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discoscoob · 1 day

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✧ ˚ BREAK THE CHAIN

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚ Donnie Barksdale x Reader x Kevin Lomax

CW: toxic and abusive marriage, physical abuse, possessive and jealous behaviour, threats of violence.

Synopsis: during the turmoil of your divorce proceedings against your abusive husband, you and your lawyer confront your husband's relentless refusal to accept the end of your marriage. 2.6k words.

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚

“How can he do this? How can he get away with spewing such venomous lies about me? He knows the truth. He knows what he put me through. Why can’t he just admit it?!” you emerge from the courthouse, alongside your lawyer Kevin, trying to seek some reassurance after yet another gruelling day in your divorce hearing. You’re on the verge of tears, wondering how much more of this you can take before you reach breaking point.

In a desperate attempt to tarnish your reputation and undermine your credibility, your soon-to-be-ex-husband, Donnie, and his sleaze-ball of a lawyer, hurled accusations of infidelity and deceit against you, claiming that any abuse you endured during your marriage had not been at the hands of your husband. His entire defence was built on a lie, shifting the accusation of abuse onto fabricated lovers, stating that you were trying to pin the blame on him and make him out to be a monster.

The touch of Kevin’s hand grounds you, takes control and pulls you back to reality before you spiral any further. Gently brushing the soft pad of his thumb against your knuckles, you can’t help but compare how smooth and gentle his hands feel to the rough and calloused texture you were used to feeling from Donnie’s.

“Listen to me,” Kevin’s velvet tone pulls your focus away from your intertwined hands and you look up into his gentle eyes that are full of calm determination. “Donnie is grasping at straws, he can make as many accusations as he pleases just don’t let them get to you. These claims only show how desperate he is to regain control over the narrative. His lies hold no weight in the eyes of the law, they’re nothing but baseless accusations. We have the truth on our side, nothing can change that.”

“What if the truth isn’t enough?” you worry, casting your gaze downward. Your mind is plagued with doubt, brought on by the accusations of betrayal to dismantle your claims of abuse.

“Trust me, Y/N,” Kevin gently takes your chin between his finger and thumb to guide your gaze back towards him. “I’ve got this, alright? Donnie will slip up eventually.” promise radiates from his gaze, while he speaks with unwavering confidence.

For Kevin, litigating a case is like playing chess, he has the skill to anticipate every move the opposition will make and he has every counterattack planned in advance. He knows when to sit back and observe and when to strike, possessing the ability to unravel an opponents case with strategic attacks that ultimately secure victories for his clients. He has no reason to believe this case will be any different.

You draw strength from Kevin’s optimism, like a soothing balm over your doubts and anxieties, once again the gentle brush of his thumb against your knuckles grounds you.

“If it wasn’t for you, I don’t think I could get through this.” you mumble as you rest your forehead against Kevin’s shoulder, in return you feel his arm wrap around you, offering the comfort you were seeking.

“Enough of that,” Kevin’s melodic accent whispers in your ear, soft and mellow, as he pulls you closer. “You’re strong, Y/N, stronger than you know, you hear me? I’ll be by your side you every step of the way but don’t for a second underestimate your own strength and resilience.”

Before you can respond, the shrill sound of Kevin’s ringtone interrupts the moment. Withdrawing his embrace, he digs into his suit pocket to pull out his phone and inspect the caller ID.

“I oughta take this real quick. Wait right here, I won’t be a minute.” he sighs while offering an apologetic glance for the disturbance. Your focus lingers on Kevin as he jogs down the remaining steps of the courthouse to take his call in private.

As you stand alone, your attention focused on Kevin as he takes his call, Donnie lurks in the distance, like a predator stalking its prey. His menacing glare is pinned directly on you as he seizes the opportunity and closes in on you. Only once his rough grip is sending a jolt of pain through your arm, do you realise you’re no longer alone.

“We need us a li’l chat away from all these folk tryna fill your head with bullshit.” Donnie’s menacing drawl growls in your ear, dripping with venom as he roughly hauls you to the secluded side of the courthouse, away from prying eyes.

“That slick-talkin’ lawyers got some nerve wrappin’ his arms ‘round what don’t belong to him, I reckon he’s tryna steal you away from me.” Donnie’s rugged face is inches from yours as he cages you in against the red brick wall. “Now you might think I’m stupid but I ain’t blind to what’s been happenin’. You and that fancy lawyer of yours been fuckin’ for months behind my back, ain’t that right?”

“No, Donnie.” your breath shudders through your quivering voice as your estranged husband intimidatingly looms over you. “You’re wrong.”

“Bullshit, Y/N!” Donnie’s tone is laced with distrust as he narrows his suspicious eyes down at you. “Ain’t no way you’d be divorcin’ me if it weren’t for that son-of-a-bitch tryna lead you astray. He’s the one behind this whole fuckin’ mess, whispering his poison in your ear since the start, ‘cause I know you ain’t got the money for no know-it-all lawyer like him, so somethin’ ain’t adding up right.”

“Donnie, that’s enough. Let her go.” Your heart leaps at the sound of Kevin’s commanding voice breaking through the tense atmosphere.

Donnie’s head whips around in the lawyers direction with thunderous expression. “Mind your business, Lomax. This is between me and my wife.”

“It is my business when someone’s threatening my client.” Kevin stands his ground as he confidently steps between you and Donnie. “Now leave her alone otherwise you’ll leave me no choice but to get the police involved. And I’ll give you this tip for free, Donnie — getting arrested for harassment sure as shit ain’t gonna do your case any favours. So if I were you, I’d be on my way.”

With a huff through his flared nostrils and his chest heaving with rage, Donnie begrudgingly relents and takes a step back. “This ain’t over, you hear me?” he stubbornly reminds you both as he takes leisurely steps back with his chin raised in defiance. “I’ll be damned if I let any man think he can steal what’s mine.”

With one final menacing glare, Donnie storms off towards his pickup truck leaving you trembling against the brick wall as all the tension floods out your body. Kevin’s arms are around you within an instant, offering you the security and care you desperately need.

“Told you he’d slip up, didn’t I?” Kevin’s voice carries a subtle note of triumph as he rests his chin against the top of your head.

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚

“Mr. Barksdale, earlier in this trial, you made some rather bold accusations against my client, Mrs. Y/N Barksdale. Accusations of infidelity and deceit. Is that correct?” With a professional tone, Kevin addresses Donnie, who is sitting at the witness stand.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Donnie responds as he shifts uncomfortably, his dark eyes bounce between you and Kevin.

“And yet, despite the seriousness of these accusations, you have provided no evidence to support these claims.” Kevin confidently paces in front of the witness stand but his challenging glare never leaves Donnie. “Meanwhile my client, Mrs. Barksdale has provided the court with medical records documenting incidents of abuse at your hands.”

You notice a subtle twitch on Donnie’s face as he momentarily glances away, a sight you were all too familiar with when he was trying to hold back the anger that was starting to boil beneath the surface.

“Just ‘cause she got some bruises don’t mean I put them there.” Donnie shrugs, triggering an uncomfortable twist in your gut as you watch him so nonchalantly reject accountability for the hell he put you through.

"Mr. Barksdale, the medical records clearly indicate patterns of injury consistent with physical abuse," Kevin rebuts, while maintaining a firm and professional manner. "These are not just 'some bruises.' They are documented evidence of repeated incidents of violence against my client."

"Just 'cause she's got some marks, suddenly it's all my fault?” he scoffs, his voice laced with contempt. “Them injuries could've come from any one of them men she was runnin' around with behind my back.”

“You know, Mr. Barksdale, it's getting rather tiresome hearing about these mysterious lovers of Mrs. Barksdale's that you've yet to prove the existence of.” Kevin rolls his eyes as a note of boredom enters his tone.

Donnie’s jaw clenches tightly as he glares at Kevin, fury burning within the dark shadows of his eyes and his nostrils flaring as he barely maintains his composer. A pulsating vein on the side of his neck displays the rage that is threatening to erupt at any moment. Donnie decides to keep his lips sealed.

“Mr. Barksdale, during your marriage to Mrs. Y/N Barksdale, did you ever exhibit signs of jealousy or possessiveness.” Kevin smoothly continues his cross examination, undeterred by Donnie’s visible signs of anger.

Donnie’s face twitches with irritation as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his darkened gaze briefly flickers in your direction before settling back on Kevin.

“I fail to see how it’s any of your damn business.” Donnie’s voice is twinged with the slightest hint of a growl as his chest starts visibly heaving with his poorly concealed rage.

“Order!” The judge immediately scolds Donnie for the slip of his tongue. “Answer the question, Mr. Barksdale.”

“I reckon every man’s got a right to protect what belongs to him.” Donnie finally admits through thinly veiled irritation.

“Is that what you call it, Mr. Barksdale?” Kevin leans forward slightly, as he steps closer to the witness stand. “Is that what you were doing yesterday, outside this very courthouse, when you forcibly hauled my client out of sight of any potential witnesses and pinned her against a wall with the intention of intimidating her?”

Leaning forward in his seat, Donnie grips the edge of the witness stand until his knuckles turn white. “You got some goddamn nerve twistin’ the truth like that.” his menacing voice rises with fury. “I was tryna have a private conversation with my wife but you can’t resist stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. You’re nothin’ but a snake in a fancy suit, tryna fill my wife’s head with your poison and steal her away for yourself but I ain’t gonna let you have her. She’s my goddamn wife! Mine! She belongs to me and no ones gonna tell me any different!”

“Order!” once again the judge pipes up with an authoritative tone, trying to control Donnie’s outburst. “Mr. Barksdale, I will not tolerate that kind of hostility in my court! This is your final warning.”

“Your honour, I believe Mr. Barksdale’s temperament speaks for itself,” Kevin calmly addresses the judge in a composed manner. “His outburst here today offers us a glimpse at the mere surface of the ongoing abuse and intimation my client has endured throughout her marriage to Mr. Barksdale. I have no further questions.”

“Mr. Barksdale, you are on thin ice. One more outburst like that, and I will hold you in contempt of court. Do you understand?” The judge turns to Donnie with a disapproving frown after acknowledging Kevin’s statement.

Donnie offers the judge a curt nod, but the his clenched jaw and sneering expression betray the anger that is still running through his veins like boiling hot magma.

As soon as Kevin sits back down beside you, your hand is immediately enveloped by his, the soft touch is a soothing comfort easing the discomfort and tension that still lingers within from Donnie’s outburst.

“You alright?” Kevin whispers, his eyes radiating concern as gives your hand a gentle squeeze, understanding how triggering hearing Donnie’s outburst might have been for you. When you offer him a silent nod, he sends you a wink that you find comforting, as it showcases his ease and confidence. “It’s almost over now.”

˙ ✩°˖🏛️ ⋆｡˚

“After careful consideration of the evidence presented in this case, it is clear to this court that Mrs. Y/N Barksdale has endured significant hardship and abuse at the hands of her husband, Mr. Donnie Barksdale. Therefore, it is the ruling of this court that the divorce petition filed by Mrs. Y/N Barksdale be granted. Additionally, a restraining order shall be issued against Mr. Donnie Barksdale, prohibiting any contact with Mrs. Barksdale or her immediate family. Furthermore, Mr. Donnie Barksdale shall be required to undergo anger management counselling and attend regular check-ins with a court-appointed counsellor to ensure compliance with the terms of this ruling.” As the judge announces the ruling, a wave of overwhelming relief rips through your body. Raising a trembling hand to you mouth you sob into your palm as you look at Kevin, just to make sure you are hearing correctly.

The smile of triumph Kevin’s face is enough to confirm that you weren’t imagining it, as sobs of relief continue to shake through you, Kevin pulls you into his embrace. Leaving a kiss on your forehead, his soft hand gently strokes your back, soothing the overwhelming emotion that has taken over your senses. His comforting clean scent envelopes you as you burrow into the crook of his neck and wrap your own arms around his shoulders.

“Let’s get you outta here.” Kevin whispers in your ear, before he helps you out your seat, a sturdy arm around your waist keeping you steady. Only once your on your feet do you realise Donnie is being restrained by security as his fury filled eyes glare daggers at you full of unrestrained rage and malice.

“You filthy whore! You connivin’ bitch! You think you can just walk away from me?!” Donnie’s thunderous voice echos through the courtroom as he’s held back by two security guards, his body thrashing to escape their unyielding hold. His long hair flying around his face as he spits and snarls like a wild beast. “You’ll never get rid of me! You and that damn fuckin’ snake of a lawyer! I’ll hunt you both down, you fuckin’ hear me?”

Kevin tries to get you away from the commotion as quickly as possible with a protective arm around you, urging you to not look at your now ex-husband as he swiftly ushers you out of the courthouse.

As the sunlight strokes your face, you take a deep breath of the cool breeze that welcomes you like a reprieve, sweeping away any echo of Donnie’s rage that still rung in your ears. You lean into Kevin’s side, grateful for his steady and calm presence beside you.

“You’re free now, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Kevin whispers into your ear with a confident assurance, dismissing the validity of Donnie’s threats. When you lean your head against his shoulder, he cups the nape of your neck before leaving a tender his on your temple.

“I wanna get away from here.” you whisper, as Kevin gently tilts your chin up to meet his warm gaze.

“I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.” Kevin promises without any hesitation, “just tell me where.”

Kevin’s promise makes anything seem possible, like no dream is too big and by his side you truly feel like the world is your oyster.

“I’ve always wanted to visit New York…” you look up at Kevin, your eyes over brimming with hope for a new beginning.

“New York it is.” Kevin smiles down at you, mirroring the yearning for an adventure in your eyes and he takes your hand in his and leads you towards his convertible.

⋆｡°✩ note i: in the beginning I kinda wanted to leave Kevin and readers relationship up to interpretation but I think that ending gives away the fact that they’re a little more than just lawyer and client.

⋆｡°✩ note ii: I have an idea for a prequel revolved around how Kevin and reader met and began their affair which I might work on depending on the response to this fic!

#keanu reeves #kevin lomax #kevin lomax x reader #donnie barksdale #donnie barksdale x reader #the devils advocate #the gift #my fics

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girlboyburger · 2 months

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plush cow sketches that i don't think i'll have time to finish, but would like to share anyways :0]

seen earlier on patreon ☁️💕

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wolfies-toys · 1 month

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I've been sitting on this pattern and tutorial for a while now! so time to finally share it with you! I was lamenting that the jellycat pip and sugar mice were long retired and difficult to get your hands on unless you are willing to pay much more than they retailed for each mouse, so i decided to try and eyeball a pattern and make some myself! they're not exact as i only used constructed visual references but they're close! please note that this pattern set is intended for personal use only. Rough tutorial under the cut!

This pattern is for printing onto A4 but you can check your scale with the measurements I've provided or just play around with how big or small you want to try and make them! i didn't really get any wip photos of pip mouse but it's method is largely the same with the nose being the major change, which i will detail in text in the instructions below.

for sugar mouse i would recommend using polar fleece as it will act the right way for the ears to do their squishy marshmallow looking thing. but minky should also work or other similar fabrics! for pip mouse if you can find a similar curly looking fabric with a thin backing that'll be ideal but fleece will also work well, you just wont get the furry texture, you want a fabric with a little bit of stretch to it. i however would not recommend fabrics like felt or non stretch cotton for these guys as it's likely to not take shape the same as there's no give to the fabric.

once you have printed out the pattern and cut the pieces in your fabric, you'll want to sew the ears up and turn them inside out, then put them aside for later. just leave them as is for now but here you can see i was playing around with pinching the turned through ear into shape.

Then moving on, sew the back pieces together along the spine and front of face. you then want pull the bottom open ends apart gently and place the open sides flat up against the base piece so that they're aligned, it can be good to pin this in place so it doesn't shift.

then, get your tail rope, and tie a knot at either end, placing the base of it inbetween the seam at the butt so that it'll sit in the right place, then sew the seam up directly with the tail in place, make sure you sew through the rope to secure it and make sure it doesnt shift. Sew around the bases seam leaving a hole in one side so that you can then turn your mouse through.

once turned through you will want to stuff your mouse with polyfill quite a bit so it takes shape! i like to put weighted beans in mine for extra effect, you can use dried rice or wheat too, just sew a little circle pouch a bit smaller that the mouses base with scrap fabric and fill and seal! then insert into the turning hole while you stuff. once stuffing is done you can sew the hole up with a ladder stitch. the weight from the beads will allow your mouse to sit up quite well.

next you will want to get those ears you put aside, take each corner and bring the ends together in the middle. then sew them gently together at the ends with one or two stitches in about the same spot. you want them to look 3d so dont sew the ends to the back of the ear, just end to end so they meet in the center.

Then pin the ears in place on the head

then you need to ladder stitch the ears in place while they're pinned so they dont shift around, go all the way around the outside edge of each.

now you're almost done! next they just need a face! sugar mouse only needs embroidery by way of a french knot for both the eyes and nose (you can find good video tutorials on how to sew a french knot online), pip mouse will also need a french knot for the eyes but has a separate process for it's nose. (for the pip mouses nose you will need to leave the marked nose hole open and then stitch the nose fabric to the square nose backing in line with the dotted direction on the pattern, (it should look kind of baggy when it's unstuffed) sew it up completley with no hole, then cut a tiny slit in the backing and add polyfill there before closing with a basic stitch, then you ladder stitch the nose directly to the marked nose hole)

in order to hide the embroidery anchor knots i find the best way is to start by going down through the middle of the ears and then coming back up where you want the eye to be, and then going back down and up through the ear for the finishing knot, as it creates a very easy cover for them and looks nice and clean!

then you have yourself a little buddy!

haha they're great to squish! if you use this pattern i'd love to see your results!

#toys #plushie #pattern #tutorial #made by me

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tojipie · 6 months

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bundle of joy <3

prison bf toji series linked here <3

this man was forged and handcrafted to be a girl-dad to a little sweetheart. i love him w all my heart.

the rasp of your husbands voice is so soft that you’re unsure if you’re still dreaming, head spinning from the IV cocktail the doctors had pumped into you the day prior.

toji sits with his back to you, your daughter cradled in the crook of his arm. your little bundle of joy so gently, letting her mindlessly grab at the cuff of his sleeve.

“what’re you doing, huh?” he mumbles, stroking the softness of her cheek with his thumb.

the baby ignores him, opting to try and get the fabric of his shirt into her mouth. soft, pink little gums bite down on freshly washed cotton, her feet kicking in excitement at the new texture.

“aht— hey!” he mumbles, gently pulling the soaked fabric from her grasp. “dirty.”

you sit up from your spot on the bed, inching over to the two of them.

toji truly can’t take his eyes off her, nodding intently while the newborn babbles nonsense to herself. he quickly switches her to his other arm once you join him, letting you lean your full weight on him.

tiny, pruney little fingers close around the bottom of his index, soft skin contrasting against the blues and blacks of his tattooed knuckles.

“is she supposed to be this tiny?” he whispers, half in awe half out of concern. your heart melts at how soft his voice is, eyes blown wide.

“f’course,” you giggle tiredly, still woozy from the epidural. you nose at the curve of his shoulder with a hum. “doctors said she was perfectly healthy, remember?”

“right, shit,” he mutters, tensing up at the freudian slip. “oh— sorry,” he says it to your daughter this time, clearly embarrassed at his lack of a filter.

toji’s lifestyle change had been a gradual process. a culmination of a life spent on the streets, moving up the ranks year after year until he’d forged an empire built on the bodies of his enemies.

then you came along, holding him down through a 7 year sentence while the world threw its worst at him, testing the integrity of your relationship as you both struggled to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

somewhere along the way nights at the club together turned into nights spent inside, planning out your future.

you had wanted to give him this for so long. to raise a child together and complete your little family, fulfilling both your lives just a little bit more. toji had dropped to his knees when you brought him the positive test, burying his face in your stomach to hide his teary eyes.

you can’t help but laugh to yourself at the irony of it all. that the man in front of you with the word “greed” gracing his knuckles in bold letters was holding your baby with all the generosity in the world.

“she drank a ton today.”

“oh yeah? big appetite huh?” he coos, pulling her pink baby hat up to let her little ears breathe.

“takes after her dad.”

your little blessing lets out a tiny yawn before closing her eyes, tuckered out after a long day of adjusting to her new world.

“should i put her back in the crib?” he whispers, so scared of waking the poor girl up.

let her sleep on me for a little, i’ll be up for a while anyways,” you explain, reaching for your daughter to let her settle onto your chest.

“my girls,” he mumbles, so full of love when he says it.

taglist ! 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa @tojishugetiddies @wheredidmycrowngo @unknownspecies @ushygushybaby @ebiharachan @hoshigray @crazychaoticizzy @denypipa @watyousayin @tempest1art @sakuraryomen01 @kariito-art @vkeyy @mxtokko @inumakiiz @rosieee491 @loveme-b4by @suguxo @namjoonsbuspass @tojis-luver @complexivelovely @dancingwithdeities @sunflwrsugar @catvader101 @ktsgrl @princessos-blog @4ut0p5y @swiftsongs-mp3 @mycocoapuffs @adrenepinephrine @na0koz @suguscape @jaswonder3 @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @getousrep @jeannieboys @darkstarlight82 @freebananabeard @vivian-555 @kentokaze @subarusuguru

#toji #toji fluff #toji x reader fluff #toji x reader #fushiguro toji #jjk toji #toji headcannon #toji hcs #toji drabble #toji drabbles #jujutsu kaisen #girl dad toji #girl dad! toji

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notsosweetchan · 3 months

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˚ʚ♡ɞ Pull over ˚ʚ♡ɞ

Warning: Twitter prn link-Smut

Paring: | Hyunjin x Reader |

Imagine: Hyunjin's surprised giggle turns into a moan as he feels your weight shift onto his lap and your warm, tight body pressing against his already hardened arousal.

"Oh, fuck..." He gasps, his hands moving to grip your hips firmly as you begin to ride him. The fabric of your skirt rides up with each movement, revealing more of your smooth thighs and the tantalizing glimpse of your panties.

Your lips part slightly, begging for air as you grind down on him, putting just the right amount of pressure with each thrust that sends shivers of pleasure throughout his entire body. The gentle sway of the car is amplified by your rhythmic motions, making it feel like a sensual dance rather than an act of pure lust.

He leans back in his seat, watching you intently from the corner of his eye while keeping one hand firmly on the steering wheel. His other hand tangles in your hair, tugging gently as he loses himself in the feeling of having you on top of him.

The rough texture of his palm against your scalp only serves to heighten the sensation for both of you. With every thrust, you both make small mewling noises that echo in the car; it's almost too much for him to bear.

The sound of skin slapping against skin mixes with the rustling of fabric and heavy breathing filling the space between you both.

His muscles tense underneath your touch, jerking forward each time you ground down harder on him. Sweat forms between the two of you where your bodies meet, making their movements slicker and even more intense.

Hyunjin's head rolls back against the head rest as he gives in to the pleasure coursing through him, his eyes shut tightly as he enjoys the feeling of you taking control like this. He grunts softly with each thrust, trying not to moan too loudly but failing as his hips jerk up instinctively to meet yours.

"Yes... just like that, love," he purrs, his voice deeper than usual with desire. "You feel so good." The smell of sweat and sex fills the car, mingling with the faint scent of leather from the seats. Your kisses are hot on his neck, your breathing ragged as he feels you nearing your climax. He grips your hips tighter, urging you to go faster.

"I'm close, baby... I can feel it," he whispers in your ear. "Don't stop now." And just as you start to pick up the pace, he feels his release building up inside of him — his climax is imminent too. You feel him tense beneath you, and with one final thrust, he groans loudly into the crook of your neck.

The rocking of the car slows down and they both catch their breath, panting heavily as Hyunjin's grip on your hips loosens. He opens his eyes to look at you, a mix of awe and lust in his gaze. “ I can’t believe we just did that .”He says, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Me neither,” you grin back, your hair a mess around your face. You reach down between you to adjust your clothing, smoothing out your skirt and trying to fix your hair.

But instead of looking out of place or disheveled, you both look absolutely ravishing with the way you're flushed and breathless. Hyunjin grins at you cheekily before pulling out of the parking lot and starting the drive home. His hand finds its way back to yours on the console, lacing their fingers together. “We should probably focus on getting home now.”

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagine #stray kids smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin imagine #skz hyunjin #skz smut

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garoujo · 7 months

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imagine reader has an oral fixation and toji (or any jjk man) lets her suck on his dick to calm herself down

✩ ˛˚ . FUSHIGURO TOJI — your glad toji is there to always help you let off some steam.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, m!receiving oral, he grabs your hair but no particular colour / texture mentioned. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hiii nonnie, i went with toji since he was the one u mentioned + i gotta get used to writing him :3 <3

it takes toji off guard the way you slam the door as you enter back into your apartment, you’ve had a particularly pissy day at work— your co-workers driving you crazy, an ever increasing workload. you’re so glad today is over; but not before you let off some steam.

“god damn, princess. who pissed you off?” he grunts from where hes sprawled out on your couch, sweatpants low on his hips as he scratches at his bare abdomen. hes got the tv on particularly loud, but he can still barely hear it with the way you stomp your way into the living room, standing infront of the screen a few moments later as his lips downturn.

“huh?” toji grumbles as he tries to look around you, clicking his tongue when he comes up unsuccessful. your hands are on your hips and the frown you’re wearing looks a little misplaced on your pretty features— he’s gotten used to it at this point though, he sees it a little too often.

“fuck sake. you good?” he begins but the sigh you let out cuts him off as he lets his cheek rest on his fist.

“shutup, just let me do this.” you finally speak but your words are so cold they almost cut through him as you take a few steps towards him, eagerly pushing your way between his thighs before your fingers are immediately reaching for the waistband of his sweats.

“oh yeah? don’t be so impatient. shoulda just said so.” toji grins as he helps you with the fabric, the sexual freedom feels nice and he’s already half hard, heavy cock resting against his muscled thigh like he’s been waiting— he always thought you were hot when you were pissed off.

you pull a low crooning growl from the man above you as you experimentally drag your tongue up the length of his thick cock, his fist wrapping in your hair gently as he watches you bob your head slowly up and down. you relax your throat for the push of him before you gag lightly and he pulls you back with a hiss, watching you slurp at the blunt head as he gazes at you through dark, lust blown eyes.

toji watches you blink away your own tears to look back at him, frown still lacing your brows as he sends you a lopsided smirk.

“atta girl, can let off all the fuckin’ steam you want.”

he drawls as his hips twitch up, pushing his cock back between your lips as you suckle at the sensitive tip, smoothing your tongue along the precum gathered there as he lounges back against the couch. his jaw is slack, lips parted and eyes heavy while he smoothes his free hand through his already mused dark hair.

“can do better than that, princess. thought you wanted to feel better?” toji’s fingers tighten in your hair and you allow your neck to go lax, allowing him to guide your movements as he rolls his hips into your waiting mouth, allowing his cock to push down your throat with another breathless growl.

his thick thighs spreading wider to allow him to push you deeper while his fingers flex tightly into your scalp, earning a whine from you that only causes his cock to thicken and throb as your lips stretch around him. but you already feel the tension in your shoulders begin melting away with the weight of him on your tongue.

“feels better already, do’nt it?”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji smut #fushiguro toji x you

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mysicklove · 7 months

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

DAY 7: FEMINIZATION

With: Yuuji Itadori

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: sub! yuuji, gn! reader, men in skirts/feminine clothing, yuuji being shy and embaressed the entire time, teasing reader, praise, reader refers to him as a "she" and "her" throughout the entire thing, handjob

A/N: In my head i see yuuji to be very shy when it comes to sex. ppl most likely dont see him this way, so it may be ooc of him. idk u tell me.

“Is this really necessary?”

You grin, freaking out on the inside, but trying to hold your composure. Dark eyes flicker to yours, and he pouts, tugging at the fabric with nerves.

You managed to convince Itadori into wearing the cutest pink short skirt, so short that his tip peeks out from below the fabric, and he's uselessly pulling it down to try to cover it. He wears a white v-neck tank top, that slightly exposes his chest due to the lack of cleavage he possesses. And finally, you convinced him to wear white frilly thigh highs.

His face matches the skirt, and he's gulping under your gaze. “Its embarrassing,” he complains lowly, padding his way over to you. He stands in front of you while you sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. Your hands drag over the soft fabric, admiring the texture, and rubbing it between your thumb and pointer finger.

“Soft,” You mumble, leaning forward and resting your head on his hip. He jumps slightly when he feels you just graze his groin. The boy reaches his hand down and rests it on your head, petting it with a blush on his face.

“My pretty girl.”

He uses the other hand to cover his eyes, a wobbly smile on his face. “I’m not a girl,” Yuuji replies, looking away from you as his body begins to heat up.

You grin at him, and move backward on the bed, pulling him forward toward you. You rest your back against the headboard and pat your lap, signalling for him to sit on it. He pauses, and then shakes his head. “Cmon, sit Yuuji.”

“I'm too heavy,” He replies, playing with his hands a little nervously.

You grab them and pull them forward, sending him stumbling forward and into your lap. He quickly maneuvers himself to straddle you, not letting his entire weight on you. He didn't mind having to hold himself just slightly up, he rather that then to be nervous of him accidentally hurting you. “Aw, you are showing,” You say, smiling at his lap.

The skirt must have flipped upward with his movements, because now his cock is on full display. It's hard, and throbbing against the pink fabric. He pulls the skirt down immediately, hands moving to cover it as quickly as possible.

You pout at him, hands moving on top of his. “Wanna see your pretty cock. Bet it will look so cute with your outfit,” You murmur, pressing your lips to his chest, covered by the thin tank top.

His ears burn, and his eyes flicker to yours. “You're being so weird,” He half-heartedly complains, gulping when he feels your mouth bite one of his nipples.

“Can't help but be a perv to my cute little girlfriend.”

He lets out a small whine, arm raising to cover his face. It's so rare for him to be flustered, usually pretty confident in his position in bed, but the second he tries something new he seems to crumble under your gaze. It was cute, watching your usual puppy like boyfriend turn shy. “B-Boyfriend…And I'm not cute, nor little,” He uselessly reasons to you, fidgeting with anything his hands can find.

You pull back his skirt before he could process your movements. Yuuji lets out a small yelp, and tries to cover himself, but you move his hands away. “Hmmm, don't know, your girl cock seems to get excited whenever I mention the word girlfriend,” You tease, rubbing a finger up his shaft, as his face heats up.

“G-Girl cock? Stop it,” he whines, gripping onto your waist with a pout. It gives you a view of his chest, and you hum, dragging your finger over his right nipple. He doesn't say anything, letting you do what you want, even if he jumps lightly from when you gently pinch him.

Eventually when you grow bored, and his cocks begins to leak, you move your hand to his mouth. He makes eyecontact with you, asking for confirmation, so you nod, and he moves himself toward the cupped palm and spits in it.

You coo at him, and he shakes his head, pulling away from the hand, and watching as you move it down to his dick. Your now wet hand begins to stroke him off, him twitching in your hold, trying not to get too excited and blow his load too fast.

“Look Yuuji, you are so wet.”

He sighs, and without realizing the meaning behind it, nods at your words. You in return kiss his cheek, using your other hand to rub your hands up and down his chest. “Such pretty tits. So big.”

“B-Been working on my chest for a bit,” He whispers and you can't help but laugh. He wasn't lying though, over the years you've known him, his frame has gotten bigger, and with it, his pectoral muscles.

He groans, eyes falling shut, and unconsciously leaning deeper into you. More of his weight falls on your lap, but you don't mind, focusing solely on your hands traveling his body. “Is it okay if I cum?”

You chuckle at him, teasingly pinching one of his nipples. “So soon?”

He whines at the words, feeling the familiar blush creep upon him. No matter how many times you've done it, he always gets uncharacteristically shy, and way too excited. It was like you were fucking a virgin, but you always found it cute, how the second the two of you fall into bed he can barely look at you. “Sorry.”

Your hand picks up the pace, and he slumps against you, eyes hazy as he approaches his high. “It's alright. You feeling good, pretty?”

He begins to pant into your neck, his breath warm, and his pink hair brushing against your shoulder. “Mhmmm. W-Wanna cum, please.”

You nibble on his ear, and whisper, “Tell me about how pretty you are.”

His first reaction is to shake his head and deny you, embarrassed by this entire thing, but he knows that he will cum better with your approval. So he gulps, and nods, before mumbling a weak, “I think I am pretty.”

You run a hand through his pink hair. “What is pretty about you?”

He whines your name, eyes traveling up to meet yours. Itadori continues to frown, even with his breathy moans from the stroke of your hand. You focus on the tip, rubbing your thumb around his slit, and he gasps, eyes slightly rolling back. “My–My….Body?”

You pull down his tank top, kissing his chest, and then his neck. “Super pretty. Looks so good in the cute clothing, right?” He nods, mostly out of habit, but you don't say anything, just humming for him to continue.

It's getting harder for him to think, but he needs to go quickly, because he is getting closer to cumming with each passing second. His hips begin to rock into your hand. “Um…My face?”

"One of the reasons that you are so loveable," You compliment, planting a kiss to his lips, and when you pull away, he tries to follow, looking away with a red face when you snicker at him. “One more, then you can cum.”

He tries to think about something, but the sound of your hand squelching up and down his cock is getting him distracted. He begins to stare at himself getting stroked, panting from directly above it. He grips onto the fabric of the pink skirt, and then looks back at you. “My dick?”

“She is so pretty. And look at all the attention she is getting.” Referring to his cock as a “she” makes him twitch, and he wants to hide his face again. Some part of him feels humiliated by it, and with the humiliation, came arousal.

“Y-Yeah. Um, can I now? I’m really really close,” Yuuji pleads, making eye contact with you, and leans in so close that his lips just graze your own.

You nod at him, smiling. “Go ahead lovely.”

He nods, pressing his lips to yours for about ten more seconds until his breaths become heavier, and his orgasm hits him. He trembles, pulling away from your mouth to bury his fingers into his skirt. Small moans are released, and you stroke him through it all, watching as the white liquid stains the pink fabric. “Good girl. Doing so well,” You coo through it all, and he tries to nod, but fails.

A couple seconds go by, and he's come down from his high, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away his cum with a rag, smiling when his body jerks slightly from overstimulation. “That was…Nice.”

“Yeah? You seemed to be pretty embaressed.”

He laughs lightly. “No, I definitely was. Being called a girl feels…weird. No offense to girls! I like girls a lot! Just I am a boy, so it's just–weird!” He stammers out, returning back to his usual chatty and upbeat behavior.

You laugh at him and he grins at you. “But I didnt mind it…It was fun.”

“Next time we should put you in makeup and panties,” You say, raising your eyebrows suggestively.

His eyes widen and his ears burn with embarrassment. “Panties? H-How? I am a guy, I can't wear girls underwear!” He exclaims, grabbing onto your shoulder lightly to get his point across.

You chuckle at him. “I know plenty of guys who wear girls underwear,” You lie, knowing that it will trigger some sort of reaction.

And you were right, he immediately finds himself feeling jealous. “What? You have seen guys in panties? Why havent you told me about this. You can't just say that! Who have you seen?”

You play into the joke, pushing him off of you with a grin, and turning over, looking at the opposite wall. “Can't tell you. It's a secret.”

He shakes your body to try to get you to look at him, “Secret? Hey! Don't go to sleep, this is important!”

And by the end of it all, you convinced him to wear panties under his skirt next time.

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demonicbaby666 · 3 months

Text

Daddy’s Home

One Shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, top!JJ, bottom!reader, daddy kink, cursing, asphyxiation, strap-on use (reader!recieiving), face fucking, rough sex, face slapping, brief mention of blood, little bit of degradation in there also

Summary: JJ comes home and needs to blow off some steam...

A/n: This was a little rushed and proofread at like 6am but I hope y’all still enjoy! <3

This was the way you liked it. You craved the hard pounding, the force of scolding slaps and the sizable bruises they left behind. Love was a language you knew to be best spoken in pain, and you were happy to have found someone who thought the same. JJ had surprised you many a time before, but the first time her fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing so tight you felt your eyes bulge, was the moment you started seeing things through rose-tinted glasses. Now, a year and a half later, JJ still applied as much ferocity to the way she fucked you.

When you heard her entering the house, the digital alarm clock beside your bed read 11:43, and it was an easy conclusion to come to that it would be one of the nights JJ would find her way to bed and crash out. You were sorely mistaken. With a click of the nightstand lamp, you rolled over to see your fiance's radiant look of hunger glow ominously over yellow light. In a split second, she pounced, flinging the duvet to the floor. JJ allowed herself two seconds to watch the sudden pebbling of your nipples before she forcefully pushed your negligee up, silk gathering in folds just above your breast, and placed her lips around a raised bud.

She suckled hard and sought the help of her teeth to bring pain into the fold. With a drawn-out tug, your nipple was pulled further and further away from your chest, so far your stomach tensed, and a small cry broke from your throat—the sting resembling that of a sharp needle. You were held in place by the firm pressure JJ was applying to your shoulders and the weight of her body resting on your hips, but that didn't last long. Once satisfied she had paid equal amounts of attention to your breasts, leaving them both wonderfully sore, the blonde got back up to her feet. Standing above you again, she admired her handiwork, looking over forming and fading hickeys alike; she gleamed with pride.

"Take it off," JJ ordered, nodding to the thin fabric still gathered below your neck. An arrogant smile crept over her lips as she continued. "Daddy's not going to fuck you unless you're naked and spread for me."

The fact would always remain: no matter how many times you'd seen the ethereally nude form of your fiance, you would always be left breathless. Of course, this was known not only by yourself but by the woman who stood confidently undoing buttons, unfastened zippers, and removing article after article of clothing that fell to the floor with a dull thud. Beautifully bare, JJ looked down, an arrogant curling of her lips forming an elusive smile. She took fluid steps away, and with an added sway to her hips, the blonde turned and padded over to the closet, where she bent down to open and rummage through your sizable toy box.

In favour of meeting earlier demands, you turned your sights to the slim spaghetti straps hanging off your shoulders. The faint sound of rummaging dulled by the delicate swish of silk passing overhead, and, if only for a few seconds, the blanketed feel of its balmy texture removed the trepidation that was forcing its way into your stomach, churning and squeezing at the contents of your dinner. By the time your teddy drizzled off the side of the bed, pooling on the bedroom carpet to join the rotting duvet, JJ had found what she needed. You saw little with her back to you, but it was still enough. The click of a lid, the squeeze of a bottle, a familiar sultry moan and then, in the blink of an eye, JJ stood at the end of the bed, harness-free, cocky as ever.

With only a pat of her palm to the space in front of her, you were up on your knees, scurrying forward, ready to serve.

"You know what to do," JJ spoke sternly, expectantly.

Your bemusement, understandable as it was, was taken as an insult. A stinging slap of silicone greeted the side of your face, shocking your mouth open, in turn allowing JJ to freely glide the length of her cock through your parted lips. She wasted no time, fingers immediately in your hair, nails scraping along your scalp, until finally, with her grip secure, she yanked you forward.

This was something you had yet to do, the logic being neither the recipient nor the benefactor garnered any pleasure. So the immodest act of giving head had never entered your and JJ's love life. Yet, as the blunt end of the dildo prodded the back of your throat, causing you to gag, a sound came from above you—a sound that was far from dissatisfaction. A rising heat spread across your chest the second time you let JJ fuck her length into your throat, once again hearing her make the same sound. By the third time, the tremors in your hands had evaporated into the charged air around you, giving way to the opportunity not only to relax your throat and allow yourself to be used but in addition encourage it.

Quickly enough, with your hands posted on JJ's hips, you guided her fastening movements, hoping to convey your approval without the feeble need for words. However, if the implication was received, JJ showed no thanks. She only worked her cock harder into your mouth till tears were dripping down your face, and even then, she continued to thrust along to every cut-off whimper, growling as though the 9 inches filling your mouth indeed was an extension of herself. Admittedly, in a way, they were.

Your windpipe felt raw, tender and bruised. Your head was light, fuzzy and in need of sufficient oxygen. Still, you made no complaint, took what was readily given, and even prepared your thanks. It was when your watery eyes had, of their own accord, met with the winter grey of JJ's that she snapped back to her senses. Slipping out, your fiance used the pads of her thumbs to wipe away the mess of saliva surrounding your mouth, and the funny thing was, there was so much care in the way she did it that you didn't even glance at the possibility of feeling embarrassed.

"Thank you," you croaked, eager to appease even if it was detrimental to the recovery of your vocal cords.

"You did a good job, baby," she praised from above, the sincerity in her voice so clear and bright that the capillaries of your cheeks filled red. JJ lined her middle and forefinger to your bottom lip, dragging it down in liquid motion, her eyes predatorily filled black. "Now, you get your reward."

The pop of your lip set in motion the whirlwind of movements that next occurred. First - hands moved from taming your mane and cleaning your face to your shoulders. Second - a force had you reeling back. Your neck protested with a soft click as the thudded collision of your head hitting the mattress breathed life to - third - JJ's fingers, calloused yet soft, harsh yet gentle, demanding yet patient, roaming all over you. They started at your legs, prying them open to make room for her toned body to lay. Then, flittering over your stomach, up and up, blunt nails skirting over the ridges of your ribs, to finally mount their attack of piercing pinches to your nipples. Throughout, the presence of her additional appendage did not go unnoticed—enticingly weighing on your pelvis. The spluttering moans, whimpers and mewls only grew louder when the slide of JJ's hips had her length sliding into wet heat, running along your slit, offering the slightest of relief to the burning embers of desire low in your stomach.

A shudder rode the column of your spine, rattling each vertebra, an appropriate response to another slide of hips and an accompanying bite to your throat. By the time the sporadic spasms of your cunt walls grew too much, ceaselessly reminding you that you were clenching around thin air, and led to pleading murmurs, JJ relented. She pulled back, only to quickly line herself up and catapult forward, hipbones crashing into the sides of your ass with a smack. All the air in your lungs left you with your next breath, so shallow you felt your stomach dip. It was big, she was big. And the sheer stretch of her penetrating your pulsing pussy told you that, indeed, this toy was being christened. A vague memory of a drunken purchase between two giggling adults flashed in your mind. There were no giggles now, only grunts, bated breathing and wistful cries.

"Daddy's little cock sleeve," JJ whispered into the shell of your ear. Her smirk was not visible, but you needn't see when it licked each syllable that slid off her slippery tongue. It was a vile comment, heavy and grotesque, sickeningly and perfectly demeaning. It had you nodding your head and drooling like one of Pavlov's dogs.

The submergence into deep water was a quick one. The muffling of your cries, the ringing in your ears, seeing only the black behind your closed eyes resemble the night sky so far out of reach, had you falling faster and faster, deeper and deeper into the abyss. You swayed and shook, breathed and breathed and breathed, but took in no air. Your lungs burned with effort as your body sweltered under the freezing jab of each savage push of JJ's prick. It was everything at once: pain, pleasure, love, carnal lust. It was the way you liked it: the hard pounding, the rough kisses, the hand wrapping around your throat to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

"Yes, yes, fuck!" you screamed through the gaps of your teeth. It was raw and broken, rasping and bouncing off the lining of your abused throat. Your following sentence forced its way out in the same manner, this time interspersed between harsh bursts of breath. "Needed to be filled with daddy's big cock so bad."

JJ read you better than anyone ever had or ever would. She read the different pitches of your moans like music, following the crescendo with rapt recognition. She knew from the pink flush spindling across your chest, rising to your neck and cheeks, the sudden quiet that filled the room, and the vacant cries coming out of your mouth like condensation that you were nearing your end.

"Wait," JJ spat.

Your eyes flew open, revealing the unyielding bite of a piercing gaze. Then came the sting of her slap, both poisonous and arousing. It tore a hole through the tension in your stomach, successfully distracting you long enough for JJ to fall onto her elbows. The whole length of her cock penetrated you—so deep it skirted along the edge of unbearable. But as the slow grind began, and the sound of low moans rumbled by the side of your head, when the suppressed sound of your cunt juices mixed with JJ's filled your ears, you knew. You knew you'd do this ten times over if only it meant the body above you was attaining even the slightest bit of pleasure. And, if the increasingly occurrent noises were anything to go by, JJ was indeed in a state of bliss, the dual end of her cock rubbing perfectly against her g-spot with every languid slide of her hips.

Tension was building again. Pulsing. Consuming. Suffocating. The world was still again as you sunk. The current moved your body for you, pushed your tailbone into the mattress, only to move it up again and force another circulatory orbit to the prodding length that caressed your sweet spot. Your hands found their way to tender flesh, marring crescent moons so deep they may have hindered JJ's ability to sit without pain.

JJ grew louder. You grew quieter.

Your back arched, and you scrambled for JJ. You found her lips, took the bottom between your teeth and forced her to endure a modicum of the pain you were enduring just to abide by her rules.

Defiantly, JJ yanked her lip back, ignoring the drops of red that fell to your cheek. Her hand, previously hellbent on turning your face blue, gripped your jaw, and she teased her ability to crush it, squeezing so tight you heard the whisper of a crack. Lips swollen, eyes fierce, body rocking, she uttered the phrase - sultrily, dominate and firm - that was to be both of your undoings.

"Come for daddy."

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itsvelyria · 4 months

Text

"new years eve with the boys"

Charles Leclerc

the festive chaos envelops the Leclerc home, everyone having gathered to watch the countdown. bubbles of champagne dissolves in your mouth as you giggle over shared jokes with a friend. hollers of "10, 9, 8"s shocks you, whirling to watch the numbers flash a touch too brightly on the TV screen. "7, 6, 5," has you craning your head over the exhilarated crowd, struggling to find charles. you wonder if he's somewhere outside as someone shouts "4, 3" right into your eardrum. now you're half sure you're deaf as the tipsy mess screams the final numbers. a muscular arm finds its way around your waist, twirling you round to meet the eyes of your much-missed boyfriend. "happy new year," he whispers along with the rest of your loved ones, soft lips meeting yours to celebrate a new beginning with your love.

Carlos Sainz

carlos steps onto the red carpet, polished loafers gleaming black against the textured fabric. his hair is coiffed and a watch that costs a little too much on his wrist. but all that pales in comparison to the jewel on his arm. an air of sophistication surrounds you two as you attend a glamorous new year's eve gala for ferrari. the elegant event has celebrities you had only seen through screens milling around, dressed in stylish attires. your partner turn heads with his charismatic presence, grinning at cameras with his boyish smile. in the buzz of lively conversations and artistically plated food, you clink glasses with people whose names go right over your head. when dawn breaks, all you can recall is carlos' voice calling you his and all you can care about is the expanse of warm golden skin beneath your head.

Danny Ricciardo

the dark colour of the ocean should scare you but all attention is drawn to the huge bonfire in the centre of the sandy shores — the heart of danny's new year's eve celebration. the beach is a turquoise canvas that has been painted with shades of relaxation, with the rhythmic sound of waves and the crackling fire creating a carefree atmosphere. friends and acquaintances huddle together in groups, boisterous laughter intertwining with the music that echoes along the shoreline. you perch on a washed-up piece of driftwood nursing a beer, watching the bonfire flames dance against the night sky, casting playful shadows on daniel’s face as he goofs around with his friends. cheers sound against the crashing waves as a chugging competition begins, your boyfriend at the heart of the chaos. and even in the midst of it all, he manages to pull his gaze away to search for yours, a bright smile crossing his face when he notices your attention already on him, waving you over.

George Russell

in a last-minute attempt to avoid the holiday craze in London, you and george decide escape to the secluded beaches of Koh Samui, far away from the adrenaline that seems to pump through everyone’s veins during this period. on the serene beaches, far from the public eye, you send off a selfie you two took lying yesterday with the stunning fireworks. a reply shoots back quickly from your mother, a thumbs up and heart. putting the phone aside, your attention turns to your boyfriend who is fast asleep beside you on a hotel towel, having fully embraced the peaceful surroundings. burning the image of your boyfriend in a state of tranquility, you decide you quite like him here, not needing to share him with the rest of the world and all for you.

Lando Norris

in the heart of new york, the city that never sleeps, someone had done a fantastic job turning their apartment in a haven for celebration. the floor length windows was recently polished in preparation for viewing of the ball drop and fireworks. the cityscape was stunning, the lights in almost all the building windows – everyone awake to ring in the new year with their loved ones. a familiar hand proffers a beer at you and you take it gratefully. the heavy arm slings over your shoulders, a familiar weight, and pulls you closer to its owner. lando presses a long kiss to the side of your head, silent words telling you he had missed you in the few minutes away. and in the countdown that would come soon, he would cup your face in his cold hands, ignoring the shivers that ran down your spine, and kiss you with an intensity that seemed to grow with every exchange.

Lewis Hamilton

lewis, in classic hard-working fashion, has orchestrated an exclusive charity gala, the festive spirit of the date infused with purpose. the sophisticated venue had been adorned in blues and greens, with the flair of a charitable celebration. influential figures and friends gather, floor length gowns and full suits bringing an air of sophistication. as his partner, you find yourself at the main table, beaming as he takes the stage, not only as a host but as a force for change, raising funds for a cause dear to his heart. if being with lewis has taught you anything, it was that your support and presence meant more to him than any present you could gift. and you have grown to love the man and all his ambitions and dreams. but if you find yourself in the backseat of a car later, being thanked by a barrage of kisses, it would be your little bonus.

Max Verstappen

max opts for a quiet night in, a private new year’s celebration with just the two of you. he had spent the day setting up the apartment, delicately strung fairy lights on windows and a lit scented candle he had found somewhere near the TV. the flickering candlelight on the dining table between two intimate place settings giving rise to an house of warmth and mellowness. as the clock ticks toward midnight, max holds you close, his deep breathing music to your ears, unknowing of how it feels like a drug on you. the cloying scent of vanilla marks the moment and the calming joy of the evening is found in the simplicity of shared memories, tender smiles, and the promise of a new year together.

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tinycozycomfort · 7 months

Text

where you sleep

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day three of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: hand kink -> read her day three here

summary: When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see.

warnings/tags: pwp!, hand kink, oral sex (m recieving), dom/sub dynamics, masturbation (m), exhibitionism, misuse of underwear/underwear play, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), creepy!joel (/dark!joel?)

word count: 1.7k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: gotta give an extra kiss to @pascalisbaby for not only saving this from the delete button more than once but for always being the best person alive!!!

main masterlist

You hear him, first—the end of a damp squelch, the sharp intake that breaks between coupling breaths, on a loop—from your place at the front door. It’s only clear enough to be interpreted as motion, disjointed pieces of noise that make you think he might be struggling, or hurt—so you follow.

Padding lightly down the hallway in the dim afternoon, a twinge of anxiety leans lamely against your heart with all its dead weight; guilty already, even with no cause. Your chest thrums as it tries to hold up, picturing all of the ways he could have ended up wounded while trying to fix your shower, but when you reach the bathroom, it’s empty. No blood, no horrific scene, just a pile of loose tools and a smattering of fine plaster from where he’d dug around in the wall—yet the sounds persist somewhere further.

You continue down, not quiet by any means, a little disturbed by his lack of interest in your arrival. He’s in your room, you deduce—the only occupiable space left in the home—coming into view now with the aid of long, heavy steps. Announcing yourself, just in case.

The door is split open enough to see a long strip of empty space—the corner of your unmade bed, the swirling edge of your dresser, a sliver of mirror posed straighter than usual.

As you sidle up to the frame, the sounds pitch up—strained hissing and sloppy glide of skin reaching a peak—and so you risk a deeper lean to see what it is he’s gotten himself into; what it is that isn’t worth hiding.

A weak wash of daylight squeezes through the kinks in the blinds, allowing you only the fuzzy edges of what he’s doing.

Joel sits on the far side of the bed, body angled so that you can see just a little more than profile, hunched roundly over his lap. He’s almost fully dressed—button-up intact right up to the neck, crinkled tops of his jeans still upright on his legs—everywhere except his center.

He has one hand braced on his stomach, wide and solid and threaded with thick cords of vein, the fabric of his modesty folded up into his thumb. The waistline of his pants is zipped and peeled open at the thigh, the buckle of his belt jolting with faint clinks on every off-beat. A crude frame for the action resting within it.

His cock is slick in his right hand, a band of bright wet flashing between his fingers as he makes rough passes along it, stuttering minutely when he moves down to the base. He fucks the column fervently, the hard muscle of his clutched fist sending a push of arousal between the tops of your thighs.

He touches himself as roughly as he seems able to tolerate—the sinew between his first set of knuckles dipped harshly, peaks white from strain, the tips of the hand on his stomach turning in against his own flesh enough to ripple.

Something pink, unnaturally so, peaks between his fingers every so often, calling you away from your observation of his abdomen. He’s particularly enamored with whatever it is—panting every time it swirls over the head, dulling the sheen of his pull.

Fabric, you realize, absorbing the slip on his skin. You squint, assessing the texture of the material as it darkens with each stroke. Lace fabric; scallop-edged lace fabric that looks starkly familiar to what had been discarded in a shallow grave on top of your too-full hamper the night before.

He shoves into the cloth, webbing it around the points of his fingers like a pocket, canting his hips off the bed to slot into it and he huffs in frustration when he manages to miss a few times, stunted.

You glance up to see he’s maneuvering himself blindly; despite his intricate goal he looks straight ahead, eyes still open from what you can make out, concentration elsewhere as he fumbles against the make-shift cunt.

You track his focus, only half-way across the room when you remember just how much the door had been left open, the crease of the frame very visible in the newly-positioned mirror at your bedside—the intention of it.

The realization rushes between your ribs like ice-water, little knocks of frozen pellets as they swim between the bones on the way down. The force is so fast you feel like you’re going to keel over—not assisted by the way your knees already feel tight from the strain of keeping yourself motionless.

You hit the end of the line, his expression wild where he meets you in the reflection, pleased.

“You just gonna watch, sweetheart? That’s all?”

When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see.

“Joel—Fuck, I’m… I didn’t mean to-”

He uses his unoccupied hand to help him rise to his feet, his right not ceasing to work himself as he rounds the edge of the mattress. You cower, still mostly inaccessible behind the wood, so he reacts accordingly—slows, tames his grin, knits the inner corners of his brow to look disarming.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You caught me in a bit of a bind here, honey,” he pumps lazily, head bowing to direct your attention as if you would need the assistance, “No big deal. Wouldn’t hurt if you offered to help—might as well work for the show.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, afraid to pierce the illusion, the dream in front of you a few words from melting away, and he pouts something disappointed.

“Don’t need to invite you into your own room, do I?”

“Joel,” you try again, weak.

“Heard you the first time—didn’t mean to. We’re past that. I forgive you. Now c’mon, come take a closer look—like I know you want to.”

Hesitantly, you hook an ankle around the edge of the door, willing yourself forward. Joel nods encouragingly before cutting the distance with his own wide steps.

He uses his clean hand to cup the swell of your cheek, thumb twisting to dig into the fullest part, the pads against your neck pressing down like a suggestion, and you fold without question, tucking a knee beneath you to guide yourself to the floor.

Joel releases you, draping the curve of his shirt up into his palm again to reveal what had been only momentarily concealed beneath it. Even so, your eyes stay fixed on the spread of his fingers against his belly, right past the place where his cock hangs between his legs.

“Didn’t seem to have a problem looking when you thought I didn't know. Don't be shy.” His words are encouraging but his tone is laced with annoyance, frustrated maybe that you aren’t responding with the enthusiasm he wants.

He resumes playing with himself, the stretch of lace in his clutch not enough to claim your favor—the way his nails pierce his stomach far more intriguing.

He seems to understand, trailing his palm up to his chest, still holding the hem, a smile curling on his lips when you follow the movement.

“Oh, that’s what you like?”

He releases his length, letting the lace slot between the crease of his thumb like a bracelet. “You want me to touch you with these, sweetheart?” He waves the wet hand lewdly before offering it to you, “Want me to put them in your mouth?”

You nod, and he lets the rough tips of his pointer and middle tap on the center of your bottom lip, watching shamelessly as you open up for him on instinct.

“Look at that. I think we can figure out something here that works out for both of us, hm?”

He doesn’t bother letting you answer, lining the row of his longer fingers outward against your lower lip, his thumb braced against the upper. You stick your tongue out, curling it around his first finger to try and coax him inside but he has another idea. He spreads his legs, settling his weight before leaning to feed the tip of his cock through the channel he’s created with his hand, breaching the open space of your mouth.

You take him enthusiastically and he makes a choked sound, the plane of his chest pushing out hard between firm breaths, a stripe of pink crawling up his neck and across his face. He’s ruffled, composure broken, his own mouth agape in veiled mockery.

“There you go. So pretty. You wouldn’t say no if I asked you to come down your throat, would you?”

You do your best to shake your head, working him deeper, the row of your bottom teeth secure under the line of his pointer.

He shudders, the nail of his thumb pushing you open wider as he slides in as far as he can manage at this angle, with so much already occupying the inside of your face.

“That’s right, honey. Good girl for me, aren’t you? Walked right into my little gift, eager. Let’s reward you, hm?”

You hum in response, lost to anything other than the brush of his hand against your chin when he thrusts too quickly, the drag of the inside of his knuckles against your tongue.

“Fuck. You like it, too. Should’ve come by sooner.”

Pressure builds in the pit of your stomach, hot and rolling as where it falls over into the cradle of your core. You rub your legs together in an attempt to relieve it and he whines, bucking up quicker into the hollow of your cheeks, the fabric of your forgotten underwear slipping in with the rest of his mess on a jostled punch.

Joel starts to unwind, heaving in hard gulps and elbow craning out in a jagged, rhythmic sway. He unhinges his jaw like he wants to say more but you bend, taking more of him than you should be able to, the soft wedge of his head prodding your throat and he grunts, rounding out his spine as he comes as far down as he promised to.

You puff up your cheeks around him, an almost-smile, swallowing as much as you can before pulling off of him with a gentle pop, your own palm sliding up to take hold of his forearm. He lets you, deflated from his orgasm, and you run your tongue over what you couldn’t catch on his skin.

“Should’ve known,” he chuckles, peering down at you between soaked lashes before assisting, sliding two fingers into your parted lips, “Let’s find out what else you like.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller/reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #dark!joel x reader

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hwatermelons · 7 months

Note

heyyy 🤭 i love love loveee ur ateez writing!! can u do a soft n fluffy bf!ateez when cuddling at night? u can do any writing style u want! <3 thank uuu

ateez ⋆ cuddling at night with them

⋆ 1.6k words ⋆ bf!ateez x gn!reader ⋆ fluff! so much fluff ^^ ⋆ warnings: lots of close physical contact, face touching and chaste kissing ⋆ a/n: ngl i giggled and kicked my feet while writing this even though it took me forever (i'm so sorry about that;;) thank you sm for the request! also, wooyoung is a history nerd.

╭──────────────────────────.★..─╮

hongjoong ⋆ art

hongjoong smiles as he runs his fingertips down the side of your face, snuggled into the blanket facing you. when you'd asked him to trace your face to sleep, he'd wondered why anyone would ever want to be touched that closely at first. but when you explained that it was something your parents used to do when you had a nightmare as a child, he was delighted to offer the same level of comfort.

hongjoong outlines the perimeter of your eyes, nose and lips, working his way from the top of your forehead to the tip of your chin. soft kisses follow his fingers. your eyelids grow heavy as he smooths back your hair, tracing each strand from the root to the tip. he's in no rush to finish his masterpiece, and helping you fall asleep in the middle of it is an added bonus.

you were the most fascinating person hongjoong knew, a tapestry woven in five senses. so to him, you deserved his full attention in order to do justice to your likeness. your lover studies the way the way your lashes flutter in your sleep, memorizes the sound of your steady breathing, contemplates the texture of your skin and all its lovely imperfections that give life to your form. if he could, hongjoong would paint a vision of you on the insides of his eyelids so he could see you every time he dreamed. he settles for painting your face instead, the slow movements of his fingers detailing each cherished feature.

seonghwa ⋆ solidity

seonghwa always loves to surprise you with back hugs during the day, especially with the way you melt into a puddle in his arms every time. so it's no surprise that his favorite way to fall asleep at night is flush against your back, face pressed into your hair and hands holding onto yours, wrapped around you in a tight embrace. seonghwa needs your weight against his chest just as much as you need his solid reassurance behind you. the best part is being able to feel his heartbeat pump out a steady rhythm, the perfect white noise for quieting down any extra thoughts before you fall asleep.

you lean into him, eyes slipping closed. the familiarity of it is impossible not to sink into. seonghwa presses a kiss into your hair as you drift off, his arms a firm reminder that the outside world can't get to you here.

yunho ⋆ beauty

yunho can't imagine falling asleep in any other way than watching your eyelids droop inches from his face through his own sleepy haze. and that's exactly where you are tonight, just like the night before, and so many nights before that. forgetting about the weight of the world in your lover's arms, even if it's only for a couple hours. unknown to you, however, said lover is currently busy fighting a losing battle in his mind against the urge to shower your sweet, drowsy face in kisses.

yunho sighs. he's been trying so hard to hold back for the past hour. but it's late, and he can't sleep, and more importantly he just can't resist anymore. he leans in and touches your foreheads together, then rubs your nose with the tip of his. in his defense, he can't help it! you're just too adorable to him. but when you open your eyes, he panics.

"ahhh, was that too much? i should've asked--" you interrupt him by pulling him into a tight hug. yunho yelps in surprise as you bury your face into his chest, hiding the rapidly rising blush across your cheeks. "it was perfect," you mumble, the words muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt.

yeosang ⋆ trust

the only reason yeosang shies away from touching you in public is because that's something he wants to share only with you. it's sacred. to him, physical touch is a promise between two people, that they'll hold on and never let go through all the bad times, and celebrate all of the good together. from a kiss on the cheek stolen by san or wooyoung to a smothering group hug from the other members, yeosang only allows those closest to him to touch him. so when he lets you wrap your arms around him and tuck yourselves into a blanket burrito and smooth back his hair and press kisses to his temples, you know he can finally fully trust you. you smile to yourself as you hear yeosang's breaths even out, your cherished angel slipping into sleep.

san ⋆ smile

san holds you like he's afraid you'll leave if he doesn't keep up his vice-like grip. to him, there's no such thing as being too close to you. he rarely leaves you completely alone during most of the day, taking the chance to smother you in hugs or kisses whenever you let him at home, and he's always a text away if you two are apart. at night, you're all his, and he loves the fact that you have no escape now. your arms mirror his, wrapped tightly around his waist. but you add your own touch by massaging up and down his spine, earning a soft sigh from him. you can feel his back muscles relaxing through the shiba inu patterned pajamas as he settles his head in between your neck and shoulder, leaving a kiss at the spot he ends up at.

and then san looks up at you with one of those smiles. the ones where his eyes scrunch all the way up but he's too elated to care about how silly he looks (in his opinion, not yours). no matter how long it's been, he still can't believe he gets to see you from this angle every night, the way no one else can.

mingi ⋆ envelop

mingi physically cannot fall asleep without using you as his personal teddy bear. his favorite way to hold you is with his chin resting on the top of your head. you'd be curled into his chest, and he'd have his arms around you like he can't bear to let any part of you escape his grasp.

your princess adores being able to protect you, to watch over you, to feel needed in such a fundamental way. he kisses the top of your head, and you feel him relaxing into the embrace, the tension leaving his muscles. mingi tries his best to keep his eyes open for you, but ends up drifting off first from your warmth. as you shift into a more comfortable position, he subconsciously pulls you in tighter, soft breaths tickling your scalp.

wooyoung ⋆ tale

"tell me a story," you probe wooyoung as he lays his head on your stomach. he loves being pampered by you, and he always looks forward to the end of the day for this. his hair is the longest it's been in a while, and you've been absentmindedly braiding and unbraiding sections of it as he replays one particular step of the choreography he and the others had worked on today on his phone. you can tell he isn't nearly as satisfied with it as he wants to be. but it's getting late and inspiration isn't striking him, so he decides to set down the phone and humor your wish.

wooyoung always seems to have some interesting tale to tell, like the adventures of a legendary historical figure, or the origins of a certain korean tradition, or even the story behind the most seemingly mundane things.

tonight's feature is the latest gossip from the servants working behind the closed doors of an ancient prince's private grounds in the Joseon era. apparently, he’d been busy plotting a coup against his father, the king (“right under his nose!”). but it was completely justified because he planned on passing the throne to his youngest son instead of him ("the audacity!"). wooyoung enthusiastically details the bloody fratricides the prince committed ("i'm pretty sure one was enough to send the message??"), eventually scaring his last remaining brother into abdicating the throne after less than a year ("a single year!").

unnoticed by wooyoung, you fall asleep in the first five minutes of his retelling. he goes on for half an hour before he realizes you've started to snore. at first he's half-jokingly offended, but he knows you were exhausted from the long day. still, that doesn't stop him from taking a picture of your face smushed into your pillow for future blackmail purposes, before snuggling up in the sheets with you. you won't be spared from the story over breakfast tomorrow (hey, you asked for it!), but for now he's perfectly content with hooking his arms around you and falling asleep on your chest, careful not to wake you up in the process.

jongho ⋆ serenade

jongho loves loves loves singing you to sleep. and he loves it even more when you ask him to. from the crook of his arm, you look up at him and softly make your request known. his eyes sparkle in assent, and the gentle hum of 'star 1117' fills the room as he plays with your fingers resting on his chest. you reach up to pinch his cheek, finding him too adorable in this moment, and he makes a face. jongho pinches both of your cheeks harder in retaliation, refusing to let go and chuckling when you swat at his hands. "when i said i'll return all of your love tenfold, i meant it," he teases, fully prepared to smother your face in a bear hug if you dared to acknowledge the cheesiness of his words.

╰─..★.──────────────────────────╯

⋆ likes/reblogs appreciated ⋆ do not repost ⋆ taglist: @gottagetback2u, @mazeinthemiroh

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lovebugism · 1 year

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hi!! i just had to drop by and say the customer’s always right was some of the best smut i’ve read in so long. omfg it was perfect and i can’t stop thinking about it. and that cliffhanger?! you’re trying to kill me i swear 😭 do you think you’ll end up writing a part two? 👀

THE CUSTOMER’S ALWAYS RIGHT | screw the deal

summary: "there's an angel in his trailer, washing his cum-stained jeans after getting off on his thigh, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it." pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 6.7k warning: thigh riding, tit play, talks of asshole boyfriends, smut 18+ mdni a/n: ok so i'm still a bit overwhelmed by the support from the last part. like, seriously, you guys are way too fucking nice <333 i hope this lives up to expectations and if it doesn't we can just pretend, okay? be on the look out for many, many more parts to come because i can't get enough of virgin!eddie.

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

The credits of Fast Times at Ridgemont High roll beneath a jittery static of a nineteen-inch TV. Eddie, dressed now in a fresh pair of thin, plaid pajama pants, bangs on the side of the thing with his fist to physically jostle the grainy texture from the screen. It only half works.

He feels about as fuzzy as the lingering white noise on his television — like he’s not all there, like his brain is still misty and he needs to lie down. He’s still reeling from the after-effects of his freight train of an orgasm where he stands even now. And you were just touching him through his jeans.

“If you think this feels good now, just wait until you’re inside me,” you purred to him in a breathless promise. He understands, now, that just might kill him.

It’s lame. He’s lame. And he thinks he might be in love.

You don’t seem to be as affected by it as he is. Though, to be fair, you’re not the one that just came in their underwear. Either way, you’re able to avoid the bubble of bliss that settles over the trailer like a warm and weighted blanket. You evade it all with a level of finesse that makes his chest swirl with an emotion that he can’t name but he can feel. Like, if he could reach through his ribcage right now, he could physically pull it out of him and hold it in his hands, it’s so damn palpable.

You’re standing at his decade-old washing machine with his cum-stained underwear and black ripped jeans in a wadded ball at your hip. You lift the weighty metal lid and throw the dirty clothes inside, then rise on the tips of your toes to reach for the detergent and fabric softener on the cluttered shelf about your head.

The way you float through the trailer is gut-wrenchingly admirable. It's almost like you’ve lived here as long as Eddie has.

You’re still fully dressed, alarmingly put together, and not at all as jostled-looking as the boy across the living room. Your sweater isn’t wrinkled, your skirt is pulled down from where it had ridden up, and your boots are still on and squeaky clean. You look like a professional and move like one too, totally unfazed by it all, as though making men come so hard they see stars is just a pastime for you.

It almost makes him jealous, knowing your magic has touched other, undoubtedly unworthy guys. But he can’t find it in himself to get angry or bitterly self-conscious. You’re in his trailer now, not out with some other asshole, and you’re washing his fucking clothes.

It makes Eddie feel like you’re his already. A primal sort of possessiveness wells deep within him. He wants to protect this moment and keep it to himself forever.

You peek subtly over at him while sprinkling in the washing powder, pretending to scratch your jaw with your shoulder under the guise of catching a glimpse of the boy behind you. He’d put up quite the fight about you laundering his dirty bottoms upon realizing how serious you were, but he’s quiet now.

“I made the mess, Munson,” you’d argued. “Let me clean it up.”

That shut him up real quick.

You find that he looks more comfortable now. He’s out of the usual leather jacket and tight pants duo that most people rarely see him out of — it feels like a privilege to observe him like this. He’s traded them for a pair of loose red sleep pants spotted with barely-there stains and tiny holes like he’s had them for ages. They probably used to be Wayne's.

His rings stay on, however, and the Def Leppard tee too.

You can see more of his body without the thick jacket to shield him. The way the fabric clings to his upper half, you can just make out the subtle lines of his torso, the tightness of his chest, and the soft pudge of his stomach.

He looks less like he’s trying, but he’s somehow even prettier this way.

His chocolate eyes glimmer beneath the dim light of the living room while his hands fidget something fierce at his sides. It’s like he’s itching to do something with them but has convinced himself not to.

You wonder if it’s the urge to touch you that he’s fighting.

You wish that he wouldn’t.

Shutting the heavy lid, you press the faded green button on the start pad. The sound of water trickling from the top goes muffled. The machine starts to shake, wobbling back and forth with age and fatigue alike.

Once you spin on your heel to face the boy, you’re able to catch a much better look at him. And the way he suddenly and oh, so casually flits his gaze to the ceiling in an effort to pretend like he wasn’t just staring at you.

His hair is wild and his eyes are tired. He probably just wants to sleep.

You begin to fear that you’ve overstayed your welcome. This wasn’t what this was supposed to be, after all. Some heavy petting was expected, of course, but certainly not of this magnitude. Eddie was prepared to cop a feel, not watch you while you wash his fucking clothes.

So out of worry that you’ve turned this — whatever this was — into something that it wasn’t, it becomes your mission to ease the tension you’d singlehandedly crafted.

“Oh. You must be tired, huh?” you question sympathetically with an awkward hand on the back of your neck. “It is getting pretty late. Maybe I should… I should go—”

“What? No! You don’t— You don’t have to go!” Eddie is quick to interject with the rapid shake of his head. Fluffy curls shake around the frame of his face. His eyes go wide. It makes your heart sing.

But now he’s the scared one. Fearing he’s come off as overzealous, he backtracks with a shrug. “I mean… If you want to. But I… I don’t really…”

“You don’t really what?” you press once he trails off, brows raised ro your hairline and a smile teasing at the corners of your lips.

“I don’t know… I— I guess I’d just... I’d kinda like it if you stayed.”

The revelation seems to shock you, delightfully so, because you’re lighting up again like a christmas tree. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, suddenly shy. His chin falls to his chest, and he takes to gazing at you with a sparkling gaze through his lashes as he confesses: “I didn’t… I didn’t even get to touch you.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face scrunches as he silently cringes at how lame the words sound spilling from his mouth.

“Oh, right. The deal,” you lilt, missing his unstated point and forming your own. You laugh a little at yourself. “That’s literally why I came over in the first place. Sorry. I guess I got a little… carried away.”

“Screw the deal,” he blurts. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night where his voice isn’t shaking. His sudden confidence seems to take you both by surprise.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to hide your sheepish grin and failing. With your hands clasped behind your back — inadvertently jutting out your chest and the twinkling pendant resting upon it — you take slow steps towards him, like a tiger sneaking up on its prey.

Except you’re not exactly being sly about it.

Eddie’s just not running away.

You manage to look so innocent still, all flushed out and smiling at him. “You don’t have to touch me to make me feel good, Eds.”

His brows furrow. “…I don’t?”

“I just like spending time with you,” you shrug shyly when you finally reach the boy. He remains frozen by the television that’s gone static again, the screen all fuzzy in time with the misty haze you’ve put his brain into.

You wrap your arms loosely around his shoulders, pressing your warmth so intently against his body, like you would melt with him if the rules of the universe allowed it.

Eddie swallows thickly at the foreign feeling of having someone so close. His gaze falls to your quirked-up lips. He wonders if it’d be too inappropriate to kiss you now — if he still needs to ask or if the two of you crossed that bridge an orgasm and a half ago.

You notice his unabashed, button-eyed stare and grin at him with a similar brazenness.

“You don’t have to, Eddie. Promise,” you assure with a softness that was previously unfamiliar to him before now. “That’s not why I did that — you know, so you had to return the favor or whatever.”

“No, I know. I just…” he trails off for a moment and darts his tongue out to wet his chapped lips. “I’d really like to make you feel good. If you’ll let me.”

You shake your head at him. It’s not a rejection, though, just an expression of disbelief at how he hasn’t gotten the hint yet. So you just come right out and tell him. “I’d let you do anything to me, Eds.”

He swears, it’s that fucking scene from Fast Times all over again, the same one that got him into this mess. Eddie’s starting to convince himself that this is all just one big fever dream and that you’re his personal Phoebe Cates sent to haunt him in a fantasy far too heavenly to be real.

He’s the Hawkins freakshow, for chrissakes — since when does the town’s local weirdo get to dabble in such simple pleasures?

“Well, what do you wanna do?” you ask him like you’re the timid one. Like you didn’t just make him bust in his pants like a teenager half an hour ago.

He can’t tell if you’re playing coy to get him riled up or if your coquettish nature is just a symptom of your nervousness. It’s hot either way, he concludes, but asking him for guidance is a mistake you don’t even realize you’re making.

His hands falter where they rest on your hips — fidgeting, squeezing, and fidgeting some more.

“I, uh… I want you to…” he does his best to keep his gaze locked with yours, egged on by the intrigued glint in your eye, but it’s a difficult feat. “…to rub yourself, you know, against my— my thigh… If you want.”

He feels like an idiot, the total opposite of cool and mysterious and sexy. His cheeks burn cherry with embarrassment. You smile sweetly up at him, anyway. It both soothes and sends a sick feeling of anticipation swimming in his stomach.

Eddie’s always so sweet with you. Always asking to do something, but only if you want to. He’s all shy and finicky, like he’s nervous you might turn him down, though you’ve only ever said yes to him.

It makes you wonder if he’s ever been dominant with a girl before or if this is the first time someone’s asked him what he wants to do in bed.

It sends a foreign flash of pride in your chest.

“Okay. How about this?” You concede with a grin. Your hands fall from his shoulders and move down his torso, smooth like drops of water. You rest your palms on his hips as you walk him slowly backward. “I’ll ride your thigh, and you can play with my tits. You know, so you don’t get bored.”

The back of his knees meet the couch and he falls lamely onto the cushions. He blinks up at you. “Don’t get… bored?”

Who the fuck is getting bored when there’s a woman getting off on their lap? he actually wants to say but isn’t quite brave enough to.

“Yeah,” you shrug like the answer is obvious. “Most guys have a hard time, I don’t know, being present if it isn’t about them.”

“Well, most guys are stupid.”

“You’re definitely right,” you scoff out a laugh, though it’s mostly muffled when you strip your sweater up and over your head.

The motions come easy to you. There’s an obvious lack in overthinking that Eddie notices right away because it’s the thing that’s been plaguing him all night. He’s both envious and fascinated, but more so mesmerized by the sight that is slow to unfold before him.

Your bra isn’t anything special, just a white cotton number with a cute little bow sitting neatly between your tits. It’s a size or more too small for you, as though you’ve had it for quite some time. The tops of your breasts bulge from the cup. Eddie so desperately wants to sink his teeth into the skin there.

“How could anyone get bored of you…?” he mumbles softly to himself, not realizing that he’s actually said the words out loud until you’re answering him.

“I don’t know,” you respond with a breathless chuckle, tossing your top onto the couch beside him with a dull thud. “You should try asking my ex-boyfriend.”

“Fuck that guy,” Eddie blurts without thinking.

You laugh again. It’s comforting. Like a familiar face in a sea of strangers or a warm hug when you’re freezing. You’re smiling when you finally settle over his lap, your thighs straddling over one of his own. You were just here minutes ago, but it still feels so new.

Eddie wants you here, against him, forever.

“You don’t even know him.”

“Well, he let you go,” he reasons as he places two unconfident and shaking hands along the bare skin of your thighs where your skirt had ridden up. “So he’s gotta be a little bit of an asshole.”

“How about a lot a bit?” you playfully correct with a faltering smile and wandering eyes that flit to the ceiling.

You’re certain Eddie hasn’t noticed your momentary, faraway blip at mention of a boy who made your life a living hell. But when your gaze meets his again, you find a pair of bushy brows furrowed in concern beneath his curly bangs. His rich, chocolate cake colored eyes are coated with concern.

In an effort to deflect from the silence and the brief flicker of following awkwardness, you grip the boy’s shoulders and reach for a kiss.

He isn’t quite swayed, however. Not even when your bottom lips brush together when he asks you: “…What’d he do?”

“Let’s maybe not talk about my ex-boyfriend when I’m trying to kiss you, okay?” you advise without decreasing the proximity. Your mouth still chases his, desperate in more ways than one.

“Okay—”

You’re kissing him as soon as the word tumbles from his lips. You lick into him without warning and he huffs a pitiful moan. You feel the exhale of it against your cupid’s bow.

It’s sloppy, all tongue and teeth, like two teenagers trying to figure out how to kiss each other. That’s what it feels like, anyway. You explore his mouth like it’s undiscovered territory, like he’s all yours to claim.

He lets you.

His head falls back to the edge of the couch, mouth obediently agape for you, as you rut the rough pad of your tongue against his own. You part from him only to suck at his kiss-bitten bottom lip, and you pull away from him so achingly slow just to watch the rosy plush pop back into place.

You smile like you’ve won some sort of prize with him. Your eyes are sparkling and heavy with desire.

Eddie fidgets beneath you at the unfamiliarity of it all. It makes his chest so warm and fuzzy that his heart begins to ache. He can’t tell if he wants to keep looking or close his eyes to hide from it. So he just kisses you — or rather, tries to.

You’re pulling back with a mischievous sort of grin before your lips can meet.

The sound of his discontent comes out in a muffled whine trapped in his throat. A low and yearning sound that makes your smile widen.

Unamused by your teasing, Eddie huffs a rather dramatic sigh. He grips your hips with ring-clad fingers and drags you further against him. The fabric of his pants creates a rough friction against your cotton underwear and you feel it all against your clit.

Before you have the chance to moan, Eddie’s lips are already back on yours.

His touch is more confident now, not just in the way he keeps you pressed against his thigh, but in the way he kisses you. You’re no longer in control as he shoves his tongue in your mouth, perhaps more aggressively than intended. He roams the ridges of the roof of your mouth and the soft, irregular-patterned pad of your tongue like it’s an undiscovered island. And you let him — you beg him without words, and only in hushed and breathy moans.

He trails wet kisses down your chin and your jaw to your neck, leaving the warmed skin glistening with his spit and cooling when he leaves it.

While he mouths desperately at your collarbone, just beside the strap of your bra, his hands rise rise rise — fingers tickling below the hem of your skirt before traveling up to your hips. Eddie squeezes softly at the skin when he reaches your naked waist.

You laugh with merriment when he does. He can feel the rapid rise and fall of your shoulders from where he rests against you. A soft smile tugs at his lips. You can feel the contortion of it against your skin.

He stops kissing you when his fingers try their hand at unlatching your bra. You’re not sure he even realizes it. He loses the ability to multitask when he finds that it’s a harder feat than he thought.

You can imagine the look of concentration on his face, brows furrowed and tongue poking out of his mouth, as he fidgets with the clasp. It makes you smile to yourself.

“Need help?”

“No, I— I got it,” he declines quickly. “—Shit. Was this made by a fucking rocket scientist or some shit?”

You giggle again. It feels like being bathed in rays of sunlight, adding heat to his already burning cheeks.

“Have you never taken off a girl’s bra before?”

You don’t sound like you’re teasing him. You just sound curious and kinda of shocked at his struggling. It makes him tense anyway.

His virginity makes him feel like Spiderman. Like he’s got this alter ego that he can’t possibly reveal to you because it might change everything. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to — yet — because his hands inadvertently freeze and the clasp behind your back clicks lowly when it unfastens.

He’s able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Your bra eases its constriction on your chest. The tight straps loosen at your shoulders, and your fingers tug them until they're slipping down your arms.

You don’t even look at him at first, not the slightest glance to gauge his reaction. He wonders if it’s intentional — your nonchalance — as you pay more attention to the bra you toss off to the side than to the boy suddenly rigid beneath you.

And when you do finally look back at him, you can’t quite measure the expression on his face. His eyes are heavy and focused on your tits, his face lax and void of any readable emotion.

He doesn’t say anything, not for a while — or at all — and you don’t know what to make of it. It’s the first time you’ve shown your tits to a guy who wasn’t squeezing them right way (and far too roughly) or biting at them so hard they leave teeth marks.

You hate that shit. But it might be preferable to no reaction at all.

Without thinking, you bring your hands to your chest, crossing your arms over your breasts as embarrassment burns against your cheeks.

You make a sad joke of it, a measly “Sorry, if I didn’t, you know, live up to expectations—”

Eddie’s quick to stop you then. It’s like life returns to him as he reanimates, his hands suddenly springing from your waist to your wrists.

But, again, he doesn’t speak. He just holds onto your hands and looks up at you. His gaze swims with something you have difficulty placing — it’s a little sad like yearning, but wild with craving. Lust.

His cinnamon eyes blink up at you and tell you everything without saying a word.

You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose as you relax against him. You let him pull your arms back down to your sides, leaving your tits on display for him once more.

This time when you burn hot, it’s of the fire he’s lit in your chest.

“Do you like them?” you wonder meekly.

Eddie nods. He eyes your breasts like a predator would with its prey. His mouth falls softly agape, looking desperate to be kissed — filled.

“Can... Can I— Can I…” he stammers like a child, though he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. He just wants to hold you, to taste you, and you’re so goddamn close.

You respond with an affirmative shake of your head. A soft smile hints at the edges of your lips while you relish in your first time rendering a man speechless with your tits. You watch with glittering eyes as his shaking, terribly unsure hands raise to touch you.

He merely grazes the top of your chest with his fingertips in a featherlight touch that sends a shiver down your spine. He fondles you so gently, too timid yet to touch you where you want him most. Like he’s teasing you.

He isn’t, of course, he’s just feeling out the new terrain — literally — but you don’t know that. You just think he’s being playful with you. So you take his hands in yours and press your palms against his knuckles, your fingers against his ring-clad ones, and flatten him against you.

The metal bumps lightly when it meets your pebbled nipple. Chill bumps erupt on the surrounding skin when it does.

His moan entwines with yours.

Eddie grows more confident with his fleeting touches. He squeezes your breasts softly in his palms, more gentle than anyone’s ever been with you, and takes a moment to marvel how warm they feel in his hold.

No one’s ever taken the time to admire any part of you like this before.

When he starts playing with your nipples that stand desperately at attention and ache to be touched, he observes how you react to his touch. You twitch against him when he presses against them, moan when he tweaks the hardened buds between his thumb and forefinger, and throw your head back with bliss when he pinches them.

It’s not for his own pleasure — though he is desperately, desperately turned on — but he likes seeing how he makes you feel so he can do more of the thing you seem to like the most.

He’s attentive in a way you’ve never seen before.

And though every single touch of his is experimental, it feels good, like lightning strikes to your pussy.

Your underwear is more than damp now, more than it already was when you were just feeling him up. It leaves your vision practically blurry with desire. So turned on you’re dumb, there is no thought in your head other than Eddie Eddie Eddie. You want to feel him everywhere.

“That feel good?” he wonders like you aren’t moaning above him without hardly being touched.

“Mm-hmm,” you sigh with a nod. You tilt your head back down to face him and release your bottom lip from where it was caged between your teeth. “You can put your mouth on them if you want.”

And it’s not like it’s the craziest question in the world. You’re just giving him consent to touch you further, which is more than most asshole men in Hawkins wait for, but it drives Eddie absolutely wild.

He’s seen it in porn a million times over, fantasized incessantly about how a girl might feel against his tongue, his teeth. But the moment is here now, sitting right in front of him — just when he thought he might die a virgin — and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“My… My mouth?”

You nod again, quick to reassure him. “Only if you want to. You don’t have to—”

“Wanna do everything with you,” he interjects without realizing.

“Everything?” you smirk with raised brows and bright eyes. “Think you can handle that, Munson?”

Fuck no, I can barely take this, he thinks to himself.

But instead of saying all that, he just shrugs. “Got to.”

His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale that you can feel against your warmed skin as he nears you. He presses a tentative, too sweet kiss to your sternum and your eyes flutter shut. Not out of pleasure maybe, but from the sheer softness of his touch.

It feels illegal to be handled so gently, like you were some endangered species that he had to be careful with. There’s a lingering sense of undeserving that you have to bat away.

He’s reserved with his kisses at first, only brushing his lips against your tits like he’s trying to commit how they feel to his memory. You only wish he’d do more, leave you whining and gleaming with his spit.

But there’s something spellbinding about his meticulous touches, like he’s trying to wind you up until you snap. You like that.

So be it, if you have to suffer through some teasing, as long as he’ll break you after.

His tongue darts at against your sternum and you moan.

It was accidental, of course, he was just wetting his drying lips, but you seemed to enjoy it. So he keeps doing it.

He lets himself become more assured in the way he touches you, because you seem to like everything he’s done so far. And when his kisses grow wetter and deeper and more passionate, you start to buck your hips against his lap.

He’s not even completely sure if you realize it.

Unthinking, he turns his head and takes your nipple into his mouth. It was instinctual more than anything, it just felt right to touch you there. It’s easy to stop overthinking when you moan louder for him.

He’s got his right hand kneading the skin of your right breast while he mouths at the left one, flicking his tongue against the delicate bud while it’s sucked between his teeth. Your cry is breathy, ethereal, heavenly. Your hands dart to his head, entwining your fingers with the curly strands as you hold him to you.

“God, you're so sweet,” he practically moans against you, reveling in your taste and the feeling of your clothed pussy against his thigh. “And sensitive— god, that’s so fucking hot.”

“Eddie,” you moan when he licks you with a flattened tongue.

He stops for a moment, looking at you with wide, twinkling, innocent fucking eyes, like he’s not effectively ruining you. “Is this good?”

“’S fucking perfect, Eds,” you manage to assure him, though it’s hard to form thoughts of any kind, much less words.

You’re still so wildly turned on from getting Eddie to come in his jeans. It’s got you so embarrassingly close to coming, but the boy mouthing at your sensitive tits doesn’t seem to care, so you don’t either.

He keeps his focus on your chest, switching between squeezing one and licking the other. The combination of his rings rutting against your nipple and his tongue playing wetly with it is a wild one.

All you can feel is Eddie. All you can think about is Eddie.

He’s got you chasing the bleary haze of pleasure against his thigh, moaning at the deviously sweet friction of your cotton panties against your clit.

“God, I’m so wet for you right now,” you moan into his ear, words slurred and quiet.

You’re not trying to drive him crazy, you just are.

He exhales deeply through his nose with his mouth still on you. His breath fans against you and makes you shiver. He grips you hips and pulls you closer to him, desperate to have you nearer like your tit isn’t in his mouth and you’re not getting off on his thigh.

You’re further against his lap now, practically sitting on his hip, and the position change puts all the more pressure on your clit. When you buck your hips against him now, that’s where you feel it all — the pleasure is so concentrated on the cotton-clad, terribly delicate button that it makes you whimper with every pass.

Eddie shows no mercy.

His large hands start to control your movements, squeezing your hip on the up stroke and pressing you harder against him, before gently releasing his hold on the down stroke.

“Eddie,” you cry fragilely.

He pulls off of your tit with a pop. “Yeah?”

“‘M so close.”

“…Okay,” he nods like an idiot, staring up at you with a gaping gaze.

Fortunately for him, your eyes are squeezed shut in bliss, so you don’t see the the brief flare of panic that flashes over his features. He tries to remember what guys do in porn when their girls start getting close.

They talk them through it, right? the stream of consciousness in his head tells him.

But here’s the thing about Eddie — the boy can’t talk to save his life. He’s good at telling off Jason Carver (because fuck that guy) and he’s even better when he’s campaigning, but put a pretty girl in front of him and the dumb facade of the snarky metalhead boy goes out the window. He’s got no earthly idea of what to say now.

So, in running theme of the entirety of this night, he just says what feels right to say.

“Can you come for me?” he asks you, sounding somehow more desperate for your pleasure than you are. “Please?”

You moan louder, hold him closer, hump his thigh him faster.

He wonders, then, if dirty talking is your thing. He makes a mental note to get better at it for you for next time — if there is a next time, the voice in his head reminds him bitterly.

He remembers that this might be the only time he’ll ever get to touch you. He fears that you’ll still think he only wanted to do this because of some stupid deal you made and never allow him the chance to prove that you’re more than just his favorite customer.

But he figures if this is the last time he gets to have you — if he can make you come so hard that you see stars, and if he can commit this whole night to memory — he’ll be the happiest dumbass alive.

“Can you come while I suck on your tits?” Eddie continues to plea before scratching your spit-soaked nipple with his teeth. Your cry racks through your chest. “—You sound so damn pretty when I do it.”

“Yes,” you moan with your head tilted towards the ceiling. He can’t tell if it’s an affirmative answer to his question or a chant of a mindless prayer. “Yes, yes, yes—”

His touch is all consuming, ardent in a way you haven’t felt before. You don’t have to work at your orgasm for it to rise within you, don’t have to think to climb the peaks of pleasure. It’s quite the opposite, really.

You don’t have to work for it, because it’s chasing you. You don’t have to think about anything, because you can’t.

There’s a fire welling within you that leaves you momentarily frightened because you haven’t felt anything like it before.

He’s long past winding you up, you fear, now he wants you to snap.

So you do.

With one final pass up his lap, you still against him, though your legs keep shaking something fierce around his thigh.

Your mouth falls open in a moan, though it doesn’t quite leave that way — you’re silent for a moment, before a meek and fragile cry escapes your throat and fills the empty trailer.

Your hips twitch in time with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Eddie stays with his mouth against your chest and grumbles a moan when he can feel the subtle throbbing of your clit against his thigh.

He doesn’t have much choice in the matter, anyway, because you keep him firmly locked to your tits with your hands in his hair while you come down from your high. He doesn’t much care either. He’d happily drool on your tits every day of the week if you’d let him.

The post-orgasm haze is slow to fade.

You’re buzzing at his touch, feeling fuzzy like you’re stranded on some white, puffy cloud. You just feel Eddie — his hands, his mouth — and that’s when you realize the hold you’ve got on him.

You’re quick to unravel your fingers from his curls and sputter out an apology even in your bleary haze. “Oh— shit— I’m so sorry—”

“No, it’s okay. I liked it,” Eddie assures as you pet his wild head. He pulls back and smiles sloppily at you with pink lips all swollen from his kisses and shiny with his spit.

“Oh?” you hum with a similar lazy grin. “You like having your hair pulled, huh? That’s good to know.”

His eyes fall back to your chest. Your tits glisten with his spit, rising and falling with each of your heavy breaths and catching the light in different places — the red lovebites he’d sucked onto your supple skin, the hardened and raw buds of your nipples.

It makes him feel like he’s claimed you in some way and the thought has him growing hard again.

He shifts his hips beneath you in attempts to soothe the ache blossoming between his legs. You twitch and breathe out an almost inaudible moan when his thigh brushes against your still sensitive pussy.

“Sorry,” he apologizes meekly, though he doesn’t really mean it. He wants to do it again, wants to make you come again, and keep making you come until you can’t decide if you’re crying for him to stop or to keep going.

He can feels your damp pussy on his leg. He wonders if you’ve stained his pants. He hopes you’ve stained his pants.

It makes his head spin to imagine what your panties must look like right now, all sticky with a wet spot in the center of the dainty cotton, your pussy drenched and gooey with your come. His mouth waters with the sudden desire to taste you.

“I made the mess,” he’d tease you with your words from earlier, slipping your drenched panties to the side and sliding a finger between your velvety lips. “Let me clean it up.”

Instead, he just apologizes like an idiot and lets you slip away.

“’S okay,” you breathe with your head tilted backward, still on the come down.

“Was that… Was that good for you?”

“Eddie,” you huff in a scold. “I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”

“…Would you?” he presses.

“Probably not,” you concede with a shrug and then look at him with a playful smile. “But it was good. It was fucking amazing. I mean, I can’t even feel my legs right now, so… You should really work on your confidence when it comes to the whole sex thing.”

He sighs. “You’re probably right.”

“Maybe I can help you...”

“Please,” he begs in a whisper and happily accepts the kiss you press to his lips. It’s slower than before, less messy but no less passionate. It’s soft and sickly sweet, a series of small pecks that makes his heart sing. He never thought someone would be this gentle with him.

The washer beeps a grating and daunting beep, beep, beep that Eddie curses because it puts an end to the sweet moment. You rise from his lap with one last, lingering kiss, and pull the hem of your skirt back down your thighs.

Still in your soaked panties and totally topless, you waltz from his living room and into the kitchen.

You bend over to retrieve his clean pants from the washing machine, momentarily flashing the supple round of your ass, before throwing the clothes into the drier. The thing rumbles lowly in the quiet and clanks every time it beats against the washer.

Eddie watches from afar, his head lolled against the back of the couch. This must be a dream, he figures, because there’s no way you’re real.

There’s an angel in his trailer, washing his cum-stained jeans after getting off on his thigh, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it.

“You’re good to get them out of the drier, yeah?”

“Yeah, I think I can do that,” he answers with a breathy laugh. “But if it means you have to stay for another hour, then no, I’ve never worked a drier in my life.”

Your smile is a sheepish one that you bite to conceal as you waltz back over to him.

You want to stay, you do, but it’s late. And his uncle is bound to come home from work in the following hours. You want Eddie when you’re allowed take your time with him, when there’s no threat that someone might catch you — no risk, no responsibilities, just two people who want to make each other feel good.

If he even wants that, you think to yourself.

The negative self-talk always seems to arrive after you’ve fucked. Most people get a taste of you and don’t go back for seconds. Why would he be any different?

You tug your sweater back over your head. Without your bra to hide you, he can see the perfect outline of your nipples through the soft material. Eddie tries not to stare.

He fails.

“I gotta get home,” you tell him as you shove your arms through the sleeves. “I’ve got a cat to feed and… everything.”

“Oh. Right… Okay.”

He sounds both disappointed and dismissive, like he wants you to stay but doesn’t care enough to make you.

You might’ve, if he’d asked, Bowie would surely survive until an extra early breakfast. You wouldn’t even need to have sex or makeout or anything, you’re all too happy just to spend time with Eddie in this rundown trailer on the wrong side of town.

But he doesn’t ask. And he won’t.

Because he doesn’t know any of that.

As far as he’s concerned, you’re in a rush to get home because you don’t want to be here anymore. Watching you get dressed, Eddie’s starting to feel like this was just a one time thing. He came, he returned the favor, and now he’s only got the memory of you twitching against him while you orgasmed with your tits in his mouth.

He grieves the moment like he’s lost something real and starts to let you leave without saying a goddamn word.

You’re standing at the screen door with your hand on the knob when he notices your pearl-colored bra strewn on the floor.

“Hey! You, uh, you left, your um…” he can’t seem to say the words as he stands with it in his hand, motioning for you to take it. You don’t make an effort to retrieve it, however, as you smile tiredly at him from across the living room.

“I kinda did that on purpose,” you confess bashfully. “So I could have an excuse to come back...”

Eddie glows red with your admission. “Oh. Well. You don’t— You don’t need an excuse to come over.”

“No?”

“No. You can just… pop in, you know, whenever,” he shrugs sheepishly, with his head to his chest and his syrup-y eyes peering through his lashes. “To smoke or… to hang out… or...”

“Fuck?” you finish with a half-sincere laugh.

Eddie shrugs again. “Whatever you wanna do.”

“You said we were gonna do everything, remember?” you remind with a teasing grin and eyes that glimmer with mischief. Eddie nods quickly, all bright and excited like a ball of sunshine and your smile grows. “I’m looking forward to it, then.”

That’s how you leave him, half-hard with the promise of more.

Eddie Munson is so in over his head he can’t breathe. He isn’t completely sure if he wants to. He’s all too happy to drown in you. And It’s scary, a fun kind of scary, like going on a rollercoaster.

He’s never felt this way before and doesn’t want it to stop.

Fuck, he can’t wait to do everything with you.

have any more virgin!eddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

#stranger things x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #virgin!eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #st oneshots <3 #published by bug

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fleet-of-fiction · 5 months

Text

Sativa

Jake Kiszka // Female Reader

An evening with Jake ends with a sensual massage. But the way he positions himself inspires you to movements neither of you expected. He wants you to let go of all your inhibitions, weaving confidence into you like a sorcerer. Armed only with his charisma and a roll of Sativa. (Blurb)

Explicit sexual content. Mild drug use/ Dom to Sub Jake / Ass play / Anal / Scratching / Edging / Sex Toys / Spitting / Spanking / Rimming / Praise

He pulled the joint away from his mouth, letting plumes of smoke dance up his lip. He inhaled it back through his nose, savouring every last drop of the delicious vapour. Courting you to join him with a promise that it would make you feel good.

You already felt good. Being in Jakes sphere was insouciant, stepping into any room where he dwelled was like casting off the shackles of any predisposition to shyness. He peeled away your layers with subtle formality, which had soon given way to absolute hedonism.

"My back hurts." He complained, propped up on his side between ruined sheets. "Why don't you put those hands to good use?"

You were sitting with your legs crossed, nursing the joint between your middle and index finger in a little white cardigan and thong. Hair in disarray, your mascara smudged beyond all rectifying. Still in the reverb of his previous touch.

"What do you want, Jake?" You asked, always treading on the fringes of his intent.

He was smirking valiantly. Already rolling onto his stomach and tucking his arms up beneath an array of pillows. His hair spilled down his back, long and dark tendrils against pink, flushed skin. A pleased little hum escaping that expectant mouth.

"I want you to figure that one out for yourself tonight, my shy little peach." He said, turning his head to the side to reveal that strict jawline in all it's flexed glory. "Why don't you tell me what I want?"

The self effacing aspect of your personality often meant that Jake would lead you into your pleasure. His dominance and assurance consumed your timid little body until it shook with unrelenting effervescence. Leaving you covered in all manner of fluid and a sense of satisfaction you simply couldn't find elsewhere.

"I think Jakey wants a back rub." You surmised perfectly, gathering his hair in your hands and sweeping it onto the pillows to reveal the smooth textures of his flesh.

He was wearing a pair of black boxer shorts, tight fitting and hugging his ass like a sweet fabric kiss. You were always drawn to the curve of it, your eyes moving south whenever he walked away from you. Your attention wholly diverted, no matter the occasion.

You took a deep hit, pulling back on the joint until the embers glowed and the paper began to sizzle. Leaning it casually on the edge of the glass ashtray on the nightstand as your head began to swim. The Sativa always made you euphoric. It made you step out of your own head and Jake knew this. Feeling like you were entirely untethered to your own insecurities as you parted your legs and straddled them over his waist.

"You're in charge now, peachy girl."

A sly little smile made it's way to the corner of your mouth. Leaning your palms into the ridges of his spine. Running them up the length of his back, fingers reaching out to coil around his shoulders. The feel of his skin smooth and soft, the sound of his breathing shallowing with each blessed stroke.

You felt the weight of his pleasure in your hands. The way he closed his eyes and let you glide a tender, arousing touch across his flesh had you feeling a power which couldn't have been handed to you from anyone who didn't possess Jake's ability to know exactly what you needed. What he needed.

"What if I'm not as shy as you perceive me to be?" You asked, winding your hips so that your thong delicately rubbed against the small of his back.

That irrepressible smirk returned to his beautiful lips.

"It's remarkable to me that you haven't taken control before." He replied casually, opening one eye to catch you lingering above him with your cardigan wide open. "I see the way you desire to see me submit."

The corresponding throb was a compelling revelation. It radiated out from the tip of your clitoris and sent pulses through the rest of your nerve endings. The mere sight of him beneath you was tantalising enough to rouse you to action. The Sativa coursing through your veins now diluted by the audacity of this man and his absolute confidence that you could ruin him.

"You're the peach, now." You whispered, pressing your front flush to his back. "I'm going to use your body any way I please."

He let out a veritable hiss as you slid back up, painting lines of red across his pale skin as your nails sunk into the flesh and left their mark. You slid the cardigan off, determined to take full advantage of his gift wrapped vulnerability. Writhing against him, running pebbled nipples down the tracks your fingers had made.

"Are you hard for me, yet?" You enquired, his body pressed into the soft mattress.

He mumbled into the pillow. His voice a low, instinctual sound that could only murmur his responses. Full coherence was suppressed, and your visceral reaction to it was to slide your moistening pussy over the peak of his ass and drag the waistband of his boxer shorts along with it.

His cock caught against the pull as you tugged them down his thighs.

"Oh, you are hard..." You realised, feeling his body shudder as you let it naturally sit between his stomach and the bed.

You marvelled at him. Picking up the joint to inhale another rush of Sativa, blowing smoke across the valley of his spine. You couldn't help but commit to memory every little sinful thing he'd ever done to you under his spell, conjuring something equally as binding that would leave him quaking into the sheets.

A wicked grin began to form as you placed the joint back down, pleased with yourself as the voices began to whisper filthy encouragement. Subtle little echoes in your mind that usually spouted doubt. You let them win this time.

"You should know how much I love this ass." You began, kneading his cheeks like fresh dough and biting your lip at the sight of how perfectly pliant the flesh was. "It deserves some worship, don't you agree?"

Jake nodded. His shoulder blades flexing to reveal a ripple of muscle that made the drip between your thighs just a little more intense. You inhaled deeply, slipping your thong to the side before sliding your legs open a little wider. Hitching yourself up onto the peak of his ass cheeks, holding your balance with a firm grip of his hair.

You held it out of his face. Intent on looking at his mounting expressions as you began to wind your hips back and forth. Sweeping your salaciously wet cunt across the curve of him. Riding him, forcing him into the mattress with your ministrations.

"You like the way my pussy feels on your ass?" You asked the question knowing he couldn't speak. "You really are a fucking peach..."

You grinded down on it. Letting the softness of each cheek press against your swollen clit. Leaving a glistening sheen of your own wetness on his skin, painting him in your arousal. Dragging your lips down between the valley of his generous rump, you could feel his body start to shudder beneath you.

"Not yet, sweet boy...not yet." You crooned, curling more of his knotted hair into your fist, pulling his head back slightly. "You just keep rutting into those sheets for me..."

With every swift motion, his body jerked. His moans coming thicker and deeper, his cock rubbing unforgivingly against the bed as you shook him with your rise and fall. Gyrating your desire all over him, slipping over the swell of his ass with your undulating open and widely spread pussy.

"Does Jakey want to get fucked?"

You stilled long enough to watch his eyes widen. Holding his hair back, his face flush with a rosy hue and sweat drenching his jawline. You watched him swallow slowly. Letting his throat flex as he drew his gaze back to where you held him down.

"I'll fuck you so good, baby. Just let me get a taste." You almost begged, reversing the roles you'd so graciously stepped into.

He considered it. His face almost unreadable as you continued to slowly writhe against him. Leaning down so that your breasts were pushed up against his back. Your teeth nibbled at his ear lobe. Warm breath inhaling and exhaling in succession against the curve of his neck.

"Worship it, then..." He uttered, his words drawing your mouth around to his.

You placed a soft, placid kiss on his waiting lips. His consent feathered out in the way his tongue grazed against yours, inviting you in. Reminding you that he had handed over the reigns. That you were consuming him that night.

You gathered all your slick onto your fingers, running them down your slit and inching them inside yourself. Letting him feel your hand on yourself while kissing him into sweet oblivion. A moment of clarity before you would steal it from him.

"Breathe in." You instructed, feeling his body rise beneath you.

On his exhale, you slipped wet fingers between his cheeks. Searching for the sweetest of the gifts he had to give up to you. There you felt it, rippled and tight for the taking. At first you teased a little, prizing him open gently and slowly with delicate finger tips that just wanted to explore.

His face was a picture. Eyes closed and lips parted. Breathing shallow and barely audible moans seeping out from behind his teeth. His brow was furrowed, like it was the sweetest agony.

"More."

You were beholden to that word. His whisper setting off within you a tidal of want. You gently allowed your middle finger to slide within him. Initially, he clenched hard against it. The sensation new and raw, but not unpleasant. You felt it on the pull back, the way he wanted so much to let himself completely go.

"Relax." You whispered into his ear, "You feel so fucking good, I swear."

Leaning up, you were able to gauge the tension in his body. When you released your grip in his hair, he sighed. Letting his face turn into the sheets, groaning into them as you slid your pussy down his thigh. The sight of your hand there on him like that, fingers splayed inside him, you'd never felt more alive.

"This ass is mine now, I claim it." You said, easing another finger inside. "Every sweet peachy rounded inch of it."

He was nodding into the pillow. Moaning pitifully. His hips moving up and down in vain attempts to release the tension in his cock. You opened him up with your free hand, spitting onto his little cherry as you pumped your middle and index in and out of him.

"I can't..." He cried, his voice breaking, his knuckles white from gripping the sheets. "Oh God... I can't hold on..."

He needed something else. Something deeper, something that would bring him to completion in a way that he'd never arrived at before. You wanted him to recall this night in the depths of his dreams in years to come. To think of it and grow hard no matter the occasion. You wanted to own a part of his soul. The way he so unbearably owned yours.

"Simmer down." You hushed, pulling out your fingers at the moment he would have succumbed. "I want you on your knees for me. Can you do that?"

He was weakened. But eager to comply. His solid cock driving your throb into desperation to be penetrated as he positioned himself on his knees, palms flat on all fours, his hair fanned down his back like dark wings. The power you felt kneeling behind him flowed freely, realising that he trusted you completely.

The joint was almost spent, but you managed to reignite it and get it burning once more. Rubbing your line of pussy hair up against his crack, taking a languid drag and exhaling it down into the space between you. You leaned forward and placed it at his lips, letting him take a puff before you would pound him into absolute submission.

You almost wished that he knew what was about to come. As you made him wait, cock twitching and leaking, returning the joint to the ash tray and rifling around in your nightstand drawer.

"I can't take much more of this." He complained, raising his head to meet the fire in your gaze.

He was met with an almighty slap. It made the most pleasing sound as the flat of your palm met his bouncy little cheek. You could see the redness raised already, his body tensed as you admonished him.

"My reverence is not for you to complain about." You said, punishing him with a hard squeeze that made him flinch. "You'll take it however I see fit to give it. Won't you?"

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, coyly smirking as you fished out the thing you were searching for.

"And besides..." You added, pulling out a phallic device that was pink and veiny, "You're going to cum so hard I'll never be able to wash these sheets. And you don't want to miss out on that, do you?"

Jakes eyes scanned the thing in your hand. Your vibrator. Perfectly shaped like a pretty cock, down to the girthy shaft and the intimidating shape of the head.

"You're going to fuck me, with that?" He swallowed hard, watching you playfully slide it across your mouth.

"It's always intimidating the first time." You mused. "When you don't know if it'll hurt. You don't know how something so big can feel so fucking good. You're afraid. And even though you know, on some subconscious level, that it'll satisfy you... You're still left wondering how."

You placated him with another sweet kiss. Running the tip down his back and rounding it through his ass cheeks, brushing it against his ripe hole.

"Tell me to stop and I will." You allowed, bringing it down even further, stroking the length of his aching cock with it.

His curiosity would always best him. You could see the way he weighed up the proposition. The way he wanted it but would stand on the periphery of the decision until he could scarcely stop himself from forcing it. The belly of the beast was rumbling. He wanted to get fucked and he wanted it nasty. But he'd never known how to ask for it.

"No, no..." He protested, licking his lips in anticipation. "Fuck me with it. Hard."

There didn't need to be any more stimulation. He was already vibrating on the highest level. The salt of the sweat on his lips was there for you to taste as you left him trembling. You could feel him sanctify himself in the sin of it, his body was yours for the taking. Sweet Jacob. Giving himself so freely was turning you on so absolutely that you almost abandoned the idea of it just to crawl beneath him and have him fill you up with that burgeoning cum.

How could you do that to him, though? To leave him wanting like that? Even as you parted his cheeks, you could feel how badly he ached for it. Needed it. And the sight was enough to lay waste to your own pangs of desire. You got down on your knees for him, too.

He bucked at the sensation of your saliva coating him. How needy it looked, a perfect tightness as you watched it twitch. You leaned in, railing your tongue over it, making him moan so loudly it was like angels descended from heaven. You spat on it and licked it around, sucked on it and made him quiver under your mouth. Lapping his asshole like a cherry dessert.

His pre-cum was dripping down his shaft. You gathered it up, using it to your advantage. Your juice and his, your mouth moving it around his little cleft. Emboldened by the sounds he was making. Masculine moans. Perfectly pitched. Fuelling you.

"Oh fuck, Jake..." You chimed, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "You make me want to ruin your ass, you sound so fucking good..."

He couldn't do anything else but beg. "Fuck me, little peach. Go on...I want you to."

You gripped the vibrator at the base. Careful to inch it slowly. His ass was positively saturated, you gave the pretty pink tip an errant lick before pushing it against his waiting door.

"There you go, Jakey." You soothed, letting it slide inside him. "How does that feel?"

A low, gut wrenching sound escaped his lips. Like an animal baring it's teeth. He reached up and took his cock in his hand as you bottomed out. All of it making you tantalising closer to your own orgasm. Rooted to the spot as you pulled it back out, watching the drag of his ass hole, keeping it lubricated with spit as you shoved it back in, just a little bit harder.

"Feels fucking amazing." He growled, jerking himself off to the beat of your thrusts. "Damn, you know how to fuck me so good with that."

You couldn't help yourself. Nor did you want to stop it from happening precisely the way you'd imagined it. Your hand moving viciously. Fucking him so hard the bed shook, and he lilted down onto his forearm as he worked himself up into a frenzy. Taking his pounding so well you couldn't help but verbally praise him.

"Fucking take it..." You ordered, smoothing down his hair with your free hand so that you could see the adoration of you on his face. "Look at you, taking it so fucking well..."

He was close. The way he looked at you, that sweet agony intensifying, you punched the vibrator inside him so hard he wailed a battle cry that was pleasure personified. He came so hard, so meticulously. Spurting into the sheet, his hand wrapped around his cock until it was pumped to completion. Breathing so hard it was like he'd rutted himself into a state so heightened he could barely breathe.

You held him close as he calmed. "Hold still."

You flicked the vibrator to life. The whirring buzz filling the silence where Jakes laboured breath lingered. He shuddered at the feeling of it. His cum still dripping off the tip of his softening cock. You pulled it out a little slowly, letting the tip remain inside him while you straddled the part of it that was hanging out. Clenching it between your thighs, letting it sit against your begging clit.

You rubbed yourself against it, letting him hold it there for you. Moving yourself against the part of the shaft that you could feel. Your body against his, hands on his hips as if you were fucking him doggystyle.

You let him know when you were about to cum. Signalling it with a grip so tight you left bruises. The orgasm lashing you in a wave so abundantly high it crashed down with a force so mighty it made you fall back, giggling as he removed the vibrator himself.

All his submission gone, you could see him smugly return to the dominating man you had come to know. He tossed the vibrator onto the nightstand and picked up the now dead joint. Laying there naked and satisfied, a newly formed secret between the two of you planting seeds that existed in subtle looks you exchanged from either side of the bed.

"Dare I ask where that smutty little finish came from?" He asked, picking up his rolling papers to create a fresh smoke.

You shrugged. Inhaling the scent of sex, letting your thong drift back over your core. Nuzzling into the curve of his arm as you watched him roll.

"I told you." You sighed, looking up at him through hooded eyes. "I'm not as shy as you perceive me to be."

The End.

@thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut #greta van smut #gvf smut #greta van fic

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emeritusemeritus · 2 months

Note

Could I request a Fred Weasley x reader where they’re at the burrow and it’s just like tooth rotting fluff?? Like domestic and cute and I want to claw out my own eyeballs, ya know?

My love, I can certainly do Fred fluff for you! 🖤

Warnings: None? Tooth rotting fluff and happy families. Banter and teasing with George. A whole lot of love from Fred.

Word count: 943

The Burrow was the pinnacle of comfort in your mind. The sight, the textures, the smells, everything about it was warm and homely. Everything in the Burrow was a culmination of thrift and creation, table cloths made from old curtains, cushion covers from a gifted bedspread, home knitted clothes and a weird and wonderful collection of odd and non-matching china that only added to the unique and homely feel. Each corner, scuff on the floor, mark on the door frames had a story, a history and was well loved and tended to.

Your favourite piece in the entire Burrow was a soft blanket in the twins room, a complete mismatch of fabric that had been quilted together with the softest lining you'd ever felt. It was cozy, warm and smelt like home. Molly had very kindly gifted you a replica one year for Christmas that you'd fallen in love with and been abundantly thankful for, tears welling in your eyes as you threw your arms around her on pure appreciation. But nothing compared to the original, the scent of Fred imprinted into the blanket. The memory of cuddling under the blanket as you watched the rain fall on the wooden window, completely at peace with Fred arms holding you tight was almost imprinted onto the blanket itself, the reason why the new one just couldn't compare.

"Are you leaving that blanket any time this week?" George says with a smirk, stepping into his room and throwing himself down on the opposite bed whilst you snuggled into Fred's with the blanket.

"Nope," you replied with a grin, "I want to be buried in this blanket."

"Reckon it's had more cuddles that me this entire week," Fred says from the doorway, a smirk on his face as he watches in on you and George.

"Oh shove off," you say with a roll of your eyes; reaching out with your sock covered toes to try and playfully jab him.

"That's a bloody lie, you've both been joined at the hip since you got here," George snarks playfully, "it's actually quite disgusting."

"Aww no need to be jealous Georgie, you'll have him all to yourself again soon," you tease, earning a pillow thrown in your direction that makes you all chuckle. You burst out laughing when Fred suddenly lunges at George trying to hug him as he squirms trying to get away from his slightly older brother.

"If you wanted a cuddle Georgie you just had to ask."

"Shove off," he says, trying to sound out out but the smile on his face says otherwise.

"Or was it her you wanted to cuddle?" Fred adds, gesturing to you with a nod of his head, as he throws himself backwards onto the bed, falling in your lap. "I'm used to sharing mate but even I've got boundaries."

"Gits, both of you," George says, trying to hide him smirk as you both laugh. Fred's hand immediately reaches out for you, holding your leg through the blanket as your hand finds its way into his hair, stroking and messing the soft strands.

"Dinners ready!" You hear Molly call from down the stairs and mere seconds later George is up off the bed and running down the stairs before Fred has even moved a muscle.

"Come on you great oaf I'm starving," you say with a chuckle, trying to push him off you as he resists, dead weighting on top of you.

"So rude princess," he says with a smirk, slowly getting up from your lap, reaching for your hand and pulling you up.

Settling down at the dinner table with six of the Weasleys, each of you served up with a massive portion of home cooked food, you never wanted to leave. Ron and Ginny were arguing about some quidditch non-issue, George and Fred were whispering amongst themselves about an idea they'd had for their growing business, Molly was busy fussing about the kitchen as Arthur tried to sneakily read the daily prophet under the table without his wife seeing. It was chaos in the most wonderful way. You wanted this forever, wanted this for yourself. You looked at Fred, hoping that one day you'd be able to have all of this with him; a Weasley in your own right, your own personal branch of Weasley's all with red hair and big smiles like their dad.

"Y/n dear, you don't have to help," Molly says with a smile as you start clearing away and helping, wanting to pull your weight.

Fred appears behind you, linking his arms around your waist as you stand scrubbing the pots from dinner, the rest of the family having dispersed for the evening. He leans down, kisses your head and rests his chin on your shoulder as he begins pressing little kisses to the side of your neck making you squirm and laugh from the ticklish sensation.

"Caught you staring at me earlier princess, nice thoughts?”

You can almost hear the smirk on his face as his nose ghosts over your ear and hair, snuggling into the crook of your neck.

“I want this, in our future, all of this,” you say with a smile on your face. He slowly turns you around, placing a large hand on your hip as you reach fir the tea towel and dry your hands before slinging your arms around his neck, body pressed between him and the counter.

The smile on his face is your favourite sight, the smile reserved only for you. Both drunk on love and each other, you share a tender kiss.

“I’ll give you everything sweetheart, all of this and more.”

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #requests

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buckys-little-belle · 1 year

Note

What if reader was autistic and had issues with fabrics and feels so buckys arm was actually a way for them to calm down

A Cold Calm Down

Bucky Barnes x Little!Reader (They/Them pronouns used)

Notes - As someone who has struggled with sensory issues, especially clothing related, this fic and request hold a really special little spot in my heart <3

Warning - Vague mentions of fabric textures, Bucky being self conscious of his Metal arm

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

"What about that one Bub?" Bucky asked as he pointed towards a blue t-shirt.

Y/n's hand slid down the sleeve quickly before pulling back to grab Buck's. "I's not right." They frowned, their chest feeling heavy as they remembered the last two shirts.

Bucky felt a few more before landing on a long sleeve. "Maybe this one?" He took a step back to let Y/nm explore on their own.

"I can't, Daddy, they all wrong!" Y/n sounded completely defeated as they ran back to Bucky. "They's so wrong." They cried, fumbling with Bucky's left glove before stuffing it in their pocket.

Bucky stood still, unsure about how he felt with his metal arm being uncovered. But with one look down, Y/n's hand in his, their breathing suddenly more stable, he felt okay. "Do you want to try another store? Or wait a few minutes?" Bucky asked as Y/n's second hand found it's way under his jacket and onto more metal, their body slowly melting against his.

"I feel really ... really full." Y/n mumbled against Bucky's shoulder, their fingers tracing the little groves of his arm.

Bucky smiled slightly, enjoying his Bub's take on 'overwhelmed'. "Okay, then let's take some deep breaths." He turned his body so Y/n was leaned against his chest instead of his shoulder, their hands still gripping his own.

"Follow you." They whispered.

"Yes, follow me." He repeated, his chest rising slowly, air filling his lungs then holding and then releasing. The two of them standing face to face as they took a moment.

Y/n raised their head, Bucky's metal arm warm where their fingers had been, and his eyes on them. "Feels better." They smiled at him.

"Good." He leaned down to kiss the top of their head before continuing. "Would you like to try again? Or go and get a donut?" Y/n couldn't hide their thought as they smirked then frowned. "You did a good job Bub." He insisted. "We can always come back another day, okay?" He didn't want to push them to do something he knew they struggled with. In fact he was very proud at how well they did, not only in a new store, touching new fabrics, he was also proud that they knew when they needed a break, something Y/n and him had been working on.

"Donuts 'hen." They smiled, their second hand leaving Bucky's arm, but their first still holding onto his hand firmly. "Please."

"Okay, donuts it is." Bucky chuckled as he watched Y/n lean their weight onto their heels, a sign they were ready to move. "Anything for you Bub." He whispered.

#buckys little belle #age regression fic #age regression #little!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x little!reader #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x little!reader #bucky barnes age regression #little reader #little fic #little space #marvel

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

Text

Just Within Your Reach

Stargazers, New and Old was so well received that I decided to make this into a trilogy. Hope you all enjoy part 2, and eagerly await the (most likely NSFW) third part! Check it out on AO3 here!

Vash/Reader, 3,300+ words, GN! Reader, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Minor Injuries, hes so in love with you and youre the only one who cant tell

“Almost there, Vash. Just, hfffhhh, a few more steps. I got you.”

“It’s-ghh, It’s fine, I’m fine.”

“You are not fine. So stop saying that!”

You tried your best not to jam Vash’s armored shoulder against the doorframe, but you couldn’t help but scrape past it a bit as you helped him stumble into the dark hotel room. A step from the bed he collapsed forward out of your grasp, slumping motionless into the creaky mattress with another pained huff. You tossed his bag, which had been slung over your shoulder, onto the floor by the bedside.

“Can you take your jacket off by yourself?”

“‘M fine…” He slurred, face smushed into the covers. “I patch up quick, it’s no big deal.”

“Vash. Coat.”

As he rolled over he failed to stifle a pained hiss, and you saw the blood that had once been smeared across his forehead was now stained into the quilt top. Knowing Vash for as long as you had, you knew that ‘lucky’ was quite possibly the worst way he could ever be described. And yet, regardless of what sort of predicament he would find himself in, he seemed to be able to get out of it with no more than a few scrapes and bumps, no worse for wear.

Not this time.

You at least had the mercy of knowing none of the bullets that had been shot at him had fully connected, but you knew at least one of them grazed his shoulder far too close for your comfort. That, combined with the blunt force trauma when he went through the saloon wall and the way he’d had to lean the majority of his body weight on you as he limped up the stairs of the hotel, you knew that he needed to get patched up and quick.

“Please Vash, I just need you to sit up for a second, okay? Just for a minute. I need to take off your coat.”

“...You really don’t want to see that.” He rasped, and as you flicked the bedside lamp on you could see the way his face had screwed up in apprehension, smeared blood behind his glasses only making his unease more disconcerting. It made your own stomach twist in a way you certainly didn’t like.

“Let me be the judge of that, at least.” You countered. After a long, silent moment, Vash sighed, crawling into a pained sitting position and letting his signature coat slump off of his still-flesh shoulder. Beneath the coat he wore a high-necked, black tank top that left you easy access to the open wound. You tugged away the blood-sticky fabric around his upper arm to reveal a deep, jagged gash oozing blood down the length of his bicep. It almost looked singed around the edges, brackish and sooty and red amidst a field of pale skin and faded, puckered scar tissue.

Vash only pulled off the one sleeve, so you circled the bed and wrestled with the other, his expression guarded and distant as you did. The pauldron that guarded his shoulder clattered noisily to the floor as you tugged the jacket away to reveal his other shoulder. No new injuries that you could see on the surface, but it was equally scarred and pocked, especially around the junction where his prosthetic met skin.

There were so many scars. Long, thin gashes from knives and blades, small round starbursts from bullet holes, patches of eternally reddened skin, textured and misshapen in the way only a burn could manifest. And that was just on his arms…

“It’s… Not something I like many people to see. Or anyone, really.” You didn’t realize you were tracing your fingers across that junction until he’d spoken up, and you jerked your fingers away like you yourself had been burned.

“...Do they still hurt?”

“Sometimes. When it's too hot out. They can get kind of itchy.”

“Okay… Okay. You have a first aid kit, right?” You didn’t have time to unpack all of Vash’s scars, and by the way he’d curled in on himself and reduced to short, clipped sentences, you knew he really didn’t want to either. Instead you busied yourself in his travel bag, pushing past well-worn clothes and camping supplies and a slew of loose bullets until you found the small metal container. It rattled as you forced the latches open, and you knew the sparseness of it was something you’d have to talk to Vash about later, but not right now.

Vash had leaned back against the bed frame, head tipped back and eyelids fluttering dangerously close to fully closed. You snapped your fingers in front of his face and watched as his gaze shifted from bleary and distant to at least semi-focused on you.

‘Vash, please. Just stay awake until I’m done, okay? Then you can rest. Please.” You begged, hands shaking as you unrolled the spool of bandages. There had to be something in here you could use to disinfect the wound before you wrapped it, if you just… “Hold on. Don’t move.”

The bathroom was cramped and tight, a slim shower, toilet, and sink all crammed into a closet-sized space. But there was a stack of washcloths on the counter and you quickly wet one in the sink before bringing it back to the bedside. There you found Vash squinting in the cozy glow of the lamp, glasses abandoned on the nightstand as he struggled to wrap his wound with one hand.

“What did I say?” You snapped, ripping the bandages from his grasp. “Can’t you just sit still for a minute?”

He blinked at you, clearly shocked as his hand gently fell back to the bed. You’d never yelled at him like that before, not like you'd meant it. Not for as long as he’d known you. An immediate rush of guilt flooded your veins, but you stomped it down as you knelt on the bedside next to his arm.

“You have to clean it first… Idiot.”

“Ah… Sorry.” He watched in silence as you dabbed the wound, flinching every once and a while as you tried to wipe the excess blood away as gently as you could with these scratchy hotel towels. Once you found the wound to be suitably cleaned (or at least as well as you could for the meager supplies you had) you began winding bandages around his shoulder. He continued to watch you as you worked, eyes trained on the way your fingers shivered. “I made you mad.”

You huffed. “Cause you won’t let me help you. You’re basically concussed and you’re trying to brush me off like it’s nothing!”

“It’s really-”

“If you say ‘it’s not a big deal’ one more time I’m gonna hit you.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry either. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m just… Not good at letting people worry about me, I guess.”

“Well-” You stammered, taping the edge of the bandage in place. Now that the immediate danger had passed, the bravado seemed to rush out of you in a single, weary burst. You didn’t have the energy to be angry anymore, you were just relieved he was alright. “-Well get used to it.”

He laughed, small and tired, and slumped against the headboard again as soon as you were finished. Without his glasses and his oversized coat he looked so soft, so unlike the incredible bombast you were used to from him. He just looked like… Like a person. Not the world’s best gunman, certainly not the Humanoid Typhoon. Just like… Vash. Just the Vash that liked to pet the Thomases bridled up outside whatever town you'd blown into, the Vash who taught you how to balance a spoon on your nose one morning while waiting for breakfast, the Vash that leaned his body into yours every night now that he knew just how cold you would get, never asking for anything in return, constantly shouldering more and more with nothing but a smile on his face.

You sniffed, fighting back the stinging behind your eyes as you wiped your hands on the bloodstained washcloth. Moving down to the foot of the bed, you began undoing the knot of one of Vash's boots. He sat up a little straighter at that, reaching out instinctively with his injured arm only to flinch at the jolt of pain that shot up it.

"Ah, you don't…" Before he could finish his sentence you gave him a glare, daring him to try and stop you from helping a second time. He couldn't help but smile a little at your determination, despite himself. "...Okay. Thank you."

He didn't have to thank you, you'd do anything and more for him in a heartbeat if he'd just ask for once. But that wasn't the type of guy Vash was, and you weren't about to start picking an argument over this topic. Instead, as you worked, you quietly asked, "How often do you get hurt this bad… and just not tell me?"

By the way he stiffened you could tell you weren't going to like the answer. But you waited anyway, silently pulling off his unlaced left boot and letting it thunk to the floor before starting on the right.

"Just don't want you to worry about stuff like that." He finally responded.

"I'm gonna worry either way. What if I did the same thing, how would you feel?"

"It's not the same, though."

"To me it is!" You gripped his laces tight, staring him dead in the eyes. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything, you know. I just want you to trust me."

"I do!" He shot up suddenly, metal hand closing quickly but incredibly gently around one of your own. "I do trust you! So much…"

You turned your hand to lace your fingers with his, staring down at the blue-green metal as you drew your thumb back and forth over it. "Then please be more open with me. Or try at least. Like I said, you don't have to tell me everything. But I care, Vash. I care about you, I care when you're hurt, and I want you to know you can rely on me when you need it. I just need you to try."

Staring down at the back of his metal palm, you watched a single drop of water plink against its surface. Then a second, then a third. A sharp sniffle forced your gaze upwards, where you found Vash's face blotchy and dribbling tears around a big, toothy smile.

"Vash?!"

"Ah! Sorry, sorry…" He untangled his hand from yours to scrub at his face, wipe away excess tears. "...I told you, I'm not really used to this-oh…"

Cutting him off mid-explanation, you lurched forward and took Vash into your arms, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as you rubbed his back with both hands. His breath hitched softly again as you petted him.

"You're so nice to everyone but yourself…" You mumbled, voice muffled into soft, warm skin.

"Ah… I guess I am." He responded, for he didn't know what else to say.

You lost track of time sitting like that, Vash cradled in your arms, you clinging to him like you were afraid he was going to dissolve into sand between your fingertips. But eventually you could feel him yawn against you, a quiet little thing he failed to completely stifle. Slowly, reluctantly, you pulled back.

"Wanna get to bed?" You asked. Vash had an unfamiliar expression on his face, something longing, almost disappointed? You didn't want to get your hopes up, as he quickly covered it with another soft smile.

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat. I'll change real quick, then the bathroom's all yours."

He stood up carefully, testing the waters. Taking a few unsteady steps to his bag, he knelt to fish out your pajamas to pass to you before grabbing his own. For a moment his hand hovered where it was outstretched to you, even after you'd taken your clothes. Then he seemed to find himself again, give you a small nod, and make his way over into the small bathroom. The door slid shut with a small click, and you were left alone.

You did your best to busy yourself, packing the first-aid kit, setting his boots by the door, hanging his jacket on the spindly coat rack. Your fingers caught the new tear in the fabric, wet and dark with blood. He'd probably patch it himself in the morning, if he was able to, so you dabbed at the stain as best you could with the washcloth and left it hanging to dry in the corner.

When the bathroom door opened again you found Vash looking slightly hazy behind the eyes, but no worse for wear. His long shirt and pants draped over his frame once again hid any hint of a scar or wound from you as he made his way carefully back to the bed, collapsing into it with a loud squealing of springs.

"All yours…" He mumbled, shifting his head to the side to watch you as you made your way towards the bathroom. You could feel his soft, aqua gaze upon you until the minute you shut the door and closed yourself into the tiny space. All at once reality seemed to hit you, a hundred spiraling emotions threatening to drown where you stood. Vash could have died but he didn't and you helped him and he thanked you and you yelled at him and patched him up and hugged him and he hugged you back. It was certainly a lot to take in, and you slumped to a seat on the closed toilet and put your head down into your hands as you tried to steady your breathing.

But if you stayed in here for too long he'd get worried. So you only allowed yourself a small crisis of emotions before standing up again, wrestling into your pajamas as your day clothes dropped to the floor, thick with sweat and desert dust and a little bit of Vash's blood on the sleeve of your shirt. You scrubbed your face with a clean washcloth and rinsed the metallic tang of gunpowder and blood from your mouth in the sink, hunched over it like a dying animal as you took every possible last second you could to pull yourself back together. You were okay. Vash was okay.

His eyes were still on you when you finally opened the door again, his expression so soft it almost made you turn straight back around and slam it shut. Did he even know the effect he had on you? It wasn't like you were trying to make it obvious, but…

"You look tired." He murmured.

"Long day." You replied, pulling a sleepy chuckle from Vash's mouth. The scramble into the hotel was less of a "pick a room" event and more of a "give us the first room available" one, and the distinct lack of a second bed had not escaped your notice. But you weren’t going to demand Vash sleep on the floor, not after what he’d been through today. You wrestled out yours and Vash’s sleeping bags from the rucksack, bundling up your own into a makeshift pillow. “My back’s gonna hate me in the morning though.”

“What are you doing down there?”

“Um… Sleeping? This is a single room, Vash. It’s all they had.”

"No no no, hold on a minute. I'm not letting you sleep on the floor. You're taking the-gh!" He tried to prop himself back up into a seated position, wincing when he put pressure on his bad arm.

"And that's why I'm sleeping down here." You responded. He frowned at you as you continued to situate yourself. "Besides, our only other option is to share the bed."

"Then let's do that!"

You froze, your shocked gaze flying up to meet his own. He seemed to need a second to process how what he'd said had actually sounded, because you could watch in real time as his face got redder and redder. He stammered, metal hand scratching the back of his neck as his gaze flitted around the room, landing anywhere but on you.

"I-I mean, we've shared a sleeping bag before and that's no big deal! How is this different? And it's the least I can do after you patched me up, isn't it? It's only fair."

You hoped you didn't look as shellshocked, or as eager, as you were actually feeling. Seeing Vash get flustered like this was a rare treat in and of itself, but that fluster being directed at you? That was something new.

'Don't get your hopes up.' A little voice in the back of your head prodded. 'You know how Vash is. He doesn't want to get attached.'

But you wanted. Oh, how you wanted.

"If… if it's okay with you, then I guess it's alright."

Getting to your feet, suddenly you were the one feeling shaky as you clicked off the bedside lamp once more and plunged the small room into crisp, white moonlight.

"Yeah." He responded, and for a moment, just one moment, you let yourself wonder; Did he find you as beautiful silhouetted by the pale moon's glow as you found him? "C'mere."

Vash shifted back and lifted the blankets as you put a knee up on the bed, then the other, slipping in along his right side. You did your best to keep a comfortable distance as he pulled the sheets back over you both, leaving a bit of breathing space for your continued sanity. He smiled at you, not the big, goofy grin he usually gave, but that much rarer, softer little thing that made you feel like your heart was going to twist its way straight up from your ribcage and out your mouth. He watched you as you cozied yourself in, shifting a bit to get comfortable, pulling the blankets up to your chin as if they would help hide your emotions.

"You probably shouldn't lay on your bad arm." You finally murmured.

"But if I lay on my other arm then I can't look at you!" There was a touch of that familiar teasing in his tone, but the implication alone was enough to give you goosebumps. So you just stuck your tongue out at him and thumped him on the chest with a loose fist.

"Roll over, dummy. I don't want you to fuck up your arm any more than it already is."

"Ahh, so mean to me! I'm injured, you know!" But he relented and rolled over despite his whines. With his face now turned away you couldn't tell if the touch of disappointment in his tone was further teasing or something more genuine, though you had the feeling you'd struggle to tell the difference either way. But even a few inches away you could feel the warmth radiating off of Vash, that familiar sunny heat.

You wanted. You wanted. And in your heart you knew you could not have him, not forever. But for this moment, for this night, for this single bubble of peace in between moments of chaos, you just let yourself have. Inching forward, you rested your forehead in the valley of his shoulder blades, your arm draping loosely around his middle.

Vash's breath hitched hard; you could feel it ripple through his back.

"You're really warm." You just murmured. He nodded, and said nothing. For a moment you debated drawing back again, removing yourself from his space before you did or said something that would permanently fracture the careful balance you'd spent all this time building with him, the pinpoints of trust, of touch, reaching for just enough but never pushing too far. Had you pushed too far?

But instead you heard a soft, metallic creak, and felt cool, inorganic fingers slip into your own. He laced them with yours lightly, just enough to keep you from pulling away. Through his shoulder blades you could swear his heart was thundering in time with your own.

"You too." He murmured. "You're warm too."

And together, you fell asleep.

#trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #vash trigun #vash #my writing #vash fic #long post

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