#navy blue lounge chair

[maybeimmadreamer]

Poolhouse Poolhouse New York

Large ornate backyard stamped concrete and rectangular lap pool house photo

[xpaigeturnahx]

Pool - Lap

Large Victorian backyard with rectangular lap pool house made of stamped concrete.

[hayeskarlie]

Living Room Austin Example of a mid-sized transitional formal and enclosed room with a medium tone wood floor, blue walls, a brick fireplace, and no television.

[roostersbby69]

God bless America

Summary: You and the dagger squad had decided to take a vacation down to the beach. When Bradley sees you in your USA bikini, he almost gets on his knees and recites the pledge of allegiance.

Warnings: smut, language, drinking

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

You sprayed on your tanning oil and sat down with Phoenix on the lounge chairs as you watched the boys play chicken in the pool.

You grabbed your book and opened to the page you left off on the road trip and started reading.

You occasionally looked up when there was cheering or a big splash that caused the concrete around the pool to get wet.

Bradley walked out with his shades on and a beer in his hand as he caught sight of you in your USA bikini. Your breast was covered in navy blue with white stars and your bikini bottoms were red and white stripes. He took his sunglasses off slowly and muttered a soft, “Holy shit.”

You were sitting on the lounge chair, book in hand, with shades on your head. You sipped your coke from your straw and he watched as the pink lipgloss you were wearing left marks on it. You set it down, eyes never leaving your book, and crossed one leg over the other.

He snapped out of his daze as he got splashed by Jake who, on purpose, did a cannonball in front of him.

Bradley looked down as his bottom half was soaked and gave Jake an unamused look. “Thanks a lot.” He muttered before walking around the pool and in front of you. Your eyes peeked up as he dripped onto the concrete. He had on floral swimming trunks that gave you a great view of his thighs.

You looked back down at your book, but couldn’t seem to focus on it as he was sitting next to you.

“Want a beer Rooster?” Phoenix leaned over you to see him.

“Yeah sure.” He shrugged as she passed a beer to you and you passed it to him.

He noticed how your fingers skimmed his and were warm against the cold bottle.

“Thank you.” He took the bottle and looked in his lap to try and find his bottle opener. “Hey, Phoenix, you got a bottle opener?”

“I do.” He heard your sweet voice and watched as you dug into your bag and handed him your bottle opener.

“Thank you.” He took it with a smile and cracked open the beer, “Of course it’s pink.” He teased. He knew it was your favorite color.

“Shut up.” You smiled, dropping it back into your bag once he handed it back to you and watched as he sipped his beer and sighed.

“It’s a pretty day.” Phoenix said as she laid back further into her chair, arms over her head.

“Sure is.” You agreed, “I’m going to go to the restroom.” You closed your book and got up.

“Okay, but don’t be long. I need a friend.” Phoenix nodded as she watched you walk towards the house. She hollered and whistled, “Nice ass, Y/n.”

You looked back with a blush on your face as she was laughing. You hurried inside and shut the sliding glass door.

Bradley chugged his beer, discreetly, before standing up and saying he was going to grab another one.

Phoenix looked at him before looking down at her cooler which was full of beer and put two and two together. She smiled and slipped her shades onto her face.

-

Bradley walked inside, closing the door softly, before walking up the stairs to where your room was. He heard the sink running and figured you were washing your hands.

He waited patiently until he heard it cut off and you walked out. You squealed as you almost ran into him, “Rooster, don’t do that.” You held your heart. Well, your boob. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” He apologized as he looked down at you. He noticed how your boobs sat nicely and you had small abs from working out with Phoenix. And yes, you did have a nice ass. Per every one on the team.

“Is there something wrong?” You asked as you stared up at him with big eyes.

He stared at you before stepping closer and looking you deep in your eyes. “Bradley?” You almost whispered.

He grabbed your cheek and pressed his lips against yours hard. Your eyes widened and you sucked in a breath but didn’t push away from him. You closed your eyes and deepened the kiss by grabbing the back of his neck and pushed yourself flush against him until your boobs were pressed against his bare chest.

He turned you to walk you towards the bed and laid you down gently as he hovered above you. His lips never left yours, his big hand came and wrapped around your neck tightly.

He pulled away from you and his fingers came to the straps of your bikini and slipped them down your shoulders.

His lips came to your neck and sucked gently on your sweet spot.

You helped him take off your bikini top and shimmied it off until he threw it on the ground.

He leaned back and took both of his massive hands and squeezed each tit, playing with the soft flesh.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered and leaned down to kiss you.

Your hands went down to his swimming trunks as you pushed at them trying to get them off.

He noticed this and helped you pull them down until he stepped out of them. He yanked your swimsuit bottoms down and got on his knees, he drug you to him and leaned in until you could feel his breath on your dripping core.

“Fuck, Bradley.” You whimpered as he pressed your knees to your chest and licked a stipe from one hole to your clit. He sucked on it harshly, sending shocks through your body as your legs twitched and you moaned.

“You taste so sweet.” He mumbled against your pussy, he leaned back and spit on your core before shoving a finger inside you until all of his spit was in you.

You moaned and covered your mouth as one of his hands came and grabbed your tit harshly.

He put your whole pussy in his mouth as his tongue traced unknown patterns all over you and circled around your clit. His thumb came up to rub tight circles around it as his tongue pushed into your hole and pumped so fast his hand made a light slapping noise as it came in contact with your ass.

“F-fuck Bradley.” You moaned with each thrust of his fingers. Your breathing was ragged, he looked up at you and watched your face as your eyebrows knitted together and your cheeks were pink.

He pulled apart from you and stood up, his dick bounced as he grabbed your arms and sat you up, “You wanna suck me off?” He asked nicely.

You nodded, helplessly, and took your small hand around his thick cock. You pumped it a few times as you kitten licked the precum off of his tip and stared into his eyes.

“Fuck.” He groaned, he threw his head back while his fingers laced through your hair. He slowly thrust into your throat and moaned when you gagged around him.

“Fuck, I need to be in you.” He removed himself from your mouth and turned you around.

He came over you and lifted your right leg out as he pushed into you slowly.

You moaned out as he was balls deep inside of you now, he moved your hair to the side as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck before whispering in your ear.“How do you like it?”

“Just fuck me.” You whined as he pressed his hips further into yours.

He pulled out before snapping back into you at a fast pace.

You cried out as his hands gripped your waist tightly and held you down into the mattress, his pace never faltering.

“You look so innocent sitting out there reading your book in your tiny bikini. Didn’t know you liked to be fucked.” His hand came down and slapped your ass cheek and he pressed his hand on the spot to soothe the stinging.

“You’re so big.” You moaned. This felt so dirty, you had no connection whatsoever, other than being on the same team and being friendly to one another.

“They don’t call me Rooster for nothing, sweetheart.” He rammed into you and watched as your ass jiggled for him and listened as you made obscene noises for him. He whispered dirty things to you like, “You’re so tight” and “I’ve been dreaming about this” into your ear.

You moaned as he lifted your rear up and smacked it, causing the slapping noise to echo through the room, and pressed between your shoulder blades until you were face down ass up for him.

“God, you’re so sexy.” He kept his pace steady as you cried out for him.

“Fuck, Rooster, Right there!” The tip of his thick cock hit a special spot inside of you and made you feel like you were gushing.

“I can’t…” Your jaw opened further as he kept his brutal thrusting on your poor pussy.

“You cant what, baby?” He teased, he knew what he was doing to you. So he kept thrusting and grabbed the front of your neck to lift you up and pull your back flush against his chest.

“Come on, baby, talk to me.” He kissed under your ear and watched as small tears of pleasure leaked from the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck” you gasped, “I can’t hold it much longer.”

“I know, sweet girl.” He held your hip and slowed his pace a little bit, “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

You nodded as he kissed your temple and thrusted into you again, his fingers ran down your stomach, to your clit, and rubbed tight circles around it.

You moaned a sinful moan as he groaned in your ear. He was really good in bed, you couldn’t deny it. With his thick cock, veins running along it, his thick fingers, big arms, sexy voice, and dirty mouth. Just thinking about it without touching yourself would make you cum.

“I’m gonna cum!” You whimpered as he kept his pace into you. He thrusted and you could hear his balls smacking your ass and if anyone walked by the room, they would too.

“Cum for me, be a good girl and cum for me. Say my name.” He chanted as you kept moaning, getting closer and closer to your high.

“Fuuuuuck, Bradley.” You moaned out as you gushed around his cock and felt his dick twitching inside of you as hot ropes of his cum filled you up.

He slammed inside of you one last time before cursing under his breath.

He laid you down slowly and pulled out gently as he watched his cum pour out of you, and down your thighs.

He grabbed a towel that he had brought inside and wiped you clean, careful not to hurt you.

“You okay?” He asked.

You were almost asleep on the pillow as you nodded your head and sighed.

He laughed to himself, proud, that he had done this to you. He leaned over you and kissed your heated cheek sweetly. He grabbed his swimming trunks and pulled them on.

“You coming back out?” He asked in your ear as he pressed another kiss to your neck and sweaty forehead.

You shook your head ‘no’ and he smiled, “Okay.”

He pulled the covers over your body and pressed one last kiss to your cheek before walking out of the room and closing the door.

He walked outside with another beer and saw everyone was still in the pool, and Nat was still in her chair.

“Where’s Y/n?” She asked as he sat down in your chair.

He kicked his feet up and folded his arms behind his head, trying to hide the proud smirk on his face, “ She’s taking a nap.”

—————————————————————

[corroded-hellfire]

AYW req if you'd like: while Reader is pregnant with Eliza, she starts getting more prominent stretch marks on her stomach & boobs & stops letting Eddie see her naked. Eddie rectifies that situation hehehehe

This was honestly so fun to write! Love featuring the kiddos but these two also need some alone time hehe 💜 @munson-blurbs and I hope you like what we've come up with

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (she's already pregnant but you should still wrap it up), semi-public sex, pregnant!reader, oral, f!receiving, breeding kink, body image issues, older!eddie, dad!eddie

Words: 3.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The late June day is sweltering as you step out of the Harrington’s house and into their backyard. The placid blue water of the pool looks refreshing and calm—or it will, until the kids get in. Luke quickly jumps in alongside Theo and Danny, the three rowdy boys immediately splashing each other and then whining about being splashed. Ryan and Natalie are decidedly less hyperactive, taking care to watch baby Amelia where she kicks herself around in her purple mermaid floaties. 

Nancy makes herself comfortable on a lounge chair a few feet away from the one you’re making your way towards. Normally you can keep up with everyone else, still being in your second trimester, but this heat has you moving slower and feeling crankier than usual. 

You can’t help but notice the way Nancy looks in her bathing suit compared to how you feel in yours. Nancy’s had four children and looks stunning as always as she lays back in her black one piece. You feel shoved into your navy suit, like every little stretch mark that mars your skin is on full display for the world to see. 

Trying to shrug it off and enjoy the invitation from the Harrington’s to have a pool day, you make yourself comfortable on your lounge chair and adjust the pale pink coverup you have on. Eddie stands near the foot of your lounge chair, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks out at the children in the water. Your eyes feel glued to his lithe frame as he strips his shirt off. The pale skin that’s left on display practically has your mouth watering. It doesn’t matter that you’ve seen him naked countless times, your eyes still roam over his torso and the beautiful works of art he has inked on his skin. 

As Eddie rids himself of the Black Sabbath shirt, he notices the way you’re gawking at him. A smirk quirks up his handsome features and he playfully tosses his shirt at your face. Your hormones this second trimester have been no joke. The moment Eddie walks through the door after work you’re jumping on him. Your husband swore you were going to wear him out before this baby was born. Not the last week or so though, now that Eddie thinks about it. Maybe those particular horny hormones have been fading to make room for whatever new batch comes in for the third trimester. 

The sound of little feet kicking too hard beneath the water of the pool approaches you and Eddie, and you look up to see Luke swimming over towards the edge. He grins up at the pair of you, shaking the water from his curls like a dog just out of the bath. Bright blue eyes land on you and they’re doing a pretty damn good impersonation of the puppy dog look that Eddie gives you when he wants something. You know what Luke is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. 

“Wanna plaaaay with us? Please?”

Giving him a frown as you squint beneath the blazing sunlight, you shake your head. “I’m super tired, bud. Growing a baby is hard work,” you tease. You’re not technically lying—when you’re not jumping Eddie’s bones or concocting weird new food combinations, you’re sleeping— but no one needs to know that’s not the reason you don’t want to get in the pool. 

“I can play with you,” Eddie offers his son. He takes a step towards the pool and is ready to dive in when Luke wrinkles his nose up in disgust.

“Nah, I’m good,” the little Munson boy says. 

As you bring your hands up to your mouth to cover up your laughter at your son’s remark, Steve claps a hand on Eddie’s bare back.

“Gonna need some ice for that burn?” Steve whoops. 

“Shut up, Harrington,” your husband grumbles in response. Eddie takes a seat near your legs at the edge of the lounge chair. His hand finds your leg and he rubs up and down your calf, always needing to be touching you in some way. Physical comfort is something you both love to give and receive from one another, which calls for a lot of soft rubbing or absent-mindedly drawing patterns on one another’s skin. Now, Eddie’s touch is having a calming effect on you, though he didn’t even realize there was something you’re uneasy about. Your body language must change as he relaxes you though, because he tilts his head to the side as he gazes at your face.

“You feeling alright, baby?” he asks.

“Yeah, just tired.” 

If Eddie had any follow up for that, he doesn’t get the chance because Amelia kicks her way over towards Luke in the pool and hangs onto his shoulder when she’s close enough. Her hand almost slips from his wet skin, but Luke manages to catch the little girl before she can float too far away. 

“Uncla’ Eddie!” Amelia calls once she’s clinging to Luke again. 

“What’s up, Little Red?” he asks his favorite ginger niece. 

“Come in, come in!” Amelia cheers. 

“At least somebody wants me in the water,” Eddie says with a pointed look at Luke. “Anything for you, my darling Mia.”

A few minutes after Eddie’s joined the kids in the pool—who also convince Steve to come in—Nancy comes over to you, noticing how everyone else is in just their bathing suits and you’re seemingly putting on more articles of clothing. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answer too quickly, nervously tucking your lips into your mouth. 

“Bullshit,” she counters, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have four kids; I can smell a lie a mile away.”

“Seriously, Nance, I’m fine.” You muster up a small smile, but she sees right through it, and you know it. 

You have your nose buried in a book, unaware that Nancy is reaching over the side of the pool to give Eddie’s ear a tug. 

“Jesus H. Christ!” he yelps, rubbing the affected lobe. “What was that for?”

“Go talk to your wife,” Nancy says through gritted teeth, obviously irritated at having to spell it out for him. “Marco Polo can wait.”

As Eddie attempts to get out of the pool, Amelia grabs his leg and tugs. Your husband lets out a soft chuckle and picks the small girl up.

“I’ll be back, Mia.” He presses a few kisses to the top of her wet, red hair and sets her back in the water. 

Over the top of your book, you see Eddie sauntering towards you. You slip the book back into your bag and tug your cover up tighter across your body. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” he asks with a smirk. “Besides that bun in the oven.”

“Just relaxing,” you say. 

“If you’re just relaxing, why did Lady Harrington threaten my life to come over here? And why aren’t you in the pool?”

The only answer you have you don’t want to tell him. And you’re not going to make up some lie to get him off your back. Eddie deserves better than that and you would never treat him with anything less than the utmost respect. That doesn’t mean you want to tell him the truth, though. You swallow embarrassment as you mutter, “I gotta pee.”

Eddie doesn’t let you get far without him though, he’s hot on your tail as you walk through the back door into the house.

“Can you please tell me what the problem is so I can at least try to fix it?” he asks once the screen door is securely closed behind him.

Silence is his only reply as you walk up the stairs to the second floor. You’re obviously upset, and your husband can’t relax until he knows what’s bothering you.

“Sweetheart, what’s the problem?” he asks again.

You stop short and spin on your heel to face him. As Eddie tries to read your face, he’s not sure if there’s more sadness or anger there. Either way, he wants to make it go away. He’d do anything. 

“This is the problem!” you say, gesturing towards your boobs and stomach. 

Eddie looks at you for a moment, brain trying to comprehend whatever it is you’re talking about. He shakes his head and gives you his response. “If I keep looking at them, this is gonna be a problem, too.” He motions to his crotch.

“I’m serious!” you yell in frustration. 

“I am, too!” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows. “Don’t forget how I got you pregnant in the first place.”

“Oh, so I can blame you for this mess?”

Eddie wrinkles his brows. “What mess?” He knows you would never refer to your baby that way, so he’s even more confused as to what you could mean.

“The stretch marks, Eds!” you lament, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “They look like an angry toddler drew lines all over my body.”

Understanding clicks inside Eddie’s brain. Why you’re so covered up. Why you didn’t want to go into the pool. But how could you ever think anything about your body wasn’t absolutely beautiful to him?

“That’s why you haven’t been all over me the past few days,” Eddie says as the realization hits him. “I thought maybe it was those horny hormones, or whatever they’re called, fading. But you…you think there’s something wrong with having stretch marks? Baby, no. It’s just your body making more room for our little sweet pea to grow. They’re beautiful, sweetheart.”

Believing him is easier said than done. You want to believe him, but battling the insecurities in your head is not something you’ve conquered yet. Now you just stand there and fiddle with the hem of your coverup, not knowing what else to say or do.

Eddie sighs and gently takes your hand into his. 

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.” 

Eddie leads you into the upstairs bathroom and shuts the door. He positions you directly in front of the mirror above the sink and stands behind you. Slowly, he moves your cover up out of the way to reveal your growing bump, stretch marks dotting the sides. 

“How on earth could you think anything about this is a problem?” he asks, his hands barely grazing your skin as he admires your tummy. “Look at you. Gorgeous bump. Cute little stretch marks from where our baby is making herself comfortable inside of you. It’s incredible, princess. Your body is literally growing a person and you’re mad at it because there are a few lines appearing on your skin?” He gives an incredulous laugh as he turns you around to face him. “Jesus, I mean, see what just talking about it does to me.” One large hand dwarfs your smaller one to press your palm to the hardening bulge in his swim trunks. 

You roll your eyes. “Please. The wind blows the wrong way and you get a boner,” you rebut. 

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Eddie says with a small groan. “Don’t say blows when I’m hard like this.”

“Can you be serious for two seconds?” Your temper is already short from the heat and the pregnancy, and his blasé attitude only makes it worse. 

Eddie cradles your cheeks in his hands. “I love you. And I love your body. I loved it before you were pregnant, and I’ll love it after, but watching you carrying our baby…fuckin’ does it for me.” He bites his lower lip as he drinks in the sight of you. “Goddamn, you look fuckin’ gorgeous like this.”

You think back to when the two of you first got together, when he’d made what you’d assumed was an offhand remark about knocking you up. Maybe it wasn’t as out of left field as you’d thought. 

As if he can read your mind, Eddie’s lips press soft kisses down your neck as he murmurs, “always dreamed about getting you pregnant. Would’ve done it a lot sooner if I’d known you’d be this sexy.” He runs a finger along a stretch mark that curves down your stomach. 

“H-How much sooner?” Curiosity asks the question for you as your back arches slightly from his touch. 

“That night,” he confirms, knowing he doesn’t have to elaborate further on what night he means, “but your stupid birth control pills ruined all my fun,” he adds with a teasing smirk. 

“They were so stupid. Sh-Should’ve stopped taking them the second I saw you.” Your voice is still timid from the emotions coursing through you, but Eddie can tell you’re finally letting him in.

Eddie throws his head back. “Fuck, baby. You got me all worked up.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you tease, hands sliding up his wet chest and over the sparse hair. “What should we do about that?”

Eddie whines and leans in, nipping at your neck. 

“You know, I wasn’t a big fan of this bathing suit anyway,” you tell him. “The faster you get it on the floor, the faster you can be inside of me.”

Eddie gets your coverup and bathing suit off in record time. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on. His swim trunks go next and then Eddie is lifting you up onto the bathroom counter. There’s not much time to admire his fully naked body before he gets down on his knees in front of you. You wind your fingers through the hair on the top of his head and he looks up at you with wide, hungry eyes. That look alone has you practically dripping for him. 

Eddie keeps that eye contact with you as his hands force your legs further apart and he licks a broad stripe up your folds. You’re the one to end the staring contest when the pleasure overwhelms you and your eyes flutter closed, throwing your head back. It knocks against the mirror, but you’re too caught up to notice if it hurt or not. 

On the next swipe of Eddie’s tongue, he keeps going up so his tongue is trailing the swell of your belly as well. He presses hot kisses against your bump as he works his way back down again. He repeats the motion, next time taking time to either kiss or run his tongue along the stretch marks. The physical sensation feels amazing, but paired with the way Eddie is making you feel emotionally with his tender touch is making your heart thump even faster. 

Every little movement of his makes you feel more cared for, more cherished, and sexy. He’s built you up so high that you have to give a little tug on his curls so he pulls his mouth away from your pussy.

“Need you inside. Now.”

“Anything for the woman carrying my baby.”

You pull his mouth to yours and moan against his tongue as you feel his hands roam your body. His touch soothes over the areas of your breasts where you’ve memorized the stretch marks before moving down and caressing the ones on your stomach again. 

Eddie’s hands slide up to your hips and give a quick squeeze. He gently lifts you down from the counter and spins you around to face the mirror. You brace your hands on the counter as Eddie trails soft kisses up the side of your neck.

“Want you to see how fucking hot is when I fuck you like this,” he whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver throughout your body. 

You spread your legs, but Eddie wants them farther apart. He nudges them with his knee while he rubs a hand up and down your spine. He fists his cock a few times, making eye contact with you in the mirror as he does so. The way he’s looking at you has you whimpering and whining in anticipation.

Your noises make Eddie smirk, and he lines himself up with your entrance. As he pushes in, one hand snakes around your body and rests firmly on your baby bump. 

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “I’ll never get over how fucking perfectly we fit together.” He punctuates his statement by tilting your chin slightly upwards so you have no choice but to see yourself in the mirror. You watch as he disappears inside you, your body obeying his every command. 

When you rock your hips back against his, Eddie slips his other hand around you to rub circles on your clit. His middle finger finds it easily, slipping through your soaked folds and pressing against the sensitive bud. The feeling is too much; you have to bite your lip to keep from screaming out—the last thing you need is the Harringtons hearing your pathetic whines. 

“God, I wanna fill you up so bad, baby,” Eddie hisses, snapping into you furiously as he takes in the view of your body; the view of you watching your body. “Shit, I’d make you pregnant twice over right now if I could.” 

“W-Would you always keep me pregnant if you could?” you manage to ask between gasps and whimpers—both yours and Eddie’s. 

“Fuck,” Eddie growls. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. “I’ll go buy a damn farm right now to raise all the babies I want to put in you.”

His words make you laugh, which has you squeezing around Eddie’s cock. He moans, drawing you impossibly close against his bare chest. 

“They’re babies, not sheep, Eddie.”

“Still need the space to run around,” he muses, making you laugh again.

“I love you so—-oh! So, so much, Eddie.”

 He’s ridiculously hard inside of you, fucking into you like his life depends on it. “Shit, I love you too, princess.” His middle finger makes more frantic circles around your clit, throwing you over the edge. “You’ve got a fuckin’ vice grip today, holy shit,” he breathes, willing himself not to finish too early while still being acutely aware of his surroundings. 

Your fingers dig into the countertop as each thrust brings you closer to your orgasm. “Right—right there,” you pant, fighting back a moan. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tstop.” You come, aided by his magic fingers and your raging hormones, with a soft whine of his name. 

“‘M right there, shit, you’re the best little fucktoy,” he grunts. The hint of degradation has you clenching around him again; of course, he immediately takes notice of it. “Y’like that? Y’like being my pregnant little fucktoy? Knocked up with my baby and still beggin’ for more?”

“Y-Yes, sir,” you stutter, smiling at the reaction your response brings. 

Eddie’s pistoning his hips into you, whispering directly in your ear, “So good, so fucking good f’me. Gonna come so deep in this little pussy, mkay? Gonna keep you pregnant, just like you want.” 

With a guttural groan, he spills into you. His breath is hot on your shoulder blade as he stays inside, not wanting to withdraw right away. You’re not complaining either, until—

“Are you two finished in there?” Steve’s irritated voice beckons from the other side of the door. Your already sweaty body heats up even more, realizing you’ve been found out. Something about it is also oddly hot, but it’s not the best time to think about that with Eddie still inside of you and Steve on the other side of the door. 

“Just a sec!” Eddie calls back, giving your earlobe a gentle nibble as he pulls out, scooping up the cum that’s dripping down your bare leg and stuffing it back into your pussy. “Had to clean you up,” he murmurs with a salacious grin. 

The two of you put your swimsuits back on and fix yourselves as best as you can before Eddie opens up the bathroom door. 

Steve just rolls his eyes, barreling past you as he mutters, “Dammit Munson; you already got her pregnant. Relax.”

[outerbankies]

the pool scene was SOOOO new light summer coded like right at the start ☀️ he comes to bring her her morning coffee and she’s like hmmmm can’t you just stay here and quit ur job pls!!!! and you know for a split second he’s considering it

OOPS!

new light: summer love

new light masterlist

a/n: also takes care of (caressing inner thigh then slowly leaning in to trail kisses) from the prompt celly! wahoooooo

You’re just about to doze off beside your parents’ pool, Gretchen stretched out on the chaise lounge beside you while Margot lazes on a raft in the pool, the thick July humidity and the shade of the gigantic oak trees covered in Spanish moss enough to lull you into a cat nap.

But your parents’ dog Wilbur, who’d taken refuge under your chair, scrambles out from under and bolts through the back garden and toward the house, causing the three of you to investigate the intrusion on your otherwise perfect, post-workout pool day.

“Ladies,” Rafe greets, emerging from rows of hydrangea bushes dressed in his business casual. You place a hand over your eyes to block the sun and see him better in his powder blue button-up, navy-patterned tie faltering in the slight breeze. He makes a beeline once he spots you, setting what he’d been carrying down on the unoccupied lounge to your other side: a cardboard tray of three iced coffees from your favorite shop in town, the one you happen to know is so out of the way if he left from his dad’s office.

You hadn’t even expected to see him today, the scheduling gods against you both, but here he is taking a seat right beside you on your own chaise, leaning over you just close enough you catch his cologne, before he pulls his wayfarers off and places them on top of his head.

“Hi,” he says, leaning down for a kiss. He lets it linger, or maybe you do, still a bit stunned to see him here right now. 

“Hi,” you finally answer, taking his face in your hands the red of your nails a contrast to his cheeks. “What are you doing here, Rafe?”

He shrugs, eyes flickering down to your lips, where you’d just reapplied your Laneige, before he steals another kiss. “Wanted to see you. How was pilates?”

“Spin,” you correct, still dazed, even as you feel your chair move when your dog dives back under it. “It was good. Still waiting for you to join us like you promised you would.”

“And I will,” he promises again, with another shrug. “Before the end of the summer.”

“Sorry to ruin your nooner, Cameron!” comes Margot’s voice from the pool. Gretchen and Rafe both laugh but you just groan, hiding your face in your hands as he twists toward her to make his reply, his tongue just as quick.

“All good, Margs. Brought you a coffee, if you wanna act a little more grateful,” he says, tilting his head toward the drink carrier.

Gretchen gasps as she sits up, up until this point laid back and watching you two with a sickly fond look, “Me too?”

“Of course,” Rafe replies. “I know Y/n/n is a fiend, but these aren’t all for her.”

She pats his shoulder, squealing on her way to pick up her drink, taking Margot’s too and walking toward the other side of the pool where the other girl floats, chancing a wink back at you as she leaves earshot. 

“I’m covered in tanning oil,” you say in warning, concerned for his pastel shirt and what Ward will say if he comes back from lunch covered in oily splotches, as you feel him sink further into your side.

“I’m very aware of what you are and aren’t covered in right now,” he murmurs. Rafe seems completely indifferent to all the places your bodies touch, giving you a once-over.

You make hands at the last drink in the carrier, humming in satisfaction when he hands it over and it tastes exactly how you thought it would. “You on lunch?”

He nods. “Didn’t realize I wouldn’t get to see you tonight, so.”

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry I got the days mixed up, but the Boneyard should still be fun.”

You had an overnight babysitting gig a few neighborhoods over that you thought wasn’t until tomorrow, putting a bit of a wrench in the dinner plans you made with your boyfriend before you were supposed to ride with your friends to a bonfire.

You’d let him know as soon as you confirmed with the kid’s parents this morning, to which Rafe had replied a long (and dramatic) chain of sad faces. 

“It’s okay, baby. Might stay in anyway,” he says, kissing your cheek, then hiding his face there for a second. His lips brush the shell of your ear, “especially if there’s any possible way you sneak me into the Truitts’ tonight.”

When he pulls away to smirk at you, you grasp onto his tie, keeping him close to your face. “You’re not down.”

Rafe swallows, and you hate the way your eyes track the movement of his throat. “It would be worth the awkward run-in with Mrs. Truitt at the Island Club.”

“You can barely handle sneaking in here,” you say, your head tilting toward your bedroom window, which Rafe takes a second to look at wistfully, probably reminiscing on the times he’s nearly broken an ankle scaling the trellis for it this summer. “You jump every time you hear a creak in the night, thinking it’s my dad about to drag you out by your ears.”

“There are a lot of creaks at night,” he defends.

“Old house,” you challenge, releasing him and stretching your arms up over your head, settling down further into the chaise. “You should be used to it by now.”

The hand he’d been resting on your knee cap trails just slightly down your inner thigh. “I’ll never be used to this.”

You sigh, pressing our legs together, which budges his hand out from the area it’d been exploring. But Rafe’s touch doesn’t stray far, the metal on his ring finger resting on your outer thigh instead, his thumb stroking.

“You’re teasing me,” you warn.

His thumb hooks into the string of your bathing suit bottoms. “Oh, I’m teasing you?”

“Sure you can’t quit your job?”

“Be our coffee boy forever,” Margot calls.

“We tip!” Gretchen tacks on.

“Well with an offer like that…” he murmurs only for you to hear, suddenly as privy as you to the fact that your friends are probably listening in on as much as they possibly can. 

He still leans in for another kiss though, a few pecks trailing from your lips, over your jaw and down to where the strap of your bathing suit top rests over your neck, his face coming back to hover over yours as his eyes slowly open again. “Dinner tomorrow instead?”

You nod readily. “Dinner tomorrow. I’ll be free by the afternoon. I could come meet you in town? By the office?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ll come get you, sweetheart.”

You beam, pleased you already know when you’ll next see him again, even if it is over 24 hours from now. You couldn’t help it and neither could he; much to the chagrin of your parents and friends, the two of you were inseparable this summer. “Okay. And have fun tonight if you do go, alright?”

He shakes his head, collapsing back into you, his face hidden in your neck again.

“Nooo,” he whines. “On the real, if I did come to the Truitts—”

“Alright,” you laugh, getting your hands under his shoulders to push him away. “I’m pretty sure your lunch is over.” 

“Over when I say it is,” he says, not going without a few more kisses, one somehow ending up on your shoulder, right over a mark you’d had to cover up with clothes and concealer ever since he left it there. But he eventually does let you breathe, leaving a hand on your cheek while he checks the watch on his other wrist. “You’re right though. Shit.”

“Mhm,” you say, nodding into his palm. “Have a good rest of your day. I’m happy you came by.”

He kisses your forehead before finally standing again, readjusting his tie, looking down at it and then back to you. “I’m happy, too. How do I look?”

“Oh my god, fine, Rafe. Get outta here!” Margot shouts.

Over the sound of Gretchen’s laughter, you nod in assurance at him. “You look good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He just barely avoids a splash of water from the girls as he makes his way back inside, causing you to laugh around the straw of your drink, which you’d barely gotten to try. Rafe looks back from the hydrangeas as he puts his sunglasses back on, shaking his head with a grin splitting his face.

You don’t know how you’ll last ’til tomorrow.

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Seven

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: reader is being chronic overthinker, some vulnerability & deep talks about anxiety, fluff!

Word Count: 4.5k

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✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The day had dawned with a heavy weariness.

You’d all slept in late, dragging yourselves out of bed only as the sun climbed high. The last day of Summit had truly taken everything from you, leaving you sore, hungover, and sad that it was over.  Now, sprawled by the pool of the house, the world outside felt like a distant blur.

Feyre and the boys had been in the pool for a few hours now. You and Mor remained on the lounge chairs, too hungover and sore to join in, opting to gossip with each other and go over moments you’d missed at Summit. But she’d slipped away a few minutes ago to fetch more drinks, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts. 

Despite your exhaustion, your mind seemed relentless, turning over thoughts that had been too quiet before. You barely noticed Feyre emerging from the pool and settling on the chair beside you, her navy blue towel with star prints spreading beneath her. The weight of her gaze on you made you shift slightly. You offered her a halfhearted smile before your attention drifted back to the pool. 

“You okay?” she asked.

”Yeah,” you said. “Just tired.”

From the corner of your eye, Feyre tilted her head, narrowing her eyes on your figure. “Really?”

You turned to look at her then, swinging your legs to the side of your chair to face her properly. “Yeah.”

”You know you can talk to me, right?”

You loved Feyre. She was easy to talk to, a loyal friend to her core. But Feyre was also a nosy person at heart. She prodded and poked, dug further at things that you often did. Sometimes it led her to grand discoveries. Other times it led her to getting involved in business she didn’t necessarily understand. 

You nodded, giving her a smile. It was genuine, albeit a bit strained, but Feyre seemed to see right through it. “I know,” you said. 

”So talk to me. What’s been up with you?”

You blinked. “What? Nothing.”

”Okay, fine,” She let out a small huff. “I was waiting until you brought it up. But since you haven’t, consider this me bringing it up. What’s going on?”

Feyre meant well— she always did— but she was never one to let go of things easily. It was a losing game to continue this with her, to repeatedly deny that something was going on in your mind that warranted such cautious, caring intervention. 

“It’s complicated.” 

Complicated felt like an understatement.  Your gaze traveled to Azriel for a split second, watching as he emerged from the pool, shaking his wet hair as he laughed at something Rhys said. 

“Complicated how?” Feyre pressed.

You realized that Feyre was probably the closest you’d get to someone who could understand your situation. She had started dating Rhys pretty soon after her split from Tamlin.  

But what if she didn't get it? Feyre had gone through so much with Tamlin, but their relationship had been significantly different from yours and Eris. They were co-dependent, turned toxic by their devotion towards one another. You and Eris… well, it was fine. Eris wasn’t a bad boyfriend. He did everything right. But he wasn't the one, it never felt right. 

“When you ended things with Tamlin, did you ever feel like…like maybe you were moving on too quickly?”

Feyres brows knitted together and, for a moment, you wondered if you’d said too much. 

“I did, yeah. But I realized it wasn’t about timing, really. Just about what felt right, what made me happy.”

You nodded, letting her words settle into your mind. You wanted them to sink into your anxious gut, to wash away the twists that had formed since yesterday. You resisted the urge to take another look at Az, to let your gaze linger on his lips. How many almost-kisses could you have with someone before they needed to be addressed?

”Why do you ask?” Feyre’s voice was low, soft, but there was an edge to it that told you she’d keep asking until she got an answer that satisfied her. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words remained lodged in your chest for a moment. Finally, you managed a breath. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to move forward without feeling like I'm leaving things behind too soon.”

Your words extended to thoughts far beyond Azriel too— extended to the worries about your future plans and what you wanted in life. 

Feyre tilted her head, studying you. She pulled her wet hair around her shoulders. “Are you worried about what people will think?” 

Not just people—- them. Azriel. The truth was, it wasn’t only about moving on too quickly, though that certainly was an issue. You felt guilty about moving on at all, like you’d already had your chance and wasted it. Wasted not only their time, but Eris’s as well. Maybe you didn’t deserve this time with them. You were intruding on something you should have forfeited the moment you made the wrong choice. And by the end of this summer, you might be choosing something over them again. 

“Maybe.” You paused. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone. Or feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

Feyre’s expression softened. You felt a pang of envy at how easily she seemed to brush off the guilt she’d felt. But you supposed thats what anger tended to do. Feyre had mended her guilt with the anger she felt towards Tamlin. You knew she was still working through that now, finding a balance between wanting him to be happy and loathing him for the way he made her feel. But she never wanted to talk about it, so you never asked.

“You’re not.” Feyre said. “You have to follow what feels right for you. Moving forward doesn’t always mean you're forgetting the past, it just means you're choosing what’s best for you now.”

You wondered then, how did one know what was best for them? How could you differentiate the feeling of fate and intuition from anxiety and guilt? You were barely an adult. You didn’t know what was best for you. But somehow all of them, your friends, seemed to have things figured out just enough. They knew what they wanted to do, where they wanted to end up. You should’ve just agreed to the plan and wiped it from your mind— let them guide you until you could decide for yourself. You couldn’t though. It didn’t feel right. 

Nothing had felt right for a while. 

“Yeah,” you responded, but your voice felt small, quiet like a whisper. You cleared your throat, giving her a smile. “Thanks, Fey.”

She offered a gentle smile in return, her eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were holding back. Before she could open her mouth to speak more, her eyes focused on something beyond you. 

“I’m back,” Mor sang, her voice light and melodic. She gave you a smile as she sat in front of you, occupying the space next to Feyre. 

“Did I miss anything?” She handed you a cup before  turning to look at Feyre.

Feyre had yet to pull her gaze away from you. You met her blue eyes with a sense of pleading. You hoped, deep down, that she understood what you were asking wordlessly, that she would keep what you’d asked to herself— not pry, not dig deeper or ask someone else to. Feyre bliniked and then she nodded, turning to Mor with a smile. 

“Nope,” she replied. “Nothing at all.”

You let out a small, relieved sigh and smiled, turning your gaze back to the pool. Almost immediately, you caught Azriel’s eyes fixed on you from the water. He smiled, and the knots in your stomach twisted even further. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You’d just finished brushing your teeth when your phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Glancing down, you saw the notification light up the screen.

AzrielJoin me for a walk on the beach?

The corners of your lips twitched upwards. Another text quickly followed.

Your big muscles will scare away any nighttime threats.

It didn’t seem fair to spend as much time with Azriel when your mind was all over the place. You didn’t want to waste his time, to take him away from the rest of the group. But it was nearing midnight and you were sure the rest of the house had settled into their beds, so it wasn’t stolen time necessarily. You glanced down at your phone again, at the unopened text. Something inside you rattled, something restless that craved a moment with Az. 

You quickly pulled on a hoodie and walked downstairs.

Azriel’s face softened as you rounded the corner to the kitchen. He placed his phone in his pocket, pushing himself off of where he had leaned against the counter.

“Y/n.”

You smiled — a smile entirely too nervous to be casual— and gave him a sloppy salute. “Bodyguard reporting for duty.”

Azriel let out a small breathy laugh. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to join me.”

“And leave you defenseless?” You tsked. “I‘d never hear the end of it if something happened to you.” 

Azriel smiled, all teeth and warmth and joy. You reveled in the sight of his smile lines, in that dimple and the small, faint freckle that disappeared into it. He motioned towards the backdoor. 

“Ready?” 

You nodded, watching as he pulled a hoodie on. You tried your best not to stare at the exposed skin that showed when he lifted his arms—- truly, you did. But your eyes lingered for a moment anyway and a small blush rose to your cheeks. You’d seen Az shirtless countless times, he was practically shirtless all of today. But these intimate moments, ones where he wasn’t intending to show skin, made you flustered like a twelve year old boy searching for boobs on google. 

“Why the text? Why didn’t you just come up and grab me?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping to the side to give you space. He closed the door behind you. “I wasn’t sure if you were asleep and I didn’t want you to feel pressured to say yes. Texting you gave you the option to just… not reply and say you never saw it.”

He met your eyes and something inside you melted further than it had before, like a popsicle during midday. There was no doubt in your mind that Az didn’t think twice about his decision to text you, that he didn't realize how significant and meaningful the action really was. Even in its simplicity, it was so unbelievably caring. Words evaded you, so you gave him another smile and followed him down the path to the beach, slipping off your sandals the minute your feet met the sand. 

The beach was always quiet at night, peaceful in a way that made you feel lighter. Only a few minutes had passed since you and Azriel left the house, and now you sat side by side, sounds of the gentle lapping of waves and the occasional distant call of a seabird filling your ears. 

“Hey, uh, was everything okay earlier?”

You frowned, turning to look at Azriel as he spoke. His expression was soft, a sense of concern painted across his moonlit features.

“What do you mean?”

Az gave a half shrug. “I noticed you talking with Feyre earlier, when we were all swimming in the pool. Seemed like more than just casual conversation.”

You weren’t quite sure how to respond, whether to focus on how true his words were or the simple fact that he’d noticed. A joke slowly formed at the tip of your tongue, your eyes brightening as you opened your mouth to speak.

Azriel made a face. “Do not make some spy joke right now.”

You laughed softly and Azriel’s lips curved into a subtle smile, a knowing one. 

“Fine,” you said, jokingly exasperated. You scanned his face, taking in the way he sat on the sand, how the faint, cool, night breeze ruffled the loose curls on his head.  “You always seem to do that, y’know.”

Azriel blinked, his head cocking slightly. A small crease appeared between his furrowed brows. He was thinking— observing something that he would no doubt store for later. 

“Hmm?” 

You brought your knees to your chest, taking a moment to look out onto the dark expanse of the ocean. A wave rolled into the sand before you, foamy and glistening with reflected moonlight. You placed your arms across your knees and turned your head to look at him again.

“Read me so well,” You said. “I think with anyone else, it would drive me crazy…but not with you. It feels comforting. Like someone who knows what I’m really thinking.” 

“Not always,” Azriel said. His voice was soft, skittering across the sounds of the waves washing on shore. You watched him trace idle patterns into the sand with his fingers before he gave you a sidelong glance. “Sometimes I’m just as clueless as anyone else.”

A silence settled between you both. You traced the motions of the ocean with your eyes, following the waves that rolled onto the sand before you— they were getting closer, each one inching to where you dug your toes into the sand. But neither you or Az seemed to mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Az’s voice pulled you from the trace of the sea. He was already looking at you by the time you met his eyes again. There was a look in them that made your heart skip—a softness, a warmth that was almost disarming. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and then offered your hand to him, outstretched and palm up. Azriel knitted his brows, his gaze falling down to your hand. He frowned.

“Where's the penny?” You asked with a raised brow, suppressing the twitch at the corners of your lips.

Azriel’s eyes widened and a laugh left his lips, one of disbelief and amusement. It pulled a smile from him, too, and then he was sitting up straight. “Well that's not fair. I didn’t bring my wallet.”

You pursed your lips, pulling your hand back into your chest with a playful shrug. “Too bad.”

He scanned the sand around him, hands digging and shifting through the grains with focused intent. After a moment, he made a triumphant noise and looked back at you with an expectant face.

You frowned, but Az only nodded towards the hand you had pulled back into your chest. You caught his drift, placing it out once more, and he smiled— a tight, lopsided mischievous one— as he placed something in your hand. You laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle crash of the waves as you observed the object. The seashell now in your palm was small, textured and ridged with a faint blue tint that shimmered under the moonlight. You met Az’s eyes.

“Do you ever feel like you just keep making the wrong decisions?” You toyed with the seashell in your hands, fingers running over its rough surface. “And now you don’t trust any decision you make?” 

Azriel’s expression softened. “All the time.”

“How do you deal with it?”

His gaze turned to the horizon, eyes scanning the endless expanse as if searching for his words among the open water. After a moment, he turned back to you, a small, almost sad smile on his face. “I’m not the right person to ask that.”

You nodded in understanding. In a strange way, it felt comforting to know Az wasn’t as prepared as everyone else, that his mind seemed to wander and drift the same way yours often did. You thought for a moment how comforting it might be to float with Az, to be lost with him in an open, blue sea. 

Azriel seemed to call your thoughts back even when they evaded you, yourself. 

You adjusted your position, turning to face him more directly. Sitting cross-legged, you held the seashell in your hands, now warm from your touch. “Graduation is coming up and everything seems to be shifting so fast, Az. I’m so desperate to find my footing that I think I'm just acting rashly or out of fear.”

Azriel turned to face you, shifting his position just as you had. There was something so soft about him now. You weren’t sure if it was the glow of the moon, the comfort of the sea, or the way your heart leaped whenever he laughed. But as he sat across from you, you wanted nothing more than to spill your entire mind to him, to reach forward and touch him, to wrap that curl that often fell on his forehead around your finger and tuck it back into place. 

“Maybe what you need is to find some balance,” He said. “Or, should I say a golden mean?”

There was a playful grin on his lips as he spoke. It made you smile a bit wider, though you were still confused at the tone of his voice, at the words he’d just spoken. 

“Really?” You raised a brow, your smile breaking wide open as Az’s eyes glimmered in wake of your realization. “You’re referencing Aristotle?”

Az only shrugged in response, the playful grin still on his lips. 

“And I’m the pretentious philosophy major.”

Azriel laughed and the sound resonated warmly within you, filtering through your lungs like oxygen.  

“I had to,” he said as he searched your face. His grin fell into something sweeter, something nostalgic and soft. “You gave a whole presentation on it in freshman year. About how disharmony produces difficulties, that we should strive for a desirable middle.”

A rush of emotion swept through you, settling at the very core of your being. And something blossomed in its path, something tight and giddy, electric and alive. 

“I-” You hesitated, blinking as you took in the person before you again, through a lens of even deeper admiration. “You remember that?”

Those were your exact words, too.

“Of course.” Azriel said, as if the question itself was silly to even ask. He looked back at the waves, his expression thoughtful, voice falling to a hushed tone. “I remember a lot of things from freshman year.”

Freshman year felt like a lifetime ago. You took another moment to admire Az, to trace the side of his face, the small bump on his nose, the dagger earring that hung from his ear. The Azriel before you was different in many ways— but not in the ways that mattered, you realized. Those things hadn’t changed at all. 

You weren’t sure if the same thing applied to you. You’d changed a lot since freshman year. Your mind sorted through those memories now, to Mor and Feyre, to your dorm and the roommate that you didn’t talk to anymore— the occasional instagram comment and birthday message didn’t count. One memory, however, kept resurfacing: that halloween night, that party, that stolen moment in the upstairs bedroom. What were the chances he was thinking of it too? 

“What else do you remember about freshman year?”

You waited with baited breath. This was his chance to back out, to let the conversation drift away if he wasn’t ready to revisit those memories. If he didn’t bring it up, neither would you. You’d bury it away for his comfort, let the memory sit and collect dust, only revisit it when you were alone.  

After what felt like an eternity, a small, almost wistful smile touched Azriel’s lips. He turned to you.

“I remember Halloween.”

You took a sharp inhale. “You do?”

Az nodded and that one curl bounced on his forehead as if on cue. “I do,” he said. 

“Anything specific?”

Please, you thought. Prove to me that you’ve thought about it, too. 

“We almost kissed that night.”

Gripping the seashell tighter, you took a deep breath and nodded. It was silly that a nod was all you could manage, all you could respond with as your chest constricted. A nod like he had just listed something from his grocery list rather than a memory that had shaped your feelings, a memory that lingered in your mind for years.

“Almost,” you pulled yourself to say. 

 “Almost,” he repeated quietly.

“Why didnt you?” You chewed at your bottom lip. “Why didn’t you kiss me that night?”

“What do you mean?” Azriel’s brow furrowed. “Cass walked in on us.”

You shook your head. You’d replayed the night in your head so often, had practically lived in it the months following— hadn’t been able to stop the repeat of it until you’d developed feelings for Eris. 

“No,” you said. “You hesitated before Cass even walked in.”

Azriel stilled, blinking slowly as he took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the waves. 

“You looked so beautiful that night.” His voice was tender, his eyes locking back onto yours with sincerity. “I mean, you always do, Y/n. Always. But god, I was tripping over myself the entire night, trying to hype myself up. I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

A smile spread across your face as a nervous flutter bounced in your chest. “Then what happened?”

Azriel’s smile faltered and he swallowed hard. His gaze fell to his lap where he fidgeted with his hands. Your heart sank.

“It was so stupid.” He shook his head, his voice tinged with frustration. “So stupid. But some guy—some loser from Rhysand's frat—pulled me aside, told me my costume was great, that the scars on my hands were so ‘gnarly and gross’ they almost looked real.”

His eyes flicked back up to meet yours. The hurt in his expression was so evident that your heart ached at it. But it wasn’t just hurt Azriel bore, it was embarrassment.

 “Az…” 

He shook his head. “It was so dumb.” 

“Stop—” 

“So fucking dumb. But it got to me. And then I was with you, in that room, and when I saw my hand on your cheek... it felt wrong. I felt wrong. Then Cassian came in, drunk off his ass and sat between us. I thought it was some sign. I got so in my head that I could barely pull myself out for the rest of the semester. By the time I could face it, face you, you'd—”

You nodded, a pang of guilt settling in as you pulled your lips together. Eris had asked you out a month a half after, when that strange distance between you and Az had settled. 

“I know.” You ran your fingers over the seashell again. “I’m sorry, Az.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“That someone made you feel less than what you are.” You paused to take in his expression, to stare into his eyes, bask in the warmth they offered.  “And for Eris, too. I missed out on a lot of our friendship. I’m sorry for that.” 

Azriel’s expression softened as shook his head, a gentle smile forming on his lips. 

“That’s not true.” His smile widened slightly. “Even if it was, at least we’re making up for lost time now, right? Strong friendship.”

You laughed softly, but the feeling didn’t spread throughout your body. Friendship. 

Maybe too much time had passed for you and Az to be anything more than friends. The thought made you nauseous, sent a chill throughout your body.  Az’s eyes narrowed in on you as you shivered. 

“You’re cold,” he said. “We should probably head in; it’s getting pretty late anyways.”

You opened your mouth to protest but thought better of it. “Yeah, probably.”

You forced a small smile as you stood, shoving the seashell into your pocket. You avoided looking directly at Azriel. There was a pang in your chest that made it hard to breathe, disappointment mingled with an uneasy acceptance. Maybe this is what the shape of closure felt like, you thought, something akin to growth, perhaps. Uncomfortable but needed. 

With a final sigh, you turned to head inside, making slow, deliberate steps up the beach, the sand cool beneath your feet. Faintly, you became more aware of your surroundings, of the fact that the sound of the waves crashing seemed to carry a faint, hesitant call of your name. 

You paused and turned back toward the ocean. Azriel was jogging to catch up, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight. His breathing was labored as he stopped before you, eyes glimmering with something bright and searching. 

“I should’ve kissed you that night,” Az said. “And every night after.” 

He reached up and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “I regret not telling you how I felt. It was torture watching you be with someone else, Y/n.”

You wanted to respond, but nothing seemed right—no words felt enough. You took a breath and let your shoes fall from your grip, resting a hand over his on your cheek. You reveled in the sensation of his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin and the subtle ridges of his fingers, the touch that was uniquely his. And gently, you lowered his hand, holding it with both of yours, fingers intertwining with his. A flicker of confusion passed through his face, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly.

With another breath, you closed the distance between you. 

Your lips met his with a tentative softness— a tentative brush of warmth that sent your stomach into a whirlwind of sensation. His lips were warm and inviting, moving against yours slowly, carefully, and the act of him kissing you back washed away any worry, any stress and guilt you’d felt recently. 

You drew back for a moment, breathing heavily as your eyes fluttered open. Azriel’s gaze was heavy, molten, and his lips remained parted as he took you in. Then, they curved upwards, and Az let out a breath, eyes brightening.  His smile was the last thing you saw before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. 

Your hands found their way to the back of his neck as his mouth returned to yours, more insistent this time. This kiss was deeper, a hunger etched in every movement— a need to make up for lost time. His mouth slotted over yours, fitting perfectly in a way that felt inevitable, like you were always meant to end up here, in his arms. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of it echoing in your ears as you let yourself sink deeper into the kiss. You were sure he could feel it against him, perhaps even hear it, too. A gentle scrape of his teeth against your bottom lip made your knees weak and you wondered, for a moment, if this was what ecstasy felt like. You realized a second later that this was what right felt like. Nothing had felt right because it hadn’t been Azriel. 

When you both pulled apart, chests heaving, eyes glazed and mouths puffy, Az ran his thumb along your bottom lip. A beautiful smile graced his lips.

“I would’ve waited four more years for that,” he whispered, and then he kissed you again.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

author's note: two overthinkers who just get each other... i love them your honor. i want to sit on a beach and have someone give me a seashell :( now im excited bc theyre abt to be sooo damn cute with each other oml

also... check out the one summer graphic gallery for some hot drawings of the summer!boys and co. <3 literally foaming at the mouth theyre so attractive

as always, thank you for reading 🫶🏻 all of yalls comments n notes make me so happy.

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[lilylovestowrite]

LESSONS IN ETIQUETTE ୨♡୧

PAIRING: (Neuvillette x AFAB!Reader x Wriothesley) SYNOPSIS:After becoming the Acting Princess of Fontaine, you've been struggling to follow the rules, but it's all okay! That's what your royal tutor Neuvillette and bodyguard Wriothesley is there to help you with! WARNINGS:(NSFW, spanking, edging, overstimulation, handcuffs, blindfolding, oral (fem. receiving), praise degradation) MDNI

Divider by @/cafekitsune

“Princess?” 

Neuvillette’s baritone voice, although raised slightly so you can hear it from the other side of the door, holds the same tender lilt to it. You feel your heart leap slightly when you leap from your red chaise lounge and bound to the door to rip it open, ignoring the judgemental stare from your bodyguard, Wriothesley. 

“Neuvillette!” You beam as his purple eyes crinkle from the smile he gives you. He plants a chaste kiss on your knuckle, and the glimmer of affection in his eyes when he peers up at you through his long lashes send you reeling. Ever since you were forced to act as a stand-in Princess for Teyvat after the real one had been receiving threats from an unknown source, you believe Neuvillette’s lessons in etiquette are keeping you together. Even if the balls are unbearably boring and the fake smiles you master in the bathroom mirror strain your face, learning to dance and hearing Neuvillette praise your gleeful smile is all worth it. 

He allows you to lead him into your large bedroom, where Wriothesley is reading and sipping on tea. You never really understood why the dark haired man is to be by your side at all times. The Royal family tell you it’s because they don’t want to see you get hurt, but you know that it’s so you stay within the confines of the palace. Many times, you’ve leaped through the bushes of the rose garden, and Wriothesley has yanked you back and marched you back to the palace. Last week, you tried to escape through the library window, allowing the curtains to shield you from his view. You made it to the marble swan fountain by the exit before Wriothesley threw you over his shoulder with one arm and brought you back. At the recollection of the memory, you pull a face at Wriothesley as you sit Neuvillette down. He looks up at you with his eyes, the hue of rainy skies, and rolls them as if he were entertaining a child. 

“Now, Princess, I don’t mean to panic you, but I have been informed of some… mishaps occuring at the last ball you were at.” Neuvillette clears his throat and a small worried expression causes you to practically wilt. He notices this and scrambles to put the smile back on your face. “N-not anything too major though, I heard you did so well in dancing, I’m very proud of you.” 

“Thank you, Neuvillette, I just never want to disappoint you.” You practically simper, and Wriothesley hides a gag behind a polite cough, which Neuvillette is tactful enough to ignore. 

“You couldn’t possibly, my darling.” A gloved hand lightly pets you on the head, and you can smell the scent of moringa flowers get stronger as he approaches you. “Though I may need to teach you something a little different.” 

“Oh?” You reply, adjusting your blouse once you see how perfectly pressed Neuvillette’s navy three piece suit is. He sits you down on the armchair opposite of Wriothesley, the plush of the plum coloured crushed velvet material dipping under your weight. 

“Yes, Princess. It seems that last night,” he circles you behind the chair, his gloved hand trailing the golden embellishments on the back of her chair, “you were… enchanted by the Prince of Khaenri’ah.”

Ah, Prince Kaeya. Prince Kaeya, who moved with the unwavering elegance of a peacock. Prince Kaeya, who in his drunken daze, twirls you around when dancing, the khol lining his eyes causing that one beautiful, cobalt blue eye to gleam with brilliance. Oh, Prince Kaeya, who charmed you off your feet for one night only. You look guiltily at Neuvillette, “I apologise, I believe I had too much to drink-”

“You could have done worse, Princess. The error is on my behalf.” He murmurs from your left, still pacing across the room. You hear the clink of china on the table, and look up to see Wriothesley listening intently, even going as far as to slip a bookmark into the book he’s reading. “You see, people in balls may seem alluring to you-”

“They want you for your power, is all.” Wriothesley remarks, and Neuvillette clears his throat.

“That could be it, or they were simply taken by your own charms.” He offers. “However, I failed to warn you about this. And these men are dangerous, Princess. They might hunt you down, no matter how close Wriothesley is. This is why I thought of a… different way of teaching you.” 

“A different way?” 

Neuvillette’s long locks of white hair dance in the slight breeze as he approaches the doors to the balcony and closes them, causing the strands of starlight to halt to a stop. He pulls his hair up with a black silk ribbon in a high ponytail. The sunlight runs through the blue hued strands as he ties the ribbon into a perfect bow. “Yes, dear. Wriothesley over here and I thought that we could attempt to build up an immunity to seduction.” You feel a slight pang of fear as Wriothesley’s expressionless face glows with excitement, his half lidded eyes flooding with light.  

“You see, Princess,” Wriothesley practically snarls, “we’re going to have to show you the extent of what these desperate Dukes and Princes will go to for your affection.” He hisses into your ear, so Neuvillette can’t hear. “And I’m going to show you what happens when you make things difficult for me.”

Your face flushes and Wriothesley towers over your seated figure, his arms resting on either side of your chair. “I don’t…” You hesitate and clear your throat, your composure cracking like ice under a hammer from the dark haired man’s gaze. Seeking refuge, you look towards Neuvillette for some clarity, but instead you find your mind has gone haywire when you see him slide his gloves off with his teeth. “I don’t object to it, but why must he be here?” You nudge your chin towards Wriothesley, “He has it out for me!” You pout, knowing that Neuvillette will give you a warm smile, his pretty eyes skrunckled up cutely. He does, as you predict, but the smile is accompanied by a shake of the head which causes his ponytail to dance with it. 

“I’m sorry dear, but most of the people flirting with you do have it out for you. Whether it be for your fake status, money or beauty.” He approaches the chair you sit in, right beside Wriothesley, caging you in velvet. “We just want to make sure you aren’t so easily influenced, yes?” 

There is always something hypnotic about Neuvillette. An air of worldly knowledge interwoven with every spoken word, a charismatic voice that makes you feel as if you’re drowning in a sea of calmness. The trance he puts you in floods your train of thought and you wonder if he’s aware of the effect he has on you, the spell he has you under. When he says it like that, with so much care and tenderness, what other answer can you reply with other than “Yes”?

“Good girl, we’ll start easy, okay?” He murmurs, kissing your temple. How anyone has  ever survived this man’s charms is a mystery to you. Wriothesley on the other hand, grins down at you, fixing his glove and gripping your thigh.

“You’re gonna break tonight, Princess.” He sneers, and you feel red hot anger spurt out of you as if it were reflex. The warm, fuzzy feeling from Neuvillette boiling over. 

“I won’t. Not to the likes of you.” You tug on Neuvillette’s sleeve, “At least Monsieur Neuvillette is charming. You’re just annoying.” Comes your sharp retort, even though you both know you’ve been eyeing how perfectly his clothes accentuate his body. This causes Neuvillette to go slightly pink, the apples of his cheeks more visible due to the coy smile on his face.

“Come now, Princess, we shouldn’t play favourites.” He chuckles softly, stroking your cheek. You nuzzle into his palm and pout once more. 

“But you have faith in me, right, Neuvillette?” 

“Oh, Princess…” He pinches your cheek, but it is as light as a petal falling on your face. “I have to side with him on this one. You are going to break tonight. And that’s okay, because you can surrender to us.” Neuvillette muses, eyes glazed over with the sight of you undone and gasping already being painted in his mind. 

This is what strikes slight fear into you. You thought he would make it easy for you, maybe let Wrio bully you for a bit and then offer you dessert after a few crocodile tears. But the way that their sharp gazes pin you to the spot assures you that you are in for a ride.

“Now, angel. We are two princes vying for your attention. Keep your cool, do not show the slightest bit of interest. Not even in your body language. People will often notice what you do rather than what you say to see what pleases you, alright?” He instructs you in what is closest to a teacher's voice. You nod your head in agreement and Wriothesley snickers.  

“What a pretty little Princess we have here.” He practically spits at you, but oh-so-gently kneels and kisses the back of your hand. Neuvillette twirls a lock of hair around his finger. 

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” You want to pay attention to the white haired man but you’re interrupted by the sharp bite on your hand from the still kneeling Wriothesley, who mischievously grins up at you. “Tell me, Your Highness, do you usually lure in people like this?” Wriothesley plays with the chain on your pants, pinging them. 

“I… Lure?” You reply, and the triumphant grin on his face urges you to collect yourself. “It is not my fault you can’t keep your hands off me.” A similar grin contorts your innocent expression as you press a heeled shoe to his chest, pressing his black shirt buttons and red tie with intricate stitching of a darker, sensual shade of vermillion, akin to the hot anger that flushes his cheeks. Neuvillette takes your ankle and removes it from Wrio’s dress shirt to press a kiss on your shin. 

“You’re right, Highness. I can’t keep my hands off you.” He muses, white hair framing his face, yet not concealing the brilliant violet gaze dripping with lust. Neuvillette’s voice is soft and gentle, yet you have to supress the urge to lean back against the chair to allow him to do whatever he wishes to you. “Nor do I want to.” Nevertheless, you keep your back straight and your gaze downcast towards them, even when Wriothesley stands up to grab your face and squish your cheeks together with one hand. It seems like the blatant act of disrespect has cracked his usually calm demeanour.

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass, my Princess.” He cooes, meeting your icy gaze and then pinning your shoulders back with both hands. “You’re touchstarved too, I’ve seen what books you hide underneath your pillow.” He looks at Neuvillette, and your eyes widen with horror. “Pure erotica.” 

You feel your face fall, and the perfect, golden act you’ve kept up to allow Neuvillette’s lilac gaze to consume you like you are the only one in the world seems like it is all for naught. Your heart pulsates in your stomach. Finally meeting Neuvillete’s flushed face, a tiny chuckle leaves his lips. “Don’t bully the poor thing, Wriothesley, we all have our quirks.” He kisses your nose, “So, Princess, what sort of things do you enjoy in those books, hmm?”

Heat builds up and you feel your composure slip as Wriothesley kisses down your neck, and Neuvillette presses a kiss to your lips. Wriothesley laughs cruelly, “I bet you enjoy being toyed with.” When you moan softly, he grips your thigh, allowing Neuvillette’s soft hands to cup your face. “This kind of reaction is unbecoming of you, Princess.” He emphasises this with a bite, causing you to yelp into Neuvillette’s passionate kiss. You feel the air hit your lips when Neuvillette descends to unzip your pants, sliding the fabric down your legs. At the same time, Wriothesley rips your dress shirt open, and you squeal at his roughness. “Stand up.” He orders. 

With whatever tatters of dignity you have left, you smirk at him. “Make me.” And within a split second, he picks you up. He raises your body like a ragdoll, ready to throw you onto the bed, but Neuvillette shakes his head and rushes to prep the pillows. Wriothesley sighs and places you on the bed, guiding one of the silk pillows under your hips, the cool fabric making you shiver. He unhooks the handcuffs from his belt loop and binds you with them, you thrash against him but Neuvillette hushes you, raking his hand through your scalp. 

“Wriothesley, you’re so rough with them.” He tuts, and the dark haired man only scoffs and pinches your cheek.

“Well, this one is a brat, and they’ve been trying to escape multiple times, haven’t you?” He nudges you, and you glare up at him. Neuvillette gasps, and you look at him guiltily. 

“Is this true, Princess?” He asks, his hand stops on your waist. You avert your gaze and nod. Neuvillette shakes his head in disappointment yet amusement glitters in his violet eyes. “You’re so good for me, but such a troublemaker for him. Is it that you’re more comfortable with Duke Wriothesley, here?” 

Wriothesley rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his dark hair. “A little too comfortable.” 

“We can’t have that, darling. Need you to be completely open with me as well. And here I thought I was the favourite.” He tuts, helping you up and laying your head against Wriothesley’s chest. His pin is nearly centimetres away from your eye, noticing this, Wriothesley takes it off and places it by the bedside table, such a kind gesture from him is unfamiliar to you. 

Nevertheless, you can’t keep your mouth shut. “You are my favourite, Neuvillette. He’s just an assho- mmph!” Wriothesley tilts your chin up uncomfortably and kisses you on the lips, your bottom lip in between his teeth as he grabs your chest. You gasp and hear Neuvillette chuckle in the background. 

“Fucking brat. You think you can get me riled up by making me upset because I’m not your favourite?” Wriothesley smirks and rolls your nipple between his fingers and jostles you in his lap. 

“You are riled up. Bet you’re jealous.” You laugh, the last of your pride melts away as you moan midway through the sentence. You look at Neuvillette, who with a tiny smile, parts your thighs. 

“I see what ails this Princess. I think an attitude adjustment is in order, no?” He muses, and Wriothesley agrees eagerly. 

“Yeah, like fuck they do.” He declares, rolling up his sleeves and holding your thighs open. “Aww, what a mess already. I think you need to surrender, Princess, it’s obvious that you’re desperate~” Neuvillette spreads you open further, and you shrink into Wriothesley from embarrassment as he inspects how much you’re leaking, inner pink walls coated in light cream sheen. 

“Not surrendering! Not yet!” You hiss, although your cuffed hands covering your mouth as Neuvillette plays with your clit. You try to shut your legs, but Wriothesley effortlessly has you spread open. 

“Fine, but if your struggle is as weak as the way you’re trying to hide yourself from us by closing your legs, then expect me to make it absolute hell for you.” You whimper meekly when Neuvillette licks up and down your clit, jolting in Wriothesley’s grip. “What’s that, Princess? Finally using that mouth to make pretty noises? Hmm?” He taunts, squeezing your thighs whilst Neuvillette groans into you, the vibrations causing you to pant. He continues the taunting all the way up to your climax, in which Neuvillette stops abruptly. He tilts your chin up and smiles when he sees your fucked-out gaze. 

“Princess, you need to surrender in order for me to finish you off.” He sits you up, and you shake your head in disdain.

“No, I… I can’t, not yet!” You mumble, and Neuvillette pets your head, kissing your forehead. 

“We’ll let you come down from your high, darling. It’s okay.” His voice is coaxing, baritone, it vibrates and you feel your heart and lower regions flutter. Hyper aware of every kiss of air on your exposed flesh, and especially aware of Neuvillette and Wriothesley. Their breaths reverberate against your ear and clit. Wriothesley’s breath is cold, yet sharp, and Neuvillette,  scorching hot, but ebbing tortuously. Oh, you could surrender, but he’s prepared this lesson for you. Sweet, caring Neuvillette, who only wants the best for you, so you will do your best just to please him. Even if it is at the expense of your own pleasure. However, a darker part of you notices the nonchalant, cocky attitude that envelops Wriothesley, and how you want to prove him wrong. Surrendering to Neuvillette’s overwhelming yet gentle pleasure would be a reward, but to damn yourself to give into Wriothesley? You may as well be a rabbit waltzing into a wolf's den. 

“No! I won’t!” And with that, Neuvillette withdraws himself from between your legs, the sensation of his silver hair gliding across your thighs when he pulls himself away makes you jolt. Neuvillette smiles softly, his light purple eyes glistening and scrunching up with adoration, the same kind looks that melts your heart whenever you please him. Except now, he licks his fingers coated in a sheen of transparent, viscous liquid. It makes you squirm and twitch, the knot in your stomach dullens, but does not unravel. Wriothesley lets out a low whistle, brows raised as he watches you whine from your denied release. 

 “Seems like your stubbornness finally has some use. But you’ll buckle now that I’m gonna do you nice and fast.” The two switch positions, with Wriothesley between your legs and Neuvillette behind you. The only difference is that your head lays in Neuvillette’s lap instead of resting against his chest. The ruffled lace sleeve of his white shirt tickles your cheek as he reaches to brush your hair from your face, smiling softly. His finger trails your nose, down to your lips, and although you want to admire his smooth hands, you close your eyes when the pads of his fingers smooth your brows. Meanwhile, Wriothesley rummages through Neuvillette’s briefcase, his gloved hands producing a device with a suction-cup top. He grins deviously, and you instinctively try to back away, but Neuvillette reaches down to kiss your lips softly, murmuring a gentle reprimand.

“It’s not polite to reject a gift, little Princess.” He whispers, and you mumble a weak apology. His hair flutters across your face as he moves to tilt your chin towards the dark haired man. His eyes, the hue of starlight, glimmer with malice, lust, and innocent glee all at once. “Ah, ah, you should apologise to that gentleman over there.” Neuvillette replies softly, taking your bound wrists in one hand and massaging your chest with the other. You feel your face burn with humiliation. Apologise? To Wriothesley? Who holds a bizarre device that he will undoubtly use to torture you? 

But one look at Neuvillette makes you gulp, the way his hands squeezes and rubs at your breasts making you keel into his touch. You have no choice but to do as he says: “I-I’m sorry, Duke Wri- ah! Wriothesley.” You moan and god, you realise how pathetic you sound because the Duke tilts his head to one side and edges near your sensitive clit with the device. 

“Oh, you will be.” He waves it near your ears, and your eyes widen in horror when you hear it vibrate. You catch on quickly, even with pleasure disgruntling your senses as if playing a piano piece with the pendulum on the wrong tempo. You feel Neuvillette chuckle as his lap trembles with a low chuckle. “This is something I first found out about in the Fortress of Meriopede. They say the Fatui sometimes use pleasure to break their prey, so I’m not sure your dainty little body can take this vibrator, Princess.” His voice drips with disdain and mockery, and you want to weep from the embarrassment. You try to free yourself but Neuvillette still has his finger looped around the chains of your cuffs. Wriothesley grabs your hips and spreads your folds, whilst Neuvillette moves to circle your nipple with his finger, and you finally twitch when the first touch of the vibrator on your clit, and you yelp. Wriothesley quickly withdraws it from you and giggles with sadistic delight, before regaining his composure and diving back in with it. This time, the tantalising pleasure of the device licking your folds with mechanical speed is constant, and you cannot stifle the moans that escape your lips. 

“Fu-fuck! Ah- Wriothesley, d-haah~ put it away! This is an- mm~ order!” You whine desperately between moans, and Neuvillette has to press your lower stomach into the bed to prevent you from escaping. Wriothesley cooes at you and narrows his pretty glacial eyes, only to squish your cheeks, lightly, but it stops you from speaking.

 “An order? From a tied up,” he increases the vibrations,“ fucked out,” once more, and you whimper, “ little mess?” With a final increase, you whine. “What gives you that jurisdiction, brat? You shouldn’t even be ordering me to clean up your messy clothes, but you still do, and you ask me to do things for you out of job requirements. I thought you preferred that, so why is it that the one time I volunteer to do what is not required of me, you protest? Hmm?” He towers over you and laughs in your face as you sob. He lets you go, but you can only whine softly. 

“Fuck you!” You weakly moan, and Wriothesley tugs on a nipple, causing you to squeal. The knot in your stomach builds once more, and you hate that with every mean name he addresses you with, it tightens. 

“Yeah? Fucking adorable. Already am, you pathetic brat. Not even at the highest setting of this toy and you’re already whining like a bitch in heat.” 

Neuvillette and you answer at the same time: “I’m n-not a b-bitch in- ah~! Heat!” Out comes your languid response. “Now, that’s no language we use for a young lady.” Neuvillette shakes his head disapprovingly, but Wriothesley rolls his eyes at him, gesturing to you. 

“What do you call this then? She’s panting.” Wriothesley spits out, and Neuvillette lightly presses on your lower stomach in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but makes you see stars from pleasure. 

“I call it a masterpiece. Look, she’s going on strong.” He affirms, but that is the exact moment you buckle. 

“Please, please, please turn it off! I can’t take it, I’ll cum, please! Wriothesley!” You beg, and Wriothesley crawls on top of you, his knees on each side of your hips. His glacial gaze meets yours, and you can’t look back at them. 

“Is that how you beg? You can do better. Come on, Princess. I know you can do it. In fact, here’s some incentive.” He increases the vibrations and you scream in pleasure. 

“Please! Please, Duke Wriothesley, I’m sorry, please, please stop! I can’t take it anymore, I’m so close, please!” You whine between moans, and the pressure in your lower stomach is so strong you feel your legs tremble. Feelings of desperation, humiliation and pleasure liquidise and pool at your eyes in the form of tears, which Neuvillette swipes away as they fall. Wriothesley urges you to continue, and you swallow your pride. “Please, please stop! I want to be- to be good for the both of you and not surrender- please! Please! I beg of you, Duke.” 

“Hmm, request declined.” But it’s too late. Something inside you snaps, and waves of euphoria cause you to grasp the chains that cuff your wrists together. The pleasure consumes you, your legs tremble and let out one last moan before going limp.

Wriothesley reacts first. “You stupid brat, you came without permission. You’re not allowed to do that until you surrender.” His voice goes in through one ear and out the other, because Neuvillette handles you and you find your hole being covered in a jelly like substance and stretched out once more, his violet eyes gleam with a voracity that makes him look so ethereal, he appears to be not quite human. His actions are gentle, he slowly unzips his pants and he calmly embraces you, but the veins in his arm and one side of his neck bulge with desperation. 

You look at Neuvillette desperately, “W-wait, I just came, I’m still sensitive.” 

He looks at you, still sensitive and fucked out from your orgasm, and caresses your cheek. “Although Wriothesley was slightly out of line, your disobedience requires discipline, dear.  But I’ll never be rough with you. You know what words to say if you want this to stop, Princess.” He whispers, slowly easing you onto his length. It causes you to whine and jolt, warmth blooming in your core once more, but you rest your cuffed hands on Neuvillette’s chest, the silk of his white dress shirt clenched in your fists.

“Shh, it’s okay, darling. But you have to take it, it’s a punishment after all.” He whispers in your ear, smoothing his hand through your hair before lifting you by the waist and slamming you back down. You let out a pathetic squeal, and feel Wriothesley snake his cold arms around your neck from behind. One hand holds your chin up, forcing you to look at Neuvillette.

Pink dusts his cheeks, and his high ponytail has blue strands escaping from it, framing his blushing face. He pauses bouncing you on his lap to roll up his sleeves, giving you a kiss on your forehead before picking up the pace: “There you go, Princess- ah~! You’re doing so, fuck- so well.”

His moans are higher than his baritone drawl, but they maintain the smooth lilt his speech usually has. They mix with your louder moans and pants. This dishevelled version of the usually put-together Neuvillette makes the experience seem so much more intimate, so even if you can barely think straight with the pleasure, you hold onto him for dear life. 

Wriothesley, however, had never planned to give you a moment of peace ever since Neuvillette asked him of this favour, and he lands a sharp spank on your ass. “Enjoying this a bit too much, Princess? Should have expected that from you. I know why you squirm when I lift you up to take you back to the castle after you try and escape.” Neuvillette, hearing this, angles his hips to curve his tip more upwards, and it ends up hitting you in just the right place. He continues, his own moans growing louder and breathier. Your pleasure becomes too much once more, and you cannot muster the energy to talk back to Wriothesley, who continues his assault on your behind. “Fucking look at him. What do you say to the Iudex for making you feel so good?”

You’re too busy catching your breath, but it catches in your throat when he spanks you again. “This mouth talks back all the time but the one time I ask you to use it, you don’t?” His voice is severe, and you feel him chuckle from behind. 

“Th-thank you, Monsieur N-ah~! Neuvillette!” It comes out broken and quieter than you anticipate, but Neuvillette feels himself lose control, tears building in his eyes, matching the drizzle that darkens the sky outside of your window. 

You whine at Wriothesley’s relentless spanks and tremble once more as another orgasm builds up, and Neuvillette feels you contract around him, the orgasmic waves of yours causing him to throw his head back. “Ah~ You’re close too dear, right? I’m- haah~ sorry, darling, but I can’t- can’t give you what you want.” He whines with almost the same amount of desperation as you, but pulls out, his own orgasm takes hold and he finishes on your stomach, leaving you high and dry. You whine desperately, but Neuvillette hushes you. The two of you take a second to catch your breaths, and he leans his forehead against yours. “Well done, Princess.” 

“But you’re not done yet, Princess. One last chance to surrender?” Wriothesley guides your cuffed arms around Neuvillette’s neck, allowing you to grasp onto the back of his silk shirt that now hangs off one shoulder, exposing the flesh underneath. His breathing is still rugged and deep, but somehow, the rise and fall of his chest makes you feel safe, so when he guides your head to lay against him, you don’t protest. But at the same time, you do not surrender. You shake your head, resisting the chance to finish. If you could take Neuvillette, you could take Wriothesley. That’s what you think, but as Wriothesley slides into you from behind after propping you on your knees and face resting against Neuvillette, who is slumped against the headboard, you realise how wrong you are.

Neuvillette was going easy on you on purpose, but Wriothesley graces you with punishing thrusts that leave you reeling so hard your moans become silent and only whimpers escape your throat. He finds your sweet spot and hits it at a fast pace, perhaps not going in all the way as Neuvillette did, but his speed much higher. His hips stutter, but his rhythm is consistent otherwise. Although the sensitivity from the previous orgasm has died down, this pleasure is hard to comprehend, so when Neuvillette finds the vibrator under the covers and you hear it vibrate, you begin to squirm once more. 

“No, no, no. You’re fucking taking this, Princess. You needed to be shut up, this was inevitable, so why not enjoy it, hmm? Why not let yourself become a pathetic little mess and maybe we can let you feel even better than you do now?” 

“I’m- I’m not surrendering!” You choke out, and Neuvillette rubs the vibrator across your nipples, dipping downwards to your clit, causing you to break out into goosebumps and quivers. 

“You’re not, dear? That’s great to hear, you’re doing such a good job, I’m so proud of you.” Neuvillette praises, and you cringe when you feel yourself flutter around Wriothesley, practically hearing shit eating grin. 

“Aww, Iudex, they like it when you praise them. Just felt them tighten.” He grunts, holding you up by the hips and thrusting into you rapidly. 

“Do you, now?” Neuvillette teases, kissing the crown of your forehead when you sob in humiliation and pleasure. “Then, darling, you’re doing so well, but you would do better to surrender, hmm?” He whispers, slowly palming at your chest. “Just let us make you feel good, you’re going to be our Princess from now on, okay?” 

“N-no! I won’t g-give- ah~! Give up!” You whine, and Wriothesley feels his own orgasm building. You can tell by the way he slows down and the way his groans become deeper. He hugs you close to him and kisses you down your spine as he gets closer, and you try and buck your hips to chase your own orgasm but he holds you so tight, you cannot move. 

“Well- fucking done, brat.” Wriothesley moans into your ear as you feel liquid stain your behind. He pulls out just before finishing and sighs in relief. Neuvillette takes your cuffed arms and ducks under them to allow himself to remove his arms around your neck and walks towards his briefcase. He takes out a blindfold and what seems to be a collar, and you feel your heart sink into your stomach, where it pulsates from adrenaline and want. You can’t want more, they’re breaking your defences down and you’ve already forfeited most of your pride when begging Wriothesley, but when Neuvillette praises you for enduring thus far, how can you refuse? Might as well enjoy the pleasure the two give you. Especially now that your blacked out vision enhances the sensation of Neuvillette’s tip tapping against your lips. Wriothesley runs his hand down your back, kissing and licking the flesh hungrily. The pleasure of the vibrator remains on your clit, and you beg and plead, but the two continue to toy with you and your senses, this lesson in etiquette seemingly never ending…

…Neuvillette and Wriothesley have you bent over the bed, with Neuvillette eating you out and Wriothesley sucking your clit, and it snaps. You really can’t take anymore of the edging. The blindfold increases your sensitivity by tenfold and you grip the sheets. “I- I surrender! Please let me cum, please!” You beg, and once you look back, you’re met with the vibrant, violet gaze of your royal tutor, and the jeer of your bodyguard. You feel yourself being flipped over for the nth time, and the two ravage you. Neuvillette, with his feather light touches, and Wriothesley, who targets the spots that make you keel in pleasure. 

Truly, you didn’t think the lesson was over yet, did you..? 

[lovebugism]

"s'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt" "you jsut can't cook" + eddie munson for blurbcember ❄️

ty for requesting! :D — you freeze your ass off to spend some time alone with eddie; he learns you love him more than s'mores (established relationships, fluff, 1.6k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You and Eddie sit stranded in Steve’s backyard, the only ones brave enough to weather the late-night cold. 

The bursting bonfire died down to a couple of sparkling orange embers, and the party followed accordingly. While your friends sought shelter in the warm living room, unfreezing their fingers around cups of hot cocoa, you and Eddie remained outside in the navy blue winter — too stubborn to tread behind them.

“But wait— we haven’t made s’mores yet!” you’d whined. The shivering bodies of your friends rushed by you and into the heated house, anyway. Eddie was the only one to stay with you after the fact. ‘Cause his girl was gonna get her s’mores even if it was the last thing he ever did.

He makes the first one perfectly. Mostly because that one was for you.

You sit patiently in the slanted wooden chair, knees up to your chest, drowning in the thick leather jacket Eddie gave you for warmth. It smells just like him — like pine and childhood. It keeps you as warm as the smoky marshmallow on your tongue. 

The melted sugar gets caught in your teeth, along with the chewed-up graham cracker and gooey milk chocolate. You smile with it all anyway when Eddie’s second batch doesn’t turn out nearly as good as his first. 

“Eds, that’s burnt!” you laugh with your mouth still full as he smacks a blackened marshmallow between two square cookies.

In several layers of dark flannel, the boy shrugs lazily. He plops onto the adirondack beside yours and shoots you a lopsided smile, tinted pink and softly chapped. His skin, made more pale by the dark and wintery night, rivals that of the shining full moon. It makes his flushed cheeks that much more rosy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about— s’mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt.”

He takes a too big bite to make a point. You grimace at the crunch of the over-cooked confection, then smile when the melted sugar sticks to Eddie’s chin. “No, you just can’t cook,” you retort with a lovesick grin.

“But I’m right!” he insists, black crumbs sticking to the corners of his mouth.

He’s too hardheaded, and you’re too in love with him to argue about it any further. You just smile and shake your head, so full of adoration you’re sparkling with it. “You’re so cute,” you murmur, features warm and visibly fond.

He grins wide, never minding the food caught in his teeth. “I know.”

“Should we make everyone else one?” you wonder, nose scrunched as you spare a look over your shoulder. 

Through the sliding glass door, you can see into the golden-lit living room. Everyone’s lazing under blankets, crammed onto couches or lounging on the floor. You can’t tell if they’re sleeping or not. You feel the need to take care of them anyway.

Eddie scoffs with his mouth still full. “Hell no! Those cowards chickened out on us,” he answers bitterly, then in a deeper and posher accent, continues. “Only the bravest of warriors can be rewarded with such fine delicacies.”

“Getting hypothermia makes us ‘the bravest of warriors’?”

“You’re the one who wanted to stay out here!”

“I did,” you argue with a laugh. “But not for the stupid s’mores.”

He gets cartoonishly confused. His bushy brows furrow and his winter-kissed features swirl together. If you weren’t weathering the winter for his obviously unmatched cheffing skills, then what exactly were you out here for?

“Then… for what?” he wonders slowly and with his dark eyes squinted.

You roll your eyes at your oblivious boy. A smile hints at the corners of your mouth. “Eddie…” you murmur, hoping your sudden sheepishness might give him some sort of hint. Telling him, ‘I’m out here in the freezing cold because being next to you makes me feel warm’ is far too sweet and not at all on brand for either of you.

“What?” he says with a faint laugh, still visibly clueless.

“I stayed out here because of you, you idiot,” you confess, giggling softly when it makes his doe eyes get all squishy around the edges.

“Oh,” he hums, then grins all wide and giddy. “Sweet.”

It’s too easy to forget how much you like him sometimes. Mostly because he doesn’t feel very deserving of you at all. He just takes all the sweet moments alone with you that he can get, then tries not to explode every time you remind him that you love him back.

“I am starting to get cold, though,” you murmur, jaw tense to keep your teeth from chattering. 

A crisp breeze rolls by and shoves its teeth into every inch of exposed skin it can bite. Your cheeks and lips have long gone numb with it. You can only wrap Eddie’s jacket around you so much before it stops helping.

“Well, I know something that’ll warm us up…” the boy beside you croons with an audible smirk.

Your face scrunches at the implication. “Eddie…” you grouse.

“Get your head out of the gutter— I’m talking about booze.”

You squint at him. He reaches between his many layers and pulls out something from the inner pocket. It glimmers beneath the moonlight for a moment until you realize what it is — a glass, small and polygonal, half-filled with amber liquid.

“I picked the lock to Steve’s dad’s liquor cabinet,” he confesses, twinkling with boyish excitement. “This looked the fanciest, so…”

At a loss for words, you shake your head. “You’re insane,” you tell him, even though your smile says that you’re in love with him and all his crazy.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to figure that out,” he quips and unscrews the glass cap. He sniffs the liquid inside, then takes a sip without fear. He winces at the taste.

“Is it good?” you ask, hiding your laugh behind your palm.

“It’s great—” His answer comes wedged between coughs.

When he passes the small glass off to you, you take your own baby sip of the alcohol, with much more hesitation than the boy beside you. The bitter taste coats your tongue and stings going down. The burn makes you cough. Your chest blooms with warmth.

Eddie’s brows raise expectantly. His lip quirks at the edges. “Good?”

“It tastes like rubbing alcohol,” you grimace and hand the thing back to him.

“That’s how you know it’s good!” he insists. He takes another sip and doesn’t flinch this time around. “Like— this is the shit rich people spend hundreds of dollars on just to pretend it tastes good.”

“Being rich must suck,” you observe with your face screwed up.

“Oh, totally,” the boy scoffs. He goes to take a swig, then sends you a worried glance with the glass up to his lips. “Are you warm yet, at least?”

“Not really… My throat just kinda burns.”

“C’mere. Before you end up like that psycho from The Shining.” 

Eddie slouches softly in his seat and holds his arms out beside him. The invitation is a hard one to turn down. Hair wild, cheeks rosy, and dressed all snug — he looks so visibly warm. You want to curl into his chest like a cat and stay there forever.

“You want me to sit in your lap?” you wonder with your brows pinched.

He nods.

“Eddie. I’ll crush you.”

His features swirl with hurt. “I’m offended that you’re doubting my strength right now, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“Get over here before I cause a scene.”

There’s not much of a scene to cause. Both of you know this. You rise on rigid, frozen limbs anyway and walk the short distance to him. 

His palms are oddly warm as they curl around your hips. You sit hesitantly on his lap at first, as tense as a rock, until he pulls you down completely. His arms settle around your waist like they were always meant to be there, hands fitting with you like a puzzle piece. It doesn’t take long for you to melt against him.

Eddie grins at the comforting weight of you. “See? This isn’t so bad, right?”

You try to bite back the beam tugging at your lips. This kind of love makes you feel like a teenager again — heart singing like it’s never been stung before. 

“I mean, yeah, but Steve and Robin are watching us through the blinds,” you tell him as a laugh sputters from your lips. 

You can tell they’re trying to be discreet, but their eyes showing through the slats — at two varying heights — are a dead giveaway. It took the two of them ages to get you and Eddie together, so you’re not entirely surprised by their snooping. They’re nothing if not your biggest cheerleaders. Even if it does make them a couple of creeps sometimes.

Eddie doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder at them. He just tilts his chin up at you and smiles with all his teeth. “Wanna give ‘em a show?”

You smile. Then press your tingling lips to the cold skin of his rosy cheek. 

You know that isn’t exactly what he was asking for, so his plea for another doesn’t surprise you.

“One more?” he wonders quietly, chocolate eyes glimmering with boyish hope.

Happily, you lean in for another peck to his cheek. He turns his head at the very last second and smacks a proper kiss to your mouth.

You pull back, face agape with shock, like he’s never kissed you before. “Eddie!” you gasp.

His doe eyes sparkle with feigned innocence. “What?”

“You’re incorrigible,” you insist and settle further into him.

His contented sigh brushes your temple when you rest your head against him. His ringed fingers give your sides a squeeze. “That’s a real big word, sweetheart. Means you like me, right?”

You let yourself smile wide. He can’t see how lovesick you are from this angle, or else he’d know that you do a whole lot more than just like him. “Yeah, Eds. That’s exactly what it means.”

[eiightysixbaby]

steve coming home after a long day at work to see you sun-tanning in the backyard, laying on your stomach on a brightly colored beach towel. your bikini top is undone, leaving your back exposed, and the bottoms show off just enough of your ass to make his mouth water. he steps over to you, kneeling down and taking a handful of your ass in his big palm, making you let out a startled noise of pleasure. you bring your head up from its resting place in your folded arms, turning to look at your boyfriend. he’s the picture of handsome, in his button down shirt and tie, his navy blue dress pants that hug his ass and crotch so tight. a loose strand of hair hangs in his face, caramel locks glowing in the sun. smooth palms massage every inch of your exposed skin, trailing down your back, over the bump of your ass, down your legs. slipping to the insides of your thighs, fingers inching oh-so-close to where your sweet honey starts to drip for him. he can’t take the sight of you like this for very long before he’s sat in a lounge chair on your back patio, pants shoved down to his mid thigh while you ride him, bikini discarded in the grass and your perfect tits bouncing in his face. your moans adding to the ambient sounds of summer, sweat pricking on your skin as you bounce on him. before you know it he’s pumping you full of his cum, grabbing handfuls of your breasts and cursing under his breath. he thinks he might die when you go back to tanning yourself, this time completely naked and with his release leaking from between your thighs.

[lou-struck]

I Got Your Back

Asmodeus x reader

~ Asmo has a special gift for your beach trip that just  keeps on giving.

WC: 1.5k

Warnings: Kinda suggestive but its Asmo so what do you expect 

~This is one of the requested prompts for my Summertime Fun Event. Feel free to check it out. 

You are perched on Mammon's shoulders as you stare at your opponents in your friendly seaside game of chicken. Beel and Belphie make a formidable team, but Mammon has enough energy for the both of you.

Or so you thought, one minute you had your arms outstretched, trying to knock belphie into the shallow sandbar, and the next you find yourself falling into the cerulean water barely having enough time to hold your nose as the waves claim you. 

By the time you resurface, you find that all three demons are staring down at you worriedly.

"Oi, watch it; humans are fragile. You coulda crushed em." Mammon scolds, scrambling to help you to your feet. The water goes up to your waist and is a refreshing break from the heat of the human world sun. 

"M' sorry," Beel frowns, looking at you with big eyes, "I didn't realize that this game was so dangerous,"

"It's not that dangerous Beel; You're fine, right Mc?" Belphie asks; although he tries to hide it, there is a bit of guilt in his lavender gaze as he looks you over. 

"It's okay," you giggle, wiping some of the seawater out of your face before it drips into your eyes. "It's all a part of the game; I'm just not as physically strong as the two of you, so I fell."

"Are you sure?" Beel asks, "I didn't hurt you at all?"

"Not a bit," you say, "But the game may last longer if you guys got someone else to play against you."

"Like Lucifer," Belphie smiles evilly. "I'd love to push him into the water."

"Let's go get 'em." Mammon smiles. "I bet I could get some serious Grimm if I caught it on camera."

"And we can get some food on the way," Beel adds hungrily. 

The three brothers trudge out of the water in search of the Eldest as you head towards your spot on the shore. 

The only one who is at your little setup is Asmodeus. 

The Avatar of Lust is sprawled out on a luxurious-looking lounge chair, his peach-colored eyes hidden behind a glamorously large pair of sunglasses. Not a hair is out of place on his head and he looks camera-ready. 

"Aren't you going to take a swim, Asmo?" you ask, sitting on the chair next to him; this chair is adorned with a fluffy pink towel that cushions your back as you lean into it. "The water feels great."

He tosses his head back in laughter and lowers his glasses seductively, giving you a stunning view of his beautiful eyes. "Sorry Hon, my hair looks too perfect to get it wet. I'd rather just sit here and get a little glow. Would you like to join me?"

"I would," you beam, "I think I need a break after that last game of chicken."

"I saw that," he giggles. "But you should probably reapply a bit of your sunscreen after falling in the water. You have such lovely skin; I'd hate for it to dry out."

"You're probably right," you reply, noting that if you are going to be out in the sun, it's important to protect yourself just a bit.

You spot a bottle of sunscreen sticking out of a navy blue beach bag and reach for it, but you are stopped as Asmo lightly takes hold of your wrist. "Not that old bottle Mc, I made sure to order you a custom bottle of screen that is sure to make you feel your best."

He reaches into his own beach bag and pulls out a fancy-looking teal bottle with golden lettering. You don't even have to read the label to know that this product belongs to one of the human world's most luxurious cosmetics companies. Even just a trial-size bottle of this is worth more than a full tank of gasoline, and Asmodeus went ahead and bought you a full-sized one.

"Thank you for this Asmo, but are you sure that you don't want to keep this for yourself? This brand is pretty nice." You ask, feeling guilty to be given such a nice product unexpectedly. 

"Of course not, Hon, I got that made just for you." He smiles, pulling out an identical-looking bottle from his bag. "But don't worry, I got one for myself too. All I want is for the both of us to look and feel our best while we are on this little trip. And besides, seeing that cute look you get on your face when I spoil you makes the cost more than worth it."

Although it is ridiculously hot outside, you and Asmo both know that the flustered heat blossoming on the apples of your cheeks is because of him. Knowing that he is able to charm you, being just himself, is like a drug to the Avatar of Lust, and you can tell that he is waiting eagerly for you to put the present he got for you to use. 

Carefully, you grab the tube of whipped sunscreen and press lightly down on the fancy-looking pump until a dollop of coconut-scented lotion squirts onto your hand. The lightweight product intrigues you as you wonder how this will compare to the stuff you have used in summer's past. 

You start with your arms and are amazed at how the product seems to melt into your skin without leaving so much as a streak. "Asmo, this stuff is amazing; it doesn't feel cakey at all." You say excitedly, noticing how your skin glows healthily under the protectant; he grins as you apply it to the rest of you. 

When you make it to the backs of your shoulders, you stop as you try to figure out how to get those hard-to-reach spots on your back. You were so focused on the task at hand that you failed to notice Asmodeus had moved from his seat until he was right behind you, the most innocent of looks on his face.

"Ooh darling, let me get your back for you." Asmo purrs in your ear. Sending little shivers down your spine. 

It's crazy how easy it is for him to fluster you. 

"Oh, thank you Asmo," you say looking at him over your shoulder. "I couldn't get it by myself."

"That's what I'm here for, Love," he grins, squeezing a generous glob of lotion onto his hands. "I have to make sure you are taking care of your beautiful self."

"Oh, it's cold." you gasp when his lotion-covered hands make contact with your back, sending a jolt down your spine. His movements are soft, but tender, making those pesky butterflies in your stomach go wild. 

"It's so cute when you squirm like that. But try not to move so much," he chuckles, rubbing the lotion in like he is your personal masseuse. The light sensation of his nails tickling your back feels heavenly as you feel yourself beginning to unwind. The beach around you disappears as your eyes flutter shut. Asmo's soft humming and softer touches becomes all you know as your shoulder begins to slump in relaxation.

"Does it feel good?" he giggles, shaking you a bit to keep you awake. "Don't fall asleep on me yet; I know you would hate to miss out on all the fun."

"Can't. Move." you murmur weakly, "too comfy."

Asmo's gentle movements stop abruptly "Oh my, we can't have that." he sighs and gets to his feet. Although he and his brothers are enjoying this little getaway, the main reason why everyone got to go in the first place is so that you can enjoy the sunlight in the human world. If you end up falling asleep in the shade, he knows you'll be disappointed. "I may not want to get my hair wet, but I'd hate for you to miss out on the fun. What would you like to do?"

You pry your eyes open and turn to face him with a victorious grin. "Walk along the beach with me? We could find some pretty rocks and make jewelry?"

"Oh what a perfect date idea." he gushes, placing his hands on his cheeks. "You are just the cutest Mc."

His eager excitement brings a smile to your face as you get to your feet. But before you leave your little beach stall, the demon's laughter stops you in your tracks. 

"Oh Mc, it looks like you missed a spot," he tsks a manicured hand coming to cup your face as he smooths out a crease from the lotion on your cheek. He stares at your face as if it were a piece of art on display. His thumb brushes your lip as his voice drops to a whisper. "There now, you're perfect."

[sur-i-ki]

My love, mine all mine

(Angst-tober, multi-fandom, un-edited)

Author's note: This is pure angst. There is no bright side. This is it (life sucks rn so everyone gotta suffer)

Ever since you were kids, he's known that your loyalty ends up being a convoluted way for you to hold grudges. The lady at the supermarket who side-eyed your mom? She's never understood why a child stares at her with such loathing every time she goes by. Or the girl who stole your friend's toys, she's never getting in a partner or group project with you or your friend. Or even the time that one boy stole your candy. Your fierce love for yourself and others always led to something.

He knows this. He's seen it. Hell, he's even been at the receiving end of it sometimes, He is also aware of the fact that you can never seem to hold a grudge for long if it involves him. Can't not share your lunches with him after a few days, even though he lost your favorite pencil. Can't not be mad at him for forgetting your birthday present when you were teenagers.

In a sense, he should be grateful for that, because when he finally asks you out after so many years of endless pining, you don't greet him with suspicion or hesitation.

He gets a blinding smile and a hug, along with a yes.

And, he is grateful, truly, but sometimes he wants to see how much he can get away with. But all you do is chastise him and then leave him be.

You can't hold a grudge against him.

He got too comfortable with that fact.

Your nose was running. Bringing a tissue to your nostrils, you blow your nose, then rub your hands together. Standing in the snow with heels and a dress, in a trench coat built more for fashion than insulation, was not how you planned to be spending your Saturday evening. Checking your phone once more, you look at the unopened messages you sent an hour ago. Rage rises in your chest, but you tamp it down, knowing that he's been busy, he's been late so many times now.

Sniffling again, you turn carefully and make a trek back into your apartment. Scanning the entry card, you nod and smile at the old ladies lounging on the chairs.

"Back from your date, sweetheart? Already?" one asks, looking up with a confused smile as you press the elevator button.

Looking off to the side to not start crying, you give the best impression of a goofy smile as you scratch the back of your head, replying,

"He got sick, so we had a raincheck,".

You can see the pitying looks, goddammit, and can't this stupid elevator come any faster. The tiny, stupid morsel of hope in your heart makes you check the messages again, and then promptly ceases to exist as you see the "Read 7:45 pm" on there.

There is a tightness in your chest as you wave goodbye to the sweet ladies while entering the elevator, and think that this is what it means to have your heart broken. Locking the door, you kick off the pretty heels, leaving them at the door. Next are the glittering earrings, left behind at the door-side table. You flick the lights on as you hang the trench coat on the coat hooks, and make your way to your bedroom.

The reflection in the full-length mirror catches your eye, and even though you are stunning, you can't help but feel as though you're wearing the best clown costume on this planet. You reach for the zipper of your navy blue dress and let it slide to the ground. Then you hook your hands into the tights; left in a pile beside the dress as you wear your pajamas.

There are tears blurring your vision.

Off comes the eyeliner that you spent countless minutes and YouTube tutorials on. The black-stained makeup wipe is left on the counter; next to it is the pretty pink lipstick that is left uncapped because you were in a hurry.

You grab a blanket and your laptop, then watch a movie before falling asleep, your stomach growling, never have gotten the food that it was promised.

There is a hand on your shoulder. You wake up, startled, all but to come face to face with the one man you don't want to see right now. His face is a little blurry, so you reach for your lamp as he settles beside you on the edge of the bed. The light all but caresses his face, and his eyes glitter with unshed tears.

Gods above, he was so pretty.

You stare him down, unflinchingly, and he cringes away, coming to rest his hand on your leg.

"I'm so sorry-"

You cut him off with words of your own, the acid tearing at your throat as you say them.

"What are we doing?"

The confused look you get is as good of a mask as it gets. But you've known him for so long, and you can read the undercurrent of hurt in there. But you you know him so well, that you can see the understanding in there as well.

"What?"

Heaving out a frustrated sigh, you wave your hand between the two of you, "This. What are we doing here?"

His brows furrow as his eyes chase your hand before flicking back up to your eyes.

"W-what? Babe, I'm sorry, you know-"

The words explode before you can say anything.

"Yes! I always have to know. This is the fourth date, now." The tears build up in your eyes, and his face contorts in concern, "I-I wore the dress you gifted me for tonight. The one you gave a month ago."

He blinks and opens his mouth, but you sit there as nothing but silence rings out around you. It's more deafening than any words he can say.

You feel immensely small as you say your final piece, sliding your leg away from his touch, "I stood for an hour wearing the heels you like. In the snow. And those earrings you like? Because they always make you stare at me? Those almost froze to my skin."

His hands spasm as he reaches for you before pulling them back and settling them in his lap. His head hangs as you finally catch a glimpse of the flowers he brought. "

Your heart all but shatters as you inch forward, and finally does break as you kiss him. There are years of neglect, not listening, and no understanding behind the kiss. It's all you're hurt.

"One last time." his eyes are red. "Kiss me once more."

And you do, because you've always been weak for him. He tastes of the food you would've eaten, the win you could've drunk, and you reel back.

His eyes are full of guilt.

"I forgot because we had a team meeting..."

"So, you had a night out with your co-workers, at the place we were supposed to go?"

"..."

He nods.

You lower your head in a nod.

"What are we doing?"

The tears are coming full-on now. It's been building for a while now, but you thought you had more time. You understand now that you thought wrong. The missing dates, the conversations that die out five times faster, the ignoring.

You've been dating a ghost. With dreams of-

Well, those don't matter now.

"I never thought I'd be the one to hurt you."

You tilt your head back, looking up to hold the tears off, and reply in a thick, choked voice,

"You never think when it comes to me. Always leaving me."

His eyes flit with confusion before they widen in dawning horror and understanding because your shoulders have a slant in them he's never seen against him.

"I deserve more than this,"

His hands come flying to your face, tilting it down as he swallows,

"Babe? I-I, come on. Let's do, do something-"

You gently hold his hands, cupping them, but slowly moving them away by shaking your head

"Every time I see you, I feel more alone." You stand up, pulling him out, out and away and he follows, as he always does, except you're both crying this time. Because you won't let go this time. This was a hurt too deep, too raw, and you know he understands it.

Another flowery perfume envelopes you and you shut your eyes as you push him towards your door.

"I, I still need you."

Your voice is entirely sad, and whimsical as you speak. You've shattered into a million pieces and the remnants of your anger ring out.

"Every time I wake up reaching for you, you aren't there. You changed me, but the thing is; You gave up. Such a long time ago. And even though you were never there, I-" the tears glitter like the earrings beside you on the table, "The worst part is that even though you were never with me, I still love you."

"I can't anymore. I break myself apart so I can pick you from the pieces and live with that."

He reaches and twirls a finger in the curls from your ruined hairstyle, kissing a piece before kissing your cheek.

"I'm sorry. But, but we can work this out. I'll do better!"

He stands outside the door.

"But that's the problem, isn't it. You won't ever be better. Not for me."

And he knows that this is the last he'll see of you. The earrings, the dress, the trench, he knows these memories will haunt him.

"I can't."

And the door slowly shuts, just like your relationship, because its ending was never a door shutting. It was slow, suffocating.

At least, he knows what would make you treat him like the others.

He just didn't realize how big of a price that was.

"But nothing can capture the sting of the venom she's gonna spit out, right now. Won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?"

Satoru, Suguru, Izuku, Shoto, Itadori, Megumi, Tobio, Tetsuro, Toru, Atsumu, Naruto, Shikamaru, Sasuke

+plus more

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[bettyfrommars]

Dirty Metal Summer

a Dirty Dancing au

Part 3: Crimson and Clover

Eddie x fem!Reader & Steve x older!OC

masterlist playlist

18+MDNI, not too many warnings for this part just mention of losing a parent, hint to an abusive relationship, alcohol consumption, tons of awkward flirting, eventual smut, but very much a slow burn. Steve is in his mid-late 20's, aunt Kim is mid 30's to early 40's, or whatever age you are, dear reader.

wc: 4.5k

Summary: Hello! We're getting to know a bit more about the character dynamics, listening to some of Eddie's thoughts, and catching a glimpse at a third possible romance on the horizon. Preparing us for the wild ride that starts in the next chapter.

Songs for this chapter: Under the Milky Way/The Church Edge of a Broken Heart/Vixen Seek and Destroy/Metallica

The shores of the resort were thick the next day with people who worshiped the sun, playfully kicking at the water in their bathing suits, stretched out in their lounge chairs, glistening in layers of Hawaiian Tropic tanning oil.  

You, on the other hand, were still fully clothed, covered in SPF, under one of the big umbrella’s the resort offered with your headphones on to drown out the sound of the screaming children.  Your dad was in the shade next to you, absorbed in a book, while aunt Kim caught some rays on her backside in a black one-piece that was high at the hip, flipping through an issue of People magazine.  It was the Summer of Love issue celebrating the 1960’s with the Beatles on the front and the quote: “It’s 20 years later, do you know where your love beads are?”

“Don’t you want to get in the water, Bird?” Your aunt cooed politely, adjusting her big sunglasses on her face.

You shook your head, pulling your headphones down.  “I think I’ve developed a phobia of public watering holes.”

“Suit yourself,” she sat up and brushed herself off.  “I think I’ll take a quick dip.”

“Watch out for sharks,” you quipped, earning the weight of a magazine being thrown at your hip.

“This has been enough excitement for me,” your dad cleared his throat, placing a bookmark to save his spot, standing from his chair, knees popping.  “I think I’ll head in, get some writing done before dinner.”

“Later dad,” you mumbled, wishing you had an excuse to hide in a room by yourself all day.  

Once he was gone, Kim took a drink out of her water bottle and heaved a sigh.  “I wish the two of you would give this place a chance.  Look at that lake!” She stretched her arm out, pointing. “It’s breathtaking.”

You gazed out at the expanse of the cheery, vacation scene, bursting with melancholy.  “Mom would’ve loved this place,” you choked on the last word, not sure where that fresh pang of emotion had come from.  

Kim chewed the inside of her cheek, equally adrift in reverie, when a body stepped up to block the sun, putting her in its shadow.  “I was hoping I’d run into you again.” 

The body belonged to Steve, and he was shirtless, in a pair of navy-blue Staff swim trunks, short and slightly snug against his hairy thighs, and flip flops.  His lips were glossy, and even though he wore sunglasses, he had to shield his face with his hand, squinting against the sun so hard that his top lip curled.

Kim tried to speak so fast she coughed, wondering if she looked too frumpy in the suit she had on.  What was she thinking? He had to be a good 10 years younger than her, no way he was interested in—

“Kim, right?” He aimed a finger gun at her, but then he struggled a bit with your name, snapping his fingers to ignite recollection.

“And you’re Steve,” Kim's eyes couldn’t help but land on the silver chain nestled in his ample chest hair.  “Did you, um, are you working on your tan?”

It took him a second to catch what she was referring to, and then he smirked, pulling a crumpled polo from his back pocket.  “I jumped in to cover lifeguard duty for a buddy of mine,” and then he shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and so did she.  “If you ever need a swimming lesson, I’m your guy.”

“You’re a swim instructor too?” Kim asked, impressed. Steve put his hands on his hips, accentuating broad shoulder muscles.

“Nah,” he shrugged, tucking his chin. “But I’d do my best.”

You dropped your gaze to the sketchbook you’d been doodling in, trying to pretend like you weren’t listening.  From the headphones around your neck, the song Under the Milky Way by The Church played and a handful of kids ran by you giggling, dusting sand onto your blanket.

Steve wished you a good afternoon just before he excused himself, seemingly headed back to the pool area.  You thought he’d been on his way somewhere else, but you were mistaken.

“I think he likes you,” you swirled a few doodles, raising an eyebrow.

“Noooo,” Kim gave a long protest, adjusting the straps of her bathing suit.  “He works here, it’s his job to be friendly.  

“Yeah? Is it his job to keep checking over his shoulder at you as he walks away?”

Kim peeked just as the man in question tripped over his own feet.  Regaining his balance, he waved and said, “I’m okay,” and then proceeded to put his shirt back on as he approached the lifeguard station. 

It was your turn to stiffen and feel tingly all over when you spotted Eddie strolling down the sidewalk from the main house, wearing a tool belt loose at his hips to accompany his denim and staff shirt attire.  

From the way he knocked that Lance guy out with one punch the other night, you wondered if his hand hurt.  Adjusting yourself, you wet your lips, as if he’d spot you or something, which was impossible from that distance.  He cut in front of the fenced pool area, heading for the outdoor bar that had a thatched roof like you’d see at a tropical beach.  For the first time that day, you noticed that Chrissy was working the area, carting fancy drinks around to the guests at the pool.  Her blonde ponytail bobbed as she turned from what she was doing to talk to him.  

She dipped her chin a few times in answer to whatever questions he was asking, and then he squeezed her arm affectionately before taking off again.  

“Do you want anything from the bar?” You got to your feet, dropping your Walkman to the towel.

Kim cocked her head, considering the question.  “Is it too early for alcohol?”

Eddie was back on the path, his back to you as he got further away, but your attention was on Chrissy mixing cocktails in a metal shaker.  

“I can see if they have mimosas?” You weren’t thirsty, really, but you were curious.  

Kim decided on a bloody mary and asked you to put it on her tab, slipping you a few bucks for a tip.  

The smile Chrissy gave you as you approached was polite, but it did not reach her eyes.  “What can I get for ya?”

You told her, fumbling over your words a bit, and then waited on one of the five stools for her to make your drinks.  She scooped ice into a Styrofoam cup and tossed in a jigger of alcohol. You noticed a gold, heart shaped locket around her neck with something engraved on the front.  

“Is it true you used to play with Vixen?” You asked, in awe.

Chrissy’s face fell and she paused to stare at  you.  “Who told you that?”

“Oh, um, Joyce, she, well—sounded like she was proud of you.”

Chrissy went back to work.  “That was a long time ago, back when life was good.”

“It’s not good now?” You were intruding, and you knew it, but still, you couldn’t help yourself.  

Chrissy scoffed. “You could say that. Lemon in your tea?”

You nodded, wondering if there was anything you could say or do to cheer her up.  

“How long have you and Eddie been together?” 

She frowned down at what she was doing.  “Eddie’s not my boyfriend,” she corrected.  “He’s like a brother to me. Known him since I was a kid.”

“Oh I see,” you pressed your lips together, trying not to appear relieved at that news.  

There was a lull of silence as she finished up and you felt compelled to fill it.  “I saw you play with the house band last night.  I think you’re really talented.”

You could hear the click of her molars gnashing together when she placed both drinks in front of you. “Playing lame cover songs for a no-name house band is the best I can do with my life right now. Music is the only thing I’ve ever cared about.”

You used some of your own cash to give her an even bigger tip and scooped up your drinks.

“Hey, wait,” Chrissy called after you. She rubbed her forehead and tried to smile.  “Listen, I’m sorry that I’m, that I’m being such a bitch,” she shrugged. “It’s been a shit couple days.”

You shook your head, cold drinks sweating in your hands, about to tell her that you understood, but the two of you were interrupted.  

“Bird, there you are,” you froze at the sound of Troy’s voice. “Glad to see you’re enjoying the amenities.”

Troy had a green and white tennis outfit on with a racket in his hand, and you caught the way Chrissy tensed and quickly turned away at his entrance.  She folded the tip you’d left and put it in the front pocket of her apron.  He came up close to  you—too close, invading your bubble—and so you shuffled back, bumping into one of the stools.  

“The staff is treating you well, I hope?” He leaned against the tiki bar, and it was not lost on you that Chrissy pretended to be so busy she didn’t notice him.

“Just about to bring this to my aunt,” you lifted the red drink with the celery stick sticking out of it. You glanced at Chrissy, but she went to the other side of the bar to help someone else.  “The service here is impeccable,” you said, loud enough for her to hear.

You headed out and he kept up, sticking by your side. “I’ll walk with you,” he winked.

“Great,” your smile was a tight, thin line.  

—-------

Eddie bent at the waist to sip from the stone drinking fountain near one of the utility sheds and splashed water on his face a few times, combing wet fingers through his hair so that his bangs were off his forehead.  He worked the cool water around the back of his neck, wondering if he had a sunburn.  He loved Indiana for the fall colors and the long winters, but the summer? The summer heat could go fuck itself.  

Water was still dripping from his chin and nose when Steve walked up, sunlight through the leaves making patterns on his face.   

“Did Robin mention we need to borrow your van tomorrow night?” Steve bent down to take a sip from the fountain after he asked it.  

Eddie pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, exposing his stomach and trail of hair from his belly button to his waistband.  “As long as you don’t bring it back on empty. What’s wrong with your car?”

“We need to pick up a bunch of Robin’s stuff from her ex’s house,” Steve raised his brows high, locking them in place. “Girl is a bit of a psycho, I don’t want Robbie to go alone.

Over Steve’s shoulder, he caught sight of you making your way back to the umbrella with Troy by your side and he hoped that you were smart enough to know that guy was a piece of shit.

“I work late tomorrow, but I’ll help you unload when you get back,” the tip of Eddie’s tongue rested at the corner of his mouth, eyes darting to you again.  You weren’t some goddess from the cover of a hotrod magazine, or one of the metal babes who always tried to go down on him when he used to play shows with his old band, but yet, without knowing anything about you, the sight of you made his heart jump into his throat.

“Nah, we got it,” Steve talked as the two started walking.  “It’s just a mattress and a chair and some clothes I think.  I told her just to let them go, but it's the principle I suppose.”

“I get it man, believe me,” Eddie once drove three states just to get a rare Scorpions concert tee back from an ex who stomped his heart.

“Hey,” Eddie caught Steve before he headed off in the other direction.  “Jam at the Hideout tonight?”

They bumped fists. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

—-------

The movie Casablanca was the offering at the outdoor theater that night, and respective families cuddled on the lawn on their various blankets and camp chairs under cover of generous tree branches.  Halfway through, you excused yourself from your aunt’s company to find the restroom, and that was when you spotted Chrissy and Troy having what appeared to be a heated conversion at the curve of the sidewalk near the rose garden.  You ducked behind a tree just as Humphrey Bogart said one of his infamous lines on the screen.  

Since everyone’s attention was occupied elsewhere, no one but you saw the way Chrissy pointed in Troy’s face, only for him to snatch her wrist in a way that made you gasp.  She yanked her arm away and turned on her heel, but then he caught up and lunged in front of her.  Whatever he said to her then calmed things down for a moment, she stopped trying to break free, and then he cupped her face as if he were about to kiss her, but she shoved away again.  That time, he let her go.  Hands balled into fists in his pockets, head down, he stormed off in the opposite direction, toward you.

You stood very still, hoping to be mistaken for the thick trunk of the tree, and thankfully, it worked. You came around to glare at his backside, but then trotted after Chrissy.  She was long gone, walking as fast as her feet could carry her along the treeline, and you didn’t think she’d appreciate you screaming her name at the top of your lungs in front of the other guests.  

It was pure luck that made you take notice of something shiny on the ground, a pile of glistening gold on the sidewalk.

It was a necklace, a heart locket to be exact, much like the one you’d noticed around Chrissy’s neck earlier that day.  You ran your thumb over the engraving on the front and let the delicate chain drag along the back of  your hand.  

You were sure that it belonged to Chrissy, the clasp must’ve broken during the struggle with Troy.  You had to get it back to her somehow.  

—-------

“Where are you going?” Your dad asked as you sailed through the living room on your way to the door later that evening.  He looked at his wristwatch.  “It’s almost 11.”

You’d planned on him being in bed already.  “I, well, I ahh—” you scrambled for an excuse, something that wasn’t “I’m going off the property to where people fight and get drunk and listen to metal”.  You were 21 and technically, by the law of the land, could do anything you wanted, but anyone who has ever traveled with family is familiar with the tendency to be treated like a child infinitely.  He loved  you, he worried about you, and you didn’t want him to stay up all night pacing, so, you lied.  

“There’s a meteor shower tonight, and a bunch of the guests are watching from the boat docks,” god, you hoped he wouldn’t fact check you on that.

He shuffled some saltines absently out of a tin.  “You’re still coming on the boat with us tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you beamed, clenching the front of your jean jacket closed to hide the revealing shirt you wore underneath.  

You raced down the porch steps once you were able, dashing into the night with Chrissy’s necklace safe in your pocket.

—-----

A guy in a Black Sabbath shirt and a drastic mullet with hair down his shoulders moved out of the way for you as you crossed the bridge, and then you had to stand there and take a breath. Robin wasn’t with you and you hadn’t been invited to the Hideout this time, maybe they wouldn’t want you?  Surely you could find Chrissy at work the next day and give her the necklace then? Fuck it, you were almost there.  

You could hear the shrill feedback from a guitar and then someone speaking into a microphone.  Was that Eddie’s voice? Your heart raced.  People cheered at whatever was said, and then the drum beat kicked in a few times, followed by guitar riffs, and a woman’s voice singing the Vixen intro to Edge of a Broken Heart.

“I can't believe I could have been so blind

But love is strange

I thought about it for a long long time

But the truth remains”

You could feel the music in your chest.  Was that Chrissy? Perhaps it was the “band practice” Robin told you about, but the music didn’t sound at all like what you’d expect to hear from the conservative house band. The sliding door was open once you were in view, with people mingling outside, and you dodged around them, sucking in a plume of secondhand smoke from a passerby.   

Slithering through a few more bodies, you stepped right over the spot where Lance had gone down the night before, and then you had the perfect view of Chrissy exercising her impressive pipes on the microphone under a few ropes of tiny, pale string lights.  

Steve was on bass, hair flopping in his face, his mouth holding an “O” shape as he played. He had on a thin white tee that was soaked through with sweat on the front atop belted blue jeans.  Eddie arched back, exposing his throat, his fingers deftly working the strings on his smoke black Warlock guitar.  He had a Bark at the Moon shirt on with wide, ripped out arm holes exposing the tattoo work on his ribs.  His hair hung in his face when he bent over to play, a frown of concentration knitting his brows together.

Chrissy jabbed her fist in the air for the chorus and the crowd screamed it:

“I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

I don't wanna fall, I don't wanna crawl

I've been living on the edge of a broken heart

Don't you wonder why I gotta say goodbye”

She commanded the stage, playing guitar as she sang. You were too absorbed to realize that you had made your way forward and were right there front and center when Eddie glanced up.

He wasn’t expecting to see you, so he did a dramatic double take, nostrils flaring the moment your eyes connected.  Why couldn’t you just stay away?

A smile teased at the corners of your mouth, but faded to an unsure lip bite when he averted his gaze, scowl deepening.  He ignored you for the rest of the song. 

When it was over, there were cheers and whistles all around.  The drummer with the mop of tawny hair twirled one of their drumsticks in the air with a flourish and caught it, clapping the high hat.  Voices murmured around you as people fell back into conversation while they had a break from the volume of the amps, and you shuffled to the side, following Chrissy as she took her guitar off and held it by the fretboard.  She had on a cropped shirt with her shorts, golden hair loose and wild around her shoulders, her short fingernails painted black.  There were a few old, wooden apple box crates stacked on top of each other to act as a makeshift table, and she grabbed the neck of the beer that was waiting there to take a sip.   

Eddie continued to play, wailing on the guitar with precision, while Steve and the drummer followed his lead to the tune of Seek and Destroy by Metallica.

You tapped Chrissy on the shoulder, and she jumped.  “Oh shit, you scared me,” she said, spinning around. She checked around as if she were expecting to see someone else there.  “Where’s Robin? Is she with you?”

“No, I, just a sec—” you dug around in the front pocket of your jacket, panicking for a moment that you forgot to bring the locket with you. “I found this on the sidewalk, and I thought maybe you dropped it?”

Chrissy gasped at the sight of it and her eyes began to water.  “How did you–?” A sob caught in her throat, and she reached out to gently take it from you.  She shook her head in disbelief.  “I looked everywhere, I thought it was gone forever, I—”

“I thought that was you!” It was Robin, bobbing on the balls of her feet as she came up to nudge your shoulder.  But then, her attention turned to Chrissy and her face tensed with concern.  “What happened, why are you crying?”

“No, no,” Chrissy sniffed and opened her fist to show Robin the piece of jewelry.  “It’s my grandmother’s locket I told you about.  Bird found it.”

Robin bent to get a closer look and the two women knocked their heads together, sharing a laugh.  “The clasp is broken though,” Chrissy mused.  “It must’ve come off when—” she swallowed, deciding not to finish that sentence.  “I’ll take it into town to get it fixed this weekend.”

“Give it here, I’ll fix it for you,” Robin volunteered.  “Not only can I unclog a toilet, but I’m also pretty crafty.”

“Y-you’d do that for me?” She asked as she was passing it over.

“Of course,” Robin chuckled.  “I’d do anything for y—I mean, what are friends for right?”

Chrissy turned her attention back to thank you properly when Steve pushed in between the other two girls and slung his arms around their shoulders.  “What's going on?”

Robin cringed.  “Gross, Dingus, you’re all sweaty,” to which he shook his head and droplets from his hair flew everywhere, making the girls scream and push him off.

The three of them got into conversation about something and you sank back against the corrugated metal wall to observe.  You hadn’t noticed the music stopped but the drummer was in the crowd having a beer and just as you were on your toes trying to find Eddie, a warm body sank in next to you.  

“Hey,” Eddie said.

You looked just in time to catch his gaze traveling down your body, but then he was quick to lift his beer to his mouth and pretended to be watching the crowd. 

“Hey,” you returned, suddenly full sentences and conversation felt so foreign.  You were acutely aware that there was plenty of space along the wall, but he was pressed close, bare arm touching yours.  

“They let you stay out this late on a school night?” He grinned against the aluminum rim, amusing himself.  He had a second beer in his other hand, and he passed it to you.

“Ha. Ha.” 

He had one knee bent with his foot on the wall while the other leg stretched long to show the heavily scuffed toe of his black boot.  

You shuddered despite the heat.  “So, how long have you and Chrissy been playing music together?”

He hummed, shifting so that his bicep rubbed against you, squinting one eye shut in thought, tilting his head back.  “Been something like a decade now, I think? Feels longer.  Feels like I’m 60 years old some days.”

“How old are you though?” You swallowed so hard your throat clicked.  “45? 50?”

He leaned into you, hard enough to push you over if your feet weren’t planted, his hair skimming your shoulder.  “Close enough,” he paused to say something else, but then puffed out his cheeks and exhaled.  

He wanted to ask how long you’d been playing the cello, but how would he even know you did without admitting he’d watched you that night from the street like a stalker? “Do you think you’re gonna stick around, watch us play some more?”

“I could,” you were about to add something super cheesy like, “if you want me to,” but opted for nonchalant.  “I love watching Chrissy play.”

He nodded a few times, and pushed off the wall, handing you his beer.  “Hold this for me?” His silky brown eyes locked onto yours, the tip of his tongue resting between parted lips.  “Please?”

There you were, holding Eddie Munson’s beer.  He got behind the mic and took his shirt all the way off to wipe his face with it before strapping his guitar on.  The next song they did was an original, something that Eddie and Chrissy wrote, and Chrissy came in on backup vocals, while Eddie growled out the lyrics, banging his head every so often.   He swiped his bangs from his forehead, wet with perspiration, and his fingers worked like magic along the strings.  At one point, he and Chrissy shared the same mic, belting out the words.  

He made eye contact with you three times, not that you were counting.  Each time longer than the last.  When it was over, he came out and took his beer from you, fingers touching as he did so.

“Eddie, I think I—” you were about to let him know you should probably get going, but he’d already turned, chugging the rest of the beer as he went, and then they were right into the next song.  

Eddie wasn’t sure why you made him so curious, but the voices in his head were screaming at him to shake it off.  Somehow, he’d gone four years without getting involved with a summer person, he’d never even been tempted really.  Nothing good could come of it, especially since he’d probably end up being nothing but a vacation fuck for you to brag to your friends about.  

He glanced around but couldn’t find you during the song.  When he went to check for you at the wall, you were gone.  

---

thank you again for the love on this and for reading!

---

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[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Harry on holiday with the fam and the bubba is being really ratty because he’s tired so harry decided to take him for a walk in his stroller to try and get him to fall asleep.

Tired Baby Styles.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!

authors note - long hair harry as a dad has me going feral, enjoy :)

word count - 1.5k

in which, you, harry and your one and a half year old son, elliott are holidaying in spain, where your little one won’t go down for his afternoon nap, so your boyfriend comes up with an idea to get him to doze off.

In the heart of a picturesque coastal paradise, the sun-drenched atmosphere of a perfect holiday unfurls. As you step into the scene, the gentle rustling of palm trees draws your attention skyward. Their emerald fronds dance in harmonious rhythm with the ocean breeze, casting dappled shadows on the poolside oasis below.

Beside the sparkling cerulean waters of the hotel swimming pool, a symphony of joyous laughter fills the air. A group of exuberant children, their faces adorned with gleeful smiles, leap into the cool embrace of the water, their splashes creating iridescent droplets that catch the sun's golden rays. Each joyful jump adds to the melody of excitement echoing across the pool area.

Lounge chairs adorned with vibrant towels are strategically arranged around the pool's periphery. Here, holidaymakers bask in the warmth of the sun's affectionate caress, their skin kissed by the sun's radiant glow. Their languid postures bear witness to the relaxation that accompanies these precious moments of reprieve from everyday life. Colorful parasols dot the scene, offering a sanctuary of shade to those seeking solace from the sun's fiery embrace.

As the sun's warm embrace envelops the scene, your heart flutters with a familiar sense of contentment. Beside you, your boyfriend of three years, Harry, lounges on a sun-bed, his magnetic presence amplified by the vibrant surroundings. His captivating gaze meets yours, the unspoken connection between you two as strong as ever.

Harry's trademark long hair is gathered into a casual man bun, showcasing the effortless elegance that has become synonymous with his style. The strands that escape the bun shimmer like spun gold, catching the sunlight in a breathtaking dance. His navy blue swim shorts perfectly complement the azure backdrop, a reflection of both the sea and the sky.

Tattoos, each one a piece of art etched onto his skin, paint a story of his journey and passions. The sun cream delicately applied on them accentuates their intricate designs, turning them into living masterpieces that glow beneath the sun's warm touch. The canvas of his skin becomes a testament to his individuality, every inked mark an expression of his creativity and authenticity.

As the gentle waves provide a soothing symphony, your fingers find their way to entwine with his, a familiar gesture of affection that needs no words. The world around you seems to fade, leaving only the two of you and the timeless tranquillity of this moment.

His eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions, hold yours in a tender gaze that speaks volumes. It's in these quiet, unguarded moments that you're reminded of the depth of your connection, the bond that has grown stronger with each passing day.

As the tranquil embrace of the sun-soaked paradise continues, a sudden shift in the atmosphere ripples through the scene. The melodic lull of the waves falters, and the connection between you and Harry falters for a brief moment. The cause of this disruption is your one and a half year old son, Elliot, whose tired cries pierce through the serene ambiance.

The cries grow louder, and your attention is drawn away from the shared moment to the source of the distress. At the edge of the pool area, you spot Elliot, his tiny face flushed with frustration and exhaustion. The vibrant glow of his blue eyes, a mirror of your own, is marred by glistening tears, reflecting his fatigue and the frustration of a disrupted slumber.

With swift concern, Harry shifts his position on the sun-bed, his tattooed arms extending towards you as if to offer his support. Your fingers reluctantly disentangle from his, a reluctant separation born out of parental instinct. As you approach your distressed son, the cooling breeze seems to carry away the tranquillity that once enveloped the scene.

Bending down to scoop Elliot into your arms, you hold him close, his small frame trembling with fatigue. His sobs echo in your ears, a heartbreaking melody that resonates with the challenges of parenthood. Despite the picturesque surroundings, the most important moment right now is attending to the needs of your son, who has endured a restless night.

As Elliot's cries persist, a sense of helplessness begins to tug at your heart. Despite your best efforts, his sobs show no signs of abating. It's in this moment of shared concern that Harry's soothing presence becomes a lifeline.

With a tender understanding in his eyes, Harry suggests, "M’heart, why don't I take him f’a walk in his stroller? Maybe a change of scenery will help him settle, and y’could use some rest too, considering how the night went."

Touched by his thoughtfulness, you nod appreciatively, your weariness evident in your eyes. Gently handing over Elliot to Harry's awaiting arms, you feel the warmth of his embrace envelop your son. Elliot's cries seem to soften as he nestles against his father's chest, finding comfort in the familiar heartbeat that has always been a source of solace.

With a delicate touch, Harry secures Elliot into his stroller, his gentle hands fastening the buckles with practised ease. As he leans over, his soothing voice fills the air, "Alright, little buddy, we're going f’a walk. Let's see if we can calm down, yeah?"

Elliott's cries continue, a mixture of exhaustion and the desire to be held evident in every sob. The tiny hands that reach out towards Harry's face tug at his heartstrings, and he leans in to brush his lips against Elliott's forehead.

"I know, mate. I know. It's alright," he coos, his voice a soothing melody that dances in the air.

Harry's fingers linger for a moment on Elliott's cheek, a brief caress that conveys love and understanding. With one last reassuring glance, Harry begins to push the stroller, the wheels gliding smoothly along the path. "We're just going f’a little walk, Eli. You'll feel better soon, I promise."

However, the cries persist, growing louder in their protest. Elliott's eyes, pools of innocence and longing, search Harry's face as if pleading to be scooped up into his father's arms. Harry's brow furrows with concern, his heart aching at the sight of his son in distress.

"I know y’want to be held, buddy," he murmurs, his fingers gently brushing Elliott's cheek. "But sometimes a walk can help. You'll see."

Elliott's cries escalate, and Harry's resolve softens. With a tender sigh, he comes to a stop and kneels beside the stroller.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, his voice a mixture of love and amusement. "You win, pal. Y’can come into daddy’s arms."

As he carefully lifts Elliott from the stroller, the little one's sobs gradually subside into sniffles. The warmth of Harry's embrace, the steady rhythm of his heart, provides the comfort that Elliott had been seeking.

"There we go," Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against Elliott's fuzzy head. "Sometimes all y’need is a cuddle, huh?"

Elliott's fingers curl into the fabric of Harry's shirt, his cries softening into whimpers as he nuzzles against his father's chest. With a determined resolve, Harry straightens up and looks towards you, offering a reassuring smile. "I'll walk him until he falls asleep, then I'll bring him back. Don't worry, m’love."

As they slowly move away from the poolside

With Elliott nestled in his arms, Harry's touch is a gentle and soothing presence against the little one's back. The rhythmic motion of his hand, moving up and down in a comforting caress, matches the cadence of his footsteps as he begins to walk around the hotel. The atmosphere in the reception area is hushed, a backdrop of understated luxury that contrasts with the earlier scene by the pool.

As they traverse the hotel's elegant corridors, Harry's soft voice hums a tune that's both tender and familiar. The reception staff offer knowing smiles, a nod to the shared experiences of parenthood. Harry's strides are purposeful yet gentle, a dance of patience and care as he navigates each turn and hallway, his focus solely on the slumbering bundle in his arms.

Passing by the tennis courts, the sound of a playful match echoes in the distance. The rhythmic thud of balls and the occasional laughter form a comforting symphony that blends seamlessly with the ambiance of the moment. Harry's gaze shifts briefly, his eyes catching the lively scene before he returns his attention to Elliott.

As they continue their journey, the soft glow of the indoor bar beckons like a haven. The polished wooden floors beneath their feet create a muted melody, the rhythmic tapping of Harry's steps a quiet rhythm that harmonises with the calm of the evening. It's here, surrounded by the ambient light and the low murmur of conversations, that Elliott's eyelids begin to droop.

As they step into the bar, the air carries the scent of aged wood and the promise of relaxation. Harry's hand continues its soothing motion, now softer and slower, his voice a tender whisper.

"Almost there, little mate," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the peaceful expression that gradually settles on Elliott's face.

In the dim light, they find a quiet corner, a shelter within the embrace of the hotel's interior. Harry eases himself into a plush armchair, still cradling Elliott against his chest. The vibrations of his voice hum against Elliott's ear, a lullaby of security and warmth. And then, as if the journey had been leading to this moment, Elliott's eyes flutter closed.

A tranquil sigh escapes Harry's lips, a mixture of relief and tenderness. He gazes down at his peacefully slumbering son, a soft smile gracing his features.

"Sleep tight, little man," he whispers, his hand gently cupping the back of Elliott's head.

[steddieasitgoes]

We're Talkin' Baseball

written for @steddiemicrofic January prompt: hole wc: 404 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: Steddie as Dads, Girl Dads

As far as having children who play sports go, Steve had mostly given up on the dream. 

Their oldest, Marley, gravitated in Eddie’s direction. A two-week stint in ballet was all Steve got before she was “asked not to return” after refusing to stop banging her tiny hands against the bare. The next day they traded her pink slippers in for a drum set and the rest has been history. 

Ronnie, is much the same, preferring to stay inside reading than venture into the world of sports. 

That is, until a few weeks week ago, when out of the blue over dinner she asked if they could sign her up for Little League. Steve practically raced to the signup location.

Surprisingly, Ronnie is a natural. She throws fast and hard, nearly bruising Steve’s hand the first time they play catch. She can wack the shit out of the ball and she’s not afraid to get right under one soaring through the air. 

Steve’s proud of both his girls, he is, but there’s an extra spark that ignites in him when he realizes Ronnie is athletic.  

Unfortunately, Steve is running late to the first game of the season thanks to work. He spots Eddie and Marley immediately, lounging in their chairs with their eyes focused on the baseball diamond. Panting and sweating from his sprint from the parking lot, Steve collapses into the empty seat and scans the field looking for their girl. 

She’s squatting in outfield. Wild curls spill out from her navy baseball cap, glove discarded a foot away from her as her hands are preoccupied digging in the overgrown grass. 

“What is she doing?” Steve asks, squinting into the sun as he watches her completely ignore the ball that rolls between her and the center fielder. 

“Digging a hole,” Eddie shrugs like it’s obvious. Like digging a hole is part of the great American pastime. 

“Why?” 

“She found a tuft of fur out there before the game started. Thinks there’s a nest of…” 

“Gleeps,” Marley supplies. 

“Yeah, that.” 

“Oh my god.” 

He doesn’t get it. Ronnie isn’t even the dig-around-in-holes type. She used to cry if they forgot to wipe her hands after eating a snack when she was little. And yet. 

“M’sorry sweetheart,” Eddie coos, resting a supportive hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Looks like the Munson genes of being freaks are just too strong.” 

“At least she’s having fun, I guess.” 

Author's Note: Gleeps are apparently a small creature that debut in the Herculoids TV show. They've also appeared in various comics over the years. We're going to blame Dustin for introducing them to Marley and Ronnie lmao

[slushiepizza]

The Pursuit of Catharsis

Pairing : Guy/Honey

Tags : Infidelity, Angst, Hurt no Comfort, Post-Divorce, Guy cheated on Honey and they both had a divorce, DILF Guy, Screenwriter Guy, Moving On Themes

Word Count : 1,453

ao3

How to Heal after a Cheating Spouse 

Betrayal from a loved one would cause a mix of emotions unlike any other: vitriol, grief, disappointment. In this column, relationship counselor C. Pardalis details the steps needed to move on. 

The first ever step that nobody ever wants to hear is forgiveness. Forgiveness isn’t done for your spouse’s sake- neither does it mean that you have to maintain a relationship with them. It’s about making peace with the pain of the past and moving forward. 

Honey closed all the tabs in their browser and shut down the laptop. Every website said the same thing- to forgive, forget, and be the bigger person. Pain simmered in the hollow of their chest. They stared around themselves and noted the take-out boxes on the table. Abandoned laundry piled high on top of the dining room chair- how’d it even get there?

The room could use some cleaning. They were expecting a guest, after all. 

In thirty minutes, Guy will arrive at the front door- as if he’s a visitor and not someone who’d lived in the complex for the past twenty years. Had they been younger- had they cared more, they probably would’ve been angrier. Tossed all of his things when they found out- when they saw the mark on the side of his neck, the pair of tickets for a vacation they didn’t book, the foreign smell of cologne sticking in the inside of his jacket. But they didn’t- and instead held onto his things for him to pick up after the divorce had been finalized. Time flew in the blink of an eye and papers were signed.

They’re older. Possibly wiser- but they think they’re just tired of it all. Or maybe they were looking for an excuse to get out of the relationship, anyway. It didn’t matter anymore. Honey quickly folded and put away the laundry in a mechanical way, their hands moved faster than their mind could catch up. 

Honey looked at the inside of their closet- a row of newer, sleek designer clothing came into view. They bit the inside of their cheek as they decided on what to wear. They came a long way ever since they began dating him- no longer the college student living in cramped, shared dorms, but someone with a sizable enough salary to afford some luxuries. 

Of course, that was nothing compared to Guy the best-selling author, award-winning screenwriter. Everything had its costs, they supposed. They hated to admit it- but they should’ve seen it coming. The success- the downfall. The way it crashed and burned for them.

Try dating yourself, the article said. Make an effort to treat yourself well and find confidence like how you would a partner. 

They picked a matching set- a navy-blue, cashmere suit and jacket. Honey looked at themself in the mirror and saw signs of aging. They also saw the bags under their eyes from sleepless nights. Nothing some concealer couldn’t fix. They straightened their jacket and fastened a watch to their wrist. 

There’s nothing to prove, Honey reminded themself. But they knew that it was a lie. They spritzed perfume on the inside of their neck. They were dressed as if they were going somewhere-when ten minutes ago, they were lounging in their sleepwear, unable to get themselves out of bed. They wanted to look like they were doing well. Unaffected. Like the twenty years that went down the drain meant nothing to them. 

If Guy wanted to sleep around- then so be it. They’re a prize that he’d regret not treasuring. 

Honey straightened their posture and twisted their defeated expression into something more neutral. It didn’t last long, as they sighed and went back to their sagged shoulders and hurt, pathetic gaze. They’d play the part when he’s here. It’s exhausting to keep up the facade when they felt nothing but confident, around them remnants of what used to be. 

Their wedding ring sat in the same drawer they kept their watches. They should pawn it off soon. 

Focus on personal development. Improve yourself and stick to a routine. It’s easy to fall into a rut when grieving the ending of a relationship, especially due to your partner’s mistake. 

Honey was the healthiest they’d ever been- yet it’s the worst they’ve ever felt. They go on runs in the crack of dawn and hike on the weekends. They’ve tried everything an acai-bowl eating, veganism-practicing LA native would do: pilates, yoga, hot yoga, crossfit. The post-exercise endorphins would soothe them momentarily, but soon the grief of it all would crash into them like a wave against the cliffs and they stood, heaving on the floor like an animal.

It’s ironic how they were the happiest when they would barely sleep and eat anything that they could afford at the time- which wasn’t much. When Guy would excitedly bring pizza for dinner when they knew that he’d pay for them out of his own paycheck. He’d say that he made it especially for them, and the worst part was that it was true. He put onions because he knew they liked them when he didn’t- put up with the horrors of pineapple on pizza when he found it disgusting. 

Honey swallowed and fought the incoming tears. Fuck. 

A series of knocks echoed through the apartment and they straightened themself. A picture of serenity and composure. The door swung to reveal the person they’ve been dreading. 

“Hey,” he greeted, somewhat hesitant. He had the nerve to look sorry. Anger boiled in their stomach and took purchase in their diaphragm as Honey dissected the man in front of them. 

At forty-five, he was definitely still attractive, the half-up, salt-and-pepper hair and unshaved stubble giving him an air of aged wisdom. But Honey just thought that he looked weary, the well-tailored, expensive suit doing a good job of hiding his defeated sort of pride. They have that in common.

It’s been a difficult year. 

“Your things are in the boxes near the couch. I packed them so you can just take them away,” they said, curt and flat. 

“Okay,” he replied, tight-lipped. They could feel the sadness emanating from him- it reminded them of the night of the confrontation- when he broke down and said that they should leave, because they deserved better. And they do, they like to believe that they do. But why is it so hard?

“Your books and CDs- the Star Trek merch is over there, too.” 

“Thanks,” Guy muttered. And the two of them stood in a suffocating silence. 

“I don’t resent you, by the way,” Honey said, the words practiced, their back turned from him against the backdrop of the city lights from the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

“Really.” It was rhetorical, not a question but more of an ironic statement. 

Guy gave a weak laugh, like it’s a private joke only he understood. After signing one movie deal after the next, He’s somehow rougher on the edges now, as if any form of gentleness that remained in him was no longer. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, grief-stricken and still as earnest as ever, and Honey could feel the twist of a knife in their stomach. 

The article repeated itself in their mind. The first ever step that nobody ever wants to hear is forgiveness. 

Fuck that, Honey thought as they tried to hold themself together. Fuck that article. Fuck Guy. Fuck him and his ambitions and the pains of his past for taking the one thing they ever cared about. 

What if they don’t want to forgive? What if the pain was so unbearable- it wasn’t like this was a mistake that could be fixed with a good, healthy lifestyle and breathing exercises. Twenty years. Twenty years of seeing him, soft and gentle, yet unrelenting in the pursuit of his dreams of becoming a writer. His hair brushed against their neck whenever he’d lean his head on their shoulder back in the movie nights they had in college. Him taking care of them whenever they’re sick and pissy about it. The late-night drives and the way he’d always have time for them no matter how busy he was.

The light that drained from his eyes, the exhaustion. The way he’d go home in the dead of night, drained and tired and burnt out. The stink of cigarettes and the alcohol under his breath. The articles, the tabloids, the rumors and how they insisted that he wouldn’t do it. He loved them too much to ever leave them for someone else. 

Honey collapsed into the floor as soon as Guy closed the door behind him. Heavy sobs wrecked through them as the night wrapped them in its embrace.