him. His one hand never releases your wrist. 

With frightening speed, he unlocks the door and pushes open the door. He yanks your wrist and throws you into the office before him.

Because of the shoes you’re wearing, your balance isn’t the best so you stumble inside and catch yourself at the last minute before toppling over.

“By The Six!” You hiss, trying to keep your voice down. “What has gotten into y–” You spin around to yell at the rogue but your voice catches when you see him.

He’s stalking towards you, the door shutting behind him. Nimble fingers latch the lock of the door with a loud click. 

His hand shoots out and wraps around your throat, fingers pressing into the skin harshly, but not tight enough to cut off any oxygen supply– just enough to have a firm hold on you.

Seungmin yanks you forward towards him at the same time he takes a step closer, meeting you in the middle.

Like a man possessed, his face dips down to capture your mouth.

His lips press against yours so harshly you’re surprised your teeth don’t clack together. A surprised moan comes from your mouth and is swallowed by his. 

The shock only gives you pause for two heartbeats before you’re kissing Seungmin back with an equal amount of passion and hunger.

He’s feverishly kissing you. Lips gliding over yours, trying to devour your very being. 

Seungmin breaks the kiss only for a second to rip his mask off his face, throwing it to the side and then capturing your lips once more. His fingers grip your throat even tighter, your arms wrap around his neck and keep him closer to you.

“Where did he touch you?” he growls against your mouth. 

Keeping your lips locked together, you grab his hand on your throat and maneuver it around to the back of your neck where Tybesin’s was previously.

“Here,” you say quickly before capturing his lips once more. 

Seungmin’s tongue slithers out and dances against yours. 

He tastes like champagne, the same one you had been drinking all night. He sucks on your own tongue for a moment before twirling them around one more.

Hot, heavy exhales sound out between kisses.

Seungmin’s fingers curl around the back of your neck like Tybesin’s did, bringing your face impossibly closer to his. His touch is entirely different.

His possessiveness of you was intoxicating. 

Your fingers thread up his hair on the back of his head, pulling harshly to ground yourself. Seungmin moans into your mouth, his free hand groping at your waist over your corset.

“These fucking layers ,” he hisses against your lips.

With your lips locked together, Seungmin walks you backwards until you hit something hard against the back of your legs. 

The desk.

Seungmin tears himself off your mouth. With frightening strength, he spins you around and bends you over the top of the wooden desk. Papers crinkle underneath your weight as you plant your elbows down to hold your body up. 

He towers over the back of you, one hand still on the back of your neck.

With his chest against your back, Seungmin mouths at the shell of your ear. His other hand rucks your skirt around in search of the slit.

“I could not stand seeing his hands all over you.” 

He speaks so low, it rumbles deep within his chest. 

His warm fingers find the split in the fabric and grab at your thigh desperately. His nails dig into your skin. Involuntarily, your back arches and your hips press backwards.

Because of all the layers of tulle and velvet between the two of you, you’re not able to feel anything. But, by the way Seungmin’s hips rut back into you, the pressure of having you press back was just as delicious.

“You belong to Miroh. You are ours .”

Seungmin’s hand slides up and grabs the dagger on your thigh. 

You can hear the sound of the metal sliding out of the sheath.

“No one else’s. I will make sure you understand that, pretty girl.” 

Keeping your head down, Seungmin stands up, bringing the dagger out from underneath your skirt. Before you can stop him, he slices through all of the strings tying your corset up in the back.

“Seungmin!” It comes out like a pathetic squeal. He tosses the dagger to the side and lifts you up by the back of your neck.

The corset loosens around your top instantly, it falls around your top half, breasts spilling over the top.

You’re spun around again, lips pressing to yours desperately. Once more Seungmin’s tongue dances with yours as his hands push the dress down your body. The top half pools around your stomach. 

Fumbling, you pull your arms out of the sleeves.

As soon as your breasts are freed, Seungmin cups both of them with a strangled moan on your lips. He kneads them in greedy handfuls, fingers pinching and pulling at your perky nipples.

Moan after moan is swallowed up by his mouth devouring yours.

“ Fuck ,” he whispers against your lips. His hips rut into your skirts. 

Seungmin trails his kisses down your neck.

“There too.” you force out breathily.

“What?” He pauses his mouth, but his fingers continue to rub and pinch your nipples. Each movement sends a zap of arousal down to your smalls, which you’re sure are soaked and dripping at this point.

“He kissed me there.” It takes so much effort to utter the words.

Seungmin’s head shoots up to look at you. Once more, his one hand grabs at your throat.

You meet his dark, arousal blown eyes. Your pants mingling between the two of your lips.

“He kissed me below my collarbone when he dipped me the second time.”

Seungmin is still for a few moments that feel longer than they actually are.

Then, something snaps within him.

He reaches down and picks you up by the waist and sits you on the edge of the desk, slotting between your legs. 

His hands fight with your skirts as he hikes them up, splitting the slit to get to your smalls. You keen into his touch, legs spreading wider to let him do whatever he pleases. 

Seungmin grabs your underwear and rips them down your legs with one hand as he fumbles with his own pants.

His head dips down to mouth at your collarbones. 

“Here?” He demands. 

Before you can answer, he bites hard right below the collarbone. You cry out, one hand flying up to cover your mouth.

“Or was it here?” He moves to the other side and bites equally as hard. 

He sucks the sensitive skin roughly, with your one hand, you roughly grab at his hair, trying to pull him off you.

Seungmin only moves to the side, sucking another purple mark into your skin as you cry out. 

“Here? Did he fucking touch you here?”

You’re so preoccupied by his torture on your collarbones that you’re not aware of his other movements until something hard prods at your entrance.

“I’ll make sure you know who you belong to.”

Without any further warning, he pushes into you, filling you to the hilt. A pathetic cry falls out of your mouth and into your hand. Seungmin lets out an equally fucked out moan.

Your cunt sucks him in so well his eyes roll back in his head. His anger and jealousy consume him, adding pleasure is making everything that much better .

He pulls out just to fuck into you harder, his hips slamming back into yours.

“All night you let him toy with you,” he growls into your neck. He sucks mark after mark, leaving purple blotches everywhere on your skin. “All night I had to watch as someone else eye-fucked my woman.”

“Seung– Seungmin! Fuck!”

It feels so fucking good.  

He’s fucking into you so hard, your eyes are rolling to the back of your skull. You pull his hair to try and bring his face back up to your lips, but he won’t stop marking your once flawless skin.

“Touching him.” Another harsh suck. “Letting him touch you.”

At this rate, he’s going to run out of skin to mark up.

Growls emanate from deep within his chest as he fucks into you with abandon. 

“Thought I would be able to– fuck! – handle it. But I could not fucking stand it.” He moans into your neck. 

His hips are pistoning in and out of you so fast, fucking into you so deep that you’re not sure you’re going to be able to walk for days. 

“Wanted to fuck you right in front of his own fucking eyes.” Seungmin’s mouth doesn’t stop. “Make sure he sees you come undone on my cock.”

You’re a panting, moaning mess in his arms. One hand in his hair, the other clamped over your mouth.

Finally, he picks his head up from your chest. Instead of the cloudy, lusty haze in his eyes, you’re met with piercing sharpness. 

Seungmin’s hand slithers down into your skirts, finding your clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. His other hand comes up and rips your hand away from your mouth.

“Who do you belong to?” 

“You!” you cry out.

“Not good enough. Who do you belong to?”

“Fuck! Seungmin!” 

He shifts the angle of his cock and suddenly he’s slamming into your g-spot over and over again. 

“You–” thrust. “Belong–” thrust. “To–” thrust. “Miroh.”

You’re holding onto him for dear life as he fucks the life out of you on the ambassador’s desk.

Your orgasm creeps up closer and closer. You know that Seungmin can’t be far behind by the way his thrusts begin to get sharper and sharper, his rhythm faltering with small whines and grunts.  

“I belong to you! I belong to Miroh!”

Loud whines begin tearing from his lips as he gets closer and closer to the edge with you. 

“Cum on my cock, Y/N.” He begs, slamming his lips onto yours afterwards. “Fucking come apart all over me. Come on, pretty girl.”

He thrusts a few more times until the band within you snaps, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. Seungmin swallows your screams with his own mouth. 

Your mind whites out as you let him consume you whole. 

With a deep growl, his own orgasm slams into his body. His cock jumps and spurts within you, painting your walls white. 

His hand grabs at the back of your neck, keeping your lips on his as you both ride out your shared orgasms. 

You’re clinging onto one another as if the world may come to an end if you let go. 

You feel the pleasure continuously shoot down through your toes, pussy pulsing around him every few seconds in the aftershock. 

After a few moments of shared bliss, you finally tear away from one another. Seungmin looks so fucked out, you wonder for a moment if you look equally as bad as he does. You have to.

He scans around your face before leaning in and pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips.

“I may have gotten carried away.” 

“You think?”