Summary: Soap is so so so done with this mission. When he gets back to base he makes his new mission to find you.
Content warnings: mdni, full series warning
AN: nothing to see here
Soap was itching to finish up this op. They had been in this shit hole safe house waiting for Kate to make arrangements for the captive for longer than normal. Kate wanted him alive, transferred to some black site somewhere so her contacts could work him over. The 141 had been gentle with him so far but wherever Kate sent him would likely leave him destined for a shallow unmarked grave.
Soap was on captive watch, it was worst than regular watch where Soap could peer out of the windows and watch the world go by. Staring at this man's ugly mug on and off had left him in a foul mood that not even day dreaming was enough to get him out of it. Thoughts of you, thoughts of Ghost, thoughts of you and Ghost, round and around he went and still he could not get the image of this man's face out of his head.
The man wasn't talking or really doing much of anything. They had forced to him to swallow down some protein bars and gave him water at irregular hours, making it harder for him to tell how much time had passed, not letting him catch on to any kind of routine in how they handled him so he didn't get any ideas. All pretty standard stuff.
Until now.
"Psst, hey guy, hey."
Soap had been counting the ceiling tiles for what felt like the hundredth time, going over and over and over the water stained squares. Not once before had the man tied to the chair spoken to any of them.
Soap narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing as he took in the man. He looked worse for wear, the 141 might have been gentle in their handling of him but the lack of food and sleep had him looking both gaunt and tired, the dark circles under his eyes though were the least of his problems.
"You speak English or what?" his voice was rough, the words whispered, but the hint of an American accent was hard to miss.
Soap merely tilted his head to the side.
"Look, the people I work for can pay you. They need me. They'll pay you to get me back. You just gotta call them."
The 141 had heard it all before.
I'm rich, my family is rich, my country will pay to have me back, I work for important people.
And sometimes it worked, sometimes it helped to have important friends in important places, but that was not the case for this man.
Soap said nothing. The room was bugged, anything the man said would be recorded and sent to Kate and her team of analysts to make sense of. Soap had been far from happy when that was the decision, he would have loved to get his hands on the man that threatened Ghost, the man who thought he could take Simon away from him.
Each time someone from the team entered the room they took off anything identifying, leave him guessing when it came to who exactly they were. Trained and armed and capable, sure, but he hadn't given away how much he knew and they weren't going to let him learn anything new.
"My," the man paused as if searching for the right words, "my boss will pay you. He always pays."
What kind of a mercenary was he if he had been captured enough to know that his boss would pay to get him back? Didn't seem like a very sound investment to Soap. All of the mercenaries he had had the pleasure and displeasure of working with had been worth their ilk. This man may have been a good shot at some point, but he was sloppy, thought far too highly of himself.
"Do ya even speak English? Am I talkin' too fast for ya?"
His accent was stronger as he got more agitated. Southerner? Kate had said he had been living in Kentucky or was it Kansas? Soap hadn't spent enough time working with American's to pick apart the nuances between their accents past the basics.
"Look man, I know you gotta speak English. The brief said the big guy was British. It was just business, you gotta know how it is."
He was pulling against the restraints now, the severity of the situation finally getting to him. If he was dumb enough he would give something away, there was no way he was as well trained for interrogations as SAS, he hadn't even been special ops.
"You gotta let me go!" he was shouting now.
Soap leaned forward in his own seat, a little too gleeful at the man's outburst. He had clearly pegged Soap as the weakest link in the group, but none of them was the weakest link, Soap just had a face and a countenance that screamed unprofessional.
A lethal misjudgment for many.
Price was outside the room when Soap left the man, his shift was far from over but the constant shouting was starting to grate on him, a headache brewing behind his right eye. He would need some paracetamol before it became a full blown migraine.
"Didnae take much tae break 'im, did it?" Soap said with a grin.
"I'm more worried about how his supposed boss even got intel on this op. Not many people knew about it."
Price had spent much of their time in the safe house going over the materials they had been given, reviewing the change of information, listing out anyone and everyone who could have gotten access. The merc was there for Ghost specifically, which meant that they knew the mission brief, they knew where the 141 would be conducting the stakeout, they knew to wait for Ghost to be the one on that rooftop.
The question was why and then who? Why take out Ghost specifically? What was it about him or the 141 that had caught their attention? They were always in danger, it went with the territory, being the best at what they did made more enemies than allies. But which of those enemies was targeting Ghost and just Ghost.
"Gaz, get Kate on the horn. Need to confirm next steps now that he is talking."
*********************
"What's got your knickers in a twist, Tav?"
Soap was sat in the helo, picking at his cuticles as the chopper lazily made its way towards their base. Even after the man started talking it had taken days for Kate's team to arrive for the handoff, the 141 more than happy to pass off the sedated mercenary before making their way towards their own extraction.
"Nae got mah nickers in a twist, just eager tae get back."
They all had their headsets on, the oversized equipment helped to block out the roaring thrum of the motors and made it easier for the team to communicate if needed. It also meant that everyone could hear Gaz's question.
"Knee's been goin' like a goddamn jackhammer, shakin' the whole bloody bird," Price groused.
For most of the flight the captain had had his boonie hat pulled down over his eyes in a last ditch effort to get some rest before the inevitable hours of debriefing he would need to do. The mission might have been a bust when it came to the Sons but that didn't mean there wasn't more to followup on. Connecting the mercenary and his bosses to the Sons was just one of the tasks at hand.
The rest of the team though had been given leave to report back in the morning,
"Just excited tae be back 's'all."
"Got a hot date?" Gaz's question had the captain's attention.
Soap covered his face with his hands, praying to god he wasn't blushing like a goddamn school girl.
"Haud yer weesht!"
Gaz laughed, Price scowled and Ghost glared, the rest of his face obscured by a painted balaclava.
When the helo finally touched down Soap was the first off, ignoring Gaz teasing him, clapping Ghost on the shoulder as he laughed at some mad thing he was spouting off.
Soap wanted nothing more than to find you first, to declare his interest, explain some part of his relationship with Ghost. First though, he was minging after a long day of traveling. He needed a shower, food and to figure out exactly how to approach you without scaring you off. Ghost was right, there was a chance you weren't interested or that you wouldn't want to be with both Gaz and him.
A man could dream.
You weren't in the mess when he stopped by for food. It was full of soldiers from the new team. Soap had had the displeasure of meeting a handful on them already and was dreading conducting trainings with them. Normally he would be chomping at the bit for an assignment, some way to shirk off that particular responsibility. Teaching demolitions to new recruits and more experienced operatives was fine, he enjoyed that most of the time. But doing exercises on stealth, evasion and really anything else with a group of men dumber than dirt who had no interest to learn was a punishment the 141 didn't deserve.
This bunch had a reputation for being difficult to work with, rough and rowdy, with a disregard for any authority that wasn't their pigheaded captain. The man himself was sat at one of the tables, a few of his officers with him.
Maybe you were in your office?
First he needed to grab food for Ghost and then he would find you.
Soap stopped outside of Ghost's office. Ghost was in there, the lingering scent of smoke still clung to the air outside his doorway, the light filtered out beneath the door.
Ghost was a man of habit, his post mission routine was sacred and also necessary for the him to decompress, to come back to himself. They might have joked around together in the safe house, but the undercurrent of violence, the tension of danger, the aggression thick on Soap's tongue when they stole a kiss in the dark.
There was no easy mission when you had to be prepared for anything.
Ghost could compartmentalize like the best of them, but he needed space to do it. Quiet. The two of them had developed a routine that ended with Soap bringing his lieutenant food so that Ghost could eat in peace.
Did he sometimes fuck Soap over his desk if the mood was right?
Soap grinned at the prospect, would Ghost be in the mood?
No, Soap banished the thought, hoping his loose cargos would hide his hard on. He was here on business.
The door was unlocked, Soap knocked once before entering. Most people knew not to enter the office without permission, but Soap had never been good with boundaries, not when it came to Ghost. Not when he had made it his mission to pick apart the right ones to push and leave alone the ones that needed to be respected.
The lieutenant was sat at his desk. He had changed out of his gear, a fresh black balaclava pulled over his face. He was still wet from his shower, the clean shirt he wore clinging to the planes of muscle across his chest and shoulders.
Soap clicked the door locked behind him, dropping the tray of food on the desk before taking a seat across from Ghost.
This was time together that Soap cherished. Just the two of them. Ghost peeling back his mask to expose that bonnie bonnie face that haunted Soap's dreams. The tensions melting off those monolithic shoulders as Ghost relaxed into his desk chair, eating whatever scraps Soap had brought him. No one else got this moment. Gaz and Price might get to see Ghost with his defenses down but they didn't get this time together.
Soap had known for a while that there was no life for him without Ghost. No existence where this brooding, shadow of a man wasn't by his side. He had been working up the courage to ask Ghost to join him in Scotland for leave, to meet his family, to see where Soap was from. Soap wanted to be able to share that part of him, of his life, with the man that made him feel tethered to the world.
It was a small ask, it didn't even need to mean anything, even if it meant everything. Soap had joined Gaz on leave, all of them had been dragged to Price's more than once. It's what friends did and the two of them were more than friends, it it wasn't strange to ask.
And yet, when Soap opened his mouth to talk, nothing came out. Ghost looked at him curiously, chewing on a bit of food and blinking slowly as he waited for Soap to go on.
Soap was the one who typically filled these quiet moments with every thought and idea that had come to him during a mission that he had been unable to share. That was part of the routine for him, emptying out all of the things that he had had to push down for the mission.
Soap had once came up with a very complex system for a remote detonator, something that in theory would be groundbreaking but in practicality was more of science fiction than it was science. But Ghost had listened to each painstaking detail and at the very end he had offered to put in a requisitions request for the materials.
He opened his mouth again and then snapped it shut. It wasn't the time. This wasn't the right moment. He needed, fuck, he needed time to think. He couldn't ruin their routine for something so selfish.
"Cat got yer tongue?"
"Ahm workin' on it."
Soap reached forward and stole a handful of chips from the tray, chewing on them now at a loss for words.
"Ye find the specialist?"
"Mars?" he asked with a mouthful of food.
"Only specialist we 'ave, innit?"
"Couldnae find 'er."
"Fuckin' finish chewin' yer food, ye knob."
Soap laughed, the unease slipping away as he did.
"What's so great about 'er? Just another CIA know it all. Or are ye really just a dog with a bone?"
"Och, it's nae like that. Ah like Mars, she's smart, and witty and ye should've seen 'er and Price. Cap didnae ken what tae dae with 'imself."
Ghost stares at him in that way Ghost does where it looks like he is trying to dissect you. Soap learned long ago not to think about it too much, it was just one of Ghost's quirks. It was hard to take him serious after a mission anyway because the lieutenant had a shit skincare routine and he always looked a bit like one of those emo boys, the eye black still ringing his eyes.
"Didnae ken what Price's issue is this time."
"What d'ye mean?"
"Cap's been…moody? Ah dinnae ken 'ow tae describe it. Gaz and Ah thought he'd get over 'imself once ye got back, but the man is worse."
Ghost said nothing.
"Yer nae keepin' somethin' from us, are ye?"
It wouldn't be there first time. The 141 might be a taskforce with shared goals but there were time, missions, projects that only the captain and the lieutenant were privy to. Discoveries that didn't get covered in the debrief. Follow-ups that didn't make it to the sergeants. Ghost had been on more solo ops than the rest of them.
It never bothered Soap, it didn't really bother him now but it did make him wonder if there was something else going on.
He would talk to Gaz about it tomorrow, the other sergeant was good at talking him off the ledge about these kinds of things.
"Got te keep some things from ye. Mouth like a sieve."
"Fek off, ye weapon," Soap gasped, hand coming up to his chest in mock horror. "with that, Ahm out, gotta find Mars."
Ghost narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He had given Soap his blessing and Soap wasn't wasting any more time.
***************
When he did finally find you you were just coming out of your room in the barracks. He must have just missed you on your way back from the office. Your eyes went wide, followed by your smile.
"You're back!" you exclaimed, opening your arms instinctively as he approached, letting him wrap you up in a bear hug, your toes dragging against the floor as he spun you.
"Mars, ye bonnie thing, Ah missed ye!" he murmured into your hair, not ready to let go.
Soap should have realized in that moment that this was more than a casual interest in a temporary coworker. It wasn't like the casual flings that he dallied in while Ghost was away, fleeting and meaningless.
You hugged him back tightly, too tightly. The press of your breast against his chest, your breath warm against his neck, the feel of your body against his body had his hard on from early back full force.
"Ah, Soap, you happy to see me or something?" you teased.
"Fuck, Mars, ye dinnae ken just 'ow excited Ahm tae see ye."
Fuck, you looked so kissable right now, face close to his, a different kind of intimacy from that night in the rec room. He needed you something fierce.
The hall was hardly the place to be kissing you, it was barely the place to be holding you like this.
Soap's room was down the hall, he could take you there, get a bit of privacy but he wasn't sure what state he had left it in before leaving, certainly not up to regs, and barely lived in because he spent most nights with Ghost.
There was your room, but that felt presumptuous.
Soap went for the next best thing.
"Soap, why are we in a dark broom closet?"
"Utility closet and Ah wanted a wee bit of privacy, aye?"
You were still wrapped around him, fingers tangled in the hair at the nap of his neck. Your face was illuminated in red from the emergency light overhead. You mouth was twisted into a lopsided smirk, eyes almost twinkling in the low light.
Your gaze slipped down to his lips and then back up to his eyes. He liked to think that that was enough of a sign of interest, he had certainly done it to enough partners hoping for more.
"Can Ah kiss ye? Please, Mars, Ahm right beggin'."
You didn't answer with words. You pressed your lips to his tentatively, but it wasn't enough for Soap. He pressed you back into the door, scooping his hands beneath your thighs and devouring you. Your mouth was warm, still minty from brushing, your skin still wet from your shower.
Did no one know how to dry off properly?
You moaned into his mouth when he rolled his hips into your core, your legs wrapping around him, pulling him somehow closer, the pressure of your heels against his lower back egging him on.
Would it be too much to drag you to his room? Too sudden? Fuck, was this too sudden? Was he coming on too strong? This was not something he had ever done on base with anyone but Ghost, not even in the days before Ghost.
His mind may have been parsing through conflicting trails of thought, but his body knew what to do. With your body pushed against the door he was able to snake one of his hands up beneath your shirt, coarse skin skirting across the smooth warmth of you, bold in its exploration. It wasn't long before he was leaning back just enough to create space for his fingers to pinch at your nipple through your bra.
You arched against the door, pulling harder at his hair while he choked down your moans, the risk of being caught by a more than irate Price had him harder than he cared to admit.
"Wait, ah, fuck, wait," he pulled away, whimpering as your teeth nipped at his lip.
In the low light he could make out the sheen on sweat on your skin, the way your pupils were dilated, the heaving of your chest.
You seemed to come back to your self, as if realizing where they were and what they had been doing. Your legs dropped from his waist and he guided you down to the ground. You stared at him wide eyed.
Like Real People Do
previous + masterlist + AO3
Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au
“Say yes.”
“Ava, this isn’t a romance novel.” Olivia chides, and you nod your agreement as Ava tips the wine bottle’s mouth into your glass.
“This isn’t a game either, it’s my life. More importantly, it’s Riley’s life.”
“Exactly, this is for Riley.” It’s the one thing you can’t escape. What wouldn’t you do for the person you love the most in the world? “He’s not wrong Daisy.” Ava reaches across the table for your hand and squeezes. “The two of you… you’re connected-”
“Here we go.” Olivia snarks, stabbing a mac and cheese noodle with her fork and chasing it with a sip of wine. Ava ignores her.
“You’ve been connected for years. Maybe this is the universe telling you something-” The ceiling squeaks above the kitchen, that one pesky floor board in Riley’s room groaning as she steps on it.
You wait. Listen. Door opens, door closes, toilet flushes. Open. Close. Open. Close. Back in bed. Once you’re sure, you sigh.
“It’s insane. He’s insane. Right? I mean, this is not normal. Normal people don’t just... marry people they don’t know.”
“I think he knows you better than you realize.” Ava’s expression is more pensive now, circling the rim of her glass as she looks past you like she’s seeing something else altogether. Olivia sighs.
“I don’t think the universe is trying to tell you anything,” she rolls her eyes dramatically, “but I do think he’s serious about taking care of you and Riley. All the staring makes sense now.” You blink at her in disbelief.
“And now I think you’re insane. Are we forgetting how he treated me for months after I transferred?” She shrugs like this whole thing in nonchalant.
“It’s complicated. You’re complicated, and clearly so is he. Regardless… he said it’s just for Riley’s insurance right? He wants to help you, and you should let him. You should finally let someone help you, doing it all on your own… it’s killing you, it has been for years.” Your nose tingles with the threat of emotion, a volatile, uncontrollable reaction.
It’s killing you.
You push past it.
“I can’t believe you guys actually think this is a good thing.” You knew Ava was sold on the idea but Olivia’s support is shocking considering. She’s always the level headed one, Ava is the wild card. The two of them aligned in this is boggling your mind.
“It’s a good thing for Riley, Daze, and for you, even if you don’t see it.” For Riley. To keep her safe, happy, healthy.
And what wouldn’t you do for her?
“Come in.”
He’s sitting at his desk, peering at a laptop’s screen with a furrowed brow, and doesn’t look up until the door clicks closed behind you. When he does, his expression changes, melts from winter to spring. You suck in a breath.“Hi.”
“Good morning.” You had a whole speech planned. A lecture, a list of rules and boundaries, a verbal contract drawn up in your head. You even practiced in the mirror last night and in the car on your way in.
But now, it’s all gone. Evaporated. And what comes out instead is useless.
“Okay.” His eyebrows raise.
“Okay?” The knots in your stomach tighten.
“Okay I’ll… we- we can get married.” He doesn’t say anything at first. He just… scrutinizes you until he must be satisfied because he motions to one of the chairs. Absolutely not. You can’t sit with him and pretend this is normal, that it’s okay. You can’t sit down and keep your resolve, the thing that’s already starting to fade in front of him.
When you shake your head, he sighs and moves around his desk, assuming the position you’ve seen too many times now. Perched, resting his weight on the wood with his ankles overtop one another, heavy thighs together. His ams cross over his chest, and force yourself to look away from the way his body moves under the scrub top, keep yourself from studying every line in his tattoos.
“You look like you’re going to pass out.” He says drily, and the short straw of your patience gets shorter and you snap.
“Yeah well, maybe I am.” His face softens. He doesn’t meet your irritation with his own, instead he dampers it. Rains on a wildfire. You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to draw air into your lungs. Get through it. Say what you need to say and go. “I know this is what’s best for Riley, and I don’t understand what’s happening, or why but… I know you care about her, and you’re right. You can fix this, and I appreciate that you’re helping us. Her.” Because that’s what it is. That’s all it is. For Riley. “And I don’t have any expectations-”
“Expectations?”
“Well, it’s fake so, we don’t have to even tell Riley, or anyone.” Spring turns back to winter, and his eyes grow frosty. It’s a nearly imperceivable change, but you know well enough to know when he’s displeased. “Just HR. I looked up the policy, it says I can keep my job as long as we disclose, so we only really need to tell them.” You finish pathetically, trying to dig around in your brain to find your talking points with no luck.
He says nothing. You have that feeling again, the bug one. The one where you’re a tiny little insect on a glass slide and he’s a scientist studying you through a microscope. Or worse. A deer and a wolf. One nose blind, unable to scent him on the wind, and one watching.
Always watching.
“It’s not like anyone is going to believe we’re actually in this for love, anyway.” Your attempt at laughing it off is paltry, and he cocks his head.
“Why not?”
“Um, you hated me when I first started?” He looks almost sad for a moment, the pendulum swinging back towards something gentle, something even tender, throwing you off balance, yet again.
“I never hated you Daisy.” You snort. You don’t know what to say, and there are still so many things you need to know, things you need to ask, like why he never said anything to you about Riley, about knowing you who you were, but they’re all too deep, they’re too poignant, and you’re afraid of the answers. This is skin deep. It’s surface level. It’s fine.
“Yeah, okay. Everyone knows you were kind of a dick to me when I started.”
“I’m hard on everyone, it’s how I make sure we’re all focused on what matters.” It makes sense, considering what’s at stake, the lives that are depending on him, on you, on the entire team every single day. “And you don’t need to be coddled, right? You can take it.” He’s pushing your buttons, looking for a reaction or doing something, and you dig in your heels.
“Yeah.” You answer flippantly, looking away. “I can.” It’s a like a stalemate of some kind, two immovable objects butting up against one another.
“Don’t fight me Daisy, you won’t win.”
“Now no one can accuse me of taking it easy on my wife, can I?” Your heart stops.
My wife. Your skin prickles, the hair on the back of your neck raises. It’s an out of body experience, hearing those two words.
My wife.
You’re going to be Doctor Riley’s wife.
Oh god. Your chest tightens, and you immediately start holding your breath, the automatic reaction so ingrained in you it’s now second nature.
Oh god. What are you doing? Are you really doing this?
“Daisy everything’s gonna to be fine,” Warm hands clasp over your arms. He’s touching you, always touching you, breaking you down, making you weak. It’s like he knows where every hole in the fence is, and knows exactly how to slip through them.
It’s terrifying but a balm at the same time, that small, sweet feeling of relief like there might be another set of shoulders to carry the weight.
“Okay.” You croak, stumbling along as he lowers you into one of the chairs.
Dusted, so easily. Defeat hanging heavy around your neck.
“Let’s talk about Riley,” he says softly, his palm now curved across your knee, “Are you sure you don’t want to tell her?”
“I don’t want her to know I’m committing a crime.”
“You’re not committing a crime.” He emphasizes not, sharpens it to a point you don’t understand.
“It’s fraud. It’s literally insurance fraud. We could lose our licenses. I know it’s different in England-”
“I know what insurance fraud is.” He takes your hand, rubs his thumb over the backs of your knuckles. “If you’re that worried we’ll tell her we’re friends.” His accent seems stronger today, more raw, unbridled, like he’s been holding himself back this entire time. You like it. Too much.
Jesus Christ.
All at once, you realize how in over your head you are. You’ve made an arrangement with a man who has already ruined you, who’s already broken you and seems to want more. A man whose motives you don’t know, or understand, who knows you’re backed into a corner.
But Riley has to have insurance, and there’s no way around it.
Whatever this is, it’s doesn’t matter.
Only she does.
The tension in the room is too much, too alive, and you need to get out of here. “So should we… pick a date?” He pulls out his phone, and a moment later yours vibrates with a notification. It’s a calendar invite. For this Friday at the courthouse. Your head spins. “You already scheduled something?”
“Thought it’d be best.”
“That’s… that’s really soon.” You can feel the blood draining from your face.
“Sooner the better, yeah? That way we can get the paperwork done and everything ready.” It's so fast. It's too fast.
It’s all by design.
He’s watching you expectantly, and you manage a nod. “Yeah, right. Okay.”
“We’ll need a witness. Thought maybe Riley-”
“No.” You cut him off. “No, I don’t want to confuse her.” He pauses, quiet for a few seconds like he’s carefully considering what he’ll say next.
“She’s your family sweetheart. You don’t want her there? For your wedding?” Sweetheart. It has you sputtering. Panicked, and you rip your hand free from his grip.
“No.” You shoot to your feet. He’s not wrong, and you hate him for it. She is your family. You have Olivia, Ava, but Riley… Riley you’d lay down and die for, give anything for. Like this. She’s your whole world, and she won’t be there, can’t be there, just like her mother can’t, or your parents. And even though this is happening not for love but for convenience, you’re still going to say the words. I do. You’re still going to stand before someone and make a vow, no matter how temporary it is. It’s not like you’ll be doing it ever again, all things considered, dating doesn’t belong in your life, the chances of getting married for real reasons, for love, are incredibly slim if not impossible.
So this is it.
And you’ll be alone.
It’s fine. You’ll be fine. You’ve been through worse.
You can do this, for Riley. You can do it.
You can do it.
It's too much to put into words, this ache you're feeling, and the agony in your heart is overwhelming. All those silly, stupid things the two of you talked about all your lives, dresses and cakes and all of that nonsense, none of that exists. Your dad died before Tess got married, so you walked her down the aisle. You always thought she’d do the same for you.
It’s fine. You’ll do it alone.
You try to smile, try to pull some semblance of a shield around yourself to block out this pain that is so visceral it’s stealing your breath, ratcheting your heart rate so high you think you might explode. The room is tilting and you’re so unsteady it’s a marvel you haven’t fallen apart, collapsed right here in his office. “I guess I’ll meet you there. Three o’clock right?” He’s stood with you, continually inescapable, no matter how hard you try to close in on yourself, keep him out. Before you can duck around the chairs and beeline for the door, he’s touching you again, a gentle hand on your elbow, frown creasing his forehead.
“You’re shaking.” He extends your arm and palpates the artery just below your elbow, his frown changing, slipping into something more serious… and worried. Words are trying to get out of you. Thoughts, feelings, they’re all trying to escape, trying to rush out, all for him. He’s been making you weak, but it’s changing, it’s different, and that’s even worse.
"I always thought," a lump swells in the back of your throat, "I just always imagined..." you trail off, blinking frantically like somehow it will ward off the rising tide of emotion swelling beneath the surface.
“Tess would be there.” You look at the floor, unable to speak. All you can do is nod, and it’s stuttered, short and choppy like your breathing, your thoughts. You can’t even survive a day with this man without falling apart, and you hate him for it. You hate yourself for it. What happened to you? “I’m going to hold you, and you’re not going to fight.” You don’t even get a choice, on the next beat you’re in his arms, cheek to chest, and he’s rubbing your back. You’re pinned, in every way imaginable. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it hurts.” The rumble echoing beneath your ear ebbs and flows with each word, each breath. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from losing control, what shreds of it left already pulling at the leash, but it’s useless, and tears slip free, nose stinging against his scrubs. “I know baby, I know.” His words ghost across your skin.
Jesus. This fucking man. He’s in your fucking head. He’s under your skin. What is he doing to you? You ignore the way your blood heats when he calls you baby, how it makes you warm inside, warmer than you’ve felt in a long time. You shouldn’t like it. You shouldn’t like any of this.
He broke you, and there’s no one to blame but yourself.
“I don’t want you to worry anymore,” he’s still speaking, smoothing a palm over the back of your head, “you and Riley will have everything you need. Everything will be okay, I promise.” He forces your eyes to his with a hand on your cheek, and they’re so blue, so crystalline, you think you could drown in them, get lost in them.
Maybe you already have because for the first time in a very long time, someone is telling you everything will be okay, someone is promising it… and you believe him.
cw!! - nsfw. dubcon. gender neutral! reader, somnophilia, dry + thigh humping, wet dream (reader is the one dreaming), chest groping, extremely whiney phainon, yandere! phainon, horrendously needy phainon, almost first kiss interrupted, phainon gets caught being down bad by reader, phainon is a cheeky bastard at the end, reader doesn't know whether to be turned on or scared, pet names (he calls you dawnlight and sweetheart) not proof read!!
a/n - second attempt at writing smut WOOO ngl im not super proud of this but self aware! phainon nation gotta eat so here it is! sorry if the ending is abrupt i kinda got writers block in the middle oopies (ᵕ • ᴗ •) btw this is based off an ask where phainon is able to enter ur dreams thanks to sunday's powers !
✰ woof, we want it! [self aware! phainon au]
you were never the type to be awakened easily.
once your body hits the comfort of your bed, you were completely knocked out for few good hours. so imagine your surprise when you woke up to the sound of pitiful whimpering in your ear. held back groans and desperate whines combined flooded your hearing, causing your body to slowly regain control from slumber. but that wasn't all, the sensation of something-... no, someone's hand gripping onto your waist for dear life and the constant rocking at your thigh made you jolt, eyes now fully opened.
"mmph- fuuuuuck... so good hah-! ♡ you feel sooo good, dawnlight."
your breath hitches at that nickname. no... it can't be. he's not- he's not real. your eyes slowly inch down, a mop of messy white hair covers your neck. a wet hot tongue traces patterns all over your exposed collarbone, sloppily sucking at the sensitive skin while at it.
'P' his tongue draws out the letter. you bite your inner cheek, attempting to suppress any sound you might make. what is he doing?!
'H' he kisses at a hickey he just made, the bruise blooming into your skin. he pants at it with pride. one of the many he had left on you. you maintain your composure, heart ready to jump out of your chest. what are you doing?
'A' his free hand sneaks under your shirt, icy cold fingers running up and down your stomach. oh so slowly making its way to your chest. you shut your eyes, feigning sleep. why are you letting this continue?
'I' he cups your chest, squeezing it in the process. his thumb finds your nipples, fully hardened. you can feel his smirk on your neck before a sharp bite hits you hard. it took all your willpower to not scream out from pain or pleasure. you weren't sure.
'N' his hips hump your thigh with reckless abandon. his clothed cock just aching to rut against you, raw. but he doesn't. instead, his teeth sink lower into your skin, grip tightening with each passing second. the heat burning between your thighs is unbearable. you're as filthy as he is.
'O' he's close. you can hear his whines get sharper. his thrusts becoming sloppier, the sound vibrating through your entire body. he hasn't said a single word since earlier but now? oh, all hell has broken loose. he's crying into your neck. "ah-! daaawnlight..." he babbles, tears staining your collarbone and some falling onto your pillow. "i'm so cloose! so close for you... pleaseee hah- let me cum on these pretty thighhhs... i need it so bad-!"
"i'll be a good boy for you-! ♡"
oh. oh.
you don't know what switched inside you but before phainon could even draw out the last letter of his name, you yanked his head back. he moans at it. it was a delicious melody that sent a jolt straight to the heat pooling in your stomach. he swallows, mouth drying instantly. he looks like a puppy whose been caught having one too many treats. "s-sweetheart! nngh- m' sorry, i was too loud ahah- didn't mean to wake you..." you stare at him, getting a proper look since this whole situation started. he looked so... real. he had the same shiny blue eyes, now with tears pouring out of them. he had the same white locks, now scattered and a mess beyond repair. he had the same face, the same one that always brought a smile to yours.
the same character you had an unhealthy obsession with, was jerking his cock against your thighs in your sleep.
phainon's chest heaves. heavily. oh, titans. your gaze is so scrutinising. he feels unbelievably small under it. you're judging him. you're judging him for being such such a nasty fool. but, dawnlight-! he just couldn't resist, he tried his best to constrain himself. he swears! he was finally next to you. you. his everything. all he wanted was just one small innocent touch. which led to another. and another. eventually, leading to phainon humping his hips into you without care in a world.
you lean in closer to him, your grip transitioning into a more gentle hold. you're scanning every inch of himself, unsure if you'll ever get this chance again. he's here. in your bed. alive and breathing the same air you are inhaling. you look at his lips, the lower half bruised by how much he bit into them. he notices. he knows. you know. phainon's body is trembling. his shaky breath adding to your arousal. you inch closer. and closer. and closer-
you jolt upright, the buzzing of your alarm ringing throughout the room. you grip the bedsheets, still recovering from whatever you just dreamed about. god, you were so fucked up. the fact your underwear was soaked isn't helping your case at all. how were you even going to face phainon the next time you opened honkai: star rail after all that?!
…
phainon spent the past 30 minutes, staring at the ceiling above him. a hysterical grin never leaving his face. his fingers rubbed against his lips, giggling. you were going to kiss him. his beloved was about to grant him their very first kiss. he was so close to tasting you. oh... you saint. after all he’s done? he doesn’t deserve it, dawnlight. the tent in his pants was still excruciatingly painful. aching and begging for release. but that can wait. phainon reached out for his phone, fingers typing away.
don’t fret, dawnlight. he remembers every single detail. <3
⛧all hope is gone⛧ || eddie x f!reader || 18+ dead dove don’t eat
⛧tattoo artist! steve — ⛧rising rockstar! eddie — ⛧ f!reader= cherry
⛧post s4, this is a series of blurbs revolving around modern day times and flashbacks where eddie + steve survive vecna’s reign escaping hawkins to a new city to attend college leaving the past in the rearview… but repercussions always come back with a bite
⛧ sulfur ⛧ 6.8k
⛧ summary: possessive! eddie, sad boy! steve, reader gets work done by steve to surprise eddie with a tattoo of his name, it’s simple! harmless! to you… + smut, exhibitionism, mention of drugs and alcohol, demonic themes, soul selling etc
It was your idea to surprise your boyfriend with a tattoo. After months of him joking around about branding you as his in a more permanent way, you decided to do it.
A tattoo would last forever, it wouldn’t heal like teeth marks did or fade away like his hickeys would. His dick kicked up at the thought of his name scratched into your delicate skin. The same night he had mentioned it he had you face down in the sheets, burying himself deep within your walls until you were both out of breath. Panting, aching for and from one another.
The date was set, and you knew better than to go to anyone but Eddie’s best friend to get it done, and Steve would do it for free, as a favor.
He agreed to keep it secret because you had wanted to surprise Eddie, but as the appointment creeped up, you became more and more nervous about trying to keep your present for him under wraps.
The day of the appointment landed on a Friday, the same night Eddie’s band was set to play at The Bloody Dime, an up and coming bar that was known for fights breaking out and fancy drinks.
Per his demands, you weren’t allowed within ten feet of such a place, already having to find out the hard way when he beat the bricks off a guy who wouldn’t stop staring at you.
Pretty baby like you doesn’t belong there, do you understand?
Steve’s shop was downtown from your apartment, a cozy little space nestled into a black brick building—Inked Demo spelled out with neon blue lights.
The walls were covered with paintings of strange creatures you couldn’t imagine in your worst nightmares, deep reds and violent shades of purple. Steve kept various plants hung from the ceiling and more were potted in planters or tucked into ornate little terrariums.
Inked Demo smelled of deep rich cedar and hand rolled cigarettes. The brick walls added a modern touch but not too much to be considered a place for hipsters to hang out. No, this space was carefully crafted to his liking, and there wasn’t another like it.
The bell on the door dinged announcing your arrival and Steve stepped from behind the back wall. His hair was how it always was, slicked back in a dark wave, and he merely nodded to acknowledge your presence.
“Cherry,” he greeted, using the name Eddie had introduced you to his friends. He held your arms and planted a small kiss on your cheek. Out of all of Eddie’s friends, Steve knew you just as well as your own boyfriend did. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” you say cheerfully, “looks like you’re staying busy!”
A smile creeps across his lips as he lets your arms go and shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve been lucky this past year.”
Steve had always been soft spoken and humble, a quiet type that used his facial features to convey how he felt. Walking to a small desk, his tall frame slinks like a shadow as he clicks on a slim lamp and begins flipping through a binder full of current work and past tattoos.
He flipped to the page colored with two heart shaped cherries and the name Eddie written in pretty cursive in one of them.
You gasp and cover your mouth in awe. They were perfect. Steve was able to capture your ideas through your own horrible explanations and gave his own little twist to them. A modern mockup of American traditionalism with the speckles of glitter you had seen on Pinterest.
His eyes sparkle through the shadow from the light as he proudly holds up the drawing, “so… where we puttin’ this sucker?”
Originally you had thought to put it on your chest, but decided against it when Robin had told you how much her tattoo had hurt there. She swore it was even worse when she had Steve cover Barb’s name over with a moth just a few short months later.
Crossing a tiger print rug to the black tattoo chair, you sit down gently with your ankles crossed, “umm, would it be weird to put it on my thigh?” you asked meekly, “high up so it’s a little more private?”
Raising your skirt, you show Steve the placement. A slivered peek of scarlet lace panties were visible beneath the hiked up fabric in your fingers, and he nearly bites a hole in his cheek to not look.
“You could put it there,” he ponders, moving a large veiny hand through the slick of his hair. “I’ve done a few names on the neck, initials on ring fingers.” He laughs and raises his eyebrows, “… I uh… even did one on an ass cheek.”
Eddie would go berserk seeing his name anywhere on your body, but you had to admit, there was something a little bit sexy about his name being tattooed only somewhere he could see.
“That’s where I want it, oh my god! He’ll go crazy! Will it hurt?”
His eyes open wide but he shakes the shock from his face into a professional expression as he grabs supplies to sanitize his work area. He could do this. You’re a client, just a client.
Clearing his throat, he chides, “haven’t had anyone cry yet, so I’m gonna go ahead and say no.”
Steve’s reputation for his artwork spread far and wide, he was booked solid for months on end, self taught, making tons of money for a college drop out. Despite what his dad had said.
He had done all of Eddie’s tattoos including the enormous stretch of bat wings that spread across his shoulders and down the expanse of his back. Sharp talons protruding onto the beginning of his hips, curved around to his wrists. Steve had freehanded most of it, as if it were from a memory.
Biting your lip contemplating the placement, you think of Eddie and the swelling size of his cock as it split you open once he laid eyes on his name branded into your skin.
“Okay,” you smile, “let’s do it.”
Steve half smirked and rubbed his jaw, “cool, lay on your stomach for me.”
Flipping onto your front you lay with your hands under your chin, looking up at him through your lashes, “like this?”
Steve sits on the stool facing away from you, straightening his table and tattoo gun, looking over his shoulder meeting your eye, “yeah… that’s perfect, Cherry.”
You watch in amusement as he sterilizes his work station and sets up the ink, “Eddie playin’ at the Dime tonight?”
“Yep,” you sigh, thinking of all the time you’d spent alone while he was gone, “last show of their local tour, then finally we can go back to normal.”
A scoff rumbles from Steve’s throat as he wraps his gun, “what’s even considered normal? Everything is pretty shitty around here.”
Propping up on an elbow you set to argue with him, “going to class is normal, hanging out with our friends, partying, sleeping in the same bed instead of him crashing in the back of someone’s van for the night… this tour has been hard on him. Hard on us.” you sigh a little, picking at your thumbs.
Steve looks over and sees the sadness in your face, grabbing the pink disposable razor.
“He texted yesterday to say he was leaving Corroded behind and starting up somethin’ with a few guys from here. He seemed pretty excited about signing that deal with Dark Records. Can’t say I blame him, anything to do with home is hard to deal with.”
Eddie never talked about Hawkins. The only thing you knew about it was that he and Steve got the hell out of there the year he graduated, never looking back, never visiting.
“That’s the plan for now at least… honestly, I wish he would take a break for a while, relax a little, but you know him. He’s really driven to be the best he can be.”
Steve knew all too well. Spending nights awake staring out of his large loft windows, missing the way things used to be, regretting everything that happened in Hawkins.
“Eddie’s…passionate…about the things he cares about, he’s always been that way.”
That part was always true, Eddie carried his feelings on his sleeve, never afraid to show his emotions, or make sacrifices for people he loved. Steve himself was a living breathing reminder of that.
“…alright Cherry,” his voice dripped with smoothness as he got closer to you, “everything’s ready…I’ll need to lift your skirt so I can prep the skin, you cool with that?”
You reply with a yes, and feel the goosebumps prick at your skin as the cool air hits your exposed cheek. The rubber of Steve’s glove drags across your skin as he rubs in the sanitation spray, “‘m gonna shave you now.”
This being your first tattoo you didn’t know what to expect, heat flooding your cheeks immediately, “oh my God is it hairy?”
Steve chuckles low, a fan of his breath blowing warm against your skin, “not at all honey, it’s just standard procedure for any tattoo.”
He was delicate as he ran the blade across you in small motions away from him. One rubber gloved hand held your skin taut, the other on the razor. Your ass bounced back to him after the last drag of the razor leaves your skin, and you swore you heard him suck in a breath.
Steve had always been handsome, ever since the first time you met during that freshman year mixer in the backyard of some random frat house that he was rushing for.
He was different then, preppy clothes and expensive shoes, surviving during the week just to live for the weekends. A flask with his name claim permanently pressed to his palm. King Steve.
But somewhere between the stress of college and Spring break back in Hawkins, he changed. He dropped out of college completely and dove into his natural talent. Making a name for himself, carving his own path.
That was why you had fallen for him to begin with.
Your heart thumped loudly at the thought of the past, and you cleared your throat to try and change the subject.
“E-Eddie said you have a date this weekend, are you excited?”
Steve wipes your skin with a paper towel and spreads a thick ointment to lay the stencil. A small huff of annoyance escaping his pressed lips,“I wish he’d stop trying to set me up.”
His thumbs sweep across the stencil laying it firmly in place, “oh c’mon Steven…Lydia’s cute, she’s in one of my elective art classes, she reminds me of you.”
Steven. Nobody ever called him by his full name.
“Of me?”
Looking over your shoulder you meet his deep mossy eyes, “in a weird way I guess, yeah.”
He looks back into your eyes, watching as you slowly blinked and drifted your gaze downward to where his large hands were still splayed across your ass.
The dusting of hair on his arms tickled your skin when he pulled back gently, pinching a corner of the transfer paper and peeling it from you. He purses his lips and blows on the stencil lightly.
Steve often thought back to the way things were three years ago. The way your eyes gleamed under the string patio lights, the scent of your vanilla perfume and how it seemed to bake deeper with the sun's rays on your skin.
He remembered how your lips tasted like melted ice cream against his, and how deeply he craved to be floating in the candy confectionery of sugar and sprinkles with you in the center of it, center of his world.
Steve shakes his head, trying to erase that time in his life but always coming up short. “This won’t hurt too bad, I’ll stop whenever you need, okay? It’s best if you lay down.”
Your chest tightens with nerves as you nod your head, pressing your cheek into the vinyl of the black headrest.
The gun starts and Steve tells you he’s going to do the outline of the cherries first. The needle vibrates into your skin and you wince at the first few lines made but eventually getting used to the way your skin buzzed and the tickling pain that came from it.
You whimpered out in a few spots and Steve’s velvet voice shushed you gently, telling you the worst was almost over.
“Outlining is finished,” Steve murmurs, rubbing ink from your skin, “you’re doing really good, honey.”
Your mind slips to him saying those same words but years early in an entirely different setting.
A miniature golf course with clubs that were too short and a go-kart track. He had said it when you finally sunk your ball after par ten thousand on hole eleven.
Sarcasm spread across his face and you wiggled your tongue at him and threw a middle finger his way. Only for him to chase you around the tiny windmills and fake grassy hills, catching up and tickling you under your arms until you were near to tears.
You thought he would have kissed you that night, but to your surprise, and dismay, he had waited for the third official date.
“Thank you,” you smile weakly.
He returns the smile and looks away, clearing his throat, “the shading will be a cake walk, we’ll be done here before you know it…might even catch the end of Eddie’s show.”
“Really?” you say with a spring of hope in your voice. He couldn’t dismiss how his friend's name made his mouth taste like poison, but how it made you weak in the knees. “That would be great, Steve.”
“Sure thing princess,” he nearly whispered, “lay back now, I’ll be done soon.”
Steve tried to blank it all out as his tattoo gun spelled Eddie in a cursive calligraphy he knew was yours. Letter by letter he swallowed down the feelings he had been harboring from you, from him— from everyone.
He wished he had never taken you to that concert. He loathed himself for the way Eddie slithered between the two of you, how Eddie could have had any girl at that after party but he chose you simply because you were with him.
Steve tried to deny him of it, tried to steer him toward another girl, a girl who wasn’t you. One he hadn’t been in love with, one who didn’t appear in his dreams despite the nightmares clouding in. But one low growl and a flash of those sharp fangs and Steve knew he didn’t stand a chance.
Letter by letter he branded his friend’s name into your skin, giving the girl he loved a silent goodbye with every curve and final dot of the ‘i’.
“All done,” he said with a shaky throat, cleaning you up, “wanna see it?”
You nod and reach for his outstretched hand, swinging your legs and standing to follow him to the mirror. It was perfect. Equal parts colorful yet traditional with a spark of modern flare added to it.
“Steve,” you gasp, mouth hung open in adoration, “it’s beautiful!”
He rubs his neck and watches your reflection in the mirror, the way your mouth ticks up on the ends into the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.
His heart was aching knowing it wasn’t for him.
The Bloody Dime had a line that stretched two blocks down. Steve had insisted on bringing you to the bar, knowing the likes of the people who attended Corroded Coffin’s concerts he wasn’t too keen on letting you go alone.
You didn’t mind the company, tagging along behind Steve’s tall frame, his boots almost silent on the cracked pavement. It was rare to be with someone other than Eddie, even if it was just a casual walk to the bar he was playing at. But it was Steve, his right hand, they were thicker than blood or whatever it was Eddie sometimes said.
The sky was dark and gray, dark thunderheads circling around the bar like an omen, and you shivered as the big red doors came into view.
Steve flicked his cigarette across the sidewalk, the lit end skittering like a firecracker into the dark night as it came to a stop, little plumes of smoke wafting from it.
“Johnny boy,” Steve purred to the bouncer, his clean shaven head gleaming in the dank light like a polished cue ball. “Pretty busy in there tonight?”
“Buncha rowdy fuckers,” the burly bouncer said in an annoyed tone, “full moon y’know? Makes the crazies come out— you stayin’?”
Steve rubs the back of his neck. “For a bit, I’m making sure Cherry got in here safe to see Eddie play.”
Johnny leans forward looking down at you with empty eyes, “you know I can’t do that, boss would have me skinned alive if he knew you were here.”
“It’s just this one time,” you bat your eyelashes in sugary sweet protest, “b’sides, it’s their last show!”
Steve tries to vouch for you, “it’s alright, I’ll watch over her, and I’ll deal with him if he gets…” he gave Johnny a knowing look, “listen, nobody’s losin’ their job tonight big guy.”
“If. Whatever man, I didn’t see a thing. In fact, you two snuck in.”
He leaves the doors unattended muttering to himself about needing to find another gig as Steve moves the velvet rope and you slip inside.
The Bloody Dime was not at all what you had imagined it to be. Girls dressed as fallen angels swung from the ceiling in iron cages. Every wall was covered in a deep shade of velvety red upholstery, the stage was raised and at the rear of the building, a backlit full bar to the left and on the right sat a lounge with shiny leather couches was guarded by two bouncers that made Johnny look like a twig.
Sweat, smoke and sex perfumed the air and Steve pinched his eyes and pulled out a pair of sunglasses as he followed you further into the club. A pill bottle shook behind you and you noticed him cocking his head back and swallowing.
“Addy?”
Steve shook his head and smirked, “Tylenol, this place gives me a migraine.”
“A migraine?” you teased, leaning in closer so he could hear you, “turning into an old man on me, Steven?”
Lucky for Steve, the atmosphere was dark and cloudy with smoke the lighting always purple and deep crimson, otherwise you would have seen him blush at the way you pressed a hand delicately to his chest, and would have heard his breath hitch at the scent of your shampoo as your hair brushed the tip of his nose.
No, you didn’t see any of that.
Instead Steve rolled his eyes and pushed his tongue into his cheek, “c’mon Cherry, there’s a table over there.”
He led you to a high top table towards the bar and near the stage. Steve pulled out your stool making sure you were comfortable before sliding onto his own, his back to the stage, eyes on the front door.
Eddie hadn’t seen you yet, he was currently thrashing his guitar to a solo, leaning his body parallel with the floor that broke every law of physics. His guitar was balanced on his torso as his fingers frantically moved the strings in a dizzying motion. You could just barely make out how his long hair was wet, skimming the top of the stage.
You watched in a hypnotic gaze at him perform, completely enthralled by him and the way he looked like he truly belonged up there. The other members tried to keep up with him but it was without a single ounce of a doubt that Eddie outshined them all.
The way he moved drew you in, like a moth to a flame you were practically in a trance and you could hardly look away. Eddie held the entire crowd's attention as if it was demanded, willing or unwilling.
“Wow,” you mustered in a half whisper half hum, “they’re incredible.” You had seen them perform before at other venues across the state but never here. It was almost like entering another dimension.
Steve flicks his lighter and inhales one of his rolled cigarettes, “yeah they’re something alright, Dark Records didn’t sign him as a pity bargain.”
The guitar riff ends and Eddie’s at the mic, belting out the lyrics to end the song with a long chord. His neck strained with every muscle and veins protruding deliciously, and you couldn’t look away.
Steve's eyes scanned the bar. He knew that towards the end of their set the crowd would get unruly. The last thing he wanted was for you to get hurt during some drunken brawl.
“Might be best to meet him in his dressing room, they usually flock to the stage when the band is done.”
Although you didn’t love the thought of other women going feral over him, you noticed the seriousness in Steve’s voice and decided to go.
“Lead the way.”
Steve weaves you between sweaty shoulders and a pair of girls snorting coke from each other's cleavage. The back hallway is crowded by another bodyguard and he nods in recognition to him.
“Cherry’s gonna wait for the show to get over in here.” Steve says.
The giant man looked down at the two of you between his small lenses and the fat bush of his eyebrows, “Y’ sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’ll handle it.” Steve replies simply.
“Your funeral.”
Eddie’s dressing room was just how you imagined. The walls were flanked in dark paint and ruby reds. The lighting was kept low, glowing ominously off of the leather furniture. The corner held a rack of clothing ranging from leather jackets to long animal print robes. A true rockstar in the making.
“They’re usually pretty amped up after, so just keep that in mind, okay?” Steve says from behind you, cracking his neck.
You roll your eyes in dismissal, “I’ve been with Eddie after a show before, I know he’ll be a little drunk, it’s no biggie.”
“It’s different here Cherry. He—” Steve didn’t know how to tell you that Eddie wouldn’t be his regular self, that the atmosphere of The Bloody Dime was something else entirely, that Eddie had kept you away from here so you could remain naive to this part of his life.
So… Steve didn’t say anything, he let it go. He could just only hope the repercussions of bringing you here tonight wouldn’t hurt you in return.
You cocked an eyebrow at Steve, was he trying to warn you? The thought fell away and was soon overtaken with excitement at the sound of voices booming down the hall. Rushing to the full length mirror, you twist slightly to get another look at Eddie’s name, “do you think he’ll like it?”
Steve smiled. Swallowing down the lump of bile in his throat, “he’s gonna love it.”
The door opens with a crack and it’s Eddie dripping sweat with a bottle of liquor in one hand, the rest of Corroded Coffin behind him.
“Baby!” you cheer, arms open wide and running into his chest, “you looked so good up there Eddie! I can’t believe it!”
Eddie hasn’t said a word. In fact his eyes are twitching at the corner, his breath increasing with each boiled temperature of his angry hot blood.
With your arms wrapped around his neck you lean back to get a good look at his face. “Are you surprised to see me? I know you didn't want me here but I have somethi—”
“You‘re right Cherry,” Eddie seethes, still not looking at you, his stare hellbent on burning holes into Steve’s eyes. “I don’t want you around here.”
His band looks around awkwardly, deciding to take the party and groupies elsewhere.
“But, it was your last show, and I wanted… well I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well congrats. I’m surprised,” he sneered, “surprised that you didn’t listen to the one thing I have told you not to do.”
“It was my idea,” Steve interjects, “let her show you what—”
“Steve,” Eddie hollered, “don’t open your fuckin mouth again. I’ll deal with you later.”
You were dumbfounded, why was he so upset?
“Don’t act like that, what’s the problem? I’m not hurt, this place is actually super nice. Why don’t you ever want me here?”
Eddie’s eyes darken and he lowers his gaze to you. Setting the liquor bottle down on the nearest table, he holds onto your upper arms. With the deepest breath he can manage through his nose he rolls his shoulders.
“I’ve told you—Forget it, It’s fine! Show me what couldn’t wait until we got home.”
You smile up at him and give him a quick kiss on his lips. “Remember how we talked about how hot it would be if I had your name on me?”
Eddie looks from you to Steve and the twitch is back in his eye again, “yeah,” he snipped.
“Well,” you whisper seductively, turning around and hiking up your skirt, “what do you think?”
Eddie’s fingers trace the raised tattooed skin on your ass cheek. It’s so silent in the dressing room, the only thing you can hear is the commotion going on outside. Eddie shuts the door.
“Do you like it?”
“You did this?” he asks Steve. When he nods in confirmation, Eddie’s hand grips tight on your ass before quickly smacking it right below the raw cherried skin.
He lowers your skirt delicately and spins you around. The first time since you’ve arrived he looks into your eyes, little traces of veins color underneath his eyes but quickly disappear.
“Sweet, sweet Cherry,” he purrs between a clenched jaw, “come sit with me.”
Steve has been standing by idle since being addressed. He didn’t know how Eddie would take to him being the one to tattoo you in such a delicate spot but he figured it would be better that it was him than anyone else. Now he’s second guessing this entire thing.
Once you and Eddie are sitting together on the leather sofa, he motions for Steve to sit in the chair across from him. He reaches into the mini fridge under the coffee table and pulls out three beers, opening them all before handing them out nonchalantly.
“Let’s do a toast shall we?” Eddie raises his beer with his left hand while you’re tucked into him tight by his right.
“To friends…”
“To friends…” you and Steve repeat awkwardly. This was anything but friendly.
“To friends who are more like family…” Again, Steve and you say it back.
“To friends who would touch and mark up my girl without even fucking asking me.”
The room grows silent again and Eddie loudly clanks his beer with yours and Steve’s causing the neck of his bottle to break.
You watch in stunned horror as he brings the bottle to his lips, the jagged edges cutting him deeply, but he doesn’t flinch. He keeps drinking as blood is dripping from his mouth and when you try to clean it up, he jerks his face away. When he’s finished he throws the bottle against the wall, splintering the drywall.
Steve shakes his head, knowing deep down that Eddie would never let this go.
“Steve, Steve, Steve…” Eddie chides, wiping a mixture of cold beer and blood from his mouth. “You and Cherry would have made quite the pair. You don’t learn, and she doesn't listen.”
“Eddie…”
“Not only did the two of you keep this from me, but you brought her here! To show her off like a fuckin’ pony while I’m—” the muscles in his neck and his arms tense into tight rubber bands, his eyes flicker to a hungry red, but he shakes it off with a roll of his neck, “—I’m busy, Steve! You know that!”
“It wasn’t like that!” you squeak in defense for Steve, and that tiny little defiance alone nearly sent Eddie over the edge. But surprisingly, he kept it together.
“C’mere,” he commands, pulling you onto his lap so you’re facing him, unable to see Steve. Out of sight, out of mind.
Eddie hated that you and Steve had nearly dated. He loathed that Steve had an entire year to know you, to make you laugh. When Steve came home for Winter break he wouldn’t stop talking about the girl from the frat party. Eddie was happy for him, truly. He knew after Nancy that he was never the same, and you seemed good for him. But that was before.
Now, after, when Steve and Eddie fled Hawkins and moved to where Steve had been attending college before he dropped out, all bets were off. That fall concert was all it took for Eddie to swoop in and steal you away, swaying everything you had once thought about Steve in your pretty brain and chipping away at it to make room for him, and only him.
“Eddie, please! It was my idea! I wanted to surprise you and… and I didn’t think you’d be so—”
“So? So, what?” he sneers,“so pissed that you let him touch you, let him mark you up? Did you expect me to thank him?!”
“C’mon man,” Steve tries, setting his beer down and talking calmly, “would you have wanted Spencer to do it? Or that twat Tommy? Because they’re the only other guys in town who kind of know what they’re doing. Infections and all.”
Eddie ignores him completely, he’s focusing solely on you, wanting answers from you. Him and Steve can settle this tonight. His large veiny hands are on your hips and he’s holding you in place firmly, demanding the truth from your eyes.
You’re practically in tears as you sit on his lap and yelp out a hiccuping rant.
“I thought you’d like it! We talked about it for months and you were so fucking into it. Now your tour is finally over and we should be relaxing and living our life together, and this is what you wanna do? Please Eddie, don’t be upset with me or Steve! He did nothing wrong, only what I asked him to do for you! Because I love you.”
You’re crying now. Frustrated and a little embarrassed of Eddie’s temper. Blood is still dripping from the deep cuts on his mouth, and you can’t help but cry more at the sight of it.
With unbridled tenderness, Eddie reaches to your face and you crane your cheek for his hand to cradle, a sensual little gesture. He wipes away a single tear from your cheek, bringing it to his lips and collecting the salty drop with his tongue.
His face turned to stone, an icy expression planted on as he murmured, “prove it.”
“What?”
He doesn’t blink, doesn’t stumble over his words. A simple cock of his head. “Right here. Right now. Show me, no! Show him that you’re mine.”
Steve shifts in his chair and stands up, heading towards the door, “I’m gonna—”
“Ah ah ah,” Eddie tuts, “you’re not going anywhere.”
Your heart is beating so fast you can't believe your ears. Is he serious? There’s no way.
“Eddie… c’mon.”
“Sit the fuck down Steve!”
Dark red eyes burn into him and Steve sits down obediently, knowing that if he refused it would only get worse.
You don’t dare look to him for any sort of objection, or a cry for help. If Eddie wanted to play this game, you’d play. Lowering yourself to the cold floor, you keep your eyes on him, carefully pulling at the zipper on his leather pants. You loved him and you knew he loved you.
This wasn’t your first time doing something intimate with Eddie publicly. In fact the balcony of your apartment had seen more than its fair share of your naked form bouncing against the railing as Eddie pounded into you. As did most of the class rooms on campus. Although you both liked to keep things spicy, this was a first of having someone watch.
His cock wasn’t leaking, it was barely hard when you pulled it from its tight confinements. Once your hand wrapped around his impressive girth and you pumped the velvety skin and tongued at his sack, he was rock solid.
You dribbled saliva and slurped around his head. Sucking him in and hollowing your cheeks, you release him with an audible ‘pop’. Your hand worked his shaft slow and steady in tandem with your lip gloss pout, your eyes never leaving his. When you took him whole in your mouth as much as you could, he groaned and cursed under his breath.
He was sitting heavy in your throat when you heard him murmur something but you couldn’t quite make it out. Popping off of his cock you replaced your hands where your mouth had been and slid them up and down with soft pressure and all the extra spit your throat held as you caught your breath.
“C’mere,” he demanded, using a crooked finger under your chin to bring you up to him. He pulled you onto his lap and you straddled his hips, trying not to picture the look on Steve’s face.
He kisses you hard, biting your swollen lips and licking his own blood from your mouth. “Rotten Cherry is my favorite Cherry,” Eddie preened, looking at your with dark hooded eyes, “but I’m gonna fuck you til you’re sweet again.”
Eddie ripped your panties to the side and slid himself into you, and per usual, you sheathed all of him until you were perfectly sat and you felt as if you were impaled.
Your delicate moans quickly became loud screams as Eddie worked your hips and pounded into you. With a grip on the rear of your skirt he drove up into your pussy at a brutal, delicious pace.
“Tell me,” he panted, “tell me whose girl you are.”
You’re whining and using his shoulders for leverage, but when you don’t answer Eddie slaps your ass.
“Yours Eddie, fuck!”
His eyes glistened, and he licked his lips ferociously, lining his mouth and teeth with his own blood.
“Did you hear that, Steve? Say it again for him, louder.”
“I’m yours!” you whine, as his hips piston into yours harder, “yours, Eddie!”
Eddie laughs wickedly, almost maniacal. He rubs his jaw with one hand and holds onto the back of your neck with the other, “you about to cum?” he taunts, “who’s making you feel good?”
“Only you,” you’re so close to cumming, it feels as if you’re on fire. His cock stretching you wide, a familiar ache that you never got enough of, “you make…oh shiiit, Eddie!”
“Fuck, that’s right, that’s my good girl,” he’s groaning and nearly there too, his hands gripped in your hair taking full control over your body, positioning it to his liking.
“T-take out your phone Harrington, I want you to get a picture of this, as a reminder. Because this is what you wanted right? Why you touched my girl. Why you marked her? For me, right?”
Eddie’s canines seemed to twinkle in the light as he flashed a murderous grin to his friend. Steve wished he was dead, wished Eddie never made that bargain for his life all those years ago. Death would be easier, better than this fucking hell he was trapped in.
Vecna could have him, he’d gladly sacrifice himself to save Eddie’s soul. To not see his best friend's humanity slowly slip away more and more with each offering he provided to that ugly, vine-infested Ursula wannabe. He'd sacrifice it all to save you.
Moving his thumb he unlocked his phone, opened the camera app and took the photo Eddie had demanded.
You came as the flash went off, and he sang your praises and was soon behind you, filling you full and holding you as you collapsed into him.
Steve pocketed his phone, turning away to light a cigarette with a shaky hand, his head hung in shame.
When you had regained a bit of strength, Eddie cleaned you up in the en-suite bathroom and called an Uber to bring you home. Kissing your knuckles first he brought you into his arms, whispering in your ear how he loved you. That you were his. He promised he’d be home soon, to wait and he’d join you in the bath.
Steve and Eddie watched as your Uber came and went,
waving their goodbyes. And once the tail lights were out of view, Eddie’s eyes fully blackened as he stared at Steve.
He took a deep breath before snarling, “you will never touch her again, understood? I don’t care if you thought once upon a time she was yours, those days are gone and she belongs to me.”
“She’s not property, you can’t claim h—”
Steve’s back breaks into the brick wall behind them, Eddie’s fist gripping his shirt.
“She. Is. Mine.” he snarled, his voice now warped like a ruined CD. This form he took on when he was pissed was much taller than he was a minute before, larger than any man.
His eyes were as red as the blood moon, a fiery glow behind them, a true glimpse into hell itself. Sharp teeth glowing like the stars, the wings he’d developed were darker and bigger with each offering, leathery skin wrapped taught around each bony juncture, spanning wider than a sedan.
To any naked human eye he was hideous, truly terrifying and worse than any creature Hollywood could develop.
But Steve was unphased, almost immune to this behavior, the short fuse temper that had the club’s bodyguards scared for their lives, some of them even turning into a meal when Eddie’s wrath couldn’t be contained.
“My friend,” he snapped next to Steve’s neck, “it seems to me you forget that you’re living on borrowed time.”
“I didn’t want this,” Steve said calmly, “you should have let me die like the others.”
“Oh stop being so dramatic Stevie,” Eddie preached in annoyance, “remember when you used to be fun? Now you’re constantly wallowing in self pity, holing yourself up like a hermit in that shop.”
Eddie lets Steve go and fixes his shirt for him, a wolfish smile to his now shrinking sharp teeth. “It would serve you well to remember the sacrifices made that night, and the benefits we both received because of it.”
Steve shoves a hand through his hair and pushes himself off the wall. Eddie returns to his human self, cracking his bones back into the appropriate lengths. Pushing the protruding horns back into his forehead, the cuts on his mouth from earlier now healed, no trace whatsoever of the deep punctures.
“Next time I catch your hand in Cherry’s sugar bowl, I won’t be so nice.” He turns on his heel, walking a few paces before calling over his shoulder. “Oh, and do send me that picture. You can keep it if you want, maybe it’ll give you some inspiration for your date with Lydia. Plus, I’m sure you’d like a little keepsake.”
With that Eddie winked and disappeared like a shadow, leaving Steve on the curb, alone with his thoughts and the trauma the night had brought.
He sent the picture once he got back to his loft above the tattoo parlor. His usual ashtray by the window already filled from the way he was chain smoking to try and take the edge off, keeping to his current form.
Deleting the picture as soon as the ‘delivered’ message arrived below the text, Steve wished he could at least shed a single tear. But as much as he tried, he knew he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to since Spring break, years ago, when he was still considered alive.
His phone dings and it’s a text from Eddie.
ed: thinkin this will make a great album cover, what do ya think? 😈
Unlocking his phone, Steve replies with a thumbs up and sends his phone soaring across the room, shattering it against the concrete floor. Fuck he wished he could save you from this. Save that beautiful girl with a sweet soul, who smelled like cake and frosting.
The true love of Steve’s life, but instead he’s punished by being a witness to your downward spiral. Completely unaware and oblivious that you were in love with a creature of the night, his name now branded into your skin.
tag list: @debkk16 @eiightysixbaby @mugloversonly @writhingg @thecreelhouse
Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event Somewhere Over the Rainbow (Happy Pride, everyone!) | Prompt: Yellow | Song: [redacted spoiler - revealed at the end] | Word Count: ~950 | Rating: T | Characters: Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson, Gareth Emerson, Jeff, Doug, Fluffy | CW: Crack fic (almost literally), slightly lewd language, pure unadulterated nonsense | Tags: Corroded Coffin, on tour, Eddie has a crisis | Summary: Eddie’s no slouch when it comes to dressing up on stage, but this time even he thinks he may have taken things too far…
It’s the first night of Corroded Coffin’s new tour, and, true to form, Eddie’s having some kind of crisis. Tonight, it’s about his outfit.
“Look, I know the low slung red rubber trousers went a bit far. And that studded harness was a health and safety nightmare…”
Gareth scoffs, grinning,
“You’re telling me, when I tried to hug you after the gig you almost pierced a lung!”
Eddie winces. He really should’ve considered the practicalities of that one a little more. He adjusts a strap and continues his machinations.
“And that Lurex jumpsuit was great, but I kept getting the flares caught in the cabling… I almost fell off the stage way too many times, and I thought I was gonna strangle and die at one point.”
He looks sideways at himself in the dresser.
“But, this new thing… Are you sure it’s not… too much?”
Eddie turns so he’s fully facing the mirror. Tonight, he’s in a mesh bodysuit, the wide neckline allowing him to pull it down around his shoulders, and his favourite high black leather boots. He’s strapped his torso into a new harness, one with somewhat smaller and less… aggressive studs. The steel through his nipples glitters under the lights, and his dark tattoos are brought into perfect relief against his pale skin, peeping through the gaps in the harness and the netting. He knows he looks good, and ordinarily he’d just add some PVC hotpants and maybe a leather codpiece and be good to go. But tonight, overtop, there’s a special new addition that even he’s nervous about showing off.
Jeff assuages his fears, knowing a confident Eddie is a rockstar god Eddie.
“Nah, man. You can totally carry it off.”
Gareth agrees.
“Yeah, do it!”
Doug adds, spreading his arms wide for emphasis,
“Fuck it, man. YOLO, right?”
Eddie remains unconvinced.
“I dunno… It’s pretty revealing. And it’s also a little… snug. In certain… areas. Especially when I’m holding Sweetheart...”
It’s late. They’re due on stage any minute. They all know that if Eddie has to figure out a whole new look they’re gonna fuck up the schedule… So, Jeff seals the deal.
“Okay, how about this. If you wear it for tonight’s gig, I’ll donate my cut to that dog charity that helped us so much with Fluffy when we toured the UK, and I’ll wear one of their pins for the whole tour. Their awareness colour is yellow, right?”
On hearing her name Fluffy, the fully baptised fifth member of Corroded Coffin, stirs. She looks up, intrigued, as her tongue flops out the side of her wide Staffie grin and her tail thumps heavily a couple of times against her comfy, monogrammed bed. After concluding the anticipated treats aren’t on the immediate horizon, she snuggles back down, her yellow bandana shifting around her thick neck - still her signature style even if she doesn’t need it nearly as much as she used to.
There’s a low clamour in the room as everyone else concurs, searching their bags for the souvenir enamels that they all purchased last year. Eddie still doesn’t seem entirely comfortable, but with an offer like this on the table, for his favourite girl? He can’t help but agree…
🎶🎵 Bop bop bop bop, ba-dop-pop-pop-pop-pop 🎵🎶
He was afraid to come out of the green room
He was as nervous as he could be
He didn’t want to come out of the green room
He was too scared that somebody would see
🎶 Two, three, four, tell the people what he wore 🎶
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
That he wore for the first time tonight
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
So, in the green room, he trembled with fright
🎶 Two, three, four, stick around we'll tell you more 🎶
He didn’t want to come out in the open
And so behind Gareth’s drumkit he sat
He was too scared to come out in the open
And so he squatted behind the high hat
🎶Two, three, four, tell the people what he wore 🎶
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
That he wore for the first time tonight
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
So, by the drumkit, he stayed out of sight
🎶 Two, three, four, stick around we'll tell you more 🎶
Now he’s afraid to remove his guita-ar
And they wonder what he’s gonna do
He doesn’t want to take off his guita-ar
Though his poor little balls have turned blue
🎶 Two, three, four, tell the people what he wore 🎶
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
That he wore for the first time tonight
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini…
Then he said, “Fuck it!” and strutted all night!
[SOCIAL MEDIA INTERLUDE]
Corroded Coffin’s frontman Eddie Munson WOWS crowds with daring new look!
Mankini sales soar as rockstar Munson brings back the iconic garment
Pantone announces Mankini Yellow as next year’s colour of the year
UK changes Union flag to Yellow, White and Blue
Vogue ditches supermodel cover to feature scantily yellow-clad metal band
Coldplay frontman Chris Martin reveals that Yellow was actually about Eddie’s banana hammock all along
Fluffy launches designer pet wear range - yellow bandanas a top seller!
Donations to charities for nervous dogs reach an all time high - one says they can keep going for a decade on recent contributions alone
🎶 From the green room to the drumkit
From his guitar to the stage
Eddie Munson’s a new icon
His mankini’s all the rage! 🎶
🎶🎵 Bop pop pop 🎵🎶
[Song used: Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini by Brian Hyland]
Thanks so much for reading! 😃
A/N: Yellow Dog UK is a real charity that promotes awareness and understanding of “yellow dogs”, who may be nervous, in training, recovering from an injury or illness, being rehabilitated or simply prefer to keep their distance from people and other dogs. Yellow ribbons, leads, harnesses or bandanas can indicate that a dog may be anxious or in need of space. It signals to others to be gentle, give room, and avoid sudden or intrusive approaches.
A/N2: This might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written and I AM NOT SORRY
Pairing: Yandere Siren x Reader
Description: Years after you saved him, Zeiryn returns to drag you beneath the waves—where his love waits, fierce and inescapable.
Warning/s: Yandere | Noncon/Dubcon Themes | Kidnapping | Possessive Behavior | Captivity | Obsession | Emotional Manipulation | Mild Violence | Body Morphing/Transformation
Note/s: Commissioned on ko-fi! Thabk you for trusting me with your commission! Idk if you've received the email. I hope you enjoy this one! Tags will be added later!
Commissions are still open!
Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar
The first time you met him, the sun was so high it burned your shoulders through your shirt. Your sandals had long been discarded, the soles of your feet pressed against coarse, grainy sand, warmed by the afternoon heat. Vacation meant freedom, and for you—a curious child with scraped knees and untamed hair—that meant wandering far beyond the adults’ lazy eyes and picnic baskets.
You weren’t supposed to be near the cliffs. The locals had told stories, murmured warnings of tides that dragged unsuspecting feet into the undertow. But you were eight, and warnings slid off your ears like water. You’d chased a crab across slick rocks, nearly slipping once—okay, twice—before rounding a jagged stone formation and stopping short.
A glint of silver caught your eye. At first, you thought it was trash—a bit of foil or an abandoned soda can. Then it moved. Just slightly. Enough to catch the sun and reflect a brilliance so blinding it made your eyes water. You stepped closer, heart thudding, and gasped.
He was tangled in a net.
You didn’t know what he was—some strange fish, perhaps? But then he turned his face to you, and your world cracked open.
He had eyes like the sea after a storm—grey, but not dull. There was depth there. Sorrow. His skin, though damp and streaked with grit, shimmered faintly under the sun. Hair, long and tangled with bits of kelp and shell, framed a face that was almost too lovely for this world. And below the waist…
A tail. Silver-scaled, powerful, twitching weakly with every shallow breath he took.
You froze.
He didn’t speak. He just stared. His lips slightly parted. You noticed the way he held himself, cautious and ready to defend. His hand—webbed and claw-tipped—twitched when you shifted your weight.
“I won’t hurt you,” you said, holding out your hands to show you had nothing. No rocks. No spear. Just your palms, scraped and pink from climbing.
He blinked slowly, suspicious still.
“Are you stuck?” you asked.
No reply. But he didn’t back away when you stepped closer. You knelt beside him, the scent of salt and something sharper—like rotting seaweed baking in the sun—invading your nose. It made your stomach twist. But you pushed it aside and began working at the net.
The knots were tight. You pulled and untangled, ignoring the barnacles slicing your fingertips. Time passed, but neither of you spoke. It wasn’t silence. The waves talked, the seagulls screamed above, and your own breath came hard with effort. Still, it felt sacred—like speaking would shatter something delicate between you.
Eventually, the net slackened.
He let out a sharp sound—surprise? Relief?—and pushed himself forward, dragging the last threads free with a flick of his tail. Then, to your astonishment, he touched your arm. A light brush of damp fingers on your skin. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes—raw and electric—said everything.
And then, he was gone. A splash, a spray of saltwater, and silver glimmering beneath the waves.
You never told anyone.
You convinced yourself it was a dream, a fantasy born from too much sun. But you visited that rock again. And again. Just in case.
Years passed. You grew up. He did not fade.
• • — ✦ — • •
Beneath the waves, he remembered everything.
Zeiryn had been young when you saved him, and even then, his mind was unlike the others. While his kin drowned sailors and split hulls for fun, Zeiryn watched the world above with a secret hunger. He had never known mercy—not until you. He thought you were an illusion at first. A sun-struck phantom, kindness shaped like a child.
But you were real. You touched him without fear. You saved him.
And he had never forgotten.
Seasons passed above and below. He grew stronger, his voice deeper, the gift of his lineage blooming in his throat. His tail thickened with muscle, the silver of his scales deepening to something more molten, almost iridescent. His hair, once wild and matted, was now woven with the treasures of the deep—rings of coral, braids of pearl, beads carved from whalebone. He was no longer a drifting child of the tide. He was a leader now.
Yet every dusk, he swam to the same stretch of shore, peering through kelp and coral, waiting for the only face that had ever haunted him.
And then—finally—he saw you.
You stood there, older, but still you. Your eyes held the same wonder, the same distant sadness. He watched from the rocks, heart hammering, the sea rising with every thrum of anticipation. You were holding a bottle. The scent reached him even through the water. Alcohol. Sour and sharp.
You stumbled closer to the edge, barefoot like before. He didn’t understand your tears at first. But when they hit the water, he tasted them.
Bitterness.
He had never tasted sorrow before.
He moved without thinking, cutting through the water with a predator’s grace. When you stepped into the sea—lost, maybe hoping it would take you—he was already there. His arms wrapped around you just before your knees buckled. He caught you. Held you. And for the first time in years, he felt whole again.
He turned to the shore. His eyes, once filled with awe, hardened. There were people there. A town. A world that had allowed you to suffer.
He would never forgive it.
The water closed over your head.
And he took you home.
• • — ✦ — • •
The cold hits you first. It pierces your skin like needles, forcing your eyes open.
Then the pressure—thick and heavy—presses against your chest. You try to gasp and choke instead. The world is liquid. Blurry shapes. Movement. Panic claws through you. You thrash—
Then you notice the shimmer.
Your legs—no. Not legs.
You scream, but no sound comes out. Just bubbles.
The tail is yours. You move, and it moves with you—powerful, golden, alien.
Your lungs don’t ache. You aren’t drowning.
You’re breathing. Underwater.
A presence approaches. You backpedal—awkward, instinctual.
Then he’s there.
The siren.
Older. Towering. Regal in a way that defies language. His eyes widen as you meet his gaze. He reaches for you like a lover, a prayer on his lips without sound.
You float, stunned, your heart racing in your chest.
"You're awake! Welcome home!" he says—somehow, impossibly, the words sliding into your mind like a current. His voice doesn’t echo in your ears. It resonates in your bones. Inside you.
Your lips tremble. “What... what did you do to me?”
He cocks his head, almost confused by the question. “I saved you.”
You glance around. Coral walls. Bioluminescent plants. Faint shadows darting beyond what your eyes can track.
“I didn’t ask to be saved.”
His face falters, just briefly. But then the soft smile returns. “You did, once. When I was dying. You touched me. You gave me your warmth. Your kindness.” He swims closer. “You were the only one who ever did.”
“That was years ago.” You try to back away, but your body is sluggish in this new form. “I was a kid.”
“You remembered me.” His voice is gentle now, like a lullaby. “You returned.”
You shake your head, panicked. “No. I—I was just walking. I didn’t know—”
His hand reaches forward, cupping your cheek. His touch is warm now. Familiar. Like seawater kissed by the sun. “You were hurting. They made you cry. But you don’t have to cry anymore.”
“I want to go back,” you whisper.
“There’s nothing there for you.”
He’s not angry. Not yet. Just... patient. Like he’s waiting for you to understand something you’ve missed.
“You belong here,” he murmurs. “With me.”
You remember the way he looked at you back then—curious and soft. But this is different. There’s devotion in his eyes. A fire born not of gentle affection, but of obsession that has steeped too long.
“You changed me,” you say, voice shaking. You look down at the tail. “How?”
“There’s a pearl,” he says, pointing to your side. You notice now—embedded near your hip is a small, glowing orb, barely visible beneath your skin.
“I couldn’t risk losing you again.”
You turn, frantic now. “No, no, this isn’t right. I can’t—this isn’t real.”
“You are real.” His voice is sharper now. “I dreamed of you so long I thought you were only in my mind. But you’re here. Flesh and spirit. And you’ll never have to suffer again.”
You shake your head. “I’m not your wife.”
Silence.
Then he leans close, his breath warm against your ear even underwater.
“Yet.”
• • — ✦ — • •
Back on the surface, a woman named Marina squints at the shore where she last saw you. She’s a local—grew up with the sea in her lungs and warnings stitched into her grandmother’s lullabies. When she saw you walk into the ocean, something in her gut twisted. She waited hours. You didn’t return.
Now, she’s standing with a fisherman and an old priest, their gazes following the waterline.
“No body,” the man mutters. “Currents here don’t drag far. Should’ve washed up if she drowned.”
“She didn’t drown,” Marina says softly. “She was taken.”
The priest mutters something in an old tongue. The fisherman scoffs.
“By what? Sea spirits? Merfolk?”
“No.” Marina’s eyes don’t leave the water. “A siren.”
“Those don’t exist.”
“They do,” she says. “And if it’s the one I think… she won’t come back.”
And deep beneath the waves, Zeiryn brushes a strand of hair from your face as you lie curled in coral-silk bedding. You’ve cried yourself into a stupor. But your skin is warmer now. The transformation is complete. Soon, you’ll forget what it was like to walk. To speak above the waves. To live without him.
He hums you a song—a melody he’s written over the years, just for you. It wraps around your heart like a net.
a/n. 18+ smut mdni. more rambling, no plot just a lil smutty blurb. not proofread. no actual sex just over the clothes stuff
———
one of steve’s large hands was tangled up in yours, fingers enveloping each other in a warm embrace. his full lips captured yours perfectly, like they were meant to be pressed together like this forever. it all started off soft and slow, a pace you two kept a lot while fooling around. sometimes it progressed into undressing each other, and other times - well, other times it led to this.
steve’s tongue lapped into your mouth in a desperate search for anything and everything. it clashed with yours in a wet tangle you quickly took ahold of and guided. strings of spit connected your lips together, which would normally gross you out. right at this very moment, it couldn’t be any hotter. steve’s hips were logged between your thighs, his weight leaning over top of you and cornering you into the bed.
you two were chest to chest, heavy breathing almost as in unison as the rest of your body. your hand that wasn’t occupied with your boyfriends was resting on the back of his head, fingers tangled into his soft hair and tugging at particularly good movements from his hips that shifted and thrusted into you desperately.
steve’s thick bulge was nestled perfectly against your clothed cunt, rutting and rolling against you in a heated passion. every other drag across you caught your puffy clit at the perfect angle, and even through your panties it was the exact kind of friction you needed. you didn’t care about how his jeans felt against your inner thighs or your soaked cloth. this was your own personal heaven and you were currently living it.
your hips started to roll up to meet him halfway, desperately rutting against him, tiny whimpers slipping into steve’s mouth. he tasted like mint and coffee, and you couldn’t get enough. every last thought in your brain was about him. his scent, his taste, his warmth, his large bulge pressed perfectly against you. your ankles moved to cross behind his tailbone to keep him in position, your plead for him to just keep going.
every soft moan steve let out you swallowed and savored like it was the last time you’d ever hear it. you wanted to make sure you kept them forever, the memory of his pretty noises always staying in the back of your mind, rattling. and, against your desperate need for his mouth to stay on yours, you tugged him by his hair to pull off, gasping slightly for air.
still grinding down against you, steve’s eyes, struggled to open up to look into yours. the moment he did, heavy eyelids revealing his dark brown eyes to you, you knew you were as much as a goner as he was. his lips were slick and pink, and as puffy as they could be. for someone who hadn’t even felt you bare yet, steve looked so fucked out. his pretty eyelashes fluttered at you, stare intense.
steve was all yours, and this was the best reminder of that fact.
CW: Alcohol Consumption, discussion of infertility, omegaverse relationship dynamics
Note: I've added this story to AO3, but at this time I'm still formatting the series.
Before you can even enter the restaurant, Sergeant MacTavish is there to open the door for you.
“Evenin’,” he says with a wink. “Ye look nice.”
“Thank you. So do you,” you answer. And he does. You only have a moment to admire the fit of his collared shirt and dark denim before he’s gesturing you in ahead of him. A hostess, a beta, greets you with a meek glance at the alpha behind your left shoulder, before leading you through the front room and out onto the patio. Garden might be a better description, with greenery separating large tables from one another, muffling sound and scent. At least, you assume it will later. The only occupied table is the round one off to one side, which the hostess gestures you to with a practiced smile.
As you walk up, Captain John Price stands to greet you. His face is gentler than you remember. The sleeves of his heather green henley are pushed up to expose strong forearms as he approaches. He surprises you by offering his wrist before you can offer yours, then tosses propriety out the window by kissing the joint of your thumb. Before you can do more than draw a quick breath, he's leading you to the seat Sergeant Garrick has pulled out for you, apparently to the left of the Lieutenant, between him and the Captain himself. Sergeant MacTavish takes his seat to the Captain’s other side, leaving Sergeant Garrick between him and Lieutenant Riley.
"You are absolutely stunning," the Captain says, settling into his seat. "Been a trial keeping my distance, keeping the boys in line. Been a long time since we've seen a civilian dress a man down as thoroughly as you did."
It’s hard to resist the urge to fidget. Chrissy and Jack had spent hours with you, deciding on this outfit. The red-orange jumpsuit is a bit daring - a beautiful color that compliments your skin tone but bold, a bit too alpha for some tastes. Combined with the heels that have you at a height with Sergeat MacTavish, you’re breaking the first two rules of dating as an omega. You aren’t sure your delicate earrings and bangles do much to counter the effect, but it seems the alphas of the 141 don’t mind.
You are a little distracted from examining the others by the realization that the Captain smells warm, like whiskey and vanilla. Your mind flashes back to the cake in a way that makes your stomach swoop. So it's a little startling when one of the wait staff places a menu in front of you, along with a glass of water and a cocktail.
"Whiskey Sour," Sergeant John MacTavish burrs, "drink of choice, aye?"
That makes you pause. "What makes you say that?"
"'s what ye were drinkin' at the pub," he answers. His eyes are so blue, it's dazzling. "Could smell it. Orange 'n bitters, whiskey and smoke. 'ad ye on the back of my tongue all night."
"Soap," the Captain says, no inflection. "Let her look at the menu."
"Aye," he says, settling back in his chair with a wink to you. Sergeant Kyle Garrick calls your attention.
"We tried to pick a nice variety for lunch yesterday. Did you like it?"
Johnny's words make you very aware of your own scent receptors at the back of your throat, which in turn reminds you of the cake, again. Yesterday, you would have blushed and looked away, but Chrissy's reminder rings in your head. "They're an all alpha pack, you can't back down."
You hold Sergeant MacTavish's eyes for a long moment before turning to the other sergeant. He looks cozy and inviting in his knit vest and gray shirt. "Lunch was delightful, thank you. Still at my place of work, but I appreciate the thoughtfulness. I really appreciated the coffee."
His eyes sparkle as he smiles. "I can't promise not to do something dumb in the future, but we'll always apologize."
You arch an eyebrow. "We?"
You had assumed the Captain or Lieutenant would be the one in charge, but Sergeant Garrick is speaking for all of them. His open body language makes you take in the rest of the table out of habit. But no, everyone is relaxed, breathing easy. And they're all checking in with the Captain, subtle glances and flashes of bare wrist in his direction. And he had said he was keeping them in line. So the Captain does lead, but he's not in competition with the others.
It's confirmed for you when the Captain picks up his own drink and answers. "We. Any of us offend, we're all responsible."
"I suppose I should expect an apology for the bar, then?"
It's Lieutenant Riley who answers. His outfit, when you look at him, is dark, understated - a black cardigan over a dark, soft looking shirt. "No' liars." When you give him an inquisitive look over the rim of your glass, he continues. "Ain’t sorry for that. We'll only apologize when we mean to."
You decide to take it as a challenge. "And if I want one?"
"Good luck getting Johnny to regret it," the Lieutenant snorts. "But you're no' as delicate as all that." ‘
You narrow your eyes. "I could be."
"You're not. 'ard eye contact like this?" He must smile under his surgical mask, eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Maybe a bit soft, when you want t' be. Beautiful. Sweet, if we behave ourselves. But not delicate."
"Simon," the Captain intones, amusement in his voice. "Didn't I just say to let her look at the menu?"
"I'll get to it, Captain," you answer, holding the Lieutenant's stare. You feel a little flush, to hear him call you beautiful and soft and sweet after yesterday, but you're not going to roll for him.
"No need for rank. Just John's fine," the Captain answers. "We're at your leisure."
The Lieutenant's - Simon's - eyes don't leave yours. His chin tips up as yours tucks a little bit toward your chest. He'd probably done the same yesterday to Brandon, an easy acknowledgment that he's not threatened. But unlike yesterday, he's so relaxed that the gesture is welcoming instead of insulting. He won't guard his throat, not because you're not a threat but because you're welcome to his neck.
He breaks eye contact first, looking past you to Sergeant... to Johnny. The collar of his shirt is just low enough for you to see his collarbones, and you can't help a quick glance. The edge of a scar teases you, but you're not going to be so rude as to stare. So you look at his face and watch him deliberately not watch you.
He's so easily given you the win that you feel a bit wrong-footed. You eyes flick to John, then Johnny (Soap?), and finally Kyle. Each of them tilts their right wrist your way, no fuss at all.
A moment later, the scent of a nervous omega drifts over to you. When you look up, a server is fidgeting next to a hedge behind Kyle’s shoulder. He can’t be older than twenty and he’s eyeing Johnny like he’s a wild dog. The alpha isn’t actually doing anything, but he does smell distinctly interested, warm and a little spicy, even across the table.
You meet the boy’s eyes and gesture him over. He hesitates, just a moment, before skirting wide around the next table and avoiding standing behind Simon entirely.
He leans in and lowers his voice, “Can I get you another drink, ma’am? Is this one a bit warm?”
The question surprises you, but it shouldn’t. These are military alphas. A fight between all of them could be dangerous for you. And even if they’re in sync, you’re still a lone omega. If you were close to your heat, it would be easy for them to trigger it. It’s only natural for another omega to check in. You’ll have to leave a note and a bit of an extra tip, for their troubles.
You catch the Lieutenant out of the corner of your eye, shifting his weight away from the two of you. He’s got excellent control of his scent, so you can’t tell if he understands what’s been asked, if he’s offended by the implications. But he doesn’t say anything, and neither do any of the others.
“The drink is perfect, actually,” you assure him. “I was wondering if you had a recommendation. Everything looks good.”
He looks a bit torn, but eventually asks. “Something a bit light?”
“No,” you chuckle. “I’m not worrying about anything like that tonight.”
“Okay,” he says, and he smells skeptical, but less imminently anxious. “Well, we have a few sandwiches. But the salmon en croute is also very good?”
“That does sound good. Can you give us a moment to look at the menu?” You let a little bit of a churr creep into your voice, hope the alphas around you won’t read too much into it. “Can we also get some bread for the table? No rush, you’re looking a little warm, yourself.”
The boy’s scent goes a bit hot and embarrassed, but he doesn’t question you. He looks up at the captain for a brief moment before scurrying off. When you face the rest of the table again, Kyle’s eyebrows are up.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” you say with a little smile. “Just a bit peckish.”
“You gave him an out,” John corrects. “He was nervous about being around so many alphas at once.”
You shrug one shoulder with a little quirk of the lips. If that’s what he wants to believe, you won’t correct him. On your other side, Simon rumbles some disagreement, but doesn’t say anything else.
John examines your face for a long moment. It takes you a little bit by surprise when he says, "You've a lot of little tests for us."
You decide to be honest. "I've found inviting alphas to show me what kind of alphas they are and what kind of omega they expect to be an easy way of figuring out if we're compatible."
Kyle makes an amused sound. "How do we measure?"
"Haven't run yet," you allow.
"See," Simon says, eyes on his own menu. "Not delicate."
You huff a little laugh before turning your own eyes down. You do love salmon…
Before you know it, the server returns with a basket of torn bread and another server, a beta, in tow. You do end up ordering the salmon, and you take note when the others order similarly heavy dishes. They each check with you for a preference. The cut and temperature of a steak, potatoes or mixed vegetables for the table. What kind of cheese on a burger. You draw the line at picking a bottle of wine.
“I have a drink,” you point out, lifting the glass in a half toast.
“The champaign rosé” John decides, with a nod to the second waiter. Both servers look to you. You shrug back at them and sip your whiskey.
Your original waiter shuffles inside, leaving the beta to hover just out of sight.
“So!” Johnny grins at you and leans back in his seat, rolling his shoulders. “What’s an omega such as yerself looking for in a pack?”
Kyle groans and puts his face in one hand. “Jesus, Soap.”
“I have my pack,” you answer, leaning back in your own seat to throw your own gauntlet. “Family I’ve chosen amongst my friends. And I’ve never found them lacking enough to seek anything more formal.”
“Oh, aye? They the ones who’ve helped you get all prettied up, this evenin’? C’n smell the wee blonde one on ye.”
Before the Captain can growl a correction, you point your glass at him. “Are you this rude on purpose, or is it just a natural talent?”
“Six ‘f one, half dozen the other,” the man answers easily, chin tipped up. “Wantae see that hint of fang you flashed fer us. That real, or just a bit of show for the base?”
“That wasn’t for you,” you scoff.
“For Laswell then?”
You cock an eyebrow. “Is she interested?”
“Oh aye, she loves a curvy thing with a bit o’ sharp edge.”
“Johnny,” Simon rumbles. “Enough.”
“Nae,” the Sergeant drawls. “She’s ‘ere, with us. If she wants something like that twat Brandon c’n offer, she’d have ‘im wrapped around those delicate fingers. She likes an alpha with a little bite.”
“Presumptuous,” you sniff.
“Yer the one drinkin’ the whiskey.” Johnny’s grin flashes his canines.
Fuck, you think, narrowing your eyes at him over the rim of the glass. You thought you’d only had a few sips, but now that he’s called attention to it, you feel just a bit warm. You lean forward to pluck a piece of bread from the basket, turning your attention to Kyle instead.
“And what about you? Do you think my temper’s just for show?” You ignore Johnny’s pleased rumble as you take another sip of your drink. It’s… significantly emptier than you realized.
“Oh, I don’t know about show.”
Kyle’s smile is sly, chin tilting down as he leans forward. Your own chin comes down, lips tight and ready to flash fang when his hand comes toward you. But he’s just reaching across Simon for the bread basket. You realize a split second too late that you’ve fallen for his little trick, answering your own question.
Before you can recover, Kyle turns his eyes to the Captain. “Tav’s right, though, sir. She’d not be here if she minded us being a bit forward.”
“I think you’ll find I do mind,” you protest.
He tears a piece of bread off as he looks back at you, his own brow arching. “How was the cake, then?”
A flash of heat twists through your belly and up your spine. You can’t help but bark a little laugh. “You’re just as bad as Johnny!”
“No one’s as bad as Soap,” John grumbles, taking some bread and passing the basket away from you. He tears off a piece and dips it into the plate of oil and spices before offering it to you.
Gods above, they really don’t do anything by halves. You consider directing him to place it on the bread plate. The whiskey tells you to lean in and eat straight from his hand. You split the difference by plucking the morsel from his fingers and popping it in your mouth.
You hold John’s gaze as you wash it down with the last of the whiskey. “And what is your pack looking for in an omega?”
“Not easily offended, apparently,” he says with a chuckle. “But if you’re insisting on honesty…”
“I am.”
“Well, then, we weren’t looking for an omega,” he says, easily. “The task force demands a lot. Not much time for dating.”
That’s not a surprise. A lot of military alphas stay in one place the majority of the time, but you know the 141 is deployed all over the world on short notice.
The belief that omegas need more stability than other designations is pseudo-scientific bullshit. Those popular myths were debunked in the ‘50s, after the wars shook up so many communities and packs. But the instability of military service still makes developing a pack difficult.
Your quasi-pack with Mel, Jack, and Chrissy is not particularly sensitive to disruption. None of you are strangers to late nights and unexpected interruptions to your schedules. Chrissy in particular can sometimes take off for a couple of weeks at a time, on a tour. Mel travels for rugby games, with Jack trailing along behind. But you aren’t relying on each other to pay bills or plan a family together. And none of you are going across the world to get shot at.
You arch an eyebrow. “So what does that mean for this potential courtship?”
“That’s up to you, sweetheart,” John says easily. “Obviously, we can’t offer something strictly traditional. We’re quite happy to know you’ve got your Quasi. But we’re also a bit…”
“Possessive,” Simon supplies on your other side.
“Protective,” Kyle protests. “We’re not gonna keep you from your friends. But if you want a family-”
Dammit. You’d hoped to at least have your food in front of you before broaching this topic. “I can’t have kids.”
John doesn’t miss a beat. “Can’t and want to, or can’t and wouldn’t?” He smooths the potential edges of the question by offering another piece of bread, soft, with just a bit of crust. When you reach to take it from his hand, he doesn’t let go, just lets you guide him until the bread is at your mouth.
He lets go just before you part your lips, his wrist brushing yours. It’s dizzying, reminds you that while Johnny is the most overt, John is the one they all follow. You’d bet money that he’s the one behind the cake, ultimately.
You almost forget the question. “Um. Oh. I, um, I don’t really want children of my own. I’m not opposed to them, on principle. Jack and Mel are considering. Chrissy’s not a fan of babies, but I’d be happy nursing-”
Simon purrs so hard behind you it makes you jump, and you realize that drinking on an empty stomach has completely suppressed your filter. When you turn, the lieutenants pupils are blown, but his scent is very deliberately neutral.
And that’s when your other server arrives with the appetizers.
Kyle’s demeanor changes. You hadn’t realized the weight of his attention until he turned a bright smile on the other omega. Johnny makes a comment about how he’s “starving, really, Kyle’s been hogging the bread.” They volley back and forth so quickly and easily that both servers are gone before you realize that everyone’s scents are locked down, not just Simon’s.
And you knew, you knew that they were special forces, but you’re not used to watching others consciously make themselves less obvious, less threatening. You can smell them, but they smell so neutral that if you couldn’t see them, you’d severely underestimate the threat that they pose. It makes you eye your whiskey glass, too late, with a newfound wariness.
You get distracted when you look at Simon, your first unobstructed view of his face as he chooses a piece of bread for himself. He lets you look, lets you take in the scars on left side of his mouth that are too clean to be anything but intentional. The notch in his upper lip means you can see his canine and one perimolar. He doesn’t stop eating when he notices you observing him, and you find yourself a bit charmed by how tidy he is.
“Gaz had a a whole plan for what to talk aboot,” Johnny says, startling you into looking back across the table at him. He pops a stuffed cherry tomato in his mouth as he says, “Ah threw everyone off.”
“On purpose,” Kyle mutters.
“A little,” Johnny admits with a shrug and a wink. “Never been great at small talk.”
“Thinks ‘e knows better,” Simon rumbles. “Sees the objective and ‘as to take the most direct route.”
“Objective is the wrong word,” Kyle is quick to jump in. “We’re used to looking at the world thought that lens-“
“We just like ye, is all,” Johnny jumps in to assure you.
They’re nervous, you realize. You’re nervous, all of your carefully planned talking points thrown to the wind. It’s time for a tried-and-true conversation saver. Hopefully these alphas like sports.
“Who do you think is making it to the cup this year?”
Kyle jumps on the subject change, obviously - and charmingly - relieved. “Well obviously, it’s going to be Man United and The Blues going head to head in the finals.”
“Manchester City and Arsenal.” Johnny scoffs.
“Don’t start that shite,” Simon grumbles.
The sports talk gets you through the appetizers. You have only the barest knowledge of sports from your time in school and Mel’s rugby league, but you’re very practiced in making vaguely skeptical noises at key moments to keep the conversation going. Johnny and Kyle are much more careful than your alpha coworkers not to imply that you don’t know what you’re talking about. Simon gets a bit smug when you scrunch your nose at one of Kyle’s points. John gives you an amused look, once he figures out what you’re doing, but doesn’t say anything.
The food helps you to feel a bit more in control of yourself, so while three of the alphas argue, you try to organize your thoughts. You’d attended this dinner with the expectation that you would be hearing out a list of demands and expectations. Alphas dictate, omegas yield.
But now they’ve left so much up to you. You’d expected them to balk, to demand answers about an omega claiming to be barren. Instead, John had offered a thoughtful question about your desires. Simon’s enthusiastic show of approval had reminded you that a lot of military As aren’t involved in family planning discussions. That something as mundane as nursing might be exciting, not a matter of course, a concession to your expected role as nest-stay.
It’s refreshing, and it throws you off. Other alphas might expect you to quit your job if the courtship is favorable. Would the 141? The four of them together certainly make more than enough money to support an omega between them. Would you be expected to move in with Price? With all of them?
By the time the main course comes out, you’re flustered all over again with unanswered questions. You’re kind of grateful when the glass of rosé is poured for you, but you do make sure to ask for more water for the table.
In a move you probably could have predicted, John prevents you from serving yourself. He and Simon take turns choosing and presenting the best bits of the sides you ordered for the table. You humor them, analyzing the veggies for blemishes, and, seeing none, allow them to be put on your plate.
What you don’t expect is to be offered all of their entrees for similar inspection. When you give them your baffled approval, they all give little purrs. For all that Lieutenant Riley promised that this evening wouldn’t be formal, they’re treating you like a distingué, like your position is guaranteed and respected above even the Captain.
It’s a pleasant surprise. As you take a bite of your salmon, you feel optimistic for the rest of the evening.
CW: 18+ MDNI, loan shark!price x reader part 1, fem!reader, afab!reader, noncon elements, manipulative price, implied violence (not reader), petting, almost(?) fingering - 3K words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune
massive thank you to @pricetagged for keeping me sane writing this
“Mr. Price-” you spoke up, fingers massaging into your temples.
“Said you can call me John, Sweetheart.” the man interjected with a serious look.
He was currently hanging your entire life over your head and he knew it, you most certainly were not going to call him by his first name. Noticing your reluctance, he shrugged and leaned back into your dining room chair.
“Look, I’ve been as kind as a man like me ought to be. Don’t know how much longer I can shoulder the loss, and I don't know how much longer you-” He sent a condescending look of concern your way, a hand fishing into his pocket. “-can take the fees. I’m playing the good guy here, y’gotta pay up, lovie.”
“No smoking inside.” you warned, voice less confident than you would have liked it to be.
His hand paused in his coat before slipping out and up in a sign of surrender.
There was a buzzing silence between the two of you, only interrupted by the occasional tick of your kitchen clock. It was hard to meet his gaze, eyes rooted downwards towards your table under the weight of your rising debt to one of the most notorious men in the city.
“Right then.” he huffed, palms coming down to rest on the table before twitching upwards. “So?”
“Give me another month to pull something together.” you spoke, wincing when you caught the way his eyebrows quirked in surprise. “-Please?”
There was no telling a man like John Price what would be happening. He was the shot caller, the unequivocal card dealer, it was only by some higher grace that he let your ill manners slip.
He grumbled for a moment before looking up. “I respect what you’ve got going on in the shop, I do. Lovely place, good atmosphere—we’re both the entrepreneurial type, so to say I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for you-” the thought that he’d lump your small shop in with his exploitative business made your stomach turn. “-but this is a bit much, yeah? Let’s give it up, sweetheart.”
Your face twisted into a sharp grimace, but that was all you could do—what right did you have to tell the man whose money you were living off of to get out of your house? Even worse, you hated that he had a point; you were so tired of your lackluster sales and mounting bills, but-
“I’m not the only owner, I-I can’t just make decisions like that.” you reasoned.
He looked incredibly unimpressed, nostrils flaring with a dissatisfied huff. “Right, your business partner.”
“H-he-”
“If it’s what you want, m’sure he’ll understand,” Mr. Price hummed, eyes narrowing. “I think you’ll find my men and I can be quite persuasive.”
Registering your cautious demeanor, his lips curled upwards.
“Where is the bloke anyway?” John asked in faux-disinterest, disapproval blooming from his tone. “Always sends you to talk to the big mean lender. S’not right.”
He shook his head and sighed.
“-Seen this play out before, love. He’s throwing you under the bus.”
Your mouth shut, hard set into a frown—you knew he was right. Your business partner was most likely enjoying his morning in peace knowing it was your apartment above the building—your life about to be uprooted if it all went tits-up. It was hard not to feel played.
Mr. Price’s gaze glimmered in recognition, and slowly, like a languid predator, he was leaning across the table with a large hand over your own.
You studied the sparse dusting of translucent hair on his fingers, the trimmed nails at the ends of his stocky fingers, his nice, expensive-looking watch—anything not to meet his eyes.
“S’not worth it,” he urged softly. “spreading yourself thin like this.” he paused to think. “My advice? Liquidate, I'm sure you and I can work something out in the long term.”
You swallowed, throat feeling impossibly dry as you focused on the twitch of his thumb.
“I’ll think about it.”
“I don’t want to be the bad guy, but business is business, sweetheart—I’m offering you a hand, it’s in your best interest to take it.” he spoke, palm patting over your digits before withdrawing into his pocket. There was a deep breath drawn in through his lips. “Right, I’ll be off then—Unless you want me over for lunch?”
He chuckled deeply in solus as he stood, reminding you of a proud and awful beast. “Maybe another time then, love.”
Ideally not.
-
The shop had closed on another unnoteworthy day, only serving to further hammer in Mr. Price’s point. With defeated footfall on the stairs up to your flat, you nearly slipped, shocked by a fist beating on the front door frantically. You slowly turned around, heart pounding from the sound.
“-Christ! Let me in!” Ewan, your business partner cried out from the other side of the threshold.
You hurried to the door; pushed aside as soon as the lock had released.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” you scolded over the shop door’s welcome chime. You were met without response while the man darted for the till. “What are you-”
“Not now,” he growled. “we need to get out of here.”
Studying him closer, you realized one of his arms had been held up by a makeshift sling, tucked neatly beneath his quilted coat.
“W-what are you talking about?”
He paused, looking up.
Your eyes widened when the light from the street outside washed over his face.
“What happened to you?”
“Doesn’t matter.” he snarled, freshly dried blood crusting at the movement. His head dipped down as he popped open the till. “Price and his dogs want our heads.”
“I just spoke to him this morning-”
“Things change—may have pushed our luck a little too far. We’ve got to get out of town.”
You frowned “I-I can’t just-”
“Suit yourself.” he snapped, voice dropping to a mumble while his fingers grabbed at whatever they could, stuffing it into his coat pocket haphazardly. “-Sitting duck.”
“Wait—that's our money.” you balked, watching the empty register drawer shut. He offered you a bloody, tight-lipped smile as he sped past you towards the door; in and out like a typhoon.
“Good luck.”
You were stuck where you stood when the door swung shut, absolutely beside yourself in shock as you watched his figure disappear from view into the night. Looking around your shop, it was just as it had been when you closed up, but the knowledge that you were sitting on an empty till, all alone with the looming threat of a less-than-savory money lender finding out you were back to square one for your upcoming payment was not kind as it crashed into you.
After a sobering moment, you hobbled over to the point of sales, turning the drawer’s lock tentatively. Of course, the tray was as empty as the day you had bought it, save for a spare coin roll shoved into the side. You stared down at the dark plastic, hand clumsily digging into your pocket for your phone. Swiping at the device, you paused, debating for a moment over whether or not to open the banking app; you already knew what you’d see if you did.
Confirming your fears, the log showed a hefty transaction at the branch earlier that day. The account had been emptied right before the banks closed.
You had nothing to give John Price.
It was all gone.
You stared at your feet while it sunk in. Slowly, you regained the ability to move, making your way over to the shop door and locking it back up before spinning on your heels. The trip upstairs was eerily silent as you slipped into your flat, legs wobbling as you ambled into your washroom and stepped under the hot stream from your showerhead. You let the water run over you for far longer than necessary, only stepping out onto the frigid tile once your fingers had pruned.
The dinner prep that followed had gone surprisingly smooth, serving as a vessel to pretend the foundation of your life wasn't crumbling away. You replayed comforting thoughts, words passing through your mind like a liferaft just out of reach– you knew Mr. Price, he always spoke gently to you, he would understand, he-
A fat tear fell onto the hand that braced you over the stove, watching the bubbling pasta through bleary eyes. With a shaking grip, you drained the water and slipped the noodles into your saucepan, stirring and sniffling lamely.
You made too much—you had nothing to give and you had made too much. Typical.
Sitting at your table, you ate in near-silence, listening to your clock’s soft ticking as you tried to ignore the afterburn image of Mr. Price across from you where he had sat that morning.
Your fork paused mid-air when the downstairs shop chime rang out.
Had Ewan come to his senses?
You closed your eyes and waited for him to call up to you.
The stark sound of heavy footfall bustling around the lower level was the first thing to alert you to the intrusion—too much noise for one man. Setting down your fork, you stared owlishly at the door to your flat as if it was the last line of defense between you and whatever was happening down there. Through the muffled commotion, you could faintly make out the creak of your stairs getting louder—closer, you watched helplessly as the knob slowly turned.
The door opened a fraction, a thick hand curling around the side to brace it against the three thunderous knocks that echoed throughout the room.
“Come in.” you spoke up once your heartbeat had evened out, blinking as Mr. Price emerged from the dark stairway.
“Mmh, you’re here.” he stared down at you, a pleased rumble rolling around in his chest. “‘Course you didn’t skip town, smart. Good girl.”
He kicked his boots off and drifted through your kitchen; cabinets and drawers clattering behind you while he whistled breathily, dishing up some pasta as if you had made it for him—you do suppose he had every right to, though.
Your whole body tensed as a palm ghosted across your back. The plate was set down, and the chair beside you was tugged out from beneath the table.
Your eyes darted to his dish where it sat, steam trailing fragrantly. Mr. Price tucked in, humming lowly despite his tense demeanor.
“S’good, Love. eat up.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and grabbed your fork, gaze falling back to your dish as you picked at the food, appetite long gone. Once again, it was you, Mr. Price, and the sounds of your kitchen—an unwelcome sense of Deja Vu creeping in.
“Your money’s gone.” you whispered, unable to stand the silence.
He reached towards you, grabbing your napkin, and patting his mouth. “I know.” he scratched at his beard idly. “My boys are dealing with that.”
You paled, trying not to think about what would happen to your business partner as you watched Mr.Price fuss with his fork, leaning in to take another large bite; a nauseated feeling washing over you.
“What's going to happen to me?” you murmured, eyes downcast.
His fork clattered quietly against his plate as his hand came to rest on the back of your neck, thumb petting at your nape. “That’s what I'm here to sort out, sweetheart.”
Sort out. It was ugly, spoken as if you were just one of his assets. You nodded; compliance met with a soft, affirming squeeze.
“We can work something out.” his hand traveled downwards, grazing your arm before landing on the meat of your thigh. “I don’t have to be the bad guy.”
“Mr. Price..” you spoke after a sharp breath, tears threatening to well up.
You missed the way his eyes crinkled at your weepy tone, thumb brushing your thigh in comfort.
“I’ve had my eye on you, love—Would have never lent you as much as I did if I wasn't sweet on you. Thought maybe I’d be able to charm my way into your life but it seems like I only see you when you’re late on a payment.” he laughed hoarsely. A knee knocked into yours as he stood; his chair scraping beneath him. The floor creaked under bulk, two large hands coming to rub at your arms with hot breath and trimmed beard tickling at your ear. “-I’m a hopeless romantic, y’see.”
“Price!” a voice hollered up, causing the man to straighten with a low growl.
“What?” he barked, voice aimed downstairs.
“Trucks loaded up, gonna head back to the office, yeah? See if Simon needs any help retrieving the cash.”
His hands flexed around your shoulders. “Good, lock up behind yourself. I’ll be a bit.”
You froze, looking up to see the looming shadow of a man; profile distinct in the low light. He turned to you, offering a tight grin while a wayward hand trailed from your arm to your neck, caressing the skin as he exhaled deeply behind you, resting your head against his abdomen.
“It’s okay to give in, love.” he cooed. “Let me take care of it all.”
You had nearly folded when that little prey animal in your brain stiffened, hackles raising. You stood carefully, sidestepping his grasp.
“No, I-I… I couldn’t impose… It’s alright.” you silently begged for him to understand your polite refusal.
“S’not imposing,” he challenged, glaring down at you. “imposing would be the number of zeroes on the sum you owe me—now you care about my burden?”
“That’s-”
“That’s not how this works, sweetheart.” he laughed. “Now, sit back down.”
You complied, lowering back into the seat shamefully.
“Good.” he exhaled, crouching beside you with hands knotted together. “I always collect what’s owed, that’s one thing you need to understand.”
You nodded.
“-But I’m not opposed to shouldering burdens where personal interest is involved.” His eyes searched your own desperately, palms unfurling to rest back on your legs. “You understand what I'm saying, yeah? You’ll never pay it off alone, let me help. I could take care of you.”
Overwhelmed, you turned away; the grip on your thighs tightening in response as he braced himself, standing up. A warm hand cradled your cheek as he drew your gaze upwards, free hand looping around your back and lifting you to stand against him like a marionette.
“I don’t know what to do…” you sniffled as his big palm had begun to rub circles into your back.
He shushed you. “-It’s okay, love. I can handle it, It’ll be okay.”
You nodded, turning and rubbing your face into his shirt as he comforted you. The entire situation was a disorienting experience. Had you done something so wrong to get here?– had it been a crime to want to live a gentle and quiet life in your shop?
It was hard to care much for your sense of conviction when the root of your problem looked more like a finely woven cradle; what did it matter if you were to bend the knee to your devil’s appeal at this point?
Still, it felt as if you were teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“I’m scared.” your lips settled for, hiccuping the words into his chest.
He hummed thoughtfully, the noise buzzing around the walls of your head as his thick arms hooked around your neck, pulling you in deeper—a trap set without any fuss.
“It’s okay for you to be scared,” he pressed a kiss to your crown. “There’s no way anyone was getting out of those rates you agreed to, love. Let me help you.”
You stiffened, head raising slowly to look at him. He smiled down at you.
“You definitely won’t be taking care of our finances, yeah?” John joked, letting out a deep, phlegmy laugh before he pecked your nose, pulling you back into his chest and rumbling against your head. “Enough nonsense. You’re tired, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
It was all so domestic—like he hadn’t just shown you his rows of jagged, shark-like teeth.
His grip relented as he patted your bum. “Go on and get into bed, let me clean up dinner.”
-
So you did, brushing your teeth and feeling incredibly confused as to why you were readily complying. What truly got to you was how tender it felt—had you been so oblivious to his vying interest? You had just assumed he was a rare good-natured lender; though, you suppose neither of these had been true.
John Price was not a good man; although it was a recent revelation in the grand scheme of things, you knew this as a fact now. The other fact of the matter was that it seemed you were most likely the real collateral in the vulturine deal. Had he been playing the long game?
You could hear John floating around in the other room as you pulled an old shirt over your head to sleep in—the kitchen faucet running as you slipped into your bed. It all felt so wrong.
Your eyes shot open when the bedroom’s aged floor creaked, deer-like paralysis keeping you snapshot-still as the ring of his belt buckle filled the static air. Was he—The rickety bed dipped behind you under John’s added weight, bedframe crying out with every shift of his body that came with tucking himself against you; achy grunts blowing out from his lips.
“Not as limber as I used to be.” he laughed modestly. “Still gets the job done though, I reckon.”
He breathed for a moment before his nose dipped into the hair at your nape, sniffling around.
“-Better than I imagined.” he grumbled contently.
Thick hands dipped under your shirt, massaging at the skin momentarily before slipping into your panties, tugging them out of the way.
“Mr. Price.” you winced, feeling his cold hand on the sensitive skin.
his hands paused as the large man thought for a moment.
“Mrs. Price…” he chuckled after a beat, the hairs on your neck standing up in response. “-See? You don’t like it much, either. Now, what’s my name, love?”
“John.” you mumbled quietly, eyes darting around through the dark of your room.
“Mmh. good girl.” he hummed, hand cupping your cunt and thumbing at it absentmindedly. “Sleep, love. Big day tomorrow, yeah?”
The Perfect Cure for a Bad day- An Eddie Munson One Shot
Inspired by a @losingmygrasponreality post - I hope you don't mind, I read your post earlier and ran with it. Wrote it frantically in a couple hours, there may be mistakes, barely proofread, but I hope you like it❤️
TW: 🛑Mature Content - Minors DNI 🛑 Drug use, oral sex(female receiving) P in V unprotected sex but in an established relationship( always wrap before you tap people)
Today was horrible. The whole fucking week had been horrible but today.....from the moment you had walked in to work to find that you were short staffed to the moment you walked out to your car and put the key in the ignition and it wouldn't turn over.
"Fuuuucckk!" You growled in frustration. You were done, you were completely over today. You just wanted to go home.
You slammed the door on your piece of shit car and stomped through the rain as you re-entered your workplace, not making eye contact with anyone as you made your way back to the employee lounge, and a phone that you could use to make a personal call.
You punched in your boyfriend's number and sighed with relief when he answered on the second ring .
"Hello?"
" Eddie-"
" Baby what's wrong?"
You could hear the concern in his voice, he was so in tune with you that he knew something was wrong the instant you said his name.
" My car, it won't start, I can't even get it to turn over, I would walk but it's pouring-"
" I'll be there in ten, stay put and stay dry ok Angel? " You could hear his keys jingling in the background. "I'm heading right over."
He hung up before you could even say another word, eager to rescue you like the Savior he was.
You went back out to your car and waited, leaning your head back into the headrest,and closing your eyes . Just minutes later you heard the familiar rumble of your boyfriend's van. Your knight and shining armor. It wasn't often that you were the damsel in distress, you were strong and independent, but it was nice to know that on the days where you couldn't be, he was always there for you to lean on, with no judgement, just love and compassion.
You watched him park, open his door and run to you, opening your door.
" Hey Baby, come on. I'll take care of your car tomorrow.Let's get you home."
You grabbed your keys and your purse and he shielded you from the rain with his leather jack until you were sheltered by the van. He closed your door and ran around to his side and jumped in. You couldn't help but smile when he shook the rain from his head like a wet dog . His hair would be so frizzy now.
His pretty brown eyes locked with yours and he reached out to cup your face in his hand. You melted into him."You had a shit day didn't you? Wanna talk about it? "
" Kiss me first. Then I'll fill you in."
He leaned forward and brought his warm lips to yours in a sweet, soft kiss and almost instantly you could feel little wisps of tension unravel from your body. This boy, your rock, all he had to do was touch you and you were once again grounded.
"Thank you." You whispered, running your hand over his damp head as you pulled away.
He smiled."You don't have to thank me Sweetheart." He started his van and a rush of warm air flowed from the vents and started warming your chilled body.
You were quiet for a portion of the ride home, still processing the events of your horrible day, playing them over in your head but Eddie didn't push, knowing you would talk to him when you were ready. He popped in a mix tape that you had made and left in his van, and rested his hand on your thigh, drawing lazy circles with his thumb.
Eventually you vented, and he just sat back and listened, nodding, as you rambled, words spewing from your mouth. By the time you reached your apartment you had felt like a boulder had been lifted off your shoulders.
Once inside Eddie wrapped you in his arms, pulling you close to his body." We're home, Sweet girl and I'm gonna make you forget all about your troubles 'kay?" He kissed your head and you nodded.
That was all that you wanted in this moment, exactly what you needed." Do you have any edibles? I don't want to think tonight Baby, I just want to feel."
He carefully let go of you and went to the old metal lunchbox that he kept on top of the refrigerator, taking it down and opening the lid.
"Gummy? Or Brownie Darlin?"
" Gummy." For some reason the brownies always seemed to take forever to work but the gummies kicked in pretty quickly.
He took out a gummy for you and set it on the counter and a pre-rolled joint for himself.
" I think I want to take a shower, finish warming up-"
" Do what you've got to do My Love, to take care of you." He lifted your chin with a rough finger and kissed your lips. " Take all the time you need, Kay?"
You sighed." I will. Eddie, I love you."
"Love you too Doll." He lightly kissed your cheek." Want me to turn the water on for you?"
You smiled." I got it, but thanks."
The shower felt wonderful, like you were washing away all of the negativity of the week right down the drain, you were encompassed by the clean and refreshing scents of your soap and shampoo. You took the time to shave, then lather up in a lightly fragrant lotion when you got out and it was then that you noticed that at some point Eddie and snuck in and hung your fluffy robe on the hook of the bathroom door. That gesture made your heart want to burst.
You dried your hair , wrapped yourself in your robe then padded out to the kitchen to get your gummy. You chewed it up, grabbed a water from the fridge and headed to your room where you could hear music playing softly.
You opened the door to find the room dark, the only light was provided by the soft white glow of the string lights around your room. The pillows had been fluffed, and your brown haired boy smiled at you from beneath the covers.
" Reserved this spot for you Princess," He pulled back the comforter and you dove in beside him.
You spotted his half smoked joint sitting in the ashtray on the nightstand, and from the shit eating grin on his face, his drooping lids and the lingering scent of pot in the room you knew he had already started.
" Please, don't let me interrupt." You smiled.
He brought the joint up to his lips , inhaled, finishing it off then crashed his lips against yours , opening up and blowing the smoke into your mouth.
You inhaled, pulling the smoke into your lungs.
Fuck, you loved it when he did that, it was so goddamn sexy.
" It's polite to share." He smiled, a dopey grin on his face. You loved the way he looked when he was high, happy, relaxed.
" You're always so courteous." You smiled up at him ,then curled up close, resting your head on his bare chest. You listened to his heart beat, the light dripping of the rain outside the open window and the sound of Robert Plants voice as he sang 'Don't know where you're goin',Only know just where you've been,Sweet little baby,I want you again.'
"Mmmmm. " You hummed as Eddie played with your hair, the feeling of it sending shivers down your spine.
" How ya doing Princess? Ya good?"
" Yeah Baby, fuck, this is just what I needed."
" Glad I could help out." He rested his cheek on the top of your head and drew in a deep breath." Fuck, you smell so fucking good. Like," he paused and sniffed again. " Like clean flowers?"
A laugh burst out from your throat, the statement striking you funny. Yup, it was kicking in .
" You high as a motherfucker Babydoll?"
You giggled, your body starting to tingle."Yup, and it is fucking wonderful."
You rolled onto your back sighing happily, your body starting to feel heavy. You stared at the lights on your wall, blinking slowly, your eyes roaming over to the gorgeous man beside you, as he rolled to his side. You bit your lip and reached up to touch his face." Your so pretty."
He blinked." You think I'm pretty?"
" I said that out loud?"
He laughed." You did."
" Well, you are. The prettiest, sexiest boy I know."
He smirked down at you. " You think I'm sexy?"
" You know I do." You ran your fingernails lightly over his chest and watched goosebumps form on his skin, watching his expression change just from your touch, going from goofy to one filled with desire. "Kiss me Eds, please-"
"Fuck." He licked his lips then bent down to kiss you. His mouth starting at your lips, then trailing hot kisses over your soft sensitive skin, lighting your body up.
Every sense you had was amplified, every little touch, caress, had you moaning and writhing beneath him and he wasn't even inside you yet.
" Eddie more, please more," You whined, then groaned as he looked up at you with lust blown eyes from between your legs.
" Don't worry Babygirl, I've got you." He placed soft, light kisses along your inner thighs while running a finger through your slick folds. "Fuuuckk," he practically growled before diving in, his mouth feasting on you, lapping and sucking and teasing,his talented tongue and fingers causing your body to buck. The sounds spilling from your lips were almost obscene, riling him up as he fucked you with his tongue.
You ran your fingers through his hair, lightly pulling causing Eddie to groan, the vibration against your sensitive bud sending you spiraling over the edge , quickly drawing out your first orgasm.
"Eddie," You breathed, pulling him up to you, desperate for his weight and the feeling of his body on yours.
"I fucking need you," He panted, and you could feel his hard length press against you.
" Then take me."
He didn't hesitate another moment. Before you knew it his boxers were discarded and thrown to the floor and he was plunging inside you .
" Oh F-fuck!"
You gasped as he filled and stretched you , bottoming out, your body was on fire, but in the best possible way.
" You feel so fucking good,"He lowered his forehead to yours as he thrusted into you." I'll never get enough-"
You raised your mouth to his, tasting your own arousal on his lips and you kissed him senseless.
You could already feel the tension building up , ready to release again, as he pounded relentlessly into that sweet spot inside you.
" I want you to come with me Eddie."
You could tell he was just as close as you were by the sounds he was making, by the way his body was moving.
You came together in a delicious wave of pleasure, both of your bodies tangled and shaking as you rode out the euphoria together.
You held Eddie in your arms as he laid completely spent across your body, catching his breath. You brushed the damp hair off of his sticky forehead and placed a soft kiss than lazily ran your fingers up and down his back. He shivered ,and you laughed.
He picked up his head and smiled down at you, you beamed back." There she is." He nipped at your lips. "Feeling better?"
" So much better. Thank you."
" I told you, you don't have to thank me Sweetheart."
" I do. I need you to know how much it means to me , how much you mean to me. The fact that I know that I can come to you when I am not at my best, that you will be there no matter what. It means a lot."
" Always Babydoll." He says softly , lightly kissing the tip of your nose.
Your tender moment was rudely interrupted by the grumbling of your hungry stomach." Jesus, sorry about that. With everything completely fucked at work I didn't have a chance to eat lunch-"
Eddie launched himself across the bed, leaning down over the edge and pulling up a bag of chips and a package of double stuff Oreos. He grinned as he sat back beside you and tore open the bag of rippled chips. He popped one in your mouth, and you slowly chewed savoring the salty goodness.
" You really do know me well don't you?"
He smiled again." I really do." He kissed your cheek and leaned over the side of the bed again , this time pulling up a couple of sodas.
You laughed." You clearly thought of everything."
" I try." He said, through a mouth full of cookie.
Back to the silly, sweet man you had fallen so desperately in love with. You loved all the sides of Eddie Munson, the goofy ,boyish side, the loving, affectionate side, the sexy , sultry,intense side. All of them combined made up the perfect man . Your perfect man.
You watch him for a moment, your heart fluttering in your chest and can't help but smile.
He catches you gawking at him and stops chewing, and eyebrow raised ." What? What did I do?"
" You snapped me right the fuck out of my bad mood. You gave me love and understanding, space, gummies , multiple orgasms and food. Everything I could possibly need . Eddie Munson you are the perfect cure for a bad day."
I hope you liked it❤️ As always thank you for reading, comments and re-blogs warm my ❤️
rugby player simon, with cauliflower ears and large, sloping shoulders. a freshly split lip with blood trickling down his chin. grass stains across his knees and smudges of white paint over his palms. sweat beading across his forehead, blond hair dark and flat against his temples.
he smells of sweat, grass and aftershave. he’s got scars along the side of his face, running vertically down his eyebrow and cheekbone— the bite of a boot’s sprig, gauging into his flesh in the collapse of a ruck. a few scars on the backs of his hands, too, prove he didn’t escape the jaws of a rolling maul unscathed.
all of this you admire, your eyes glistening, lower lash line wet with tears, as he bullies his cock into you. forcing himself into the tight heat of your cunt, filthy hands squeezing at the softness of your hips, head thrown back as the warmth envelops him, a droplet of blood rolling down his throat and over his adam’s apple.
he groans at the feeling. how tight you are. how warm. how well you take him. it’s better than anything he’s ever felt— and he tells you as such. tells you you’re the best thing he’s ever had, the only thing he’ll ever have.
and you know he means it.
it’s better like this, it seems. fresh off the pitch, high off a win. he finds it easy with adrenaline in his veins and a victory on his back, to bundle you into an empty office beneath the thousands of stadium seats.
the noise of deafening cheers still ring in his ears, blood pounding there too as his cock pushes into you. you clutch at his shirt, skin-tight and wet with sweat. a second skin, usually peeled away when he gets you like this. but not tonight.
he pants, his face facing the ceiling, his cock driving home and settling a deep-rooted pleasure into the pit of his stomach. you mewl, and he groans out again, eyes screwing shut. he brings his head down and the drop of blood falls. he’s not sure where it goes in the hazy darkness, but he doesn’t care.
“god, simon.”
he could listen to you moan like that forever. his balls clench, cock twitching. he pulls out, back just enough for the fat tip to stretch your hole just the way you like it. just the way you like it, he knows, as you yowl like a feral cat, mouth dropping open, claws sinking into the warm fat of his pecs.
“simon,” you plead, and it makes him dizzy.
a drug. an aphrodisiac. the way you moan his name does more to him than tens of thousands of screaming fans. he’d rather have one of you— just you pleading for him, calling for him, rather than an entire stadium. you’re all he needs. he’s hooked.
“hmm?” he hums, blood on his tongue. “s’a matter, baby?”
he pushes in and doesn’t let you reply. thick cock stretching you apart, he watches where he enters you, beneath the hazy darkness, and the way you take him so well.
you keen, panting, scrambling for support by dragging your fingers and palms down his chest and abdomen. smooth like marble, warm like the sculptor.
he has one hand on the back of your neck now, making sure he can see you. watch every twitch in your face, every waver in your lips. his other hand, large and all-encompassing, deft and strong fingers that can hold a rugby ball with ease, settles on your hip. dragging you forward and back, your arse moving against the lacquered wood desk.
“this means more than any win,” he says, deep and rumbling. the cacophony of cleats against hard wood; the rumble of fans stamping their feet.
he huffs, then groans as you flutter around him. he pulls back and pushes forward continuously, a frothy white ring building at the base of his cock. his hips move frantically, and you cling to both him and your sanity as he splits you open from the inside out.
“fuck, you’re incredible,” he utters, careening forward until he’s got his large head tucked into the crook of your neck, his broad shoulders obscuring your view. “best fuckin’ pussy i’ve ever had.”
he stinks. sweat and grass and fading antiperspirant. you inhale deeply and moan, the heat of him enveloping you, your toes curling.
he pulls back and the hand on the back of your neck vanishes. your hands snap upwards to wrap around his shoulders as he threads two fingers into the neckline of your shirt and pulls downward, violently exposing the front of your bra. he yanks that down too, before drawing his face to one of your breasts that falls free and slots his mouth over a nipple.
he sucks harshly, his eyes falling shut and a moan filtering from his occupied mouth. he cants his hips, fucking into you harder, teeth grazing the soft flesh of your nipple, his tongue chasing after it.
you snatch a fistful of his hair and grind onto him, desperate, aching, needy. he groans again, your name you think you hear, as he swaps breasts and sucks hard enough to make you yelp. you look down, and he’s watching you with glistening eyes.
“simon,” you whisper, body thrumming.
he pulls away from your tits, mouth glistening with blood and saliva, his split lip smearing red across your chest too. simon puts both hands on your hips as you merge together. he’s unsure of where he ends and where you begin as your heat overwhelms him, pleasure hot in his stomach.
“i’m here, baby. you like that?” he lilts, thrusting hard into you. the desk creaks. his back aches. his lip stings. but he’s never been more focused in his life— the warmth of you. you. he grins down at you, pointed canines flashing. “pretty baby likes that, huh?”
“yeah,” you gasp, breathless. “i like it, simon. i— i like it.”
“yeah? you like my cock? hm?”
“yeah—”
“like this big cock up in here—” he reaches a hand to press hard against your soft stomach. you mewl and he drags it right over to your clit, swollen and puffy, beginning to rub in circles. “biggest cock you’ve ever had, isn’t that right, sweetheart? can barely take me— pussy’s a tight fuckin’ thing, isn’t she?”
you moan, nearly wordlessly.
“yeah, but she’s the perfect fit, isn’t she? fuckin’ made for this cock—” his fingers speed up.
you want to cry. your body’s on fire and he’s stoking it so well you fear it may engulf you, body and soul. your nipples ache with his bites, your clit pulses beneath the rough pads of his fingers, your cunt gushes, sopping wet, around each thrust of his cock.
the biggest cock you’ve had. not that he doesn’t know that. he just likes to be reminded each time he has to shove his cock inside you after barely a minute on his fingers and even less on the impatient curling of his tongue. he likes nothing more than to stretch you open on his cock and watch you take it all. watch her struggle to take it all.
“simon,” you moan. “simon, please—”
“that’s right, fuckin’ beg for it—” he moans, eyes closed once again as he gets lost in the pleasure of it all. of you. “beg for it, baby. oh, fuck— beg me for it.”
“please, simon, i need t’come,” you gasp out, desperate and shaking. trembling, quaking, and all other synonyms to describe the pent-up pleasure buzzing inside you. rising, bubbling, ready to spill. “please—”
“i know she wants it,” he whispers. “i know this tight little pussy needs my fuckin’ cum— know she’s fuckin’ aching for it, poor little baby. so wet and needy—”
“simon, baby, please—” you sob.
he groans. “come for me— squeeze me real tight, baby— oh, that’s it, there we fuckin’ go…”
you come half way through his sentence. cunt clenching tight, pulsing, blood-warm. she gushes, too— your pussy leaking out around his cock, wetness dripping down the curves of your arse and thighs, smearing onto his shaft and his balls that slap against you with each of his unrelenting thrusts.
he doesn’t last. he never does like this.
he comes deep inside you, moaning your name through a hoarse throat.
god, it sounds good. that, and the cum that splatters your insides, warms you right through your chest, and you cling to him as he slumps forward, still lightly pumping his hips as he tucks himself against you.
You have your appointment to see the baby for the first time
Warnings:
Pregnancy, shitty parents, bullying
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N:
Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter! and thank you @punkrockmlchael and @the-witty-pen-name for all your help with this one 😩🙏🏻
8 weeks pregnant
Baby is the size of a raspberry
“Can you see a difference?”
You stood in front of your mirror, shirt held up under your chest to reveal your stomach. Eddie lounged back on your bed, watching you.
“I still don’t see anything,” Eddie said. “You sure there’s something in there?”
“We’ll know for sure tomorrow,” you reminded him. Your heart sped up in your chest at the thought of your first ultrasound, the thought of seeing your baby for the first time. Eddie would be taking you so you didn’t have to go alone.
“Are you excited?”
“Super excited,” you smiled. You rubbed your hand over your stomach, still nothing there. “I’m a little excited to have a bump, but also dreading it.”
“There’s no hiding from it then,” he said, hanging upside down off the side of your bed. His curls brushed against the carpet. “You ready for that?”
“No,” you admitted. “I mean, everyone at school already knows. But I’m not prepared to tell my parents.”
“I don’t blame you. That’s not going to go well.”
“Thanks,” you said sarcastically. You pulled your shirt back down, flopping down on the bed next to Eddie. “But I know. They’re going to kill me.”
“That’s probably putting it lightly,” Eddie said, sitting up to look at you. “They’re going to freak.”
“That’s why I’m waiting as long as possible to tell them.” You leaned against the headboard, feet stuck in Eddie’s lap. “Good plan or bad plan?”
“Totally foolproof, nothing can go wrong,” Eddie said. He gave you a teasing smile- you and he both knew telling your parents at any point would be a disaster, but you also knew Eddie would be there for you no matter what. “Have you talked to Billy anymore?”
“Not since 2 weeks ago when he cornered me about the abortion,” you sighed. It felt like all you did anymore was think about Billy. “He’s back to pretending I don’t exist.
“That’s so fucked,” Eddie said. He rubbed your bare legs that lay splayed across his lap. “I’m sorry. I mean, I can’t say I’m surprised, but still. He’s an ass.”
“No, I know,” you said, sinking down the bed until you were laying on your pillows. You pulled one over and hugged it across your chest. “I walked right into this one.”
“A little bit.”
You kicked Eddie, making him laugh. “You’re always so supportive and helpful and not at all judgmental, Ed.”
“Hey, I try to be,” Eddie said, laughing. At least you could laugh about it.
The next day after school, you rushed out of the building quickly. Your appointment was 30 minutes after school ended and you did not want to be late. You found Eddie waiting by the van already, keys in hand and ready to go.
“You ready, mama?” He asked as you both climbed into the van, and you gave him a look.
“Yes, I’m ready,” you said, taking a deep breath. The truth was, you were horribly nervous. You felt like you could be sick, and it was hard to breathe deeply.
“You’re going to be okay, you know that?” Eddie said, reaching over to grasp your hand with his right one. He drove the van one handed, the short drive to the doctor’s office feeling like a million years.
“I know,” you said, giving Eddie a weak smile although you didn’t quite believe yourself.
He pulled into the parking lot of the office, killing the engine of the van and turning to you. “Do you want me to go back with you?”
“Would you?” You looked at him hopefully, not wanting to go alone. You wouldn’t blame him if he felt weird about it and didn’t want to go, but you hated the idea of doing any of this pregnancy alone.
“Of course I will,” he said, squeezing your hand. “C’mon, let’s go. I got you.”
The waiting room of this doctor’s office was more cheerful than the last one. The walls were painted a bright yellow color, and there were photos of babies decorating the walls. A TV hung on one side of the room, playing a rerun of Three’s Company.
When the nurse called your name, Eddie followed you to the back. She smiled politely at you, holding the clipboard against her blue scrubs and leading you back to the exam room.
“You can change into this gown and take a seat on the exam table,” she said. “Dad, you can take one of the chairs over there.”
“Oh, I’m not-“ Eddie started to correct her, but the nurse wasn’t listening, already moving on to grabbing the blood pressure cuff.
Eddie didn’t entirely mind playing dad for the day. It was no different than the times you’d lied to his extended family that you were dating, right? He knew he wasn’t the father, but it was interesting to see what it would feel like.
The nurse went through the usual things - blood pressure, temperature, weight. She left the room when she was done, leaving you and Eddie alone in the room.
“Eddie, cut that out!” You hissed as Eddie looked through the cabinets and drawers.
“What? They wouldn’t just leave it here if they didn’t want us to take it,” Eddie said, pocketing a handful of band aids.
A few minutes later the tech walked in, greeting you both before sitting in front of the ultrasound machine. Eddie moved his chair closer to you as she put the gel on your stomach and began the examination, the screen turned away from you.
“Is…everything okay?” Eddie asked nervously, speaking the words you were too afraid to say yourself.
“Everything looks good,” she said with a kind smile. She turned the screen, and there was…a little bean shaped thing. “This is your baby. You’re measuring exactly 8 weeks.”
Your eyes went wide, taking in the sight of the little wiggling baby. It didn’t look anything like a baby yet, but you still felt unimaginably connected to it. It was a bizarre feeling. That was your baby.
“At least it’s not twins,” Eddie joked, but you were barely listening.
In that moment you felt an acute awareness of Billy’s absence. Despite the fact that Billy hadn’t had anything to do with this pregnancy and had even insisted on an abortion, you hadn’t thought much about what he was missing out on. But this? You couldn’t help but picture the blonde beside you in Eddie’s place, getting that first glimpse of his child. How he’d place his hand on your belly to feel, or maybe even talk to the baby through your belly, play them his favorite music. Every time this happened, you pictured Billy as a good father.
But he wasn’t here.
The tech clicked something on the machine, and a rhythmic whooshing sound filled the room. “That’s the heartbeat,” she said. “A strong one!”
That filled you with pride- your baby was strong. It felt good to hear. You had been worried that things weren’t going well, one of the reasons you’d been dreading this appointment so badly. You didn’t know what you would do if something happened to the baby at this point.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Eddie asked.
The tech didn’t make him feel stupid for the question. “It’s still too early to tell. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a girl,” Eddie said confidently. “I just have a feeling.”
“I think it could be a boy,” you said, but you really didn’t know or mind either way. You could picture yourself with a son or a daughter. Billy would-
And there you go daydreaming again.
“Would you like some prints?” The tech asked as she wrapped up the exam, wiping the gel off your stomach. You nodded quickly - these were the first ever photos of your baby. You would have to hide them, but you wanted them. She gave you multiple copies, in case you wanted to share.
You walked out of the office feeling better than you had coming in, ultrasound photos gripped in your hand. There was no hiding from it now - there was a baby, alive and growing in your belly. Eddie kept one of the photos, claiming he was entitled to one as the godfather, a title he had awarded himself.
You were grateful for him, he had been an amazing friend to you before and during this. You had worried that he’d want nothing to do with it, that he’d be mad at you for getting yourself into this position to begin with. But he hadn’t given you any kind of judgement, only support.
If only you and Eddie loved each other as more than friends, if the rumors around school about you had been true, things might be simpler.
Theoretically, Eddie was the perfect guy for you. Best friends who never got tired of each other, same interests, attracted to each other. But you couldn’t help who you were and weren’t in love with, and you just didn’t feel that type of way about Eddie.
Yet here he was, willing to be judged alongside you without saying a single word about the truth. He was just willing to let the whole school call him names and think that he is the father of this baby, willing to walk beside you in front of the judgemental people of Hawkins. Ready to face your parents, who already hated him, when the time came just so you didn’t have to tell them the father wouldn’t be in the picture.
You didn’t understand it. But that was just Eddie.
The next day at school, you passed Billy a note in 2nd period.
“Can we talk?”
You watched as he opened the note, eyes darting up to you as he gave you an unreadable expression before folding the note back up. You weren’t sure what kind of answer that was.
After class he nodded at you to follow him into the empty science classroom, and you obeyed. Things always were on Billy’s terms.
“What?” He hissed once safely inside the locked classroom. He leaned against one of the tables. “Did you change your mind?”
“No, Billy, I didn’t change my mind.”
“Then why are you talking to me?” He asked simply.
His words stung deeply, but you didn’t dwell on them for long. “I had my first appointment yesterday. I thought you might want to know.”
You didn’t know how he was going to respond to that. Billy was always so unpredictable. He looked at you, his eyes roaming your figure. “Is it…was…everything okay?”
That was better than him blowing up. “They said everything was looking great. I’m 8 weeks and they have a strong heartbeat.”
Billy huffs something like a small laugh. Like yeah, it’s my baby, of course they’re strong. “Well that’s….good.”
You smiled softly. “Do you…want to see a picture?”
“They gave you pictures?” He asked with his brows raised. “I’ve never even seen a baby that small.”
You laughed - “It looks more like a little bean right now, but-“ you dug through your bag until you pulled out one of the prints, handing it over to Billy.
Billy took the photo from your fingers gingerly, like he was afraid he’d break something. He held it up to his face with a slight tremble in his hands, seeing the digital text on the photo - Hi mom and dad! - with an arrow pointing to the small blob.
“That’s really it?” He asked, his voice almost incredulous. “That’s the baby?”
“Yeah,” you confirmed. “Pretty crazy, right?”
Billy just stared at the photo. Eventually he looked up at you, his expression once again unreadable. “Can I keep this?”
“What?” The question caught you off guard.
“The picture? Can I keep it?” Billy repeated.
You did have multiple copies of the sonogram, but you were surprised he wanted one at all. “Yeah, sure,” you finally answered him, feeling like an ass for looking like you had to think about it for so long.
“How are you feeling with…everything?”
That question surprised you, too. “I’m okay. Still feeling sick and all the other usual symptoms. But nothing too bad.”
Billy nodded. It was quiet again. Then, “What do you think it’s gonna be?”
“I think it’s a boy,” you said, smiling softly. “But Eddie’s convinced it’s a girl.”
“Either way would be- wait, Eddie?”
You looked at him. “Yeah. Eddie thinks it’s a girl.”
“Did he…go to the appointment with you?” There was something swirling behind his blue eyes, something you couldn’t quite decipher.
“Yeah,” you said. “I didn’t want to go alone.”
“Oh.”
There was another minute of silence between you, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think Billy was hurt. “You didn’t seem like you wanted to go,” you said finally.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t,” Billy said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, taking one between his lips. “I’ve got to get back to class.” You watched as he turned in the complete opposite direction and walked out the back door, lighting the cigarette as he left.
Billy’s mind swirled with thoughts as he walked away - that was his baby. His baby. That everyone thought belonged to Eddie. It honestly pissed him off, but it was his own fault and he knew it. He could step out right now and say he was the father, but he wouldn’t do that. He was too much of a coward.
He thought of what his father would say. He couldn’t hide this forever, he knew. It would all come out eventually. Billy dragged on his cigarette as he thought of how Neil would react. And wouldn’t he deserve it? It was his fault you were pregnant and his fault you were doing it alone. Would his dad kick him out? What would happen to you? Would he be able to get a job and help take care of you and the baby?
He was getting ahead of himself again, thinking about the what if’s of letting himself get involved. He couldn’t do that. You and that kid were better off without him. It was bad enough he passed on his genes, but there was no escaping that one now.
But did he really want to be a deadbeat dad? The type of guy who he had no respect for, and now that’s exactly who he was shaping up to be. Is this what he wanted for himself? For his kid?
When he finished the cigarette, he tossed it to the side, then folded the photo carefully and stuck it in his wallet.
Back in class, Billy ignored you again. You almost thought you dreamed the whole encounter, but the missing sonogram in your bag proved it happened. Billy had really acted like he cared. That was totally unlike him.
When Carol and Tina started whispering and giggling at you, that seemed a bit more normal. You just didn’t know what was so interesting this time.
After class they waited for you, popping their bubblegum as they leaned against their desks. “Overheard your Freak boyfriend telling his friends you saw the baby yesterday. How cute,” Carol quipped.
You ignored them, trying to walk by just as Tommy and Billy came up behind them. “What’s going on?” Billy asked.
Carol and Tina looked up at them, malicious grins on their stupid faces. “I just heard the Freaks got to see their baby yesterday. I just wanted to congratulate her.”
Tommy snickered. “How sweet.”
Billy avoided your gaze. “Carol, just leave her alone. It’s not worth it, is it?”
Carol, Tina, and Tommy all gave him a confused look. Because when has he ever cared about making fun of you?
“I just mean,” Billy said, scrambling to recover, “she’s already pregnant in high school. That’s sad enough.”
His friends laughed, and by that point they were moving on to a different conversation. The girls turned and left, Tommy and Billy following behind. You wondered what Tina would think if she knew the truth about her crush.
Eddie dropped you off at home after school, and you were disappointed to see your parents home. You made sure the sonograms were buried deeply in your bag before you got out of the van.
“Are you gonna be alright?” Eddie asked, sensing your anxiety. “D’you want me to come in with you?”
“I think that might make things worse,” you attempted to joke, even though your words were true. Your parents hated Eddie.
“Call me if you need a getaway driver,” he called as you hopped out of the van, and you smiled at him. You caught sight of his copy of the ultrasound photo stuck in his sun visor.
You took a deep breath as you walked up the front steps of the house. As long as you didn’t set them off, this didn’t have to go poorly. You could get upstairs to your room and be left alone all evening.
Your hopes were dashed when you walked inside and your dad immediately called your name. You changed course and walked into the kitchen, finding both your parents standing their looking at you, your mother nursing a glass of wine while your dad held a scotch.
“Honey, your doctor called,” your mom began.
Your blood ran cold. You thought you would be sick on the spot. This could not be happening right now, you were not ready to tell them. But they seemed…oddly calm.
“Oh yeah?” You said, gauging the situation.
“They just said your prescription for Zofran was sent to the pharmacy. Have you been feeling sick?”
You let out a breath. “Oh, yeah, a little. They said it was probably just a stomach bug.”
Your father sipped his scotch. “You’re not going to use this as an excuse to skip school, right?”
“No, sir,” you said. You knew if you didn’t speak to him that way, it would be a whole other world of trouble.
“Good,” he said, “because you want to get into a good school, don’t you? We’ve discussed this.”
“Yes, sir,” you said. Your parents had always made their expectations clear. If you didn’t get into a school they deemed appropriate, they wouldn’t be supporting you any more.
“And I saw that van driving off,” your father added. “I thought we talked about not spending any more time with people like that.”
“People like what?” You asked, knowing better but your anger snapping uncontrollably. “Eddie’s my best friend.”
“The boy sells drugs,” your mother added. “He lives in a….”
“A trailer park?” You finished for her. “Is that what you were about to say?”
“He’s dragging you down,” your father’s voice boomed. “You are too good to be hanging out with his type. Why don’t you go out with the Harrington boy? Now that’s a nice kid, respectable parents-“
“Steve doesn’t even know I exist,” you scoff. “And his friends are dicks.”
“I’m just saying,” your father continued, “you need to keep better company before you’re knocked up and stuck with your choices.”
If only he’d known how cruel his words really were, how deeply they had struck. He would probably be pleased with himself. You turned and ran up the stairs, the tears in your eyes falling whether you wanted them to or not. In the safety of your room you jumped onto your bed, sobbing into your pillows.
cw: (unspecified) holiday gift shopping. overstimulation (but not that kind). cockwarming. oral. russian pet names taken from a list off google so we're being so niceys about it. (also the one reader goes crazy about means good/smart girl)
this is entirely @3amfanfiction 's fault. she may as well have come into my home the other day and shot me point blank in the chest when she said (completely unprovoked, by the way):
nik turns to reader and asks 'do we need to go to the car so you can calm down?' and you know it's code for suckling at his cock, cockwarming him until your emotions are a bit more level
so blame her
He's too big to fit properly in the back of his SUV, let alone with you squeezed between his thighs, his ankles bracketing your hips, but you make it work: front seat slid as far forward as it could possibly go, both back rows folded down into a platform he sprawls across with his back pressed into the corner by the door. On your belly, his thick legs encase your head, crowd around you protectively and shield you from would-be onlookers even beyond the capabilities of the tinted windows. He makes it easy to forget where you are, keeps you clothed so the scratchiness of the seat backs doesn't abrade your elbow, hums absently in a language he knows you don't speak to drown out the droning of the incessantly cheery holiday music blaring loud enough to be heard faintly across the car park, where you're sequestered to one of the quieter corners of the over packed lot. You think they must be playing it from on high, tinny sleigh bells ringing from weatherbeaten speakers hidden in the lot lights.
It would make you grind your teeth, if your mouth weren't full - soft flesh and thick musk, your tongue working over silken skin because it's so good and sweet and tender and -
Distracting.
"Shh, malýshka. Settle, little one."
Easier said than done when your brain feels like a boiled soft drink, sticky and hot, carbonated through your very bloodstream. You're flighty, a little shuddering dog vibrating at a speed that staves off the cold eking through the thin shell of the car, small drafts of chill you can feel against the skin of your hip when you shuffle too much and your jacket rides up. Your eyelids flutter, annoyed, Nik's obnoxious, striped undershirt coming into view, blue on blue in the dark. He shifts, wraps a heavy leg over you to keep you warm with the soft-worn pit of his denim-clad knee, and you melt a little further.
"That's it, radnaja, easy."
You're much better than you were, at least, the way you'd been spitting and hissing at him while he'd calmly marched you out to the car and had you stand at the taillight while he shuffled seats about playing on an embarrassing loop, casting an ugly pallor over the quiet moment he's created for you. You want to apologize, don't want to lose the comforting weight on your tongue long enough to do it. You slurp a little more aggressively instead, tongue chasing the saliva that slips past your soaked lips to leech into the fabric of his boxer briefs, and hope that illustrates your gratefulness.
"No playing, sweet thing. We're just taking a minute to unwind, remember?"
Even the mention of it - of the need to unwind - has you snuffling deeper, your nose pressed against the fly of his pants, trying to drown out the memory of what awaits you outside the relative safety of the car: the blaring music, the sputtering blue-bright LEDs, the raucous coughing of flu season and the bustle of too many bodies shifting past you, coarse wool coats and pet dander.
And responsibilities. Those, too. Entire aisles of nearly-identical, impersonal throw pillows for people you've only met twice. Or candles, cheap fragrance sticking in your sinuses until each one bled into the next, a putrid, garish bouquet you knew no one would like, let alone your mother. Let alone his mother, or -.
Your hand pushes against the tent of his pants, tucking the fabric behind his heavy balls so you can pull him deeper, suckle a bit harder. Your tongue slides against the loose skin of his sac and he sighs, hand heavy on the back of your head.
"If you can't behave, I'll make you sit out here by yourself, and we both know it will take you so long to calm down that you'll miss dinner." Muttering, he tacks on, "Know how fussy you get when you're hungry."
It's sorely tempting, your disinterest in returning to the shops strong enough you briefly consider trying your luck, but there's no tempting Nik when he's decided you're not going to get a treat no matter how hard you try. Besides, he'll say you're in timeout, which lands just a hair out of bounds on the wrong side of demeaning for you. So you relax your jaw again, let your drool drip past his balls unimpeded. One decision down.
"Úmnitsa," he hums, and then chuckles quietly when your whole body loosens. Even through the fog of overstimulation, you know that one - have twisted yourself into many knots just to hear it, have never earned it until you let him unwind you from them. You're conditioned by now, the word instantly unclenching something in your belly and letting you sink deeper into the impromptu scene he's crafted for you, the quiet pocket of warmth and silence he's carved into the bitter chaos of holiday shopping. This time you know how to thank him, head resting heavy against the soft flesh over his pelvis as you focus on what he lets you feel, the weight of his hands and the warmth of his thighs, the damp weave of his pants and the scratchiness of the bellyhair that pokes through his shirt. Like this, he fills your mouth better than your own tongue, pliant and soft, pulse a subtle countermeasure to your own. He never started the car - probably thought the hum of the engine and the dry wash of the heat would annoy you. He'd have been right, but you think you'd rather hear that than the lingering notes of jingle bells. Still, it's hard to be mad when he does his best to cover that as well, his quiet, lullaby interrupted sporadically so he can coo about how well you're doing for him, comment absently on how he knew you just needed papa to take care of you. It's enough to keep that small kernel of excitement alive in your belly, popcorn just waiting for its moment over the burner.
You find it when he shifts too much, rousing you from your reverie with a whine which he hushes a bit too loudly, hands a touch too heavy on your scalp when he apologizes. "Sorry, malýshka. I'm only a man."
He chuckles, but you're far enough gone that the words snag on their way through, drift in the lazy stream of your thoughts for a minute before you can catch them, untangle them enough to make sense. And then you're not laughing, letting his cock loll from between your lips with an embarrassingly sloppy sound, a wordless whine following after it as you try to get the cogs of your thoughts to slot together, petting his belly absently as you look up at him.
Nik's so handsome like this, slick hair shining gold and blue in the lot lights, disheveled from where it's been catching on the ceiling because he's far too tall to be folded in the back like this but he's done it anyway. For your benefit, let you use his body even as it probably drove him up a wall to feel the wet heat of your mouth on him, the tight control he's capable of applied here, on himself, denying his own needs because you'd been acting like the babies inside, kept out too late, crying under the fluorescent lights of an apathetic box store as their mothers broke down with them because the last fashion dolly had been snatched up minutes before they'd arrived.
"Please, papa?"
He hums contemplatively, hand slipping down to massage your shoulders. "Please, what, little one?"
"You… you need…?"
Brows arching to his high hairline, Nik takes a minute to settle your cheek against his hip again, turning you just slightly so you rest more firmly against his leg, your hip and shoulder bearing most of your weight. "Do you think you can handle it, radnaja?" he asks, knowing full well that the answer is no, but that you'll ask for it anyway because it's what you want. To be useful, to treat him. To be reduced to some mindless receptacle, not expected to decide between Nerf guns for graceless little nephews who would break them in less than a day anyway.
"Yes. Please, papa. Please. Let me -."
Nik has to snag your wrist to keep you from pawing at him too eagerly, tucking it behind your hip so he can lean forward and pin it there with the hand that slides heavily down your back, the fabric of your puff jacket hissing as the down parts for him. (Only the best and the warmest for his little one.) Leaning forward, his belly blocks out most of the remnant light from behind the tinted windows, lulls you further under with the soft-firm pressure. When his free hand pulls back to adjust himself, you're engulfed completely, lips parting blindly to accept him and huffing when he reprimands you with a gentle squeeze of your wrist for trying to pull more of his length in with your tongue.
"Take what I give, you, malýshka. Nothing more." His voice is warning when it finally registers, gravel deep. As far from soothing as it's been since you snapped at him about gift bags and he made you leave your entire shopping cart in the middle of the stationary aisle, but you want to listen to him so you do, jaw going slack as your tongue simply pulses against him, trying to coax that first drop from his slit.
He doesn't give it to you, not yet anyway. Pumping himself to full hardness with a careless clutch of three fingers without your help at all. Nik makes you squirm until you wear yourself out, quiet pleas falling on deaf ears as he returns to humming absently. At one point you hear his head thump against the back of the headrest and the tune goes thin, ragged. You picture the strong column of his neck, shaded dark with stubble and low light, flexing around the garbled Russian that spills from his lips. It's familiar, somehow, the cadence more than the pitch, but trying to place it when your brain is so fuzzy is like trying to catch a snowflake on your fingernail. Won't happen until you're not trying. So you slip in and out of it, focus more on the way his voice gets reedy if you cup your tongue around his head, give him a nice, warm pad to lay on.
When you rock against the flex of your own thighs, Nik's leg draws close to your front, his knee slotting up to your cunt and you shift until you feel the hard press of your seam on your clit, whining around the intrusion in your mouth just to hear him shush you.
"Said take what I give you, greedy thing. Don't be impatient."
But despite his words, it seems Nik himself is. Hand climbing to the back of your head, he pushes you down until he prods at the back of your throat, bouncing you there until his thigh flexes against your tummy, an odd jump of his quad you've come to know quite well. You hum happily and relax your throat, let him sink past the ring of muscle just to feel the catch, painting your tongue as he pulls back out and orders you not to swallow, whispers how he wants to see. You know what he means anyway, swallowing just enough that you don't make a mess, let it overflow and soak your skin, your clothes, his upholstery.
As if you'd ever waste it.
It's bad. Bitter with the hot coffee he'd had earlier, steam wafting around him as he'd carried the bags piled in the front seat now, hand dwarfing the cup. You rock against your inseam more at the memory than at the taste, listening to the relieved groan he emits as he finally finishes, one last pulse dribbling against your chin as he pulls himself free. You close your mouth as he manhandles you to your knees in front of him, opening again for his inspection when he lets slip a long string of Russian you don't understand. You hear Úmnitsa a few times between licks to your lips, the overheated skin of your jaw. His grip changes, cradling your face to let you melt into him and you shudder past your last swallow so he can pull you against his chest, showering your crown in kisses and you melt, his voice washing over you, driving the remaining overcrowding in your brain away until it's just that, just being good for him.
It's why you don't quite notice the weight of his palm on your hip, the warmth against your crotch when he drags it lower, content just to let him choose, happy to be pulled along. His fingers are deft on the button of your jeans, the first two fingers of his gloves cut off, allowing him to be nimble. You're done for the second he gets the pad of his middle finger against your clit, working you over until you're gasping against his chest, clutching at his strong arms like some wilting maiden.
You're fawn-legged and docile when he walks you back toward the shops, muttering something about a table at the nice Italian place which goes over your head. In your defense, he's gutted you so thoroughly and stuffed you so full of cotton that the jangling music doesn't even register anymore, let alone his words. Blocked off, plugged up right at the ear, Úmnitsa left to simmer on the hot plate of your cranial floor instead, drowning out the crunch of snow underfoot and the din of holiday chaos alike. You barely even notice when he ducks close to kiss your temple and says you'll stop for warm cookies after dinner, motioning to a bustling little shop which bursts at the seams with warm light and warmer vanilla. You just nod graciously, somewhat beyond speech.
The restaurant is blessedly quiet, lights dimmed to let the twinkle of their warm icicle lighting set the tone. The colors are muted, too. Quiet creams and golds, deep reds which settle you further into your own softness. The spell briefly lifts when you spot your other date, the silver in his beard catching the low light fetchingly. Stumbling ahead of Nik, you duck past the newspaper he's reading and plant a soft kiss on his whiskery cheek. "Sorry for being a brat, daddy," you whisper, folding yourself into the seat next to him so you can rest your head on his strong shoulder.
John just hums, folding his reading material up as Nik sits on your other side. You can't see the captain's face, but you can almost hear the curl of his lip when he speaks to Nik, voice mildly annoyed by the stickiness he must have caught on your lips, but soft nonetheless. Just for the two of them. "Bad one, was it?"
You'd be embarrassed, if Nik was. "Would not go under for me. All I could think to do. Practically begged for it."
"You spoil her," John chastises, but it's rich coming from someone who's got the contents of your abandoned shopping cart bagged and hidden under the table. You give his shoulder a kiss and his big palm finds your thigh, warm and soothing.
"Well, it worked."
"That's true." John squeezes your leg, voice taking on a patronizing tone as he addresses you for the first time. "You're a lot sweeter when you're not throwing a fit."
"Wasn't a fit," you grumble, but it would be no use trying to describe your state, and you've no words to do so besides.
John just grunts noncommittally, tips his menu your way. "Well, what do you want, sweet -?"
"I've got it," Nik interjects, barely even deigning to look away from his own booklet.
"You've got it?"
"You want the pork milanese, yes, malýshka?"
Unconcerned with what it means when Nik's thick accent sifts through Italian, you just nod. You're hungry enough not to be picky, anyway. They lapse into a stretch of silence after, for which you're a little grateful. Especially when Nik takes up his humming again, voice lilting through and adding to the orchestral score which plays softly overhead and now you hear it with the alto added in, you recognize it for what it is, voice climbing perilously close to angered after how hard he'd just worked to settle you.
"Were you singing me Christmas music back there?"
oh, and three's assassination attempt ended with:
but price just wants to keep winding you up, 'they're not going to the car. they're going to sit here and we're going to enjoy a meal as a family'
>:)
also, there exists a fully written version of this which culminated in a human urinal scene instead cause i wanted to to treat myself so lmk if anyone is interested in that version
