You really do think Caleb was a dog in his past life.
Here you are, on your bed dying from the most excruciating period cramps you think you've ever had in your entire life and Caleb has his head on your uterus.
It's honestly your fault for saying the hot water bottle wasn't hot enough, and… probably yelling at him too in the process. He panicked, you could see the gears turn in his head before he made you lay down on the bed and then planted his head on your stomach. “There!” He said triumphantly, if he had a tail you're sure he'd be wagging it, he looks so stupidly proud of himself as he nuzzles into lower abdomen. “You always say ‘I'm so insufferably hot’ when we cuddle at night, so I'm your hot water bottle now.”
You sigh and Caleb's head rises and falls with your breath, you can't be mad at him, not when he's giving you those big puppy dog eyes. “If it gets uncomfortable, I'm banishing you to the couch." You mumble, relenting finally. Caleb's eyes light up and he nods into your stomach. "I'll be gentle, I promise.” Your hand runs through his hair as he places a kiss on your tummy letting out a boyish giggle. He's far too pleased with himself. You can practically hear his phantom tail smacking against the bed from how happy he was to be helping, and being this close to you.
My job lets me do all kinds of unique things building a $3,000 sex doll! Or making a pride display for pride month (The DVDs behind her are all queer either Gay, Lesbian, or Trans in some way!) Working in a sex shop is a lot of things and boring ain't one
There were a lot of things that Eddie loved about going on tour. He loved traveling, exploring the country and beyond with his best friends. He loved the feeling of being on stage, all eyes on them as they played their asses ass. He even loved the tiny twin beds of the tour bus, especially since it usually led to Steve sleeping right on top of him.
But he especially loved the little rituals they had before a show.
“Eddie, baby, you gotta, fuck, go soon,” Steve groaned. He was trying to be the voice of reason, even if he was technically still pulling Eddie closer. Eddie was sucking a bruise into his neck, a hand slowly slinking under his shirt.
“Mmhm,” Eddie mumbled, making no moves to get up. The show didn’t start for another few hours and if he was ten minutes late for mic check, they’d live. Eddie could do a lot in those ten minutes, “Just a little more-”
But then Gareth was pounding on the green room door, “Munson for the love of God, stop making out and get your ass out here!”
“Told you so,” Steve laughed, breathless as Eddie reluntaly got off of him, “Now you’re going to have to rehearse with an erection.”
“Well you have to watch it with one, so we both lose,” Eddie sighed as he stood, stopping to kiss Steve’s forehead.
“Do we? Because last time I checked that door locked. And…” Steve leaned past him, grabbing one of the Rolling Stone magazines from the coffee table. The one that Eddie was on the cover of. He grinned as he lifted it up, “I have the best jerk-off material available. You’re on your own.”
“Oh, you brat,” Eddie groaned just as Gareth started pounding on the door again, “You’re going to pay for that tonight.”
Steve smirked as Eddie walked away backwards, having the audacity to give him a little wave, “I would hope so.”
Eddie forced himself to turn away, comforted by the fact that Steve would barely be able to sit by the time he was done with him.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, Jesus,” He groaned as he swung the door open, nearly getting himself punched in the face in the process.
Gareth retracted his hand just in time. He looked Eddie up and down with a sigh, “Why am I even surprised?”
“Hi Steve,” He added, waving at him from the doorway, “You mind if I fuck your husband up for being a late asshole? Just a little bit?”
“Just make sure not to hit him in the head,” Steve laughed, face flushed as he buttoned up his shirt, “We can’t have anymore concussions between the two of us.”
“I’ll take it,” Gareth sighed as he grabbed Eddie’s arm. Eddie barely managed to squeak out a quick Love you! before Gareth was dragging him away.
“Next time you ask us why we make you pay for after-parties please, remember this moment.”
“Will you fault a man for his addiction?” Eddie asked, dramatically putting a hand over his heart, “It’s a dependency I have no fault over-”
“No fault my ass,” Gareth huffed, the smallest hint of a smile hiding behind his grimace, “You’ve been an addict for a goddamn decade.”
from the soon-to-be-published epilogue of this fic
@jjoesjonas because I picked up writing this again after they sent me those Joe Keery audio clips from Fargo 👀👀
ANIMAL MAGNETISM ~ Part 1 ~ Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader - SFW, slight angst, building tension, Lifeguard Billy x Lifeguard Reader, bossy boss Billy 💖
A/N: This was originally supposed to be a small oneshot blurb, but a lovely follower requested a continuation, and you can find it here! I'm so excited to have given this a title, and there will be more to this story. 😎 Thank you to all who have enjoyed my work so far. You inspire me to keep writing, and I love you very much!
"Go fish out the change that kid dropped in the deep end. I don't want to wash my hair again." Billy was crunching potato chips in the shade as he barked orders at you while you were both supposed to be closing the Hawkins Pool. Typically you ignored him, but it was just the two of you for the end of the shift, the work needed to be done, and you knew he wasn't going to be the one to do it. You rolled your eyes and took the plunge just to get it over with.
--
"Put the cover on so we can get out of here." He didn't even look at you while he spoke this time. You finally had enough of him telling you what to do, so you stormed over to him.
"Why don't you do it yourself?" Billy's eyes snapped up to meet yours. You held your ground, standing with your hands on your hips, not breaking the stare. "What? Big, strong Billy Hargrove can't put the cover on the pool all on his own?" His blue eyes darkened like the sky before a storm, and he started to take slow, methodical steps toward you.
"What did you say?" He was trying to intimidate you, and you knew it. You weren't going to let him win this game.
"You heard me, Billy," you replied as he continued toward you until he stood right in front of you, your faces just inches apart. He jutted his chin upwards slightly and scoffed.
"No one tells me what to do, princess. Now go cover the damn pool so we can get out of here." The nickname sent a jolt through your stomach and up your chest -- electric butterflies.
"You've been ordering me around all day, and I'm so tired --" Billy put two fingers up against your lips and stopped you mid sentence. What the hell was he doing?
"Open," he demanded, his eye contact unwavering. You felt fire rise to your cheeks as you obeyed without question. He ran the pads of his pointer and middle fingers along the top of your silky, wet tongue back and forth, and slowly pulled them back out again.
"See," he started, tilting your chin up and running his thumb along your lower lip, cleaning up a small spot of escaped saliva, "you do know how to listen." Your mouth snapped closed when you realized what he had just done to you, and your trance was broken.
"That's not fair," you pouted, your brows furrowing as you took a step back. Billy donned his signature smirk and unwrapped a piece of gum, the scents of mint, chlorine, and Paco Rabanne pour homme pulling you back under his spell like a moth to a flame. He turned on his heel and strutted back toward the office, leaving you standing there to process what had just happened.
"Pool cover, princess!" His harsh tone made it obvious that you would still be receiving no help from him despite your attempt at leveling the field. Why did you obey him? Defeated and mortified, you left your desires to swirl around in your mind, reluctantly sauntering over to the cover and rolling out the long mat onto the top of the pool.
This is mildly cursed and a little crack-fic-y. SorryNotSorry?
~~~
"Anora, dear, this is a terrible idea," he protested.
"Nonsense, Father, it's a perfect gesture of goodwill.” The queen of Ferelden grinned wolfishly. “The Hero of the River Dane greeting Orlesian dignitaries? They'll be falling over themselves at the insult but won’t be able to say a damn thing because you’re royalty."
Loghain looked at Cailan, then sighed: he'd find no support in the man wrapped around his daughter's finger. "Fine, but I want it made clear that I am not in favor of this."
"As long as you do it, I don't care what you think, Father."
~~~13 years later~~~
"Loghain? Loghain Mac Tir?" Gaspard de Chalons exclaimed. He glanced between the Warden and the Inquisitor in shock. "You have any idea what a stir you're going to cause?"
The dwarf crossed her arms. "No more than I will on my own. He's useful."
You remind me of my daughter, he thought to himself, and not for the first time. Malika Cadash was ruthless once she had a goal in mind, and didn’t care who or what she ran over or broke if they got in her way.
The Grand Duke stared at Loghain a few moments longer than was strictly necessary, then licked his lips. “I suppose that’s true.”
Damn him, he remembered.
Two men past their prime, sitting in a nondescript inn in a no-name town in Edgehall, pretending not to resent that they’d been sent by their own family to prance and peacock at each other as a show of might. After the rest of the courtiers and ensemble had finished all their pomp and pageantry, they ended up in the barn, rolling around in the hay in what was definitely not a misguided drunken attempt to finally conquer the country that had caused them so much aggravation.
Loghain almost wished he’d worn a mask, but the thought of even pretending for a moment he was Orlesian made the bile rise in his throat. Being in the Wardens hadn’t lessened his disgust for the empire in the slightest, even if it had forced him to hide it better, but there were limits. “Can we get this over with?” he asked gruffly.
Malika arched an eyebrow at him, as if to say, Is this going to be a problem?
He shook his head slightly. Not for the Inquisition, at least. He followed as Gaspard escorted her inside, then slipped away through the crowd. The last thing he wanted was his presence to be announced at the ball. Some puffed up drunk prick deciding to avenge the insult to his country from forty years ago and ending up with his throat slit over the punch bowl was not a good look.
He skirted his way around the edge of the ballroom to the terrace, grabbing a glass of wine off of a passing tray. Avoiding lavish parties like this had been one of the best things about becoming a Grey Warden, and he already needed air.
“Mac Tir.”
He spun around. “De Chalons.” Smug bastard. “It’s been some time.”
“Ah, so you do remember?” Gaspard tapped a finger against his lips and smirked.
Loghain drained his wine and put the glass down on the table very carefully. It would call attention to himself if he broke it. “Don’t push me, Gaspard.”
“Or what?” the other man laughed. “My cousin might appreciate my death, but your Herald is here on my invitation.”
The Warden shook his head and started to go back inside. Noblemen, and this one in particular, made his head hurt.
Gaspard caught his arm. “I asked you a question.”
Loghain started moving as soon he felt the touch, turning to grab his throat and press him against the wall. Hopefully out of sight from the rest of the ball. “Or I’ll do it again, you Orlesian prick,” he growled, loosening his grip enough that Gaspard could breathe.
The chevalier coughed, almost delicately, then cocked his head. “Celene’s address isn’t for another hour.”
