#red velvet 7 years

[squirrellypoo]

So I’m making myself a Wolfkiller coat/cloak right now and I swear I was only pushing the wolf button through to double-check it fit easily through the bound buttonhole I just made

But then his little fangs went over the edge and I had a little giggle! Like, yup, this is a Lestat coat already. 😂

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[ice-devourer]

my niece is gonna stay with us again for like, a two - three week visit and imma bake her some of her favorites mwehehe here's the scheme:

[gay-little-cloud]

guess who finally pulled a yeri pc and its thanks to my mom hugging the album before i open it.

i got 2 albums but one is for my friend so i told my mom i had to choose right, i had to choose the one with yeri inside so she hugged both of them and told me which she thought had the yeri pc. she was right !!!! 💜🐢

she also said joy was on the other one so we will see if shes right when my friend opens hers 🐤

[isitthemoon]

God I love Perfect Velvet so much it's literally one of my favorite albums of all time, such a core memory for me, I love absolutely everything about it AND MY USERNAME THAT I USE IN EVERYTHING POSSIBLE IS FROM THIS ALBUM TOO

[wonryllis]

daddy issues, my little girl (m) | park jongseong.

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹,

preview. you had always had daddy issues, for as long as you could remember. so when jay came along with his caring nature, how could you possibly keep your feelings at bay? not to forget, your roses of love have wilted long before you even knew what love meant but jay, he’s here at your doorstep with a watering can. will you be able to refuse?

or where, new neighbor dr jay park is asked to babysit you over the week. ironically the only man you have ever had a crush on. you are so determined to put aside the feelings but jay makes things so much harder. he is way too sweet and caring and you are way too pessimistic and insecure. how is it going to work with you gravitating towards him in inadvertence and jay welcoming your presence with candor radiance? especially with all of your buried issues coming to life more than ever. false hopes and reserved secrets, reluctant truths and feelings that linger deep. he is right there, two doors away to reach. so why is it that love still feels so far?

meet the cast. daddy park jongseong(jay) with his doll fem!reader

genre. neighbour to lovers, age gap (like 7 years), romance, SMUT MDNI!!, comfort angst, fluff, happy ending, doctor(might change that)!jay with his precious girl. jay literally always at his girl's beck and call, he cares about you a lottttt trope. the "i know you can do it, but let me do it for you" trope. kinda ddlg concept idk? he's like your pillar, comfort person and just everything you have ever needed. practically your dream man come to life. subject to additions later on.

word count. 18-19k so far, est around 35k revamp + second installment.

warnings. DARK THEMES: hints of: daddy issues, attachment anxiety, inferiority complex, abandonment issues, depression, childhood emotional neglect, philophobia, insomnia, social anxiety, hints at emotional/psychological abuse, gaslighting, hints at being suicidal, people pleaser syndrome, mommy issues, thantophobia, atelophobia, atychiphobia, pistanthrophobia, avoidant personality disorder, body dysmorphia. more could be added on release and nsfw warnings will be mentioned in full fic.

theme song. daddy issues by the neighborhood and future by red velvet. on the side you can listen to: love letter by bolbbalgan4, adore you by harry styles, pacify her by melanie martinez, cool kids by echosmith, your existence by wonstein, teenage dreams by katy perry ..

RELEASING. TBD, progress ! 57%

"i’m home!” slipping off your converse, you put the pair inside the shoe cabinet near the entrance and close the wooden door in a sigh before trudging in. the lights in the living room are dimmed, something your parents would never do. it catches you a tad bit off guard but nevertheless you try not to think too much. considering the silence surrounding you they most definitely are out for work and as usual forgot to turn off the lights. with cautious steps you walk futher inside, with all intention to sneak in a pack of chips from the kitchen like a thief even though at this point you’ve practically come to the conclusion you’re home alone, but one can never be too careful.

a cat like shriek leaves you when your eyes land on the back of a figure sitting on the couch, your phone almost slipping through the grasp of your fingers as your eyes widen in shock. startled, your heart more or less stopping in a screeching brake for a split second.

the man visibly flinches at the sound of your voice,“who are you?!-” standing up and turning around to face you,“jay?”

“god y/n, you’re gonna make me deaf,” he complains, face contorting into a tender, teasing expression; a small smile gracing his lips as he walks around the couch and leans against the top of the backrest. you watch as he looks at you, so softly that it makes you wonder, has anyone ever in your entire life looked at you like that? a look radiating such gentleness. maybe not, not until now that is.

“you got home early today, i thought you’d be out for two more hours?” his brows raise in a questioning manner as his gaze shifts to go over the time showing on your living room clock.

“uh, well i was working on a project the last few days but i finished it yesterday so,” you speak unsure if you should even be telling him this instead of asking what he’s doing in here.

“oh okay, that’s good,” taking off his overcoat he walks into the kitchen, folding up his dress shirt’s sleeves on the way,“what do you want for lunch then? do you want to eat takeout? or should i cook you something? you must be hungry,” he takes out a bottle of cold water from the fridge and pours in a glass for you, sliding the cup on the countertop towards you as you approach the space in hesitant and confused steps.

his questions dumbfound you, leaving your brain at a loss, still dazed from his presence before you,“what? why are you asking me that? and what are you doing in my house?” you ask, looking completely clueless when jay turns to look at you expecting it to be some kind of a sarcastic remark. but the lost look in your eyes has him surrendering even if it does turn out to be some joke.

“taking care of you,” jay smiles, straightening his posture in an upright position and moving closer to the counter across which you stand,“technically, babysitting,”

“babysitting? me? but,” it baffles you, is this some prank or are you supposed to know something you don’t? your mind’s mechanical gears slow down, friction arising in between them. you don’t remember anything regarding or relating to the term babysitting. there’s no way he’s serious.. right?

“doll, didn’t your parents tell you they’re gonna be out on a business trip for a week? they asked me to look after you while they’re gone,” what.

yes these past few days when you couldn’t catch a hidden, one-sided glimpse of him in the elevator you did feel weird. and you definitely did subconsciously wish to run across him again, even though you were on a mission to avoid him, but this; this is not what you would’ve liked, this is not what you wanted. this is far from what you can handle, what your messed up self can accept.

“no?” the look on your face has jay almost spilling a laugh, the way your features contort to a whiny crying expression. how cute. he thinks.

“that’s okay, now you know,” trying to imitate you, he scrushes up his nose in a slight pout, reaching out to pat your head twice. and there goes your heart. you never thought you’d like head pats this much, you only remember getting them twice from your father but it felt different. it used to annoy you because he would mess up your hair but the way jay caressed your head it felt you had accomplished something, so gentle and careful yet still close to a ruffle.

taglist ( open. ) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @lheebra @boyfhee @defnotfertilizedtoesw @brownsugarbaybee @skylaly @sparklovespink @luvyouchuu @ming-h0e @cha0thicpisces @butterflywonie @kgneptun @haechansbbg @m3chigo @wonsbaer @woncine @eneiyri @siyen @wonyoungsvirus @heesquared @enhafim22 @velvtcherie @ineedsomezzz @simjyunnie @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @wonkifangirl @sweetwonieee @luvnicho @fakeuwus @sunpov @notevenheretbh1 @kaykay11sworld @saurxcream @shawnyle @monstaxdirtywonk @wannieepisod @woozixo @sophi-ee @rikiwaify-blog @fluerz @iselltulips @belowbun @yunjinsbbg @enhasnuggles @enhaswirlds @enhastolemyheart @jooniesbears-blog

[teddykaczynski]

i love the sufjan stevens christmas songs that make me feel like im at church

[steveslevis]

‘tis the damn season

AUTUMN

chapter contents/warnings: exes to whatever the hell this is, a little bit of smut, angst, weed and alcohol use, mutual pining, steve is an idiot and is afraid of commitment </3, barely proofread (sowwy)

w/c: 5.3k

The first big frost of the season blankets the town of Hawkins when you arrive on Wednesday night, the bits of ice glittering on the orange and brown leaves making the barren streets seem less intimidating as you make your way through your hometown for the first time in months. 

There’s a sense of anticipation and dread that fills your stomach while navigating the streets you know so well, knowing you’re going to be asked the same mundane questions about college in the big city a thousand times over during the next three weeks. You know that’s not the only thing filling you with dread for the weeks to come, but keep telling yourself that’s all you have to worry about — right?

The first evening you arrive in town is jam-packed, since your friends insisted on having a so-called “Friends-giving-mas” as the night that you arrived, due to your anticipated absence on the aforementioned Christmas. You spend a few hours with your mom and dad before leaving, enlisting your mom to help you make some cookies for the party, promising you’d leave her and your dad some behind. 

The clock hits 7 p.m. and you’re finally finished getting ready, having just thrown on a red velvet, long sleeved dress that hit just above your knees and your best black boots, Robin had requested everyone to look their best so she could take photos with her new camera throughout the party. You grabbed your secret santa gift and jacket, checking yourself in the mirror one last time before leaving your room. 

“Alright, I’m leaving.” you call out as you bound down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Don’t forget your cookies, sweetheart! They’re on the table.” she replied from her place next to your dad on the couch, watching some rom-com while he was dozing beside her, “if you need us to come pick you up, we will.”

You let out a laugh at her remark, knowing that you were only walking to the next house over on the road, so picking you up would be ridiculous. 

“Oh, I think I’ll manage just fine.” you joke in return while grabbing the plate of cookies, “love you guys!”

—————————

The outside of the Harrington’s house is gleefully lit with warm string lights, wreaths already adorning the front windows and main door to the house in anticipation of Christmas in a few weeks. You always admired the way their house looked during the holidays, but knew it was only a cheery facade to hide the dysfunction that lay within the halls of the residence.

You knew the family all too well, having grown up next to Steve your entire life. You were the same age as him, grew up attending all the same parties as him, but ran in completely different circles than him — well, up until your senior year of high school at least. 

Long story short, being best friends with Robin led to you ultimately becoming so-called friends with Steve Harrington as well. The two of you had what you now called a stupid summer fling before you left for Chicago in August, but the rest was history. The two of you had agreed to stay civil and not let the remnants of any unresolved feelings come between your friendship and the rest of the friend group.

So here you were, knocking on Steve Harrington’s front door on a random Wednesday in late November, cookies in hand as you stood there, shivering. You faintly hear Robin say that she would get the door, then hear footsteps pad towards the entrance. 

You’re greeted by your best friend with the strongest hug you swear you’ve ever experienced, and you feel like you might not ever be let go if she has anything to say about it.

“Oh my god! I missed you so much.” Robin exclaims, the widest grin on her face as she grabs for your hand, “everyone’s in here, we’re just waiting on Nance and Jonathan then we’ll be ready to eat but come in! I have so much to tell you about everything you don’t even know—” 

You follow behind her wordlessly, smiling to yourself as she rambles on about college applications and band and Vickie — who just so happened to be in the kitchen helping finish making the mashed potatoes so you had to be quiet — and everything that she can think to fit in a conversation to catch her best friend up on after months without. She leads you to the dining room after dropping off the cookies, where you hear two familiar voices having a very passionate conversation. 

“I’m telling you, man, I’m cursed—“

“You’re not cursed, Harrington. I’m telling you, you’re just looking in the wrong place for love.” Eddie retorts to his frustrated friend, rolling his eyes at him.

“Oh yeah? And where should I be looking?” Steve snorts, haphazardly tossing forks, knives and spoons atop the napkin at each seat of the table.

“I’ve been saying ever since what happened this summer, you should be going after — oh shit, Y/N!” Eddie interjects, cutting himself off when you trail in behind Robin.

The metalhead pulls you in for a bear hug, whispering in your ear about how he promises not to ask you boring questions about college like everyone else. As you’re being engulfed in his embrace, you hear the sound of silverware tumbling to the ground from the other side of the table, followed by a string of mumbled curse words from the dropper.

You pull away from Eddie’s hug to look at where the noise is coming from, only to see Steve fumbling with a fork and spoon while trying to stand up from where he was just kneeling. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment too long, taking in everything about him that you told yourself you didn’t miss. Eddie gives you a knowing look and you roll your eyes, knowing that he’s trying to tell you to not make things weird, so you try your best.

“Stevie, how are you?” you call to him while walking around the table, putting on the best oblivious and excited face that you can.

“H-Hey, Y/N.” Steve says, feigning coolness as he pulls you in for a quick hug, nearly stumbling over his words when you use the nickname you always loved to tease him with, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” 

His eyes flicker over to Robin momentarily, who shoots him a guilty grin before mouthing ‘sorry’ over your shoulder.

“Yeah, it was kinda last minute on my part, I just so happened to be coming home tonight since my finals were all at the beginning of the week. I kinda forced Rob to tell me when it would be so I could crash it,” you lie, trying to throw the blame on yourself instead of her, “sorry if I messed anything up, I-I’ll lay low and won’t eat if that messes up numbers or something—“

“No!” Steve rushes to retort, shaking his head at you adamantly, “I mean, shit—sorry. No, you’re not messing anything up at all, you know you’re always welcome here.” 

The smile on Steve’s face is genuine as he speaks, but there’s a glint of sadness in his eyes while he scans yours for any sign of hesitancy. You give him a small smile in return, quickly moving your gaze from his to push down that sinking feeling in your chest you know is coming. Your chest aches as you focus your eyes downward, realizing that this night would be a lot harder than you had convinced yourself that it would be. 

“Well!” Robin interjects, interrupting the growing awkward silence filling the air of the dining room where you stood. She reached for your hand while smiling over at you sympathetically, beginning to drag you towards the kitchen as she spoke, “gotta go say hello to everyone else before dinner!”

Your best friend whirled you around to the rest of the guests–which was just Nancy, Jonathan, and Vickie–who were all in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the meal. 

A slew of awkward questions about Chicago ensued in the moments leading up to and during dinner, but you took them in stride as they distracted you from the bright eyed boy across the table who kept sneaking glances in your direction any chance he got. You explained your major, what you did for work outside of class time, and talked about all the new friends you met in the short few months you’d been gone. You could’ve sworn Steve’s jaw clenched at the mention of a date you went on prior to leaving for break, but you didn’t put too much thought into it. 

Dinner goes by fairly quickly, and then it’s time for Secret Santa gifts in the living room. Robin begged everyone to participate, and even went through the effort of making sure you and Steve didn’t get each other, partly to not ruin the surprise of you being here and partly to diminish any awkwardness that might arise from it. 

You had drawn Jonathan’s name, so you gifted him a few rolls of different camera film. Each person had to guess who their Secret Santa was, but apparently your gift was pretty obvious since he hadn’t been able to find any film like it anywhere near Hawkins, so he guessed you first. 

Your turn rolled around and a small red gift bag was sat in your lap. You immediately knew who your gift was from, halfway from the grin plastered on his face and halfway from the smell lingering from inside the back in your hands. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” you giggle out while pulling out four perfectly rolled blunts from the gift bag, courtesy of the best dealer in Hawkins.

“It’s always a pleasure,” he jabs back, “we can fire one up after presents if you’d like.” 

You nod quickly at him, grinning widely before turning back to the circle where Robin was handing out gifts.

—————————

It’s not long before drinks are flowing and laughter is spilling through the Harrington residence, something that’s happened very few times within those halls. The night seems to go by too quickly, you notice how quickly when you check and it says 11 P.M. already, even though it feels like you’ve only been there a few hours. You’re sitting on the couch with Robin and Vickie, giggling their way through a story about some guy in the Hawkins band, when the sight of the back door sliding open and closed catches your eye. 

You turn your gaze to see Steve stalking into the cold on his own, head turned down as he walks towards one of the ice-slicked pool chairs on the deck. A frown passes over your face as you furrow your brows, excusing yourself from the couple on the couch as you slip outside to follow him with your bottle of wine, one of your newly gifted blunts and a lighter in hand. 

It’s the last thing you should be doing tonight, really. You shouldn’t be following Steve Harrington – the man who was too afraid to say he loved you and too afraid to commit to you – onto the porch. You should’ve stayed inside and drank some more wine with the rest of them and let yourself cut loose for once, but you just couldn’t do it. You just had to talk to him – you weren’t so sure what you wanted to talk about, but you just felt the need to.

“You alright?” was all you could slip out as you closed the sliding glass door, watching the brown haired boy from afar, making sure you weren’t making the wrong decision.

“Yeah–Yeah, just needed a little bit of fresh air.” Steve stammered, eyes widening for only a moment when he notices that it’s you that followed him outside.  

You only hum in response, stepping closer to him as you sense no annoyance or anger in his voice, finding a spot on the chilled pool chair next to his. After setting down the bottle of wine you’d been nursing throughout the night, you took the blunt you’d brought as a peace offering between your fingers and waved it in front of his face.

Steve looked up for a moment, gaze shifting between the blunt between your fingers and your lips that curled up into a mischievous yet friendly smirk. His own lips perked up in a lopsided smile, raising an eyebrow at you when you brought the blunt to your lips, followed by the lighter.

“Would you like to partake?” you joke while puffing smoke through your lips, mixing with the cold puffs of breath coming from Steve’s. 

“I’ll never say no to that,” he retorts, reaching to grab the blunt from your fingers. 

There’s a breath of comfortable silence between the two of you as he inhales, then lets out a long exhale before focusing his gaze back onto the pool in front of him, onto the ice forming on the pool cover as a way to avoid your eyes. 

“So, how’s the Stevie Harrington been faring since I’ve been gone?” you joked after a moment more of the quiet, shoving any nerves down that were threatening to force you to run back inside. 

Awful, utterly dull and extremely depressing, was what Steve wanted to say. 

He wanted to tell you how he fucked up so badly, how he hasn’t been the same since the last time he saw you, how he hasn’t even been able to look at anyone without thinking of you. He wanted to grab you by the cheeks and pull you in for a kiss and never let go. He wanted to scream and tell you how much he regretted ever letting you leave without knowing how he really felt, but he couldn’t now. It was too late, so he just said; “Oh, y’know. I’ve been fine. Just the same shit, different day.”

Steve wanted to kick himself for saying something so lame, something so uninteresting when the most interesting person in the world was sitting right in front of him. 

“Does ‘same shit, different day’ just mean you’re stuck being the same old chauffeur-babysitter you’ve been for the last two years?” you tease, reaching down to grab the bottle of wine at your feet. 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Steve chuckled, giving you a warm smile as he took another puff. 

It only took a few moments to finally break the ice between the two of you, then things fell right back into place, right back into a comfortable normalcy. There was something that put you so at ease being outside with him, being able to talk to him without the looming thought of who would be the first to say “I love you” or who would be the first to leave waving over both of your heads. 

The next hour went by in a breeze, and it seemed the party inside died down by the time the two of you decided to walk back in. Steve closed the sliding glass door behind you two and you noticed only Eddie and Robin were left standing in the living room. Vickie was presumably in the guest bed, where Robin was about to head to. Jonathan and Nancy had left twenty minutes prior, only popping their heads out to say a quick goodbye before driving off.

Robin said a quick goodnight to you before heading up the stairs, along with a promise to see you tomorrow for a girl’s day. Then, it was just you, Eddie and Steve in the living room, Eddie at the couch setting up his bed for the night while the two of you stood in silence by the sliding glass door still. 

“I–I guess I should probably head home for the night,” you say, breaking the silence between the three of you as you start towards your bag and coat on the other side of the room.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Steve interjects a little too loudly, the weed and wine in his system instilling some false confidence in him. “It’s so cold out and I’m sure at this point your parents already think you’re staying anyways.”

You stop on your toes at Steve’s voice, cheeks heating at how interested he sounded in you staying there for the night. It’s not like it was a far and dangerous walk, Steve just wanted an excuse to be around you for longer. You turn around to look at him, then to Eddie, who was giving you a tired smile.

“We can have a sleepover on the couch,” Eddie chuckles, reaching for one of the pillows he was setting out for himself to move it to the other side of the couch for you. 

“I don’t have any clothes,” you suggest, looking down at your velvet dress that would be extremely uncomfortable to sleep in. 

“Oh, I’m sure Stevie has some clothes that you can sleep in!” Eddie says, shooting a smirk in his direction.

“O–Of course I do, I’m sure I still have your favorite pajama pants up there if you want them.” Steve says hurriedly, as if you would change your mind if he didn’t answer quickly enough.

You give the two of them a smile, pretending to contemplate the decision for a moment before nodding. You could’ve sworn you heard Steve let out a breath of relief at your nod, but he turned towards the stairs before you could acknowledge it. Without a word, you follow right behind him up the stairs, slowly realizing the effects of the cherry wine and weed are coming to the surface. 

Steve steps into his bedroom and you follow behind him, a situation the two of you knew all too well. 

—————————

You don’t know what led to this, but there you were, in Steve’s bedroom, him towering over your space on his bed as he pulled you in for a heated kiss. Tongue against teeth, hands against cheeks, legs tangled together, just like they were meant to be. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t come crawling back every time you were in town, but here you were. 

Somehow coming upstairs for a stupid pair of pajamas led to Steve giving you that look of lust and utter desire, led to you becoming a willing participant in his games once again after swearing you would never touch him again, led to you letting him sneak his way into your heart – and pants – yet again. 

Your head is spinning as he kisses you, his lips slotted into yours like they belonged there, a perfect fit. You’re unsure if it’s the wine, the weed or the sheer yearning that’s making you feel like this, but you don’t want it to stop any time soon. 

There’s a gnawing feeling in your stomach when Steve props his knee up on the bed next to your hip, you know you should stop before he gets any further, but the ache between your thighs is outweighing any thought of what would come after he spreads you open. 

Steve groans into your mouth when you pull him closer, fingers intertwining with and tugging the hair at the nape of his neck, and you only smirked against his lips in satisfaction. You knew everything about the boy who was turning to a puddle just from the touch of your fingers. You knew exactly how to make him tick, and him the same for you.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes when he finally pulls away from you, full lips parted as he stares down at you. There’s a twinkle in his eye that you haven’t seen in so long, one you used to mistake for love but now only know to be pure lust. “I–I’m sorry I just, I need–I need you.”

You stare at the desperate, doe-eyed man in front of you for a long moment, mind wandering to a place of fear as you think about what you’re about to do. 

Instead of saying anything in reply, you close the space between the two of you once again, smashing your lips into his in a feverish and bruising kiss. Steve is on you in an instant, gently pushing you back and up on the bed, letting your head fall on his pillows. You can tell by the way he stumbles on his way up to you that he’s intoxicated — on the weed or the wine, or you, you’re not sure — but you soon realize that you are too.

A hand wanders toward the hem of Steve’s sweater, tugging at it quickly as he pulls away from the bruising kiss. He wastes no time in pulling the cable-knit up and over his head, tossing it to the side while sitting up on his knees to take you the sight of you in. Your skin was hot and your eyes were blown with lust, cheeks flushed and lips parted as you stared up at him.

You’d only been under him for a minute and had completely folded to his touch. You cursed yourself for letting your inhibitions crumble so quickly, but another part of you didn’t actually care, the same part of you that wanted to claim him as yours forever. 

Steve’s eyes trailed over you, from your cheeks to the low neckline of your dress, over the curve of your hips, ending on your thighs spread on either side of his knees. The crushed velvet of your skirt bunched where your leg met your hip, letting the fabric ride up enough for Steve to see exactly what he was searching for. 

He sucked in a breath at the sight of your white lace underwear beneath, having to hold himself back from diving in right that second.

“You’re so beautiful,” he groaned, hands tracing over your hip bones while lowering his lips to yours once again.

A moan falls from your lips as his meet yours, his knee coming up between your thighs, creating friction against your core.

“Fuck—Stevie,” you say, choking back a pitiful whine while grinding against his thigh desperately, “please, I need you.”

You swear you hear Steve nearly choke at your words, three words he’d been dying to hear from you for months. 

“I know, I know, baby.” he coos at you, trying to keep his cool as he strains against his pants, “I’ll take care of you.”

You nod feverishly as he leans down to pepper kisses along your neck, taking his sweet time while trying not to get drunk off the scent of you.

“This—This doesn’t mean anyth—this doesn’t change anything,” he stammers between kisses, peering up at you as he speaks, “we can still stay close—keep being friends after this.”

You hum in agreement, ignoring the dread building in your gut as you do. You want to be more than friends, you want to scream at him until he admits that he loves you too. But he nearly said it doesn’t mean anything, so you’re convinced he wants nothing to do with you after tonight, nothing but a friend to laugh with and a pretty face to fuck on every break from college. 

You push the thoughts from your mind, focusing on the boy in front of you as his hands begin to massage your inner thighs, inching closer and closer to your core with every circle. Steve chuckles lowly as you let out a whine of anticipation, teasing you silently as he gives in to your desires.

Steve knows your body like he knows his own, so what comes after pulling off your dress is nearly second nature to him. One large hand trails to the waistband of your underwear while the other reaches for your breast, nipple peaked from the exposure to the cold air conditioning. You moan in surprise when he wastes no time in putting his mouth to work on your other nipple, tugging your underwear down your legs simultaneously. 

His fingers immediately fall to your core once you’re free of the underwear, fingertips circling the bundle of nerves at the top as you let out another whimper. 

His moves are careful but quick, he knows you want to waste no more time, and you’ll whine about his teasing if he doesn’t act soon. 

He’s out of his boxers in an instant, one hand keeping contact with your clit as he situates himself above you.

“You look so good like this, sweetheart.” Steve says, voice low as his eyes raked over your body, “so pretty spread out for me, all fucked out for me even though I’ve barely touched you.”

“Stevie…” you whimper, reaching a hand up to him, but he pulls from your reach with a smirk across his face.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek as he lines himself up with your slick, teasing the tip against you slowly.

“I—I need you, Steve.” you beg, cheeks flushing at the admittance, “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” he retorts with a smirk, sliding into you with ease.

You both let out a low moan as he bottoms out, filling you in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You forgot how thick he was in the time you’d been gone, your body wasn’t used to the stretch of his cock inside you, but it still felt like he was meant to be there. Like he was the only one who could make you feel this way.

And you were right, nobody could make you feel that way. Nobody else could touch you and make you fall apart in less than five minutes like he could. Nobody else could get you so riled up over a few praises thrown in with some condescension (which you embarrassingly loved too much) like he could. Nobody could hold off from cumming long enough to give you three orgasms before getting one of their own like he could. 

Nobody did it like he could.

This doesn’t mean anything you repeat in your mind, clinging to his arm like your life depended on it after the two of you calmed your breathing and cleaned up. You weren’t sure if you were repeating those words to convince yourself or to ease your own mind about what just went down, but you knew they stung your heart more than any fighting words the two of you had ever exchanged.

“I missed this, cuddling with you, holdin’ you like this.” was all he slurred out against your hair, pressing a sleepy kiss into the crown of your head.

“Yeah, me too.” you mumble in return, accepting the warmth of his embrace as sleep finally took you in, ignoring the gnawing pain growing in your chest.

—————————

The spice of Steve’s cologne mixes with the familiar scent of his room, filling your senses when you wake, nearly sending you into a panic. You sit upright in the bed, turning to face the boy you claimed you wanted nothing to do with romantically just a few hours ago. Steve is sleeping peacefully next to you, plush lips parted and brows furrowed as he subconsciously pouts about the loss of your touch. The alarm clock behind him read 2:03 A.M., meaning you hadn’t been out for too long, but long enough to sober you up somehow. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. I gotta get out of here. Is all you can think as you stumble out from under the comforter, knowing you would never live it down if anyone found you’d slept in his bed, especially with your limbs entangled like they just were. You quickly dress in the clothes you’d originally come into the bedroom to fetch, and snuck out of the bedroom without a sound. 

Before making it to the living room, you turned toward the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of water. What you weren’t expecting to be faced with in the kitchen was Eddie, but there he was, leaning against the counter with disheveled hair that probably mirrored your own. 

“What a night so far, huh?” he jokes as you shoot him a knowing glare while trudging across the tiled floor. 

“Don’t even start with me, Munson.” you warn, absentmindedly reaching your hand up to the cabinet for a glass while shaking your head.

“Woah, don’t get that attitude with me! I didn’t say anything,” he laughs, setting his own glass into the sink, “but that also doesn’t mean I didn’t hear anything.”

“You did not,” you snap back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he gives you a shit-eating grin, “there’s no way you heard anything because nothing happened.”

“You’ve always been such a bad liar, Y/N.” Eddie laughs, stepping out of the kitchen to walk towards the living room where the two of you would be sleeping. 

A sigh escapes your lips when Eddie leaves, letting you be alone with your thoughts finally. There was an ache in your chest that wasn’t going away any time soon, and it was in that moment that you wondered if you would ever be able to get over Steve Harrington, or if you would be in a continuous cycle of hurt and comfort for the rest of your damned life.

You collected your thoughts as you downed a glass of water, throwing back two ibuprofens with the last chug for good measure, before finding your way back to the living room. Eddie was on his side on the long side of the L-shaped couch, leaving the shorter side for you to sleep on. His eyes were closed as you laid down with your feet next to his own, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet. 

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” you heard through the darkness after turning off the table lamp once you were settled.

“I know.” you sigh in return, staring up at the ceiling that was only lit by the streetlights flowing in from outside. “I just don’t want to live like this forever, I–I can’t keep being the secret that Steve is too embarrassed to talk about.”

“He’s not embarrassed of you,” Eddie said, voice barely above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear, “he’s just afraid of fucking everything up even more than he already has.”

If only he could say that to my face, then maybe I’d believe it, you thought to yourself, chest tightening at just the thought of the brown-eyed boy who was fast asleep upstairs. 

You don’t reply to Eddie, unsure of what to say back, unsure of what you could squeak out without breaking down. 

“Goodnight, Eds,” is all you say in return, though you know you won’t be getting any sleep. 

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

—————————

After falling asleep for all of fifty minutes around 5 in the morning, you decided you had to leave. 

The entirety of the almost four hours you laid on Steve’s couch consisted of staring at the ceiling and fighting off tears while thinking about how you regretted everything you said and did over the last twelve hours. 

Coming to the Harrington house was a mistake, even stepping foot back in Hawkins was feeling like a mistake at this point. 

The only words repeating in your mind were This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything. This doesn’t mean anything.

You eventually had enough of the self-loathing and inability to sleep, so it was time to go. It was time to hastily change out of the pajamas that smelled too much like the boy you loved too hard, and time to go collapse in your own bed. There was no telling if you’d actually fall asleep once you made it there, but that was beside the point.

It was when you finally made it back to your parent’s house, to your childhood bedroom, that you swore that you wouldn’t see Steve Harrington again for the rest of Thanksgiving break, and hopefully would avoid seeing him again for a long while, for the sake of saving yourself from another heartbreak.

---------

tags: @carinacassiopeiae

[mickyschumacher]

𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄  .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you and lando have a pretty healthy relationship; communication is a breeze between the two of you. and while that seems good, it doesn't help lando is horny 24/7. even the beach isn't safe from him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minors dni), established relationship, some fluff, blowjob, slight handjob, breastplay, poor humour LMAO aka old creepy mens' dicks, no time concept lol, basically lando time!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!lando norris x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3k+

𝐀/𝐍: now playing: ice cream cake – red velvet! OKAY YES IK I HAVE REQUESTS BUT I HAD WRITER'S BLOCK TILL THIS OKAY? is it not obvious by the word count? 😭 alexa, play 'easy on me' by adele :( also new banners after i messed around one day! ♡︎ // proof-read-ish!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  ｡  .°•  ⋆

You had met Lando two years ago purely on accident. You were at a coffee shop in Brighton, he was visiting a friend there. You ordered a hot chocolate and he had ordered a long black. Somehow the both of you had swapped cups and were wincing at how sweet or bitter the drink was.

Lando had turned his cup around to see who the cup belonged to. Upon seeing your name, unlike a normal person who would ask the barista for another cup or a refund, he had shouted your name across the room.

Lucky for you, you were the only other customer there since it was a slow day. Nevertheless, you looked up in shock. Who yelled out your name? Why? How did they know your name?

You actually purposely avoided eye-contact with his table just in case he was some weird guy. But Lando got your attention after telling you from across that room that you had some sweet taste in drinks.

You raised a brow. Was this some sort of new catcall you didn't know about? But then you had caught the barista's handwriting on 'your' cup. Lando, Long Black.

You scrunched your nose at the cup and looked at him. "You're quite bitter."

It was at that point when Lando had got a clear shot of your face and found his heart racing faster than normal. You were pretty, no gorgeous, no beautiful, no... surreal. Your face was contorted into a grimaced expression at his order which he found amusing. You looked like, what he still claims to this day, part of the shop's couch. The couch was brown and you were wearing a brown sweater.

Honestly, Lando couldn't find the whole situation anymore endearing. So with whatever confidence he had leftover, he walked up to your table and smoothly asked, "Can I get you a sweeter one with my number?"

Now this was when you first had probably got a look of Lando. He had a certain... boyish charm, if you will. The wide grin, sparkling blue eyes, face dotted with the odd freckle or beauty mark. To say he was attractive was an understatement. He looked like one of the main characters in the rom-coms you would binge when you needed a pick me-up.

You said yes. Obviously.

And here you were, two years later. At the beach with Lando, Charles, Carlos, Daniel, and their partners. You were all caught up with F1, always available for Lando. Your perspective of him had changed quite a lot since you had met him. In a good way, of course.

You initially saw him how a lot most of his fans and the media see him. A comedian by day and a moodmaker by night. Always smiling and cheery. Positive and optimistic. But the reality was that Lando struggled with the mental and physical aspects of F1. He didn't always have the confidence and he was stressed and depressed.

But as Lando always said in his interviews, he had found you.

'The best thing that had ever happened to him,' according to Lando himself.

Anyone could see that the two of you loved each other with your entire beings. Neither of you left any stone unturned in your relationship. Most people were jealous of your relationship. The drivers, the media, and especially the fans.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

━━━━━━━━━━━

One thing about Lando that you had learned quite soon after your first time together was that Lando was insatiable. He was sex-driven, horny, full of lust, aroused... all the words in the dictionary for a man like this... 24/7.

One day, you asked him why. Lando only responded with pulling you closer to him, leaving a trail of kisses from your jaw and down to your neck, and saying "You."

You wouldn't say anything did it for him. No in fact, it was specific things that he couldn't take his mind off once he thought about it.

Take right now for example.

Carlos had decided to treat everyone to ice creams, ice lollies, and juice on your trip to the beach in Playa de Bolonia. Innocently and naively, you had chosen the pink ice lolly out the chilly bin. Lando had also not thought anything of it.

Rather Lando had being eyeing you with every spare glance as you were wearing his favourite bikini, the one he had bought you for Christmas as a prank gift in the nice British winter thinking it had been the funniest thing ever. Obviously, he thought you were going to were it but another thing you had learned was that Lando's humour quite often was unmatched and spontaneous.

The bikini itself was simple. An orange, of course, two-piece. The top was held up by two moderately thin straps and hugged your breasts quite nicely. The bikini bottom was as normal as it could get, clinging to your hips. On top of it, you wore a white thin-laced cotton coverup, loosely tied together.

You would say it was an average beach look. Lando would disagree. It was as if God himself had carved you and decided to put you on Earth as reparations for the bad in the world.

But back to the point.

As mentioned, Lando hadn't really thought of the ice lolly. He was too busy trying to get Daniel back with a water gun. Like you said, boyish. It wasn't until he had finally got him back and decided to go sit down with you and grab himself some ice cream.

But when Lando sat down and looked at you, his mind had suddenly turned into shambles. There you were. Under the shade, peaks of sun shining on your skin, holding that pink ice lolly to your mouth.

Lando wasn't quite sure what was worse. The faint pink colour similar to his cock or the way your tongue travelled down the length of it to collect the melting sugary liquid. Or how your lips pressed up on the tip of the ice and pressed down to take an inch more of it into your mouth as if it was his own cock.

To make matters even worse for him, you had failed to capture some of the melting droplets. Lando keenly watched as they fell to your bare part of your chest and even had landed right where he knew your nipple was. His eyes widened ever so slightly and his breath paced when you frowned at the event and used your finger to wipe the sweet liquid off your skin and into your mouth. Some of it had gone too far down, probably pooling near your breasts like he imagined.

What sent him overboard? When you had spotted the stain on your bikini top over your nipple and attempted to rub it away, only making the stain worse and a small bump for your pebbled nipple.

Lando gulped nervously, pants incredibly tight. He closed his eyes and held his hands over his newly-formed hard on, wishing that his mind wasn't full of everything he had just seen. Your lips... your breasts... the way your eyes looked down at the popsicle... if only that was his cock....

"Lando? Dude, do you need to go to the bathroom?" Pierre's voice cut through the air.

Lando snapped his eyes opened and your eyes looked over to your boyfriend.

"W-What?" The British male queried with slight panic. He was not getting caught with a hard-on in front of his friends... there was no way in Earth...

Pierre raised a brow, gesturing to his pants. "You're ice cream is all melted. You need to take your eyes off Y/N at least sometimes, Lando, otherwise you'll never finish... your ice cream, that is," He teased.

You looked down at Lando's pants where his hands laid, covered in the white vanilla ice cream-turned liquid. You and everyone let out an amused laugh at Pierre's joke, shaking your head.

You stood up from the sandy grass you were sat on, dusting yourself off. You extended your hand to Lando, "Come on. I bought extra stuff in the car. Honestly, I thought you were going to lose your trunks by Daniel pantsing you in the water but I guess not."

A howl of laughter came from Charles and Carlos while Daniel cursed himself for not doing it.

Lando blinked, pulling the finger at his fellow drivers. He sighed, grabbing your hand and awkwardly standing up from the area, managing to cover up his bulge swiftly.

The two of you headed to the car as Lando briefly threw out the sticky wrapper and stick into a bin nearby. You opened the boot of the car, grabbing his trunks. "Jesus, could it get any hotter today?" You asked, closing the back door.

"It really couldn't," Lando mused, walking hand-in-hand with you, making you release a groan.

"Lando... now my hand's all sticky, you idiot," You complained, trying to pull apart from his hand.

Lando rolled his eyes, arriving to the empty males changing room. He was about to enter when he saw you stand outside and not follow him. "What are you doing? Come in."

You narrowed your eyes. "It's a male changing room. I'm not going in. What if there's some old man trying to change? I do not need to be scarred for life. My DMs is enough, thanks."

"First of all, there's no one here," Lando stated before shouting a loud 'Hello' into the room, making you redden with embarassment. "See? Secondly, I'm sorry, let me get this straight, your DMs are full of old men's dicks?" Lando looked at you incredulously.

You grinned, shrugging. "It's called being a woman, Lando. You wouldn't get it."

Lando rolled his eyes once again, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you into the changing room.

The room was the opposite of most changing rooms. It was tiled well, clean and fresh as opposed to musty, damp and with paint-chipped walls. There were also no leaky taps or showers or even any graffiti. It was slightly comforting to know that at least people respected some of their public rooms, even in Madrid.

"Wait, also, what if I get old? You don't want to see my shrivelled dick? It should turn you on!" Lando asked with a dramatic gasp.

You looked at your boyfriend through the mirror with a dumfounded expression. Turning, you threw his trunks at his face. "Go change," You laughed, shaking your head.

Lando grinned underneath the trunks as you turned the tap on to wash your sugar-coated hands.

Lando had removed his trunks, left naked with his hard, reddened cock slapping against his stomach, and was about to put on the new ones when a thought passed his mind.

You paused your hand-washing and froze when you felt Lando's arms wrap around your stomach, pulling you close to his bare body. "Lando," You yelped, feeling a shiver cross your body, "What are you doing?"

Lando peered down at you through his thick eyelashes. He tucked his chin into your shoulder, placing a brief kiss. "What?" He asked innocently, "I'm just washing my hands. I can't get the new ones dirty either."

You watched through the mirror as he pressed his body into you, washing his hands under the tap, ridding the tackiness on his hands.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his cock push into your backside. It was bare, you realised, as the heat spread into you. Your eyes flickered to Lando through the mirror, squinting at him. He wasn't...

Lando caught your eyes staring hard at him. "Don't look at me like that," He whispered into your ear, a loose grin hanging on his face. His wet fingers travelled to the poorly tied lace coverup you wore, undoing the knot with ease. The coverup fell against your shoulders, revealing your bikini and body in all it's glory.

"You have to clean up as well," Lando shrugged, eyes fixated on you through the mirror. "You made a mess," He murmured, wetting his fingers with the water once more before placing it against your chest.

You pressed your lips tightly, feeling his fingers drive down your skin and underneath your bikini top. Lando's fingers brushed your hardened nipples, making you shudder under his touch. His fingers trailed across your breasts, wiping away any of that sticky residue that you had missed. Bringing his fingers to his mouth and taking a wide lick of them, Lando grinned at you. "You know... I can't stop picturing you sucking my dick like that ice lolly. Never thought I would be jealous of an ice lolly."

You couldn't help but smile in amusement. You pulled away from his hold and turned to face your boyfriend. "Yeah?" You hummed, hands trailing down his chest. Lando had been working out a lot more these days for F1; compared to before his abs had become more prominent and toned. You loved Lando no matter what he looked like, but there was something about the way his skin flushed when you touched his torso.

Lando's breath hitched as your hand had ever so naturally found it's way to his cock. His cock, if you could say it, was pretty. It was average in length and with a nice, filling girth, stretching all of your holes wide.

Your fingers brushed across the tip of his head, just grazing his slit. You could feel Lando jolt in your hands as he muttered, “Fuck.”

You opened your mouth, letting a drop of saliva full into his cock. Hand wrapped around it, you gently rubbed natural lube up and down his shaft. Lando’s jaw clenched at the warm liquid nestling around his cock, letting a sharp exhale through gritted teeth.

Slowly you sunk down to your knees. The tiled floor was cold against your burning skin but it didn’t matter: you were too focused on what was right in front of you; cockdrunk. Your tongue darted out to swipe your lips before pressing a light kiss to his cock. Lando could feel himself twitch, aching to be in your mouth.

He watched as your lips opened like they did on that ice lolly. Going down in his cock, your lips stretched and your mouth hollowed.

Lando groaned at the warmth surrounding his cock. He bit down on his lip, watching his cock disappear into your mouth. Your eyes were on him as you sucked him, teeth barely grazing his skin.

"Fuck, you look so pretty like this, Y/N," Lando sighed out, "On your knees for me. I can't imagine the mess you made between those legs of yours, hmm?"

You moaned in response, sending a vibration around his cock. You briefly pulled away from him, making Lando grunt in slight annoyance at the loss. "These lips, my pussy.... all yours," You winked at him before returning to his cock.

Lando tensed at your words, letting a grin overtake him. "Yeah? Let's see about that throat, baby?" His hands reached your half dry and half damp, salty hair. Wrapping those long tresses around his hand and wrist, he tightened his grip. He could feel you open up your throat as he guided his cock down the tighter tunnel.

Lando's rasping groan made you clench your thighs, holding a barrier to the wetness leaking at of you. You could feel him begin to move his hips, beginning to push his cock into your throat.

Fighting the urge to gag around his cock, you tried hard to relax your cheeks and mouth, allowing every inch of him to be seated in your throat.

He flickered his eyes to you. Watching you take him in his mouth was a pleasure of its own. Your big eyes were glassy with tears of arousal and a haze of lust, sweat and saliva lingered at every edge of your skin, and your lips were puffy and red. Trailing his eyes further down, he spotted your bare neck in dire need of kisses, but that wasn't the most striking thing about it. It was the slight bulge of his cock in your throat making it's presence known.

Jesus...

Lando instinctively closed his eyes upon feeling your hands touch his balls. You rubbed them gently, feeling your head bob at an increased rate to match the sudden pace of Lando's cock in your throat.

"Fuck, fuck... I..." Lando moaned. "I'm gonna cum!" Lando hissed out, feeling a familiar bubbling feeling overcome. His thrusts become harder and faster, your nose flushed with his skin.

His moans became irregular and higher, chasing his release. "Fuck...." A guttural groan fell from his lips. Hot, salty white strips of his cum coated the inside of your mouth, swirling around after each drop was sucked from your lips. Almost painfully, Lando removed himself from your mouth. His chest rose up and down as he breathed out heavily.

An admiring smile came from Lando while he pulled you up to meet his face. He pushed your sweaty hair back. "That mouth of yours is evil," He narrowed his eyes playfully.

"You should shut me up then," You quipped back, sticking out your tongue that still had his cum on it.

Lando's eyes sparkled with amusement before he brought his lips to yours, darting his tongue into your mouth. The urgency in the action was understated. God, he could taste himself in you. His hands encapsulated your waist, flushing your barely clothed body to close his naked one. Your own hands travelled everywhere across his chest as the two of you kissed each other.

The muffled moans from you made Lando want to hear them out loud. Slowly he moved from your lips to your jaw. "Let me hear you, baby," He breathed out, placing smaller kisses as he reached your neck.

You let out a small whimper, neck tilting so Lando could get more access. Lando grinned at the sight of your bare neck, leaving small little nibbles across your skin. His lips eventually became settled in an area between your ear and collarbone, beginning to suck at your warmth.

"Lando," You moaned, "No, the others will realise."

Your refutes were ill-attempted even for yourself. You were dazed at the suction of his lips. His nose buried into your neck while he created a fresh layer of purple against your sun-kissed skin.

Lando released himself from your neck, eyeing down his creation with a smirk. "There. If they couldn't tell from your hair, they'll definitely know now."

You narrowed your eyes, turning to the mirror only for your eyes to widen in shock. "Jesus fucking Christ, Lando," You peered at the big purple brown splotch on your skin. "As if the 20 minutes we've spent here wasn't enough," You whined.

Lando laughed softly, standing behind you with his arms around your waist and chin resting on your head. "Well... if you make it through the shame, I can't wait to properly fuck you when we get home. You must know how much I love the way you look when I’m inside you."

Your head fell against his chest with a pout. "Why not now?"

Lando grinned before pressing a kiss to your head "Like you said... it's been 20 minutes."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 7: Sapphire] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments 🥰

💎 Thank you for reading (and tolerating all my nautical puns)! 💎

How can love be a curse? How can it be something to fear, to condemn, to break?

She has dreamed of him all her life. First he was a protector, almost fatherlike, and then a remote, bewitching phantom as she crept into adolescence, and then when Harwin Strong died Daemon sailed over Saint George’s Channel to offer her solace in England, and at last the fantasies she never would have confessed to anyone were fulfilled, two marriages and four children later. Rhaenyra remembers what he told her in the mist-draped lakeside cottage where they met in secret, crossing paths like an asteroid striking a planet: My wife means nothing to me. She’s not like us. She is young, and weak, and afraid, and I could never respect that kind of person. Her father owns the last Connemara marble quarry in the world, and I needed a son. But the only woman I want is you.

Aegon fires the pistol as he chases her through the corridors of A-Deck, and when she shrieks nobody hears, or if they do they don’t appear to rescue her; the ship is full of people screaming, sobbing, clawing for their lives against wet walls and locked doors. He shoots and misses again. There’s something wrong with his hands. He keeps fumbling with the gun and almost dropping it, hissing in pain as he squeezes the trigger, and there’s blood staining his fingers.

Good, Rhaenyra thinks. I’m glad he’s hurt. I hope he’s dying.

She sees an open room and ducks inside, slamming the door behind her and barring it with the weight of her body as Aegon rams it with his shoulder. Rhaenyra is surrounded by the trappings of another family who purchased first-class tickets: chairs with velvet upholstery, a faux fireplace, paintings by Rousseau and Boccioni and Homer. The lights flicker and the steel beams of Titanic groan, low and disastrous. There isn’t much time left.

“Daemon!” she yells as loudly as she can. If he hears her, he’ll come running. I have to get to a lifeboat. I have to live for my father, for Jace and Luke and Joffrey, for the children I will one day give Daemon.

Rhaenyra struggles with the lock as Aegon batters the door and it quakes on its hinges. Just as she latches it, he fires the pistol through the door. Wood cracks and splinters; a bullet pierces Rhaenyra’s ribcage like a blade. There is unbearable pressure, and then a sharpness, a pain she believes she cannot stand until it keeps getting bigger, deeper, ripping her open and filling her with dark wet weight like the ocean surging into Titanic. She crumples to the floor. When she coughs, blood spurts out onto her lips. Rhaenyra wipes it away and then stares at the red on her palm.

I can’t die now. My life just became what it was supposed to be.

Aegon punches a hole through the mangled door large enough for him to reach in and unlock it. Then he stands in the threshold looking down at her, his hands shaking but his eyes hard, fierce, unflinching. Rhaenyra has never seen him like this before. She didn’t know he could be good at anything.

“How the fuck did you get on the ship?” Rhaenyra snarls as she scrambles away, hacking up more blood. The black opal ring Daemon gave her gleams like onyx or obsidian, something born of heat and earth and insurmountable, ancient gravity.

Daemon and I were made for each other. The same blood, the same bones, the same will to carve treasures from the bleakest places.

Aegon follows her across the floor, slow stalking steps. He doesn’t answer; instead, he shakes his right hand a few times—steadying himself, casting out tremors like demons—and then grips the pistol with it. He raises the gun, the barrel aimed at Rhaenyra’s face.

“Daemon?!” she screams, but he isn’t here. Then she asks, sudden desperate confusion, her blue eyes wide: “Why are you doing this?”

Aegon’s voice is calm. “Because she can’t be free unless you and Daemon are gone.”

That girl? Daemon’s sad, stupid wife? I’m dying because of HER?

“Father never loved you,” Rhaenyra seethes, red on her teeth, blooddrops spilling from her lips like rubies. Her eyes are cold, glinting sapphires, pools of freezing water that only needs minutes to stop the heart. “Just like Daemon never loved her.”

“I know. And I used to care. It almost killed me, it almost ate me alive. But now I’m better. And I finally know exactly who I’m supposed to be.”

Aegon pulls the trigger.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Daemon descends the Grand Staircase, you crawl down towards the next landing, your head spinning, your hands empty, writhing on your belly like a snake.

The dagger???

But you can’t find it, and you don’t have time to stop and search. Daemon is only a few steps behind you. When your palms hit B-Deck, you try to drag yourself upright, grappling for the banister; but before you can get your feet under you, Daemon kicks you and sends you hurtling down the next flight of stairs. You tumble towards C-Deck, clawing in vain for something to break your fall. Your head strikes the English oak wood and you hear your father’s bewildered voice as he sat at the dining room table in Lough Cutra Castle: Where are you going? When will you be back?

Never, never, never; and now from somewhere below you recognize the roar of rushing water.

“You were going to kill me?!” Daemon taunts as he bears down on you like a storm. Blood soaks his throat and the white shirt beneath his black suit jacket. His eyes are bright, feral, monstrous. “After all those times I spared you when I could have drowned you in a river or a hot bath or the sea? You’re so fucking useless. You really can’t do anything right. All you had to do was shut up and endure, and you could have lived to be an old, old woman with all the comforts my empire afforded you. Now, my dear, you will never see another sunrise. And when Titanic sinks, you’ll be buried with her.”

Down, down, always down towards the ocean floor, you crawl faster away from him as his footsteps grow louder.

“Help,” you moan weakly. Aegon? Anyone? But the only reply is the echoing of your own voice and the sounds of the dying ship: breaking metal, distant screams, gushing torrents of seawater.

You crash into C-Deck and again try to stagger to your feet, but Daemon is here, shoving you as if from a cliffside or off a balcony. And as you plummet down the Grand Staircase towards D-Deck—where the First-Class Dining Saloon is, where Thomas Andrews once assured you that Titanic was unsinkable—it is not hard wooden steps you collide with but swirling ice-cold seawater. You plunge beneath the currents and then come sputtering up to the surface, your white wool coat drenched and threatening to pull you below again like an anchor. You struggle to shed it with arms that are rapidly going numb.

I’m so cold, I’m so cold, if I don’t get out of the water I’ll be dead in minutes—

Daemon’s fingers close around your throat and he forces you under the waist-deep water. You thrash and try to push him away, to pry him off of you, but your muscles seem to have disappeared, they have been scraped off your bones and now you can only wait to die, your breathless lungs burning as your body freezes. You have a sudden vision of Daemon in his firelit study at Lough Cutra Castle, marveling at a shard of Larimar dredged up from the Caribbean Sea and quoting the first known treatise on gemstones, written by Theophrastus in the time of Alexander the Great: Of things formed in the earth, some have their origin from water.

“No!” you scream through the depths, bubbles rising up to air you cannot taste. You claw at Daemon’s hands, but you cannot wound him, cannot get a grip on him, and hasn’t that been true since you married him five years ago?

The dark, freezing water makes you want to give up. It makes death feel easy, painless, inevitable. You imagine faces you’ll never see again: Draco, Aegon, your parents, Fern. You hope Carpathia will be here soon to rescue the survivors. You wonder what will happen to Aegon’s paintings.

Through the water come the muffled booms of explosions, four of them, surely something catastrophic, the ship splitting in half or a distress flare misfired or boilers bursting and shearing through what’s left of the hull. Then Daemon’s hands vanish from your throat and someone is hauling you up out of the icy currents, they are freeing you, they are disinterring you from an oceanic grave.

“I’m here!” Aegon is shouting as you burst into open air, gasping and flailing. He drags you towards the Grand Staircase where you can climb out of the flood, but you’re looking for Daemon. He is a few yards away and floating face-up, one hand clasping his chest and a gurgling sound leaking from his throat. The water around him is turning red. He’s fading, but he’s not dead yet.

“Aegon, he’s still—”

“I know. I’ll take care of him once you’re out of the water. I don’t have any more bullets left.”

“I want to do it.”

“We need to get you dry and warmed up—”

“I want to do it,” you say again, and Aegon lets you go.

You twist off your black opal engagement ring and throw it into the water beside Daemon. Then you place both of you hands on his chest and push him beneath the surface, Aegon standing just behind you with the barrel of the pistol in his grasp in case he has to use it as a club. The glacial seawater froths and whirls as it rises over Daemon’s hemorrhaging chest. He startles—a death rattle, a late rite—and resists feebly, gazing up at you with glassy, disbelieving eyes. They ask: How did this happen? I was supposed to kill you, remember? I own you. I own jewels trapped in subterranean darkness all over the world, and you are the very least of them.

“Draco isn’t yours,” you tell Daemon as you force him under. “Rhaenyra isn’t yours. And I’m not yours either. Now sink and die and make me free.”

He twitches, he bares his crimson teeth at you, but after all this time finally Daemon is the weak one. The rising water flushes maroon around him, his skin goes a frail and translucent bluish-white, his heart is drained until the chambers are cold and grey and empty. You hold him beneath the water until the bubbles roiling up from his nose and mouth disappear. He will never touch you again, he will never hurt anyone, he will never bruise or break or ensnare or captivate. And who will inherit his mines scattered across the planet?

Draco. His only son. And my family and I will act as trustees until he’s eighteen.

“We have to go,” Aegon is saying. He must have taken off his coat before he went into the water after you. He stands shivering in only his white shirt and green corduroy pants, the ocean now lapping at his chest.

“Rhaenyra?” you ask.

“She’s gone. I’m sure.”

“It’s over,” you say softly, feeling weight like stones roll off of you, feeling warmth like sunlight on your face.

As if in reply, the listing ship groans and the lights flicker again. “Not yet,” Aegon says, grabbing your hand. “Let’s hope there’s a lifeboat left.”

You wade to the steps and climb out of the water. Aegon helps you wring out your soaked hair and the skirt of your gown, then snatches his black wool coat off the steps where he left it and puts it on you. You race up the Grand Staircase to C-Deck, and then B-Deck, and then the A-Deck landing where you find your green handbag with Aegon’s tiny aluminum lighter still inside.

“I think you dropped this,” Aegon says when he spots the dagger on a nearby step, still covered with Daemon’s blood. He wipes it clean on his corduroy pants and then passes it to you. When you hesitate to take it, he grins. “Who knows. You might need to stab someone else tonight.”

“I never want to draw blood again.” But you accept the dagger and place it in your handbag, the captive gemstones glimmering there: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire like the North Atlantic Ocean that is swallowing Titanic down into her cold, crushing belly. Then you ascend one last flight of steps to the Boat Deck, passing the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock, stealing a glimpse up at the dome of glass and wrought iron that will soon shatter when the sea punctures through it like a bullet or a blade.

Outside the night air is so frigid that ice crystals begin forming in your hair, and the hem of your blue gown begins to stiffen as it freezes. You are barefoot, you only now realize, and if splinters from the pine planks of the deck needle their way into your flesh you won’t be able to feel them. There are only two lifeboats left on this side of the ship, one of which is already being lowered down to the sea. Officers are still directing women and children into the other. Benjamin Guggenheim and his companions are very drunk, clumsily herding frantic first-class passengers towards the boats. The string quartet is now playing The Merry Widow by Franz Lehár.

“Come, come quickly, Lady Targaryen!” the officers shout when they see you, knowing by your gown that you belong here, perhaps recognizing you from strolls on the Promenade Deck or when you and Daemon boarded Titanic in Cork with much fanfare. Aegon helps you into the lifeboat, his wounded hands cradling yours. Another distress flare is shot into the sky, metallic rain, doomsday portents.

We’re going to be alright, you think. We’re going to survive this.

“Darling, you’re sopping wet!” one of the women in the lifeboat exclaims, and they all begin to fret over you. There are dogs here, a Pomeranian in one lap, a Yorkshire terrier in another.

“Get her under a blanket,” Aegon is saying. “Keep her warm or she’ll get pneumonia. Give her a lifebelt.”

“We will, we will,” another lady shimmering in jewels—a mother of two boys in heavy coats and blue-striped pajamas—promises him. “We’ll take good care of her.”

You turn back to Aegon. “What?”

He tells you, his voice quiet: “Petra, they’re not going to let me in.”

“No, no, you can’t stay here—”

“Women and children only!” an officer booms, then begins waving several shrieking maids towards the vessel, just moments from launching.

“Aegon,” you say, horrified. He’ll die if he stays. He’ll drown or he’ll freeze and he’ll be entombed at the bottom of the Atlantic. “No.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“No you won’t,” you sob, then look desperately at the officers. How can I change their minds? “He’s a Targaryen, he’s a first-class passenger, he must be allowed aboard!”

“A Targaryen?!” one of the officers says distractedly as he battles with the rigging. “I know all the Targaryens on Titanic, and he’s not one of them!”

“Just look at him,” the other officer mutters, meaning: He isn’t dressed like someone with castles or mansions or titles or mines. He can’t be someone who matters.

“He is,” you plead, tears stinging on your cheeks as they freeze. “He’s Aegon, he’s a Targaryen, please, he can’t be left behind—”

“Women and children only!” the first officer barks at you as the other pushes away a group of panicked young men in black suits trying to bribe their way into the vessel. “And if you want to stay here with him, that’s your business, but get to it so the rest of us can try to make it off this ship alive!”

“There’s more than enough room for him, for Christ’s sake, there are dogs in here!”

“There will be other lifeboats, love,” one of the women tells you as she drapes a scratchy wool blanket across your shoulders, but you don’t believe that’s true. The maids are climbing into the lifeboat; the officers are beginning to lower it with sharp lurches that make the occupants gasp.

You reach for Aegon, your hands catching on his drenched shirt, the thin layer of ice cracking beneath your fingers. “No, no, Aegon, I can’t go like this.”

“You have to,” he says calmly, and he holds you face still and touches his lips to your forehead, a kiss goodbye, gentle and lingering.

“No—”

“You have a kid. You have to go. Draco will be looking for you on Carpathia.”

“You deserve to be free too.”

“I’ll stay out of the water for as long as I can,” Aegon says like a vow. “I’ll try to find something to float on. And once Titanic goes down…maybe the lifeboats will come back to pick up any survivors.”

The water is too cold. I’ve felt it, I’ve been paralyzed by it, once you go under you only have minutes. “You can’t…you won’t…”

“Petra,” Aegon says, and his eyes turn desperate. He knows it’s his only chance. “Make them come back for me.”

“I will,” you swear to him.

And he pries your fingers off his shirt and rips away from you before your resolve can weaken. High above and through tears that blur your vision, constellations of stars gleam like diamonds.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs to the other side of the Boat Deck, searching for lifeboats that haven’t launched yet. He can’t find any. There are swarms of passengers weeping, shouting, jostling, and officers trying to restore order. Pistols and flares are fired, chairs are tossed overboard for passengers to cling to as they float. But Aegon knows that won’t be enough; if they stay submerged, they will die.

I need something bigger. I need something I can lie on. A door or a dresser or…

He shoves through the crowd to get to the ship’s railing. Below, the ocean has gotten so much closer. He sees a lifeboat bobbing in the waves, just far enough away that someone brave enough to leap could not get to it. Inside, along with perhaps twenty first-class women and maids, Aegon recognizes Laenor Velaryon and his ever-present Parisian friends. They are puffing on cigars and toasting glasses of brandy, celebrating their good fortune. They must have successfully bribed their way aboard.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs, his breath fog in the frigid air.

How am I going to stay out of the water long enough to survive until I’m rescued?

Then he replays the evening in his mind—his first night with Petra, perhaps his last night on earth, red silk and candles and oil paint and the warmth of her beneath his hands—and Aegon gets an idea. He sprints back to the Grand Staircase and soars down to B-Deck, seawater ankle-deep on the floor. He splashes through the corridors to the staterooms once occupied by Daemon Targaryen’s wife and child, now rid of him, now waiting for what will come next. Aegon hurries through the sitting room, passing the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace and the large, heavy chest where Daemon made Petra lock up the art she bought in Paris.

She didn’t remember to put the real Picasso’s paintings in a lifeboat, but she saved mine, Aegon thinks. If I make it out of this alive somehow, I’m marrying her the second we dock in New York.

He goes to the bedroom, finds what he needs, carries it with him as he returns to the maze of hallways. Now the icy water is nipping at his knees.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ocean is calm, the lifeboat rocking placidly on inky surf. The women comfort their children and their dogs. You take Aegon’s aluminum lighter out of your handbag and light yourself a cigarette, then pass it around so the other passengers can thaw their lungs with hot plumes of nicotine, here in the early hours of the morning when it feels like you’ll never be warm again. The officer who took command of the vessel—the same one who shouted at you and refused to admit Aegon—is rowing vigorously as you and several other women help him, staring horror-struck at Titanic as she goes down by the bow.

“We have to get away from the ship,” the officer keeps saying, and he sounds genuinely petrified. A woman in a glittering gold gown steers with the tiller. “Or she’ll suck us into the water with her.”

There are shadows of other lifeboats nearby, also fleeing from the condemned Titanic, that miraculously colossal and opulent triumph that everyone had told you was unsinkable. You wonder which one Draco and Fern are in, undoubtedly cold and frightened but safe.

Aegon deserves to live too. I have to find him, I have to save him.

Now there is seawater flooding over Titanic’s deck at the bow, where you and Aegon saw third-class passengers—now dead, or very soon to be—kicking around pieces of the iceberg that they didn’t know had doomed them. The ocean surges higher, covering B-Deck, and A-Deck, and finally the Boat Deck, where the towering funnels collapse and you can hear shrieks and guns firing. You know you won’t be able to see Aegon from here—you won’t be able to tell if he made it into a lifeboat somehow, or if he is one of the figures that falls from a lethal height into the waves, or if he is crushed or shot or trapped below deck and drowned—but still, you cannot stop looking for him, peering through the night to where Titanic glows in her spotlight of white-gold electric luminescence.

As the bow sinks, the stern begins to rise, higher and higher until the tension cracks the ship in two, and the passengers you share the lifeboat with wail and sob as the ship’s lights blink out for the last time and the gravesite goes dark. Women call out the names of their husbands, fathers, brothers, adult sons, knowing they must be dying. You can only watch with tears streaming down your face, thinking: How could he survive that? How could I have left him?

The stern bobs for a while in the nightscape sea, a shade, a phantom, and then it plunges into the ocean. The water—indifferent, dispassionate, not a mortal but a titan, here long before humans and destined to outlast them, not unlike the treasures of the earth—gulps down metal beams and pine planks and split bones and shredded flesh. There are screams, so many, so pitiful, so loud they fill the sky, and the howling women in the lifeboat cover their ears and those of their children so they will not have to try to exorcise the sound from their memories later.

As soon as the stern has been consumed by the depths, you say to the officer: “We have to go back to look for survivors.”

“Are you mad, Lady Targaryen?” he snaps at you; but there are tears in his bloodshot eyes. “We’ll be mobbed if we sail into that. They’ll pour into the boat until we go under too. Do you want to freeze to death with them?”

“People will die quickly. They are dying already, the water is cold enough to kill in minutes. If we start rowing towards them now, most of the passengers will be dead by the time we get there. And then we can rescue anyone who’s left.” Please still be alive, Aegon.

“Not a chance in hell,” the officer says.

You turn to the other women. They blink back at you in dazed, timid terror. “It’s murder to leave your men behind,” you implore, you beg them to agree. “Help me row to them.”

But the women only weep softly to themselves and look to the officer to tell them what to do. He smirks at you victoriously, an expression of no humor but rather grim, fearful misery that could drive someone insane. In the lap of one woman, the Pomeranian whimpers.

I can’t leave Aegon, you think. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

You open your green handbag and pull out the dagger, the blade pointed at the officer. He shouts and bolts away from you, incredulous, furious.

“You’re threatening to kill me?!”

You shake your head. “I’m offering you a gift.” You turn the dagger around so the officer can grasp the handle. His gaze catches, transfixed and wondrous, on the gemstone spheres like perfectly aligned planets. “This dagger is worth more than you would make in a decade of work. Go back for survivors, and it’s yours. Refuse, and when we are rescued and my son inherits my husband’s fortune, I will make it my life’s work to destroy you. I will follow you anywhere on earth. I will ruin you. So take the dagger as payment and break my curse, and let us save the people who are left.”

The lifeboat sways in the small, serene waves, and the stars revolve high above in a moonless sky, and you and the other women wait for the officer to reply. After a minute or more—we have to go back now, right now, we don’t have much time—he finally lifts the dagger from your open palm and tucks it into his belt.

“Fine,” he says, picking up his oar again. “Let’s go. I cannot abide your damnation. I’ll be haunted by enough ghosts already.”

He and several of the other women row into the throng while you find the flashlights stored in the bottom of the lifeboat, then perch at the bow searching for Aegon. Instead you see hundreds of bluish corpses floating in their lifebelts, dead men and women and children, some of them first-class or crewmembers of the ship but most of them third-class passengers: Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish, discarded people, good for dying in the operations of mines or factories or railroads and little else.

“Aegon!” you shout over the water, but he does not answer. There is only the mist of your own words and the sound of cold currents rippling as the lifeboat cuts through them.

Your group saves two people from the sea, both nearly frozen to death and unable to speak: one man floating on a table washed out of a dining room, one little girl clutching her dead mother. Then a long time passes with no living souls to salvage.

“Have we done enough now, Lady Targaryen?” the officer asks you gravely. “Have you seen a sufficient number of the dead to assuage your wrath?”

“Not yet,” you say, steely, your eyes fixed on the water as the flashlight illuminates lifeless faces, scraps of wreckage, nothing, nothing, nothing. And then the light settles on him.

When the stern of Titanic went under, so did Aegon: there are ice crystals in his hair, and his clothes are freezing to his skin, and his lips are blue, and he’s shivering violently. But unlike over 1,000 other passengers, he didn’t stay in the depths long enough to perish as the cold stopped their hearts and lungs. He had something with him, a life raft, a second chance, a treasure mined not from some far-flung crevice of the earth but from the bedroom where he uncovered you, where you found each other and never wanted to go back to the way life felt before.

Aegon is sprawled across the oval-shaped mirror that once stood beside your bed, the fractured glass reflecting the stars that glimmer in the night sky. His ravaged hands cling to the wooden frame. And when the beam of the flashlight skates across his face like moonshine, Aegon knows you’ve come back for him, and he reaches for you until your hands link with his and help pull him aboard.

~~~~~~~~~~

Carpathia arrives an hour later, just before four in the morning on April 15th, and as the sun rises over the North Atlantic Ocean you and Aegon find Draco and Fern on the bow deck, where stewards are distributing blankets and tea to the survivors. Women wander the ship pleading for help finding their lost loved ones, weeping endlessly for their brothers, their fathers, their husbands. Your tears have stopped entirely.

Carpathia’s passengers are generous. They offer in charity their food, their clothing, even their rooms. Children share their books and toys with Draco. Fern teaches him how to play marbles; you read him The Story of Saint Patrick. A doctor onboard disinfects and bandages Aegon’s hands, and assures him that he will be able to play viola again, not now, perhaps not even soon, but one day.

That first afternoon, as you and Aegon are taking a stroll on the Boat Deck, you spot a man painting a scene of the sunset: gold, tiger’s eye, ruby, red beryl. Aegon shows him some of the portraits from his scuffed leather portfolio…though, of course, one in particular is not suitable for mixed company. The man is so impressed that he insists Aegon must not be deprived of the ability to create such beauty for lack of supplies, and gifts him an easel and some paper, brushes, and oil paints.

It’s difficult with his sore, bandaged hands, but Aegon still wants to try, and when his brush begins to shake he asks you to help him. Aegon explains things to you as you steady his hands: chiaroscuro, scumbling, alla prima, glazing, impasto, a foreign language that will soon become familiar. Already, you are learning. And as Carpathia sails into New York Harbor on the evening of April 18th, Aegon takes a paintbrush and draws a circle around your ring finger in vivid, sapphire blue, a worthless gift of no gleaming gems or metal, a vow that means everything.

It’s been years, but Aegon remembers the way to his mother’s house. He leads you, Draco, and Fern to the doorstep of the Hightower mansion on Fifth Avenue. He knocks and a butler answers, a middle-aged man who gapes at Aegon in shellshocked disbelief.

“One…one moment, sir, if you’d be so kind to…to…to just wait here, please,” the butler stammers, then disappears inside. A few minutes later, a different man appears in the threshold. He must be Aemond, tall and white-blonde and precise in every movement, his left eye concealed by a black leather eyepatch. His remaining eye, a clear alert blue, darts to where Fern is holding Draco on her hip and then to you and Aegon, his bandaged hands resting so lightly on you they could never leave a mark.

Then Aemond’s face softens, and there is a kind sort of relief that seeps in, and you imagine your parents will look the same way when you return to Lough Cutra Castle. “You’re home,” he says quietly.

And Aegon smiles and replies: “We all are.”

[steddie-island]

@steddiemas day 7 - mall and/or workplace WC: 952 | Rating: M (for language) No content warnings, full tags on ao3

Update: @doomcheese made lovely lovely art of them and you should go look at it and show it and her all the love!!! 🥰

Jingle Boy Rock

Wearing the usual Scoops Ahoy uniform was bad enough 11 months out of the year. Wearing it in December was fucking miserable. 

Gone were their usual hats, and in their place were elf hats– the kind that were red with green trim, with a bell on the end and giant felt elf ears on the sides. They were given bright red shorts, with a green and red striped shirt that had bells hanging from the spikes around the collar. 

Steve would have preferred to wear the regular uniform everywhere every day for the rest of his life than wear the goddamned elf outfit all month long. 

Especially when Eddie fucking Munson, the goddamn bane of his existence, worked right across the mall, at the record store. Eddie had taken one look at the Scoops uniform and decided that he was going to be the biggest nuisance in Steve’s life. Every lunch break, every time he was bored, every time he just felt like it, he was there. Leaning against the freezer and smiling that crooked smile. Steve really didn’t want to know how much worse the wheedling was going to get when Eddie saw their holiday uniforms. 

“Jingle boy!” 

Steve groaned– he hadn’t been at work for five fucking minutes, and already Eddie was calling across the mall to him. He pushed both hands over his face and grabbed the hat to pull it off. “He only does that because he always gets a reaction out of you,” Robin pointed out. At least her outfit– a red dress with a green shirt underneath it and matching white and green striped tights— was cute. 

“He does that because he’s a pain in the ass,” Steve said. He dropped the elf ears onto the counter and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t deal with this today.” “Right. Like you don’t love it.” Robin shook her head. “Just kiss him already, dingus.” Steve had heard this at least five times already, and just like he had every other time he waved it away. “Do you say that shit to him, too?”

“No, just to you.” She pushed away from the counter. “Hey, Eddie.” “Hey Buck!” Eddie sauntered over to the counter. Surprisingly he was wearing a hat, too, but it was black velvet with white fur trim. 

“Santa’s goth now?” Steve asked. “Metal, actually. I have to shake things up somehow, right?” Eddie leaned against the freezer. “I like the new getup. It’s very… ‘Hallmark threw up on me.’”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Do you need something, Munson? Some of us actually have work to do.”

“No one’s here,” Robin pointed out. She just grinned when Steve glared at her. 

“I’m actually here ‘cause I have something for you,” Eddie said. For the first time that Steve could recall, Eddie actually looked… nervous. 

“You have something… for me?” he asked. 

“Yeah.” Eddie pulled a box out of his pocket. “It’s not a big thing, just… something that made me think of you.” He slid the box across the counter and tapped the lid with his fingers. “Go ahead, open it.”

“It’s only the 7th,” Steve said. 

“I know, but I want you to open it early.” Eddie tucked his hands into his back pockets. “Please?”

“You said ‘please.’ Does that mean something’s gonna jump out of the box at me?” Steve joked. He untied the pretty red ribbon and took the lid off. Inside was the cutting of a plant, just a stem with a few little shoots that ended in green leaves and little white berries. There was a matching red ribbon tied around it. 

“Is this…” Steve looked at Eddie. He wondered vaguely if his cheeks were as pink as Eddie’s were. “...mistletoe?”

“Yeah.” Eddie ducked his head so his hair fell into his face. “I, um… I realized that I don’t think my flirting has been working? And I figured, before I turned you off of me forever…”

“Wait– wait, you’ve been flirting with me?” Steve asked. “Since when?”

Eddie looked at him with those big, deep eyes. “Since I walked in and said ‘hey, big boy’? What did you think I was doing?”

“Trying to get under my skin!” Steve said. “Are you– really?”

“I wasn’t trying to get under your skin. Maybe in your pan–” “Hey! Maybe you two should go to the breakroom to finish this conversation!” Robin said. “Quickly, though, Santa’s almost here and that means we’re gonna be packed.”

Steve caught Eddie’s hand and tugged him towards the back room that had a couch, two folding chairs, and a wobbly card table. “You’ve really been flirting with me?” he asked. 

It made sense, when he thought back to all the time Eddie spent tugging at his scarf or flicking his hat, talking about his shorts and–

“Oh my god, I’m an idiot.” Steve shook his head and lightly hit himself in the forehead with his fist– a move he wanted to repeat when the bells around his neck jingled with the movement. “Oh my god!”

Eddie giggled and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s hand to stop him from doing that. “Be nice to yourself,” he said, and Steve was shocked when Eddie leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Anyway, Stevie… my gift. What’d you think?”

“I think… that it’s bad luck, if we let it go to waste.” Steve lifted it out of the box by the stem and leaned in with a smile. 

He wasn’t sure what the mistletoe was supposed to mean exactly, but as their lips met, and as his fingers curled into Eddie’s soft hair, Steve found that he was more than willing to find out. 

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[sapphicromanoffxo]

Good Vibrations | n.r x w.m

ʚɞ°｡⋆ Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

ʚɞ°｡⋆ wc: 3.8k

ʚɞ°｡⋆ warnings: Top Nat, Bottom Wanda, semi-public sex, use of strap on & vibrator, oral sex, degradation, praise kink, mommy kink

ʚɞ°｡⋆ summary: It was supposed to be a simple date night between Natasha and Wanda. Until one of them decided to spice up their night with a different vibe.

A/N: hello hello! I'm just dropping by to post this fic in celebration of Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈 I had a little kick of inspiration lately (courtesy of this one cute girl 🥰) and I was finally able to finish writing this. Be gay and kiss that pretty girl already. 🫶 Happy reading! 🤩

╰┈➤ Masterlist

"Would you care to join me for a date this evening?"

Wanda felt the excitement bubble up within her as Natasha invited her on a date, knowing every detail would be meticulously planned by the redhead.

"Absolutely, Natasha." Wanda beamed at her girlfriend. "Where are we going?"

Natasha gently touched Wanda's cheek, amused by her curiosity. "It's a surprise. I'll be at your door at 7 PM to pick you up. I've already laid out the dress you'll be wearing." With a wink, Natasha headed to the training room.

Wanda rushed to her room, discovering a large velvet box on her bed with a note that read, "For tonight. xoxo." Squealing with delight, she prepared herself for the upcoming date night.

The brunette began her afternoon preparations by indulging in a soothing hot bath to ease her muscles after an intense training session that morning and to also give her body the chance to relax for what's about to happen this evening. With a year of dating Natasha, she knew their night will not end until the sun rises up. Following Pepper's suggestion for laser hair removal, Wanda found relief from the hassle of shaving, and Natasha grew more captivated by the change.

With only 30 minutes left, Wanda looked at herself in the mirror to see if everything was perfectly in place, including the bullet-shaped toy which is currently buried between her legs. Natasha also left a request for her to not wear any panties. Leave it to Natasha to have a surprise within a surprise to spice up even more their evening. You will never see Wanda complain as she trusts Natasha so much that she's willing to submit to whatever her girlfriend has planned for her.

Wanda heard a series of gentle knocks echoing against the door, prompting her to take a deep breath in anticipation. As she opened the door, Natasha stood before her clad in a stylish black polo with three undone buttons at the top giving a tantalizing view of her neck adorned with two necklaces and her red lacy bra, her figure was accentuated by a sleek black belt adorned with a gold buckle, cinching her waist deliciously. Completing the ensemble, the wide plaid slacks elegantly emphasised her natural heavenly curves, creating a captivating silhouette. Her eyes are painted with eyeliner, sharp enough to kill, while her lips are painted with a seductive burgundy lipstick, adding a touch of allure to her overall appearance.

The vision in front of Wanda is mouth watering and her internal assessment of her girlfriend was interrupted when her waist was snatched and her back was pushed to the adjacent wall.

"Oh, detka. I know this dress would look good on you." Natasha whispered into her ears, sending shivers down her spine. "Too bad I can't kiss you yet." She further added with an arrogant smirk on her face.

"Natasha.." Wanda grabbed Natasha's biceps and purred when she felt her hand ghosting over the slit of the dress that goes all the way to the top of her thigh.

"Red really looks good on you, detka."

Natasha could not resist and left open-mouthed kisses on her neck, and dipped further down, carefully nipping her collarbone. Thankfully, it did not leave any marks as Natasha is wearing a transfer-proof lipstick. Her hand wandered upwards going to her ass, giving it a good squeeze which made Wanda yelp in surprise.

"Natasha, please. We're going to be late if we keep this up."

"Are you wearing it?" Natasha inquired once she detached her filthy mouth on brunette's neck and her hand went on to check what's in between her legs instead. Wanda only nodded in response then gasped loudly when Natasha pushed the hilt of the toy deeper inside her. "Hmm. No panties. My good girl."

After playfully teasing Wanda, Natasha decided it was time to leave. With a warm smile, she extended her hand towards Wanda, "Shall we go?"

Wanda rolled her eyes at Natasha and answered a simple yes.

This time, Natasha got to fully appreciate her lover's outfit for the night and found herself enchanted while they were walking in the compound's hallway. Natasha specifically chose a vibrant red satin dress with an elegant cinched waist for Wanda. The dress also highlights Wanda's ample tits, leaving little to the imagination. Oh dear, Natasha doesn't think she can keep her hands to herself when Wanda looks like sex on legs with her thigh peeping out of the slit.

***

Natasha has chosen a cozy restaurant with secluded private room seating, creating an ideal setting for an intimate and romantic date. Anticipating Wanda's preferences, Natasha took the initiative to pre-order their favorite dishes. Adding an extra touch of thoughtfulness, she decided to let Wanda indulge in the chef's selection of wines, allowing her to unwind and savor the evening in the most delightful way possible.

In the intimate glow of the private restaurant, Natasha and Wanda shared stolen glances, their fingers intertwining like a secret promise. Soft candlelight danced on their faces as they savored each bite and every minute of this night. The world outside seemed to fade away as Wanda's eyes held galaxies of unspoken emotions, mirrored in Natasha's seductive gaze.

While Wanda was drinking the second glass of wine for the night, she felt a subtle vibration within her which made her slightly choke on her wine and she felt herself quiver from the sensation. Still not understanding what was happening, she looked at her girlfriend with confusion, "Natasha?"

"Yes, baby?" The redhead answered with an innocent smile on her pretty face.

"Don't tell me this is ahh–!" Wanda almost yelled when the vibration hit its peak, realising what's happening in between her legs and instinctively closing them in.

"Are you feeling alright, detka?" Natasha inquired with an unconcerned tone.

Goddamn her, Wanda thought to herself as her insides pulse again, this time the setting is building higher and higher. She should have expected that the toy is not just a toy but is also a vibrator. She brought down the glass and both of her hands are gripping the edge of the table as she's trying so hard not to let out a single sound, or moan from her mouth.

Natasha pulled her attention with a gentle touch, intertwining their hands, and the woman's face lit up with a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire cat, "What's wrong, baby?", she asked once again and Wanda felt like flipping the table over.

Wanda cleared her throat first as the vibration stopped and glared at her girlfriend , her eyes turning red which could send an enemy to surrender, "What the hell are you thinking–!"

The beginning of her rant was yet again cut off by a stronger vibration this time, effectively shutting her up, legs shaking violently and thank God the long curtains of the table concealed how her whole lower body was convulsing.

No matter how hard Wanda tried to control herself, a whimper came out loudly from her and this caused her to tumble over the sea of beautiful noises that Natasha likes hearing.

"Shhh, be quiet for me, detka. You don't want others to hear you being a slut for me." Natasha taunted with no remorse and mercy. "Whoring yourself out while I'm not even touching you yet. How pathetic." She further added while lowering the setting of the remote she's been holding in her pocket.

"Can we go — oh my fucking god — home now, please?" Wanda pleaded as she felt her insides tremble once again. If Natasha continues with her sadistic plot, she fears she won't be able to maintain her composure much longer and bursts right there in her seat.

"But honey, I haven't had my dessert yet."

A strangled moan left Wanda's mouth at Natasha's response, wanting to either wipe the grin off Natasha's face or kiss her senseless. Natasha is looking at her intensely as if she's planning something more scandalous to perform. Wanda can almost feel her pussy leaking and fear that it may stain her dress, and the velvet cushion of the chair she's sitting on.

All of the sudden, the vibration stopped and Natasha stood up from her seat.

"Are you alright?" Natasha inquired, standing behind Wanda and placing her right hand on Wanda's chest to feel her erratic heartbeats.

Wanda rolled her eyes at Natasha's inquiry, pondering whether her girlfriend was genuinely concerned or simply teasing her but still nodded in response.

"My good girl." Natasha smiled down at her and leaned down to kiss her shoulder blade. "Sit down on the table."

"Natasha, we shouldn't." Wanda protested with wide eyes, not wanting to risk exposing themselves to having sex in a restaurant, still wanting to have her decorum intact.

Natasha merely arched her eyebrow and gave her a serious look, silently challenging Wanda to defy her and refuse what she wanted.

After a minute of contemplation, she surrendered under Natasha's deadly gaze and positioned herself the way she was instructed. Natasha situated herself in between Wanda's legs, placing them on her shoulders while sitting down on the vacant chair.

Natasha then parted Wanda's dress through the thigh high slit so she can have a perfect view of her girlfriend's naked pussy. "I like you like this, sweetheart. All dolled up for me." She began kissing the inside of Wanda's exposed thighs and simultaneously caressing the smooth expanse of her long legs. "You look so pretty, baby."

A soft sigh left Wanda's mouth as she felt the feather light kisses and soft caress on her thighs. However, her eyes kept on darting to the door, feeling anxious that someone may catch them.

"Natasha, someone might come in." Wanda breathed out and gripped on Natasha's hair.

"Don't worry about that, baby. I've told the manager of the restaurant to leave us alone, unless I ask for a waiter to come in." Natasha reassured, her mouth moving upwards to Wanda's aching pussy.

"What about if they have cameras here?" Wanda voiced out her concern again, not wanting to have anyone see them in a compromising position.

"I've swept off the floor for any cameras or bugs. We're safe here, I promise." Natasha straightened up and gave her signature side smirk. "Can I have my dessert now without any peep from you?"

Still hesitating, Wanda gave a soft okay and that's all the redhead needed before resuming in kissing the insides of her thighs. One thing that Natasha loves is worshipping Wanda's body, showing how much she adores every inch of the soft skin, trailing feather light touches that will then escalate to groping and leaving either bite marks or bruises. This foreplay prolongs their inner most desires, gradually building up the intense pleasure that they will have in the end.

However, Wanda is not always fond of the slow burn of romance and foreplay. She likes to be devoured at an instant, tethering on the edge of orgasm within minutes, whining and begging to be fucked like an animal in heat, always searching for the reachable high and would gladly be taken again and again for as long as she can. But with Natasha, Wanda has learned to be patient before they get on the main event or course of the evening.

The vibrator hummed once again, startling Wanda and before she could react, Natasha dived right into her aching clit, making her eyes roll back and moan in wanton. The pool between her legs is overflowing from the stimulation that the toy is giving, making Natasha's chin drip with her wetness.

Sucking, biting and flicking Wanda's clit, Natasha relentlessly weaves her tongue from left to right shifting to up and down strokes, making sure to hit all the right places that will make Wanda tremble from extreme pleasure.

The heels of Wanda's stiletto are digging on Natasha's muscled back not caring if it will rip off the fabric or ruin it. There's a lot happening all at once inside her that makes her spine shudder from the endless pit pleasure, running higher and higher as the seconds go by.

"Natasha, baby–!" Wanda's scream came out rugged as the coil in her stomach continued to tighten uncontrollably, begging to be snapped to relieve the tension. "I'm so fucking close, Nat. Good God!"

With both of Natasha's arms holding on the sides of Wanda's upper body, she stopped for a moment to check on girlfriend, "Are you comfortable? Hold on to my head instead, baby. I don't want you to fall over the table."

Wanda shifted and placed her right hand on Natasha's hair, gripping it tightly while the other was positioned slightly behind her to support her upper body. Both of Natasha's hands are holding onto her thighs and leaned down again to lap up her throbbing core with much ferocity. Natasha's tongue feels so warm and torturous on her puffy clit but Wanda welcomes all the sensation in her pussy eagerly, making her a babbling hot mess. "Faster, faster, please. Feels so fucking good– hmp!"

Natasha's right hand adjusted the remote in her pocket and changed the settings to the highest level, quite literally making Wanda's head spin, her insides shaking intensely from the crazy amount of vibration in her cunt while Natasha is still simultaneously sucking on her stiff bud with great enthusiasm.

"Natasha! Natasha!" Wanda chanted incoherently, gripping Natasha's hair tightly this time, "I'm gonna– I'm cumming– fuck!"

Another gush of wetness streamed down from Wanda's cunt, her slick dripping through her ass, and pushing the toy out of her, barely hanging from the edge. Her head is spinning in multiple directions and she's quite sure it will take a couple of minutes before she will calm down from the height of her intense orgasm. With a steadying breath, she clenched her still throbbing pussy, making the toy totally slide out of her slippery hole and landed right on Natasha's front.

Natasha glanced at the mess in her pants, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she saw the toy's fluids scattered across the front of her shirt, resulting in a noticeable white mark and damp spot down her crotch. She hid the toy in her pocket, stood up,and gently placed Wanda's legs around her waist, "Look at what you've done to my shirt and pants, baby." Natasha breathed in awe, her eyes glittering with satisfaction.

Head still delirious, Wanda whimpered upon realising that the toy is no longer inside her and it indeed made a mess on Natasha's clothes. However, she's still regaining her breath and too immersed in bliss to mind.

The redhead reached down to cup Wanda's enticing tits. "Damn, these nipples are begging to be sucked, baby." Natasha remarked devilishly as she groped Wanda's boobs a little too aggressively. "I'm so obsessed with these. I could stare at them all day if I wanted to."

A loud whimper escaped Wanda's mouth and her eyes rolled back as Natasha continued to play with her clothed cleavage. Before she could plead for nipples to be touched with Natasha's tongue, Wanda noticed a prominent bulge in her pants that was currently poking her bare center. She looked up at her girlfriend and asked in disbelief, "You're packing?"

"Why shouldn't I be, hm?" Natasha's thumb caressed Wanda's cheek softly and captured her lips for a small kiss. When she pulled back, she got another devilish smile on her face.

"You– you're going to fuck me here?" Wanda gulped while anticipating Natasha's response.

"Would you like me to, detka?" Natasha whispered seductively in her ear. "I bet you want my cock filling your tight, little cunt, hm?"

It's pathetic how Wanda immediately folds at Natasha's dirty words knowing that she will give in right away with no hesitation. "I want to feel you inside me, please. Please!"

Natasha started to unbuckle her belt, loosening it a bit. "So desperate and needy. Aren't you satisfied with how I made you cum minutes ago?" she taunted. "Unfortunately, I can't fuck you on this table because I know I will break it." She then wrapped her right arm around Wanda while her left was holding her thigh securely, hoisted her up then walked towards the nearby wall.

"Natasha…!" Wanda whimpered pathetically the moment she was pinned to the wall, and without wasting any seconds, Natasha started assaulting her neck like a starved animal who's always in a hunt for skin.

"Shhh, baby. Let Mommy make you feel good, yeah? Isn't that what you want? To be fucked like a slut, like a whore, hm?" Natasha's mouth further travelled down her chest and this time, her hand pulled down the thin strap of Wanda's dress and so she could finally latch her tongue on her nipples. "Such pretty tits."

Lost for words, Wanda only moaned enthusiastically at the attention that Natasha is giving her boobs. She knew for sure that she would let Natasha do anything to her at this point as she succumbed even further into needy headspace. Her breath shuddered in anticipation once Natasha leaned back and started to unbuckle her belt, pushing down her pants using only one hand as the other was holding Wanda's upper body. Natasha's amazing physique comes in very handy in times like that, her strength adds more to her allure which is making Wanda's head spin even further.

"I'm going to fuck you real good, baby." Natasha groaned as she lined up her cock on Wanda's dripping cunt. "You will walk out of her with a limp 'cause you're my slut, yeah?"

In one swift thrust and without warning, Natasha buried her cock in Wanda's pussy, pulling it all the way out just to ram it back in roughly. This caused the witch to cry out in both pain and pleasure, and held onto Natasha's shoulder tightly.

"Natasha! Be gentle, please. Ngh!" Wanda pleaded, as she needed to fully adjust first to Natasha's length before she could relax and embrace the pleasure. But Natasha is now in the mood to fuck her senseless, hard and fast against the wall and being gentle is not in her plan tonight. Then, Natasha positioned both her hands behind Wanda's thighs, pressing them against her chest and gripping tightly to prevent slipping down the wall.

"Don't tell me what to do. I will fuck you the way I want to 'cause you're my toy, remember?" Natasha forcefully grabbed Wanda's chin to assert her domineering stand, making Wanda back down and accept her fate in an instant. "This pussy is mine to fuck and abuse. So I will use it however I see fit."

The end of her sentence was punctuated with deep, long, hard thrusts, and Natasha's grunts on Wanda's ear sounded so animalistic. The brunette feared that she might be split in half if Natasha continued mercilessly drilling her into the wall, but she couldn't find it in her heart to make her lover stop.

"Mommy—"

Wanda struggles in breathing as her mouth gives out little gasps combined with her moans every time Natasha drives her hips forward in rapid succession. She knows that her lower back will suffer later in the evening from being planted on the wall once they're done fucking.

Natasha was mesmerised with how she can reduce Wanda in this state, with her tits bouncing at each hard thrusts and mouth hanging open. She also watched closely how Wanda's face contorts in pleasure, she's damn well sure that it's the best thing she's ever seen in her life. With Wanda's pupil blown wide, her green eyes glow differently albeit being unfocused and barely open when she's in the height of pleasure, "Open up your pretty eyes when I fuck you like this, baby. Don't you dare close them or else I will stop."

Wanda obliged without hesitation at her girlfriend's demand. Their intimate eye contact seems to be her undoing as she feels all the fluttering sensation deep in her stomach, signalling that she's near her second orgasm. The pleasure has already built up when she first came and despite her efforts to hold it longer, Natasha's intense gaze betrays her body response.

"Baby! I'm cumming again. Fuck! Fuck!"

Upon hearing Wanda's words, Natasha doubled her efforts in slamming her dick in Wanda's slippery pussy just to make sure her girl gets her best back-breaking orgasm that will leave her whole body weak afterwards. She also leaned forward to capture Wanda's lips and contained her moans in the process as it got louder and louder as she reached her orgasm. Although the sounds that are coming out from Wanda are the hottest thing she's ever heard, they cannot afford to be heard outside, in fear that their names will be plastered all over the tabloids the next day.

"You're so fucking tight around me, baby. That's it. That's it. Cum for me." Natasha cooed into Wanda's ear, while still holding her thighs tightly to guide her to her climax and the witch could literally see stars swimming behind her eyes as she descended further up into the endless pleasure that Natasha is driving her into.

As Wanda's heart settled from its erratic beats, she gently lifted her eyelids, only to find Natasha's gaze already fixed upon her. Unlike the intense passion of moments prior, Natasha's eyes now held a tender smile, devoid of any hint of the earlier demonic mood. This time, Wanda's heart swelled with affection, reminded once again of the depth of her love for Natasha.

With a soft, loving gaze, Natasha loosened her hold on Wanda and proudly declared, "I love you," her words imbued with deep sincerity.

Wanda enveloped Natasha in her arms, drawing her close, and wrapped her legs around her waist, craving the sensation of her melting into her embrace. "Baby, I love you too, more than words can express," she murmured, her heart overflowing with emotion. Pulling back slightly, she locked eyes with Natasha. "It's like my heart would burst from how much."

Natasha chuckled softly and touched Wanda's cheeks softly. "Well, we wouldn't want that happening right here, right now, would we, baby? But you're my everything, my lifeline."

Wanda felt her eyes moisten and a gentle warmth tugged her heart with Natasha's sweetness. Natasha, typically reserved with her feelings towards Wanda, made each instance of vulnerability a precious gift in their relationship. It was these rare moments that Wanda treasured the most, knowing the depth of Natasha's affection and the sincerity behind her words.

Noticing the change in Wanda's mood, Natasha quickly made a remark to lighten up the witch, "Aww, don't cry baby. Save your tears for later when I fuck you dumb on the couch."

"Let's head home now then, Nat," Wanda suggested, her voice laced with excitement. "So I can peel you out of this sexy outfit of yours and this time, I'll return the favor."

PS: special thanks to my broo @delulu-with-wandanat cause this fic was made out of our late night brainrots. Looking forward to our next session iykwim. 🫦🫦

[nervousnotion]

nervousnotion's top kpop songs jan-june 2024 | gg edition ✨

1. heya ive 2. supernova aespa 3. armaggedon aespa 4. eenie meenie chungha 5. easy le sserafim 6. zombie everglow 7. cosmic red velvet 8. sabotage kwon eunbi 9. i'm ready chungha 10. red rover yuqi 11. doll idle 12. accendio ive 13. super lady idle 14. rockstar lisa 15. loop yves 16. balloon in love sunmi 17. yoyo rescene 18. rooftop yooa

tagging @taeminie @yglesbian @negrowhat @blackpink @clairedaring

@queenoftherodeoo @yoohyeon @sunmisbf @kwon-eunbi

& anyone else who wants to round up their faves so far this year! i might make a boygroup version of this but like idk if i'd even have a top 10 the boys rlly flopped this year....

[feasibilities]

Sweet As Honey - Patricia 'Kitten' Braden x AFAB Client!Reader ⚢

Warnings: Prostitution, Pet Names, Teasing, Overstimulation, Pining (like really badly), Love at first sight, P in V, Soft!Dom/Sub Aspects, etc. Author's Note: I wouldn't have survived the year if I didn't write something about the goddess that is Patricia 'Kitten' Braden. A beauty who deserves everything good in this world. I was shook making the GIF above but that's neither here nor there. Enjoy!

“Am I really about to do this?” You thought as you stared at the red neon ‘GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS’ sign outside of Xanadu. Opening the door, you met the confused glance of a John—and the smell of cigarettes & cheap perfume. You quickly brushed past him and went to the front desk. Setting a few dollars on the counter, the madame gave you change. 

“Booth 7, darlin’.” She purred, looking you up & down. You hesitantly walked to the booth and shut the door. Sliding 4 coins into the slot, the booth’s window slid open. You were met with the gamine beauty on the other side.

“Hello, sir. What’s your name?” Patricia hummed, rocking back & forth on her flower-covered swing. Her view of you was obscured, so she assumed you were among her male clientele. 

“Y/N.” You spoke softly into the shoddy microphone. You felt your temperature rise after hearing her silken voice. Tilting her head, Patricia barely managed to hide her surprise that a woman was behind the wall.  Giggling to herself, she decided to toy with you.

“So…what brings you here, sweetheart?”  Patricia inquired, already knowing the answer. 

“Just looking for some company, I suppose…” You trailed off as you stared through the window. She was wearing a blue silk nightie & her hair was curled beautifully. Thoughts of the beauty that lie underneath were too much to bear.

“You can go to your local pub for company. Why are you really here, love?” Patricia purred, running her hands in between her smooth legs. You caught yourself rutting against the velvet chair before you realized she asked you a question. 

“To fuck.” You admitted, hoping she’ll accept your offer. 

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She teased. Standing up, she walked to the booth window and stared inside at you. Her blue eyes widened with curiosity. It took every ounce of restraint to not kiss her. 

“A pretty little doll, aren’t you?” She praised. Your heart fluttered at her words. 

“I normally don’t do this but…” She trailed off, pulling a gold key from her bra. She unlocked the booth’s door and took your hand in hers. Pulling you to her bedroom, she quickly shut the door. Paper dolls & Marilyn Monroe posters covered the wall. Her vanity had a wonderful assortment of makeup and perfume bottles. A beautiful canopy hung over her bed with a mirror on the ceiling. 

“C’mere, darling.” She whispered as she pulled you closer. Taking some initiative, you slipped the sheer robe off her shoulders. She followed suit by reaching under your shirt and unfastening your bra. You moaned when her cool fingers teased your nipples. She hushed you with a fervid kiss. You whimpered softly when she nipped at your bottom lip. Pulling away, you saw that her lipstick was smeared and her pupils were dilated. Desire boiled over in the resplendent room. 

You took off the rest of your clothing as she watched with starved eyes. Growing impatient, you began to untie the silk strings of her nightie before she stopped you once more. “Patience is a virtue, my love. Lay down.” She chastised sweetly. You followed her orders and soon felt her lay next to you. Sliding her hand between your legs, she grazed the sensitive flesh of your clit. You bit your lip as you ached for her touch. She slipped her fingers inside and pressed against the spongy flesh of your g-spot. A wicked smile formed across her face when you gasped and your legs began shaking.

“Mhmm…” She purred, nipping at the flesh of your collarbone. Her fingers sped up while her plump lips moved to your nipple. You watched yourself in the mirror above the bed. You got off on the salacious visual and the sounds of your arousal gushing around her fingers. Her tongue swirled around the delicate bud as you unraveled. Your vision blurred as your climax took possession of your body. You cried out Patricia’s name like a Hail Mary. She held you close as you rode out your high. 

Removing her mouth from your nipple, strings of saliva clung to her lips as she stared up at you. She put her coated fingers in her mouth, savoring your taste. “Sweet as honey, beloved.” She whispered, sending chills through your body. She sat up to remove her nightie & was just as beautiful as you thought. You kissed her shoulder softly and moved your hand to her dick. Stroking gently, you heard her whimper. You held her in place as you stroked faster. She moaned sweetly as her eyes fluttered shut. Soon after, ejaculate began spurting out of her onto her torso. Her mewls were like music to your ears. 

“I..I don’t think I can take much more, sweetheart.” She relented.

“Of course you can.” You said, kissing her neck.

You pulled her down on the bed and straddled her. She hastily slid into you and thrusted her hips upward, bottoming out. A indecorous moan left your lips. She responded with murmurs of pleasure. Adjusting to her size, you started to grind slowly. Patricia stared up at you with appreciative eyes. Her pouty disposition, messy hair, and flushed cheeks almost made you cum once more. 

“So beautiful…” You praised, trying to keep the floodgates from bursting. 

“Just- mmm, just like you.” She replied, feeling the elixir of your arousal drip down her shaft. She ran her fingertips up your legs before stopping at your sides. She wrapped her arms around you and started thrusting at a searing pace. You buried your face in her neck and weeped at the overstimulation. She smelled sweet, especially of Chanel No. 5. Sounds of skin hitting skin filled the room. You tried to squirm out of her grip, but to no avail. 

“Hold still, sweet pea. We’ll be done soon.” She breathed as your walls fluttered around her. You cycled through one high after another before going numb. Patricia stared up at the mirror again and fell in love with the visual of herself plowing into you. The thin layer of sweat on her face made her glow. Seeing you pant in her ear made her want to pull out and finish all over your face.  However, she wanted to hold back her 2nd orgasm until you were deranged with pleasure. 

Your voice was a raspy whisper from constant pleas of mercy. The numbness from earlier faded as she started rutting against your g-spot once more. Your legs began to tremble involuntarily as another tsunami of delectation washed over you. Patricia finally followed suit as her thrusts staggered and hot ropes of seed spilled into you. 

“Fuck…” You groaned, drawing out the monosyllabic word. You made sure to clench tighter to drain every drop of her. Patricia whimpered once again as she throbbed inside of you. You kissed her lovingly while she held you close.

Things were silent for a bit as you two admired each other. She massaged the soft flesh of your hips. You toyed with one of her blonde curls. “Look at you, all fucked out, aren’t ya?” She giggled, examining the leftover tears around your eyelashes. You gave her a weak smile as reality started to creep back in. You understood that this gorgeous maiden didn’t belong to you, and this could be the last time you saw her. 

“I love you.” Patricia declared, virtually reading your mind. 

"I love you too." You replied, trying to hide your excitement for what was to come.

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Home Indiana Part 7

That last chapter things were starting to look up, and here things keep getting better until they don't.

Then it's going to be rough until the happy ending. Just a heads up if you need to be prepared for the sads.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

****

Eddie ran into Steve at the Hideout on Thursday night. And this time he was without his friend or his guard dog.

He had settled at the bar with a single malt whiskey and a heavy heart. He hated that he would have to leave this all behind come Sunday, but Seattle was home. Not Hawkins. Not anymore.

Steve walked in looking like a teenage wet dream. He had his floppy hair styled so that there was little curl in the middle of his forehead. He was wearing a white and navy blue striped polo shirt with the buttons undone and the collar flipped up. His jeans were darker then when they graduated school, almost as dark as the blue stripes on his shirt. The fit was tight and showed off Steve’s other best asset.

It made Eddie’s mouth water and he drained his glass.

He was about to pay his tab and go back to his hotel when Steve spotted him and gave him that little dorky finger wave of his.

Shit.

Eddie waved back and Steve came trotting over.

“No Buck today?” he asked, trying not to trip over his words.

Steve shook his head. “She’s fussing about what to wear tomorrow and after three hours of her trying to decide between two identical shirts of exactly the same color, I booked it and came here.”

“Wise choice, man,” Eddie agreed. “Chrissy gets like that some times too. She’ll claim one is rose and the baby pink and I can’t tell the difference.”

Steve laughed and nodded. “Sounds about right only Robs is trying to decide between navy and midnight blue.”

“Didn’t figure the Buckster would be one for pink,” Eddie said sagely.

“Oh she likes it just fine,” Steve said with a grin, “on other girls.”

Eddie laughed and shook his head. That sounded about right.

Steve looked over at the full pool tables and then around the rest of the bar. He turned back to Eddie. “You want to play a round of darts?”

Eddie half shrugged. “Why not? I’d have to borrow someone’s set. You can’t exactly take them on a plane these days.”

Steve’s grin was back and he trotted over to the end of the bar. He spoke briefly to someone and then came back with two sets. He handed one to Eddie and opened up the other. It was the set Eddie had got him for his school graduation. They weren’t expensive but they were well made and if the worn velvet around the darts were any indication, well used.

He looked down at the black box in his hand and then back up at Steve. “There’s no way.”

“You’ll just have to open it and find out, huh?”

Eddie opened the box and let out a choked off laugh. There nestled in the red velvet were his old black and red darts.

“How do you still have these?” he whispered. “I thought I lost them.”

Steve shrugged and cocked his head. “You’d leave them here at the bar so they wouldn’t get banged up in your glove box. So after you left, I had Terry hold on to them in case you ever came back looking for them.”

Eddie nodded and then hopped off the stool, leading the way to where the boards were hanging. He let Steve go first and they ordered a round of beers, though they really didn’t drink much. They’d learned that lesson at their ‘reception’ when they accidentally landed a dart on then Officer Callahan and he screamed like they were trying to murder him. If Hopper hadn’t stepped in he would have hauled both of them to jail.

It hadn’t even broken the skin.

It was fun and Eddie felt better about their ‘date’ tomorrow. Because that’s what it was, that’s what everyone was calling it. Even Robin had warned him that if he fucked this date up, they would be finding pieces of him up and down the interstate for years.

He believed her.

****

Steve was waiting by the entrance to the fair grounds chewing nervously on his thumb. Robin whacked his hand out of his mouth.

“You’re making me nervous,” she hissed. “You’re supposed to be the calm one.”

He sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets with a heavy sigh. “I know we’re not getting back together. I can’t expect that, but...”

“He’s not the giant ass he was when he rolled into town?”

He nodded and she rubbed his back gently. “Look, there’s Vickie. Will you be all right?”

“I don’t really have a choice, but yes I’ll be fine.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow.

She nodded and linked arms with Vickie. They went to go pay for their tickets and left Steve to his whirling consuming thoughts.

He didn’t have to wait long before a sleek, black rental rolled into the dusty parking lot. It really stood out amongst the pickup trucks and hatchbacks.

But then so did Steve’s old Bimmer. Yeah it was older, but it was still a high class car.

Eddie popped out of the car and Steve was impressed to see that he wasn’t in all black. He had dark blue jeans on, but wore a red t-shirt that had some logo on it. Over it was a denim vest with all his pins and patches on it.

It wasn’t the first one he’d made, Steve still had that one, but it was so Eddie that Steve’s heart began to pound heavily against his rib cage, like a beast trying to get free.

Stop it! He thought to himself. Move on. This is the farewell tour. The final encore. The last bow.

Eddie ran over to him and smiled. “Sorry I’m late, Stevie. Someone gave me the wrong directions and I had to look it up on my phone.”

“That’s fine,” Steve said. “Let’s get going.”

Eddie paid for their tickets. It was the least he could do for having caused Steve to shut down Sweetie’s Treats because of a dumbass mistake.

They rode the rides and Steve won him this giant orange bat with googly eyes at the basketball hoops, that Eddie immediately named Dio.

Steve laughed and shook his head.

They went on more rides and ate funnel cakes and deep fried Twinkies.

Then Eddie spotted it. It was big brown eye puppy with droopy ears at the High Striker game.

“I’m going to win that puppy!” he said excitedly, tugging on Steve’s sleeve.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You do know those things tend to be rigged, right?”

Eddie turned around, his expression mischievous. His eyes were hooded and he ran his tongue slowly over the top of his teeth. Slowly.

Steve gulped. He didn’t know what Eddie had planned, but it sent that thrill down his spine that used to be because Eddie was about to ravish him. And he didn’t think that was the context here.

He watched as Eddie went up to the man in charge of the booth and paid him the five dollars.

Eddie hefted the hammer like it was a child’s toy and the heat slid down Steve’s spine to pool in his gut. Fuck was that hot.

Eddie made a couple of practice swings testing the weight of the hammer.

“You going to swing that thing any time in the next century, play boy?” the carnival worker snarked.

Eddie smirked back and swung the hammer down on the pad. The metal ball hit the bell with such force that the bell didn’t so much ring as it did gong. Everyone around them stopped to see what the hell that noise was.

To see Eddie leaning on the hammer like some, smug Norse god. The booth operator let him pick two of the big prizes so Steve got the brown-eyed puppy and the grey, stripped tabby cat.

“Bobbie and Sweetie?” Eddie suggested, naming the two animals after Steve’s shop and his best friend.

Steve nodded, burying his face into the warm, soft plushies. “Thank you, Eds.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

They had put the animals in the trunk of Steve’s car for safe keeping and were sitting on a pair of hay bales watching as the sun set and the lights of the carnival came on.

“Thanks for today,” Steve murmured. “I’d say it more than made up for that shitty special delivery.”

Eddie cackled. “Yeah, that was my big dumb mistake. I told her about you, because of course I did. But I–I couldn’t talk about what you really meant to me, because then I would have tell what an absolute coward I was.”

“And then I forced the issue.”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” he murmured. At Steve’s bitchy expression he laughed. “I wasn’t being sarcastic, honest. I needed that kick in the ass.”

Steve smiled and bumped their shoulders together. “You’re welcome I guess.”

Eddie looked up at the stars that were starting to appear in the sky. “You don’t see this many stars back in Seattle.”

“No,” Steve said softly. “I don’t suppose you do.”

Eddie ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I was happy in Seattle, Stevie. I was. But I came back here and this fits too.”

Steve gently took Eddie’s hand and squeezed it tight.

“I think I’m more in love with you then when we were stupid kids doing messed up things,” he continued unhappily.

Steve laid his head on Eddie’s shoulder and sighed. “You don’t have to marry her. Stay here with me.”

Tears slipped down Eddie’s face as he shook his head. “I have to. I can’t tell you why. I’m not being blackmailed or coerced, I do love her. But god, I love you, too.”

Steve wrapped his arms around him and held him as he cried.

****

Steve chuckled as he helped a very weepy, and very clingy drunk Eddie up to his hotel room. He had even gotten the help of a nice porter to help get him into bed.

He took off all the jewelry. The pick necklace, the leather and chain bracelets, the earring, his belt, and his rings.

Steve stopped when he was half way through removing the rings. Yes, they weren’t married yet, but if there was a ring that Eddie would have given a fianceé it would have been his mother’s ring. The ring he always wore on his right hand. But there it was, still on his hand. Moved to the pinkie now. But still.

He took it off last. He held it up to the light. The band was a little worse for wear, but the gemstone still shone brightly in the dim light of the hotel lamp.

Steve set it down with the rest of the jewelry, making sure it was right on top. He took out Eddie’s wallet and keys and set them next to the hotel key. He picked up the hotel key, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

He smoothed Eddie’s hair and then he made his decision. He quietly exited the room and told the porter and front desk that Eddie left his wallet in his car and that he was just going to get it for him.

Robin was waiting for him.

“Are you really going to do this?” she asked, voice cracking as if she was holding back tears.

Steve let out a shuddering breath and then nodded.

He was back down in mere minutes. She held out her arms to him and he crumpled in her embrace. She held him as he sobbed and sobbed.

Robin looked up at the hotel where Eddie lay sleeping and wished she could hate him in that moment, but found she couldn’t.

She pitied him. Something she never thought was possible. She bundled her best friend into the passenger side of his car and drove for home.

The further away she got, the more her heart broke.

For both of them.

****

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

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