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daswarschonkaputt · 2 years

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on the rocks sneak peak ii: wip weds edition

on the rocks | kinn/porsche/tay | wip, snippet ~950 words

Tay’s trying to drow his sorrows when he meets an attractive apparently-straight bartender who fills him with want -- and then things get complicated.

Chay enters the kitchen a few minutes after Porsche has started cooking, eyes wide and curious as he watches Tay. Tay smiles at him.

Chay doesn’t smile back. He keeps watching Tay, quietly taking the seat furthest from him. It places him between Tay and his brother, his back to Porsche.

Porsche glances over his shoulder from where he’s stirring a pot on the stove. “Did you get your assignment printed?” he asks.

Chay’s eyes flick off Tay momentarily. “It’s in my bag.”

“Are you okay to walk to school today? I have to drop Tay at Yok’s.”

“P’Tay?”

“My guest.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, I can walk.”

“Text me when you get there safely.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not trying to be a nag, Chay, it’s just with Uncle Thee out—”

“I said okay, hia.”

This is—this is the worst thing to happen to Tay in a long time. It’s—domestic, and sweet, and comfortable, and doing absolutely nothing to help Tay move past his building attraction to Porsche.

Because, what—Porsche worked a shift at a bar until closing time, wrestled a drunk man onto his couch, caught a few hours sleep, and then hauled his body out of bed to help his little brother print his homework and make him breakfast before school?

Tay never thought the barefoot-in-the-kitchen thing would do it for him until this very moment, when he’s realising it’s doing everything for him.

Something is placed on the table in front of him, jolting Tay out of his thoughts. It’s a steaming bowl of congee, with two poached eggs and a heaping of scallions sprinkled over the top. It smells delicious.

Tay looks up at Porsche, who’s already dropping into the chair next to his brother, bowls of congee in front of them.

Tay dips his spoon in, and mechanically raises it to his mouth. It scalds his tongue, but he swallows it nonetheless.

“Good?”

Tay makes himself smile. “Good.”

He’s not doing this. He can’t. He is not getting his feelings bent out of shape by a straight boy. It doesn’t matter if he’s a good brother. It doesn’t matter if he cooks. Tay is not going to pine after the bartender he spilled his most humiliating secrets to. He is not doing this when he knows damn well he’s going to have to turn around and go right back to Time.

It’s—already far too messy, to be sat here with Porsche, eating breakfast. Porsche was meant to be a contained fantasy – a momentary wondering, geographically confined to a bar Tay was never going to go back to. Something he could attribute to his own drunken stupidity.

Tay doesn’t want to have to live with Porsche in his head, a potentiality lost, and spend the next decade of his life trying to make Time come out on top.

It makes the congee turn to sludge in his mouth. Tay lowers his spoon, and tries not to let his feelings show on his face.

“—to my parent-teacher evening?” Chay’s asking. Tay’s missed the beginning of the conversation.

Porsche frowns. “I thought we agreed Uncle Thee would go to that.”

“Teacher Ot isn’t going to be there, this time. His wife just had a baby.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble for you at school,” Porsche says. “Your teachers prefer to deal with Uncle. A lot of them still remember teaching me. They get weird about it.”

Chay looks down at his bowl, spoon hovering above it. “It’s—it’s okay if you can’t come,” he says. “Or if you don’t want to. It’s just—do we even know if Uncle Thee’s going to show up?”

“I’ll talk to him. He’s just—busy, with work, and things.”

“Sure.”

“Chay.”

Chay looks up from his bowl, and meets eyes with Tay. He looks away. “Sorry,” he says. “Let’s talk about this later.”

Porsche’s eyes flick over to Tay as well. “Okay,” he agrees easily. “Later.”

Conversation stalls.

Tay looks down at his congee and forces himself to concentrate on eating.

Eventually, Chay pushes his chair back. “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

Tay watches him leave. “I’m sorry,” he says to Porsche, once Chay is gone. “I didn’t want to disrupt your morning.”

Porsche starts gathering up the crockery from breakfast. “It’s fine,” he says. “Chay’s just a bit shy. I don’t usually bring people home he doesn’t know.” He carries the saucepan, and their bowls to the sink. “He was meant to be sleeping over at a friend’s last night, but he came back early to work on an essay. No offence, but I probably wouldn’t have brought you home if I’d known he was here.”

“None taken.”

“Once he’s left, we can head off to Yok’s,” Porsche says. “You’re fine if we take my motorcycle, right?”

Tay very carefully does not think about Porsche on a motorcycle, and even more carefully does not consider himself behind him, curled around him. “Sure.”

Porsche pauses, hesitating. “Tay,” he says. “About last night—”

But the ending of that sentence is cut off by a loud buzzing sound.

Tay frowns. “Is that—”

“Doorbell,” Porsche says. He shifts around Tay’s frame to peer out the kitchen window. Whatever he sees on the driveway outside the house makes him frown. “Shit.”

Tay turns to look, but Porsche catches his wrist.

“Do me a favour?” Porsche asks, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Could you go upstairs to Chay’s room, and tell him Uncle Thee’s friends have come by for a visit? He’ll know what to do.”

Something’s wrong. Tay goes to turn once more, but Porsche tugs him back.

“Please?” Porsche presses.

Tay takes one look at his face and then crumbles. He goes.

#fic: on the rocks #kaputt wip weds #kaputt writes stuff #kinnporsche fic #kinnportay #kinnporsche #included in this fic is my thesis statement on why uncle thee was a piece of shit #peer-reviewed by tay #also i thought after finishing between the sheets my search history would recover #instead i spent a lot of time researching loan sharks in thailand how they operate what their interest rates are etc etc etc #there were other things!#thai honourifics!#flowering trees of thailand and what months they flower in #the availability of fresh cherries #(i just think it'd be neat if tay could tie a knot in a cherry stem... you know. for plot reasons.)#international courses at thailand's top universities and their tuition #oh and i read a whole bunch of bartending blogs about cocktails and flavour profiles #i do not drink and nothing makes me realise the gaps in my education more than having to write abt a bartender #i think i am incapable of writing a fic without research

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anielskaaniela · 1 month

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Chic Bow Tie Clasps: Create Unique Bow Button Designs

In this post, you will learn how to sew fabric chic bow tie clasps with free PDF pattern. Welcome to the world of creative sewing! Whether you’re a seasoned seamstress or picking up a needle for the first time, this step-by-step tutorial is designed to guide you through the delightful process of crafting chic bow tie clasps. Perfect for adding a touch of elegance to any garment, these unique bow…

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#Beginner-Friendly Sewing Instructions #Chic Bow Tie Clasps Tutorial #DIY Fashionable Blouse Buttons #Easy Bow Knot Tutorial for Jumpsuits #Free Printable Bow Tie Pattern #How to Sew Bow Knots for Tops #Sewing Bow Tie Closures for Dresses #Step-by-Step Bow Clasp Video #Transform Your Wardrobe with Bow Ties #Unique Bow Button Design Guide

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jadeclaymoresworld · 1 year

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When your hair causes you dysphoria late at night that you end up having a dream where you wear a frilly summer dress and that causes you to wake up feeling like absolute shit, because even if you weren't fat there is no way in hell you'd ever be caught dead in a dress.

#personal #dysphoria #body dysphoria #hair dysphoria #today is not a good day to be me #literally had to tie my hair up into a top knot because i cant have it touching my face or neck today #because thst will just make everything worse #i need a hair cut so so badly

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kiboufashion · 8 months

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KIBO Women's Printed Rust Tie Knot Long Sleeve Top

Care Instructions: Machine Wash

Fit Type: Relaxed Fit

Explore the collection of beautifully designed western wear from KIBO on AMAZON.

Each piece is elegantly crafted and will surely add - your wardrobe.

Top fabric is Crepe.

KIBO as a brand brings you quality and affordability.

#Tie Knot Long Sleeve Top #western wear #kibou fashion

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unethicalexperiments · 1 year

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nothings more annoying than accidentally sewing your own finger into whatever you’re working on

#talking to myself #just in the way where it’s like the top layer of skin so you don’t even feel it #i’m still so annoyed i forgot my sewing machine at my parents house #and they won’t ship it to me. but it’s expensive as hell to ship so i’m not mad at them about it just at myself #i cannot tell you how many times i’ve had to fix the pockets of my fucking jacket by hand #and my hands shake so much when i go to tie the knot at the end i can never tie it right :/

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applejuicebegood · 24 days

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Jason Showing his Love for You

Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Sharing. Sharing his jackets, his cologne, his food - he loves sharing the intimate material aspects of his life. You'll mention being thirsty whilst you guys are walking through the park and he's already uncapping his water bottle for you. You complain to him that your workplace doesn't have proper heating for the winter month and he's already packing one of his hoodies and some hand-warmers in your bag.

Big 'Act's of service' kinda guy. Adores making you dinner and memorising your favourite recipes (you have bought him this red apron from the local farmers market with a robin feather on the front pocket and he immediately asked you if he could have your ring size). Has a small box under the stove of both of your favourite meals written on small cue cards.

Carries your bags if you're out shopping or if he's walking you home from work.

If you're feeling tense or overly exhausted, he always offers a massage. He finds it that much more intimate and loving. To dip and press his fingers into the knots tightening your soft flesh and to hear your groan and sigh in relief, it's a reminder to him that his body doesn't always have to be used for violence and the installation of fear. It can be used as a source of comfort and release - as evident when you pull him down against your chest, after he's put away the lotion, to lay on top of you like a big weighted blanket.

He'll take pictures of flowers and sunsets over water and send them to you randomly throughout the week with the fallow up text being something like 'reminded me of you' 'it looked like your eye-colour'.

Besides that, his camera roll is mostly just you. Pictures of you asleep on his chest or in the middle of the biggest fit of laughter. He's got a few polaroids stashed in his wallet of you that he pulls out on week-long missions with his brothers. To remind himself that he's got something to get back to.

He'll always tie your shoes if the laces come undone or helps you stand up in heels. He's always worried about you if the two of you are at one of his Dad's galla's (for many reasons not included) and your in heels - because he knows how painful it can get. Once you guys get back to your house, he would sweep you into his arms after you've kicked off your heels just so you wouldn't have to stand and stumble for a second longer.

Helps take off your jewelry and makeup as you help him out of his suite.

Listens to your playlists and favourite albums so that you guys can sing along together during late night baking attempts.

You guys have a shared record collection that you started when for your anniversary you got him a record player. He likes to be supper corny some nights and dance with you as one of your favourite albums plays.

He'll be very casual about how extraordinary he treats you. He considers it expected instead of the exception. Because you were able to love him back to life, so why shouldn't you deserve only the best from him?

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omitea · 2 months

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𝐉𝐉𝐊! 𝐌𝐄𝐍 + 𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎

.ft. gojo, geto, nanami, choso & toji.

.content. fluff, jjk men being ugh. so sleepy its probably not well proofread. oh well.

. note. wrote this before bed so im sorry if this sucks lol. pls tell me im not the only one who finds toji’s attractive.

☆— 𝐆. 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

gojo always listens to you talk. whether it’s when you’re busy rambling about how he should pick his clothes off the floor or when you sit next to him on the couch, leg propped up on his lap and gossip your day off. so when you feel like he isn’t listening at all, you stop. and he notices. so what does he do; he lifts his blindfold the slightest with his index finger to peer at you with one eye through the opening— motioning for you to go on. and to top it off, he sends you a playful wink because he knows it always seems to get a reaction out of you. unfortunately, because that only boosts his ego.

☆— 𝐆. 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

geto takes rather good care of his hair, so he liked to make sure it was neatly tied when he was done combing out all the knots. and you liked watching him tie his hair— doesn’t matter if it’s being pulled in a half-up do or a bun, it still caused your eyes to roam the places on his body. from his arms, his toned chest and all the way to his abdomen. he caught you staring a few times and didn’t know why, but he later on found out that it wasn’t his hair you were watching, but the way his muscles bulge every single time from his movements.

☆— 𝐊. 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

nanami wears ties occasionally, almost daily— except at home. and during work, he stresses a lot, having the feel as if something is constantly putting pressure on his chest. the first thing he does when he comes home, is greet you by the door. it was a developing habit for you to take his tie off to release some of the tension, but what you didn’t expect, was seeing his veiny hand reach the band of his tie and loosening it just a tad bit enough. you don’t know what was so attractive by that simple action, but you did know that you definitely would want to see it happen each time he comes home.

☆— 𝐊. 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

choso sleeps a lot. he does get the right amount of sleep when you’re in his embrace, but that still doesn’t seem to help him sleep any less. when he does prefer to sleep on his own, he often sleeps with an arm resting above his face as the other hand rests on his abdomen. it’s cute how his hair is sprawled on his pillow, making him look surreal with the sun shining through. what you did notice, was that he had like a routine to look at you from behind his arm—almost as if being sneaky, smiling warmly as he greets you with his voice deep and yet thick with sleep.

☆— 𝐓. 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

toji often traces his scar that sits at the corner of his lips, thick fingers dragging across the lifted skin. he always kept quiet about it, telling you it doesn’t bother him and that he couldn’t care less what others think— and deep down he does care, only what you think. but you, on the other hand, go absolutely crazy for it. especially when he’s laying on your chest, head tilting to kiss your jaw— only for his scar to graze against your skin. he didn’t expect a shuddered breath to leave your lips, which resulted in him doing that every time he went and placed a kiss there.

©𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐀. please refrain from stealing my works !

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bookshelf-dust · 3 months

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baby love, my baby love

gif by @corrodedcherry

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 1,880

warnings: swearing, reader had a not so good day, some hair washing, reader is nude in a non-sexual way, casual intimacy, lots of lovey-dovey things

a/n: hello! i am still very tentatively getting back into writing, but i wanted to write something sweet and comforting and soft and all those things. and eddie is the best provider of all that. this is so cute i almost made myself nauseous. lemme know what you think!! happy reading!!! <333 lots of love

————

“Where’s my girl at?”

Eddie’s voice rings throughout your small apartment, echoing slightly due to it not being fully furnished. His tone is almost giddy, words taking on a little twang after having spent the day working with Wayne.

You bury your face deeper into your pillow, fighting a smile at the way he speaks to you. From your place on the bed, you hear his keys smack the wall as he hangs them up, hear his boots thudding across the kitchen tiles as he makes his way to you.

When Eddie appears in the doorway to your shared bedroom, his arms are raised, fingers working to quickly tie his hair up in a knot. His biceps flex with the movement, drawing your eye to his pale skin. A brilliant smile spreads across his face upon seeing you.

“Hey, bug,” he says.

You flush. You never thought you’d allow someone to call you love bug, let alone any variation of it. You certainly didn’t think you’d like it. It’s who’s saying it that’s converted you.

You’re laying on your stomach, hands crushed under your cheek. You try to smile back at him, but it comes out much less enthusiastic than normal. It’s a very tired gesture.

Eddie notices, kicking off his shoes and crouching before you. “What’s the matter sweet girl? You’re wearing your outside clothes still, and you look pretty pitiful.”

At least he’s honest.

You blink and let your eyes flutter shut. “Long day. Headache. Upset.”

He brings his hand to your face, brushing his fingers over your temples. “Oh, I’m sorry, bug. I know you just wanna feel all better. Is that it?”

You nod, eyes still closed. He starts to laugh playfully just because of how pitiful you really do look, at how small and scrunched up you’ve made yourself. When he kisses your cheek, you feel his smile against your skin. It makes you beam, despite how you feel. The tingle Eddie’s lips leave behind makes it seem like the first time no matter how long it's been. You’re all soft for him, and there’s no denying it. But hell, he’s the same way.

“How about…” he trails off, rubbing the tips of his fingers up and down your spine, tickling your lower back where your sweater has ridden up. “How about I take care of you? Run you a bath, for starters? I know you like that.”

Your eyes open, happy to think about how nice it would feel to sink your tired body into a hot basin full of bubbles. “Okay, Teddy.”

“Yeah? C’mere then,” Eddie says gently, holding his hands out to encourage you to sit up. You slowly push yourself away from the mattress, and he easily pulls you to stand. “I’ll get the water warmed up for you.”

You give him a poor little salute, making him laugh, and then stick your fingers through his belt loop so you don’t have to do as much on the short walk to the bathroom. When you get there, Eddie bends to cut the water on and push the drain plug down. You wrap your arms around his waist and fold yourself against his warm back. You close your eyes once again, hearing him squirt a hefty amount of bubble bath into the tub. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t flood the bathroom.

The plastic top clicks shut and Eddie rises, grabbing hold of your hands and spinning around in your grip.

“Don’t like seein’ you all drained, baby,” he says. Eddie’s hands cradle your face, long and pale fingers beginning to rub at your temples. It feels so nice to have that pressure be pushed away, to feel his body so close to yours. At this rate, you’ll forget you even had a headache.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Eddie asks. “Or do you just want to have a chill night?”

You open your eyes and push up on your toes to kiss his nose. “The latter,” you say.

He chuckles, knowing you never used that term until you started reading Jane Austen.

“M’kay, bug. That works for me.” His eyes twinkle mischievously. “You want a kiss? I think you deserve a good one.”

That gets you to practically melt. I fucking love this woman, Eddie thinks. He feels breathless each time you look at him that way. You look at him like he hung the stars, like he is your knight in shining armor. He kisses you in that way that thanks you for making him feel so loved. So cherished.

You thread your hands in Eddie’s hair, fingers pulling at the chunk at the nape of his neck where it’s most sensitive. His mouth is warm against yours. He smiles at your playfulness, breaking away to kiss both cheeks.

He bends and drags a finger through the water. “It’ll be plenty warm enough in a second, bug.”

You give him a tired thank you squeeze as he presses a kiss to your jaw.

“Need help undressing?” he inquires, a wolfish grin spreading across his face.

You gently backhand his stomach, watching as he feigns severe injury. “Perv,” you joke.

Eddie sits down on the toilet seat lid so that he can be prepared to turn the water off when he deems the tub full enough for you. Really he’d just like to see you surrounded by a huge pile of bubbles for his own amusement, but also because he knows it’ll be the thing to coax that pure, joyous laugh out of you. The sound he’d bottle and keep on his nightstand if he could.

You remove the little bit of makeup you’d been wearing with a cotton pad, sighing in relief to have it all off. You take out your earrings and slip off your rings, setting them in an ashtray on the counter you’ve been repurposing ever since Eddie decided to cut back on his smoking.

You take off each of your socks, one hand gripping the countertop for balance. As you slip your belt off, Eddie finishes preparing your bath and turns to face you. He holds his arms out, ready to collect your dirty clothes and accessories so that he can put them in their rightful places.

He takes your belt from you only to be cheeky, snapping the thick leather as loud as he can manage. He makes himself laugh.

You turn to the side when you unbutton your jeans, flushing and shy at his attention even after all this time. Even knowing how beautiful he finds your body. How much he loves how soft you are. After all, your body allows you to live. It allows you to spend time with him, and that is all he’ll ever ask for. It doesn’t matter to him what state your body is in because it is yours. And you are his.

Eddie smiles watching you shimmy out of your snug jeans. You hand him your pants and t-shirt, now only in your bra and underwear. You don’t give yourself the time to be self-conscious, longing for the hot bath water. You turn and quickly unclasp your bra. Eddie playfully flicks your bum. It always deserves appreciation in his eyes.

When you hand him the last of your items, he presses the sweetest kiss to your tummy, thumbs rubbing at the indentations left on your chest from your bras underwire, as if he can make them go away just by sheer will.

“I love you, bug,” Eddie says, looking up at you with those watery doe eyes. His kisses your stomach again.

“I love you same, Teddy. Now let me take my bath. It’s rather chilly in this house, don’t you think? I refuse to freeze.”

Eddie laughs to himself as he walks off, taking your clothes to the hamper and storing your bra and belt elsewhere. He never could’ve imagined a world where preparing a bath for his partner would make him as happy as it does.

————

Eddie is kneeling on the bathroom floor. Your back is pressed against the side of the tub, and he’s washing your hair. Well, really he’s already given it the scrub and cleanse that it needed, now he’s just trying to make weird shapes out of it.

After you’d sat in the warm water until your toes pruned without actually bathing, he jokingly offered to do your hair while you washed your body.

You hadn’t even thought about it. You were enjoying the way the bubbles came up to your chin, the way you were completely encapsulated in the safety of them. The way Eddie sat there on the rug, telling you about his day. About the different things he’d fixed on which cars—nothing you understood in any fashion, but something you always wanted to hear about.

“You could make good money doing this, you know. You’re very talented,” you quip, scrubbing your calf with a washcloth.

Eddie snorts, kissing your wet shoulder blade. “What? Give head massages?”

You ring out your rag, having completed your washing ritual and made sure everything got the attention it deserves.

“Mhm. That felt so good.”

You pull the drain plug up, letting the water out. Eddie stands and acts as though his back is going to give out on him. You quickly turn the shower on, just so you can make sure you got all the conditioner out of your hair and feel completely clean. Eddie has never done this rinsing routine after a bath, but loves to see you do your little happy dance when you’re all clean and wrapped up in a towel.

He holds out a hand as you step over the rim of the tub, bowing for added effect. “How was your bath, m’lady?”

You lead the way out of the bathroom, on a search for pajamas. “I’d say it was the best bath I’ve ever had the pleasure of taking, good sir.”

You hug your fuzzy towel to your chest, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss Eddie’s full lips. He blushes at the eye contact you’re giving him. He knows how it makes you nervous, but getting to have all of your attention like that makes him tingly.

“Thank you for helping me, Teddy.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

You turn to the side, gripping a round, wooden handle and pulling open your top dresser drawer. Eddie kisses your cheek. Sometimes you think Eddie’s kisses are lifesaving. They’ve surely contributed to your stability. They’re healing. And so is the way he cares for the people he loves. The way he so effortlessly does things just because he only wants to see you happy.

Eddie ends up picking out your pajamas while you pick out his. You’re in your own bottoms, but one of his Iron Maiden t-shirts. You told him you should match, so he pointed you in the direction of another, and you made sure to choose pants for him that had red in them, just like yours.

Before you can sit down on your shared bed, Eddie takes your hand and leans down to whisper in your ear. His chin brushes your jaw, lips parting in a bright grin before the words ever leave his mouth.

“Now, what do you think about going to get milkshakes?”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

#savannah’s fics #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader fluff

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loveinhawkins · 2 months

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”How do you do it?” Eddie asks.

The question slips out far too late at night, anxiety thrumming in his chest—he’s not escaped the feeling ever since the boathouse, when he simply couldn’t sleep, felt like a fox just waiting for hound dogs to get his scent, ready to run—

Steve doesn’t need him to explain further, as if he can somehow hear a whole lot of what Eddie’s not saying: like when he picked up the phone an hour ago and hadn’t even let Eddie tie himself in knots, had just said, so easily, “I’ll come get you,” like it wasn’t a huge inconvenience, like he’d been the one to call Eddie instead.

He’s considering Eddie from where he lies in bed, leaning on his elbow, and he’s still got the covers off pointedly—and that’s a big thing, Eddie thinks, a big thing he doesn’t know what to do with, because they’ve not talked, not really, not got much beyond the dizzying relief of still being alive.

But even fraught with profound lack of sleep, Eddie doesn’t think he’s misreading the look in Steve’s eyes.

I know, those eyes say, illuminated by the warm light of the bedside lamp. It’s okay, there’s no rush. I’m right here.

Eddie’s never seen that kind of look before. Not towards him.

“Sometimes Robin sleeps over,” Steve says thoughtfully. “And sometimes the kids are around, and they’re so annoying and I get, like, three hours, tops.” He says it with all the fondness in the world. “And sometimes I’m alone, and it’s fine.”

“What about the other times?” Eddie can’t help but whisper.

If it were a reasonable hour maybe he wouldn’t dare to ask at all, but exhaustion’s worn down the filter in his head—at this point it’s practically see-through.

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, they’re shit,” he says with such honesty that Eddie nearly asks it again, how do you do it?

“But then it’s, like, a new day,” Steve says slowly, like he’s carefully weighing up what to say, “and I can… drive.” The pause tells Eddie he means go to someone. “Or, like… call, if it’s really bad.”

Hey, I’m glad you called, man, Steve had said when Eddie got into his car earlier, like they were just going to the movies or something normal—like Eddie wasn’t shaking, forehead pressed against the passenger window.

Eddie feels his throat close up a little. Tries to sniff as quietly as possible.

“Eddie,” Steve says patiently. He moves back in the bed. Gives Eddie space. “C’mere.”

Steve keeps the lamp on which helps; this isn’t the boathouse, Eddie thinks, and the slightest bit of tension leaves his body. Even that feels like a miracle.

He’s just resigning himself to lying there, staring up at the ceiling so at least Steve can get some rest, when Steve turns and catches his eye, still wide awake.

“Tell me about The Lord of the Rings,” Steve says.

The tightness in Eddie’s chest loosens; he laughs in surprise. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Eddie turns so he’s facing Steve properly, attempts a casual shrug, knowing already that it’ll be too rigid. “I don’t know, man. We, uh. We kinda lived through Mordor already.”

His hand twists in the bedsheets, knuckles turning white.

I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had…

Steve’s hand reaches across, eases Eddie’s grip on the sheets, like he’s saying, neither did I. Just give it a shot.

“The shire, then,” Steve says.

Eddie smiles. “Steve Harrington,” he says, suddenly finding enough lightness to tease; he’s missed it. “Are you asking me for a bedtime story?”

“Nope,” Steve says. “We’re just gonna lie here and talk.”

And they do.

Steve asks questions which works out for the best—Eddie can’t quite remember the last time he read the books. To tell the truth, anything that happened before March often has a kind of fog over it.

He’s sure he’s dropped at least a couple of plot points somewhere along the way, but Steve never once complains that he’s not making sense, just gently prompts Eddie until… until…

“Mm, I know what you’re doing,” Eddie mumbles through a yawn that catches him unawares.

“Oh, do you now?” Steve says, sounding smug. God, Eddie loves him. “Is it working?”

“Maybe.” Eddie says. His eyelids are heavy. “Um.” He yawns again. “Where… where was I?”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Steve says. It sounds like he’s smiling—Eddie would check, but it’s suddenly impossible to keep his eyes open.

It’s okay, he thinks hazily, melting into sleep without even thinking about it. He can ask Steve in the morning.

There’s no rush.

#on struggling with the aftermath #the trust in falling asleep in front of someone ❤️#this may have a second part #a lil anxiety soothing stuff ❤️#pre steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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fastandcarlos · 10 days

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Playing With His Hair » F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

As the night crept in, feeling you play with his hair was often the sign that Max needed to know that you were starting to crave attention. Usually, you’d begin to play with his hair just next to his headset, almost as if to tell him you wanted him to take it off so that he could spend time with you. Max would try and resist it for as long as possible, but eventually he would succumb and take his headset off so that he could feel your hands mess through his full head of hair, much to his satisfaction too.

» Lando Norris

Lazy fingers glance effortlessly through Lando’s hair as the two of you struggle to stay awake, talking in the smallest of whispers to one another. During the long season you worried a lot about Lando and his lack of sleep; if there was one thing that did the trick, it was playing with his hair. You loved when his hair was messy, falling slightly in front of his face, unable to tear your eyes away. As much as he tried to fight it, feeling your fingers over the top of his head was often the magic that Lando needed to finally fall asleep.

» Carlos Sainz

Wet hair is dangerous for you, as you watch Carlos shake his head, water spraying everywhere, you can’t help but hurry across to fix it for him. To begin with, you thought Carlos put up with you, but after so many years you knew now that he did it on purpose, loving whenever you offered to help him out. A wide, cheeky grin would appear on his face as soon as he stepped out of the shower, almost tilting towards your body as if to tell you that he was there and he was desperate for some attention from you.

» George Russell

The finishing touches of you playing with his hair were always appreciated by George. As you watched him fixing his hair ready for yet another press event, his huffs told you that things just weren’t quite right and didn’t meet his high standards. So, in stepped you. Before he tormented himself any further, you’d be there to fix his hair, making sure that every last detail was perfect. You played with the curled strands until they sat perfectly on top of his head, twirling round to show George his reflection and see the smile of appreciation slowly creep onto his face.

» Charles LeClerc

There’s no greater feeling for Charles than the feeling of your fingers dancing through his hair when you noticed him getting stressed as a result of work. You can tell by the look on his face when he needs you there to play with his hair, to curl around some of the loose strands and tug gently through some of the knots that tie up underneath his heavy helmet. Despite how frustrated he may be, he can’t help but let his smile grow as he allows his head to relax into the feeling of your palm against the side of him.

» Pierre Gasly

If there was one thing you were not to touch with Pierre, it was his hair, but that was the exact reason why you loved to do it. Whenever he passed you by, you’d try to reach out and ruffle your hand through his hair to mess it up, much to Pierre’s dislike. He was on edge every time that he was near you, ready to swat your hand away as soon as you tried to reach out to get him, sending you a warning with his glare, despite the fact his face still had a wide smile on it.

» Lewis Hamilton

Lewis loved you playing with his hair whenever you were there to help him out with a new style, attempting any idea that he came to you with. He’d show you a photo of some braids or an updo that he had found that he wanted to try out, and you were always the person he relied on to make his masterpiece come to life. He’d sit down between your legs, leaning his head back slightly, happy to sit peacefully for as long as you needed him too whilst you played with his hair and gave him a new do.

» Alex Albon

You would always be there to play with Alex’s hair, whenever it was freshly washed, and particularly if it just had a new colour put in it too. You loved the bounce in his hair whenever he dried it with the towel; unable to resist the temptation that was in front of you. Alex knew you were coming, he would sit and expect you as you jumped into his lap and began twirling your fingers round a small amount of Alex’s hair. He would try to seem unbothered, but deep down you playing with his hair was one of Alex’s favourite things in the world.

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wttcsms · 5 months

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i wanna brag about it (i wanna tie the knot) ; choso.

pairing choso x f!reader word count 2.6k synopsis overworked, stressed, and in need of relief, choso comes home to the sight of you looking all pretty and sweet. it's been a long time coming, and tonight is the night where choso finally gives in to his deepest desire: fucking a baby into you. content contains babysitter!au (babysitter!reader), ceo!choso, half-brothers!choso & yuuji, toddler!yuuji, implied age gap, breeding kink, obsessive + possessive!choso, housewife kink, misogynistic ideals, wet n messy, size kink, belly bulge, bro is literally so in love with you and dreams abt starting a family with you

Choso could use a drink right about now.

He’s rummaging through his fridge, more than happy to grab one of the many bottles in the back (he doesn’t want Yuuji accidentally grabbing one by accident — not that it would happen, thanks to your supervision), but he startles away from the fridge when a voice fills the silence of the kitchen.

“Late night?” You tease, giving him that sweet smile of yours that has the stresses from today lifting from his body, easing the weight on his otherwise tense shoulders.

Fuck.

Proof that today was a major shitshow is evident in the fact that Choso has forgotten all about you. Staring at your body clad in nothing more than one of those skimpy cropped-cami-and-boyshorts matching sets you always favor, he finds it hard to believe that he could ever forget about you. The refrigerator light bathes you, envelopes you, casts a warm glow on your soft skin and makes it look like you’re an angel radiating some bright aura. A subtle glance at your entire body allows him a glimpse of two, tiny peaks poking through the thin material of your top. You like keeping the house cold. He swallows hard, finding the willpower to focus on your face.

Not like staring at your face is enough to stop his cock from twitching in his work trousers. In fact, he probably gets even harder looking at you, especially when he can tell you’ve probably just finished your very sacred and meticulous nighttime skincare routine, your face glowing. Seeing you all clean and fresh, savoring the domesticity of you washing your face in the same bathroom he brushes his teeth in, salivating over the way you look standing in his kitchen (it could be yours, too, if you would let him give you everything he wants to) wearing nothing but your pajamas — it all makes his hindbrain want to take over. He’s spent the last fourteen hours stuffed in a boardroom or his office, and your simple existence is enough to soothe his soul and send him spiraling, all at the same time.

Choso could really, really use a drink right about now.

“Sorry, I meant to call to tell you—”

“Don’t worry about it.” You smile at him goodnaturedly, like you’re not still in college with much better things to do on a Friday night than wait for him to come home.

He should be thankful that you’re so sweet to him, but just the idea that you did have plans tonight makes a hot coil of jealousy tighten in his stomach.

Choso knows that he shouldn’t be feeling this way; he shouldn’t even notice you as much as he does. It starts out with the little things, first, like making sure his assistant gets your favorite snacks restocked during his usual weekly grocery delivery. He asks you about your schoolwork, and then finds himself filing away people he knows in your major’s industry. It’s good to have connections, he tells you, giving you the number to a good business acquaintance of his who’s looking for an intern in the near future. And of course, he’s hyper aware of the fact that you are a very beautiful girl. Unfairly so, with the curve of your lips and the slope of your nose; every time he sees you, he plays a game with himself. Tries to notice something new about you, a beauty mark, a new haircut. If he had the time, he’d probably try to get an exact count of your eyelashes.

And now, he’s noticing too much of you. The way the fabric of your tiny matching set seems to accentuate every aspect of your body. How he can smell the sweet scent of your body wash and lotion. The way you’re staring at him, so innocently, completely unaware of the lewd thoughts that run rampant in his mind every time you have him cornered like this.

Some nights, it’s almost too much to bear.

It’s been a tough day, though. Week. Month. Endless meetings, negotiations that never result in any firm solutions, just more addendums to contracts. He hasn’t seen much of anything besides his office and the boardroom; what’s the point of having an office with a skyline view if he’s too busy staring at spreadsheets and emails to even enjoy it?

Tonight, Choso realizes, is the night where he snaps.

He says your name in such a low register, you almost don’t pick up on it. You’re in the middle of telling him a cute story about what Yuuji did during recess with his pre-k class, but you pause.

Maybe it’s all in your head, but it feels like something in the air has shifted. The way your tummy’s butterflies seem to be in overdrive is only proof of this.

You’re used to the perpetual tension between you and Choso. Filthy rich, successful, always in a nice, tailored suit — looking purely on the outside, who wouldn’t want to get fucked by him? The more time you spend with him, the more time you fill the role of mother over just babysitter for little Yuuji, which gives way to deeper observation of Choso. He works incredibly long hours, but still has time to stay updated on all of Yuuji’s comings and goings, accomplishments and awards. He doesn’t have to; it’s not like he’s obligated. After all, Yuuji is his half-brother, a byproduct of his father’s mistress. He didn’t have to take him in, love him with his entire being, but he does, and this makes you fall for him only more.

Then, there’s the fact of how he makes you feel. Every time his hands will brush gently against yours, innocently and so quickly, you swear you’re being electrified. The way he says your name, the way he tells you anything, in that low voice of his is enough to get you squeezing your thighs together. But most of all, it’s the way he looks at you. At first, you thought it was because of your crush, but the longer you work for him, the more you realize that Choso will occasionally stare at you when he thinks you won’t notice.

But how could you not? How could you not detect the feel of his dark eyes scanning your figure, taking in your features? How could you not detect the way his eyes will darken over in lust when he watches you lick sweet cream off your fingers from an explosive can of whipped cream? How could you not catch the barest trace of a smile as he watches you interact with Yuuji at a park, willing to get your hands dirty to appease the toddler while Choso watches over the two of you from his seat on the bench?

How could you not fall deeper and deeper into his spell when the threads of lust continue to spool, tightening over your body, practically choking you with desire.

You don’t even realize how big Choso is until he’s standing so close to you, towering over you. So much bigger than you to the point where if you look straight ahead, all you can see is the rise and fall of his chest through his white button down (the one you ironed for him this morning).

His hands curl into fists, like he’s restraining himself. “Tell me now,” he breathes out, words coming out tight, like speaking to you civilly is proving to be a strenuous task for him. “Tell me that I shouldn’t fuck you tonight. That I can’t.”

Is he joking, or are you dreaming? You’re hyper aware of your breathing now, of the way you reflexively lick your lips, of the way your nipples are pressed taut against the thin, cotton fabric of your cami. You’re also way too aware of him, with the lustful expression in his eyes that give way to something more, as if this request of his means something more. Most men his age and in his powerful position have a wife or a girlfriend by now. As long as you’ve known him, Choso hasn’t been with anybody.

The stress, the agitation, that annoying, persistent feeling of constantly being pent up — all of it has been building up inside of him. Whoever is going to be on the receiving end of it will be lucky if they’re able to walk the morning after.

“But you can.” You say softly, almost scared that this is some elaborate trick, a means to see if his brother’s babysitter is to be trusted. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

There’s something animalistic in the way he takes you. When he kisses you, it’s hungry. Open-mouthed. Sloppy. It would be invasive if you weren’t so eager to let him, to allow his tongue to hit the roof of your mouth, to swap saliva in the messiest manner possible.

But there’s something gentle there, too. The way his hands cup your face, or travel to rest on your waist. He’s sweet, taking his time to help you slip out of your pajamas, and sweeter still — he lets out an appreciative hum as he takes in the sight of you bare, naked in the kitchen. Fuck a drink, Choso thinks as he takes in your nude body. You’re the only stress relief he needs.

He whispers the nastiest things to you as he gets you to sit on the kitchen island. He asks you to please spread your legs so he can see that pretty pussy of yours, and when you comply, he takes in a sharp breath before running a single, cold finger against your wet folds. He makes a crude, appreciative comment, asking you are you really this wet, baby? All of this because of me? For me?

You can’t answer him, of course. Talking is hard when he’s using two fingers to fuck you open, get you ready to take his cock. He’s knuckles deep, and when he curls his fingers right there, the only thing you’re capable of saying is a squeal of his name. Your juices are pooling into a puddle on the counter, the same counter where you served him breakfast so many hours ago.

He loves watching you. Choso could watch you every second for the rest of his life and still never get his fill of you. He only catches you during particularly chaste moments, moments where you’re humming in the kitchen or playing with Yuuji. He loves those scenes; it feeds the archaic, masculine ego inside of him that tells him he needs to make life easier for you. That you shouldn’t have to worry about school or work, about money or other frivolous things he has an abundance of. He wants to take care of you.

Seeing the way you lose control of yourself from the work of his own hand has him getting unbearably hard in his work slacks. He loves watching you, and he knows he’s going to love watching you get all depraved and drunk on his cock.

When Choso first tries to ease just the tip in, you have to curl your fingers over the edge of the counter, trying to steel yourself. With how wet and willing you are, it should be an easy enough task, but it’s made difficult by the fact that he’s just too thick.

Tip red and angry, leaking with pre, wide — just the sight of Choso’s cock is enough to get you even wetter, more pliant for him, but even the first stretch still has you hissing.

“S’okay, baby.” He groans, one hand on your waist, trying to steady you, keep you still so he can keep on pushing himself deeper. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You certainly don’t feel like you’re doing much of anything. It’s hard, when you can’t stop your walls from clamping down on his cock, making it harder for him to move or even think. When he fully enters you, your mind is already too dizzy with pleasure to think straight. You think he says something, but you’re not sure what, and you try to focus on his words, you really do, but then he starts thrusting, and you think it’s powerful enough to tilt the axis of the earth.

Oh, so this is what sex is supposed to feel like. He redefines everything you thought you knew about it. The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, the way the slickness and heat of your pussy seems to keep motivating him to go harder, the way if you look down, you can spot a tiny bulge every time he hits as deep as he can go — all of this combined marks the height of pleasure for you.

“You’re so perfect.” He grunts out, relishing in the way you tighten up at his words. Your eyes are a bit glazed, almost like you’re struggling to focus on what’s in front of you. He doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, there’s pride settling inside his gut as he realizes that he’s the one fucking all the sense out of you. “Let’s do this every night, baby. Do you like the sound of that? Of being my stress relief?”

He knows that you’re too far gone, too deep in the haze of pleasure, to process his words, to answer him.

“I wanna fuck you forever, baby. Make you my pretty, little wife and have you waitin’ at home for me. How does that sound?”

He assumes when your pussy tightens up that that’s a yes.

His hand finds your own, and he interlinks your fingers together. He might be fucking you all messy on the kitchen counter, but he still holds an overwhelming amount of affection for you. Of course he would want to hold your hand.

He traces your ring finger, feels the familiar sensation of his release building up. So close, he thinks to himself. He’s so close to getting everything he wants.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum right. In. Your. Fucking. Pussy.” Each word is emphasized with a particularly hard thrust, and this — him saying that — is what your sex-addled mind registers. You’re vaguely aware that this could be a bad idea, but you’re too addicted to chasing after your high that you don’t put a stop to it. “Gonna give you a baby.”

“Please.” You moan out, the word coming out ragged and strained. Speaking is difficult, so so difficult. He’s happy to hear your beautiful voice, nonetheless.

“Atta girl. I knew you would understand.”

As if confirming to him that the two of you are meant to be, you both cum at the same time. You feel weightless and drowsy, too out of it to even process how sloppy and wet the mess in between your legs is right now. If Choso pulls out, his cum and your juices would make the counter even more slippery.

But Choso doesn’t pull out. His cock stays nestled in your wet heat, and he admires your fucked out form. You look a bit different from the fresh and clean girl who greeted him when he came home, but that’s okay. He loves you for you, every iteration you have to offer. He’ll carry you to the bedroom, where he can fuck you nicely, sweetly. Maybe he’ll try his hardest to not go too hard when he has you in a mating press. And after getting his fill of you, after the stresses of work disappear from his mind completely, then he’ll take you to the bathroom and get you all nice and clean.

He’ll even be a gentleman, showcase what a great husband he’ll be, by letting you sleep in while he cooks the family breakfast.

#choso x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #one shot #drabble #smut #jjk smut #choso smut #choso kamo x reader #jjk fanfiction

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dazednmatthews · 12 days

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your lips, my lips number neighbor!matt x reader part eleven

y/n is already outside by the time matt pulls up. she’s telling herself that she doesn’t care that they’re about to spend the night together, doesn’t care that matt’s about to be in her bed, and doesn’t care that he drove all this way at basically midnight to see her, but she knows it’s a lie. she cares so much it might kill her.

when matt shuts his car off and steps out, y/n feels her stomach tie up in intricate knots. his hair is messy and fluffy and he has her favorite chain on. it’s addicting, the way his muscles flex as he slings his backpack over one shoulder.

he raises an eyebrow with a half smile when he sees her sitting on the curb in her pajamas. “someone’s eager.”

she stands, wiping the pebbles from her shorts. “of course i am,” it takes him off guard, his eyes watching her walk up to him. she takes the drink from his hand and takes a sip. “been waiting all night for this one.”

matt bumps her with his shoulder. “annoying.”

she says nothing as she leads him up the stairs to her apartment. it’s the first time he’s been physically inside, but matt pretty much knows his way around. with the amount that they facetime, he’s been propped up on every surface there was.

when they get inside, she leads him to her room where he drops his bag, then they settle in her small but comfortable living room. they’re sitting about four feet apart on her sofa, tv playing lowly. even though she shouldn’t, she feels semi-awkward. the nerves are pressing against her temple, headache forming. it’s ridiculous.

and like the ever-knowing being matt seems to be on all things y/n, he stares at her, eyebrows furrowed. “what’s wrong with you?”

she’s shaken out of her stupor. “what?”

“you’re acting weird.” he observes, eyeing her up and down. “and you’re quiet. you know i hate that shit.”

this makes her roll her eyes. “you tell me i talk too much constantly. like i’m pretty sure you’ve said it at least twice every day we’ve ever talked.”

“no, i say you talk a lot,” he rolls his eyes back at her. “never too much. for some ungodly reason, i like hearing you speak.”

it makes her warm all over. “going soft on me, matty?”

“enough with the matty shit.” his face is highly unamused and it makes her giggle. “why the hell are you all the way over there?” matt grimaces instantly. he goes to retract the words, but y/n beats him to it.

“wow,” she snorts. “that might be the most god awful thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“i didn’t mean it like that.”

“what did you mean it like, then?” she teases. one of her legs is folded underneath her and her body is turned towards him. “cause it sounded like a line.”

“barely.” he shakes his head. “i meant why are you being even more of a freak than usual?”

she pretends to be offended. “one of these days i’m just going to hit you on that big ass head of yours.”

matt laughs. something about it catches her so off guard she falters. maybe it’s the way his eyes catch the light and are shining brighter than usual. or maybe it’s the way she can see his teeth, which she has a strange obsession with, poking out under his top lip. maybe it’s just the fact that she is painfully aware that this man is becoming important to her.

it’s like autopilot, the way she crawls over to him. like he pulled a magnet out his pocket and aimed it directly at her chest. his body turns to her instantly and it makes her heart stutter. almost as if he was finely attuned to her movements. they’re face to face, inches apart.

they do the thing again. “hi.” she says, smiling.

“hi.” he says back, flicking his gaze down to her mouth.

“what do you wanna do?” she questions, pretending not to be distracted when he runs his tongue over his top row of teeth.

“i could think of more than a few things, really.” he says, in a tone that makes her want to pounce on him. “it’s all about what you want, sweetheart.”

shockwaves. through her entire fucking body. she keeps up the bit anyway, though. “all men are the same. only want one thing.” she kisses her teeth in fake dismay.

matt’s hand moves from his side to a stray hair framing her face. he pulls on the curl, releasing it and watching it bounce. he does it twice more before he says anything. his face is thoughtful. “i was thinking more like play a game, watch a movie, talk… you clearly have something else in mind.” he leans forward, bring his mouth to her ear. “dirty girl.”

y/n almost falls off the fucking couch with the way the shiver racks through her body. she puts her forehead on his shoulder. “you’re evil.”

matt laughs again, but he doesn’t reply. before her mind can go absolutely buckwild with salacious thoughts, she redirects it. when the idea pops into her head, she lifts it suddenly. it startles matt so much he moves back.

“what the hell?”

she doesn’t say anything as she stands, tugging him up with her. they’re half way to her bathroom when she says, “i have something we can do.”

matt just complies, following her lead. it’s becoming a trend for him. he kinda likes it.

“this is absolutely fucking ridiculous.”

matt has been grumbling since the moment y/n put the cat eared headband around his head. she thinks he looks absolutely adorable, but he thinks he looks crazy.

“finish washing your fucking face, matt.” she has a playlist on her home speaker, entire space filled with her favorite songs. she’s sitting on the closed toilet, bare faced and amused as matt aggressively scrubs his own with her face wash.

when he pats his face dry and looks at her, he has that painfully dry matt look on. his skin is slightly red but clear, and she thinks he looks so pretty it might kill her.

the words come out before she can stop them. “you look pretty.”

matt does a double take, stopping mid stretch. the red waistband of his boxers are peaking through the top of the pj pants he’s wearing, a different color than usual. god knows how many pairs he has. he probably bought and wore these specially to torture y/n.

there’s a smile toying at the corner of his lips. “yeah,” he says. “you too.”

she doesn’t let the blush form under her skin before she’s jumping up. “okay, face mask time.”

matt groans, rubbing at his jaw. he’s clean shaven, which she’s definitely noticed, which will help. y/n gets the tube and squeezes some into the bowl she grabbed, taking the small brush and dipping it in. and because she just can’t help it, she tells him to close his eyes and slaps it across his cheek.

matt flinches and stumbles back. “oh, you fucking-“ he sighs, opening his eyes. “i hate you.”

“i’m sorry.” she says, completely unbelievable through all her giggles. “i so couldn’t help it.”

he rolls his eyes, muttering a quiet, “pain in my ass.” while y/n gets to work actually applying the mask. it’s quiet in the small space save for their breathing. she can feel matt looking at her intently as she concentrates, no matter how hard she tries to block it out.

his eyes are intense, looking at her like she was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. she can’t take it. “why are you looking me like that?”

she brushes under his eyes gently. “i like looking at you.” he shrugs.

her movements falter for a moment. “shut up.”

“i hate when you do that.”

she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, so she waits for him to keep going. “when i say things to you and you brush them off like i can’t possibly mean them.” he catches her hand, making her stop. “i don’t say shit i don’t mean.”

she’s speechless for the first time in her life. matt drops her wrist, so she continues. when she’s finally done, she admires her handiwork. it’s a funny sight, matt in a pastel green face mask, hair pushed back by a fuzzy headband.

“all done.” she says, gesturing for him to look.

“can’t believe i let you do this. i look like shrek.”

“not nearly as sexy.”

“you’re a sick person, you know that?”

when y/n turns to lean over the sink, ready to apply her own mask, matt stops her. she turns to him, confused. “what?”

“what?” he parrots. “i don’t get to do you?”

she grins, raising an eyebrow. he rolls his eyes yet again, “you know what i meant.”

“do you even know what you’re doing?” matt grabs the tool from her hand.

“nope.” he says, popping the ‘p’. “but i think i’ll manage.”

it’s sickeningly sweet, the way matt concentrates on the task at hand. how he takes extra care to outline her lips right. how he makes sure not to get it in her eyebrows. his own are furrowed tightly, eyes darting all around. he’s taking his time, pausing to look at his own reflection to make sure it looks the same.

when he’s done, he gives her a proud smile that makes her head spin. “now we match. shrek and fiona.”

“that might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“that’s concerning.”

matt grabs his phone from his pocket, pulling y/n to his side. his hand rests on her hip, fingers casually curled under the hem of her shirt. “smile or something.”

she looks at him, because she can’t help it. she wonders what planet he came from. she grabs his phone, flipping the camera, taking another picture. their faces are close, careful not to touch so they don’t mess up all their hard work. when she hands him his phone back, she catches a glimpse of him favoriting the picture before he slips it into his pocket.

fuck.

y/n is quite literally about to die.

not really, but the way that matt looks sitting against her headboard, her bedside lamp illuminating his face has her patience running thin. it’s like three in the morning, she thinks, or at least it was the last time she checked the time. after washing off their face masks, they returned to the living room, talking, laughing and snacking for hours.

matt had a way of listening, really listening, that made it even easier for her to talk. he asked all the right questions, laughed at all the right moments and teases her just enough to keep the conversation going. he wasn’t a big talker himself, but she noticed that the second he felt comfortable, he could go on forever. it made her feel accomplished.

they were in her bedroom now, because she yawned once and matt just had to make fun of her, saying it was her bed time and she couldn’t hang. she had a few words for him. none of them were appropriate.

she’s leaned against his shoulder watching a movie she’s seen probably six times before, cause he never had, debating on whether or not to make a move. his hand is on her thigh, just sitting there, and it’s been driving her crazy for twenty minutes now.

“the main character is fucking stupid,” matt says, voice deep and raspy. “why the hell would he-“

y/n doesn’t care about his thought, doesn’t care about this fucking movie and doesn’t care about anything other than kissing him. so she does. she turns his head to hers, slotting her lips over his.

matt falls into her immediately, hand finding her waist. she forgot how good he was at this. she wishes she kissed him the second he got out his car.

there’s a tiny bit of time where they stay like that, before matt gets fed up and pulls her into his lap. his hands find themselves on the swell of her ass, pushing her into him. she rocks back and forth, grasping everywhere her hands can reach. his shirt, his hair, his neck— she needs to feel it all.

“you,” matt says, breaking the kiss. “have to tell me-“ y/n can’t help but chase his lips. “-what you want.”

“you.” for once, she not she’s not thinking about whether or not it was too much to say. “i want you.”

matt smiles into the kiss, chuckling. “you have me,” he slides his hands up her sides, thumbs resting under the underside of her boobs. goosebumps break out. she forgot she wasn’t wearing a bra. “but i need you to be specific.”

she can feel exactly what he wants under the thin fabric of both their pants. she rocks her hips again, making matt groan. “fuck, y/n.”

she nods, trailing kisses down the base of his throat. “yeah, that’d be nice.”

matt flips her over, making y/n gasp when her back hits her mattress. “you piss me off so bad,” his lips leave a searing kiss on her throat. she’s letting out incredibly embarrassing sounds, mewls and whines that she just knows matt won’t let her forget later. she can’t bring herself to care. “cause why is it,” he sucks on her collarbone roughly, nipping the skin. “the one time i need you to talk to me,” he ghosts his lips over the valley of her chest through her shirt, “is when you want to be the woman of few words?”

she laughs, breathlessly. “maybe i just want to get you all riled up, matthew.”

he brings his face back up to hers, chain dangling above her. his eyes are alive, bright blue pinning her to her spot. “trust me when i tell you that you don’t have to do anything special for that to happen.”

the words are sexy, yes, but it’s the way he says it. it feels like a confession of sorts. like he’s telling her something without actually saying it. it sobers her up.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

y/n tames her restless body, thinking for a moment. “is this okay?” she asks, uncharacteristically shy.

matt smiles softly, reaching up and pushing her hair out of her eyes. he places a gentle kiss on her lips. “more than okay. we could stay like this all night and i’d be happy.”

the mood shifts, from sinful to sweet. it may not be what she initially wanted, but it’s exactly what she needed.

matt settles down next to her, pulling her closely. they lay there, hands roaming and lips colliding, for who knows how long. they learn every dip and valley of each other, pressing buttons and soothing them too.

it’s tranquility and raw emotion. it knocks y/n clean off her feet. tomorrow, she’ll think about what it really means. tomorrow, she might even get in her head about it. but tonight, her and matt are laying in between her sheets, blocking the world out. it might be her new favorite place to be.

a/n: this was not even supposed to come out for a couple more days 🙄 but there were so many asks and i felt inspired so here it is!! it is so late LMFAO and i have to be up so early but it was so worth it because i really like this. i’ll probably post part twelve tomorrow night!! hope u liked this!! alr love u all byeeeee

TAG LIST:

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indiefilmfatale · 2 months

Text

useless (steve harrington x fem!reader)

gif by @/keery !

plot: steve takes pleasure in driving you crazy while you're tied to his headboard content warnings: bondage, some light finger play, domination, dirty talk, penetrative s*x, lotsa teasing word count: 1.3k a/n: gif is how i imagine steve in this blurb bc goddddamnnn he looks good like this smut below the cut!

You lay on your back on Steve’s bed. His comforter has been thrown onto the floor, leaving your legs tangled up in a topsheet and your bare skin against the heathered fitted sheet. You have nothing on but a pair of his boxers. Your thighs are clenching around the cotton; the fabric cool against your skin from the way you’ve been soaking through them.

You and Steve have been lazily making out for the last hour, completely losing track of time in each other’s mouths and skin. He’ll kiss down your body, licking and sucking your breasts and stomach and thighs but never addressing your throbbing pussy. He loved to tease you like this, watching your hips buck into his chest with amusement. Occasionally he would reward you with a soft grind of his hard cock against your core, just enough to press against your clit and rile a breathy moan out of you.

Finally, he rises off of you and wanders across the room, leaving you tits-out and writhing on his mattress. When he comes back, he’s holding two bandanas, one blue and one black.

“Is this what I think it is?” You’re grinning, knees wobbling.

“Mm-hm,” Steve nods. “Gimme your wrist.” He comes to the top right side of the bed, and you raise your right arm to the knob of his headboard. He ties your wrist against the finished wood, and you watch his nimble fingers work around the fabric.

When he’s finished, he makes his way around the bed to the other side. You watch him the entire time, sensing his excitement and him sensing your’s. When he’s finished with the second knot, he just stands back and takes in the sight of you for a moment.

“Give it a tug, baby.” He nudges his head toward your tied wrists.

You oblige, pulling your arms inward but your wrists not budging out even a little bit. “Where’d you learn how to tie knots like this?”

“I was an eagle scout.” He climbs onto the end of the bed. You open your legs for him to kneel right in between. “I can make a fire out of two rocks for you when we’re finished.”

You chuckle, biting your lip. You have even more of an instinct to grind your hips into the air, his erection poking through his underwear making you go slightly crazy. He looked so good like this, kneeling over you with a darkness in his eye that made you want to do anything for him.

And him, well, he loved you in any form, but especially the way you squirmed under his control. He also knew he could do anything to you right now, and that’s the thought that turned him on the most.

“You like this?” He ran his hand up your leg.

Your eyes don’t leave his gaze. You just nod, exhaling slowly.

“You’re gonna let me take care of you, hm?” His fingers drag over your thighs. “Gonna let me do all the work?” Now over your closed core, right wear your clit meets the fabric. He presses ever so softly against the nub, circling over it at a pace that drives you wild.

You suddenly feel shy and small. B Steve knows how to drag what you need out of you. “Speak up, sweetheart.”

You hum. “I want you, Stevie.”

He presses slightly harder against your clit, rewarding you. You back arches at the pressure. “Want what?”

“Mmmph, your cock. Want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” He takes his hand off your core and uses both to wrap around your waistband, pulling the boxers off of you and onto the floor. “Show me, baby, show me how much you want it.” His fingers return to your core, but they don’t move. You grind against his fingers, trying to grasp the little control you have over your own body, sighing. Given the last hour, you’re absolutely soaked for him.

Then he takes one of your legs with his other arm and lifts it over your shoulder, opening you up before him. “Y’ready?”

You huff, “Been ready forever now, Steve.”

He rubs the inside of your thigh, comforting you. “Getting impatient, huh? Lemme help you, baby.” He pulls his cock out of his boxers, and it rests against his stomach with the slightest, sexiest curve toward the left. “It’ll be worth it. Gonna make you feel so good.” “Please.” You whine.

He leans in closer, his toned arms supporting his weight as he presses onto the mattress beside your waist. Your leg bends so your knee is against your own shoulder.

And he kisses you. Slowly at first, then slips his tongue in until you're met with the familiar taste of him. “I love you.” He whispers against your lips, then kisses you again. “Love you like this, under me.”

“I love you so much.” You return, biting his bottom lip gently. He lets out a breathy laugh.

When he pushes into you, it's soft and slow. And your eyebrows curve upward in the way he just loves, your mouth falling agape. He groans when he feels himself bottoming you out.

“So fucking deep, Stevie,” You moan, breath going shallow. You can feel his tip press against your g-spot with every thrust. He’s going at a mind-boggling pace, watching you huff and whine underneath him. “Harder, baby, please.”

“Is that what you want?” He bucks his hips into you, causing you to gasp. He creates a rough, medium rhythm with his pelvis that has your head pressing hard into the mattress. You grip onto the wood of his headboard, wrists pulling on the bandanas but never breaking loose. Moans are spilling out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“So fucking tight,” Steve sighs, hips bouncing against yours. Every now and again he slows down, lets you catch your breath, before pounding into you again with an intensity that makes every thought leave your brain.

Tears are gathering in the corner of your eyes. The leg that's around his shoulder clenches in, pulling him closer to you. His lips are beside your neck now, and he takes the opportunity to bite into the skin, pulling another high-pitched moan out of you.

“So desperate for me, takin’ me so well.” He whispers between grunts. “You wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

“Fuck, I–” Your breathing so hard into his skin.

“Shh, it’s okay. Let go, baby.” His hand slides down to hold your hips down as he sets a new pace, one that makes your head swirl. “I wanna feel you cum around me, can you do that?”

You just nod, brow curving again as you feel your orgasm approaching. The feeling fills you with bliss, eyes fluttering shut as he pounds and pounds. “That’s it,” He groans.

“Need— my clit, Steve.” You whine against his shoulder.

“I got you, honey, lemme help you.” He snakes a hand down underneath himself and props his thumb atop your clit, pressing the same small circles he knows you love. “Can’t do anything, can you? You’re useless on my cock, just useless, mm,”

The feeling combined with the low moans he’s releasing with each thrust drives you over the edge, back arching so your pelvic bone presses against his. Your moans turn to sloppy drawn-out hums as you squeeze your pussy around him, causing him to whimper into your hair. “Just like that baby, oh my god, I’m gonna–”

You feel his hips shake against yours as a sudden warmth fills your cervix. The feeling causes your shoulders to jolt forward, overstimulated from the pleasure and leaking tears and cum onto the mattress. He lets out these tiny grunts as he milks the last of his orgasm into you.

Steve slows down, both of you catch your breaths. He softly places your leg off of his shoulder and collapses on top of you, chest heaving onto yours. You’re the first to break the heavy silence. “That was…” is all you can say.

“I know.” He breathes. Then looks up at you, chin resting on your breastbone, with your arms still spread above your head. “Maybe I’ll just keep you here forever like this.”

#re: unproofed #stranger things smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot

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moraxsthrone · 1 year

Text

◊ title — scent (phase 2)

◊ pairing — zhongli/morax x f!reader

◊ wc — 3.3k

◊ notes — guys. the way it took so long to write this bc horny. sorry not sorry. hopefully you'll find that it was worth the wait. also, i lied. this will be a 4-part series (not a 3-parter) - the ideas are coming faster than i can get them out. how fitting that i finally finished this on mother's day - just a fortunate coincidence.

◊ be warned — nsfw. mdni. feral!zhongli/morax. heat/rut. dragon features/anatomy/instincts. oral/tongue fucking (f. rcv'ing). squirting. cum drinking. rough, animalistic sex. biting/marking. knotting. breeding. scent marking. light aftercare.

← phase 1 ◊ phase 3 (wip)

...end of phase 2 (48 hours before you ovulate)...

“hey babe!” you greet your husband cheerfully while closing the door with your foot.

zhongli is sitting at the little breakfast nook that sits adjacent to your kitchen, reading a book and enjoying a cup of his favorite afternoon tea. he’s so engrossed in his novel that he doesn’t look up, just answers you with a low hum as you set the shopping bags down on the countertop. he’s mid-sip when you lean down and give him an innocent little peck on the cheek. his teacup is still pressed to his bottom lip when you twirl around and walk away from him to start putting groceries away.

he’s still looking at the book that he holds in his ungloved hand, but is oblivious to the words in front of him. his gaze slowly lifts from the pages, looking over the top of the book to watch you move around the kitchen, putting the provisions in their respective places. you’re wearing those cute little shorts and he’s willing to bet mora that you’re not wearing anything underneath if the intensity of your scent is anything to go by.

you bend over to place a couple of items in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, unwittingly giving him a little peep show when the crease of your butt cheeks peek out from underneath those scandalous shorts. zhongli is looking closely, and sure enough, you’re not wearing any panties. what began as a small spark of heat at the base of his spine when you gave him that innocent kiss a minute ago has been ignited and is now a raging wildfire that is rapidly spreading to his loins.

you’re fertile. he can smell it, and the delicious scent of your heat has triggered his rut. it’s not something he has any control over. similarly to how he’s clenching his jaw, he’s only partially cognizant of it.

he just instinctively knows that you smell of unhad sex.

and he must have you. he must fill you with his musk and scent you. but before he does any of that, the ghost of your earthy scent is haunting the back of his tongue.

first, he must taste you.

you say something but it’s gibberish to him when all he can hear, see, smell, or taste is your heat. it must’ve started somewhere around mid-day. when he woke up next to you this morning, he could faintly smell you, which is typical. but now he is all but drowning in the rich, ripe scent of your pussy. and you aren’t even aroused yet.

but if zhongli has anything to do with it, that’s about to change.

deep down he knows that you need to be wet to receive his cock. more than that, though, he wants to smell your arousal.

you’re still busying yourself with putting away groceries, humming the song that’s been stuck in your head all afternoon, having no idea that your husband’s dick is hard, his balls are aching, and he’s about .58 seconds away from bending you over the nearest surface.

“what would you like for dinner tonight, li?” you ask, standing on your tippy toes to reach the top shelf in your pantry. but he’s too ensnared by your creamy thighs to have noticed; he couldn’t hear you over the blood pumping furiously through his veins. when you don’t get a reply, you turn around to look at him. “li?”

he blinks and clears his throat. “wh-what?”

you repeat the question, to which he stammers out a response while loosening his tie. “whatever you want is f- fine with me, dear.”

you close the pantry door and furrow your brow at him, noting his flushed complexion. he appeared to be perfectly fine a minute ago. “zhongli, are you feeling okay?” you fret, making your way over to him. at his age, he could be having a heart attack or something… “darling, you look feverish…are you coming down with something?”

you bring your hand to his forehead. he’s burning up. you’re close to him again - too close - and you’re ripe for the picking.

before he fully realizes what he’s doing, he quickly stands up, the legs of his chair skidding across the tiled floor. your eyes go wide when he grabs you by the waist and in one swift movement, your ass and thighs are unceremoniously dropped onto the surface of the small dining table in front of him. your mouth opens, but before you can say anything, it’s filled with the former archon’s tongue.

his kiss is fierce, raw. animalistic even. there’s no romance behind it, only sheer need and passion. you feel like he’ll eat you alive…but he’s only just begun. as his hot muscle swirls around yours, he wedges himself between your legs, forcing them apart with his hips. his hands are everywhere - groping, pulling, pushing: your neck, your tits, your waist, your thighs. unable to get a word in edgewise, you whine into his mouth and he finally pulls away, mouth still open with a thread of saliva connecting your lips.

“zh- hahh-” you whimper when you feel his teeth on your neck.

he’s not biting you (yet). he’s merely keeping you where he wants you while he brands you with his mark. you wonder what’s gotten into him as his hand massages your naked thigh. he’s only like this when you-

oh.

has it been two weeks already? it seems like only yesterday that the two of you were talking about maybe starting a family.

a little mewl escapes your lips as the thought hazily occurs to you that you haven’t kept up with your cycle. but it’s okay…you haven’t had to because he has.

knowing your husband’s draconic rut has been triggered by your heat sends a pang of desire shooting to your core and you moan for him. his mating pheromones go undetected by your human sense of smell; however, the reptilian part of your brain is pinging like crazy, telling your body it’s time to breed.

you’re frantically working to unbutton his shirt, your bare legs encircling his hips, but he pries them apart again with a low grunt. he hooks his hands behind your knees, making you yelp when you’re jerked forward, his forgotten teacup rattling against its saucer when your back hits the table. he’s looking down at you, lips parted, eyes glowing, dark scales appearing briefly above his open collar before diminishing again - evidence that as feral as he seems right now, he’s still able to hold himself back…for now.

zhongli never breaks eye contact with you when he curls his brilliantly glowing fingers into the waistband of your shorts, his rich amber eyes boring into your very soul as his chest rises and falls. he yanks on the cloth barrier so hard you hear the stitching surrender to his power as your ass is forced upwards off the wooden surface.

the scent of your pussy is filling every one of his senses…it’s almost all he can even feel. he’s dying to taste you. needs to taste you as though your slick is holy water and he is a sinner. inside his tented pants, zhongli’s cock is glowing, leaking, throbbing. there’s a dark spot forming on the cloth as proof. he needs to shove his readied cock inside you like the desert needs rain, but first he’s dying to drink you. your scent is so palpable he can taste you on the back of his tongue and it’s driving him insane.

beads of sweat are collecting at his hairline as he picks up where you left off with unbuttoning his shirt. but he quickly loses patience and tears it away from his shoulders with a clipped growl, a couple of buttons flying off and landing gods know where in the process. he’s shirtless now, his beautiful arms glowing and carbon black scales emerging on the tops of his shoulders.

he pushes your thighs back towards your chest and lowers his face to your cunt. he just hovers there for a moment and breathes you in, his eyes rolling back in his head as they flutter closed. the distinct scent of your arousal combined with your readiness to breed sends a new rush of blood to his cock and it jumps in his pants.

“zhongli…please…” you keen for him, and he drops to his knees to worship at your altar.

normally, he’d take his time with you - ghost his lips along your inner thighs, kiss around your labia, tease you just a little. but he doesn’t have the patience for that right now.

he descends on your cunt, his open, watering mouth latching onto your aching clit, his long tongue circling it for a moment before he plunges it inside you.

gods, your flavor.

he tongue fucks you, filling you with a long, deep moan because you taste so fucking good to him. your hands fly to his earth-colored hair - something to ground you while he devours you. you can feel the hitch of his hot breath on your labia, not knowing that the golden tip of his cock is glowing and rubbing deliciously against the rough material of his trousers as he rocks his pelvis into nothing. pulling his tongue out, he licks a long, wide stripe up to your clit again.

you hear your name in his deep, even voice and open your eyes. “look at me when i’m eating your cunt,” he commands, and you comply. far be it from you to go against your husband’s - your god’s - wishes.

zhongli’s diamond-shaped pupils have been replaced by serpentine slits that hold your gaze while he sucks your soul from your hard bud, growling and tugging at it with the suction of his lips as his hips jerk, rubbing the moist head of his cock against the front seam of his slacks.

“hhhh~ li…fuck, feels so good baby, yes…” you praise him, but he already knows how good he’s making you feel. your husband mastered your body long ago. he knows your tells, the meaning behind every little sound you make. he can anticipate the way your body will move before he even touches you. but more than that, he can smell your growing lust.

he hums in appreciation and gives your clit several hard flicks with his flexed tongue, making you whine before thrusting his long, wet muscle into your pussy again. you buck your hips against his face, but his strong hands are spread over the backs of your thighs, holding them back. he curls his tongue inside you, pulling it along your walls, lapping at your juices.

you lightly pinch your nipples, rolling them between your fingers and pulling on them gently as zhongli returns his attention to your throbbing clit. he flicks it then flattens his tongue and drags it up and down, back and forth, the texture of his tastebuds rough against your tight little bundle of nerves. at the same time, you feel two of his fingers press against your hole.

“ohh- oh fuck, li!” you whine for him as he slips them inside, working them knuckle-deep in search of the spot that he knows so, so well. he finds it quickly with great ease, and begins massaging it with his fingertips while his lips and tongue work your clit over.

his hair is a mess in your hands; you’re a mess on your dining table. you can feel the cocktail of your need and your husband’s spit trickle down to your ass crack, knowing you’re about to make a mess in his mouth. but that’s exactly what he wants. he doubles down and starts tugging on your g-spot, moaning when he feels you tightening around his fingers.

zhongli knows you’re close, so close.

he continues to hump the air reflexively, sucking your clit harder, pulling it deeper between his wet lips as though he’s trying to swallow you whole.

“haahhh!” you gasp. “fuck, baby!” you fist his dark brown locks between your fingers. “zhongli…ohgodyou’regonnamakemecum!”

he releases your clit with a wet pop and you feel your abused little pearl being flicked furiously back and forth over the tip of his sinfully skilled tongue. your head rolls back on the table, briefly glimpsing your kitchen behind you before you squeeze your eyes closed.

your pelvis is rocking helplessly against your husband’s soaked face but his lips are latched securely around your clit when your cum squirts inside his waiting mouth. his brow knits and he groans against you as he swallows again and again, drinking you down to the last drop. it makes him impossibly harder and his aching testicles are heavy, full of his sperm that he needs to release inside you.

with his craving for your juices temporarily sated, the raging need in zhongli's loins is now fueling his prime directive:

breed.

he stands and lifts you up, bringing you to your feet before spinning you around and pushing your chest down onto the table. you whimper, pussy clenching at zhongli's show of physical power. your pebbled nipples rake across the surface below when he ruts his hips against your butt, and you can finally appreciate just how hard he is. he could’ve taken you on your back, but he’s primally driven and compelled beyond reason to mount you from behind.

zhongli the funeral consultant now more closely resembles morax the god of old. he’s even starting to show signs of his dragon form and operating purely on instinct at this point. your scent has become more complex, nuanced - the way you smell when you’re approaching fertility combined with your arousal, and now the mixture of his saliva and your cum…

there’s only one scent missing.

from behind you comes the tinkling of his belt buckle and the sound of his zipper. zhongli pushes his pants down just far enough to free his cock and testicles before he’s bending over you. you know his fangs have emerged when you feel them drag lightly across the back of your neck. his breath is hot and his cock is so hard, bouncing eagerly against your wet folds, drooling precum onto the floor below.

he spreads your ass apart with his strong radiant hands, kneading and pushing and squeezing bruises into your soft, sensitive flesh. you keen, bending lower, arching your back as you fold your arms and rest the side of your face on the hard surface beneath you.

“zhong- hhhn fuck…” is all you can manage when the tip of his erection bumps against your clit. gods, the way your scent hits him when you beg him to put his cock in.

his cockhead bounces along your slit a few more times before it finally catches on your hole and he thrusts in hard with a low grunt. the way it glides in, hard and slippery because you’re so ready for your mate to claim you, preening and presenting for him like a cat in heat.

his jaw flexes at the way you choke on your cries when your hip bones dig into the edge of the surface he’s fucking you into. it hurts, and there will be bruises later, but you can’t bring yourself to stop or slow him down. his cock feels too good filling you up so full, tugging at your gushy walls, the ridge of his cockhead peeking out every time he retreats, then splitting you apart when his hips slam against your ass again.

he hunches over you, fully mounting you, his tail having emerged and wrapping around your leg to hike it up and hold your bent knee out to the side so he can break your pussy off harder, deeper. your cheeks are streaked with wet eyeliner when the fuzzy tip of his tail tickles your clit, your juices getting it wet.

zhongli isn’t fucking you anymore - morax is the one driving his fat cock into your squelching cunt now. there are those who would clutch their pearls at the idea of being bent over a table and fucked by an archon, but your eyes are rolling back in your head at the feeling of being spread open by his celestial dick. for you, it’s a matter of course. he’s your husband - you’ve been in love with him for years and you adore him in every one of his iterations, even if you have your own special ways of worshiping him.

your feral god-husband’s vividly glowing arms are wrapped tightly around your sweaty chest, the wooden legs of your dining table scuffing the floor as he grunts in your ear. “fuck, that’s my good girl. taking my cock so well. so ready to take my seed, yeah?…”

“y-yes! need your cum, morax! breed me, my lord hahh~”

he loves it when you call him by his ancient name. it reminds him that he’s still got it - the power and virility of his youth. he swears under his breath, digging his talons into your hips as he yanks you back on his cock. it’s too much. it’s too much and he feels his balls pull tighter against his body when he growls and snarls behind you. you whimper at the feeling of his knot swelling deep inside you, knowing it’s forcing your walls open so he can pump you full of his sperm. he opens his mouth and bites down on the back of your neck with a deep, guttural growl.

you cry out the god’s name again and again, chanting for him, urging him to cum for you as his big, scaly tail tightens around your trembling thigh. the soft tuft of orange fur at the tip is matted with your juices. it licks and lashes against your clit as his humanoid hips dig into the plush of your ass, snapping against you in fits and starts.

“ohh-oh, morax, gonna cum for you!”

dark brown scales shimmer and separate along his spine as it curls with every frantic pump of his pelvis.

“that’s it, my dear. cum on my cock…now!” he orders.

you tense and throw it back on him as you fall apart on his cock. his balls contract in their sac as you milk his ready, sensitive length, choking on your own sobs of his archon name when he throws his head back with a roar and cums hard. the first ribbon of his divine seed splashes against your clenching walls, his cock jerking violently as he empties his full balls deep inside your womb, coating your messy insides with his hot, sticky semen.

◊ ◊ ◊

his sweaty chest is heaving against your back, his lungs filling and collapsing as the waves of his orgasm slowly fade. you can feel the heat of his labored breath as he licks and kisses the bite marks on the back of your neck, making you coo at him for soothing the pain. your husband can smell the oxytocin as it floods your brain; he instinctively knows to remain close to you in these crucial moments of bonding. dragons mate for life, so he’s biologically coded to crave the loving attachment just as much as you do.

nuzzling his nose behind your ear, zhongli mutters his love and appreciation for you, making you smile weakly with the side of your face still resting on the table. he leaves lazy kisses on your neck and you feel his smile against your moist skin when you tell him how happy it would make you to be the mother of his young.

he still has a full erection, his balls filling up with more seed. he’ll need to release again soon. he slowly pulls out of you, a mess of his cum and your slick spilling onto the floor below when the bulbous head of his cock pops out of your tight ring.

you’re jolted from your dreamy afterglow, eyes opening wide as you yelp, suddenly finding yourself being carried bridal style towards your bedroom. now that he has scented you with his musk, zhongli wants to take you to your shared nest where he can begin breeding you in earnest. he can sense that you’re still hours away from ovulation, but he’s going to keep your womb so swollen with his seed, so full of billions of his sperm - ready and waiting to swarm your fertile egg the moment it drops.

← phase 1 ◊ phase 3 (wip)

◊ zhongli/morax m.list

this is dedicated to my zhongli sisterwife @crystalflygeo whose utterly fearless, shameless style of writing has filled my morax spank bank inspired me to write with bold and wild abandon. i can't even fully fathom the sheer number of ideas this wonderful human being has filled my head with. we share (1) singular zhongli brain cell and i love her with my whole heart. she literally begged me to write this fic so you all have her to thank for it.

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wifeofasith · 6 months

Text

Warnings — SEX POLLEN, dub-con, Master x Padawan, power imbalance, intoxication, abuse of authority, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of pain, brief nipple play, brief fingering, degrading if you squint, pet names, praise, swearing...

Word count — 3.3k

Notes — Thank you, Anon for the request! This is the first time I write a fic this length, I hope it's enjoyable! I truly hope I didn't miss any warnings; it's currently past 3am and my head is fried.

“You know this is completely unnecessary; you are overexaggerating…” Anakin complains as you wrap a thick linen rope around his wrists, securing your master in place. “I swear, I’m fine. Look,” He leans forward, putting his face on display. So close, you could feel his soft breath on the tip of your nose.

You inspect his eyes, deep blue eyes with slightly dilated pupils; if it were somebody else, they wouldn’t have seen a difference, but you… Oh, you were different. You knew his eyes a little bit too well for just a Padawan, and you were certain: something was wrong. You could sense his heart pumping blood through his veins a little bit too fast, his irregular breathing, you spotted things he failed to notice about himself. Maybe all those stolen glances at his undeniably gorgeous face and broad body will pay off, giving you something else than just fantasy material for all the lonely nights.

“No.” You reply bluntly. “I’m sorry, master.” You tie a last knot around his wrists. You wanted to explain; tell him all the things you sensed were different: the way his gaze twisted when landing on your body, the way he squirmed just slightly as you bind his limbs together, the way he… Smelled. It wasn’t just a regular Anakin scent, no. It was sweeter, almost milky, and it made you want to burry your face into his skin, so naturally, you could never reveal your reasoning.

Anakin sighed, leaning his back against the remains of your spaceship, his tied hands resting on top of his lap, hiding the slowly-forming tightness you both failed to notice. He could swear everything was perfect. Well, aside from the fact that you both were left stranded on an unknown planet and after hours of wandering in search of life and help, you ended up back at the crash site.

“You realize I would never hurt you, right?” He stares at you, visible annoyance present on his features. “There is nothing wrong with me, I didn’t even touch anything unknown.”

He was right; he touched nothing. He… Inhaled it. And (un)fortunately neither of you knew.

“I know….” You look into his eyes pleadingly, trying to convince him to stay put in case he goes on some kind of rampage that your whole body senses is coming. You wanted to deny your gut feeling, but the gleam in his eyes told you it was a bad idea.

Time passes slowly, and Anakin is growing more and more impatient as he watches your failing attempts to fix the transmitter and possibly reach someone.

“Give me that.”

You stare at him from a short distance, thinking whether it’s smart to approach him, but your doubts are quickly wiped away when that sweet scent reaches the inside of your lungs with the help of a soft breeze. You stand up and bring him the broken device.

Anakin grabs your hand instead and pulls you down to your knees in front of him. Your face meets his with a surprised stare, and before you can complain about the invasion of your space, he speaks.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Fast.” His stare is intense, and he holds your hand tightly in his restricted grip. “Got it?”

“Yes, M-master.” You stutter, stunned by his sudden change of demeanor; you can’t even move. And the worst part is that he smells even better this close.

“Good girl.” He keeps staring into your eyes, grasping your hand as if he doesn’t intend to let it go. “Maker, you are such a pretty thing, I could tear you apart…” He contemplates out loud, his words surprising the last part of his sane mind as he’s becoming more and more vulnerable to foreign planet’s drugs.

“What?”

He slowly frees your hand, swallowing a lump in his throat. He’s starting to feel it — pants failing to hide a very prominent arousal, mouth watering at the sight of your cleavage, you look fucking scrumptious; and he needs to devour you. He snaps his head to the side.

“Sorry.” Anakin mutters, seemingly regaining some of his senses. He shifts on the ground as you stare at him dumbfounded, not only because of his sudden vulgarity but also because the outline of his dick was now very visible and your eyes couldn’t help but glance.

“Master?”

He groans. “Don’t say that.” He shamelessly palms himself in front of your eyes as if he were in pain from how tight his underwear was. “Don’t call me master. Not now, sweetheart.” His voice softens just for a moment.

“Master, are you okay?” You deny his request. Involuntary. Maybe because it was a habit, or maybe because some part of you really wanted him to get unbearably hard for you.

He yanks you towards himself with his sluggish grip. Tied hands wrap around your throat, and he hisses. “I fucking mean it. You call me that again. I’m going to bend you over this wreck of a spaceship and bruise your insides until someone finally comes and gets us off this forsaken planet.”

If you weren’t surprised before, you are now absolutely bewildered. You pushed him away, landing on your butt and quickly crawling reversely to create some space between yourself and the animal that possessed your master’s body.

Anakin stood up and leaned himself against the wreckage as if trying to fight something that’s been trying to claw its way out of his body. His back turned to you, shoulders rising up and down repeatedly as he struggled to speak.

“Go. Now.” He groans, trying to hold his panting in.

“Anakin?” You rise yourself from the ground and take a step towards him, hesitating to move or speak more.

“Fucking RUN.” A growl slips from his throat; you’ve never heard such an animalistic sound coming from him. It wasn’t an order; it was a warning, a head start for you. And if there was a perfect time to listen to his advice about doing everything he’s telling you — that was it.

So you do.

You feel the wind blowing through your ears and burning your throat as you try to get away as far from Anakin as possible. Your pulse is thudding rapidly, your limbs are shaking, and yet your insides are throbbing, aching to have relief from the extreme arousal created by your master’s primal behavior and the image of his hardening cock imprinted in your head.

You turn your head slightly, glancing behind you, expecting to see Anakin making his way towards you, but instead you are greeted with the sight of nobody. Anakin’s nowhere to be seen. You look around, panting heavily, trying to spot movement somewhere between the trees. You fear him and what he could do to you, but the fact that he’s gone frightens you even more. Your master could never hurt you, right?

“Master?!” Your voice echoes through what seems to be an empty grove of an unrecognized planet. The only sound you can hear is your own breathing, and you realize how loud it is, how easy it is for any predator to hear you. Anakin's hunt was simple when his prey served herself on the plate before him.

A gust of wind passed through your ears at the same moment as Anakin’s hands gripped you from behind and harshly pushed your quivering body against a tree nearby. His wrists bruised red from the rope, which he seems to have torn apart. Your vision blurs for a moment from the force he’s grabbed you with. His lips press on your ear.

“I told you not to call me that, you stupid girl. Now look what you’ve done.” He whispers into your ear as his bulge presses against your ass.

“A-Anakin-” You whimper, miserably trying to push him off you but instead just creating more friction on his already painful core.

His hand snakes into your robes, grasping your breast roughly, making your back arch. It’s hot and desperate to tear your flesh apart. And it feels so so good. So pathetically good that you almost feel like you’re the one taking advantage of him and not the other way around. He toys with your nipple, rubbing it between his fingers as his free hand grabs onto your thigh and presses your body onto his clothed cock.

“S’ alright, sweetheart… Your body’s so perfect…” He sinks his teeth into your neck and pulls on your delicate skin. “I’m so sorry—fuck—Sweetheart… I can’t stop-” His soft voice was a complete contrast to his forceful grip on your curves. His hands boldly groped you, kneading every bit of your body he could reach — all while grinding himself against you like an animal in heat.

“No- You can’t,” You whimper, trying to fight him and your own desire. “Anakin!” You gasp in pain when he presses your body into the tree, bruising your cheek.

“Shhhh… ‘s alright, just let me—” He pulls your robes, his hand making its way down your stomach, cupping your dripping heat. He inhales into your neck. “Don’t be scared.” He shushes your whines.

And it’s not like you’ve never imagined Anakin fucking you; you have. Way more than you should have, and yet you were shaking in fear, especially knowing that he was under the influence of something wicked.

“No, master-” You gasp as he inserts a finger inside you, wasting no time before fucking you with his hand. “S-stop-”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” He whimpers into your shoulder as your walls clenches around his digit. He slips another in. “What a perfect cunt… I’ll fucking ruin it." It was almost as if Anakin’s alter ego was overtaking his normal self — the one who would never dare to touch his Padawan like that, to taint her precious body with his pathetic touch.

“Ah!” Your back arched into him involuntarily. It was wrong. So so wrong and yet deep inside you never wanted him to stop, not when your walls spasmed around him for a sweet release.

“That’s it, good girl, come here.” He pulls his fingers out, making you pulse and whimper at the lack of pleasure. He quickly lands you both on the ground, spreading your thighs apart for himself. “Look at that,” He bites his lower lip. “And you say you don’t want it? You’re fucking soaked.”

“We can’t-” You whimper yet again. “You wouldn’t- Ah!”

He grins as he slaps his cock against your clit, rubbing it up and down your entrance as the wet, slippery sound reaches your ears.

“I’m going to fuck you one way or another, so you just might as well enjoy it, after all…” He leans on top of you, lining the crown of his cock with your hole. “…master knows best.”

He slides in with one swift movement, filling you to the brim as you claw his back with your nails. He’s big, way bigger than his fingers, forcing your walls to stretch wide open to welcome both his length and girth. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust much when he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, earning a loud whimper from you.

“Pretty girl…” He coos, stroking your cheek as he repeats the movement more urgently. “Master’s cock feels good, hm?”

It did, Maker; it felt amazing. Every vein bruised your gushing hole just right as he thrusted into you, long and powerful strokes, head hitting your cervix at the perfect angle to make your toes curl. Each time his sack slapped against your ass, an electric sting flashed through your cunt, forcing a pathetic moan out of your mouth. Your vision is so blurry from how hard you are rolling your eyes back, you don’t even see how Anakin comes forward and presses his lips onto yours.

His kiss is starving, depraved of you. He tries to say something, but it’s pretty incoherent, muffled by your saliva mixing with his. He tugs on your lips, sticking his tongue far up your mouth, smearing spit over your chin. His teeth clash against yours every time he attempts to reach into you deeper, as if trying to devour you from the inside out.

“Fuck,”—thrust—”So…”—thrust—”Fucking…”—thrust—-”Tight-” He moans into your mouth, and you swear you can feel his whimpers inside your body.

Anakin props himself up on his forearms — each on the other side of your face. He snakes his fingers into your hair, making you look at him.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me, and tell me you love it. Beg me to fuck you, come on, baby…”

He’s a mess, and he’s messing you up too; he wants you to plead, but there is no reason to; he’s already balls deep in you, abusing parts of your body nothing and nobody has ever reached before.

“M-master…” A feeble whimper is all your body can muster when your whole lower half twitches from pleasure. “…Stop...” You claw on his chest, trying to push him off, maybe because you know how sick it is to allow him to turn you into a drooling cockslut, or maybe because you don’t want to cum so fucking soon.

“What’s the matter, angel? You wanna cum, yeah?” A wicked smile spreads across his face, as if he were listening to all of your thoughts while you laid there spread open. “Yeah? Your little cunt can’t take master’s cock at all, hmmm?” He mocks you, and you know you deserve it, for one reason or another.

His filthy words and a couple of powerful strokes are enough to have your juices coating his whole shaft as your back arches and hardened nipples rub against his chest. The orgasm he’s giving you blinds your mind; it drowns out every other noise that’s not his moans of pleasure or your wetness spurting around him.

“Thought so.” He laughs in your face, gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing them up — his cock still inside you, soaking up all you had to give it. “That’s alright, angel, it’ll hurt less now that you’re all stretched out and drenched.”

“N-no…” You cry when he adjusts your position to reach deeper into you, seemingly not even caring that your soaked walls are still aching from him fucking you over the edge just moments ago. “A-Ani…” It’s a bittersweet pleasure — the way he keeps going through your body desperately, trying to push him out and stop the ache inside of you.

“Look,” He releases his grip on your thigh and grabs your chin. “Look how perfect your little cunt is…” He slides all the way out and slowly pushes back in, his pubic hair tickling your skin. “As if it’s made to take me.” He forces your head to look down between your bodies and admire the mess he’s creating.

The more he sees you struggle to look without squirming, the more precise his movements are. He angles his painfully thick cock to scratch your spongy insides, your throbbing cunt squeezing him enough to force delicious grunts out of his mouth.

Your eyes are blurry from the tears you didn’t know formed; you blink rapidly, attempting to catch a glimpse of Anakin’s face. You were self-evident about the desperate mess he’s turned you into, drenched in sweat and cum, your body sore and bruised, it was obvious, however, you didn’t expect Anakin to be as disheveled as well. His lips were apart, soaked in spit, the blue of his eyes barely visible from the expansion of the pupils, dirty locks sticking to his forehead, your master looked and, quite obviously, behaved like a brute beast devouring his prey. And yet, he was angelic.

Your idealization of Anakin was the root reason why you resisted digging his eyes out with your nails and putting up a violent fight against him for corrupting your body inside and out. Because, essentially, Anakin is still your master. The one who teaches you, the one who tends your wounds, the one who is now currently fucking you over your second orgasm with no mercy in his bloodshot orbs. And honestly, you are starting to genuinely enjoy it.

“Just like that, pretty girl, keep squeezing me…” Anakin presses his lips against yours, forcing his tongue in and making you answer his desperate kiss. One of your legs is stretched up painfully, foot dangling over his shoulder, while the other almost involuntary wraps around him and makes sure he’s plunging deep into you with no chance of escaping. “Good girl, that’s it,” He moans into your mouth, “I’m going to cum, yeah, s’ like that, let me fill that tight cunt.”

“P-please…” You reach for his head, grabbing him by the roots of his hair to lock your lips back together. “Master- fuuuuuck!” There it is again — you are cumming all over his cock, slurping onto his tongue while milking him to his own orgasm. You can barely see or make sense of your surroundings; all you know is that he’s pounding you into oblivion, and you love every second of being stretched out for your master to use.

Anakin is grabbing your body, toying with your flesh. Even when his dick starts to fuck long threads of his thick cum into you, he can’t stop frantically abusing your body in every way possible; grabbing, biting, kissing, and fucking all come at the same time, sending your body into a sensory overload, and you can swear you are about to lose your mind and die right there and then.

But there is no time for dying, not when you realize Anakin has emptied himself deep inside you and yet is nowhere close to stopping. His cock, still hard, surrounded by the mix of your and his cum, is slamming into you with sensual yet forcible strokes, making it seem like you can taste the sourness of his release in your mouth.

“So needy, going to make sure to fuck it deep in you, angel.” He whispers into your neck, you can’t help but whimper and dig your nails into his shoulder blades in hopes of him easing up on you, but he only pulls his face off your shoulder and greets you with a filthy grin. “If I knew how beautiful your fucked-out expressions and little whimpers were, I would have devoured this pretty pussy much earlier…”

“M-master…” You cry out for help, for pleasure, for him. Everything ceases to exist except Anakin. His expression softens just for a moment. He settles his cock inside of you and reaches out to wipe the mess of drool and tears from your cheek.

“It’s okay, my sweet Padawan." He whispers, his hands gently caresses your hipbones in a subconscious attempt to soothe your aching muscles. Anakin leans down to kiss your lips one more time. You can feel his whole length throbbing and begging for friction while the wetness of your releases seeps down your cunt. “I know you can take more, yeah? Just like when we train, alright? You want to stop…”—Thrust—”But I’m the Master…”

Your eyes roll back when your sex is rewarded with a glimpse of more pleasure, a little promise of what he can give you if you just enjoy it like he’s commanded you. So you buck your hips into him, seeking yet another release.

“There she is…” Anakin’s deranged expression makes its way back between his perfect features. To your surprise, he swiftly pulls himself out of you, which makes you whine from the lack of fullness and feeling of the mix of liquids trickling down your body. “Let’s see how useful your other holes are, mmm?”

And with that, you know — whatever he’s infested with still has yet to wear off.

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