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sanguineterrain · 6 months

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restroom attendant | jason todd

Summary: Tonight is the worst night ever--you just got dumped on your birthday, and all you want to do is cry in the restaurant bathroom in peace. That is, until, the Red Hood bursts in. This city just won't cut you a break.

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: humor, mild angst, reader's ex-bf cheats and dumps her, jason is such a silly goose, flirting, meet ugly, canon-typical violence, awkward jason, comic relief dick grayson.

A/N: this is probably the silliest fic i've ever written LOL! i hope you guys enjoy it. please support your local jason todd enthusiast and reblog :)

the divider

Tonight sucks.

With a shaky hand, you attempt to soothe your swollen eyes. You’ve probably been in here for about twenty minutes. Your Uber has definitely left, as has your now ex-boyfriend of three years.

Yoga instructor. It’s always the yoga instructor. They’re always fucking the yoga instructor.

You swallow a mouthful of tears and phlegm and try not to let the wet sink touch your dress. All you’d wanted was a little class on your birthday, maybe have some wine and play footsie under the table with your boyfriend. But no. That would’ve been too easy for you.

You’re starting to think this city is cursed.

The door slams open. The force of it shakes the bathroom, rattles the mirrors. You spin around.

A man slides across the floor and smacks his head on the opposite wall. Red Hood appears in the doorway, the eyes of his helmet glowing eerily.

Yep. Definitely cursed.

"Let's try this again," Hood says pleasantly, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. "And in the interest of making myself transparent: when I ask you a question, Jerry, I expect a truthful answer."

He stalks over to Jerry and heaves him up by the lapels of his suit jacket. Hood's biceps bulge as he holds Jerry against the wall. You squish yourself against the sink. Water soaks the back of your dress.

"You're crazy, I didn't do anything!" Jerry shouts, feet barely scraping the floor.

"Volume, Jerry. People are trying to enjoy their meals.”

“Let go of me, Hood! I wasn’t anywhere near the Iceberg Lounge!”

“Yeah, see, words are coming outta your mouth, but they don't match the fact that I have three people who put you at the scene. How can we remedy this inconsistency? Any ideas?"

Jerry squirms, but he's no match for Hood's strength. Your heart pounds in your chest.

"Don't give me to the cops!" Jerry begs.

"Cops are the least of your worries right now," Hood snarls. "You're damn lucky Nightwing wants to talk to you, Jerry, or your head would hurt a lot more."

Slowly, you reach for your purse, trying to pull out your phone. Instead, you knock it to the floor. Tears gather in your eyes because this night just can’t cut you a break.

“Motherfucker,” you whisper.

Hood turns, those frightening white eyes now on you. Jerry also looks at you, legs still dangling.

“Hey,” Hood says without a sign of struggle. “Shit. Y'alright? Did I swipe ya?”

“No,” you say, voice shaky.

His posture softens. “Okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

“I believe you. But, um… you're in the women's bathroom.”

Red Hood gives the room a onceover.

“Huh. So we are. Dunno how that happened.” He shakes Jerry by the collar. “Why’d you run into the women’s bathroom, asshole?”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Don't kill me!” Jerry wails.

“Shut it, Jesus. I'm not gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway.”

“It's fine, I was just leaving,” you say, bending down to get your purse.

“Hey, no, don't let me push you out,” Hood says. “Sorry. I'll be gone in a couple minutes.”

Hood adjusts his grip so Jerry's face is against the wall, arms and legs restrained. Then he zipties Jerry and sits him down hard on the floor. Hood presses a button on his helmet.

“Yo, N, I'm at Prescott's. Yeah, with Jerry. No, I didn't tell him to run in here, he did that all on his own! Well, I chased him for ten blocks, so I’d prefer if you’d keep your bitching to yourself. Thank you… Okay, we're in the women's bathroom, so—well, I didn't do it on purpose! No, I’m—will you just come here? There’s a side window.” Hood presses the button again with a grunt. “Dickhead.”

“Are you gonna erase my memory?” you ask.

Hood jerks, turning back to you.

“What? Hell no, I'm not gonna erase your memory. I don't do that shit, I promise.”

You slump against the sink. “That's too bad. I would prefer it.”

He looks up from Jerry’s last ziptie and pulls it extra tight. Jerry whimpers.

“How come?” Hood asks.

You shake your head. “It's nothing.”

“Hm. Doesn't look like nothing. If you're in danger—”

“I'm not in danger. I…”

You glance at Hood. You can't see his face, but his body language seems genuine. From what you've heard, Hood isn't known for mincing words or doing things he doesn't want to. And he’s good to Gothamites. Well, the law-abiding ones, anyway. He’s even been endorsed by Batman.

What's the harm in telling him about your disastrous night? Not like you'll see him again. Or Jerry.

“I got dumped,” you say.

“Ah.” Hood nods. “Been there.”

Somehow, the idea of Red Hood getting dumped is weirder than him beating up a guy in the women’s bathroom of Prescott’s.

You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

“Yeah, um. It was our three year anniversary today. He took me here, told me he was in love with his yoga instructor, and then left.”

You tear up thinking about it. Hood makes a quiet noise.

“Shit. Well, I haven't been there,” he says. “But I know infidelity. I'm sorry. Dudes are trash.”

“And it's my birthday today,” you blurt, sniffling.

“Happy birthday,” Jerry says, clutching his stomach.

“What a fucking asshole!” Hood snarls, and lets go of Jerry, who crumples like a sack of potatoes. He’s out cold in a second, frozen on the floor.

Your brows rise. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. It’s his first time in Gotham.” Hood shrugs. “Anyway, where was I? Right, your asshole ex. Like it's not enough to publicly dump you, and then he goes and does it on your birthday? Who is this guy? I'll go talk to him right now.”

You laugh a loud, snorting laugh. It bounces off the tiles.

Hood tilts his head. “What’d I say?”

You catch your breath and wave your hand.

“No, nothing, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a crappy night and that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever offered to me.”

“I mean it,” Hood says. “I’ll scare him if you want.”

“As tempting as that is, I don’t want to be an accessory to a crime.”

You also don’t want to put your ex in the ICU, no matter how much he might deserve it. Best to let the universe do its thing.

“You’d be acquitted, don’t worry.” Hood leans against the stall. “I’d never letcha go to jail.”

You smile, your ears growing warm. “You don’t even know me. What if I deserve it?”

“Nah. I got a good sense about people. I can tell you’re sweet. Probably don’t even run through red lights.”

“I try not to,” you say, heat spreading to your face.

“Yeah, a good girl. I figured as much.”

Your eyes widen. Hood coughs and rubs his neck. Even his coughs sound intimidating through the helmet, but that’s negated by his scrunched-up posture.

“Fuck. Sorry. That wasn’t a come-on,” he says. “I mean, it sounded like one, but I’m realizing what a creep I am, flirting with you in a bathroom with a zip-tied criminal. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “I hate myself.”

You grin. “It’s okay. You made my night better, actually. Thanks.”

“That’s a testament to how terrible your night’s been if I made it better.”

You shrug. “Could always be worse. I bet Jerry had an even shittier night than me.”

“You’d win that bet. But I—”

The window swings open with a clunk. Nightwing pops his head in. He looks at Hood, then you.

“Uh,” he says. “Evening. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is it took you almost ten minutes to get here,” Hood says, back in Vigilante Mode. “Did you get lost?”

Nightwing smiles with all his teeth. “I was actually cleaning up your mess at the Bowery, Hood. You’re welcome.”

He looks at you. “Hi. Sorry about this. I hope we didn’t ruin your night. If there’s anything we can reimburse you for…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. My night was already sunk. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for keeping Gotham safe.”

Nightwing laughs. “The pleasure is ours.”

“Alright, enough chattering, Dickwing,” Hood says. “Take him.”

He lifts the unconscious Jerry, pushing him up to the window. He does so effortlessly, his jacket riding up to reveal his skin-tight jumpsuit.

You look away before he catches you staring. There’s definitely something wrong with you.

Nightwing takes Jerry and waves at you. Then he disappears.

“So, uh,” Hood says. “I gotta go.”

“Oh! Right, of course. Sorry to keep you.”

“Now what’re you apologizing for?” he asks, and it almost sounds like a tease. You wonder what his smile looks like. What color his eyes are.

“Well, I really didn’t mean to keep you…”

“You didn’t keep me,” Hood says, and you can hear the warmth even through his decoder. “This is probably the best arrest I’ve ever made.”

He starts to climb through the window, then stops. He digs into one of the pockets of his belt and pulls out a scrap of paper.

“This is my number,” he says. “Well, it’s kind of the vigilante hotline. But you can reach me here, in case you ever need help.”

Hood walks over to give it to you. He smells like gunpowder and oranges. He’s even larger this close, the width of his shoulders dwarfing you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He nods and backs up, clapping his hands.

“Right. So I’ll go… Bye.”

Hood looks at you for a moment more. Then he hops up onto the window sill and slides out, somehow graceful despite his bulk. The window closes.

Your dress has dried, which is nice. You walk out of the bathroom. It’s a miracle no one else has come in.

You get your coat and this time, when you see the empty seat across from yours, you don’t burst into tears, which is progress. You call another Uber and go to wait for it at the front. The hostess approaches you.

“Ma’am?” she says, and holds out a small, plastic container. In it is a slice of tiramisu.

“I didn’t order this,” you say.

“It was called in and paid for by a Mr. R.H. He wishes you a happy birthday.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

You’re definitely leaving a five-star review on Yelp.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd fanfiction #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #jason todd reader insert

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marvelobsessed134 · 6 months

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Bunny’s first Christmas

This is part of my 12 days of fics

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Bunny hybrid!Reader

Warnings: rough sex, strap on (r receiving), talks of breeding, pet/owner dynamics, mommy kink, squirting.

Summary: In which you spend your first Christmas with your mommy

Being a bunny hybrid can be hard. But not when you’re owned by Wanda Maximoff. Or mommy as you call her. Mommy takes very good care of her bunny. She spoils you with gifts and love. And she fucks you hard anywhere around the house.

You always walk around in the prettiest little dresses, the light pink collar with tags of your name and her name underneath with a phone number in case you get lost. You love wearing the collar. Gives you contentment that you have an owner. Lots of bunnies don’t have one. And if they do, they’re usually neglected and only are used for sex. While that’s usually why someone would buy a hybrid, they still need to be treated with love and care.

Your ears, long and brown, always standing up and on high alert. Which is why you could hear Christmas Dreaming by Laufey playing in the kitchen.

Curiously, you walked towards the kitchen to find the witch making Christmas cookies. Your nose twitched at the smell and you ran over to her.

“Hi, bunny.” She chirped, scratching behind your ears the way you like it. You hummed.

“Hi mommy.” You responded, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, mommy’s just making some cookies for Christmas. You wanna try one?”

“Yes please.” Gosh, always so polite. Such a good girl. Wanda gave you a cookie and you nibbled on it for a bit. See, you’ve never experienced Christmas before. Being in that god awful hybrid shelter. Sometimes people would donate gifts for the homeless hybrids but that was about it.

“Mmm it’s s’good, mommy.” You moaned.

“Glad you like it, bunny.” Wanda couldn’t help but get turned on at the sounds you were making. And poor you, unaware of what you were doing to your mommy.

But the redhead knew she shouldn’t fuck you right now, since she needs to bake more cookies for Tony’s stupid Christmas party. She’s never resented the billionaire more in her life.

How dare he keep her away from fucking her precious bunny when he’s not even here! She groaned in frustration which caught your ears.

“Mommy…what’s wrong?” You asked timidly, placing the cookie back down on the tray.

“Sorry baby but I’m just so stressed right now. That’s all.”

“Is there something I can do to help?”

Fuck it, Wanda thought, Starks cookies can wait.

“Yeah, actually.” She replied, “Bend over the counter.” You were taken back by her sudden demand, her voice deep and harsh. You quickly bent over the counter, you knew what was going to happen and it made you weak with arousal.

The witch roughly lifted your dress up and pulled your cotton panties down before unbuckling her belt pulling her strap out.

She tapped it against your wet folds, collecting your slick before pounding into you with no warning.

You squealed, holding onto the edge of the counter. Wanda grabbed your hips firmly as she fucked into you. “Holy fuck, you feel so good.” She was proud she was able to come up with a spell that allowed her to feel everything with the strap. She felt your sweet walls clenching around her cock.

“Mommy! Oh so good!” You moaned.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, pet. Gonna breed you so good one day.” Wanda smacked your ass.

“Ahh- oh fuck-“ you cried.

Wanda tugged on your little bushy cottontail which made you moan.

“Oh fuck honey, go ahead and cum for me.” She hissed.

You clenched around her cock, squirting out your release. She groaned, coming to her own orgasm.

Finally, the witch pulled out of you and put your panties back on. And as you stood up she fixed your dress for you.

You turned around and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Mmm merry Christmas bunny.”

“Merry Christmas, mommy.”

#marvel x reader #marvel smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #bunny!reader #Wanda maximoff x bunny!reader #hybrid!reader #12 days of fics

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ohimsummer · 7 months

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ANYTHING YOU CAN DO...

— minors dni, suguru x fem! reader (+ implied satoru x reader), virgin! reader, gojo and geto are fighting over you lol, suggestive/smut?, biting, hickeys, some dryhumping, reader is a sensitive little virgin and came in their panties, everyone is around 21-ish

the sequel: …i can do better

Having the attention of the Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto is both a blessing and a curse.

It’s overwhelming sometimes the way they tag-team making you increasingly flustered; Suguru dropping blatant hints with that silky smooth voice of his, cascading through your ears like warm, melted caramel. And then Satoru, who can never keep his hands to himself and leaves frisky, fleeting touches on any unprotected part of your body. You’ve since realized it’s such a bad (albeit tantalizing) idea to wear those cute little camis that hug your figure so nice or, God forbid, those fuzzy, blue, cotton shorts just asking for him to pinch at the exposed skin of your thighs and ass hanging out the bottom.

The way they’d compete for your affections (even though you had more than enough to go around) was both humorous and also troublesome for your willpower. How many times would they trap you between their bodies, wandering hands creeping beneath your clothes to pinch and rub at anything they could reach because they were just so, so fucking obsessed with the way you squeal and whine when they do. And the way you can’t contain all your low, desperate moans but continue to pray that their continuous spat will drown it out. They both tug at you from either side, until sometimes Satoru will just yank you by the waist into his lap and now Suguru has to gently spread your legs and scoot closer, hooking one around his waist and caressing the other laid upon his lap. And now you’re stuttering an excuse to escape inside your room with extraordinarily soaked panties and an agonizing ache between your thighs. The two were idiots but they’re far from dumb, and you mentally curse both Geto and Gojo for playing games with your pussy the way they were.

So, yeah, though they’re both terribly awful in their own way, you think Suguru is worse than his best friend. Satoru would pin you to the wall with your wrists above your head, pull you into his embrace and kiss your temples, all because he was so blatantly obsessed with you, yes, but also just to spite Geto who would always be sitting nearby. But Suguru, Suguru was far worse. It was like he made a mission out of toying with Gojo through you. Geto gets to amuse himself with a pissed off Satoru, and he gets to privately indulge in you. Like right now.

“Sug–uru..!”, you cry into his hair, arching into his chest and pussy throbbing against the thigh tucked between your legs. It's embarrassing how just the slow drags of his tongue over your neck and collar is enough to get you riled up like this.

He hums in response but never halts his movements. Teeth graze along your skin as Geto searches for that perfect spot to leave his claim on you, all the while peppering soft kisses in his wake. One hand pulls you harder against his tense thigh, slowly massaging your sobbing cunt against his leg, while the other has a solid grip on the back of your neck. It’s taking everything in him not to fuck you right then and there, especially when you sigh so prettily and whimper Suguru’s name into his ear like it’s the only thing you know. So stunning and so needy when he gives you the slightest touch and your pussy leaves a growing stain on his dark sweats.

"Mmph, g-god-! Su- Suguru-, ah—!"

Your voice comes out a jumble of moans and whines as teeth finally sink into your skin, followed by a harsh suck along your neck. Your grip will be sure to leave those crescent marks in Geto’s shoulder blades, even through his shirt. Quivering legs squeeze around Suguru's thigh, and you feel like such a dumb dog humping his leg so hopelessly the way you are. You've only ever been touched like this in your dreams, and it feels a million times better when it's by someone like Suguru. His steady movements don’t reveal the way he’s almost falling apart at the seams. You can’t tell in your drunken haze, but if you paid the slightest bit more attention, you’d feel the solid outline of his weeping cock against your leg.

His motions remain soothing and calm, like Geto had this all planned out for ages and knows exactly what he's doing. He’d like to chalk it up to just being a pro, but really it’s because all these lewd gestures are so new to your body. You're obviously inexperienced and his touch is like a gradual, warm fire trailing over your skin; it leaves you so excited and craving for something, anything more from him.

Suguru pulls back to admire his handywork: a nice dark blemish on the sweet spot of your neck that would surely be a prominent display (unless you planned on rousing Gojo's suspicion further and wearing winter clothes in the blistering summer heat), the shivering of your limp limbs because no doubt you just came in your panties, and that adorable, blissful look on your face. He can see the faintest of perspiration forming on your skin. Eyes squeezed shut, nipples erect beneath your top, and panting like you’ve just been fucked senseless.

Suguru chuckles at the sight. Aren’t you cute? He can't wait to have his way with you, really give you something to lose your breath over.

#suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut

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tojisun · 8 months

Note

do you think biker!simon has an instagram account to share some videos or photos of his motor? even he shares his own photos, he won't take off his helmet i suppose hehe :3

YEA I DO!!! biker!simon’s instagram account was made so he can follow his friends (not just the squad but also those that he met in meet ups) and also biking events. he first gained traction because of the bit he’s got going on wherein no one knows how he looks like until now, but then clips of his tricks during meet ups get posted and naturally people are drawn to him. add the fact that this well-built man with a sexy voice is also just a big bike nerd? yeah, people are enamoured for sure.

it’s not like he’s influencer famous, which he’s fucking thankful for, but simon becomes a household name for bikers and fans alike. then, your name came along and all of a sudden, a power couple just bloomed right before simon’s followers’ eyes. of course they’ve got to extend the support your way.

at first they’re following you because of simon; because they see just how cute he is whenever he talks about you – always posting you on his account or story; always finding ways to include you in the topic (with limitations of course) and tag you in posts. and god his followers adore seeing simon act so smitten and in love.

but you’re just too beautiful and sweet and kind.

what started as curious support became genuine; often they’d even ask simon where you are when simon’s account goes live during a meet up (all his followers know by now that every time simon’s live during a meet up, it’s actually johnny using simon’s phone), and simon would wag his finger in front of the camera as if to say “secret.” it’s johnny who would thankfully grace them with a normal reply, doing so by flipping the camera to show you to them. and, well, they wouldn’t be able to blame simon for wanting to keep you all for himself because they’d see you perched on his bike, wrapped in leather while wearing your and simon’s matching helmet, looking all parts divinely and untouchable.

simon would mass like comments that always compliment you. his favourite? “@yourname please please step on me. i promise i’ll bark”. simon laughed at the ridiculousness of it before liking the comment and replying to the original commenter with “get in line, lad.”

HHHH BUT YEA!! i absolutely see simon having a decent-following instagram account that is full of pictures of you, the two of you driving around, and his bike.

i searched through the trenches (my room) and was able to find my old phone!! i revived it for a short smau of biker!simon and what i think his account would look like (also featuring a short one of reader’s account!). check under the cut <333

click through the individual pictures for better quality and so that u can see the captions teehee!!

i enjoyed making these omg!! hope u loved them toooo <333

#suns.hc #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #anon #ask #suns #suns.sm

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svndaysaweek · 3 months

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Overture (Prequel to Enlightenment) — {Feat. Karina}

8.7k words

A/N: You don’t know how old this draft is… I still remember that anon who sent a few asks about this series, and I really hope that they read this! This one is the longest I’ve ever written. Might not be the best piece, but I’m so proud of myself that I did my best. Thank you @dnd-writes for editing and giving me awesome advices. Enjoy!

*Prequel to “Enlightenment”

******

“Doesn’t matter how the two met. It’s about how they’re together ‘til now.”

******

It’s the first day in your new high school. It’s already March but the breeze is yet to blow winter away, strongly acclaiming its presence with the icy wind you face as soon as you come out of the main building of your school to go to the cafeteria. You haven’t made any friends to have lunch with yet, so you change your mind to just head to the smoking spot–behind the auditorium which is already an alien building itself–and kill some time smoking. You turn your way to the smoking spot inside the huge tide of students heading to the cafeteria. Freezing air makes you pace up to the spot.

After passing a few corners where even the wind has been disturbed to travel through, you find a drum can with fire in it making a peaceful crackling sound.

And a girl standing right by it as if wanting to get burnt. “Are you the new one?” Her voice is sharp enough to make it sound wary, yet quite chirpy to end up hitting you as rather coquettish.

“I don’t… I don't really know you,” Your steps towards her contradict your words. “Me neither.” At the fire you light your own cigarette. Your eyes scan her body from the ground to meet hers doing the same to you. The yellow name tag catches your eyes. Her name is Yu Jimin, third grade. And where the name tag is what makes your attention gather up too–perfect size, matches her wavy figure and sassy face, calmly heaves when she’s inhaling in the smoke.

“My name’s not that hard to read,” That’s when you realize that Yu Jimin, this unusual girl, will be an attraction with challenges. It’s all in her grin, in her turbid eyes that never leave yours–to be honest, it’s yours that never leaves hers; they won’t let the leash on your eyes loosen, until she wants to.

You suck it in, and breathe out a mouthful of smoke in the cold air. You look at her again and she's been watching you thoroughly, from head to toe, examining your body, shape, façade and all things she finds nice to look at, regardless of you mirroring her like once isn’t really enough.

She’s got such a nice, sculpted body, hidden under the school uniform but even more premo like that; concave and convex, it just hugs her curves impeccably. Narrow waist and wide, tight hips causing the skirt to struggle not to be torn apart. What’s more is her face, at the height of your chest, looking almost unrealistic, inhumanly beautiful, especially with a shallow grin like right now.

You are automatically making steps toward Jimin and she’s not backing up. You turn your head right to let out the smoke and then return to the ongoing gaze between you two.

“Don’t I look cold?” Jimin steps backwards, from the fire and from you. It makes you just automatically look at her legs, so slick and teem with femininity. You keep following what she tells you to do, what the hormones tell you to do.

“What do you want me to say?” It should be delivered as a counterattack to the dominance Jimin has shown you, but it, unfortunately, ends up sounding as if you were really confused. And Jimin almost bursts into laughter which she manages to hold in.

“So, third grade? What class are you in?”

“Two. You?” You drop the used cigarette and step on it to put it out. “Four. I’ll drop by sometime, handsome.”

Then she leaves the spot just like that. You are so interested in the girl Yoo Jimin. Given that she’s pretty like that, smokes around, she’s nothing like the normal students, obviously. And you can tell Jimin also found you special. Yeah, you know people don’t get to see a man like you quite often. You also know you don’t get to see a girl so appetizing like her often. It’s third year in highschool. You’re no amateur to let a girl play you around, rather, you’ve learned to control those feisty, hungry girls, but ugh, to be honest you don’t know what’s going on.

******

She never comes to see you until the end of school. Nor do you, because you thought you could wait–precisely, you thought you had to wait. You definitely want to take the upper hand in this new relationship so you just head home, yet with a bit of disappointment. But you don’t let anyone know. Maybe she’s just playing you out. That’s unacceptable for you. You calmly wait for the bus deep in thought. Maybe find someone else tomorrow. I don’t know.

“Hey, going somewhere?”

Fuck. It’s her. Jimin.

You think of complaining, but swallow it back and answer. “Home. You?” Jimin shrugs with nonchalance. “I don’t know. Your place, maybe? Do you live alone?” She lunges in suddenly, and you could just let her be as spunky as she can be. “I do. Why do you want to know that?” You throw a question, feigning calmness, and Jimin just smirks back.

“Don’t ask me.”

You’re on the bus. You let Jimin take the window side and sit next to her. You stuff your ears with some random songs and lock your eyes to the screen in your palm to leave the absorbing girl next to you out of your world even for a second.

“What made you move to my school?” Suddenly one of your earphones is between her fingers, your arm in hers to squish her breast slightly which feels so intentional. This bold little chick keeps surprising you in unforeseeable ways. Besides, you can read that she’s definitely testing you. Seems a little bit like an upside-down situation, for you to be the object, and oh, don’t you say you don’t find this rather fun.

“Well, there was an accident. You don’t need to know any further.” Her questions don’t seem to end, however. An eye roll might silence her—

“You can tell me. It’s alri-“

“You’d better shut the fuck up, Jimin.” Your fingers hold her chin up, facing you, merely a breath away as your noses tickle each other. And what gets you a moment later is her eyes, round and glowy, that could easily see through your brain, trying to suffocate you in the vivid yet gooey gaze. And there she plants her words straight into your brain; I’m a little impressed, but try harder.

A sudden squeak of the brake informs you to get off. You step out of the bus and Jimin quietly follows. Then you start walking at a rather slow pace. The sound of another pair of footsteps is the only clue of her existence for you.

“You made me wait.” You break the silence as you near your house. You don’t bother turning back to be an audience for her commanding attitude, but her cockiness nonetheless makes it to your ears.

“Well, I might have just forgotten. My bad.” You unlock the door, let Jimin in and close it. Right after the thud you pin her arms over her head with one hand, eliciting a sharp yelp from her.

“You made me fucking wait, Jimin. You’ll have to pay for it.” Your face is just a few inches from hers again. Your straining voice is mixed with her breath, hot, and your burning gaze never leaves hers, to return the blow that she had on your mind; you don’t know me yet.

“You should feel lucky.”

“Why?”

“I’m interested in you.” Jimin’s words, however, don’t sound tense or weak despite your visible dominance. Rather, it’s an impudent confidence that defies the dynamic knotted between your eyes. Jimin herself visualizes it with an even wider smile, dense with deliberate harm to your ego.

“Mmm…!” You dive into Jimin’s lips while your other hand suddenly wraps around her neck hard. Keeping the chokehold still, your hand once holding her wrists tears her school shirt open, letting the buttons randomly fly to the floor. With her hands free, they dangle on your arms. Her demure hand tries to push you back from her neck, but her tongue is flapping inside your mouth, already allured by the intenseness. Your other hand hesitates about before swiftly undoing her bra and Jimin drops it on the floor. You squeeze the godly pair of flesh and soon pull back from the kiss.

“Shit, you like it rough, huh?” Jimin giggles, with a killing lip bite, and discards her buttonless shirt. There you feel something kick your heart, to see a girl enjoying your selfishness and harshness for the first time. A thought that this girl might be the one for you passes through your mind like a hit-and-run truck.

You turn yourselves around and make Jimin walk backwards to your bedroom with your guide. Jimin doesn't wait to unbutton your shirt on your way, and the corners of her lips soon get pulled down by the lust exponentially charging up. You try to look calm but you’re no different–can’t help it in front of this amazing figure of Jimin, skin-to-skin just for you.

Entering the bedroom you push Jimin onto the bed. Her under lip experiences another intense bite as you lay her down and climb over her body, face to face just like a few minutes ago. With one hand supporting your weight, you take the other to her irresistible breasts and fondle them. Jimin hooks her arms and magnetizes your lips to hers for a delirious lip lock once again. Your hand slides down her torso to the button of her uniform skirt and undoes it then takes it off of her fatal legs and throws it to the floor.

“Next time you won’t wear these, okay?” It’s a demand but also a command, with your fingers on the wet spot on her panties. Her hands find themselves wandering on your toned chest, much in admiration. She nods quickly and unbuckles your pants.

“Needy,” Her hastiness makes you grin, and your words only make Jimin’s excitement grow.

“Yes. I am.” This is what makes you wanna accept the challenge; she’s talking things like that all too fresh, like you have to feel thankful for it. You take your pants off with your underwear to be fully naked. You help Jimin get rid of the annoying cloth being dampened by her pussy off her legs and throw it to the pile of clothes on the floor. With the anticipation for the next step Jimin’s breath paces up, running thin like her patience.

“You’re fucking big…” Jimin marvels at the way your cock tickles her belly button and her tummy. You slap her bare stomach a few times with your cock, spit on it and spread the slickness across with slow strokes.

“I said you’ll have to pay for it, Jimin,” You rub your cock on her wetness, gaining more lubrication, and slap your cock on her folds to see her reaction.

“Ah, please make me…Make me-OH FUCK…!” You push into the hilt with a swift thrust. The tightness draws a groan straight from your throat, and your right hand rises to her neck and chokes her hard again.

“You tell me who’s lucky. You think it’s still me?” Straight to the point that has been bothering you ever since it was spoken. You love to make things clear—dirty—who’s the one to stand and who’s the one to kneel. And if she ever intended to get under your skin, well, she pushed the wrong button.

Jimin’s eyes slam shut, unlike her agape mouth through which you can see her tongue has lost its way, dragged here and there by the hand of her senses, overthrown by what you’re doing. You keep thrusting in and out at such a pace, every time making sure your balls hit her ass, filling her tight hole up ecstatically with no vacancy.

“Hah, god…! It’s me, I’m the lucky one! I’m so fucking lucky to have your big cock inside me!”

“Good. See, your act doesn’t last a day.”

Her lips tremble, as if about to cry, as if all the fucking around was just a pretense and she actually has to be under you. She bites the lower one but can’t hold the shiver down.

You move your hand from Jimin’s neck to her face, grabbing her cheeks in one grip. You bring her face close to yours, both shaking to the orgasmic rhythm but never losing eye contact. Then you slap her cheeks, out of nowhere, just enough for the sound to be pleasurable but not too painful. Jimin starts to drool when you do that several times more, with loud, long moans gradually turning into screams.

“Oh, fuck, yes…! FUCK YES…!” Done with the hitting, you push in your fingers to Jimin’s unsilent mouth to get a better hold of her body. A teardrop leaves her glossy eyes and rolls down to where her ear is. A perfect mixture of pain and pleasure, both of which makes you two forget about tomorrow.

“I’m cumming, Jesus! I-I… Fucking cummi-“ Jimin’s back viciously arches so upward that you almost slip out. Her arms don’t seem to settle for a while before they dig into your back to work as anchors, her body vulnerable in the midst of a destructive swirl of pleasure. But that’s none of your concern as you make the haze in her head threaten her consciousness.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” You wait for Jimin to come down but that’s so silly of you to do so; your ravageous ramming cock never lets her. All of a sudden you pull out, causing Jimin to shake immensely, and flip her on all fours. Her sex is glistening and the other hole is too, both of them slick with her juices and constricting irregularly.

When Jimin feels your cock rub on her pussy she collapses onto the mattress, only her ass up and her face down, exhausted on the bed, faced to the right. But whenever your cock teases her other hole Jimin shudders, toes curl and her fists try to tear your sheets at the sensation of her asshole getting stimulated.

“Agh, fuck…” You don’t warn Jimin when you insert the head of your cock inside her tight ass. This time even you can’t handle the pleasure of its tremendous tightness as you shut your eyes and groan loudly.

“Holy fuck, Jimin, this is so tight,” You tell her when you’re halfway in. Her body stays still, but her hands ball up and her toes curl until they all become pale. Every inch deeper inside her ass is the moment for you to admire the transcendental tightness you’ve never experienced from those other girls you have been through. Maybe you’re lucky too, to have found this perfect body with nothing to lament on.

“Oh, please, that’s deep! Fuck my ass deep just like-oh my fucking god!” Your reaction is quick—it’s more of a reflection though—doing more than what Jimin asked even before she finishes her words, beginning the mindless assfuck with such a carefree pace. You bring her powerless head up with your hand wrapped around her neck, tight, choking her again. The tighter you grip, the tighter her ass gets. You catch a glimpse of the crooked corner of her lips, which only fuels your inner engines to work even harder.

It’s just your thing; when you see a smile, you have to break it. You destroy it, and you sincerely cherish it when it’s gone.

As you reach your maximum speed Jimin’s distorted smile subsides and an even more euphoric look spreads. Mouth open wide, drooling down her chin and onto your hand on her throat, eyes open but white. As if she muted herself, Jimin doesn’t even breathe—not only because of your grip, but also the orgasm building up as fast as how you ram her ass. You grin at the sight of Jimin drowning in the sensations her own nerves convey; you create. It kills you how small her body is, when you can witness a simple—yet ruthless—piston to her crotch can dye her whole skin red, travel electrically to everywhere in no time, shrinking every minimal muscle. You release her, she falls down limp on the bed and screams at the anal orgasm hitting her, threatening her consciousness.

“Ahh! Fuck, fuck…!” You’re nowhere far from your own end, either. Your breath shallows down at the crazy tightness of Jimin’s orgasming ass.

“Jimin, I’m cumming…!” You do. You reach as deep inside her anal cavern as you can and unload your cum, mind blowing pleasure coursing through every corner of your body. You shoot, and shoot, and shoot. Jimin clenches her hole for your cum to be deposited inside her with a lazy hum, in harmony with your groan seeping out of your gritted teeth.

It takes a few minutes for your breaths to find the normal speed. “No one’s fucked my ass this amazing,”

It surely was enough to bring amazement, undoubtedly the best you’ve had so far. You sit up and rearrange her hair for her.

“Did I pay for it?“ Jimin’s already got that bright smile back, and after such an extreme sex your barriers collapse in front of her, as you smile back at her.

“Very much.”

“Can you get my phone? It’s in my skirt.” You head to the pile of discarded clothes and do it for Jimin, who’s sitting on the bed with her head resting on the headboard. You toss it on the bed.

Jimin looks into her phone right away, scrolls down mindlessly and looks at you, who’s naked and standing next to the bed.

“Take a shower first, baby.”

Baby, she said.

Your eyes dart to hers immediately. Your face stays placid but you know Jimin knows you’re not at all used to it. You never really allow any strings attached with the ones you fuck; it’s a rather body-to-body entanglement than something emotional. But you’re surprised at how that word fits comfortably between you two. There’s something different. You look back at Jimin but her attention is taken by her phone already, again like a hit-and-run truck, but not completely as you can see her smirk the way you love. So you just enter the bathroom.

In the shower you review the past 30 minutes—you had sex with the girl Yoo Jimin: nothing special. But not just that; Jimin has by far the best body of all the other girls you’ve experienced. You can tell you really enjoyed it today. You can tell she’s worthy of continuing the relationship. You like the way Jimin turns from a bubbly, sassy girl in school to a begging, screaming mess in bed under you. And the way she calls you baby—it dulls all your edges like a cup of boiling water would do to an ice cube. Just like the hot water pouring on your head.

You come out of the shower and see Jimin smoking on your bed, sitting on the edge with her legs crossed, elbow on her thigh, still aesthetically naked. She looks gorgeous like that. You walk to her, take the cigarette from her hand to your mouth. Then push her down on the bed, breathe the smoke in deep and throw the shortened cigarette away to the bin next to bed, breathe out, and share a smoky kiss.

A few moments later your rod pokes at her belly and Jimin parts away with a giggle.

“Fuck, I really have to clean my body.” You bring her off the bed with you. “Shut up and get down here,” With a smirk she does, and as soon as she adjusts her legs and position you shove your cock in her mouth. A gag earned.

But after that Jimin takes your big cock pretty well, without gagging or looking uncomfortable, even when her nose crashes on your crotch; you’ve found yourself a perfect girl, indeed.

“Nice.” Her teary eyes never leave yours throughout the session as you pace up for a brief finish. Adjusting to the speed of your cock moving entirely in and out, Jimin’s hands go up to the back of your thighs for firmer grip.

Jimin’s drool tickles down your balls and forms a small puddle on the floor. With the filthiest slurping sound Jimin bobs her head at the beat of your cock sliding through. Whenever her delicate tongue presses onto the underside of your cock you throb inside her mouth, making her head slightly move simultaneously.

Jimin’s tears meet the drool on her chin, and with a sound of her voice from her throat Jimin taps your thighs for you to pull out. You take your cock out of her mouth and slap it on her fucked face a few times, painting her face with her own saliva, to her liking.

“Finish it.”

Put the shower aside, and you shower Jimin with your lust deep into her throat. You feel your legs not far from giving in, but thankfully your cock is just the same, due to what Jimin is doing under you.

“Jimin, I’m-I’m close.”

Jimin starts to fondle your balls and that certainly helps you cross the line. In no time you fill her throat up white, and the room with your satisfied groan.

You look straight into Jimin’s eyes when you cum, and it’s astonishingly reciprocated when she gulps down your load quickly, professionally. As soon as you are done pouring into Jimin she stands up, showing you her clean tongue with a tilt of her head, and heads to the bathroom. You, left alone, giggle quietly and sprawl on the bed after putting on underwear.

******

“Text me at lunch break. You know where to meet me.” You just nod at Jimin, who’s in one of your T-shirts that is just a little bit big for her; loss of all the buttons on her uniform comes at a cost. An inner beam blooms under your face when you find her just too perfect in that outfit of school skirt with your T-shirt tucked under it. Those unhidden bra lines count as one of many reasons for you to stare at her, take her in your arms right now and-

“Not now, perv.” Her smirk lets yours surface up to reciprocate hers. You stand up from the bed, approach her and walk her backwards to the wall. Jimin has been playful and relaxed with you and you like it. But when you—just like right now—detect submission in her eyes: you love it. You don’t stop your hand from rising up for her neck and have a good grip around it. You don’t stop the other from being pulled away to her gracious tits and squeezing them.

“Not now?” And there are those big eyes begging for you to go further, that bitten lower lip asking for any contact, as if the one who just quipped ‘not now’ choked out. Always hits you differently when she just switches from a brat to a subby mess out of control.

Contradiction is the most normal of things when you have a tight grip over Jimin. Her reddening face gradually forms a thin smirk when your lips close in to hers. Her eyes close, lips part for a mind-numbing kiss—

“Not now.” You make a sudden pull back and release Jimin from your grip. She stumbles and almost collapses on the floor so you hold her in your arms. For the same purpose and then some, her arms rest on your shoulders and pull you in, only to be denied by your hand pushing her chest off of you, leaving Jimin just keeping a hungry gaze at your lips and whimpering “Please.”

You finish tying the necktie, bring your thumb up to her lips. As it sweeps over them Jimin lets her tongue coat your thumb with her saliva which could’ve blended perfectly with yours.

“To the spot at lunch break, Jimin. And ah,” You stand down and pull her panties down in one sway and she helps herself out of them by lifting her legs respectively. You toss it on the bed and rise up again, for your collarbone to match her height, for her to look up at you again.

“You don’t wear the same panties for two days straight, do you?” Jimin just nods quickly and tries to crush her lips on yours yet again. Seems like she wouldn’t care even if you made her go to school all nude, if she could just mix her tongue with yours right now. Her efforts to make you kiss her is visible to you; eyes so seductive yet not able to take themselves off of their foremost target, lips slightly open for her tongue to peek outside. Seeing that you just step back and prepare to leave for school with an unseen smirk.

“Let’s go.”

******

As anticipated, needy and untidy Yoo Jimin sends you a dozen pictures of her bare crotch under her skirt, saying ‘Want your fingers inside’, ‘Can’t wait for the lunch break.’ Those are to be left on read.

Morning classes fly by as the bell rings to announce the lunch break. The class rushes out for lunch, has a race among them with some of them even running like they have something to win. And amongst that crowd you head to the spot, to Yoo Jimin.

She’s there already waiting for you when you turn the last corner. Legs crossed, back on the brick wall and a half-spent cigarette between her lips, looking so delinquent there with that insanely short skirt and in the shirt you gave. She notices you, has a reet smile on her and throws the cigarette on the ground, and watches you approach her standing still. No immaterial words or acts are needed when you can just kiss those lips like they’re yours. The remnant of the cigarette a fume that makes you dive deeper into this trance her tongue and yours are building, you spontaneously get rid of her skirt and are met with the wet skin under it.

Your fingers taste her crotch, slowly rubbing around and poised for any further indulgence. Her hands are, on the other hand, hectic with your buttons and when they’re done they swiftly go down to your belt. Your pants drop to your ankles in no time with your underwear, and with your erect cock emancipated, Jimin detaches from the kiss and spits on your cock and spreads it.

It all happens so fast that you are still enraptured by the kiss and her tits in your palms, leaving so many treats unfelt to your body. The next second you are inside her, making it even headier for you to follow up.

“Fuck, I needed this.” Jimin grits. With no clue of downshifting she takes the shirt off, her bra to follow suit, and hooks her arms around your neck to stand the frantic sex she wants from you. And that happens right away, as your instinct drops the hammer for you to automatically thrust into her even before you find yourself moaning at the sensation of her inside.

You keep your eyes closed while wrecking her pussy despite the eye candy that is Yoo Jimin during sex, and suddenly you notice her teeth on your shoulder. It’s a pain that can make you grin, that can make you savor the feeling, even it gets even stronger, because now you know that when she bites, she cums. Her legs give in, and you know it by the weight of her arms around your neck. Her walls clench harshly and there’s a stream of her juice down your legs when she cums. Yoo Jimin is so tactile, and when she cums her whole body does, for yours to recognize, you don’t even have to hearken to know it. The auditory input hits your brain the last, the pearly, shaky yelp of the orgasming needy girl adds up to all the stimuli you are taking.

When she comes down you slow down, lazily reaching her cervix as she hums at it every time.

“Kiss me, baby.” You do. It’s saccharine to your tongue. Her tongue distraughtly moves around inside your mouth, some of the drool leaking onto her tits to make it even more impeccable. The gustation mesmerizes you into a rabid sex, this time for yourself to get off. No subduing, only upshifts lead the way as you turn her around, put it back in and lavish thrusts into her sex.

“Shit. Jimin, you’re so fucking perfect.” You’re not saying this again because she might not have heard it; you are repeating it like a low-functioning machine because you’re afraid you haven’t said it enough. And she can condone it—of course she can, it’s a compliment anyway—because she knows it already, because the feeling’s mutual. You say it several more times on the back of her neck, almost making it a tattoo, carving it in intaglio. Still deranged, Jimin is just screaming with her back arching to the sky and carotically facing the brick wall with her left cheek. The right side of her face is rosed up, and her eye has a glimpse of you, your wry face and the sweat-coated torso and shuts and she cums just like that.

Her breaths are shallow, irregular, a gusty fluid squelches out of her pussy and the scene of her orgasm is intimidating your endurance, easily sending you to an orgasmic stupor and making you spurt out inside her with a gritted groan.

“Jimin, I… God, fuck…!” To your overstimulated cock Jimin has her shrewd tongue on it, sealed with her lips. Makes your legs wobble, unmercifully agitating your mind with frenzy, but just until she clears your shaft up clean from the tabloid juices all over it.

“I loved it. Maybe we should make it daily.” Jimin rises up, with her skirt and your shirt in her hands and still breathing somewhat heavily. And the desecrated smile on her face is the coercion for you to wear one too, a copacetic one. Shirt on, a smoking cigarette between your fingers, you insinuate to her.

“Your panties are still on my bed, you know.” And she’s shrewd with it—has been from the very beginning—and purrs. “Mhmm, I’m going to go fetch it after school with you.”

Of course, is what your nods that follows says, and there’s my girl, says your zest-filled grin, looking at her back that walks out of the corner. It’s always that intrinsic sass you could simply, so simply kill for. Maybe a challenge for you, maybe a finesse for you to be benumbly trapped into. It’s your choice, and from some point on the latter looks dazzling to you; maybe you’re a person who just dyes so well, to a derogated girl who seemed to have taken everything you’ve given but turns out she just put you in the phantasma of her own stardust without you realizing it—you’ve lost it in her, somehow. And that’s bizarre: and you love it.

******

You’re standing at the bus stop, hands in your pocket and looking around to find your girl. When you do, you’re so surprised at how Jimin so stands out among all the crowd while doing nothing but just walk. Even from miles out you’re sure you’ll spot her in a second. The belle of the crowd, wherever she is. She’s not the tallest but still piques herself on her to-die-for aura like she blurs everyone out. As if she sensed the scrutiny, Jimin looks up from her phone, looks around and soon finds you looking at her. You hate to be seen so infatuated like this but you can’t help it, as your eyes meet hers and your face brightens up, half from seeing her and half at yourself caught like that.

“That happy to see me?” You don’t answer, just bring your hands to her crotch and check there’s no underwear blocking your way. A flick over her uncovered pussy earns you a shocked look.

“This is not your bedroom!” Jimin shouts in whisper, but not with caution, but an intrigued grin with eyes darting around the crowd waiting for the bus.

“Are you telling me to stop?” You take your fingers to her mouth, her tongue welcoming the taste of horniness coated all over your fingers. “I’m telling you not to stop.”

So your hand returns to her pussy. You’re rubbing, tapping on and hooking your fingers in, Jimin bites on her own fingers not to relinquish her scream. You hold her trembling body as steady as possible but you know that it’ll be absolutely normal if the people around you realize that you two are having a little fun explicitly in public. Everyone’s looking at you and Jimin in front of you, facing the same way as you and receiving that dirty fingering amongst so many audiences.

In a few minutes the bus is here, to show you only one vacant seat left. You take the seat and Jimin sits on your lap, facing backwards and hugging your neck. You resume the unholy yet entertaining fingering to the pretty moaning girl on your lap.

And you return to who you really are: you’re a gentleman yourself, with etiquette, with common decency, to pull Jimin’s head down on your shoulder to muffle her nasty sound on it. You know even the driver is looking at you through the mirror, but that’s because of her, not you; again, you’re making no noise, and Jimin in your embrace is the culprit of all the squeaky, watery, moaning noise, not you.

“Quiet, Jimin.” Now her teeth dig into your skin, synchronizing with your fingers indulging into her wet, tight hole. You know what you’re doing won’t shut her up. You’re just saying it, a formality. Inside your mind you want her to moan loudly, at the same time want to see her struggle keeping it quiet. So you yank her hair back to watch her distorted face, observe every tiny wriggle of her expression.

“Ah…!” Look into her eyes as if wanting to pierce through them. Jimin looks at you too, flooding with lust, drowning in her own sensations of sex and embarrassment of being exposed in such a public situation. “I’m almost there.” It’s a plain text but she’s begging there. She says she’s almost there but she’s already there, as it seems.

“Yeah, we’re almost there.” A bump on the road makes your fingers hit her spot, makes her back arc, makes her almost, almost lose it right there. You pull out your fingers from her hot cavern to the relatively cool air of the bus. Her liquid feels fresh out in the air but that feeling is soon lost, by her tongue wrapping them up and sucking it clean—suckling it dirty.

The bus stops right then for only you and Jimin to get off. It’s much quieter than inside the bus, partially due to you not fingerfucking her anymore. In no time you’re at the door of your house, unlock it, swing open and it slams shut. Simultaneously Jimin hops on you and dive into your mouth with hers. You stumble through to your bedroom, toss her on the bed, swiftly undo your belt and pants with your boxers, let your already hard dick spring out but don't let it feel the air as it vanishes into Jimin’s waiting pussy right away.

No one speaks a word. No one can, to be fair. You two are merely inches away from dying, too impatient to wait another second. And there you let Jimin approach death a bit closer by holding her neck around, a perfect necklace for her, and straining your hand. Jimin’s mouth is open, difficulty in breathing so visible, face reddening but there’s still her hunger in it; she grins. Her smile is so cruel, violent, so evil yet joyful, as if she’s the victimizer and you’re the victim.

“Please, baby… Kill me. Fucking choke me to death, please, choke me and kill me-fuck!” You make her scream when you slap her tits, as if you were angry at her, but you’re the opposite—you love her so much that you just want to abuse her, to her liking, just like right now. All her sensations seem to evaporate as her eyes roll back and her hands drop to her sides spiritlessly: or, airlessly. You let her go, not wanting to actually kill her.

With a giant inhale Jimin returns from the border of unconsciousness. Her hands travel from her own tits, your hands, and soon back to the sheets, still wandering in need for anything to release the tension. So you pin down her wrists and pace up your thrusts.

“Fuck, Jimin. Don’t tempt me. You make me really want to fuck you dead.” You’re saying it right on her face, which enables her to feel that you mean it. There she tries to kiss your lips, but you pull back with agility, instead covering her mouth and nose with your palm, again suffocating her to your liking, to your loving, to your abnormal, psychopathic obsession.

“I want to see you struggle for life. I want to see you beg for life. You’ll look so perfect like that.” Jimin screams into your hand, covers it with her saliva and tears. You close in with your other hand groping her tit and your cock hitting everywhere inside her squeezing cunt. Jimin’s eyes widen as her orgasm fades in, muffling “I’m cumming!” Several times on your palm before peaking like never before. Her orgasm never gives her the time to even shut her eyes as they roll into her head. Her scream penetrates your hand over her mouth as it departs on your ears so deliciously.

That’s what psychopaths do, isn’t it? To experience the catharsis washing over your spine and get off with how a person screams, all helpless, with tears, shallow breaths as if soon going to die, or at least pass out. Maybe it’s that she’s making it clear about who you are. Would be a pleasure to embrace it.

And it’s your turn now. You pull out, escaping Jimin’s spent pussy with quite an amount of her squirt, leaving her all trembling and arching. There’s a layer of sweat all over her body and it makes it look like a scene from any pornography. Jimin doesn’t move a bit-only her chest is heavily healing up and down, even after you flip her upside down.

You tease her asshole with your middle finger and when she senses it enter she helps you by spreading her cheeks for deeper insertion. No resistance in and out of her ass. Every curl inside her ass makes Jimin squeeze her own cheeks as a response with a powerless moan. “Mmm, fuck me please… I’m not done yet.” Of course. You grin and prepare your cock for the second entrance as you pull Jimin up on all fours. Her arms give up when you rub your glistening cock on her pussy lips. And her reason gives up when you penetrate her rear hole.

“Ahh-fuck yes!”

“Holy fuck. This is so tight.” Her tightness erases your patience to savor it slowly. You start ruining her ass with the intention of actually destroying it. Jimin frowns, loud moan seeping through the bitten lip, hands curling into fists but arms all powerless on her sides.

“It’s so good, it’s so fucking good…! Don’t stop it baby. Make me cum like a fucking whore…!” Her voice can’t even get louder when her words just melt on the mattress just like her. Her words turn to nothings, eyes squeeze shut, concentrating all her senses to where she’s getting fucked. You feel your eyelids become heavier every single thrust, but the visual pleasure is just too good to give up watching it-her ass up for you to fuck it senseless, narrow waist contrasting her wide hips so aesthetically. The cherry on top is the expressions on her gorgeous face which you can’t quite read. Just like when all colors mixed makes pitch-black, her facial wrinkles and twitches are the perfect mixture of all pleasure, ecstasy that you can’t tell what she’s feeling at this moment.

“Nngh!” Actually, you can. Jimin is orgasming so hard, clear—dirty—liquid pumping out of her empty pussy to flood the mattress. Her ass squeezes your cock too hard for you to move in and out as fast as before without blasting every drop in her climaxing ass hole.

So you park it deep in her contracting hole, stay there, and shut Jimin’s moaning mouth with yours. She doesn’t care—or she doesn't acknowledge—and keeps screaming for her life even after her peak has washed over. A few dozen seconds pass, she calms down to at least breathe regularly when you stand your torso up to resume the session.

“You… You have to cum…” As if she even cares for you instead of her own pleasure. You know she just wants more overwhelming orgasm only you can deliver, and you are no different. There’s something about this body, these tits, the voice, this face, this pussy, this ass; there really is something about Yoo Jimin. Without your knowledge you are humping her like a villain, mad, but with a grin that’s so dangerous that Jimin mirrors. Your hand already made itself home around her neck, a red mark of it pressing hard inevitable, tears rolling down along her side face.

“I’m going to fill you up, Jimin.” And with a sharp inhale you begin wrecking her inside. A gut-rearranging pounding is what her perfect ass deserves and she can’t even open her eyes properly-either one stays closed against her will, rolling up to see that there’s nothing inside her head.

“Fuck! Please, please, please, please… Gah, I’m- Again…!” How impatient. There’s not even a point for you to call a flaw. Immoral, impatient, vulgar, dirty… She’s all too perfect. And you’re sure that’s why you cum so hard, like never before.

A nasty pair of voices fill each other’s brain as you two cum. You lower your body, forehead on hers and eyes on hers, looking through those teary orbs as you feel yourself bursting out gregariously. No words but loud pants bridge your sensations to each other, and until the last spurt you don’t even blink in order to see Jimin go through her own orgasm.

That’s it; it’s been your undesirable sadistic desire that kept you on fire, and when you have saturated it it flips out of your head, making it empty—there hasn’t been anything other than that. When you’re done completely you let Jimin go from your glare, sit on the edge next to her gasping body. Your urge is swept off so cleanly, and you can see how dirty it was by the mess on your bed.

“Are you alright?” You ask, but looking up at the ceiling, not Jimin. You don’t turn your head but can already sense her looking at you. “You’re just so perfect.” Selfishly she doesn’t answer. And you hear the smirk in her words. You make one on your face too, hearing that, stand up, face her and find Jimin overloading your vision with how she gorgeously lies down there, making even all the nasty things complement her perfection.

“I’ll shower. Just don’t fall asleep on the bed. It’s dirty.” You tell Jimin, all helpless and powerless on the bed and panting like she just had the best sex in her life. The lustful girl who was begging for you to kill her is nowhere to be found; instead there’s a weak, short of breath, vulnerable and lithe angelic devil with your cum gushing out of her ass. As if a few more touches and she’d actually evaporate.

In the shower you barely feel the water on your body, so distracted by your own thoughts—your own thoughts but in the grabs of Yu Jimin. The exact same as yesterday, you are showering yourself with your shocked, strange feelings in the shower after sex that simply blew your mind.

It's just that she's too good. Too good to call it a hook-up, too good to make it only an occasional sex. The way she craves your cock, the way she begs for your violence, the way she’s so desperate for extreme orgasms under your hold. It’s the first time for you to smile just by thinking of a girl, especially when you’re such a harsh and rough type of a person even you’d admit. She’d let you hit her. She’d let you choke her, let you fuck her, destroy her—let you love her.

Then the door opens, a small, pale figure of female comes in, walks slowly through the mist of the hot water. Jimin stops in front of you, legs barely holding there, face buried on your chest and her arms locked around your neck to support her lithe body but they barely do. You move a little backward to let her more of the hot water.

As if all the water got into your veins, you feel your heart burn. Just look at her—legs all wobbly, barely standing, too exhausted to even look up at you, her hands at the back of your neck irregularly stroking the back of your head as if signaling she’s at least perceiving things properly. You put a hand on her back and spread the water on it, and that’s when she lifts her head and meets your eyes.

Weak and lethargic like a candlelight in front of a tsunami, Jimin is barely standing there with low moans whenever her legs wobble and give up. Her arms tighten around your neck as one of yours hug her back so that she doesn’t collapse. Her face is right beneath yours, tilted up to face yours. Those eyes can’t avoid looking at your lips, which is just what you’re doing to her unashamedly.

Your hand climbs up to the back of her head. Regardless of that you and Jimin are exchanging such a strong yet soft, intense yet loving eyelock. It is an atypically genial moment and if you look back at this moment you might throttle yourself. She should know it by now, from the visible, audible changes on you.

(Maybe you were afraid. Or beyond that. Love was what your fears were afraid of. Doesn’t quite make sense to say that you have fears, but anyways, you didn’t want, nor expect a couple nights to escalate to an actual romance.)

Minutes pass, and pass, and—and pause, when you pull her a bit into your arms and make a soundless, yet seismic kiss. Lips lock. Two pairs of lips open and a pair of tongues make contact, hug each other just like you two. Her hands snake into your hair, your head in her hands and deeper into the kiss. You two have even forgotten to breathe as the liplock continues for what feels like a lifetime, to complete the kiss of your life. When you try to pull back Jimin lunges a bit forward not to break the kiss, and you let your system suffocate a few dozen seconds more.

“You’re so beautiful, Yu Jimin.” You finally tell her this. Not the literal confession of love but she gets it with the bewitching smile she always wears like nothing. Never been in love, you feel like you’re sent back to childhood, pure and intact, but that feeling is shattered into pieces when her hand finds your hardened cock poking at her belly.“Is that why you’re so hard, baby?” This time, the word ‘baby’ sounds so right with a lip bite of your lover and with a lust-filled grin on you. Her thumb slides on the underside of the tip, almost making you stumble back.

“Yes. Just like you’re always horny because of me.” With a smirk you turn her around, bend her over so that her hands are on the wall, and put your cock in in one stroke. Jimin helplessly loses all the strength in her legs and falls but you're prudential enough not to let her. It's to the point where she's just hanging from your arms when you kindle the movement. Her skin looks even more satin with the water so you collar her and go on. You can't stop when the biggest impetus is jonesing for it. No choice but to harden the grip on her throat.

Jimin is flaccid on the wall, fingers fumbling on and desperately digging themselves on it with her head facing down. You are never going to unbind her until she falls into a stupor. “Baby I… I fucking love it so deep…! Use me just like that…” She can't let it out loud and soon loses all voice, raises her head, brings yours right beside hers and kisses you. And a feeling that this is the requital for your disclosure makes it compulsory to reciprocate it poignantly. Her hand guides one of yours to her tits, pushes it hard on it to make you squeeze them and soon the convulsions agitate through her body. Her orgasmic screams reverberate through your throat, which is also moaning out of the pleasure congesting your mind.

When the kiss breaks her yelps stifle the smacking and squelching. You have no idea if it’s your heartiness or just overstimulation from before the shower, but her voice sounds so giddy she might just hit the floor all limp. The burgeoning pleasure conglomerates into a derogated vertigo, the unbearable sensations stack up in your spines and Jimin’s wringing walls really doesn’t help you push it down. Her eyes tell you—because her mouth can’t right now—she’s only a couple thrusts away from coming undone, tantamount to what’s threatening to blow your mind, break down your nerves.

“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking coming…!” A tautology that is so understandable. You help her, add to the pleasure by choking her. Her moans permeate to your hand through her throat and the foul secretion of her orgasm flows down her legs with the water pelting down on your bodies. Jimin fumbles on the wall with her fingers, too herring-gutted to digest the deray.

“Jimin. Yu Jimin. I’m coming too-fuck…!” When Jimin hears her name she hums, and when she feels the warmth coat her walls she buckles, arches her back to beckon your lips and jockeys her tongue between them. In less than a minute however she pulls back, due to lack of air, because of your chokehold, and pants in your face, with a pejorative smile, but no sign of mannerism—you all know, that smile that follows after an exquisite sex—her sheer feelings carved in it, and you willingly mirror it as a beck of mutuality.

******

A rather huge thing is settled. Sitting on the edge of the bed together, with a cigarette between your fingers for each, you recount your history: the reason you moved, your personality, your sex life being like this. All of them, however, converge to her, Yu Jimin, weirdly enough for you who just can’t concede any feelings involved, which sounds like a monolithic psychopath which actually might be who you are.

Well, a little bit of romance couldn’t kill, could it? You think, lying next to Jimin and slowly closing your eyes to fall-

“You haven’t said it yet.”

“Say what?”

“You only said I’m beautiful.”

“And?”

“I know there’s something more. You know there’s something more.”

There you fail to hold out the chuckle.

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to be shy about it,”

Jimin mischievously giggles. You know you can’t just laugh it off, and you won’t. That intricate feeling that tickles, but is not transient.

With a somnolent voice, you placidly say, like a tagline of a tragedy—or a comedy.

“Love you, Jimin.”

Her grin infiltrates her words hearing it.

“That’s it, my boy. Love you too.”

******

#kpop x male reader #kpop male reader #karina smut #aespa smut

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literaryavenger · 2 months

Text

Thoughtful

Summary: You find something of Bucky's.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!Reader

Warnings: My poor attempts at being funny. No use of Y/N. Just a whole lot of fluff.

Word Count: 1.1K

A/N: This is a dream I had and I couldn't get it out of my head so I decided to write it down. Hope somebody enjoys it!

Masterlist

“Good morning.” you say casually to Bucky sitting at the island as you enter the kitchen.

He merely nods back to acknowledge your presence while sipping his coffee. It’s not like Bucky doesn’t like you, he’s just not a morning person. But the whole team is used to his morning grumpiness.

Also, you and the brunette supersoldier aren’t particularly close, so you don’t really expect bells and whistles when he sees you.

You pour some coffee for yourself and then sit on the kitchen island in front of Bucky. A light jingle coming from under your shirt gets Bucky’s attention and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“What was that?” He asks you, his curiosity getting the better of him.

You frown at his question before following his eyeline and seeing him looking at your chest. But he’s not staring at your boobs through your admittedly thin tank top, he’s looking under them where he can see something resting between the fabric and your skin.

You’re honestly confused at what that is for a moment before you remember and your eyes widen a little as your cheeks start reddening in embarrassment.

Bucky’s confused at your reaction as he watches you take the chain around your neck to bring out the set of dog tags around your neck and Bucky frowns even more.

“I didn’t know you were in the military…” He comments while looking at the tags and then at you, unclear as to why you’d be embarrassed about it.

“I wasn’t…” You say quietly while glancing down at the tags. “They’re kinda… yours.”

Bucky’s even more dumbfounded by your answer. But, after letting your words sink in and deciding he indeed heard you correctly, he couldn’t help the grin that started to grow on his face, much to your surprise.

You thought maybe he’d be mad, although it’s not like you stole them, you simply found them. But still, you were worried what he might think about you wearing them.

“Oh good, I thought I lost them!” He says relieved. “I looked for them everywhere.”

“Well, can I have them back now?” He asks you after a moment of silence and you realize you haven’t even taken them off yet this whole time.

So you quickly do, leaning over the kitchen island and setting them down carefully on his outstretched hand. You watch him put them on, your eyes lingering on the metal on his chest a minute longer than necessary before going back up to his.

“And why exactly are you wearing my dog tags?” He asks, and right now you wish he’d get mad at you instead. Anything is better than the amusement that’s all over his face at watching you squirm in your seat.

“I found them at the gym… But it’s not like I was planning to keep them.” You quickly justify yourself, your tone entirely too defensive even to your own ears as you blush more. “But you had just left for your mission with Steve and I thought I would just keep them safe until you came back, so I put them on… But I had every intention to give them back, I swear!”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, doll...” He says, his grin turning into a full grown smirk as he points out the obvious. “But I’ve been back for a week, and you were still wearing them.”

“Yeah, I-I guess I got so used to them that I forgot to give them back…” You say quietly, your face turning impossibly red as Bucky seems to be having the time of his life right now.

You groan internally when you see his smirk still going strong at your embarrassment and you decide to cut your losses and not give him more fuel to add to the fire before 9am.

You get up and put your empty cup in the sink. As you turn around you’re startled to find the Sergeant much closer to you than he was before, the kitchen island no longer between you. He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything or even pull away before he’s talking.

“On the other hand…” He takes his dog tags off and reaches out to put them around your neck, making sure to keep his eyes on the metal and not glance at your boobs no matter how much he wants to. “Maybe you could hold onto them for me.”

He looks at the tags on your chest then up to your face before he pulls away completely with a quiet “Beautiful.” and takes a step back, leaving you a flustered mess.

After a minute you remember how to breathe and you glance down at the tags. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. We wouldn’t want me to lose them again now, would we?” He says with a smile, reaching out to lift your chin gently and making you look at him. “But you’ll keep them safe for me, right doll?”

You nod almost without thinking about it, his eyes putting you in a trance. You’re sure you’d agree to anything right about now, all you can really hear is your own heart pounding anyway.

“Plus, now I can do this…” He lets go of your chin and wraps his hand around the chain of the dog tags.

He uses his hold on them to pull you closer and your heart skips a beat as he leaves you a soft kiss on your lips. You barely realize what’s happening before he’s pulling away again and you merely look at him with your mouth agape in shock.

Before you can say anything, though, you hear snickers from the door of the kitchen and you both turn towards it just to see the whole team there. All of them have smirks, grins and smiles, everyone delighted at the situation as your face starts getting redder than Tony’s Iron-man suit.

You look back at Bucky and the cheeky bastard is also smirking, clearly much more amused than you at being caught like this.

“Okay, well,” You say while clearing your throat awkwardly and stepping away from Bucky to escape from this situation altogether. “I’m gonna go research the tallest building in New York so I can throw myself off of it.”

Your deadpan reaction leaves everyone laughing as they get away from the door so you can pass.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, it wasn’t that bad!” Tony yells after you between laughs, obviously sarcastic and you roll your eyes.

“Bite me, Stark!” you yell back, not even tempted to look back as you try to hide a smile of your own while hearing the team’s amusement in the kitchen.

You’re still a little in shock that Bucky kissed you but, once the embarrassment at the team having witnessed it washes away, you can’t wait to follow up on this with Sergeant Grumpy.

Part 2

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sooniebby · 9 months

Note

hey I just recently found your blog while scrolling through tags and I’m so in love with all your ocs (especially Yubin and mind reader’s guy) I love reading your works :) sometimes I even reread them cause they’re just so *chefs kiss*

So far, I’m really looking forward to the mind reader since there’s so much tension and it’s just such a neat idea. Just imagine if the two got paired up for a group/partner project 👀 the poor guy is going to lose his mind while the mind reader gets front row tickets to it

(not necessarily a request but you’re free to write about it if you want to!! I just wanted to mention the idea since I’ve been thinking about it a lot ever since I read about the two)

Aw thanks so much! Glad you like them, your idea is really good, I had to use it! As usual, bottom male reader. Based on this post.. added more characterization

Xavier Young.. that was the name of the pervert plaguing your thoughts. Just like right now, while you desperately tried to pay attention to the girl in front of you—talking about what part you’ll have for the group project..

But there’s just this nagging sound filling your head. Xavier.. thinking about fucking you.. again.

It was even worse this time. At the table, he sat directly across from you, practically staring you down.

‘Ah… he’s so cute. Wish he’d look at me instead of her..’

You made sure to never glance his way.

‘He was blessed with such pouty lips… shit, I wanna bite them’

You pursed your lips heavily so it was just a thin line.

‘I’ve never seen him in a short sleeved shirt.. or shorts for that matter.. shit, why’s that hotter than him just showing himself off?’

You contemplated taking off your jacket but decided you just weren’t comfortable enough to do that. Oh well, you’d just let him have that perverse thought.

“So… (Name) and Xavier can take the pictures...”

“Excuse me?”

And here you were, forced to walk around the university taking pictures with just Xavier. Standing beside him, he was tall.. he practically dwarfed you. Briefly, you thought about seeing just how much size he had compared to you.

And it seemed Xavier was thinking the same thing.. although obviously, dirtier. Much to your dismay, his thoughts were filled with fucking you in the library (gross!).

“You’re so small… this bump in your belly is from me, yeah?” His inner self said, tracing his.. much larger hand across your stomach, lightly pressing down on the obvious bump from his cock.

You wanted to kill yourself. And the fact that you.. kinda.. sorta.. wanted to know if that would actually happen if he were to fuck you.. hey, it’s just curiosity!

You tried to push his perverse thoughts away and filled your head with your own thoughts.. though they kept going back to wondering if.. everything about him was big.

Though in your head, you knew he probably just liked you for sex. Nothing more. All of his thoughts on you have been about sex—you felt a little disappointed at that but brushed it off. At least someone thought you were sexy.

You bent down for a moment to take a picture of a group of squirrels when you heard the sound of the camera going off. You looked up and Xavier was looking away with a sheepish grin on his lips.

Did he.. take a picture of you? You shook your head. No way… you pushed the thoughts away and continued taking any picture that you could from the constantly moving animals when out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Xavier take a few pictures of you before turning around to take pictures of the nearby lake.

Holy shit.. he did! You moved a bit closer, wanting to see what he was thinking when he took those photos. But he wasn’t thinking. He was totally blank. It took a moment before he thought about anything.

‘I’m so fucking hungry… hope (Name) won’t mind if we take a break..’

Sure enough, Xavier asked if you guys could get something to eat. Soon you found yourself sitting across from him as he ate his cafeteria pizza

It looked fucking disgusting.

‘This is nasty… but I’m so hungry.’

You couldn’t help your snicker from his thoughts. Xavier looked up at you and raised an eyebrow, wondering what was so funny about him eating pizza.

It was mainly silent for the rest of time. You listened randomly to other people’s thoughts as Xavier’s seemed to just be about how nasty his pizza was.

“You dating anyone?”

“Huh?”

You look over at Xavier as he wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

“Dating?”

“Uh… no. Why?”

Xavier only grinned and looked at camera, checking his photos that he took. That was the end of it but you could hear his thoughts.

‘Hm, he’s cute but I could’ve taken better ones.. ah, can’t wait to take nudes photos of him.’

You choked for a second, coughing heavily in shock. Xavier handed you his water and lightly patted your back.

‘Damn. He coughs a lot… would he cough like that if he deep throats my cock..?’

Well, his dirty thoughts were back. But you still really wondered, why the hell did he like you?

Your head was suddenly being filled with Xavier’s thoughts again. Mainly sex, of course. He seemed to really love sex in semi public areas.

In a weird idea, you listened to his fantasy closer, wanting to see how far he would go.

And.. it’s pretty far. Spanking seemed to be a favorite, judging by how he kept dreaming about spanking your ass. His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing it lightly to earn your little whimpers.

But, something new was a dream in what you could only assume was his bedroom. He was doing something on his computer, playing a game maybe. But you were there on his lap but not in a normal way. You were sitting on one of his legs, his muscular leg, mind you.

You were rutting your clothed cock on it, maybe chasing your own release by how loud your whines were. But he wasn’t paying you any mind. He was just playing his game. A few times, he’d look at you and look as if he’d touch your aching cock but then just go back to his game.

It was like you were using him but even then he was in control.

And you liked that. Even though it was just a dream, you felt your real cock twitch in your jeans. Fuck, another boner.

“Liked it?” Xavier suddenly asked.

You looked up at him in shock, noticing just how close he was to you now. You parted your lips to ask what the hell he was talking about when he shamelessly pressed his hand against your growing boner, earning a gasp from you.

You couldn’t even control yourself as you bit your lip tightly to muffle your moans. Xavier’s hand so easily engulfed your cock, teasing it slowly. It was like he was trying to wake it up even more.. and you could only think about someone accidentally seeing this and the fact you wanted him to continue.

He leaned down and pressed his lips close your ears, to make sure only you heard what he had to say.

“I said… did you like it? It was really hard to think of a dream you’d like.. but I’m glad you like me being in control. It’s certainly my favorite.”

Mother fucker… he… he knows you could read his mind?!

Just who the fuck was this guy?

Heheh~ how was that? I wasn’t sure if i should go through with it but i think i like this turn of events. Sorry if this wasn’t as smut heavy, don’t worry, the next part will be 🤭

Tag list: @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life69 @chill-guy-but-cooler @nakedtoasterr @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @millecka @bowieisbored @iwishtobeacrow

(Ask to added to my tag list for all posts or just for part 3 of mind reader!)

#bottom male reader #uke male reader #sub male reader #oc x reader #smut drabble #mlm ns/fw

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thefreakandthehair · 2 months

Text

I just wanna see that smile

wc: 1.1k | tags: canon-compliant injury/recovery, hospital setting, getting together, (brief and inferred mutual) pining, first kiss

a/n: happy (belated) birthday to my pal, @firefly-party! kei drew this piece last year and it was one of the first artworks we talked about when we became friends. this series has continued to live in my brain ever since, so I decided to write a little something in the universe!

Eddie woke up on March 26th, 1986 and Steve’s waited patiently for this moment ever since.

Well, patient is a misnomer— he’d waited quietly to anyone not named Robin or Dustin. Robin, because she knows him too well and there’s no point in trying to hide anything from her and Dustin, because he’d apparently grown up overnight and pieced together that Steve sitting at Eddie’s bedside and holding his fucking hand every time he waltzed into the room meant something.

Or maybe it was when Steve gave Eddie all of his rings back, sliding them carefully onto his shaking fingers with a comforting smile.

Or maybe when Eddie sat up unassisted for the first time and Steve nearly hit the ceiling, bracing him in a panic as if all of his stitches and staples would burst with the tiny movement he’d been working toward in physical therapy.

Hell, maybe it was Steve taking over some of Eddie’s care for himself, washing his hair and braiding it because the staff at Hawkins Memorial are doing nothing more than the bare minimum to make sure they don’t get sued, or even more frightening, reamed out by the new duo of Hopper and Wayne again. Either way, his hair was making Steve’s own scalp itchy.

Dustin never tells Steve what it was exactly that tipped him off but whatever it was, it’s enough for Dustin to give Steve the floor when Eddie’s getting ready to discharge back home. And that’s how, exactly two months later to the day from Eddie waking up, Steve enters Eddie’s otherwise empty room armed with a special treat in the form of milkshakes to find Eddie pouring over an unfortunately familiar stack of papers.

“NDA?” Steve asks, nodding at the papers in Eddie’s lap. He’s upright, fully dressed in the black sweatpants Jeff brought by and a cut off Metallica tee shirt, bandages around his stomach and neck.

Eddie mutters as he reads under his breath, eyes flitting across the page.

“How the fuck do they expect any of us common folk to understand a fucking word of this? Hereby? Wherein? Hitherto? What fucking year did I wake up in, man?”

“Yeah, I think the whole point is that you don’t read what you’re signing but I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Steve huffs a small laugh through his nose as he steps carefully around Eddie’s crutches. “You may as well just sign it because if you don’t, they’ll forge it anyway. Now finish signing your life rights away so you can have this milkshake with me.”

Eddie perks up, looking away from the mess of papers and smiling up at Steve with a smile so genuine, it punches the air out of his lungs. He keeps looking at him like this, like Steve’s a breath of fresh air, like he's someone Eddie wants to have around.

Steve isn’t sure what to do with that look yet, but he’s sure glad it’s there.

“Celebration milkshakes? Is this a freedom gift?” Eddie signs the NDA quickly and sets the pen down on the bed next to him.

“It sure is. Figured this could make up for all those lame popsicles from the cafeteria.”

The mattress creaks as Steve sits down on the edge, just to the side of the railing, and hands Eddie the strawberry treat. Their fingers graze, Steve’s chilled and Eddie’s warm. His hand is still a little shaky, trembling as he takes hold of the cup, but they’re warm and warm means alive.

Eddie’s hand can tremble for the rest of his goddamn life so long as it’s always warm.

They each take a sip, smooth ice cream slurping up their straws, and after a moment, Eddie sighs.

“Is it weird that I’m actually sort of worried about leaving?”

Steve’s eyebrows knit together, looking down at Eddie’s rings glinting beneath the offensive fluorescent lights above them.

“What are you worried about?”

“Uh, well, I did almost die. And the town still wishes I did. It’s a lot easier to make those dreams a reality outside of these walls, y’know? And I’m uh…” Steve watches as Eddie takes a breath and Steve suddenly misses the early days when Eddie was connected to the heart rate monitor.

“You’re…?” Steve presses, sipping his milkshake again to appear casual.

“I see you all the time here. Guess I just don’t want that to change.”

Steve’s heart skips a beat, clattering in his chest and pounding at his ribs, desperately trying to crack him right open and run to the man who’s claimed it. Eddie watches him with cautious eyes, opens his mouth to say something else but Steve cuts him off before he can take it back.

“Why do you think that’d change? Forest Hills is a lot closer than this shithole, and you won’t be kept under lock and key. And as for the first thing, well, Wayne and Nancy have a lot in common and I have a bat loaded up with nails in the trunk of my car.” Steve rests his free hand on Eddie’s knee. “No one's gonna fuck with you. Don’t worry about that.”

“You sound a little cocky there, Stevie.” Eddie lifts one eyebrow, glancing from Steve’s hand up to his eyes. “Ready to fight for my honor or something?”

“Yep.”

He hadn’t brought the milkshakes intending to use them as props, but he’s glad he has something to do to fill the space as Eddie watches him with questioning eyes. As he slurps through the straw, grating noise still preferable over the awkward silence, Eddie’s pinched expression turns softer, realization dawning between the stark white walls of the hospital and the pink ice cream in both of their hands.

“You’re serious.” Eddie says.

“Took you that long to figure that out?” Steve teases.

“I’ve been a little busy with learning how to breathe and walk again. Y’know, just little things.” Eddie rolls his eyes with that same fond smile, free hand lacing its fingers through Steve’s. “So what you’re saying is that I’ll see you just as much outside of this prison as I have inside of it?”

Steve shrugs. “Probably even more, honestly. There are no visiting hours at Wayne’s, and it’s not like I have a job to rush off to these days. You’re stuck with me, Ed. At least for as long as you want me around.”

Eddie snorts, unceremoniously scoffing in Steve’s face as if in disbelief.

“Don’t make promises like that. What happens when I never want you to leave?”

The air shifts, growing heavier as they find themselves leaning closer, two satellites orbiting one another by nothing but gravitational pull.

Steve’s not sure who actually closes the gap, but he finds himself with his lips pressed against Eddie’s— sweet, chilled, a little chapped but smiling against his. Months of waiting, of hoping that he’d get this opportunity, come to a deafening crescendo and it takes all of his discipline to not push. Instead, they pull apart and Steve smiles, tucking loose hair behind Eddie’s ear.

“That’s easy. I’d just never leave.”

fun fact: kei, I wrote your birthday down in my calendar as the 28th for some reason, a solid ten days late, so know that this was planned from the get-go but was just a tad bit late.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #myblurbs

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peachesofteal · 5 months

Text

Dead Disco / Chapter 12

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Explicit sex. Creampie. oral sex - fem receiving. Angst. Crying. So many feelings. Relationship issues. Eating/food issues. Brief suicidal ideation. Toxic behavior. Complicated dynamics. We're getting close to the end. You make a decision

“Knock, knock.” Your coworker hangs on the door frame, fingers clutching a brown paper bag and soda cup. “There’s a truck out front, for lunch. I guess they’re buying every Friday for the rest of the year?”

“Oh, yeah.” You vaguely remember seeing that email. You think.

“Anyway, they’re just wrapping up now and I didn’t see you go down, just wanted to make sure you knew.” She means well, you know she does. She’s always very kind to you, so you smile warmly and nod.

“I did, thanks.” She makes herself scarce after that, vacating your office with another pleasantry, leaving you to stew behind your desk, trying very hard not to look at what you packed yourself this morning, a lackluster sandwich, a cluster of green grapes. The idea of eating turns your stomach, the feeling piling onto the depths of your uneasiness, pushing you to seek comfort.

You can't bring yourself to eat, but you know you have to. You know you should be, aware you cannot survive on the same three half bites of things alone.

If they were here...

You glance at your phone.

Stop this.

You flip it facedown, turning your attention back to your laptop. Focus, you have actual work to do.

The bath has gone from scalding your skin off hot, to lukewarm too quickly. It urges you to get out, tells you it’s well past time, that if you headed to bed right now, you’d still be able to manage five hours before your alarm went off.

Fat chance.

Instead, you drain the tub. The porcelain turns to ice within a matter of moments, and you linger in the shiver, languishing in the discomfort, muscles tense, stomach sour. You nearly let yourself rot in it, knees tucked up close, goosebumps long erupted over every square inch of your skin.

You close your eyes as the tub refills, steaming water rushing out from the tap, slowly covering your feet, then your shins, until it’s deep enough for you to lean back in again, submerging yourself as deep as possible.

What are they doing right now? Are they working? Are they at home? Do they miss you? Is there someone-

No.

You’re not supposed to be… fixating on this. You’re supposed to be taking some time, thinking about what you want, what you think is best for you. This is what you wanted. You decided this.

You asked for this.

Why can’t you detangle yourself from them?

Everything twists and turns inside your brain, spinning together into a murky morass that you can’t make sense of, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in your heart. An infected, weeping, organ that sits heavy inside your chest cavity, now with a giant hole in the middle.

You don’t even notice when the first drops of water spill over the side, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You picked this rental for the tub. It’s massive, the biggest you’ve ever seen, and the cost to secure it for the entire month was probably more than you could afford on your own, but… it’s not like you haven’t made bad decisions in the past.

The water sloshes.

“Fuck.” You flip off the spigot in a hurry and sink back beneath the water, letting it flow over your mouth, your nose.

You could-

You could take a deep breath, fill your lungs with water.

You could turn it off.

You could make everything stop. You could just close your eyes and… rest.

“Johnny.” You breathe, surprised. Your heart bellows, begs you to fling yourself into his arms, but warning bells go off in the back of your mind, and you chew on your lip. He shouldn’t be here. They agreed. They promised. “What-“

“Ah had to see ye.” What if something has happened? You look him over, but he seems fine. What if something is wrong with Simon?

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong-“

“Then why are you here?” It’s harsh. You cringe at the tone, at how it's so caustic, so careless, and he rubs the back of his neck, shifting unsteadily on his feet. Your resolve starts to melt, turning reticent, falling away into a slick puddle of weak opposition. He’s here. He still loves you. He’s here.

“I know ‘m not supposed to be doing this.” He mutters, and you nod. “But… we- I miss ye darling, miss ye so much.” His cheeks are red, turning his normally tan skin a deep rogue, and he swallows between breaths. “Are ye alright? Ye look… ye look tired, love.”

“I am tired, Johnny… I’m…”

He steps forward.

You step back.

It’s like you’re looking in a mirror.

His eyes are rimmed in stress, skin beneath them sallow, and he sags in a way that tells you he hasn’t been sleeping, bones and muscles not doing much except keeping him upright. Tears build behind your eyes, and they burn through the tip of your nose until you can’t hold them back anymore, raw agony in the form of a serrated blade cutting through your sense.

“This isn’t fair.” You cry. “Why are you here? You’re not- you’re not supposed to be here, Johnny.” His face changes, spirals through one hundred different things in the span of a second, half of them you can name. He’s still your Johnny, still the same, and you’ve never felt so homesick in your entire life, eyes stuck on the exposed skin just above his collar.

Johnny.

Your Johnny.

Simon’s Johnny.

“Please… dinnae cry, darling. I’m sorry, I-“

“You’re so selfish.” You don’t know why you say it. It just comes out, flying from your mouth on its own. His head snaps backwards like you’ve struck him, features shifting into panic.

“No, no I’m sorry-“ A spiral swirls, sucking you in, dragging you under, and you shake your head.

“Just… just… shut up. Please.” You whisper, fingers stretching out into the space between your bodies, tugging on the edge of his shirt. “Shut up.” The demand has more backbone now, and he blinks, confused. You can feel his heat, warm skin and breath vibrating away from his body into yours, tugging you closer and closer as you’re tipping your head back, heart overflowing with an insane, chaotic mix of emotions. You feel like you could fling yourself off the top of the tallest building in this city, and he’d still find a way to catch you.

He'd always find a way.

They both would.

“Darling-“ He's worried, rife with it, imbued with the sense of a logical man, but you don't care. You can't. You're already on a path, already made a decision, anticipated an outcome. And now... you want it.

Rules be damned.

“Kiss me.”

“I understand how you feel.”

“No you don’t!” You turn your back on him, shaking your head. “You don’t, Simon. You don’t know how it felt to sit there and listen to that doctor call Johnny your HUSBAND! How it was to realize you two are married! It was like… it was like I don’t even exist! Like I’m a footnote, in your story.”"

"We're not, I told-"

"I know what you said. It doesn't change anything. Married in the eyes of your fucking boss and your entire life is as good as being married."

“You are not some footnote in our story. You are a part of us, love.” You haul one of the blankets off the back of the couch and try to cram it into the duffel.

“Darling, we dinnae want ye to leave.”

“Johnny.” Simon hisses, turning to where the other part of your heart lurks inside the bedroom doorframe. “Don’t talk right now. You’ve done enough.”

“I’m sorry, I said I was sorry, I wouldnae-“

“Stop.” Simon snaps, and Johnny breaks, eyes filling with tears, frustrated fingers tearing into his hair before he stomps off, bathroom door slamming so loud it could rattle the entire flat.

Your head hurts. It throbs, pulse banging around under your skin, and the walls are too close, or too tall, everything is too much. You want to sleep. You want to disappear under a heap of blankets and close your eyes. You don’t want to face this, face either of them.

You should have just kept walking. Should have stayed outside, shouldn’t have come back. Then you wouldn’t have had to do any of this.

“Don’t cry.” Simon whispers. “Don’t cry, darling, please. It’s alright.” You hadn’t realized you were crying, but when he steps close, tapping his forehead to yours, strong arms holding you tight to his chest, you feel the wet stain on your cheeks, the heaviness of your lashes.

“It hurts too much, sometimes.” You whisper, and he nods.

“I know.”

“Fuck.” Your mug from breakfast tips over, rolling towards the sink, and you vaguely register the brown trickle of coffee that spills over the side.

“I’ll clean it up,” Johnny’s mouth sucks a mark into your belly, shoving the rest of items that sit next to you away, either to the floor or across the countertop, hiking your knee up in their place. “later. Promise.” He’s still working himself lower, biting and kiss and snarling against your skin, strong, scorching hands spreading your thighs so he can bury his face in your underwear.

“Oh-“

“Darling.” He groans, and you scramble, trying to pull them free, trying to push him closer to where you ache, already wet, desperate and out of your mind. You want him to crawl inside you, stitch himself to your skin and devour you whole.

“Johnny, Johnny.” The world vibrates in a million different colors, and you fist his hair, pushing yourself up to his face.

“I’ve got ye. Gon’ make ye feel good, love.” He does. He does every time, and this is no different, the way his hands cup you, the stroke of his tongue against your clit, the way he buries himself as far as he can, eating your twitching cunt as you lay flat on your back atop your own kitchen counter, begging him to make you come.

Is this wrong? Is it? Are you betraying yourself? Are you betraying him?

Are you betraying Simon?

It’s too much. It hurts too much.

You need it turned off. You need your entire brain powered down, need to not think or feel or cry about anything for just a second, for a single second of this almost thirty days.

Johnny moves, teeth nipping at your neck, and you meet his lips with your own, panting against him, holding him in your arms just like you’ve been dreaming about.

“I need you.” You whimper, and he nods, a thumb against your cheek. “Please, I- I want… I want you inside me,” your voice hitches higher, delirious, and insane. “Please, Johnny. Please.” Turn it off, turn it off, turn it-

“C’mere, c’mon, love.” He brings you to the edge of the counter, touching you so sweetly, so gently, like you’re a fragile treasure sort of thing, something to be revered, to be cared for.

You’re none of those things. Not now. Not ever.

It’s a mess, a tangled, fumbled mess of your mouth and his, your hands and his, clothes, teeth, hair. You claw at his back as he frees his cock, one foot on the corner, spread wide for him, and it takes nearly no time until he’s breaching you, heavy hardness pushing into you halfway, his eyes fluttering shut with a groan.

“Bleedin’ christ.” He takes his time, takes it slow, reintroducing you to a feeling that you could never forget, the pressure of his cock notching against your cervix, the fullness and weight of having him seated inside you. It’s so good, like home, like something you could spend the rest of your life with, or the rest of your life chasing, and you barely register the words he is whispering into the side of your face, spit and sweat and tears all running together.

Something's missing. Something's off. Something is missing, it's missing, it's-

“Move… p-please-“

“F-fuck.” He hisses. “Feel so fuckin’ good, darling. So perfect… missed ye, missed ye so much.” He babbles, pinning your hips in place, tendons in his forearms flexing as he thrusts harder and faster, moving your bodies together. “I love ye, cannae live w’out ye, darling. We cannae do it.” His fingers trace around his cock and then to your clit, where he starts to circle and rub the swollen bud exactly as you like it, muscle memory guiding his touch in just the right way, allowing him to drag you to another impending orgasm, cunt clenching down around him. “Ah fuck, that’s it. Squeezin’ me, ye-“

“Johnny.” You cry, and he kisses you, insistently, deeply, sealing you off from any air that isn’t his own, covering you entirely with his body, grinding his hips.

Your orgasm explodes between the two of you, and he shouts when he feels it, clutching you too tightly, chasing his own with a vigor that makes you stutter. Your legs jolt, closing around him, anchoring him, tying him to you, his body going rigid when he fills you with his cum.

Your kitchen is dead silent except for the echo of ragged breathing, sweat dotted skin and shaky hands still languishing together, aftershocks sizzling through your belly.

"Are ye.. are ye alright?" He kisses you, kisses your cheek, your temple, still holding onto your hand, cock still lodged deep inside of you, his cum leaking out between your legs.

Are you alright? Are you?

Your chest feels tight, brain desperately trying to catch up, heart bleeding inside your chest.

"Darling? Hey, look at me." He shifts, cupping your jaw and you blink at him, mouth moving without words.

You wallow there, in the silence, in the little space that exists in this moment, in the in-between.

Neither of you speak. He pulls back to cradle your face, and you see the tears again, fat ones that roll down his cheeks, illuminating the brilliant blue blaze of his eyes.

What have you done?

You stare at each other. Realization starts to form, panic fluttering in the ache between your ribs.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh god, oh what did you do, what did you-

The shrill shriek of his cellphone interrupts, forcing both of you to turn to look at the screen that proudly displays the name of the caller.

Simon.

#peaches writes #dead disco #john soap mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #simon ghost riley #john mactavish #soap x ghost x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader

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stevieschrodinger · 2 months

Text

Part One Two four

A small note: if you would like to be added to the tagging list please ask in a reply to the post, I won't check elsewhere.

Eddie’s sitting on the couch. He’s staring into space, a couch cushion clutched tight to his chest.

Steve creeps in after Robin, hears her say, “Eddie?” softly, presumably so she doesn’t startle him.

He’s sitting in the dark, and they both just leave it that way. Probably an unspoken understanding that they don’t want to unsettle Eddie.

They sit down either side of him, Robin rubbing at his back. Steve keeps his hands to himself, not sure what will be welcome, and even less sure what the fuck he should say. Robin’s just better at this sort of stuff than Steve, maybe because she’s a girl or whatever, but she definitely has the emotional intelligence half of the brain.

Steve doesn’t know if there’s anything he even can say in a situation like this.

Eddie’s eyes are red and his face is wet, and he doesn’t move or look at either of them.

Eventually, Robin speaks gently, “Eddie, we can’t stay here.”

Steve figures whoever did live here probably cleared out when everything went to shit. He’s kind of glad; has no fucking idea how he’d explain away Eddie Munson, possible cult leader and serial killer, breaking into their house.

Steve doesn’t think Eddie’s going to say anything, but he does, after a minute, he nods, and says in a croaky voice, “I want to see Wayne.”

“Yeah, of course,” Robin agrees quickly, “we can do that, right Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, trying to sound sure and confident with that, when Eddie flinches. Visibly flinches. Turning away, shuffling closer to Robin’s end of the couch. And, okay.

Robin looks at him over Eddie’s head. Steve shrugs. Robin shrugs back. No idea.

Steve carefully, making no quick movements, moves his hand in front of his mouth, mimes using the walkie. Robin nods.

Steve jogs out to the car, walkie’s everyone real quick so they can stop looking. The others have already woken Wayne up, discovered that Eddie wasn’t there, and then gone looking for Eddie, so they’re going to head back there and wait for Steve and Robin to bring Eddie over. Explain to Wayne that Eddie’s safe so they don’t leave him worrying in the meantime.

Steve creeps back in, hoping Robs has made some progress getting Eddie moving. She hasn’t, and Steve peeks around the corner, listening. Robin is still rubbing at Eddie’s back, but he’s talking, “didn’t make any sense to come here. It’s all wrong. It all looks wrong it’s...not how we had it. Our stuffs not here,” Eddie sniffs, his voice breaking, “I thought I’d find them here.”

And then Eddie is sobbing, face buried into the cushion, sobbing so hard his whole body is hitching. He’s making noises that tear at Steve, it’s one of the worst things Steve has ever seen, such an outpouring of grief. Eddie’s so loud with it, almost wailing, barely able to breathe his chest is so wracked with it.

Steve feels absolutely useless, but Robin’s looking for him over the back of the couch, and as soon as he sees her his feet carry him over. Robin’s crying too. Steve’s pretty sure his own eyes are wet. It’s just so awful to watch. So painful, Eddie’s grief.

Steve realizes now, why Robin was so horrified. The truth of it finally sinking in now he sees the evidence of it. Eddie loved them, loved them so much that loosing them is breaking him.

Steve sits back on the couch, Eddie looking up for a second when he feels the couch dip, and suddenly he’s thrown himself at Steve, still shaking with those heaving sobs as Steve reflexively wraps his arms around him. It hurts like fuck on Steve’s broken ribs, but Steve bites it back, like fuck is reminding Eddie of that right now.

“I shouldn't have come here,” Eddie chokes out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s making Steve’s neck wet, and his great heaving sobs make Steve arms hitch along with them. Over the fluff of Eddie’s hair, Steve sees it as Rob starts crying fully, wiping at her nose with her sleeve, her face crumpling with it.

Steve swallows thickly, trying to hold it together but knowing he’s loosing it, and he rubs at Eddie's back, telling him, "it's okay, it'll be okay," even though Steve has no idea if it is or even if it ever will be.

It feels like a small eternity before Eddie sits up and finally moves. He doesn’t look at Steve, has his eyes squeezed shut as he scrubs at his face, and when Steve reaches for him, he flinches so hard he almost falls off the couch.

Rob is there for him then, telling him, “easy, easy,” and getting Eddie up and walking him to the car, Eddie half leaning on her.

Eddie’s opening the car door before Steve even fully stops, high tailing it away like his ass is on fire. Wayne is there in the doorway of the motel room.

Easy enough to find, it’s the only motel in Hawkins, and Jon’s car is parked outside the right room.

Wayne opens the door as Steve kills the engine, and Steve watches in the dim light as Eddie practically throws himself at Wayne. He’s sobbing again, Steve can hear it.

Steve’s only half out the car, but Nancy’s there, shaking her head, “we should leave them to it.”

They’re not going to go back to sleep, but they go through the motions anyway. Steve has a shower, really feels like he needs it. He takes a few minutes extra in there, scrubbing at his face and washing his hair, being very careful of his stitches. He gets changed into sleep pants after, and a loose tee shirt, lying in bed. Even if he just lies here, at least it’s rest of some kind. The sun will be up in an hour away, and the kids had said something about helping out at the sports hall, making sandwiches and putting together bundles of emergency supplies and stuff like that.

Steve said he’d drive them.

“Come on Dingus, I can hear you thinking about it.”

“He wouldn’t even look at me, and he flinched Rob, did you see that? And then…” it just doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I did but...out of all of us, you’re the one he hurt the worst. Like, way the worst. He nearly killed you, Steve. Like, literally, if Eddie had taken another ten seconds to wake up, you would have been lights out. Maybe he remembers.”

That does make sense, Steve hums in agreement, that’s got to be hard for him, “yeah.”

“Maybe it’s hard for him to see you because...well. That’s got to be a shitty memory. Plus, trauma does funny things, what if he remembers you fighting back, you know?”

And that’s true, Steve did land one good hit on Eddie with his bat, more reflexive than anything. Before Eddie had taken the thing right out of Steve’s hands and snapped it like it was nothing, that is.

So yeah, maybe, Steve figures, “he was saying sorry.”

Robin hums again.

Steve’s ribs are healed up, his stitches long gone, all his bruises and scrapes are gone. The town is, kind of, back on it’s feet. Sure, there’s probably an abnormally high number of for sale signs in Hawkins, but everyone who was going to come back has done. Enough that Steve’s got part time shifts at the video store, at least. Mostly to keep up appearances; now that it’s all over, Owen’s got them all a pay out. Essentially for damages and trauma or whatever, but also with a very clear ‘keep your mouths shut’ attached to it.

For that first month, Eddie pretty much only speaks to Dustin. He stays with Wayne, and once every couple of days he lets Dustin know that he’s okay. The message Dustin brings back is the same every time, “he’s okay, he just needs some time.”

@autumncrocusandladybug @duckyreads @neonfruitbowl @slv-333 @starlight-archer @skys-archive @justdreamersdream @moomkin77 @prazinos @dragonmama76 @lingeringmirth @darkwitchoferie @weirdandabsurd42 @zoeweee @thennic @xiaq @tinyplanet95 @steddieyourself @chrystal-lovee @futuristicunknown86 @grtwdsmwhr @mugloversonly @wonderland-girl143-blog

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #pre steddie #the party #my writing #steddie dreamed life

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cupid-styles · 3 months

Text

lucky* (single dadrry x art teacher!yn check-in)

word count: 2.6k

content warnings: kids/family talk, fluffy smut (grinding, mentions of m receiving oral), not ramadan friendly!

based on this one-shot

. . .

From: Harry

Riley asked if he could tag along tonight. I was able to distract him with dino nuggets, but that kid has the memory of a full grown adult, I swear.

To: Harry

lmao. he can come hang with us, you know he’s always welcome here

From: Harry

And let him take all of your attention after I haven’t seen you all week? Yeah, right.

I’ll be there at 7.

To: Harry

is now a good time to tell you that i think your kid is way cooler than you are?

From: Harry

Come over and do the bedtime routine with us and you’ll think differently. x

Y/N bites away the smile edging at her lips as she looks up from her phone. She couldn’t help it — she always noticed the rush of happiness that swarmed through her body whenever she spoke to her boyfriend, especially about the prospects of plans.

Her boyfriend.

She can’t believe that Harry is officially her boyfriend. Even though it happened a few weeks ago, she still finds herself in pockets of disbelief, mostly when they’re spending time together. She’ll glance over at him and take in his side profile, or remember that day when he came in, so angry at her for allowing Riley’s hair to be soaked with paint, and flush with the realization that somehow that turned into a real, loving relationship. One with mutual respect and care, one that was handled carefully, especially given the fact that there was a child involved. Y/N hadn’t ever dated someone who already had a kid, so she and Harry had multiple conversations regarding expectations and the changes this may incur on Riley’s life.

Ultimately, they chose to keep most of the relationship away from Riley until things got more serious. She and Harry had every intention of being in the long haul together, but they both knew it wouldn’t be helpful to any of them if they threw in Riley’s comfort and mental stability. For now, all he knew was that his dad had a new friend who he liked very much, and sometimes he went to go see her and spend time with her. So far, it was working well.

Tonight, however, was the first night that she and Harry had decided they’d have a sleepover. It sounded ridiculous and childish, but Harry always struggled with leaving Y/N’s place early enough to catch Riley before he went to bed. He beat himself up when he got home and he was already tucked in and snoozing. So Y/N suggested having a scheduled night that they dedicated just to them: He’d get to put Riley to bed himself and do his entire winddown routine with him (dinner, a bath, reading him multiple books since Harry was a sucker and couldn’t say no, and finally planting a kiss to his cheek when his sleepy eyes finally began to close), the babysitter would stay the night, and Harry would shuffle off to Y/N’s.

It was a good plan.

Except… well, except that they hadn’t slept in the same bed together yet, and their touching hadn’t gone past kissing and heavy petting. It was difficult — it had nothing to do with their attraction for one another, they were busy, and it wasn’t exactly optimal to jerk your boyfriend off when he was disappointed at himself for missing his son’s bedtime.

But Y/N and Harry are grown adults, and they’re aware of the underlying meaning of tonight. She knows it’s a big deal for him to place his trust in her after putting his own happiness and love life on the backburner for so long.

It’s why she’s spent the day scampering around her townhouse, sweeping, mopping, doing laundry, and doing everything she can to make the place as comfortable as possible for him. He’s spent many evenings here — he often comes over for dinner after work since his days at the office run longer than hers at the art studio — but it’s different when you spend an entire night somewhere new. She wants her blankets and pillows to smell cozy and feel even fluffier; her bedroom a calm oasis so even if he begins to worry — whether it be about Riley, or other subject matters — he won’t feel as overwhelmed and nervous.

When 7 finally ticks along, Harry, as usual, appears at her front door, prompt and anxious. He hasn’t voluntarily left RIley alone for an entire night unless it was for a business trip. But the second Y/N answers the door with that pretty smile he adores, his nerves melt just a tad. She almost immediately pulls him in for a hug, a chuckle vibrating through his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to her hair.

“Miss me that much?” he teases. He sets his duffel bag down in the entryway of her home and she kicks the front door closed. Through flushed cheeks, she grins.

“It’s been ages,” she pouts, standing on her tippy-toes to lightly peck his lips, “And I’ve never gotten you for the night. I’m excited.”

Harry’s chest contracts slightly at her words. He doesn’t know how, but she has a way of making even the scariest things seem approachable, and it makes him want to smother her with kisses until she’s pushing him away. Keeping a grasp on his hand, she guides him into the townhouse he’s grown familiar with. He notices that her kitchen is free from its typical small messes — half-empty glasses, crumbs from late night snacks — and she has a new candle burning on the coffee table in the living room.

“Did you clean for me?” Harry asks with a smirk. Again, she blushes before turning to face him.

“I just wanted you to be comfortable,” she explains, sucking on her bottom lip, “It’s a big deal. Y’know?”

“It is a big deal.” he agrees as he issues her hand a small squeeze, “And I wouldn’t want to take this step with anyone else. I hope you know that.”

A wide grin covers her face.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky with him.

. . .

Y/N’s tucked into Harry’s side as their third romantic comedy of the night plays on TV. Glancing down at the warm, dead weight curled around his form, he smiles gently when he sees her eyes batting closed. He nudges her lightly.

“Wanna go to bed, baby?”

She hums tiredly and sits up slightly, pressing her chin to his chest to look up at him.

“What time is it?” she asks, covering her mouth with her hand as a yawn struggles to strain free. He unlocks his phone, his screen glowing to life with a picture of a smiling Riley holding up a painting he did in Y/N’s class.

“Just past midnight,” he replies, stretching his arms out. His tee-shirt rises up a bit to reveal a bit of his inked hips and it makes Y/N swallow.

“Sorry this wasn’t a super fun evening,” she replies with a pout. She stands from the couch and leans over to grab their empty glasses — they’d each had a serving of wine each, but the minor buzz was long gone by now, despite Y/N being ever the lightweight. “Maybe next time we’ll plan something big, like… I dunno. Something good.”

She’s chattering sleepily and it makes Harry chuckle. He follows her into the kitchen, hugging her from behind as she rinses the cups in the sink.

“This has been perfect,” he murmurs lowly before pressing a kiss to her temple. “We don’t need to plan anything for it to be fun. I just like being in your presence.”

She warms as she dries the freshly cleaned glasses, gently placing them in the rack on the counter.

“You’re too sweet.” she mumbles. She shuts the water off and turns in his grasp to face him, lurching forward to bury her head in his neck. “C’mon then, let’s go to bed. You almost fell asleep on the couch.”

He snorts at her joke and rolls his eyes when she looks up at him with that dumb, cheeky grin she loves to flash at him. With their fingers intertwined, he bends down to grab his bag before following her to her bedroom.

He’s been in here several times before — on evenings when she’s particularly exhausted, he’ll help her wind down for bed, pecking her lips before driving home. One time, when Harry had an awful day at work, Y/N ran him a warm shower, complete with fancy lavender-scented steam that he’s been meaning to ask her about ever since. Despite being semi-familiar with the space, their more intimate time was often being cut short for fears of Harry missing bedtime with Riley, or Y/N needing to wake up early the following morning.

This time, however, there was nothing stopping them. No deadlines, no places to be. The knowledge made them both buzz with excitement and nerves.

Her bedroom is dim as they quietly shuffle around, changing out of their clothes and into pajamas. Harry’s the first to crawl into her cozy bed, nibbling on his bottom lip as he scrolls on his phone. Y/N flicks the single lamp off and allows the moonlight to seep through the curtains of her window, yawning once more as she climbs in next to him.

“Everything alright?” she asks softly. Harry hums, moving his arm to wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer.

“Yeah. Just wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything from the babysitter.”

“Mm,” Y/N nods. She purses her lips, forming a gentle kiss at his jawline. “You still feel okay about staying overnight?”

A smile cracks at the edges of his lips. He locks his phone and places it on the nightstand before flipping onto his side to face her.

“I’d be lying if I said a piece of my heart wasn’t still at my own place with Riley, but I’m so happy to be here with you. I promise.”

She swallows as she reaches out to thumb at his bottom lip. “You’re cute.”

“Am I?”

She giggles, “You are, and you know it.”

His eyes flutter shut as she begins to trace his features. With featherlight strokes of her fingertips, she ghosts over his lips, his chin, down to his throat and collarbones. He hums softly at the feeling, her other hand hovering over the hem of his tee-shirt as she silently waits for permission to push the fabric up.

“What’re you doing?” he whispers out, eyes flickering open as she curls her fingers around the bottom of his shirt.

“Is it okay if I make you feel good?”

He pauses. Swallows, and she removes her hands from his form.

“You can say no,” she quickly tacks on, “Please say no if you’re not 100%. I need you to be comfortable.”

His throat bobs. “It’s just… you know.”

She nods. They haven’t spoken about Harry’s anxiety surrounding physical intimacy since their first date, but she hasn’t forgotten about it. It’s been an active decision to move slowly and she would never want to do anything to push him past his limits.

“We can just go to sleep,” she murmurs, “It’s okay. I promise.”

He catches her wrist in a gentle grasp, lips parting as if he’s surprised by his own bravery. Slowly, he guides her down to his crotch, where he’s tenting in his sweatpants. Y/N bites her lip before allowing her mouth to form around a small oh in fear of making him feel self-conscious.

“I need to know that you’re sure,” she whispers in the darkness of her bedroom. Despite the limited light, she can still recognize his facial expressions, watching as a small wrinkle carves itself between his eyebrows. He’s nervous, that much she can tell. The rest is a mystery.

“I just need you to be slow,” he rasps. “It’s been… it’s been a long time, Y/N.”

She nearly coos out a response, wanting nothing more than to love and take care of the man that lays beside her. When he lets go of her hand, she cups him softly through the material of his bottoms, slightly surprised at how hard he feels.

“You can trust me. I promise.”

He nods, and it’s a flurry of shaky, hesitant movements and constant asks of reassurance from there. Everytime she pushes her foot on the gas, she reminds herself to stop and make sure he’s comfortable. He doesn’t ask to stop; not when she’s pulling down his sweatpants or mouthing at him through the fabric of his briefs, not when she’s drooling onto the ruddy head of his length or pressing her fingernails into his laurel-inked hips.

Harry is louder in bed than she had anticipated, or maybe it’s because it’s just been so long for him. He allows strained moans and curses to fall from his plush lips when she guides him into his mouth, and he even tangles a fist in her hair when the tip of his cock bumps down her throat. She thinks he’ll cum when she swallows around him, feeling his balls tighten in her free hand but he stops himself. She knows he does because he tips her head back and stares down at her with rounded eyes, taking her chin between his fingers and gently urges her up the length of his body. She obeys wordlessly, allowing him to move her however he deems fit.

“I wanna see you when I cum,” he eventually explains breathily. She nods, ignores the way her heart feels like it grows another size in her chest, and straddles his hips.

“Is it okay if I grind on you? Or do you want me to just use my hand?”

“You can grind on me,” he replies with a nod, tongue peeking out to moisten his lips. And when she rolls her hips down against his, it’s magic — the wetness between them emits a dirty, slushy sound (admittedly, Y/N is half to blame, since she couldn’t possibly go down on her boyfriend without making a sticky mess between her own legs). Harry pants loudly beneath her and his hands find purchase on her thighs as she moves, allowing his length to slick between her pussy lips.

It doesn’t take much for him to finish after that — especially not with his sleepy-eyed girlfriend on top of him, whimpering softly at the sensation of his tip bumping against her clit. When he comes, it’s a lot, and it’s messy, but Y/N can’t find it in her to care much as she leans down to smother Harry’s face in kisses; the pride in her chest for him growing to a point where it can’t be kept inside anymore.

“‘M so proud of you,” she mumbles. Harry laughs and wrinkles his nose as he wraps an arm around her waist, guiding her onto her side.

“Jesus, it’s not like I have erectile dysfunction,” he jokes, and Y/N rolls her eyes. "And you didn't come, either."

“This wasn't about me— and you know what I mean, Harry. I know this means a lot. For you, for both of us.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his face turning serious. “I didn’t know if I would ever find someone as caring or genuine as you. You’re so… gentle with me, it’s almost like I’m dreaming.”

Y/N smiles and reaches out to cup his cheek with her hand. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

“I know you are,” he says, taking her hand into his and pressing kisses to her knuckles, “And I’m so lucky for that.”

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eilidh-eternal · 6 months

Text

Having thoughts of the 141 but as the four horsemen of the apocalypse

Despite being known as the four horseman colloquially within the SAS, none of them got their names because of the way they fight, or for some stupidly brave thing they did on an op. Nope.

Gaz - Pestilence

Has an infectious smile. Literally no one can resist it. Can get anyone to do anything he asks with his smile and is soooo smug about it. Flashes it to the shy little secretary outside Price’s office when he needs a favor with his paperwork, or to the base gate-guard when he forgets his ID. He has tags on his truck for that but he likes seeing them flustered.

Price - War

Do. Not. Play. Risk. With. Him. Price has been banned from game night because the rest of the team is convinced he cheats. No one has ever beaten him at Risk—hasn’t ever come close to outmaneuvering him. Ghost takes it personally too because he’s known him the longest and still hasn’t figured out how to beat him.

Soap - Famine

Man can eat. The rest of the team knows to tell him dinner starts 15 minutes later than it really does because if you don’t beat him to it there won’t be anything left. None of the poor rookies have figured that out yet though, so Gaz always takes a little extra to share.

Ghost - Death

The jokes. Oh god the jokes. It’s not even that they’re particularly funny. It’s his deadpan delivery. He may not know anything more than cheesy military puns, but they’re good for talking rookies down in the field. Soap will never admit it but it helped a lot when he was alone in Las Almas.

NSFW below the cut

Gaz

Absolutely abuses his pretty privilege with the lads and ladies. If you think soap is a big flirt? He has nothing on Gaz. This man is disgustingly, sickeningly charming and sweet, even in bed. Is absolutely the type to have you babbling nonsense, clenching down on him as he rolls his hips languidly and murmurs the sweetest praises against your skin.

“Takin’ me so well, luv. Gonna give me one more, yeah? Gonna let me hear those pretty moans?”

Price

Talks you through it. He’s used to talking his team through missions and trainings, and it’s carried over to the bedroom. Especially when you’ve been a brat all day and you’re bent over his knee, counting each strike of his hand against the swell of your ass.

“Only 5 more, don’t get quiet on me now. If I can’t hear you I’ll keep going until you can do it right. That’s what this is for, isn’t it? To teach you to do things the right way?”

Soap

Goes down on you like he’s starving. Absolutely does it for his own pleasure, and is downright nasty about it. Begs you to let him do it, complains that he needs it, that he has to know what you taste like.

Won’t stop whining until you shove his face between your legs to shut him up, and even then he’s sucking and slurping and making lewd sounds, moaning and begging for you to cum on his tongue until he’s had his fill.

Ghost

Listen. He may be an Englishman, but Ghost fucks like the French and you can’t convince me otherwise.

La petite mort.

If he doesn’t leave you limp and tingly all over, he hasn’t finished the job. Will go as many rounds as it takes to see you dumb on his cock, so fucked out your eyes are glazed over and the only name you can remember is his.

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steddielations · 1 year

Text

Of course Steve’s birthday is on Christmas.

It’s like the universe aligned perfectly for his parents to ignore his existence. Sure, he got enough presents to cover both when he was younger, when his parents wanted a perfect family holiday card to send out, but it was never about Steve.

When he got older, it was so easy for them to wrap it all up in one, mail him a check from whatever city, until the cards stopped saying happy birthday at all. Steve started wrapping it all up in one too. If his parents were going to leave him alone on Christmas and forget his birthday, it’s better at the same time, one less day of the year to be disappointed.

He hates December. He hates winter. He hates being surrounded by all those pretty lights taunting him for being alone in the dark.

He sort of forgets he has a birthday, until the last couple of years with Robin and the kids. He always tells them his Christmas present can double as his birthday present. Robin never goes for that though, she only gets him a birthday present.

Now comes Eddie. He doesn’t know about the wrap it up in one deal. He doesn’t know that Steve gets all broody around the subject. He’s just sitting next to Steve on the couch, going on about the fishing trip he’s taking Wayne on for his upcoming birthday.

It sounds nice. It’s only one weekend. Steve shouldn’t feel a pit in his stomach that already misses Eddie. They’re just friends, they can’t spend every weekend together, as much as Steve likes tagging along with whatever Eddie’s doing, he has to give him space.

“Yeah so it’s nothing compared to a big Harrington bash,” Eddie teases, passing Steve the joint, “Say, am I cool enough now to be invited to your birthday rager this year? When is it anyway?”

And that’s a simple question, but Steve doesn’t know what it is about Eddie that just draws the truth out of him, that makes him give the not simple answer. He blows out smoke and all the years of forgotten birthdays wrapped in one check and a Christmas card with it.

It’s too much, he’s too much and he starts to apologize, but Eddie cuts him off with a certain intensity he gets sometimes.

“Well, starting right now, fuck that. When do you want your birthday to be?”

Steve chuckles, tries to brush it off, “What? Eddie, c’mon. It’s not a big deal, dude.”

“No, seriously. When do you want your birthday to be, Steve?”

It’s so stupid. It’s so silly sitting in Eddie Munson’s living room trying to decide which day he’d prefer for his birthday, when he’s barely holding back saying how he sort of wishes he didn’t have one at all. He thinks Eddie knows anyway, without him having to say it, so he makes it easier. Eddie always makes it easier.

It takes a couple of tries, a couple cups full of torn pieces of paper with scribbled numbers randomly chosen, but Steve Harrington gets a new birthday that night.

“Yeah, you look like more of a summer baby anyway,” Eddie says and Steve wishes he wouldn’t, it’s so hard not to love him when he does.

Steve gets to tag along on Wayne’s birthday fishing trip, or rather, he was invited, as Eddie keeps correcting.

It’s nice, it’s May, it’s quiet by the river and it gets just cool enough at night to build a campfire. Eddie pulls out his guitar, a pretty acoustic one, and he playfully strums out the chords to happy birthday for Wayne. Steve watches across the fire, he feels warm down to his bones, melting away all those cold lonely Decembers frozen inside them.

Wayne spends his birthday teaching Steve to fish. He catches the biggest one, and he hopes the Polaroid that Eddie snaps doesn’t pick up the tears in his eyes.

Eddie sidles up next to him, pretending not to notice Steve wiping his eyes. He rubs his back, whispers congratulations, “Look at you, summer baby.”

He feels the sun rising in his cheeks, bright and burning. It’s impossible not to love Eddie, not when this is the best birthday Steve’s ever had and it’s not even his own.

Steve forgets all about the new date he chose to come into the world, and as the weeks pass in a warm haze, he stops trying not to love Eddie.

It’s too late to catch himself. He’s already falling as they lie on the trailer roof, talking about everything and nothing while sunset colors melt over them, as he rides along while Eddie deals and calls Steve his summer baby in the passenger seat.

Steve’s so in love with Eddie that it burns, makes him golden inside, even the places in him that have never known anything bright.

He doesn’t want to lose that, so he tells himself he can settle for just this.

And it’s true for a while, until that date comes along, the one he forgot about, but Eddie didn’t.

Robin has a spare key to his house, she helped Eddie plan all this, that’s the only explanation for what Steve sees in his backyard when he gets off work on a Friday in July.

All the kids are there, Dustin Henderson is in the pool that Steve hasn’t used since ‘83, with El Hopper on his shoulders, Mike Wheeler is doing the same holding up Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield are wrestling inside a bounce house, Nancy Wheeler is manning the grill Steve’s dad bought for show, Robin Buckley is grinning ear to ear with a bright glass of lemonade, and Eddie Munson’s at the center of it all.

Everyone that Steve loves is there yelling, “Surprise! Happy birthday!”

He can’t describe the feeling that bursts through him.

The July sun isn't in the sky anymore, it’s rising inside Steve’s chest. It’s too big and too bright. This body of his that grew up alone in the dead of winter wasn’t made to feel such warmth, bringing hot tears to his eyes.

He’s hurrying back inside the house before he knows it. He feels bad, rushing out like that, away from his party, but he just needs a second. He has to lean against the kitchen counter, run his hands over his face and through his hair, trying to stop all these feelings from melting out of him.

He hears someone come in behind him, assumes it’s Robin, but he feels a hand on his back, hears a low, reassuring voice next to him that belongs to Eddie.

“Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, Steve. I should’ve asked if you were okay with this. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that.”

Steve blinks hard, brushing away the tears, “No it’s— It's fine, Eds, really.”

Eddie doesn’t look convinced, brown eyes deep with concern, he holds Steve’s elbows, “Okay well, Robin said you weren’t really a fan of your pool but that’s okay, if that’s what you’re worried about. No one expects you to get in, Stevie.”

He’s perfect. He’s everything Steve wants and needs. The light that’s been missing inside him, Eddie struck a match to it. Steve never knew his heart was so flammable and he doesn’t know how Eddie can’t see that he’s burning for him.

“No, thats— that’s not it, Eddie.”

“Is it the kiddy theme? Listen, I had trouble picking it, so I just thought maybe since it was mostly gonna be kids here and you never had a kids' birthday party then, y’know, summer, pool, bounce house, games— okay it sounds dumb now, I’ll just get everyone to leave—”

Steve reaches out when Eddie starts to pull back, hands catching his shoulders and the ends of his hair, “No, no, please don’t. This is— it’s perfect, Eddie. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Then why do you look so sad?”

“Because I—” Steve can’t hold it in anymore, it’s too hot, summer beneath his skin, he has to let it out, “Because I want to kiss you so bad right now and I can’t.”

He expects Eddie to pull back, or worse, let him down gently, like the quick press of fingertips to the flame of a candle, snuff the feeling out just like that.

Instead, Steve’s breath catches when Eddie’s hands cup his face, thumbs brushing away the stray tears Steve missed.

“Who says you can’t?” Eddie asks and part of Steve wishes he wouldn’t, because it’s so easy to love Eddie with every piece of him when he does, and Steve’s going to fall apart trying to stop.

“I shouldn’t have said that, sorry. I just don’t want to lose you as a friend, you don’t have to feel the same, but that’s what it is,” Steve lets it out, let’s it catch fire between them and just hopes it doesn’t turn them to ashes, “I want to kiss you for doing this for me, for being you. I want to kiss you all the fucking time and especially right now, Eddie, but I can’t.”

He waits for it, to be left out in the cold, for frost to cover his bones again, but Eddie’s hands stay warm on his face.

A smile lights on Eddie’s lips, the kind that Steve can feel radiating between them. He doesn’t know why Eddie’s smiling when he should be leaving, but Steve wants to keep that feeling forever.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, Stevie? You can do whatever you want when it’s your birthday.”

Eddie’s eyes fall to Steve’s lips and back up again, setting off a surprised flare in his chest.

“Whatever I want?” Steve repeats in disbelief, searching Eddie’s eyes.

“Whatever you want.”

“You want that too?”

“I want you, too,” Eddie grins like it’s the easiest thing in the world to want Steve, then leans in.

Their mouths connect and it’s like something fiercely cosmic, a solar flare at the touch of their lips.

Eddie’s been sipping lemonade, Steve can taste it on his tongue. Citrusy and warm, Eddie tastes like pure fucking sunshine, all golden in Steve’s mouth.

Kissing Eddie feels like he’s at the center of the universe. He makes Steve feel like the sun, like the brightest thing in the goddamn sky is Steve Harrington.

No pretty light could compare.

Steve chases the heat of Eddie’s mouth, letting it light a fire inside him. His hands have a mind of their own, making Eddie’s messy hair even messier, then falling to his waist to pull him close and hold him while he just kisses and kisses and kisses Eddie.

They have to break for air, foreheads resting together, Steve misses Eddie’s lips already.

Their panting breaths fuse, gazes locked for a few delirious moments, half-lidded and close.

Eddie breaks the silence, laughing breathlessly, giving Steve’s lips one final peck before pulling back, brushing Steve’s hair out of his eyes for him.

“You good?”

Steve laughs then too, a rush of breath, relieved and light, “Never been better.”

Eddie smiles, taking Steve’s hands in the warmth of his, “C’mon then, summer baby. Don’t wanna miss your birthday party.”

They go back outside and Eddie stays close by Steve with a pretty flush high on his cheeks. Steve’s face feels sun-kissed too, and judging by the look he gets from Robin, it shows.

It should be stupid, having a birthday party with a bounce house and a bunch of screaming kids. Maybe it is a little, but it’s still the best birthday Steve’s ever had, and it’s actually his own this time.

He spends the better part of it trying not to cry, especially when he opens the few presents they got him. He’s not used to everything being about him, but Eddie’s arm stays around him, giving him encouraging squeezes, bursts of warmth that keep him going.

Steve’s not forgotten in the shadow of something bigger, wrapped up in one so it’s easier to forget he exists. No, it’s like nothing’s more important than him that day. He doesn’t need it, and it’s hard to let himself have it, but it’s nice to get a day that’s his.

When Christmas comes later that year, Robin still gets Steve a birthday present, there’s no arguing with her. Then Eddie tries to pull the same thing, and Steve’s not having it.

They’re both in their flannels on the couch, Eddie throwing his legs over Steve’s lap and trying to push the extra gift into Steve’s hands.

“C’mon, Stevie, I swear it’s not a birthday present. It's just because.”

“Uh huh, sure. Just because what?”

Eddie shrugs, rests his arm around Steve’s shoulders and presses the words against his cheek, “Just ’cause I love you,” he says like it’s the easiest thing in the world to love Steve.

Steve thinks he knows what to call that feeling now. The one that makes December easier because he’s got his own summer sun pumping warmth through his veins now.

It's love.

Eddie loves him.

Not just on his birthday, or on Christmas, or only on occasion, but everyday. Eddie loves him everyday.

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#when you love someone so much you just gotta give them an extra birthday #not a christmas fic i swear #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steve x eddie #stranger things #eddie x steve #my fics #rueswriting #steddie ficlet #steveddie #fluff #mp #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington headcanons

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