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strangerstilinski · 5 months

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a little bit of Older!Eddie thirst on this monday night. 🥵

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

“-and anyway, all I’m saying is, you’re gonna get a lot more years outta your car if you bring it in to get an oil change every six months or so-”

It’s not that you don’t care about what he has to say, your lack of focus on his advice has entirely more to do with the way his thick fingers are curled around the pint of beer in front of him. The metal wrapped around the base several of his fingers clink softly every time the older man nervously drums them against the glass. All you can think about is those fingers in your hair, gripping the fat of your ass or your hips, stretching out your cunt in preparation for his cock.

Your stomach flips a little at the sight of his fingernails. Scrubbed clean of any of the oil or grime that had been wedged into his nail-beds when you’d first met a week ago at the auto body shop, the little patch sewn into his coveralls had blessed you with the name that you finally utter now.

“Eddie?” You interrupt sweetly, glossed lips pursing when his eyes snap to yours.

“Shit. Am I talking too much? I’m talking too much, aren’t I?” He rambles in distress, bringing ringed fingers up to scratch at the coarse stubble lining his jaw. “It’s just- When you asked me to get a drink, at first I kinda thought you were just angling for a discount on repairs, y’know? I mean, pretty thing like you? Actually wanting go out with this old mess? It seemed ridiculous, but- Well, now we’re here and you’ve already paid off the invoice for your car and I’m a little-”

“Eddie.”

His words cut off with a quiet clack as his teeth snap together, eyes searching your own in the dimly lit bar.

“I want you,” Your hand meets where his is wrapped around the sweaty pint glass, fingers hooking underneath his own as you guide your laced hands to rest on the sticky tabletop, “I.. really want you.” You repeat with a bit more emphasis, the words a little softer with vulnerability this time, a little more desperate.

“What, like-? Like right now?” Eddie is already looking around the bar with wide eyes before his gaze flicks back to you, question swimming in their brown depths, “Here?” He murmurs in quiet disbelief.

You give him a coy smile, long lashes blinking at him longingly, “Here.”

Eddie rises to his feet a bit clumsily, like perhaps his body was trying to respond to your words before his brain, “Shit. Fuck. Okay, sweetheart. If you’re sure, I mean. Uh, we.. We could.. Um-”

You're far too worked up to find his racing thoughts as endearing as you think that you normally would, “Eddie-”

He’s dragging you up from the other side of the booth in a flash, large hands falling to your waist as he begins to guide you through the desolate Tuesday night bar crowd with his chest pressed warmly to your spine.

“Just come with me, baby,” Eddie trips over a his own feet in his heavy boots and nearly takes you down with him, narrowly managing to keep his feet underneath himself as he tries to keep you from stumbling, “Shit, sorry-” He grumbles into your ear from behind, the huskiness of his voice and the warmth of his breath prompting a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Once the two of you have stumbled your way down the dark hallway at the back, you spin around to let your arms snake around his waist from behind. Eddie is fumbling with the sticky knob of the bathroom door, the hairs at the base of his tummy soft under your fingers and you can't help but dip your hand beneath his waistband where the hair spreads further.

“Shit-” Eddie fumbles with the door when your fingertips just graze the base of his cock, the skin silky smooth under your palm as you push a little further so you can wrap your small hand around him, “Oh, you're a f-fucking.. menace, aren’t you? N-not so sweet after all.” He tells you, not an ounce of bite to his words, more of a groan of approval than anything.

Your only response is to press your lips to the side of his throat beneath his wild mane of curls, snapping a small nip of your teeth against the curve of his shoulder as you work your hand torturously slow on his cock.

Distracted by your touch, Eddie swings the door open with with a bit too much enthusiasm. He dives forward to catch it before it can collide with the dirty porcelain sink on the inside wall and only narrowly gets a hold of it in time.

As soon as the door is secured behind you again, you're dropping to your knees in front of him. Your mouth finds the soft pudge of his tummy, and metal and leather clink and slap beneath your quick hands as you work his belt and get his jeans open enough to tug out his cock. It springs up as it's released, half hard already and bobbing in front of you like it's taunting you for just how badly you want him. His cock is gorgeous — average length but thick and beautifully curved just a bit to the right.

You hungrily eye the tip where he's flushed dark pink, shiny and dribbling just the tiniest bit already, shining in the hazy light coming from the exposed lightbulb in the ceiling.

Eddie lets out a groan as you take him in your hand again and lick at his tip, savoring the small beads of precome that meet your tongue. You hum at the salty tang of them, dragging your mouth down the length of him, tracing the soft vein along the underside of his cock with your lips and tongue.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie moans, his hand finding it's way into your loose hair nearly immediately. He doesn’t pull, he doesn’t push, his hands are entirely too gentle. His fingertips pet soft at your head like he’s praising you already and you’ve hardly even started, “You.. Baby girl, you don't have to-”

You lean back from where you'd been swirling your tongue around the head, giving his length a couple of short tugs as you look up at him through your lashes with a huff, “Mm, and maybe I want to. You ever think of that?”

He balks, hips jerking minutely and incidentally thrusting his cock toward your pouting lips, “I.. Um-”

“Maybe I’m a young, confident woman who knows what she wants. And maybe I want to suck you off. Did that not cross your mind? Hm? That maybe I might like having your dick in my mouth?” You continue, voice dropping a few octaves.

A soft gasp turned groan falls from the older man’s lips when you lean back in to suck lightly at the tip and the sound has your thighs clenching together against the wave of arousal that curls in your tummy.

“Do you?” Eddie can’t help but ask, the question coming out a quiet groan, “Like it?”

“Mhm,” You hum around him, pushing further down his length to take in more of him, letting him feel the way your throat constricts around the head of his cock when you gag before pulling all the way off again, “Love it.”

“I just thought- Pretty thing like your shouldn’t have t- God. I, uh. You.. Shit. You’re certainly ohmygod- g-good at it.” He struggles to get his words out when you take him back between your lips, but then he’s huffing a quiet sigh of distress when you remove the warm heat of your mouth from his length once again.

“Good..?” You repeat in question.

“Wh- Huh?”

Eddie is blinking down at you dumbly, his hand flexing in your hair as he tries to clear his head. It's infuriatingly sexy.

“I’m on my knees for you in a dirty bar restroom and I’m ‘good’ at sucking your dick? It's.. ‘Good?’” You say the word with distaste, one eyebrow ticking up on your forehead in challenge as you place his tip back against your lower lip teasingly. You let it rest there, one hand coming up to his waist to keep his hips from jutting forward as you part your lips and let a warm breath wash over the wet head of this cock.

“Shit, sweetheart. Did I say good? I meant great! I, uh, phenomenal! M-mindblowing fuck-” He moans loud around the word when you reward him by taking him into your mouth again.

You let him rest heavy on your tongue, sucking and bobbing your head in slow drags while he sighs out a desperate little sound at the feeling.

“Fuck. You- You’re perfect, baby girl. You have to know that. An angel. Gotta know how much you’re- Ohh-”

The surprised groan that cuts him off has you soaked beneath your panties, moaning around his length in response.

“-How much you’re rockin’ my world right now.” He finishes weakly.

You pull off to give him an amused smile, jerking him in earnest with one hand and wiping spit from your lips with the other, “Oh, I rock your world, huh, old man?” You tease.

“God damn it,” Eddie breathes the words, dragging you up by your shoulders until you’re standing in front of him again, “You really are a little brat, aren’t you?”

But his mouth is on yours before you can respond, beer coated tongue breaking through the seam of your lips, a wide palm and fingers covered in cool rings encasing the back of your neck as he leads you just a few steps backward, until your spine is hitting the door.

Your keening moan is lost in the kiss, and as life-changing as his cock and fingers and mouth prove to be that evening, it’s his whispered words of praise and the sweet kisses he presses to your hair as he catches his breath at the end of it all that truly ruin you for anyone else.

As it turns out, the older mechanic who fixed up your car? Eddie? He’s kinda it for you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie #mechanic!eddie #older mechanic!eddie #stranger things #eddie blurb #stranger things blurb #eddie imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #*

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horrorartsworld · 4 months

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revenge is sweet pt. 2

lucifer/demon f!reader

a/n: for all the babies that wanted a part two!!

warnings: rough sex if you squint, lucifer being possessive because he can, daddy kink, slapping, spanking, brat taming, not proofread 😵‍💫

here’s part one if you missed it!!

(little recap:)

"HE DID WHAT?!"

Rubbing the back of your arm sheepishly as you stood there watching Lucifer's eyes turn red as his demon form became more prominent, teeth snarling as he came closer to you. "Well... hehe...we'll just have to fix that, won't we my love?" danger laced in his voice as he closed the space between you two.

"I'm fucked."

In all your years of knowing him you’ve never seen him this upset to the point he seemed as if he was loosing it. Loosing it at the thought that little shit for brains actually one upped him, let alone with his own wife. IN HIS OWN WIFE IN FACT.

“Oh you have no idea…” he spoke threateningly with a hidden promise you knew all too well. However, your fiery attitude from earlier never died down, so you weren’t gonna back down without a proper fight.

“Are you really surprised though? You’ve been away for weeks, practically months without even trying to see me, let alone be with me, your wife!” you finally snap thinking back at why this all happened in the first place. Lucifer only scowled at the thought, narrowing his red eyes at you.

“Doesn’t mean you can run around and be an unfaithful whore” he says in an unsettlingly calm tone making that fire you thought you had just now fizzle out within an instant, causing you to shift uncomfortably in front of him.

“Still…you fucking left me Luci…and you know how i get when i’m alone and you didn’t even bother to call me,” you cross your arms over your chest looking away from him and out the window to the streets of hell as it seemed more wild around this time of night.

He runs a hand through his hair, laughing to himself in visible frustration but he still tried to tone it down while he looked you over. “Listen…” he said sternly yet still keeping this calm persona, his voice the only thing echoing in your ears. “Whatever you say or do from this point forward will have consequences to your actions, so i suggest you be a good girl and stop spouting nonsense to get you out of what’s about to happen.” you genuinely couldn’t believe what you’re hearing, facing him once more, your brattiness on full defense mode as you persisted on letting him hear your side.

“And why should i listen to you? It’s not like you’re bothering to listen to what i have to say right now.” you spat, the corner of your mouth twitching up in a snarl. Simply chuckling, Lucifer’s hand found it’s way into your hair with an unsuspecting tight grip, fist unforgiving as you were yanked down to your knees.

“Now is that any way to talk to your overlord sweetheart?”

You yelped softly as your knees burned with the sudden contact they just had with the floor, the unmissable low tone of his dominance causing your nerves to spiral.

“Hm?” He probed, hand pulling your hair even more taught as he pulled you closer to his clothed crotch, your cheek coming into contact with his hard-on while he rutted against it making your throat run dry.

You felt like you were having an out of body experience, this kind of intimidation and authority coming from Lucifer wasn’t like him and it seemed as though it was having quite the effect on you.

“Speak. Now.” he reprimanded, using his hold on your hair to crane your neck back to look up at him in all his glory.

“Mm- I’m sorry..” your voice coming out more pitiful and meek then you hoped, opposite of your heated speech from earlier.

Holding your breath you watched a sinister smile crept onto your husband’s face causing your heart to drop to your ass, quivering uneasily in his hold he nods gesturing to his hard-on strained so eagerly now against his nice dress pants.

“Oh i know baby, but you gotta prove it” his hand slipping out from your hair, but his hold on you was still evident even though it wasn’t physical anymore.

His sinister smile very much still plastered on his snake like mouth, watching as you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull his lower half towards your face. You undo his belt with much delicacy, watching the straining fabric as it came into view, your once dry mouth watering instantly.

You pull out his hardened cock, the tip flushed red, angry and spewing precum, kitten licking it and then giving a light kiss to the tip just to sweeten him up a bit.

Lucifer not being able to hold in his reactions as he shivers, letting out tiny puffs of air as he watches you carefully kiss down his shaft. And after a while of you prolonging it he grabs your hair once more, pulling you back from his cock.

"That’s enough.." he grumbles, when you desperately try to put your mouth back on it again. "You had enough time to make this about you, this about me now. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue."

Brows furrowing in confusion while you try not to pout, you lean back on your heels doing just as he says with your mouth open and waiting. Your lashes batting up at him as you watch him tower over you, putting his legs on either side of your thighs while holding his length directly in front of mouth stroking himself up and down.

Small breathy moans escape his lips as his head is then thrown back with his lip caught between his teeth. You wanted nothing more than to have this picture burned in the back of your brain as he looked so beautiful.

He curses under his breath practically thinking the same thing as you, seeing you sitting there so obediently and drooling for his seed.

“Hungry for daddies cum aren’t you?” slapping his tip against your tongue, you nod eagerly feeling him start to tease it into your mouth.

A hand wrapping around it instinctively helping him get closer, pumping him and moving your head in a bobbing motion causing him to growl above you.

He then without warning thrusts deep hitting the back of your throat making you gag, tears welling up in your eyes whilst his hand holds your head in place, not giving you a second to breathe. Thrusting a few more times before his hot seed spills into your throat, purposely pulling out and letting your spit fall down your chin.

You sallow the salty substance and then take a much needed breath, that was short lived when he reaches down to grab you by the throat pulling you up to his level. Your knees aching from being in that kneeling position for longer than you thought. “Who owns you?”

“Y-you do…” you muster out, he then holds you away from him as he slaps you lightly a few times, putting everything in him not to go further to ruin your pretty face, but just enough for it to sting.

“Say it better then that~” he gritted through his teeth, cowering in his hold you try everything in you to say it like he wanted.

“You own me!~” you shout with a pitiful whine following.

“Oh that’s my good girl…You fucking know who owns this body and you better not forget it…”

Once you got the notion of it possibly being over, you were wrongfully mistaken as you were thrown onto the bed with your backside facing him. The hole in your fishnets still very much there from when you and Adam were at it causing Lucifer grimace, throwing a harsh smack to your ass, your body jolting with the impact.

“Count..” he demands ripping your fishnets more to where they were basically off of you, shivering underneath him as you felt the warmth of his hand print spreading amongst your cheek.

“O-one…”

He spanked you again harder this time, across the center of your ass, and you whimpered.

"Mhmph..again..." he moaned softly with you while soothing your stinging skin. Before spanking you the second time, but on your right.

"Two!" You gasped against the sheets when he immediately spanked another time. “T-Three!”

He spanked you again and again about eight more times, and left sweet kisses down your neck for taking it so good to him.

“D-daddy…i….mm- please~” you look back at him behind you with pleading eyes, your clit radiating with heat that couldn’t go ignored much longer.

“Please what baby?” he mocked sweetly, feeling his cock twitch just at your words and the pout taking place on your face.

“Pleeeeease fuck me daddy…i-i need you so bad~” you cry out wanting nothing more to be filled by the one who owned you.

A low growl admits from him as your naughty words were rewarded gratefully once he finally made his way in, stretching your walls so deliciously making you tremble as you adjusted. Not shortly after he started rocking his hips slowly into you then finally finding a good pace that made you mewl uncontrollably.

“Such a dumb slut you are baby….getting filled by two different cocks in one day…fuuuuck…but you know daddies is better huh?…” he coos at you in a baby voice as if he wasn’t fucking you senseless into the mattress.

If you weren’t already out of your wits end you would have realized this was brought back upon the rivalry once more, but at the end of it was nether of the men who won this war.

It was you who had got fucked for most of it.

Which not even a couple months later you came up pregnant.

Now the real war is who’s the baby daddy?

(i know this is a wack ass ending but i thought it was funny 💀)

#☆⋆｡𖦹 my writings #☆⋆｡𖦹 lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin imagine #lucifer hazbin #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut

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st7rns · 27 days

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓, c. sturniolo

✿ IN WHICH, chris takes his spoiled!gf on her third shopping spree of the month and she finds a way to thank him…

✿ WARNINGS, smut, oral (male!receiving), use of curse words, semi-proof read

✿ RORA SPEAKS, guys this is my first story so it might be a lil bad but i js KNOW chris would spoil his gf so i had to write this 🙏🙏

i love my man.

he’s always buying me things. if i even smile at something i see while shopping, he’s already picking it up and putting it in our cart. the amount of times he swipes his card when he’s with me is insane.

i have all the new clothes, shoes, purses, etc. but it’s not like i ask him to buy me all these things, he does it on his own!

so far this month, he’d already taken me on two shopping sprees. one at target (who knew self care items were so expensive?) and the other for an online clothing store.

but i reallyyyy want a new purse. so, of course, after he saw me eyeing it for a few weeks, he asked me something like “what brand is that purse you wanted again?” and i practically screamed in excitement, “coach!”

and that explains why we’re at the mall, four shopping bags around my dainty wrists and my new purse around the other. “have i told you how much i love you?” i say sweetly, standing on my tippy toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. my lip gloss made a mark and i smiled at it on his fine ass face.

“not enough” he says lowly, pressing the buttons on the vending machine. at the last store we were in, he practically begged for me to hurry the fuck up so he could get a pepsi or else ‘he’d die.’

he licked his lips in concentration as he watched the soda fall from its row in the vending machine, and it made my legs weak.

“well, i can show you” i whispered seductively in his ear, my hand shaking up his chest to the side of his neck. i inhaled his dior sauvage cologne and it only made me wetter.

“we’re in public, baby” he whispers back, looking around as if someone could hear us. i raised my eyebrows in a “so?” expression which only made him smile and shake his head. “you wanna fuck in the bathroom?”

i knew he was saying it jokingly but my lips form a pout, “what about all my stuff?” i hold up all my shopping bags. he looks down at the multiple bags and groans, “let’s get the fuck home, then”

as soon as he unlocked the door, i jumped on him like a wild fucking animal. i kissed and licked on his neck, earning me a squeeze on my ass and a groan from his lips.

“can’t wait. want you so bad” i whimpered in between kisses, reaching my hand down to palm his hard dick. he broke away to yell “NICK? MATT?” after a few minutes of no reply he picked me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and sat me on the kitchen counter.

“so needy, yeah?” he says breathlessly, pulling his pants and boxers down in one go. i slowly stroke his dick, sweetly kissing him on the lips at the same time “only for you”

he gave me a cocky grin as he slipped his hands up my shirt, groping and squeezing my boobs. i moaned and threw my head back.

after a few seconds of that, i pulled his hands away. i shook my head, my hair sticking to my lip gloss, “i wanna make you feel good, baby” i slowly got off the counter and dropped to my knees in front of him.

“gonna make me feel good?” he says teasingly. i kiss only the tip of his dick, his pre cum layering over my lip gloss, before looking up at him through my long lashes, and taking all of him in my mouth. or most of him.

he groans and grabs the back of my head, pushing him farther down my throat. “so fucking good, ma. take that shit” i bob my head up and down on his dick, tears filling the edges of my eyes.

the only sounds in the room are chris’ noises of pleasure and the wetness of my mouth around his lubricated dick. i can tell chris is close to reaching his high by the way he starts to sloppily stroke the back of my head.

“fuck- keep going, baby. i’m so close-“ before he can even finish his sentence, warm cum shoots down my throat. i swallow every last drop before popping his dick out my mouth.

“stick that tongue out, mama” he instructs and i do as i’m told, sticking my pink tongue out to show that i swallowed. “that’s my girl” he praises, cupping the side of my face and placing a gentle kiss on the top of my forehead.

“you’re gonna have to show me how much you love me way more often” he chuckles, pulling his drawers and pants up. i smile before gasping, suddenly remembering how he bought me a new purse, and sprinting to where we dropped all of my shopping bags.

i put the purse on, twirling in a circle to give chris the full picture. he licks his lips as he looks me up and down, “you’re so fucking beautiful. did you know that?”

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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natriae · 3 months

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Oh to make out with omi omi like it’s so messy and hot and surprisingly he love it too. Maybe one day u are having drinks and things get heated. OMGGG a roommate au fuckkkkk my mind goes burrrrrrrrrr

NO FRR needy omi makes me go brrrr

I'M SO SORRY FOR NOT WRITTING THIS SOONER

WARNINGS: 17+, BONER ALERT!!, drinking

Friday nights with your roomate weren't unusual. The two of you often going to the fanciest bars in Tokyo with the best views. You'll have to thank the Volleyball Association for his hefty paycheck. The two of you didn't get to see each other often between you pursuing your master's degree, Kiyoomi traveling and his tough practice schedules. The most interaction you guys have had in the pass month was passing him in the hallways. Him always being half dead and you... well you weren't in the best shape as well.

So you decided that the last friday of the month was Omi and Y/N time. While you wanted to spend this time showing him how greatful you are he took you in, omi had the idea of going to "better" establishments. By better he means 3 star michelin restaurants... the ones you can't afford.

Yes, it was nice to see that his name allowed the two of you to experience these beautiful places, but as of lately these seemed more like dates rather than two roommates catching up. Not that your opposed to a date with Omi. Have you seen his body? But he's seen you at your worse. Crying to him at the bar in Ongiri Miya about how your getting evicted from your apartment and how your behind on loan payments. He's seen you sick and begging for him to get you toilet paper. If anything he probably takes you to these places to be his wing woman.

One too many drinks later, and the two of your are stumbling out of the restaurant to his luxurious car. Kiyoomi was much better at hiding his drunkenness than you where. The street lamps were just dim enough to hide the pink dusting his cheeks.

All of your weight pressed into his side while he attempted to keep you upright. "Y/N you need to work with me," the taller man grunts before decides to lift you up over his shoulder. "we need to go home," he breaths into the chill night air.

"whoa, big boy take me on a date first," you giggle into his back. Hitting one of his butt cheeks with the palm of your hand.

You're flipped back upright once you reach his car. He opens the back door and tosses you in. It takes a moment for your brain to register that he got in next to you. "why aren't you driving?" you question, laying your head on his shoulder.

"I'm drunk...gonna wait till I sober up a bit," he states closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Always so responsible. "Also we live together, and that was a date, so I wouldn't be in the wrong," he says sternly looking down at you.

Popping your head up you look at him with furrowed brows. "what do you mean that was a date?"

"Was it not?" He questions, more so to himself than to you. While Kiyoomi is lost in his own thoughts yours run wilding thinking of all the times the two of you have gone out like this. He never said any of these were dates...

You watch as Kiyoomi's adam's apple bobs in his throat. If his face wasn't flushed enough it's clear now. His ears bright red as he stutters out his next words. "d-did you not want this to be a date?"

Did he really think these were all dates? You attempt to look at him in the eyes, yet his fail to meet yours. His head remains looking at the window leaving you with only the view of his red ear. Memories flood your mind in attempt to find the word date leave his mouth during any of your plans. Yet all you can remember are the times Kiyoomi was left stressed he wouldn't have time to shower and change, how he spent an abnormally long time on his hair, or how he always would sneak his card to the waiter so he paid for your meal.

"Hey, look at me," you whisper, lightly moving his chin to face you. His pupils widen over his already dark eyes making them look like perfect tapioca pearls. "we're these all dates?" did you want these to all be dates? Kiyoomi nods his head slowly, and you drop your hand from his face. Unwanted touch was not the man's specialty, yet his hand drops to yours. Placing it back on his cheek, as he looks into your eyes.

"I didn't know how to ask you, and I definitely drank to much tonight," his face flushes more as he rubs your hand softly. "Miya told me to ask you tonight, but i was.."

"Kiyoomi you can say you were nervous," you whisper in the dark car inches from his face.

"never," he smirks. That's something you can tease him about tomorrow. You want nothing more then to kiss the stupidly handsome man. "didn't think you'd like me.. you know with my habits," he states barely loud enough to hear.

"how can I not, at least i know you don't have shit stains," you giggle, leaning closer, noses almost touching. He giggles with you, a sound you don't get to hear often. The deep breath he takes is almost enough of a distraction for you to miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips.

"Kiyoomi"

"huh" he responds on autopilot.

"do you wanna kiss me?" you ask, eyes widening like that of a doe.

"may I?" the gentleman in him asks. Not even a second later your leaning completely into him. Leaving a soft kiss on his lips. His eyes remain shut after you seperate. Your nose still touching his, a small smile escapes as you lean in to kiss him longer. His hand comes to rest on your neck to push you futher into him. You may have broken Kiyoomi.

He bites your lower lip as his hand leaves your neck to wrap around your body while his other hand grabs your thigh to help situate you on his lap. Both of your hands hold his face as you deepen the kiss. You can't help, but strattle him while your tongues explore each others mouths. It's mess and sloppy as saliva drips from the corner of your mouth. His large palms move under your dress to kneed your ass. Your not even sure this is your Kiyoomi with the way his hand slaps, strach that, spikes your ass. Kneading the flesh before repeating the action. Your left unbuttoning his shirt as he begins to trail kisses down your neck. His hands go to waist to push your heat to his hard on.

They were right, it's always the quiet ones.

Your hands tangle in his hair as your left grinding onto him. At this point your dress is bunched up around your waist, allowing Kiyoomi's hands to play with the string of your thong.

Kiyoomi's deep breaths lead you on as you kiss down his neck. "y/n, y/n, not here," he breathlessly rasps. He hears your whine as you grind a little harder into him. He laughs before bringing your face to look at him. His hairs a mess, shirt halfway unbottoned, and his breathless. What god do you have to thank for this sight.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #kiyoomi sakusa #sakusa #sakusa x reader fluff #sakusa x reader #hq sakusa #hq headcanons #hq imagines #hq smut #hq #sakusa smut #haikyuu smut #haikyū!!#haikyuu fluff

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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keep close | joel miller

Summary: It takes you six months to break. You thought you'd last longer. Tried convincing yourself that everything in your head was because he saved you, not because of real attraction. One night, Joel proves that to be wrong. a/n: I'm nothing if a byproduct of my environment. And my environment right now is a mind palace made only of Pedro's role... so here we go. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. [WC: 3.7k] Warnings: Mostly fluff. A hint of indecent thoughts, so maybe reader discretion is advised? Protective!Joel, strangers to friends, unresolved sexual tension.

masterlist

What lived under your skin the most was Joel's duality.

Registering the range of what he was proved to be a difficult task from the very beginning.

Here he was, the man who saved you. The man who somehow, despite the gritty and cruel ways of existence, managed to keep a kind bone in his body. Kind enough to step in when you were in danger, even if he didn't need to. Life-threatening danger—most people would look away these days. But not him. Not Joel.

Here he was, the man who was kind enough to look you in the eye when he saw you crunched down in a corner, sweating profusely due to the wounds and most likely looking like a rabid or wild animal, and still tried putting some calmness to his voice before asking: "Can you walk? I heard you. 'm gonna help, ok?"

That man. The same one who beat the bastards who were keeping you to a pulp. That man, currently, slept only a couple of feet away from you, with his face half-tucked inside his scarf and jacket, and for the first time in your life, you saw Joel... smiling.

It was the first time you witnessed it.

The book on his lap told you he fell asleep mid-chapter. While the sprain and cuts were minor compared to what they could be, Joel fussed as if they were broken bones. The most worrisome part was your ribs, but those, he cut out fabric from an old t-shirt of his ("they're all old now though, aren't they?") and wrapped your body as firmly as he could.

It made you smile, even if only at your own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

How could this be the same man?

Sometimes, you closed your eyes and saw him like that.

Mid-fight, rage and sadness oozing out of him as if they were radiation, his fists flying so fast it seems impossible to catch up to the act.

When violence is needed, Joel breaks the calm surface and introduces outsiders to the storm within.

It goes calm, storm, drizzle.

He'd never change that.

Now that it was too late, Joel would always be this sea of turbulent waters, often hidden by its vastness.

Joel "I will punch you in the throat" Miller asked you very few questions at first.

Dinner on the day he rescued had been awkward, to say the least.

Not that it mattered in the long run.

What was awkwardness in the face of not looking over your shoulder, and what was feeling left out and intrusive in comparison to the jittery stress of always checking if the gun is loaded?

Nothing.

Having two people close by who seemed alright in the head — a rarity, if there ever was one —trumped it all.

Joel and Ellie were headed West. So were you.

It was logical, only. Or it was, at first.

"I could definitely use an extra pair of hands with this one," Joel admitted. It was the first night walking together after one week stationed at the same place to wait for yours and Ellie's healing—a night of dubious whiskey and traded information.

"She doesn't seem that difficult," you answered, eyeing Ellie's sleeping frame on the other side of camp.

He scoffs. "She isn't." His lips pursed in a thin line. "I just—" his shoulders shrugged. "Think she might get bored with just me."

For someone who had barely said a word for a whole week, it was more than you first perceived him to be. "The world's quite a boring place now," you whispered. Then, shrugged your shoulders just the same. I don't care. "I like it."

"Do you?"

"I do." You remembered how noisy things were. So many nowadays lacked the age for that, but not you. "'s nice hearing nature. And that one," you tilted your chin towards Ellie, "should be happy to be alive."

The truth of that hung in the air.

That first conversation sealed it for you—Joel making an effort to ask things and answer your inquiries surprised you.

"Think we can keep her alive 'till we get to the Fireflies base?" Joel asked you.

You thought it over for a second, and came to a conclusion. "We can definitely try." A purpose other than escaping — all you've ever known — and surviving sounded good to you. "And if that's your mission, probabilities of success rise with another member on the team."

That night, all you got out of him was one eyebrow raised. "Is that so?" It sounded teasing, but he looked so serious saying it. "Well. 'm gonna hope you're as good with that rifle as you are with your probabilities."

To his delight, he quickly discovered you were.

Faster, even.

Joel might have risen an eyebrow at first, but your sentence proved to be true in the next couple of months. There's a team there. The two of you do your best at trying, even through hardships.

When there are no Fireflies, you make Ellie look away from the bloodshed. With no clear plan or direction in sight, you're a helpful extra set of eyes when Joel decides it's best to look for Tommy.

In all of the three months where you, Joel, and Ellie head towards Wyoming, a routine is established, and the days looking after each other make it hard to pretend there's any distance between your little group.

Ellie is fond of your Encyclopedia of Unbelievable Facts.

She's a quick learner, an agile fighter with a wicked sense of humor, and enough cursing to rival you in the games of "unladylike shit and sounding like pirates, honestly," as stated by Joel.

He hid a lot of his amusement in scoffs and sighs, you thought.

Joel is fond of doing perimeter checks, sleeping on his side, and 'peace and quiet'.

It takes you a bit to understand that it's easier to pull conversation from him when Ellie is safe and sound. Tucked in her sleeping bag, showering in the river streams (and swearing incessantly under her breath), eating her food.

Without Ellie around, Joel opens up, bit by bit.

He talks about Tess.

About how close he and Tommy always were.

"I bailed him out of jail, y'know? That night of..." he doesn't say it.

Most of us never do. "Did you?"

He chuckles drily. "I did." He shakes his head, sips his water. "Stupid fucker."

"More like lucky fucker." When Joel turns his head to you with furrowed eyebrows, you elaborate. "If you hadn't gone, no more Tommy."

Joel takes a second before nodding. "Yeah."

"Were you always bailing him out of trouble?"

His face softened for a second. Before him, you embraced the darkness as you did the silence, but now, you wished for better lighting. "Often. Once, he and I were at our dad's house on a winter hunting trip. He hated those at first, but before..."

You started living for the stories.

Joel's presence became warm when he shared.

Vivid, and so fucking tempting.

It was all soft whispers back and forth, until the day he dropped her name.

"Sarah."

You knew the second you heard it—an open wound starts smelling the longer it stays open, and this one carried literal weight to it.

A whiff in the wind, and mourning was all over the air.

Joel left, and in the morning, nothing more is said.

Colorado changes everything.

It gives you the smile.

It comes at a cost, like everything else.

Since there's been no Tommy, you advise and convince Joel to check the Fireflies base here, only to find out they're relocated to Salt Lake City. When you three are coming out of the building with the fresh news hot on your laps, a group tries to ambush and kidnap you three.

As it does in this world without order, hell breaks lose.

Other than hell, a lot more breaks—protocol, jaws, ideas, trust.

Theirs thankfully.

You, Joel, and Ellie make it out alive, but not good.

You find a safehouse in a mountain cabin.

"Friend of Tommy's used to live here. Thank fuck it's still here," said Joel.

"Thank fuck indeed 'cause I don't know how much longer I can—oh fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel."

"Hey, hey, take it easy, slow down." Joel is just if not more fucked up than you from the fight, but he's still the one holding you up. He whistles—a call for Ellie. "Help with her other side, we can finish lighting up the place afterward. She needs to lie down."

Ellie hooks her frame underneath your left side, and you thank her with your weak and sweaty smile. "And your sure just lying down and resting will heal her rib?"

"It just cracked. Bones heal, El."

"I'm just checking." Ellie always checks. "You might need some penicillin, too. That knife looked ugly."

"I'll get it once we're all cleaned up. I'll go on a run," says Joel.

You're hurt too, you bastard.

"I'm the only one not limping here, can't I go?" asks Ellie.

"No," you and Joel say in unison. "I'll go tomorrow. I'm bruised, but nothing's infected. I think I saw a warehouse down there."

Ellie sighs next to your ear. Then, she mumbles to you right before you're lied down on the bed. "Bet this will be Pittsburg two."

Pittsburg.

The fight. Joel deciding to save you despite your brother almost ruining Ellie's life.

Joel's frame sleeping next to your cot.

"You shouldn't have run off like that."

Not a single request for your apologies, or a comment on the shitshow that happened before you just 'ran off'.

Joel, the same man who saved you from a group of lunatics by bashing one of their member's head against the nearest tree, huffed and puffed before saying, "you saved Ellie's life by shooting your brother. and... i'm sorry about what came after that."

An apology from him.

How was that fair?

"You don't need—to thank me."

"I do."

"...You just saved my life, Joel."

"Well, you saved Ellie's, so consider us even."

That was then.

That was before deciding you were a team. Before heading West, before finding out about Salt Lake, before the attack.

Joel probably needed to rest himself.

Except—

There he is.

The first thing you think upon waking up in the candle-lit room.

Joel slept next to you, almost as if keeping guard.

It stirs the strings in your chest.

It's one thing to be observed by him after he saved you from those three men because you're bruised and traumatized by the whole thing.

It's whole other to know Joel is just as bruised.

Six months have passed since then.

A lot has happened. More than you could compute, sometimes, but less than your heart desired.

All the struggles, the Infected, the long days of walking, and the hard nights of worrying have molded this new thing into its own ecosystem.

This Joel sleeping on an old mattress right next to you lets Ellie take watch because he trusts her abilities and her notion of danger. He knows if you two prefer your 'apocalypse grub' — an Ellie trademark term — all mixed together or separated, if you can be trusted with the bourbon bottle (no), and that your taste in music is "atrocious but expected" (his words, clearly).

This Joel knew you kept your distance for a reason.

He'd seen it in you, months ago.

And yet, there he was.

With the book — your book — in his lap, sitting with his back to the wall and his legs already tucked inside the raggedy blankets you found in one of the cabinets.

Joel's extensive list of injuries had you waking up in a cold sweat, but the same as you, he seemed to recover fast.

In two days, he's wincing less to get up, and comments on his wishes to go look for pharmaceuticals.

That's the night you wake up to him sleeping—both of you could do it, but he insisted on taking turns.

When your eyes open, first, you see the book.

Then, you notice he moved the mattress closer to yours.

They're touching.

The raggedy blankets make them look like a single bed, and the thought feels foreign.

Next, you notice...

Joel is right there.

Sure, he's a few inches away, but... you could touch his legs if you extended your arm. All it would take is a little bit of wiggling to make a pillow out of his thighs, and you know how much more comfortable than what you have underneath you.

His smile is the last thing you see.

Not because you skipped his face—on the contrary, Joel's face is the first thing you see in the morning and the last you see at night.

Maybe that's why.

He never had this.

A gentle, real smile.

You hardly blame him. There are no reasons to smile nowadays, not for long. Not without sadness poisoning the eyes, or without the grin turning into a grimace.

Joel is smiling.

His dream must be good, because his features all softened somehow.

Good gods, he's handsome.

That's why you look so little at his face. The real reason.

Staring at Joel too much can cause you to think of nothing else, and in month one you learned the lesson of eyes wide open or head blown open wide.

Mistakes meant death.

Joel's eyes crinkled as he lifted one of his mouth's corners in the closest thing that could come off as a 'smile', and that meant distraction, which meant an eventual mistake, and so on.

When your gaze searches for the lines left by his crinkles, Joel's eyes are on you.

As serene as the quietude outside, Joel stares down, and in a contrast to the weather howling cold winds outsides, your body says it is morning, and it rises.

The longer he stares, the more it rises.

Your blood pumps harder under his gaze.

Joel knows that. He has to.

Silence with fixed gazes turns the air into a thick, palpable fog.

Why is he staring? It's probably the busted eyebrow. Busted lip. Joel never stares at you, never looks too long, too hard, never looks enough—

"I can almost hear you thinkin'," Joel's voice is a whisper, but it startles you nonetheless. Not in fear.

Once, somewhere, you read something you never forgot. The body, it always betrays itself. It blushes. It trembles.

It was true.

The shiver is involuntary.

Your mother used to say the sound of sirens meant trouble and ever since, you always heard sirens in your head as you panicked. "Was observin' your hair," laugh, look away, know your place. "It's gettin' whiter."

It gets a chuckle. A tight-lipped smile. "I'm gettin' older."

"So you say." Constantly.

The first reminder of why he kept his distance, probably. Of why he had no interest in you. Too young.

"Doesn't it look like it?"

You shrug, hugging the makeshift pillow tighter under your head. "'m not so sure how old people are supposed to look." Definitely not this good, right? This broad. Soft. Strong "Haven't been around many."

Joel points at himself. "Right here."

"You're not old."

His lip twitches. "No?"

"No."

"I'm over my forties."

"That's not old." You don't know why you're arguing. You never argue.

Joel closes the book, then hums. "I remember the world before it turned to ruins and vines."

Maybe it's because he's so damn close. Your fingers itched to touch him countless times before, but usually, there are more counterarguments in your head as to why you shouldn't. "So do I."

The smile returns to his face, but it's the awake and lucid kind—a little sadistic. Sad. "Let me rectify it—I lived in it."

"So did I." Albeit, not much. "Less than you, though." A decade or so more. Almost two.

"Right." Joel takes a deep breath, and the movement quiets you down.

Sometimes, you wished you had just a few years more. Five, or six would suffice. Would he look at you, then?

As the silence goes on, your mind starts with at least three different scenarios where Joel met you under different circumstances.

"Can't sleep anymore?"

There's no shiver this time, but you look up at him again, desperate to see some more of his sleepy eyes and that damned smile.

"Don't know," you whisper.

If he smiles again, you'll count the night as a win. Tuck his happiness somewhere out in the front of your mind to see if it occupies space. If it makes you think less of what he used to be like as a lover.

The tainted thoughts always make you avert your eyes, but this time, you have the benefit of only candle lights, so you let the embarrassment burn you as you keep staring.

Joel is looking at your face the same way. Heavy eyelids, gaze searching.

"Does it hurt anywhere?"

The question makes your brain swim in the lingering pain, but for other reasons.

Every scenario still opened in your mind leads to the same corridor—he placed his big hands on your neck right now to feel your temperature and caressed somewhere in your body to put you to sleep.

Somewhere he could touch the skin.

Through foggy vision you see Joel starting to frown, so you're quick to answer before he worries.

"'m just uncomfortable." True enough. "Anxious."

He nods. "Makes sense." He exhales slowly, placing the book on the floor next to the mattresses. "It'll take a while to calm down from it. It... they came out of nowhere." You nod. He clasps his hands together on his lap. "It could've been a lot worse."

Your group had a rule. "No what ifs about the past."

Joel made your heart jumpstart all over again by almost doing it—he almost smiled. "Right. Sorry."

"We're both in one piece."

"We are." He looked down at you and then, in a gesture that your entire body freezing on the spot, one of Joel's hands leaves his lap, and makes its way to you. It places on top of your head. In administrated, slow moves, it starts petting your hair. Then, Joel speaks. As if you can listen. "None of us needs penicillin..."

His words seem to trail off.

You need a second longer to relax under his touch. When you do, the tension melts so visibly you might as well be snow under the sun.

This time, the silence is thick.

Liquid.

When his hand moves lower, it ends up on your back, rubbing between the shoulder blades, and clearing the line of sight for his eyes again.

That's when he must see it.

The second he started to touch you, your blood become fuel. You could feel it burning hot inside your veins, moving faster than it ever did with you two alone in a room. The only times it's beaten like this before you were either in life-threatening danger, or muffling your sounds behind your hand as your other did quick work between your legs.

Joel sees it.

Even if the illumination comes only from the candles, he has to see it.

The way your lips parted for him.

There's no way your eyes aren't saying as much as the temperature your body is exuding.

Joel keeps on rubbing circles for a few more seconds, but eventually, he whispers. "What?"

It makes you want to cry.

If you answer, he'll probably do the thing. He'll turn you down gently, politely.

You shake your head, swallowing a lump in your throat. "Nothing." Your eyes sting. I want you so badly it makes me a bit crazy sometimes. Instead of that, you settle for whispering. "How d'you feel?"

It takes him a minute to answer. His eyes keep shifting between where his hand is rubbing and your face. "Good. Hurts less. Unfortunately, that means thinking more."

"Dangerous."

"You have no idea," he chuckles.

This time, the silence lasts. You keep on staring, while Joel is happy to continue making your back and hair feel a tingling warmth they never saw before.

"Is this ok?" he asks eventually.

Without noticing, your eyes had closed.

Always a man of few words. "Of course."

He nods to you. "'kay."

Stay here. Don't go anywhere.

Watch out for her.

Keep close.

Those and okay. The words you most heard over these past months.

When your eyes open again, Joel's hand is traveling back to your hair and this time, the silence between you two becomes a cord.

Tension.

His fingers do careful work once they find your strands—goosebumps rise all over your skin and for the first time, you're thankful for wearing long sleeves even to bed.

You know there are words hanging in the air, begging to be said, but...

Insecurity pulls you back.

Even if your eyes keep locked on his for a small amount of forever, you swallow down your wants and needs in fear of being blinded by your own attraction and ending up projecting yours on him.

All Joel does is stare back.

Maybe if you weren't inexperienced. Maybe if you had any previous knowledge of what intimacy and relationships had been like, but this world was not the same as before and things were... harder.

So you burned in silence.

Eventually, you burned for him in the dark of your sub-conscience.

With the ghost of Joel's hand still on your nape, caressing on top of your hair, you dive into a deep slumber, and it's in dreams that everything cracks.

You're not even present in mind to witness his world shift.

Joel, in silence, watched you going under. Watched those eyes staring up at him with so much said, so much written in between your lines. He watched with his heart pounding in his chest loud enough for him to hear.

When you sleep, he observes with reverence.

Trying to push down the feelings curling up inside him.

That's when he hears it.

Spoken through your glued lips at first, then louder, more confidently. Joel's heard your sleeping mumbles before, but this one is the one that breaks him.

"Joel..." soft. Breathless. Dangerously low. And then, "Joel."

That's when Joel realizes it—late at night, alone in the silence.

It changes something in him.

📝 PART TWO →

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f1byjessie · 4 months

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HE LIKES MY AMERICAN SMILE ━━ OP81.

love is a wild ride, and logan sargeant's sister is about to find this out the hard way.

( oscar piastri x sargeant!reader )

━━ part nine.

Bahrain is just as beautiful as it was the first time. There’s a palpable energy to the streets of the city in the days leading up to the Grand Prix, and you find yourself filled with anticipation and excitement.

A lot has happened in the year it’s been since you were last here━ enough that it almost feels like a lifetime ago━ but the ups and downs have culminated into something pretty great.

The night of your birthday, when you and all of Lando’s friends had crammed yourselves into Lando’s living room and cheered as the clock turned midnight to herald in the new year, Oscar had pulled you in and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. It hadn’t gone further than that, perhaps out of respect for your earlier breakdown and the still tentative thing between the two of you, but nonetheless just the feeling of his lips against yours had made you feel alive.

It had reminded you a bit of your first kiss outside the hotel, but instead of awkwardly dancing around it after the fact, you’d woken up the following morning with him wrapped around you, and this time you’d allowed yourself to savor it. He’d woken up to you running your fingers through his hair, and then you’d spent the morning cuddling beneath the sheets and talking things out before Lando had, eventually, burst into the room with his hand over his eyes, demanding the two of you “get decent” so you could all get lunch.

This weekend will mark two months of being together, and it feels surreal.

“You look insane right now,” Logan announces out of the blue from where he sits across from you in the booth. The restaurant you’re in is relatively close to the hotel where you’re staying, but with it still being nearly a week until race day, it’s practically empty so early into the afternoon, which makes his voice seem louder in the quiet peacefulness around you.

“What?” You glance up from your phone and raise an eyebrow. He isn’t even looking at you. He’s looking at his own phone, thumb sweeping across the screen while he picks at the few remains of his food mindlessly with his fork.

“You’re smiling at your phone and it’s making you look insane,” he elaborates nonchalantly, like it’s common sense despite him still not even looking up from whatever video he’s watching.

You scoff, “You aren’t even looking.”

He finally lifts his gaze, but it’s only to make a face at you. His features scrunches up, exaggerating his disgust with twisted lips and narrowed eyes. “I don’t need to. It’s like an aura. I can feel it from here. It’s gross.”

“Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes. Ever since getting with Oscar, he’s been getting more and more dramatic with his feigned disgust, and now it’s mostly just a bit he thinks is hilarious to pull out every time you’re even mildly entertained by something pertaining to your boyfriend. It would probably still be funny to you if you weren’t almost always texting him, or keeping up with the McLaren Instagram account’s updates of his training, and therefore almost always mildly entertained. “I’m so terribly sorry you have to deal with your sister being happy.”

He rolls his eyes back at you, but there’s a smile pulling at his lips and you know his act is falling apart. “Are you and Oscar gonna meet up later?”

“We’re trying to schedule things,” you answer with a shrug. Oscar’s flight got in late last night, too late for him and his team to get around to the typical obligations expected of him, so he’s spent all of this morning getting caught up and according to your current text chain with him he’s only just been released and given free reign to do as he wishes. “I’m texting him about it right now.”

“That tracks.”

You raise an eyebrow once more, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It’s Logan’s turn to raise an eyebrow, as if he can’t believe you’re really asking that. “Whenever you text him you get all disgustingly happy.” He scrunches up his face again. “You’re like a real life Hallmark couple. I half expect the two of you to move to some small town with a coincidentally holiday themed name in the middle of nowhere. And there’s a Christmas tree farm, or a reindeer lodge, or something.” He ends his mini tirade with a forced and exagerated shiver.

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you.”

He deadpans. “Everytime I see you two together I find myself disturbed by the sheer imensity of your joy.”

“Aw,” you coo, “I love you too.”

It’s only Monday, which gives you a few days before things start getting underway at the track. It also means you’ve got a decent amount of time to share between Logan, who’s grown increasingly grumpier at the idea of you potentially switching aliegences to McLaren, and Oscar, who’s just happy to see you whenever he can.

When you’d left Monaco a few days after the party, it had been with the knowledge that this new and still fragile relationship was going to have to withstand the stressors of long distance. You’ve called one another nearly every day since then to try and replicate some semblance of normalcy, but time zone differences often saw one of you getting into bed while the other was getting out of it━ at least, when he was back in Melbourne making the most of the time he had with his family. Things got slightly easier when he was called back to England to start pre-season training and testing, but it also meant lots of meetings and PR events that kept him away from the phone and left him exhausted by the time he was finished.

Needless to say, this is the first chance you have to see him again in person and it feels like torture knowing the only thing keeping you apart is a few city blocks.

“Real talk though, have him around to the hotel,” Logan speaks up again, just as the waitress comes and clears your plates away.

You spare her a smile and a quiet thank you, and then turn back to him. “Why? You and Dalton already gave him the shovel talk over videocall.”

“Just because you two are ‘involved’━” he says it like it’s some sort of bogus conspiracy theory, “━doesn’t mean I can’t still hang out with my friend.”

“I thought you were disturbed by the sheer imensity of our joy when you see us together?”

“Okay and?” He makes another face at you, but it’s less like he’s disgusted by the reminder of you and Oscar’s relationship, and more like he’s annoyed that you’ve used his own words against him. “I’m disturbed by Alex’s taste in music too, but I still put up with it when we’re in the car together.”

The two of you fall into peals of laughter.

INSTAGRAM.

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant, and 41,134 others

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Oscar’s running his hands through your hair and you’re flipping through the channels on the hotel TV when the subject comes up. There’s nothing that’s really catching your interest, and half of it is in languages you don’t know, but just sitting here and enjoying Oscar’s presence is enough to stave off the boredom. Logan's been gone for just over an hour, having left to go meet up with Alex for some Williams promotional content, and you’ve been drifting a bit when your boyfriend speaks up from behind you, asking, “Are you gonna visit McLaren hospitality this weekend?”

You pause your surfing, landing on a cooking show that’s in French. His fingers are still tangled in your hair, but he’s momentarily stopped too.

“Do you want me to come to McLaren hospitality?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’re leaning back against his chest. “Because I will,” you hurriedly add, “if you want me to. But it’ll just add fuel to the fire and further encourage the speculation online about which one of you I’m with.”

“I do think it’s funny to see people go full detective mode in your comments,” Oscar smiles down at you. He looks shy, hesitant almost in the way his eyes flicker across your face. He clears his throat nervously, “But I was kind of thinking that maybe you could visit as my girlfriend. Publicly.”

You sit up immediately and turn to face him, ignoring that his fingers catch on your hair as you move. He looks just as surprised by your sudden movement as you feel by his sudden announcement. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, if you’d rather not━” he starts, uncertain.

“No!” You interrupt, reaching out to take his face in your hands and silencing him. “I would absolutely love that, but are you sure you want the attention this will get you? We’ve been lucky with avoiding the negativity so far, but you know that it’ll come the moment we announce it.”

He brings his hands up and places them on top of where yours rest, and then he interlaces your fingers and pulls your hands away so he can speak again. There’s a soft smile on his face and a gentleness in his eyes that you’ve come to recognize as a look that’s exclusive to you and you alone. “I want the world to know who my heart belongs to.”

A grin tugs at your lips, and then you’re falling into his arms with a laugh.

It feels good knowing you can do this whenever you want. Just last year you hadn’t even realized you’d wanted something like this with Oscar, but then the kiss had happened and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it━ about wanting more and not being able to have it. It had been torture, honestly, pining after him like a lovesick school girl, too afraid to make the first move and risk the balance of it all.

You’re still embarrassed by what all had needed to happen before things had been cleared up, and part of you still kicks yourself for not just taking that leap and going for it, especially when it would have given you moments like this, wrapped in his arms, so much sooner.

“I know we’ve already talked about it, but I was really worried that you would hate me for kissing you that night,” Oscar murmurs against the top of your head, as if he can read your thoughts. “I thought that you had only kissed me back because you were, like, too drunk to know better. And then, I realized what I’d done, and I pulled away before it could go any further. And then you never mentioned it, and I figured you wanted to just forget about it, so I never mentioned it either.”

You shift just enough to let your arms drape over his shoulders, and then you let your fingers tangle in his hair the same way his had been in yours. You scratch at his head for a moment, letting his words settle before you say, “I thought you’d only kissed me because you got caught up in the emotions of it all, and then when you never mentioned it I thought it’s because you regretted it, or thought it was a mistake, and you just wanted to forget it. I really wish I would’ve just gotten over my fear and talked to you about it.”

You feel his heartbeat against you where you’re leaned up against his chest. It’s strong and steady, and it’s the nicest thing you’ve ever felt.

“It would’ve been nice to celebrate in other ways after I podiumed in Japan,” he adds suggestively, laughing when you pull one of your hands back to swat at his arm.

“Podium again this year and maybe we can celebrate in those other ways,” you whisper against his neck.

He groans, “Well now you’re just being mean.”

You pull away from his grip, an innocent smile on your face. “I have no idea what you mean, babe.”

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tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri the luckiest guy and the prettiest girl

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yourusername the prettiest* guy and the luckiest* girl

↳ landonorris literally throwing up rn 🤮

↳ yourusername mind your own business 😒

↳ landonorris mInD yOuR oWn BuSiNeSs 😒 you made it my business when you posted that disgustingly sweet comment where i could see

user OMG IT WAS OSCAR ALL ALONG

user Y/NOSCAR NATION RISE UP AND REJOICE 🙌🙌🙌

user we literally clocked it from a mile away

↳ user i know damn well you were in the comments saying it was lando don’t even try and pretend otherwise

landonorris so glad ppl can stop thinking i’m with your girlfriend now mate

↳ oscarpiastri it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a gf of your own

↳ landonorris why am i taking shots out of nowhere??

user this is literally my roman empire

mclaren Welcome to the McLaren team, Y/N! Looking forward to hopefully seeing you in some papaya around the paddock 🧡

↳ logansargeant pls she’s all i have left you can’t take her too

user WISHING THEM THE BEST

user i don’t understand why oscar would be with someone who willingly flirts with other men?? like is that not hoe behavior?? make it make sense ffs

↳ user lando and y/n are friends as this post proves. the fact that you saw friendly banter as flirting says more about you and how you view ppl than it says about either of them, and i think you might need to look inward before you can judge someone else. and even if it had been flirting, we don’t know when y/n and oscar got together, which means it’s entirely possible that she was single when she was “flirting” with lando which wouldn’t be cheating at all.

↳ user they’re just butthurt that oscar would never spare them a glance

user been here from the start and i gotta say this is more euphoric than any award could ever be

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yourusername been waiting for the moment to pull out these bad boys and now i can 🤭 thx babe love you 😘

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user y/n 🤝 mclaren admin

oscarpiastri so this is a game you want to play

↳ logansargeant i got you mate don’t worry my arsenal is at your disposal

↳ yourusername WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

user y/n is THE wag pls she’s gonna be feeding us so well

user MANIFESTING MCLAREN WINS FOR 2024 💪😤

↳ user MANIFESTING WILLIAMS WINS FOR 2024

user wait so like gen who is she gonna root for???

landonorris you’re doing god’s work today y/n

↳ yourusername someone had to give the ppl what they want 🫡

user couple of the century right here folks

━━ tags: @f1-is-lovely-33 @chasing-liberosis @405rry @aquangxl @bellezaycafe @peqch-pie @formulaal @chonkybonky @mess-is-my-aesthetic @flippingmyshit @peachiicherries @spacegirlstuff @myxticmoon @landosgirlxoxo @k-pevensie28 @moonypixel @lewisvinga @81vas @maih23 @thatoneembarrasingmoment

━━ a/n: and there we have it folks! the ending to this lovely story! i will probably do a few little blurbs for them eventually, but in the meantime this is where we leave them. thank you for reading!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #logan sargeant #alex albon #lando norris #social media au

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 11 months

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i literally have no idea what this is, or where it came from but here's a thing:

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,043 | rated: M (will be E in next part)

Eddie Munson was not Steve’s bi awakening, okay? He wasn’t.

He just happened to be standing in the middle of Family Video dressed like his bi awakening (and it didn’t help that he already had an embarrassingly huge crush on the guy).

Steve had come out of the back none the wiser to what he was about to see, glancing up from the tape he was carrying for someone who’d called earlier. His eyes met big, clunky, worn-in cowboy boots, long lean legs (and very nice ass–damn, they’ve got one of those stupid bandanas in their back pocket too) in classic Levis so tight they looked like they were painted on, the back of leather jacket (--hold on), and the back of a head of long, wild-looking, sun-kissed, yet still dark hair.

After his seconds-long oogling, Robin, who was chatting with Bon Jovi’s twin at the counter, glances behind him at Steve.

Bon Jovi tries to turn and look back without taking himself off the counter, but when that insane hair of his gets in the way, he shoves up off the counter and spins on one heel.

“Munson? Where the hell’ve you been?” Steve thanks whatever it is up there that the surprise of seeing Eddie again temporarily suspends his frazzled ‘hothothothothot’ thoughts about his friend enough to respond normally.

“Damn, Stevie, been gone all summer and all I get is a ‘The hell’ve you been’?”

“Of course, asshole, you’ve been gone All. Summer.” Steve says, finally getting to the counter himself and dropping the tape on it. He scoops Eddie up in a tight hug, one long won from their month of recovery post-Vecna.

Everything went fine, Vecna was dead, the upside-down sealed away, but they hadn’t all left unscathed. Specifically Steve and Eddie, both of whom ended their spring break from hell nursing bat wounds, and closer than ever before.

Then, after finally graduating, being hailed a hero for “saving” Max and Dustin from the real killer (thank you, suspicious government people), Eddie was hauled out of Hawkins by his Uncle, the former of whom got just enough time for a quick ‘Gotta go, Wayne wants me helping out at the farm this summer,’ before he was gone.

“I told you I would be, Harrington,” Eddie says once Steve sets him back down on his own two feet.

“So what happened? Where’ve you really been?”

Eddie raises a brow, “At the farm. Like I said.”

“Okay, well, excuse me for thinking it may have been the same 'farm' my parents said my childhood dog was sent off to.”

“You think my Uncle was gonna take me upstate to shoot me dead?”

“Obviously not, dumbass, but what other goddamn reason would you, Eddie Munson, have to be on a farm. Like with cows and stuff?”

“Though the sun did you some favors,” Robin cuts back in.

And isn’t that the truth. Up close now (and letting himself look), Steve could see how Eddie’s normally dark hair and pale complexion were now sun-kissed and so well be-freckled that it sent his stomach for another rollercoaster ride.

“Yeah, Munson, you planning on keeping the blond around?” Steve teases, picking up a strand of sun-lightened hair off Eddie’s shoulder and giving it a short tug.

“I don’t know, I’m not really used to how light…”

Whatever Eddie says after that is completely drowned out by ringing in Steve’s ears because Eddie stretches an arm up to paw at the top of his head and he’s wearing a crop top.

He’s wearing a goddamn crop top under his jacket, some band tee that looks like he’d hacked off himself..and are those abs?? God damn he is so fine. It’s not fucking fair. Who does he think he is running around like Steve’s own personal wet dre–

“Holy shit.”

He couldn’t help it. The words just fell out of his mouth.

“H-holy shit, you’ve got abs, Eddie!”

‘Thank you, Robin.’ Steve thinks at her absently since his brain is completely preoccupied..

“Wha–? Oh! Yeah! Check me out, huh?!” Eddie grins wide, lifting his shirt just a bit more to show off the toned expanse of stomach.

Steve’s mouth goes bone dry.

“And that’s not all,” Eddie says. He drops his shirt and shucks the jacket off his shoulders.

His very well sculpted shoulders.

And arms.

And oh god those hands. Steve could hear the soft scrapes of rough callouses against the leather when Eddie threw the garment onto the counter beside him and his only thought was about how they might feel against his skin..

Still beaming, Eddie flexes one, then both arms, his biceps bunching under more tanned skin. “I got a lot of ‘lifting heavy things and putting them back down again’ in over the summer.” he continues, “I’m probably stronger than you now, Harrington.”

“Ha haha, right..yeah. Robin, can you excuse us for a second?”

Steve doesn’t wait for her response before he grabs Eddie around one of those absolutely delicious biceps and hauls him through the store and out the back door.

He lets a grinning Eddie go as soon as they’re through the back door, taking a couple steps away towards the woods behind their building, and trying to calm down with measured breaths.

When he does turn around, Eddie’s stood away from the door, one hip cocked out and his arms crossed across his chest.

The grin on his face has melted down into a smirk though, and the look in his eyes is less teasing and more cautious.

Steve steps back up close to the other man, and literally starts to circle him like a shark. Scanning his eyes up and down Eddie’s body as he does.

“What’s goin’ on Stevie? Looking for some style tips?” he jokes.

Steve doesn’t answer, and starts his second cycle around his friend.

“You know, maybe get rid of some of those polos?” Eddie sounds just a bit more unsure this time.

Steve’s behind Eddie’s right shoulder when he speaks again. “You think you can barge back in after all this time, looking like that,” Steve comes around to stand in front of Eddie again, “And not expect me to react?”

Eddie grins wickedly again, and steps back at the same time Steve steps forward.

“Expect me to not want to devour you whole?”

“You expect me to want that, big boy?” Eddie says as he’s pressed between Steve and the closed back door.

Steve rears back immediately, “Shit, Eddie, I’m sor–”

“‘Cause I do.” Eddie grabs hold of Steve and spins them around, pressing the younger man back against the door instead. “Ohhh boy, do I want that.”

Steve groans as Eddie slots their hips together, “You really are a big boy, aren’t you sunshine?”

“The things I’m gonna do to you..” Steve growls out, Eddie’s jaw snapping open with his words.

They’re both startled away from the back door when Robin bangs on it, “You’ve got five minutes to get back in here before I drag you back in! It’s Friday and we’re about to get busy!” she yells through the door.

He hears her converse squeak on the tile inside the door as she heads back to the front, then chances a look at Eddie.

He looks as red as Steve feels, from the bit of his face he can see from behind the hair he holds over it.

“Eddie–”

“It’s cool, Harrington,” he wheezes out a dry laugh, glancing over at him, “Better get in for the rush before Robin comes back.

He reaches for the handle again, but is stopped short by a hand on his wrist.

“Listen, Eddie.” Steve says, giving the other man’s arm a soft tug to get him to turn around. “I may have gotten a little…over enthusiastic…”

Eddie’s face scrunches up in a weird way.

“No! Not in a bad way, unless you weren’t as into it as I was–doesn’t matter! Point is, I may have gone a little crazy, but I wasn’t faking it.”

“I don’t think guys can fake it, Steve-o.” Eddie jokes softly, a small smile on his face.

Steve chuckles just as soft, “Shut up man, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“I think you do.”

“I dunno Steve," Eddie shrugs sarcastically, "You’re quite an enigma.”

“Okay, fine, here’s it spelled out for you: I am super into you.” Steve puts up a finger to stop whatever it is Eddie was about to say, “Hold on– I am bisexual, have been for a while and would like to try this..with you. If you want.”

“You gotta be more specific on what ‘this’ is, sunshine.” Eddie steps close to him once again.

Steve smirks, walking Eddie backward to the door again with both hands on his waist. Once he’s got him pressed back against the warm metal, he scoops the hair away from Eddie’s ear and holds it out of the way with a hand on the back of his neck.

He leans in, whispering right into Eddie’s ear. “I want to take you apart, Eddie.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and Steve can feel the man’s heart hammering against his own chest.

“I want to suck you down, eat you out, and fuck you into next Tuesday.” He states, nipping on his earlobe for good measure before pulling back.

Steve takes in Eddie’s flushed face, his eyes blown out they’re almost completely black, his chest heaving.

“I’d also like to totally romance you and date the fuck out of you, but…” he shrugs, grinning as Eddie smacks his chest lightly with a laugh of his own.

“I’m serious though, Eddie. I want this.”

Eddie’s smile falls slightly. “You sure about the whole dating thing, Harrington? You know you can’t date me for real..like in public and shit.”

Steve shrugs, “I know, but… I don’t think I’d survive something casual with you, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he’d been punched.

He takes back in a deep breath, then pulls Steve flush to him again.

“I think that sounds amend—-”

Eddie’s forehead smashes into Steve’s nose when Robin shoves the door open behind Eddie.

“Damn! I knew the door was a bad idea.” Steve says, his voice coming out nasally from where he’s pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Time’s up, Dingus, get your fruity butt inside.”

Eddie chuckles after her, leading Steve inside. “You shouldn’t tip your head back, lean forward and let it drain out.”

“Ugh, you sure? I’ll get blood all over me,”

“I’m sure, sweetheart, I’ve had a few bloody noses in my time.”

“Here,” Robin says once they reach the counter.

Steve takes the offered tissues, and soaks up the small trickle of blood.

“You still wanna date me if my nose is crooked?” he asks Eddie, who’s (sadly) shrugging his coat back on.

He pretends to think for a moment. “Sorry Stevie, that’s a dealbreaker. Even if it was my forehead what done it.”

“Ugh you’re such a dweeb, I don’t know what you see in him, Steve.”

“He’s hot, okay? And he’s still hot even after he rejected me just now.” Steve states matter-of-factly while shoving a wad of tissue into the one nostril still bleeding.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Very.”

“No, you’re gross. You guys are both gross.”

“Oh Birdie, you should've heard the things he was saying to me outside; all ‘Ooh Eddie, your muscles are so big and so is your hair and also your di—’”

“OKAY! That’s enough of that!” Steve cuts him off, pushing the still grinning Eddie toward the door, then, a softer: “Yours or mine after I’m off?” once they’re at the door.

“Definitely yours, unless you want Wayne to be privy to our shenanigans.”

“Yeah, that’s a no. Also, shenanigans? Really? You’re a super dweeb.” Steve smirks, pushing his boyfr— frien— Eddie out the front door. “I’m off at four, see you at five?”

Eddie fumbles backward over the curb but manages to catch himself, “It’s a date, Steve.”

He watches Eddie climb up into his van, and follows its path down the road and out of sight with a dreamy sigh.

“You still have tissues in your nose, Dingus.”

part 2/2 here | and on AO3!

definitely inspired by this post from @sparrowtapes

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #st #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington having a crush on bon jovi is canon okay?#noelle writes

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munson-blurbs · 6 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Day 6 of TUI-Mas

Warnings: pregnancy, lots of fluff, Harris and Wayne making us all cry

WC: 1.3k

Divider credit to @saradika

June 1999

“Harris! Lunchtime!” you call out from the kitchen, balancing three plates in your hands, crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly slathered between WonderBread slices atop each one. A gourmet meal, Grandma would have teased, but she wouldn’t deny the simple deliciousness of a PB&J sandwich.

Eddie saunters in first, taking two of the plates from you and placing them on the dining room table. “Need me to grab anything else?” he asks, watching as you suck peanut butter residue off your thumb. “Like, maybe your boobs?” He grins, crossing his arms over his chest against a faded Corroded Coffin t-shirt.

You playfully roll your eyes, setting the last plate at your spot. “Could you slice up an apple for Harris? I’ll pour us some lemonade and then get his gift from our room.”

“Puttin’ me to work on Father’s Day weekend,” he grumbles, but the smirk curling his plush lips betrays him. He grabs a Red Delicious from the refrigerator and cuts it into eighths, careful not to nick his ringed fingers.

You pluck the gift bag from its hiding spot underneath your bed, re-fluffing the yellow tissue paper as though Harris will notice that it’s askew.

Eddie’s tongue swipes at the apple’s juices on his fingers and calls for your son once more. “Harris! If you don’t get your behind in here now, you won’t get your surprise!”

The TV clicks off instantly. “My surprise?” He races into the kitchen, stopping short and skidding in his socks to avoid colliding with the counter’s edge. “Where’s my surprise?”

“You can open it while you eat lunch,” you reason, swinging the bag between your pinched thumb and forefinger. Harris plops in his seat, takes an enormous bite of his sandwich, and holds out his hand for the present. You relent with a laugh, nerves buzzing as he tears into it.

Harris is momentarily confused when he pulls out a book, studying the cover intently. “The Berenstain Bears New Baby?” he asks quizzically, looking between you and Eddie for a clue.

“Why do you think we’d buy you a book about a new baby?” Eddie teases, trying to lead him to the answer.

You both watch as the proverbial gears turn in the boy’s head, his eyes widening when it clicks. “Am I getting a baby?” A squeal builds up in his throat, the excitement palpable.

“Mhm. In about five months, you, Harris Munson,” you tell him, poking his chest with your pointer finger, “are going to be a big brother.”

“Mommy’s growing the baby in her belly right now,” Eddie elaborates, beaming as the words resonate with him once again.

Harris leaps from his chair, bumping into the table and nearly toppling his glass of lemonade in the process, but he hardly notices. “We’re having a baby! We’re having a baby!” He cheers, waving the book high in the air. A slip of paper falls out, floating down to his feet.

“That’s my latest ultrasound. It shows what the baby looks like and how he or she is growing,” you explain as he picks it up from the floor.

He squints at it to make heads or tails of the grainy photos. “When do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“At my next appointment in about five weeks.”

He hums in acknowledgment, still focused on the sonogram. “It kinda just looks like a blob,” he says cautiously, as though breaking the news that the fetus in your womb is a gelatinous creature.

Eddie chuckles, kissing Harris’s wild curls. “Yeah, but it’ll look more like a baby soon, I promise.”

Harris exhales a relieved sigh, launching himself into your arms with a barrage of questions.

“What are we gonna name it?”

“Is it gonna sleep in my room?”

“Do I have to change its diapers?”

“Are you sure it’s gonna look like a baby?”

It’s your turn to laugh and ruffle his hair. “Slow down there, Har. We can talk about all of that stuff later. Right now,” you lower your voice but keep all of the exuberance, “we need you to do us a super special favor.”

“A super special favor?” His face lights up and he leans in to ensure he hears you correctly.

“Yup. Grampa Wayne still doesn’t know about the baby, and we were hoping you could make a Father’s Day card that helps us tell him.” You watch as he unlatches himself from around you and scampers off to find his art kit. “That was easy enough,” you say to your husband, who affirms this with a smile-laced kiss.

Eddie shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “To be honest, I was expecting him to be even—”

“I’M GONNA BE A BIG BROTHER!” Harris’s ecstatic shriek interrupts him, compounded with the pounding of his feet as he jumps up and down.

“There it is.”

You all pile into the car the following afternoon to celebrate Father’s Day at Wayne’s trailer. Harris buckles himself into his booster seat, the homemade card clutched securely in his hand. Eddie rolls down the window, turning the crank until it’s halfway cracked, letting the warm June breeze tickle his face.

From the backseat, Harris whines, “Dad, be careful! I don’t want Grampa’s card to fly out the window.”

“Don’t worry; we’re not going fast. Just taking the backroads.”

He seems to be content with this promise, but you notice his grip tighten just a bit.

Wayne waits for your arrival, stubbing out his cigarette on the trailer steps as soon as he sees you pull in. His naturally stoic expression dissipates into a wide grin and he pushes himself to his feet, tugging on Harris’s door handle as soon as Eddie throws the car in park.

“Happy Father’s Day, Grampa!” Harris shouts, flinging his arms around him. Wayne reciprocates eagerly, holding his grandson in a loving embrace. “Look at your card!”

Eddie laughs, shaking his head in amusement as he stretches his legs out of the car. “Real subtle, Har.”

Wayne takes the piece of construction paper from Harris, retrieving his reading glasses from where they’re hanging out of his breast pocket and sliding them up the bridge of his nose. “Let me see here,” he muses, scanning the drawing in front of him. “A family portrait, huh? This is gonna go right on the fridge.” He starts back towards the front door, but Harris stops him.

“No, Grampa, look!” Harris impatiently points to where he’s drawn your prominently rounded abdomen, much more obvious than your actual burgeoning bump. “That’s Mommy.”

Wayne’s eyebrows raise, glancing between you and Eddie for confirmation before he says anything further.

“You’re gonna be a grandpa again, Old Man,” Eddie tells him, resting his hand on your stomach and rubbing it gently. “There’ll be another little mischief maker joining us in November.”

“You’re serious?” Wayne’s eyes mist over, visible even behind the lenses. When you nod, rife with emotion, he ambles over for a hug. “Oh, my word. Nearly got me blubberin’ over here.” He pulls back only to rest his glasses atop his head, wiping his tears with his shirt sleeve.

Harris tugs on his grandfather’s free hand. “Dad said you’re gonna change all the poopy diapers.” He giggles, exposing the gap where a tooth is newly missing after weeks of being wiggly.

“Is that so?” Wayne chuckles, looking directly at Eddie before bringing his attention back to Harris. “Well, I’ll tell ya what: I’ll change the baby’s diapers if Dad changes mine once I’m real old.”

Eddie tries to protest, but you cut him off. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

“Nope, no way” your husband argues, waving his arms in disgust, “I’m throwing you in a home the moment you can’t wipe your own–”

“Eddie!” you admonish before he can utter another word.

“I was gonna say ‘tush.’”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui #smut

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echobx · 2 months

Text

husband & business man!Rafe hcs

◆ he'll be coming home from some dumb golf game or something boring and it was so annoying that he has to let it all out by fucking you into subdrop

◆ and then he'll be all sweet after peppering you with kisses to bring you back to reality

◆ but the first time it happened he was actually scared that he hurt you and kept rambling, like "shit baby, I didn't think that was even a real thing. you good? can I keep going or do you need a break?"

◆ and he's never been good at aftercare, but he gets into it and somehow it's incredibly fulfilling to carry you around after and wash you and put you in your favorite pjs so you can sleep and regain your strength

◆ and the morning after he'll make you breakfast in bed and shower you with compliments of how good you were to him the night before

◆ and that rhythm repeats once or twice a month because that's just how his work life is

◆ and he's a busy man, so every time he leaves for a project somewhere else he drags you with him because "we gotta get a scratch away map and scratch off all the countries I made you cum at least five times in a row"

◆ and although he's a doggy kinda guy, he's not appalled by doing a little missionary once in a while because you look so pretty when you cry because his dick is just that huge

◆ and he'll kiss away the tears and tell you to not be such a little bitch about it and just take it like a good girl

◆ and you'll nod, because who are you to argue with him over it because you know he's right

◆ still the tiny fight just always gets him to fuck you a little harder every time you do it

◆ he'd say shit like "gonna fill you up and get you pregnant like a slut" but he's also the one who made you get on birth control, so you know he doesn't actually mean it

◆ but he does mean it when he says he wants to make a little tape in case you can one day not go with him on a trip so the both of you have something to work with

◆ and you do it and it's not bad but not very good either but he doesn't care at all bc "look at that, such a pretty pussy taking all of me. god, you sound pathetic when I fuck you, baby. I love it."

◆ he'd tell you to get your nipples pierced but you refuse at first bc that shit hurts but he keeps saying it and once you do it he acts all surprised "oh baby, you really shouldn't have. that's the best birthday gift ever."

◆ ofc he pays for your manicures and for every little thing. but especially the manicures bc god damn he loves it when you scratch him like a wild animal

◆ he loves showing you off too, especially to his friends who still don't understand how you got him to settle down

◆ and he'll be a real ass over it too, telling Topper and Kelce to look at how hot you are

◆ and the first time round they actually did look at you, but just a bit too long for his taste and then he threatened them and they know him well enough to be actually scared

◆ and you're so sweet and bubbly and he's always looking at you

◆ especially when your eyes are fixed on some other girl who keeps eyeing him and he knows you could tear her to pieces if he let you

◆ the thing is, you know he only wants you, you know there's no real threat, but it still makes your blood boil to know that they think they have a chance

◆ sometimes you even let him fuck you right in front of them, like that one time at a party in a hot tub

◆ and he'd never deny your wish to show off how good he is at fucking you

◆ but once you get back home he makes sure that you remember that he is the one in control

◆ and you'll babble on and on about how you can't take it anymore but you both know it's a lie so he keeps railing into you until you squeeze him so hard that he sees stars

◆ and every time it ends the same, with the two of you cuddling and him showering with "I love you's" and whispered musings, telling you "if I hadn't already married you I'd do it again and again"

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron imagine #obx #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x you #~headcanon #my writing

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delugguk · 2 years

Text

how bad?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 763

summary: jungkook is leaving for qatar but he wanted something before he leaves.

a/n: I think y'all know already.. also, hiiiiiiiii this is my pre-comeback? (It isn't the official) but I've been wanting to upload something while I'm fixing some stuff. I MISS YOU. like you don't have idea and I miss being here and I hate saying things and then disappearing but ughghgh I promise I'll fix that bc I want it too. - but anyways, I don't want to make this longer and this is something I quickly wrote so if there's any typos (sorryyy) bc this is also unedited. with nothing more to say, ENJOY! and I hope you like it <3.

"gonna miss me?"

"fuck. m'gonna miss you."

"how bad?"

Jungkook was going to Qatar. Job stuff. legendary things are coming for him and you couldn't be more proud but right now.. he was fucking you goodbye. - he wasn't leaving for months but his schedule has been low-key tight, he's been rehearsing so much, perfectioning his acting, singing and presence so much. he's been working really hard.

it's not that you two don't have time because you literally fucked 4 days ago, but jungkook said he wasn't leaving for many days without having to feel you one more time. something about him feeling your touch fresh into his skin and memory while he's away. facetiming exist, but you both know is not the same.

so that's why he's now man-handling your hips on his dick while he teases you with questions even though he sounds very out of breath but god, isn't him so stupidly hot right now.

..and always.

"mmhg so badly." you sound out of breath too.

his dick is so thick, so rich. there's a small but very notorious transparent fluid decorating his dick of proof of just how good he's making you feel and by the way his eyes gazes at you right now.. even his slight rosy cheeks..

sigh. was he really a sight.

"wish you could come with me." he deeply moans against your neck very close to your ear when you rest your head on his left shoulder. hips moving on its own but he squeezes your ass to stop. "mmhg come here baby."

and he man-handles you once again. ass up, back slightly arched when he places you back to the sofa and his dick enters you again.

"mhg" moaning, you lean your head down when he closes both your legs to feel more pleasure and he's fucking you so slow now, all you can hear is him, breathing - along side the sound of liquids moving on all places.

"god. gonna miss this pussy." whispering a little in between teeth. "can't believe this is all because of me." he hardly bites his lips.

for some reason.. hearing him say that, made you more turned on. he noticed though - you squeezed your walls a little.

it made him smirk.

one hand caresses your ass-cheek when he slaps it and you don't know how to stop getting wet for this.

"fucking greedy for me, hm?"

you start pushing your hips back, currently biting your lips. he always gives it to you good. "always".

"Is that so?"

"eungg"

and for a moment he just places both his hands behind his waist to watch your ass move back at him, vagina swallowing whole. "so fucking hot." and he just smiles looking at it as if he was proud of you for taking him so well.

"my pretty girl." softly smiling, you don't know but there's a tiny but notable cockiness in him. - he grabs your waist. "isn't it time for me to fuck you right?"

with that being said, he goes for your previous position. on top of him, he stabilizes your hips just so you can't move when he thrust rapidly into you.

"fuck!" pushing your body at his side, your boobs are bouncing so much as you try to keep your body still with your hands resting beside his face. holding the sofa instead.

"yeah baby. so good, hm?" he's gone.

and so it happens for the rest of the night. It's wild.

but so good.

"have a nice flight babe, I'll be watching you from afar like always."

"but that's only when I'm away though." he hugs you. "you know I rather keeping you close." kissing your cheek at the front door of his/your apartment.

smiling, "you know me too." kissing his lips. "you looks very pretty today."

"so are you," he spins you around like a princess. "look at you!"

lightly punching his shoulder, "stop," you giggle in between. "now.. come on. you'll be late."

"won't you come with me?"

you stare confusely at him.

he corrects himself. "I mean, on the car.." he rambles, "my departure. me, leaving. me-"

"yeah, yeah, I understand." you laugh, making him too. "If you're good with that-"

"you know I am." he 'obviously' says.

You smile. "let's go then. It'll be one more time kiss."

"one of the many though. It could lead to more but, you know." he jokes.

"yeah, whatever" you playfully roll your eyes when you finally step outside.

he extends his hand for your to grab when he follows. finally closing the door, "let's go."

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munsonkitten · 11 months

Text

They say it’s for his own good. Because he’s dangerous. But Steve doesn’t feel any more dangerous than he did before this whole mess. Like, seriously, he could kill literal monsters with nothing more than a bat covered in rusty nails. He doesn’t feel any more dangerous now than he did when he hit Billy Hargrove with a fucking car or when he held back in all the fights he’s ever lost. Because he could kill fucking monsters. He wasn’t gonna find out if he was capable of killing teenage boys too.

He sees Eddie sometimes.

Eddie looks dangerous, but then he always has. Even if he never was. He always had that look to him, with his leather and chains and heavy boots. Dangerous in a good way.

Now he looks bloodthirsty.

Well, ha, Steve thinks. That’s because he is.

Steve is too, but he doesn’t think that’s grounds for imprisonment. He doesn’t think that’s grounds for being held hostage in the newly reopened and renovated Hawkins Lab.

They say it’s because he’s dangerous, but if that’s the case then they should’ve locked him up years ago. They should’ve seen what was wrong with him back when he was that asshole popular kid at Hawkins High.

Every time he sees Eddie these days it’s when they’re being shoved down hallways. They have Eddie in a mask to prevent biting. Some clear plastic thing that shows his snarling face as he’s pushed. His teeth are sharp and pointed, and he has this wild look in his eyes. There’s blood inside the mask more often than not. Whether it’s someone else’s every time, or if it’s Eddie’s, Steve never really knows. A mix of both, most likely.

They make eye contact and Steve tries to tell him they’ll get out of this mess, and Eddie looks back at him like he wants to believe him, but just can’t.

Steve doesn’t blame him. He’s lost track of how long they’ve been here. He stopped counting after six months, after the lines he carved into his wall with a sharp fingernail — talon, really — became too numerous to hide behind the one pin-up girl poster they gave him for good behavior after the second week.

Weird reward, if you ask Steve. The orderly that put it up for him smirked, said something about tissues in the cabinet in the corner of his room, and then left without another word.

Really fucking weird.

The head scientist comes into Steve’s room. Steve can’t remember his name. Matthews or Mathson or… Something. Doesn’t matter. Not like Steve really needs to know. He’s just called The Doctor and that’s that.

“According to our records, today’s a very special day, indeed. Happy birthday, Steven,” he says, looking down at Steve’s chart.

So it’s February fourteenth… But —

“How old am I?” Steve asks.

“Twenty-two,” the doctor answers.

Twenty two… Which means it’s 1988. Steve’s been here over a year and a half, since June ‘86 when they took him in the dead of night. Things had been weird before that. He’d been having cravings, and Eddie came back from the dead, clawed his way out of the Upside Down all by himself. He came back different, but still the same Eddie that Steve had mourned.

Twenty two years old and he doesn’t even remember turning twenty one.

“Since it’s your birthday,” the doctor continues. “We decided you deserve a reward for being so cooperative during your stay. Something you choose yourself, anything you want — within reason, mind you. Don’t ask to get out of here because that won't be happening. But if we can get it for you, it’s yours to keep.”

“Eddie,” Steve blurts out. “I want Eddie. I want him moved into my cell permanently. Get us bunk beds or some shit.”

“Ah, yes, well,” the doctor sighs. “Mr Munson is quite….”

“Dangerous? Insane? I can keep him in check,” Steve says quickly. “Look, we were friends before all of this and now we’re in the same boat. I understand him. If you want to get through to him, do this for me and I can help.”

None of that is true, of course. He’s not gonna make Eddie do shit, and he really doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. He’s wild, a little more monster than Steve is. It probably has something to do with being stuck in the Upside Down after he died. Different, but still Eddie.

Steve doesn’t blame him for the trouble he’s been causing. He’s seen it firsthand only a couple of times, but sometimes his doctors go missing and never come back. Sometimes they’re covered in blood when they come to see him after being with Eddie.

It’s not hard to guess what happens there.

“We’ll try it,” the doctor says. “But I can’t imagine why that’s what you want.”

He writes something down on his clipboard, clicks his pen with a sigh, and stands.

“I will see what we can do.”

And then he‘s gone.

Steve waits two days. Two days where no one comes to see him, to poke him with needles or flash lights in his eyes. He’s delivered his meals through the slot in his door, but that’s all that happens. He drinks the blood they give him. Animal today, he knows. They switch it up on him, and he’s found he can tell the difference easily now. It’s not the same as human, but it does the job.

It keeps him alive. It keeps him from wanting to tear himself limb from limb because of hunger and thirst. There’s still an itch in his throat and a nagging in the back of his mind saying he’s not satisfied, but it’s better than nothing.

On the second day, he’s told to stand against the back wall, and he complies easily. Complying means rewards — it means he doesn’t get hurt. The first few days he was here he was uncooperative and they beat him. It was too much like being in the Russian bunker beneath Starcourt again.

So he stopped fighting back. He stopped spitting and hissing, he stopped trying to sink his teeth into anything he could reach. And in turn he got rewards. He’s given more time outside his room, more time to sit in a room with a rainbow around the walls and a bunch of old children’s toys.

He knows he’s at Hawkins Lab. He can feel it, can feel something in the back of his head that tells him his family is close. His real family — Robin and Nancy and Dustin and everyone else. He knows he’s in Hawkins Lab and he can’t help but wonder if El lived in the same room as him, if she pushed around the same Hot Wheels car he does when he’s bored.

He stands in his room now, and it’s really a cell, but he doesn’t like to call it that, and he watches as two men carry his bed out. Two more come in with bunk beds that look like two of the regular beds welded together — thin metal frames with thin mattresses. Straight out of a prison.

The doctor comes into the room and he’s carrying a box in his arms. Steve can’t see what’s inside it, but he thinks they might be the few personal belongings Eddie has. The box gets set on the bottom bunk. An orderly comes in with a pile of extra blankets and two pillows. Those get set on the beds, too.

They all leave without a word, but Steve knows he won’t be alone for much longer. He knows that they’re going to get Eddie to him, and soon enough, they’re both going to be able to escape. Together.

Steve doesn’t know how long he sits there on the bottom bunk, but it’s a while. He only spares a single glance into the box, and he sees a spare hospital gown, and some clean underwear inside it. There’s a book sitting on top, tattered and splattered with blood. At least Eddie has that, Steve supposes.

The heavy metal door to Steve’s room opens and Eddie is shoved in, snarling and snapping at the guard behind him, holding his hands in shackles behind his back. They have heavy wool mittens on him, his plastic mask covering the bottom half of his face. Steve’s surprised they don’t just put him in a straitjacket and throw him into a padded room.

They make eye contact, Eddie’s formerly chocolate brown eyes now deep red. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and shows his slightly pointed ears. Steve’s look the same, and his eyes are still mostly brown, but he can see the red swirling around inside them during the few occasions he can look in the mirror.

Eddie sniffs the air through his mask, bares his teeth. Steve can see the blood in his mouth through the clear plastic.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. What if Eddie hurts him too? What if he’s… What if he’s not Eddie anymore? If the last bits of his humanity have drained out of him, if he’s been forced to let the monster inside take full control… Steve doesn’t know what he’ll do.

I’d let the monster take me, too, he thinks, and then immediately regrets it. He doesn’t want to be that, and in his head he’s holding a snarling beast back with wrought iron bars, in a cell not too different from the one his physical body stands in. He’s gotten this far. It would be a waste to not even try.

The guard leaves Eddie where he stands, still cuffed, and backs away to the door. He slams it shut and locks it, then slides open the food slot. Eddie growls, jerks at his cuffs, trying to get free.

“Munson!” the guard barks. “Back up against the door.”

Eddie backs up until he’s against the door and Steve hears the key unlocking the cuffs around Eddie’s wrists.

The mittens come off next, and both things get pulled through the slot. The guard quickly slides it shut. Eddie is free from his restraints, and now he and Steve are alone.

Read more on AO3

#this is the first chapter so go on to chapter 2 #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #vampire steddie #vampires #my fics #eddie munson #vampire eddie munson #vampire steve harrington

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ronearoundblindly · 3 months

Text

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people.

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90

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irkimatsu · 4 months

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God will never stop my sinful hand. More Husk/Reader! Clothes stay on but it's still spicy, gonna call 18+ on this one. Husk gets to nut his pants, good for him. You and Husk make out, you discover that his wings are an erogenous zone, and good times are had by all. Completely gender-neutral reader, nothing to point it in any direction gender-wise. This is about making Husk moan, that is all

Your relationship with Husk has progressed over the past few months.

What state it’s progressed to, you’re not quite sure. You’re far from the point of declaring undying love for each other; hell, Husk is hesitant about the word “love” in general. He doesn’t want to say it, and he doesn’t want to hear it. You haven’t had sex with him, either; you have no idea how you’d ask, and he hasn’t broached the subject himself.

But that doesn’t mean that you haven’t done anything together that could be construed as special. Even if he’s in no rush to define whatever it is you two have going on, he’s still shown you plenty of his romantic side. He likes taking you out for dinner and shows, events that are way too fancy for you to merely think of them as friendly outings.

The amount of times you’ve come home from a play to immediately make out in one of your rooms, before falling asleep in the same bed, made things seem even less “friendly”.

You didn’t even need the excuse of a date to start making out. Some nights, like tonight, all it took was some drinks and conversation at the hotel bar before you were both sure that the rest of the hotel was asleep or otherwise absent. As soon as he knew it was safe to close down for the night, the two of you headed up to his room for some soft jazz music and some tender, passionate kissing. He used to be so withdrawn with you, as if afraid you’d shatter if he touched you too firmly, but he’s gotten more bold recently, taking it upon himself to hold you close in his arms.

There’s no way you’d tell him, but you prefer cuddling with him when he’s dressed down like this, only wearing suspenders without a shirt. His fur is so soft and warm, and the fewer layers of clothing between you and it, the better.

You know to be careful with your compliments. He’s confided in you that he can’t stand what he’s become as a demon, and that he wishes he still had his human body.

But you can’t deny it. Some of your favorite parts of him, physically, are the parts that aren’t human.

His hat came off his head shortly into the proceedings, so you’re free to comb your hand through the tuft of hair on his head. It’s much more messy and wild than it is on your dates; he has zero reason to style it when he’s wearing his hat. You love it like this, though. It’s one of the softest things you’ve ever touched. Could human hair ever glide beneath your fingers this wonderfully?

You’re trying not to think of it as “petting” him. You know he hates that word. Perhaps “stroking” would work better for him? You stroke the top of his head, then move down to scratch the back. He stays calm, still kissing you like normal, so you keep moving until both of your hands reach the backs of his ears.

He jolts back from the touch.

“Sorry!” you cry out immediately. “Was that too far?”

“I’m sensitive back there,” he says, one ear still twitching from the contact. “Could you warn me next time?”

“Sorry!” you repeat. You know his irritability isn’t personal against you, but you still hate hearing that tone from him…

“It’s fine,” he says, quickly softening now that the shock is wearing off. “I didn’t hate it. You just gotta warn me before you do stuff like that.”

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask. “I can leave if you want me to.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” He’s smiling again as he pulls you against his body. “Mind doing that again, now that I’m expecting it?”

You nod, and as he resumes kissing your mouth, you go back to scratching his ears. It’s a weird feeling, being able to touch someone like this during a make-out session; but you appreciate the novelty, especially when every inch of him feels so perfect beneath your fingers.

“Can you go lower?” he asks. “While scratching like that?”

You accept his request, scratching your way from his ears to his cheeks. His fur is so thick here, and it’s hard for you to pull your hands away from how divine it feels, but you have so much more to explore. You continue your scratches down to his neck, then to his shoulders. One of his suspender straps slips off while you’re scratching, and you’re dying to see how he looks when he’s slightly disheveled.

But looking would require you to stop kissing him, and you’re not ready to stop yet.

You’re so eager to feel even more of him. You touch him lower, reaching the small of his back and rubbing the spot where his wings meet his body.

He gasps and pulls away from you again. It takes him a moment to catch his breath.

“Husk?” you ask, not entirely sure what you did but already regretting it.

“...shit.” He exhales heavily. “Shit. Haven’t been touched there in a long time…”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Uh…” he laughs nervously. “Not wrong, but… you probably shouldn’t do that. Not unless…” He stops himself and shakes his head. “No. You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” It didn’t look like it hurt him…

“It’s… an intimate spot.” Even through his fur, you can see him blushing. “Wings are sensitive. You shouldn’t touch them unless you want to turn somebody on.”

That information, combined with the sight of him with his suspender straps hanging off his shoulders, is turning some interesting gears in your head.

A playful smile grows on your face. “So what you’re saying is, if I want to turn you on…” You lean in closer, but don’t touch him yet; it’s up to him to close the gap if he so chooses.

Husk swallows. “If you want to…” He places his paws on your sides, holding you as timidly as he did when things first started. “I don’t wanna rush you into that, though.”

“You’re not rushing me.” You gently kiss his nose and scratch one of his cheeks.

You think you hear a purr in his throat, but you know better than to bring it up.

“Then go ahead,” he says, uttering it quickly to reduce the amount of time he has to spend not holding and kissing you. You quickly get back into the rhythm of things, repeating your hands’ earlier motions. He remains calm as you scratch his ears, his cheeks, his shoulders…

His waist bucks up into you when you touch the base of his wings, but he doesn’t pull away.

You start out slowly and fleetingly, not sure how much pressure he needs to feel the effects of your touches. Clearly it doesn’t take much. Within seconds, he’s squeezing you tightly and moaning into your mouth.

Where else is he sensitive, you wonder? You slowly run your fingertip along the edge of one of his wings, and his whole body shivers against yours.

“Fuck…” he mutters beneath his breath before kissing you again. “Gentle…”

You follow his request, lightly petting his wing with a single finger. It’s still enough to get him to kiss you harder and keep cursing under his breath. You run your finger back down to the joint and start pressing, steadily becoming more firm in your touch to test his reaction.

You eventually reach a point that makes him cry out, then breathe too heavily to kiss you anymore.

“Fuuuuuck…” His eyes are unfocused, and he seems unsure of what to do with himself. “Give me a second…”

You take your hands off of his body to let him compose himself. Once he’s finally aware of his surroundings again, he rests his head on your shoulder and squeezes your waist in his arms. He’s nuzzling his soft cheek against your neck, and you don’t know if it’s making you feel more ticklish or aroused.

Both? Fuck, definitely both.

“Could you scratch under them?” he asks.

You place your hands beneath his wings and begin to scratch the joints from that angle. His feathers brush against your hands as he lightly flaps to your touch, and his hot breaths on your neck are rapidly increasing in strength and tempo.

“Harder,” he moans through gritted teeth, and you comply. The sounds he’s making now are downright lewd, mixed with the occasional inhuman growl. He’s grinding his waist against your leg, and even with his pants still on it’s obvious how excited you’re making him. His current behavior is so undignified for the gentleman who’s been taking you on dates and playing you songs for the past few months.

It’s a side of him you want to see even more of.

“Fuck, I can’t stop…” he squeezes your leg between his own and grinds furiously, his rapid breaths turing into high-pitched whines. “Fuck, fuck-”

You keep on touching him, delighting in how badly it’s making him squirm.

“Gonna- fuck-” He lifts his waist as if he’s trying to pull away from you, but the death grip his legs have on you won’t allow it. “I can’t-”

“Go ahead,” you assure him, rubbing his wing joints just a little harder.

Whether it’s from the touch or the permission, you’ve awakened something inside him. Still a mess of growls, moans, and whines, he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and starts nipping while his hips grind furiously into your leg. You moan along with him, fingers digging into his back to keep yourself stable just as much as they are to please him. It’s not long before he’s moaning against your neck as a wet spot pools in the spot where he’s still humping you.

He falls limp in your arms, and you immediately relieve the pressure on his wings, instead choosing to gently stroke his lower back. His breathing is heavy, but steady as he nuzzles into your neck again.

“Fuck…” His vocabulary isn’t the most varied right now.

He seems so spent after that, so you carefully lay him stomach-down on the bed, making certain not to give his surely-sensitive wings the slightest bit of stimulation. He folds his arms beneath his chin, and he laughs.

“Haa… gotta do that again. It’s been forever since I felt that good…”

You’d love to cuddle him in this state, but until you can figure out how to do that without disturbing his wings, you’ll settle for sitting next to him and watching him relax.

“Hey… Husk?” You ask. “I wanna ask you something…”

“Hm?” He doesn’t open his eyes as he answers.

“Would you have let someone else do that? Would you have enjoyed it as much?”

“What are you talking about?” He’s frowning in concern, forehead creased, but still not opening his eyes.

“It’s just… I don’t know what we are. Are we together, or…?”

He reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. “I don’t like putting names on this stuff. It’s just asking for trouble. All I know is that I only want to be touched like that by someone I really trust, and right now, the person I trust that much is you.”

“And if you trusted someone else…?”

He’s laughing again. “Someone else, when I have you already? Not happening. Come on. Lay down with me.”

You lay on your stomach beside him, and he drapes his arm around you and pulls you against his side. His wing descends on you, and he winces slightly from the touch, but it’s not enough to keep him from covering you like a blanket.

“And you know…” he continues. “Not that I wanna control you… but I’d like knowing you don’t touch anyone else like that.”

“Someone else, when I have you already?”

He makes a low, amused noise as you parrot his words back at him. “Okay… good.” He squeezes you close and kisses your cheek. “Now, tell me something else.”

“What is it?”

“I wanna return the favor. Where should I start?”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #irk blubbers about nothing #irk huskposts #there i have a tag for him now

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babayagakeanu · 2 months

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Dating a jealous John Constantine includes…

Requested by a lovely anon, they asked for a jealousy!headcannon with our boy, John, and the reader is just a pure little ball of fluff.

John is an asshole, let’s face it, never to you, but to everyone else. He’s protective that way, keeps a long distance between him and everyone he meets, because his job requires him to. You, on the other hand, are his light in the darkness that surrounds him. One smile of your’s and John’s nerves go slack at one glance.

You’ve been dating for some time, in fact, in January it’ll be two years. Before John, you were a barista at a local coffee shop and stumbled upon him when you were attacked by a winged creature while walking to your car. John just happened to be the unlucky bastard to be there.

He was wrong. After saving your life, he looked at you, flushed cheeks stained with tears, eye’s bloodshot and wild, your h/c hair blowing wild in the wind and boy, was he stuck. Even in great terror, you remained beautiful.

It wasn’t long until you asked him out. Yes, you had to do it. It was months until he was able to hold your hand, and you were patient with him, still are. Every outburst, every fight, you never yelled, or shouted at him. Hell, your first fight was about you leaving a candle lit in the apartment while napping, and after you cried as he shouted at you, he knelt down and apologized, saying he was never going to treat you again like he just did.

John grew a lot within your relationship, he quit smoking, by your doing. You refused to kiss him after he smoked, and that started to get under his skin after a while, so he ditched the cigs and switched to nicotine patches.

John is a very jealous creature!! This man refuses to let go of you in public, always having a very protective arm casted around you as you walked the streets of your bustling city.

With you being so calm and pure, you were unaware of how beautiful you actually were. You had curves that drove John absolutely manic, and guys turned their heads at you all the time.

“If that dude keeps fucking looking at you, I’m gonna shoot him.”

“John, stop, you can’t walk around public saying you’re gonna shoot people!”

John let you wear what you wanted, but if men kept stealing glances and acting like peeping Tom’s, John would eventually make a show of putting his suit jacket around you, heart warming up at the sight of you in all black.

As we move into the sexier side of things, praise kink galoreeeee!

John loved praising you in bed, always coaxing you through your orgasm.

“My good girl is doing so well coming around my cock, you take me so good, baby.”

And his hands are constantly all over you, ass grabbing as he passes by you in the small kitchen, laying a hand on one of your breasts as you watch tv, John just loves you.

Jealousy sex would go crazy! His hips snapping into you as you lay on the kitchen table, breasted exposed out of the top you wore put that night, your mewls and whines playing like a broken record throughout the apartment.

“You think anyone can fuck you like I can?” His hands would definitely be around your neck, not choking you, but very much a possessive hold. “No way anyone could make my good girl cum like me, can they?” He asks, and he definitely has a sort of mocking tone to his voice. All you can do is nod as pleasure tears through your body, a loud cry of his name rattling the apartment.

To make a long story short, John may have his jealous ways, but somehow, you tamed the beast roaring inside him, and taught John how to properly love and be loved.

#keanu reeves x reader #smut #fluff #new post #John constantine x reader #John constantine

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liyahin4k · 2 months

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𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 pt2

(𝐁𝐖𝐖𝐖)

(𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐄 𝐗 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐇)

( just to say i have no idea what the process is for two women to get pregnant so I just went with the flow just let me know if I have to change anything)

It’s been about a few months since you and Paige had the baby talk you two took that month to tell all your friends and family then started trying.

After you got the surgery it took about a month for you to find out you were pregnant when you did Paige could not stop smiling the second you told her she called her parents and told them the news.

That night you two took the team out for dinner to tell them kk basically ran around the whole restaurant almost getting herself and the rest of you kicked out.

The team along with Paige’s family were happy for you two all Drew could do was ask questions question you didn’t know how to answer.

You were now 25 weeks pregnant and those 25 weeks were the best Paige wouldn’t let you out her site when ever you tried to get up to go anywhere she would move 10 times faster to go get it for you.

She even almost broke her back you had spilled water on the floor you went to clean it up but before you could Paige ran to the rescue to do herself but she ended up slipping and almost broke her back all you could do was laugh.

The most important thing for her was keeping you safe especially from the press even though there was a photo taken of you two seen at your doctor office the press being the press they posted and started rumors about your pregnancy.

Even though they were true, you didn’t want them to know that.

You were sat next to kk smiling as Paige made the ball into the net making the crowd scream you were wearing regular leggings and one of piages sweaters hiding your baby bump but you could definitely feel eyes on you and cameras.

You jumped when you felt pain in your stomach not caring anymore you placed your hand and your stomach not knowing what’s wrong kk turned to you looking away from the game when she felt you jumped.

You good she frowned I don’t know you mumbled feeling the pain again something wrong you panicked looking up at her.

You took her hand in yours placing her hand on your stomach there was a pause until the pain was there again see you told her.

She just looked at your stomach smile then at you what you asked nervous…the baby’s kicking she smiled.

W-what you asked still in shock your baby’s kicking she laughed you looked down at your stomach feeling the baby kicking again making you smile happy nothing was wrong.

Hearing multiple flashes going off you looked up and saw the paparazzi snapping pictures like crazy.

You looked away when the crowd shouted when Aaliyah made her shot you looked at Paige to find her eyes already on you you then realized she saw everything her eyes held worry as she ran across the court you just gave her a soft smile.

The game ended with UConn winning the crowd went wild as soon as the game ended Paige ran to you before you could say anything she cut you off what wrong,are you ok,is the baby ok.

She rushed out still out still out of breath I’m fine and so is the baby you smiled watching her panic t-then what’s wrong she pasted..with out saying anything you took her hand in yours placing it on your stomach letting her feel the baby kick.

Her eye went wide you were pretty sure they were gonna pop out already she asked shocked the doctor did say 16 to 25 weeks you smiled.

But we do have a little problem you said making her frown you pointed behind her she looked to see the paparazzi, taking pictures they saw you whispered.

She slowly looked back at you who cares she softly smiled there gonna find out sooner or later and besides when she’s born I’m gonna show her off and spoil her.

You smiled 𝐡𝐞𝐫 you asked yep she said proudly you shook your head laughing let’s go home you goof.

You were both home laying in bed Paige whispering to your stomach you know they can’t hear you right you asked looking away from your phone.

Yes 𝐬𝐡𝐞 can she looked up at you you softly run your fingers through her hair going back to scrolling on instagram when you came across a picture of you and Paige that was took earlier at the game.

Paige bueckers and her girlfriend Leah rose seen a little to excited..but what about you read out loud showing Paige the picture they took of her hand on your stomach next to another one when you were talking to kk her hand on you’re stomach as well.

She took your phone to get a good look she scoffed throwing the phone next to you laying her head on back on your stomach.

Why can’t just mind their business she mumbled into your stomach the vibration making you laugh because it’s there job you answered whatever she huffed pouting rubbing your stomach until you both fell asleep in each other’s arms.

(If u want a part 3 let me know or if you have any requests😇)

#paige bueckers #kk arnold #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #lesbians #pregnancy #Spotify #uconn huskies #azzi fudd #nika muhl #black reader

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