#tom cruise does these things with his face | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cheolism · 2 months

Text

BREAK AND RETURN

✰ — brother's-bandmate!minghao x f!reader ✷ — summary: last week minghao did what he thought was best and put an end to your fling. he sees you again before band practice and can't help but give in to his desires. ✰ — wc is approx. 5k ✷ — genre: 90s au, smut, fwb/fucking your brother's friend ✰ — warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it! yk it!), pet names (good girl, angel, etc), jealousy, possessiveness, and lust. backshots, off-screen masturbation, fingering and pussy-licking. lmk if anything else should be added :) ✷ — rating: 18+ ✰ — note: this is a part of @beomcoups's "now that's 90's" svt collab! thank u very much for letting me join the collab! i had fun chatting n interacting with new people ^-^ i hope everyone enjoys the fic!! thank you very much to @wooahaeproductions for reading this over and reassuring me <3 tagging @idyllic-ghost and @onlyhuis bc i think you both wanted tagged but i can't remember, so sorry!!!

here’s the thing: minghao isn’t stupid.

he knows better. he truly does. he isn’t some idiot stuck at a claw machine at an arcade, doesn’t keep feeding it his money while never getting any closer to winning a prize. minghao knows when to quit something, when to step away.

that’s why he broke things off with you, after all. he had thought it would be easy. the two of you weren’t in a real relationship. you weren’t like tom cruise and nichole kidman – the two of you were just fucking. no strings attached.

but of course there were strings attached. you’re the kid sister to his friend and bandmate, josh; at first minghao thought he would be fine keeping it a secret. he didn’t need to take you out on dates and show you off like you were the best thing since bon jovi. the two of you were content in each other’s arms, naked chest against naked chest, legs intertwined as you dozed off.

minghao, however, wasn’t stupid.

he knew there were strings attached to the both of you. he knew that it was a bad idea, fucking his bandmate’s little sister. every time he kissed your warm mouth, he knew he was betraying josh’s trust. it wasn’t fair of him to to that to josh, and it wasn’t fair of him to put you, josh’s sister, in a position to lie to your own brother.

so minghao took initiative and broke off the relationship.

he wasn’t stupid, and he knew the first time he would see you after breaking up with you would be hard. he knew it would be. it’s hard for real couples, for couples that hold hands as they walk down the street and talk about what to name the cat they’re going to adopt. he had imagined it would be hard, to some degree, to see you. the two of you might have steered away from such topics as rings and shared apartments and other things that left the fantasy of forever in your minds, but he knew you. he knew how you sighed after he kissed the space under your ear, he knew how you looked fresh from the shower with your face shining from the heat of the water. he knew how you looked when you concentrated on painting your toes, how you looked when you begged him to see clueless at the theater because josh thought it would be stupid and you didn’t know who else to ask.

he knew you, and perhaps that was worse than dating you.

he knew you, and you knew him, and minghao isn’t stupid but he didn’t know that seeing you again would hurt so much.

you look beautiful. you always do, according to minghao. you’re sitting on that old couch josh and him spent an hour trying to shove into the garage for their band practices. you’re wearing ridiculous clothes, baggy comfy pants and the ugly oversized sweater with the worn collar and checkers and stripes on it. you’re talking to soonyoung, hands waving excitedly as the two of you laugh. your beauty bubbles out with every breath of laughter, seems to radiate in your chest like a little star, and minghao knows that even if winona ryder was in the room with them he would still choose you as the most beautiful.

you catch sight of minghao. you shoot him a grin, large and inviting, as if he hadn’t made you cry last week. you give him a little wave. “hi, minghao!”

and then you turn back to soonyoung, your knee pressed against his.

it’s so ridiculous; he’s ridiculous. minghao feels his stomach twist, as if someone was wringing it like a wash cloth after doing dirty dishes. you’re beautiful and radiant, and you spoke two words to minghao before turning to soonyoung, as if minghao wasn’t anyone particularly special.

he can’t help but stare at you. you lift a hand, and, in a move he recognizes as you flirting because you’ve done it to him when you want him to fuck you, you tuck your hair back behind your ear. you are wearing small pearl stud earrings and immediately minghao recognizes them as the ones he bought for you a year and a half ago, right before the two of you started fucking.

you tuck your hair back behind your ear and soonyoung watches, his mouth parted a little, and minghao feels like he needs to punch something.

“funny, isn’t it?” josh says, appearing at minghao’s side. josh runs his tongue over his lip ring, pulling at the sleeves of his plaid jacket. “it looks like soonyoung’s got a crush on my kid sister.”

“yeah,” minghao says, throat tight. he watches as soonyoung edges slightly closer, his thigh now pressed firmly against yours. you don’t move away. minghao wants you to move away, or better yet, slap soonyoung.

minghao isn’t a violent person, either. he isn’t violent, nor is he jealous. but once he also had thought he was above the lure of lust, was above giving into the craving of needing your body against his, dick stuffed in your pussy and his mouth dominating yours.

maybe you just had some sort of power over him that no one else did. maybe it’s like that movie practical magic, and you’ve placed a spell on him, bewitching him.

“i think he’s going to ask her out soon,” josh carries on, as if he’s ignorant to the way minghao is one step from having a crisis. “i saw the drive-in is going to be playing jurassic park. i remember when it first came out and how much she loved seeing it at the theater. it’ll be a good chance for soonyoung to ask her on a date.”

minghao scoffs. “you know he’s scared of that movie. whenever we bring out the vhs he runs.”

josh shrugs. “if he likes her as much as i think he does, i think soonyoung will be fine.”

“and you’re okay with it?” minghao turns to josh, putting his back to you and soonyoung. “you’re totally okay with soonyoung dating your sister?”

josh shrugged, twisting his mouth a little in thought. “well. i think – i think he really likes her, you know? he’s not just gonna fuck her and leave her hanging around until he wants her again.”

minghao’s mouth sours, and he bites back a venomous remark. that’s what his relationship with you was like, wasn’t it? he has no place to try and insert himself between you and soonyoung’s blossoming relationship.

“you know how soonyoung is, though,” minghao says, despite himself. he folds his arms in front of him, drumming his fingers against his bare skin. he sees the little flower tattoo on his ring finger, the one he got after you spent an evening at his apartment drawing flowers into your lisa frank notebook with glitter pens. “he’s flighty. he’s never stayed with a chick longer than a month. what if he breaks her heart?”

josh hums. “i can’t keep her locked away in the house forever, hao. she’s grown. she can make her own decisions. and if that is soonyoung, the same soonyoung who refuses to drive without everyone wearing seatbelts and insists on someone holding his hand as he gets a tattoo, then i’m fine with that.”

minghao huffs. he walks away from josh, knowing that josh is right. you are grown and can make your own decisions. for a year and a half, that was minghao. you chose to go to his apartment, chose to get on your knees and offer your mouth. you chose to lay by his side, fingers gently tracing the vine tattoo that climbed up his left arm as minghao murmured about the future. for a year and a half you chose minghao, until he took that choice away from you.

and now you were sitting at soonyoung’s side on an old, musty couch, laughing at some stupid joke.

minghao grabbed his bass off of its stand, bringing the strap up around his neck. his fingers find the strings naturally, absentmindedly plucking out the beginning of u2’s “one”. on the body of his bass, down towards the bridge, is a strawberry shortcake sticker that you had gingerly pressed onto his instrument.

josh joins minghao, calling back to soonyoung. jihoon and vernon come through the door leading to the kitchen, each of them holding a jolt cola.

“finally,” minghao sighs, glaring at the two other men. “come on. practice started ten minutes ago.”

soonyoung stands from the couch, still talking to you. you’re looking up at him with a smile, eyes sparkling.

“kwon soonyoung!” minghao snaps. he stops playing the bass, narrowing his eyes at soonyoung. “come on! just because you have all day doesn’t mean the rest of us do. why don’t you fucking respect the rest of us and stop flirting and get the fuck over here.”

josh sucks in a breath next to minghao but doesn’t say anything. soonyoung gives you a small wave, and then he’s jogging over. he glances at minghao, murmuring a small apology.

minghao doesn’t care. he’s watching you. you lean forward, elbows on your knees, tilting your head and eyes on minghao. your sweater – that overly large, horrible sweater – is loose at the collar, and as you lean forward the hole widens and gapes and falls, giving minghao a view of the valley between your tits and the top of your black silk bra, and all that skin above it.

and he remembers. minghao remembers what it was like to press his mouth to your skin, to hold your tits in his hands and feel their weight and warmth. he remembers being between your warm thighs, remembers how soft your body was and how he always seemed to sink into it.

you stand. “well, i’ll leave you guys alone so you can practice.”

minghao watches as you leave, the hem of your sweater covering your ass. he remembers you walking from his bed wearing an overly large nirvana shirt, how the hem tapped against your ass as you walked away and to the kitchen.

and here’s the thing: minghao isn’t stupid.

he broke things off with you. he isn’t with you anymore, doesn’t have the privilege of getting horny and jealous of you. he doesn’t get to act on his frustrations when he sees you taunting him, when he sees you getting your petty revenge for breaking up with you. you’re stirring something up with soonyoung, and he doesn’t get to veto that, doesn’t get to act as if he has any say in your life.

after all, he’s the one that made sure he wouldn’t. he’s the one that made sure to draw the line between the two of you.

practice starts, and minghao is somewhere else entirely. he gets the order of the songs mixed up, starts playing basket case before live forever. he loses all of his picks and has to borrow from vernon, and his mind keeps slipping back to you.

an hour passes like that, with minghao not really there. he’s between your thighs, face pressed against your pussy; he’s in your arms, heels digging into his back as you urge him to go deeper. he’s everywhere but there, everywhere with you.

eventually minghao loses another pick, and josh sighs from the front. he goes over to the speaker and dials it off, frowning at everyone. “i’m thinking we should take a break. we’re not doing our best, and everyone seems really scattered right now. let’s break for supper and come back and really put work in.”

the others nod, turning off their instruments or, in jihoon’s case, setting down his drumsticks. “we need to get focused,” jihoon agrees, serious. “we’re not going to keep maintaining gigs if we’re fucking around like this. we need to be serious about what we’re doing. we need to be bringing our everything to every practice. none of this bullshit.”

josh nods, setting his guitar back in its case. his case, just like minghao’s, is decorated with stickers you’ve slapped on. besides strawberry shortcake there’s lisa frank, rugrats, pokemon. there’s squiggly lines and smiley faces and flowers, all the signs pointing to you.

“honestly,” joshua says, voice grave, “if, by some fucking miracle, the black rose calls back and says they want us to perform for them, i’ll have to turn them down.”

soonyoung protests, brow furrowed. “come on! this is just one practice we’ve fucked up. it’s not like we’re always fucking around. let’s just take a break, clear our heads, and come back at it. this isn’t something that needs to be repeated or stressed over.”

“i’m thinking about a triple decker pizza,” vernon says, prompted by no one. josh rolls his eyes, grinning, and the band begins to split into groups for food.

“where you wanna go?” soonyoung asks minghao. he’s blinking innocently at minghao, completely ignorant of the absolute sin going through his mind. he doesn’t know that minghao thought about punching him only an hour ago, doesn’t know he’s been fantasizing about the way your thighs felt under his fingertips while fumbling his fingers over the bass strings.

“i think i’ll just run home and grab something,” minghao lies, setting his guitar on its stand. soonyoung pouts, nodding.

minghao lingers behind the others, lying to josh about misplacing his keys and promising to lock the house behind him. you were doing your homework, josh said, and he didn’t want you to be disturbed.

minghao waits until soonyoung, whom always seems to be the last one to leave, pulls out of the driveway with vernon jamming out in the passenger seat beside him, and then he’s moving.

he knows the way up to your bedroom as if it was his own. he goes up the carpeted stairs, past the various pictures of you in flouncy dresses and huge bows as babies, past the awkward family photo with you and josh pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, wearing matching sweater vests. he flips on the mickey mouse lightswitch at the top of the staircase, and then he’s opening your bedroom door.

your room is your sanctuary. the bedroom walls are painted a soft lilac from your childhood, covered in posters from spice girls to nirvana and aerosmith. there’s beanie babies hanging over your mirror, a troll doll on your dresser. your room is littered with comics and cd cases, all of your cds stacked in small piles around the stereo. you’ve got backstreet boys playing from your stereo, and minghao doesn’t even have it in him to make a comment about it.

meanwhile, you –

you are on your bed. you’re still wearing that sweater, but that’s all. your blankets are on the floor, pillow stuffed underneath your hips. your entire lower half is bare, one leg extended out and the other bent. the room has the faint, barely-there smell of cunt, and it’s more intoxicating than any drug.

you meet minghao’s eyes sheepishly, hands smoothing down your thighs. “missed you,” is all you say, fingers slowly dragging across your thighs and towards your center.

minghao is across the room in record time, pulling off his bomber jacket and throwing it to the ground. “we don’t have a lot of time,” he says, hands pulling up the hem of his shirt to zip down his pants. “the others just went to eat.”

“then you better hurry,” you say, eyes sparkling. you don’t make any comments about him stumbling back into your bed after breaking everything off. instead you spread out your legs, your hands making quick work of your sweater and bra, and minghao falls onto your bed.

“i’ve prepared,” you say as he settles between your thighs. he can’t help but run his hands over your skin, treasuring the feel of your skin beneath his. this was his favorite place on earth, he realizes; between your thighs, skin to skin.

“you’ve prepared?” he echos, raising a brow. you nod, biting down on your lip. “been waiting for me, is that it?”

“you or soonyoung,” you say, grinning at him.

minghao scowls at you, pinching your skin between his fingertips. “shut up,” he commands you. “don’t wanna hear you say his name ever again.”

you laugh at him, reaching out. you lace your fingers around his neck, bringing his face down to yours. you press a quick, close-lipped kiss to his mouth. “sorry,” you say, voice still light and giggly. “couldn’t help it.”

minghao growls, and then he’s lacing his hands in your hair and smashing his mouth back to yours. he pries open your mouth with his tongue, delving in and reclaiming that familiar space. he can’t believe he’s gone over a week without kissing you – it’s a sin, he’s sure, to not kiss you and have you whimpering underneath his touch. it’s a greater sin to not kiss you than it is to be kissing his friend’s little sister, surely.

he sucks at your bottom lip, moving his hands down your thighs. they’re sticky on the inside, no doubt from when you prepared yourself earlier. when he moves his hand deeper between your thighs it’s wetter, warmer, stickier, and he thinks that this is a heaven of it’s own. you sigh against his mouth, and then he’s ducking his head and moving his body, mouth slipping from yours and skimming down over your chin and along your throat.

you whine, and he can’t help but chuckle against your skin. he suckles at your throat. you open beneath him so wonderfully, it’s a wonder he was ever able to separate from you at all.

minghao moves down your body, kissing each and every spot he missed. the top of the valley between your tits, the skin of your shoulder. he mouths at your nipples, slipping his hand up between your legs so his fingers brush at your pussy lips.

you shiver beneath him. he laps at one of your nipples with his tongue, fingers dipping and sliding your cunt. he doesn’t apply any real pressure, just content with teasing you and hearing those whines and moans he missed.

“hao,” you groan out, fingers moving to his hair. you tangle your fingers in his locks, pulling softly. “hao –”

he shushes you, and then his fingers are slipping into your cunt. you moan out, head tipping back. he slips two into your hole, biting down at his lip as your pussy contracts around him, trying to suck his fingers in further, desperate for his touch.

your cunt is hot around his fingers. it’s not as tight as it would have been if you hadn’t prepared, and it’s easy for him to slide his two fingers down to the base, brushing his fingertips against your core.

“fuck,” he sighs, pressing his face against your stomach. he breathes in, inhaling your scent. you’re so wonderful. you smell wonderful, feel wonderful. he wants to devour you; he can’t imagine why he ever left you.

he slides his fingers from your cunt, drawing a high whine from your lips. minghao clicks his tongue at you, and then he’s pushing three fingers in. you shudder, cunt clenching so tight around his digits that he can’t move.

“easy, baby,” he mumbles, his free hand going to your leg. minghao pulls your leg over his shoulder, nose pressing against your thigh. he can feel your skin against his eyelash as his breathes you in here, too. “gotta be easy and good for me.”

you let out a long breath, eyes sliding shut. your cunt loosens around his fingers, and as a reward minghao moves down further between your legs. he presses his face to your cunt, the smell of your pussy surrounding him.

he knows he should hurry. he knows his band will be back soon. but that doesn’t stop minghao from running his tongue along your clit, doesn’t stop him from tasting this part of you. he missed it so much – missed your cunt, how it smelled and felt and tasted.

your thighs clench around his head, but he continues. minghao scissors his fingers in you, not focused on stretching you but instead making you feel good. he laps at your lit in broad strokes, and then he’s sucking at your little bean, a loud squeal escaping your lips.

“quiet!” he hisses, though he feels his lips twitching up at the corner. he does it again and again between licks of his tongue, feeling your body shake beneath his and little sounds of ecstasy escape your lips.

“hao!” you whine out, fingers digging slightly into his scalp. “gotta – gotta hurry, josh –”

you couldn’t manage a full sentence, high moans and squeals escaping your mouth and interrupting your words. but minghao understood all the same, and he was pressing one last kiss to your pussy before he withdrew.

he wiped his hand off on the sheets, and then he was pushing his pants and boxers down to his knees. he fisted his shirt with one hand, raising it and keep it away from your soaking cunt as he moved close.

you plant your feet on the bed, tilting your hips up for him. you’re so good, he thinks. you’re perfect. and you’re his.

minghao pressed the head of his cock against your cunt, watching as your entire body seemed to freeze in anticipation. you were so ready for him, so eager. you were biting down at your lip, eyes large and watching, and minghao couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t feeling the same way.

he crowded down over you, releasing his shirt and moving his hand to cup your face. minghao rolled his tongue into your mouth, the noises of your wet mouths meeting making his cock throb with anger.

he fucked into your cunt, a deep groan escaping you. your pussy was tight, despite preparation, but warm and wet and minghao slowly slid deeper and deeper. your body took his cock easily, as it always had, and he knew that the two of you were meant for each other.

“hao,” you moan out, lashes fluttering. you speak against his mouth, breath hot. “feels good, hao. want it. missed you so much, hao.”

“i know, baby,” he mumbles, hand sinking into your hair. he slides until his cock is buried as far as it can go within you, your pussy clamping down on his cock. he wanted to move, wanted to immediately begin fucking you. instead he held back, hand twisting in your hair. “i missed you too.”

you bite at your lip, and then you’re tightening your legs around his waist. minghao takes this as permission, and he begins drawing his hips back. the slide of his dick against your walls feels so good, feels perfect, all slick warmth that makes his toes curl and eyes flutter.

he can’t believe he left you. he can’t believe he ended this. he’s so fucking stupid –

minghao fucks back into your cunt, and it feels like coming home. he begins setting a slow, deep rhythm that makes you arch up around him, mouth wide and eyes pinched shut. he just looks at you, takes in the shape of your mouth and your lashes, just looks and adores you.

his hand moves from your hair to your ear, and he traces the shell of your ear as he grinds into you. he follows the curve, adoring. he thumbs at your earlobe, just touching you, when he touches that pearl earring.

and minghao thinks back. he thinks back to how you had tucked your hair behind your ear for soonyoung, how you had acted all cute and coy for him. how you had taunted minghao.

his hips slow to a stop, and you whine for him. for a moment he just focuses on your earrings, staring.

“you’re such a bad girl,” he growls out, and then he’s slamming back into your pussy, the sound of skin hitting skin loud. you cry out, startled, and then he’s setting a punishing, brutal pace.

“you’re so bad,” he hisses, hand moving down to your throat. he doesn’t choke you, just places his hand against your throat. “teasing me like that with soonyoung. so fucking bad. wanted me to get jealous, didn’t you?”

you whimper, eyes rolling back as he fucks you. each thrust into your cunt is wet and loud, and he fucks you knowing that you’ll feel the ache hours later.

“wanted me jealous of kwon soonyoung,” minghao murmurs, and he’s ducking his head to bite at your neck. you cry out, cunt tightening around his dick. he bites and licks and sucks, marking your neck as his.

because you are his. he was a fool to think otherwise. you’re his and he’s yours, and he’ll show kwon soonyoung.

minghao pulls out – you whine – and he flips you around. minghao moves to his knees, pulling you up and back so you’re on all fours. he enters you with a rough thrust, and then he’s resuming his hard pace, chasing out each sting of skin slapping skin, seeking that pain-pleasure.

“you’re mine,” he says, hands tight around your hips. he watches your ass jiggle with each thrust, some animalistic urge to take coming over him. “you’re mine, angel. fucking mine and no one else’s. got it?”

you nod against your pillows, arching your back and pushing back to him. you fuck back onto him, meeting each thrust, and minghao can’t help but feel satisfied.

as if you’d ever do this for kwon soonyoung. as if you’d ever let him fuck you like this, as if you’d ever give yourself over to kwon soonyoung as eagerly as you do minghao.

“you gotta cum,” minghao commands, slapping at your ass. you cry out, fingers twisting in the sheets. “gotta cum around my cock, baby. milk me.”

he reaches down, grabbing his shirt and pushing it up out of the way. his fingers slip into your cunt, fluttering around where the two of you are connected to grind down on the gummy area surrounding your clit. you whine, and only a couple of thrusts later you’re tightening around his dick.

“that’s it,” minghao says, biting down on his lip. “gush around my dick, angel. come on, cum for me.”

your moans rise in pitch as you cum, and he fucks you through it. he fucks into your pussy as it quivers, fluttering around his dick. once you’re finished, whining from oversensitivity, minghao pulls out of your pussy – your warm, tight, delightful pussy – and fucks into his hand until he’s shooting out warm stripes of cum, painting your back white. he feels fuckin amazing, adrenaline and lust and something he can’t quite name rushing through his veins.

he pants, watching as his cum taints your skin. you’re so beautiful like this, stained with him. he says as much, rubbing his hand over your ass and back.

a car honks from the street. minghao curses, and then he’s flinging himself off of the bed. he grabs his bomber jacket, hesitates, and then quickly wipes himself down.

“i’ll wash it,” you promise, and he ducks down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your mouth.

“good girl,” he murmurs, moving to press a kiss to your temple. “such a good girl for me.”

he darts for the bathroom after leaving your bedroom, flicking on the goofy lightswitch. he looks in the mirror. he looks – well, he looks like he just spent the last half hour fucking someone.

but not just anyone, he thinks, grabbing his shirt and flapping it to try and get some fresh air against his skin. he spent the last half hour fucking you.

vernon looks at him weirdly as he hands minghao a few slices of pizza. “been busy?”

minghao shrugs, pressing his hair back from his face. “went jogging a bit to try and clear my mind of all it’s shit. need to bring everything to practice.”

vernon looks like he doesn’t believe minghao, but vernon, also, doesn’t care. so minghao watches as his friend grabs a soda from the fridge. “cool,” is all he says, and then vernon begins slurping at his drink.

soonyoung enters the room with his own pizza, setting it on the counter. “i made sure to get some you like,” he says to minghao.

minghao feels, slightly, like he should feel guilty towards soonyoung. soonyoung, after all, has a crush on you. and minghao just fucked soonyoung’s crush.

then again, minghao thinks, it’s soonyoung’s fault for getting a crush on you when you spend every other day getting your brains fucked out by minghao.

joshua enters his house with a large grin, holding a plastic cup in one hand. “you’ll never fucking guess who called.”

“president clinton,” soonyoung says, raising a slice of pepperoni pizza to his mouth. “wait. better yet. monica lewinsky.”

“no,” josh says, “cut it out. i’m talking about the fucking black rose club! they called! and they want us for next thursday!”

“well,” minghao says, a grin taking over his face. “it isn’t a friday or saturday performance, so the club won’t be too busy.”

“but it gets our name out there,” josh agreed, clapping vernon on the back. he looks so sincerely happy, lip ring glinting in the artificial light of the kitchen. “we’re getting on the map.”

minghao raises vernon’s soda in salute towards josh before drinking it and handing it back to vernon. “things are looking up,” minghao says.

minghao isn’t stupid. he knows they’ll need to work their asses off for the next week in preparation of playing at the club. he knows this is only one step on the mountain of success, only one step towards their goal line. he knows he’ll need to talk to you, sincerely. he knows he’ll need to apologize, knows he needs to explain everything.

yes; minghao isn’t stupid.

but, he thinks, watching as you come down the stairs, fresh from a shower, he is awfully lucky.

724 notes · View notes

the-original-skipps · 18 days

Text

|| Relationship Headcanons || Poly!Sakura x Reader x Poly!Suo || Wind Breaker ||

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:10

PLAY!

sooo I’m like reading the manga and I see nirei always in between these two and I’m thinking WHAT IF and thus this was born

: fem!reader, polyamorous relationship, established relationship, bunch of fluff

❥ Congratulations, you managed to score these two hotties as your boyfriends. There’s never a day that’s dull with these two. In this relationship there’s a perfect balance, Suo is the calm experienced one and Sakura is the brash inexperienced one. You’re kinda in the middle to balance these two boys out.

❥ Sakura will always get red in the face whenever you and Suo do some sort of display of affection. Just holding Suo’s hand and Sakura is already ready to combust like a volcano. Looking at you like you’re both heathens for holding hands. What will really make Sakura explode is when you hold his hand too.

❥ Suo really lets loose his mischievous side around you and Sakura. For Sakura, it’s not that hard to get him red but when it comes to you it becomes a little bit more of a challenge. Let’s just say Suo really likes the challenge so he tries many things to get you blushing. Getting Sakura to blush is just a bonus but you’re the real prize. He’s even keen on reenacting some BL scenes just to gauge your reaction. Sakura is an unwilling participant.

Suo hugs Sakura from behind.

Sakura: WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOIー！

❥ You will have to initiate most of the time when it comes to Sakura. He is too embarrassed to show any affection to you. So it’s always Suo who ushers (pressures) him to do it. Sakura wants to give you a hug? You’ll likely see Suo behind him encouraging him.

❥ Regarding Sakura’s lack of experience, you and Suo will both have to teach him things. He’s embarrassed to ask you directly but he’s less embarrassed around Suo. He will ask Suo if these are the type of snacks you like or how to compliment you. Practice sessions do happen often.

Suo: Now, repeat after me. (Y/N), you look beautiful today.

Sakura: (Y/N), y-you look b-beauーTHIS IS STUPID I CAN’T DO THIS!

❥ You don’t have to worry about any danger because you got two bodyguards who’s willing to face any danger for you. When a fights about the happen Suo will be the one to pull you behind him while Sakura will be the one to go ham on the opponent. Suo is the reliable shield and Sakura the fierce attacker. Not a single hair on you will be touched.

❥ They are both are really protective over you. If you’re alone and some guy tries to flirt with you, you already know Sakura will come running for a fight while Suo calmly walks toward you with a chilling glare at the poor guy.

❥ Cafe/Restaurant dates are quite common in your group as Sakura loves to eat and Suo loves watching you eat. You try to spoon feed Suo because the man does not eat at all. Meanwhile you gotta tell Sakura to slow down before he chokes.

❥ Another popular date idea in your group is movie watching. Which happens at either yours or Suo’s cause Sakura doesn’t own a tv. It’s a huge cuddle session but only you and Suo get to finish the movie because Sakura falls asleep halfway. The type of movie where Sakura doesn’t fall asleep are action movies, so majority of the time you all end up watching those. (bruce lee jackie chan tom cruise etc. )

gonna stop here before I go overboard lemme know if ya guys want a part 2

#wind breaker x reader #wind breaker #sakura haruka #suo hayato #sakura haruka x reader #suo hayato x reader #wind breaker reader insert #wind breaker x you #skipps writes

331 notes · View notes

hollybell51 · 11 months

Text

If I don't have you

Navigation

Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding.

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip.

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?”

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened.

“That was fucking insane!” you burst.

“Are you ok?”

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you.

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers.

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back.

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.”

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.”

“A bullet graze!”

“It’s fine.”

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.”

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !”

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics.

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes.

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him.

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you.

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah.”

Another silence, though less tense.

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest.

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso.

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted.

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–”

“No, (Y/N)–”

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall.

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast.

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled.

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?”

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own.

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–”

No one’s coming.

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.”

He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!”

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear.

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him.

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should.

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards.

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed.

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle.

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back.

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath.

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you.

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure.

“(Y/N).”

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive.

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…”

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.”

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know.

“For yelling at me?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–”

“All that matters. You said.”

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle.

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.”

The frown deepened. “Hm?”

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real.

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely.

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.”

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek.

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up.

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades.

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore.

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face.

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.”

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.”

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his.

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too.

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition.

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt.

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything.

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt.

“Huh?”

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose.

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?”

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine.

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind.

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone.

“Yeah.”

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?”

Again, “Yeah.”

You smiled. “What about me?”

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.”

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it.

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity.

“What else?” you asked.

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.”

Oh. Oh.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys.

“Can–”

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair.

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.”

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?”

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.”

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit.

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders.

“Hm?”

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.”

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?”

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face.

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises.

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–”

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad.

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–”

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders.

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again.

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you.

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail.

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him.

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification.

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry.

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?”

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.”

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Say it again.”

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?”

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again.

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap.

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand.

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.”

“Yeah?”

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.”

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?”

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?”

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.”

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–”

“Insane?”

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?”

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.”

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again.

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut.

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin.

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?”

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other.

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.”

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined.

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece.

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.”

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.”

“Hm?”

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?”

“(Y/N)–”

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you.

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–”

“In me.”

“You sure?”

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–”

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter.

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress.

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed.

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit.

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned.

“What?” he asked.

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?”

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything.

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?”

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?”

He nodded.

“I still want to check them.”

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?”

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.”

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.”

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?”

“Yeah.”

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.”

“Guess I’m just that special.”

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

#ethan hunt #ethan hunt x reader #mission impossible #shameless smut #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #tom cruise

620 notes · View notes

worldofheroes · 11 months

Text

Say That Again

tom cruise x fem!actress!reader

summary: during an interview, simon calls you out about your multi-lingual abilities, making you say something embarrassing. tom finds it absolutely attractive and can’t stop thinking about you talking in that tone of voice to him.

warnings: 18+, no plot, language, friends with benefits, protected sex

wc: 1.3k

a/n: based on a request by @rveyjules! I took a couple creative liberties, I hope you don’t mind! this has absolutely no plot, so don't go looking for a storyline lol

“Please welcome Tom Cruise, Henry Cavill, Rebecca Ferguson, Simon Pegg, and Y/N Y/L/N!”

The crowd erupts into cheers and whistles. It takes well over a minute for everyone to calm down.

“I’m so glad you’re here tonight!” Jimmy exclaims.

“It’s great to be here,” Tom smiles.

“So, we have newcomer Y/N Y/L/N to the Mission team. Y/N, what has it been like working alongside these amazing actors?” Jimmy asks.

“Oh, starting with me,” you blush. “It’s been fantastic. Everyone has been so kind and patient. I’m sure Henry can agree with me on this, but it was a little nerve-wracking coming into a series like Mission with such an established story and characters.”

Henry nods. “The crew has been so welcoming. A big part of it is that Tom really likes to get everyone together even when we’re not filming to form those bonds that you see on the screen.”

“I think that’s what keeps this franchise going is those character bonds we see,” Jimmy says. “Now, does any of that change with filming in different countries?”

“I try really hard to ‘normalize’ Mission as much as I can,” Tom says. “We spend a few weeks here, a few weeks there… It's a crazy schedule. I try to set it up to where we can take breaks and just have fun outside of work.”

“You film in so many countries, is there ever a struggle with the language barrier?” Jimmy asks.

“I think all of us are at least conversational in a lot of languages,” Simon says. “Some are better than others…”

Everyone laughs.

“But like, Y/n here is almost fluent in Japanese, which I love,” Simon says.

“Really?” Tom turns so he can face you.

“Thanks Simon,” you say playfully, hitting his shoulder.

“She is! It’s crazy,” Rebecca says.

“Can you say something for us?” Jimmy asks.

“Um… Ohayō, ogenki desu ka?”

“And what does that mean?” Jimmy asks.

“Just a simple, ‘hi, how are you?’,” you smile.

“I believe there’s something with the word ara-ara,” Simon laughs.

“Simon, no!” You laugh.

“Ara-ara?” Jimmy asks.

“It’s kind of a meme,” you explain. “But you have to say it right.”

“How so?” Jimmy asks.

You clear your throat, and then as seductively as you can without embarrassing yourself too much… “Ara-ara.”

Everyone laughs and Tom just about chokes on his water, making everyone laugh harder.

“That was… something,” Tom remarks.

“Simon, I hate you,” you say, laughing.

The interview quickly gets back on the topic of Mission, and wraps up shortly after.

The group makes their way back to their dressing rooms to change back into “street clothes”.

There’s a knock on your door. You open it to see Tom standing in the hallway.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey,” he says, not making eye contact.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

“Um, sure,” you say, moving so Tom can enter. You close the door.

“I didn’t know you could talk like that,” Tom says in a low voice.

“What do you mean?” you ask playfully.

Tom tries to hold back a moan. “You sounded so hot… I can’t stop thinking about doing things to you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re not being very professional.”

“Fuck being professional,” he growls, moving towards you.

“Tom,” you breathe. “Not here.”

Tom reaches out and grabs your arm. He gives it a squeeze and then lets go.

“You’re right. Not here.” Tom sighs. “Come to my hotel room.”

You nod. “I can do that,” you whisper.

“Quickly.”

You nod. Tom quickly exits your dressing room, and you hurriedly finish changing so you can get to the hotel.

You get to the hotel, and you’re standing outside Tom’s room.

You take a breath and then knock. He opens the door instantly, pulling you in.

“Tom,” you whisper.

“I’ve always had a thing for you,” he says softly, brushing hair out of your face. “And the way you said that word…”

“Oh, you like it when I talk like that?” you ask seductively, lightly moving your fingertips up his arms.

Tom closes his eyes. “You have no idea.”

“Mm… I can talk to you like this,” you say with your hands moving to his chest.

“Please,” he says in a strained voice, resting his forehead against yours.

“Do you need to fuck me?” you ask him.

The two of you have agreed to a friends with benefits relationship, neither one of you quite ready to commit to anything, but needing something more than just friendship. And when the two of you met, you both really hit it off.

“Yes,” he whispers.

You start to unbutton his shirt, breathing a little heavier now.

Tom’s hands find the buttons to your shorts, undoing them and pulling them off. You finish unbuttoning his shirt and slide it off his body.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, pulling your shirt off.

You unclasp your bra and let it fall to the floor.

Tom moans, unable to hold back.

You work at his pants, pulling them down.

“Go ahead and fuck me,” you whisper, palming at his groin.

Tom picks up his pants, pulling his wallet out, then a condom.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you. “You always have one on you?”

Tom nods. “I can never guess when you’ll do this to me.”

A moan escapes you. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

Tom walks you backwards to the bed. You fall backwards on it, and he crawls on top of you.

He starts kissing your jaw, down your neck, down your body.

“Tom,” you whisper.

He looks up at you, putting his fingers in his mouth, coating them with saliva. Your hips involuntarily buck, knowing what’s about to happen.

Tom’s fingers dive into your folds, making you yelp. He circles your clit, making you squirm.

A finger is inserted into you.

“Tom,” you moan.

He takes his other hand and presses down on your lower abdomen, and you can feel his finger petting your walls.

“More,” you beg.

Tom smiles, inserting another finger.

You put a hand on his, the one that’s working in you.

“I was thinking something… thicker,” you say softly.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. “Okay.”

He removes his fingers, then his boxers. He strokes himself a couple times before ripping the condom wrapper open.

You watch him closely as he rolls the condom down his shaft.

“Tom,” you plead in a whisper.

“I’m right here,” he replies, starting to push into you.

“Shit,” you moan.

“I’m right here,” he repeats, bottoming out against you.

He slowly thrusts against you, grunting in pleasure.

“Agh, sweetheart,” he mumbles, laying down on you, wrapping his arms around you.

“Faster,” you whisper.

Tom grunts in reply, his hips moving faster and faster.

“Tom…” you almost cry in pleasure.

“Come for me, baby girl,” he whispers.

Your fingernails dig into his back as you let go, cumming on his hard cock.

Soon, Tom finishes as well. He sighs, letting down all his weight on you.

You grunt with the added weight. “Fuck.”

Tom sits up and pulls out of you. He discards the condom and lays back down on the bed, pulling you onto his chest.

“Tom,” you exhale.

“You didn’t have to talk like that at the interview,” he whispers.

“Mm, but now I know what it does to you.”

“I think we should change our status. Have a real relationship.”

“What?”

“I’m falling for you, y/n.”

“Tom.”

“We can keep it a secret for a while. Test it out. No pressure or anything for either one.”

You look up at Tom.

“I care about you so much,” Tom says softly.

You nod. “I think we could give it a try.”

Tom smiles softly and kisses your head.

“No pressure,” he repeats.

“No pressure,” you agree.

#pete mitchell x reader #tom cruise x reader #top gun x reader #ethan hunt x reader #tom cruise imagine #maverick x reader

319 notes · View notes

familyvideostevie · 7 months

Text

october thirty-first

day thirty-one: steve harrington last halloween didn’t end that well for you and steve. but this year? much better. | a no good at waiting one-shot, fluff, smut, mdni, 18+ | 2.4k detailed content warnings: fem!reader, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding, riding, dirty talk, some aftercare-ish

“We're doing it this year, Steve.”

Your boyfriend looks unamused from behind his aviators. The sun set hours ago but he won't take them off because it “compromises his costume.”

“Jesus,” he mutters. “For real? You actually want to?” You both know Steve isn't great at saying no to you, even when it comes to going on the haunted hay ride at this year's Sara's Farm Halloween Festival. Steve only had to work the first few hours and make sure no one sustained bodily injury during the pumpkin carving contest, so now you're walking around, taking in all the fun.

You're pressed close to him — it's cold, no surprise for Indiana — and wish you had another layer on. Steve convinced you to dress in vaguely Top Gun themed clothes to honor the movie he's been obsessed with since you saw it in theaters. He's in a patched aviator jacket, jeans that hug his ass sinfully, and the stupid glasses. You've tried to look like Tom Cruise's savvy analyst girlfriend by putting on a leather jacket and red lipstick.

“We're grown ups,” you say, bumping his shoulder with yours as you approach the line for the hay ride. “We can handle it.” Robin and Eddie are working the route again and this year you're pretty sure some of the high school kids are, too. They all begged you to get Steve on it and what's love if not taking a chance every now and then to pull a fast one on your partner?

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters but allows you to tug him on to the wagon. He places his hand on your thigh automatically and does his best to look unamused but flinches when the whole thing surges forward and into the dark rows of apple trees. “I can't believe I'm doing this.”

Neither of you handle it well, truth be told. There are only a few other people on the bales in the wagon bed and you and Steve for sure scream the loudest. Your friends catch on to your presence quickly and clearly make it worse for you both, jumping out of the trees and reaching as if you pull you both to the ground. But it's fun. It's fun in the way most things that give you an adrenaline rush are — you scream and laugh in the same breath, pressing closer and closer to Steve until you're practically in his lap as the wagon rounds the final corner.

That's when you feel him hard through his pants.

“Really?” you ask. “Keep your hands to yourself, Harrington.” He scowls and tightens his grip on your hips so you don't fall when the wagon jostles side to side.

“I can't help it, honey.” You wriggle a little more and his fingertips press harder into your skin. “Stay still.”

You do not stay still. It's just too much fun to mess with him like this — something you do often in your new house. Teasing him from room to room and reveling in the thrill that he wants you. Steve always wants you.

The feeling is mutual.

When the ride finally ends you mean to tell Steve that Eddie and Robin are going to meet you so you can all hang out, but you don't get the chance. Your feet barely touch the ground after stepping off the wagon when he grabs your hand and drags you through the crowds.

“Steve,” you say incredulously. “Steve, what are you doing?” You try to keep up with his long strides so he'll hear you.

He doesn't stop until you slip around the apple bobbing and against the wall of the farm store. He crowds you against the wall, suddenly in your space, face close enough that you can count his eyelashes. His pupils are blown and his cheeks are even more flushed than they were on the hay ride.

“If you think I'm going to stand around about to cream my pants, you're insane.”

You swallow and feel his words between your legs. “Oh,” you breathe. “Okay.”

He tugs on your hand again and you're off, snaking behind the store and further into the grounds. It only takes a few more moments before you realize that he's leading you to his old loft. You laugh into the night air and Steve looks back with a boyish grin, the intensity of his gaze somewhat faded back into the comfort and ease of your relationship.

Though he doesn't live here anymore you know that Hopper hasn't gotten around to renting it out yet and Steve still has a key. “Don't trip,” he teases as he tugs you up the spiral stairs. He takes a few seconds to dig out his keys and get the right one in the lock. You want to touch him so badly you entertain jumping him on the landing but he gets the door open quickly and you stumble inside.

“Thank Christ that worked,” he mutters. The loft is empty of the things that make it Steve but the furniture is still there, including a made bed, which feels like a miracle.

“I'd fuck you in the barn,” you say. Steve wiggles his eyebrows and once again crowds you back against the door.

“Oh, yeah?” he mutters. He shoves a thigh between yours and gently tugs your head to the side so he can trail his lips up your neck. You feel his cock, somehow harder than before, and wiggle for friction. “You still know how to surprise me, bee girl.”

“Steve,” you gasp. “Don't tease.” He could quip about your actions on the hay ride, could drag it out and make you a whimpering mess here against the door by barely touching you, but he doesn't. Steve always wants you just as bad as you want him. He presses his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, cradling the back of your head as he presses you into the door.

It is not lost on you, even through your lustful haze, that this time last year you were doing the same thing. A night that changed everything, that almost broke everything had it not worked out in the end. It makes you more desperate, makes you slide your hands under his shirt to feel his skin, makes you grind harder on his thigh and swallow his moans. You almost gave this up. You almost ruined it.

Steve licks into your mouth and your tongues meet, desperate and messy and then he palms your breast, thumb swiping at your nipple and you keen.

“Bed,” you manage to say. “Bed, Steve.”

He sucks a spot on your neck for a moment more before releasing you. His hair is a mess, lips spit-slick and swollen and the way he looks at you makes your knees weak. “Come on,” he says softly. He sheds his costume as he goes, jacket and shirt and sunglasses tossed on the floor. You follow his example as he closes the curtains and shucks off his jeans.

“Are these sheets clean?” you ask, tossing your bra aside. Steve looks his fill and you let him.

“Hope so.” His eyes meet yours and for a second you're sure he's remembering last year, too. How tender it was, how he fucked you sweet and slow, how you left him.

Things get a little desperate after that.

You shed the remainder of your clothes and he sits against the headboard. You admire him like that, cock hard and already leaking, chest rising and falling as he pants though you've barely done more than kiss. You can feel how wet you are, feel the tightness in your belly just by looking at him.

“Baby,” he groans. “C'mere, please.” You crawl up the bed to him and straddle his thigh. He presses his fingers into your skin, eyes wide as you start to grind on him. You move your hips back and forth until you find a rhythm that catches your clit in a way that makes you gasp.

“Oh, god,” Steve moans. “Look at you, huh? Getting my thigh all messy, fuck.” You lean forward so he can press his face to your chest and tongue at your nipples.

Steve keeps up his filthy babble. “Barely touched you and you're so wet,” he says. “Feels good? Getting all worked up?” He pants your name over and over. “Look so pretty like this, baby, riding my thigh.”

“Wanna ride you,” you manage to say. He bounces his leg a bit and you whine. You reach down and fist his cock clumsily.

Instead of replying Steve shifts you over and lines himself up with your entrance. “You gonna be okay?” Your eyes lock. He means with the stretch, with the position. With fucking him bare. You and Steve have been doing that for a while now and you know he loves it, how he can feel every inch of you and fill you up without worry. You like it, too.

“Steve.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. You sink down on him and both grown in unison. The stretch comes without any pain, feels like you and Steve were made for each other, as it always does. “Holy shit,” he says, panting into your neck. “Never gonna get over this. How tight you are, how you have a perfect cunt—”

You cut him off by starting to move, a slow circle of your hips that has him choking on his words, his babble dissolving into your name and nothing else. You can feel his mushroom tip brushing the spot inside you that will have this over all too quickly, the vein along the underside of his cock that drags as you start to lift your hips. Steve does his best to help, hands firm on your thighs and meeting your movements with little thrusts of his own as he trails his lips along your chest, your clavicle, your neck.

“So beautiful,” he mutters. “So fucking good, you feel so fucking good —”

The hook in your belly pulls tighter and tighter but it's not where you need it to be. Your thighs are burning and you feel hot all over and you can hear how wet you are, hear the smack of your skin as you ride him. But it's not enough.

“I need — Steve —”

You reach down to give your clit some attention but Steve beats you to it, thumb roughly circling as you both start to move more frantically.

“I'm close,” he hisses. “I'm close, where do you want —”

“Inside,” you gasp. “Inside, please, Steve —”

He makes a noise that has your orgasm teetering on the edge, punched out and desperate. “Fuck, baby,” he says. You cling to him desperately as he shifts you, changes the position so you're on your back, legs around his hips. He fucks you hard, skin smacking, the filthy sound of your slick drowned out only be Steve's litany of your name as the hook pulls tighter and tighter.

“Let me fill you up,” he says. “Look so pretty with me dripping out of you, making a mess —”

You careen over the edge, fisting the sheets with one hand and dragging your nails down Steve's back with the other. Your eyes shut as you writhe, the waves of your climax rolling over you. You spasm around him, clenching over and over and his hips stutter and you feel him come inside you, the hot warmth coating your walls.

Your breath comes back to you as Steve flops down, still inside you, weight heavy on top of your spent body in the way he knows you like. His hand lazily trails up and down your side.

“Fuck,” he says. You laugh. The post-sex sensations set in, the gentle throb of your cunt where he's still inside you, the wetness of your inner thighs and the soreness of your muscles.

He shifts and you feel how full you are. “Made a mess,” you mutter. He presses a kiss to your temple.

“You made a mess,” he counters. “I mean, the thigh stuff?”

“Steve!” You feel shy all of a sudden.

“It was hot.” He squeezes your hip. “Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He pulls out of you and the soreness stings for just a second. You feel him dripping out of you and feel hot all over again. Steve gets off the bed and heads for the bathroom. You watch him walk there, his cock shiny with you as it softens, the muscles of his legs and his back on display in the dim loft. The scars from various farming chores that you've traced hundreds of times, the skin you know every inch of. You love him. He's yours.

Steve returns from the bathroom and you try not to be self conscious about how you sit exposed on the bed. He's carrying a damp cloth.

“Spread 'em,” he says when he reaches the edge of the bed.

“Sexy,” you say, but do as he says. He snorts but gently cleans you, running the cloth along the insides of your thighs and your tender center. It's impossible not to feel a rush of affection for him as he does, this intimate act that is somewhere between sexual and not. You watch him and feel unbelievably precious in his care. He catches your eye and sees the softness, pressing his lips to your naval, your knee, but saying nothing. Sometimes you just don't need words.

“Let me pee,” you tell him when he finishes. When you return he's sprawled on the bed, boxers on. You pull on your t-shirt and nothing else and crawl up next to him, settling into his side. He drags his fingers along your back. You put your palm over his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“Better Halloween than last year,” he says lightly. The memory of that night isn't as heavy in your post-sex bliss, though it's still around. You've talked about it many times since then and it's in the past but being here reminds you a bit of the fear you felt, the frightening weight of the love you have for Steve. How it shifted your entire world.

Though you know Steve isn't serious, you sit up a little to look him in the eyes.

“I'm never leaving you,” you tell him. He looks a little surprised but recovers quickly, reaching up to cup your face and pull you down.

“I know,” he says. He kisses you gently, reverently.

“I love you,” you say against his lips. He laughs.

“I know that, too,” he says. “I love you back, bee girl.”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

#fvspromptober23 #no good at waiting #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n

261 notes · View notes

liass-21 · 17 days

Note

I LOVE the fact that they let Ethan be small in Mission. They show him up against big guys and they ACTUALLY LET US SEE the momentary worry on Ethan’s face as he has to decide how on Earth he’s going to take down a dude almost twice his size. There’s never the bravado that Ethan just knows he’ll win, or the framing of Ethan as the same size or bigger than these obviously big guys, or WORSE not letting anyone be taller than Cruise. We see very often that he’s small and he often does things that show off the fact that he’s small. Ethan’s a gymnast, and I honestly wonder if Cruise studied gymnastics a little as well as I’ve seen him do some great stunts that would make it make sense. ANYWAYS!! Just, I love Ethan so much, and I love how much Ethan feels the most like Tom in the best of ways

you are so right and you literally get it.

i’ve said this before but one of the things that makes the mi franchise so special to me is that ethan isn’t one of those classic macho man action leads. he’s pathetic and 5’7 and in love (pathetically) with his little tech guy. a woman beat him up. he wears corsets and capris and hangs off the side of buildings because the aforementioned tech guy he’s in love with was like “well, you can do that, yeah?”

i think when they let him show some flaws or act outside of that classic action stereotype, it makes the films feel more real (and has the added benefit of creating the most insane found family maybe ever). i LOVE ethan!! i absolutely agree with you, he feels very lithe and slippery as opposed to the brute force tactic that maybe you would’ve expected? god he is just so. soggy. i adore him. i adore that they play to tom’s strengths instead of posturing around them so it feels so!! genuine!! i am not suspending my disbelief in the slightest i BELIEVE that ethan was scared of that really tall guy in rogue nation!! the camera pans up and im like oh shit!! hes gonna get his shit rocked!!

u are so real never stop screaming about tom cruise and other things also in my inbox and in my notifs and everywhere <3

#ask box #mission impossible #ethan hunt #me when i analyze ethan hunt character for the millionth time in a row

33 notes · View notes

a-weird-writer · 2 years

Note

I want to hear about being Rimuru's wifey 🥺

(How long would it take for you to be killed by his many jealous wannabe wifeys though LOL)

OK, FINE. I can give a little juice.

Rimuru Tempest is confident in a number of different things. Lords are not without their pride; Rimuru undergoes significant evolution-literally and figuratively-as a monster and as an individual playing his role as King of Monsters.

But marriage sure ain't one of them!

Can't tell the first thing about it, not diddly squat.

Not all hope is lost, however. You're a team in this, together till the end. Sworn by hearts, promised in bonds. Tethered by fated rings, by your fingers. Even with his face in the ground, glued in the sand, you're dedicated as ever, stubborn in the face of conflict. By his side forevermore, inspiring. He just has to get back on track, stand again, puff his chest to swallow some big boy pills; boost his esteem, maintain faith and confidence. Lovers help each other, so prop up! Words cannot describe his appreciation, his respect. And it's not just you, he isn't as alone as he thinks he is, never. A whole kingdom of monsters is watching your backs, a little too eager to lend a hand in serenading you both.

Rimuru isn't that stupid! There's a groom and bride with a bunch of lovely dovely flowers and shit, literally all he knows. His previous lifetime was kind of pathetic and unromantic. Pretty depressing in entirety, sad in truth. He never married or attended weddings in his lost world, let alone the current one. Is marriage even the same here as it is in Japan? For all Rimuru knows, marriage kisses ass and costs butt loads of unnecessary money.

So fucking clueless, tree stumped.

Rimuru is a slime, but a Demon Lord slime, not to be looked down upon. Power, wealth and a whole kingdom by his side! He can learn to husband, no sweat! He can do this! And do you.

Something he always does is dot on you like you're the next Tom Cruise. Bubbly and bashful, all to delight you. No strings attached, anything you might like; can only hope it hits a not too big dent in his wallet. He doesn't want to overdo, come across as too zealous. But doing so makes him do exactly that (Overthinks sometimes, stresses, running Tempest requires a great deal of weight and planning). Appropriate gifts left and right, showering you in attention. Things you favor, as if he needs to prove himself over every little thing. Things Shuna told him you favor. His wife is the best thing that ever happened to him since his rebirth. The closest thing to his heart, a part of his family, the family he would die protecting. Being King isn't paradise. Its plenty stressful and he worries, a lot.

To Rimuru, you work wonders just by sitting down with him. His wife's presence eases everything his horrible day threw at him, accepting a place shaped with your legs, fitting perfectly. A seat perfect for a king, your leggy pot full of bubbly blue jelly. Your hands drag across him in smooth feathery strokes, his slimy form flowing along the slow movements as thick ocean currents. Carefully gliding, washing away the negativity and pressure off his shoulders. Replaced with care and comfort, a love only a wife can give. In this embrace, a tangling of different bodies, your gentle pets are heaven. Warm water, slipping through your fingers like glass. Holding him so tenderly in your lap, afraid he will slide off at any moment. Don't worry, he stays right where he is. Careless of how "jealous" the others might get. Will get. Take a hint Shion. He just snuggles deeper, instantly relaxed. Chill in your own makeshift hug.

Rimuru especially loves travel. Sightseeing, a passion Satoru Mikami dreamed of before reincarnation. Exploring, experiencing and visiting every corner of the world, seeing places in the glorious landscapes of his thriving nation. A piece of Eden Heaven can't hope to compare. Beauty exists to be seen.

It won't take a mile to enjoy himself, Rimuru is a regular guy who likes regular things. Married anime couple things. Simple things. Like counting clouds and trees, wishing on shooting stars, telling fairy tales. Minty to your taste. Breathing fresh air and enjoying food together, basking in beloved company. Even with that in mind, still gives it the best he can provide, turn it more meaningful and loving, memorable. The best views, best stops, best everything. He can't go out to genuinely enjoy life with his wife as much as he wants to, until retirement. Every moment must be worth treasuring, so when he does have time aplenty, its twice as entertaining.

Nothing wins Rimuru over faster than a tasty meal. Consider food dates his favorite type of date; since Rimuru lost his sense of taste as a slime, he incredibly values taste. One of the few things left of his humanity. From breakfast, lunch, dinner and desserts. Bonus points if you cook for him; Rimuru quite literally melts, enjoying these get togethers is the prime of his day.

May even muster up the courage to do that cliche anime trope. You know the one.

That single trope all anime protagonists do; a classic, desperate loser move to flirt with their lover. Rimuru cringes at the mere thought of it, drowning in sweat. Shuddering. Makes him sink into himself and never peek back out. Embarrassed. Rimuru will blame it on cold weather. Wants to do it so damn badly but...

Fucking cliche, like his life isn't already an anime. He wants to run in the opposite direction and quickly slip into a lonely hole in the ground because he was not made for this:

Feeding you directly from his spoon.

Kill him please.

1K notes · View notes

eemcintyre · 1 year

Text

Repaying the Favor (Tom Cruise)

TW: discussion of blood/periods, one mention of throwing up.

Summary: Tom comes home one afternoon to find you in a great deal of pain because ~it's that time of the month amirite ladies~, and he does what he can to try and make things better, despite you insisting that you can handle it.

I myself have been on my period, so I have been nothing but angry, depressed, and h-word (more than usual I mean 🙃🔥) and this is what happened. So it was productive, at least, I guess?

After a hectic morning of back-to-back appointments, Tom was returning to the apartment he and Y/N shared. He was hoping to not only grab a brief lunch, but also some quality time with Y/N before heading back out for the second half of his work for the day.

Unlocking the door and crossing the threshold into the main living room/kitchen area, he was surprised at how quiet the apartment was. Scanning his surroundings for Y/N, she was not to be found, so he proceeded to check the bedroom, calling out “Sweetheart, it’s me, I’m home.” He was met at first with silence, which concerned him, but before he could panic about her being mysteriously gone, he heard a muffled groan. However, upon reaching the bedroom, he still couldn’t see her anywhere.

“Y/N? Are you alright? Where are you? What’s going on?” He darted across the room until he spotted her lying on the floor by the side of the bed. She was lying on her stomach, twisted in a position that looked odd and uncomfortable with one leg bent toward her midsection and the other straight out. Tom breathed a sigh of relief, ruffling a hand through his hair.

“Don’t do that to me, honey- I thought you’d been taken,” he laughed nervously at the movie reference, noticing that she was also clutching her stomach and had several heating pads draped across her body.

“I-I’m sorry, I- ow, ow, ow…” Y/N struggled to explain herself as several intense pains stabbed in her midsection. “It’s, I just…”

“When did it start?” Tom asked, quickly realizing what the problem was. He crouched down to where she was splayed out, gently placing a hand on her back. Y/N furrowed her brows, this time in confusion instead of discomfort.

“How did you…?”

“I grew up with three sisters, remember?” he chuckled. She covered her face with her hands in embarrassment over the whole situation, but he pulled them away with his hand that wasn’t comfortingly stroking her back. “Hey, don’t worry, I'm not one of those guys who thinks periods are gross. It's just blood. I really don't care. If you stick me with something sharp, blood's gonna come out." He paused, recalling an incident from a while back. “Like that time I knifed my hand really bad trying to make stir fry.” Y/N managed a quiet giggle. “I practically bled all over you, but you just rolled with it and didn’t freak out, and you got me all fixed up.” He smiled while reflecting on that eventful memory.

“C’mon, why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed as Y/N attempted to roll over into a new position, the old one no longer comfortable as new pains began to spring up.

“It’s just humiliating, it shouldn’t be such a big deal, and you’re so busy, and I ruined the sheets…”

“Ok, ok, hold on,” Tom interjected, lacing a hand into one of hers. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of; let’s get that straight. And I can wash the sheets; that’s not a problem.”

“No, I’ll take care of it; it’s not necessary-” Y/N, who had been trying to sit up, was cut off as she doubled back over in pain. Tom threw an arm around her shoulders.

“And as for me being ‘too busy’, I’m not going anywhere, angel. Not when you’re too sick to sit up. I don’t have anything going on the rest of the day that can’t wait.” He had made his mind up and could not be moved by any of her continued pleas that she was fine and could manage by herself.

After fetching her a dose of painkillers and reheating the lukewarm heat pads, he delicately scooped her off the floor, transferring them both to the nearby bed. He settled her on his lap while he rested his back against the headboard. She was curled up in such a way that her head was nestled in his neck and chest, and he could reach an arm around to knead her stomach.

Once the painkillers started to kick in, he felt comfortable enough to run out of the apartment to grab her a few things. Y/N insisted that he had done enough, to which he replied, “If you don’t tell me what you want, I’ll just have to guess.” He slipped into his leather jacket, making sure his wallet was still in the pocket.

“Do I also have to remind you of the time I was out of commission sick for almost a week? You practically waited on me; you cooked everything, you sang to me, you sat with me while I was throwing up-“

“Oh no, please don’t talk about throwing up,” Y/N implored, already nauseous from the consistently intense stomach pain.

“Oops, sorry,” he winced.

She begrudgingly requested her favorite hot tea and that he rent the new movie she had been wanting to see, blushing and trying not to smile.

“Yes, ma’am. Now, call me if you need anything; I shouldn’t be very long.”

He gave her a peck on the forehead and a peck on the lips before leaving on his quest, and Y/N replied, “You know you’re the best, right?”

#tom cruise #tom cruise fic #tom cruise imagine #tom cruise x female reader #tom cruise x reader #fanfiction #tom cruise fanfic #tom cruise fluff #fluff #fanfic #one shot #x reader #imagine #creative writing #self insert #reader insert #just for fun #just roll with it

257 notes · View notes

below-average-fangirl · 2 years

Text

#this gif just makes me feel feelings #tom cruise and that thing he does with his face that makes you die inside

76 notes · View notes

sunflowerdigs · 1 year

Text

Unpopular opinion: while obviously in a strictly legal sense, Gerri was in the right last week, from a larger storytelling perspective, neither Gerri nor Roman was completely in the right or completely in the wrong. Their situation is incredibly complicated and deeply poisoned on both sides by the abuse that Logan institutionalized during his tenure.

Because, here's the thing - Gerri has shown that when she wants to, she can overlook rule violations from her boss. She did it for 30 years with cruises. In fact, she was the one who instituted the policy that said that all of the cruises stuff was to be cleaned up quietly behind the scenes and the family wasn't to know about it. When Kendall expected Tom to eat the shit for him? That came from years of best practices created by Gerri. That is why, in episode 2x07, she is able to reassure Logan that there won't be paper tying the family to the crimes. She never yelled at Logan or told him that he needed to go through the proper channels to pay off Mo's victims. Oh, right, and when Logan got caught, she cleaned that up for him, too, so that he wasn't held accountable.

Like, honestly, it's a bit of a joke that, after all of that, she's pulling Roman in by the ear for not firing an employee correctly. How does that compare to Logan allowing hundreds of sex workers to get used, abused, and violated so that, presumably, Lester wouldn't blackmail him?

And it's because of Gerri's history at WR that Roman knows that when Gerri comes at him in 4x06, she isn't doing it because he violated a rule and it's policy that she needs to scold him. Because she hasn't done that to a CEO in 30 years. No, she's coming at him because she is pissed about what happened between them and this is her way of taking back some control. He can see that, from that point forward, every time he forgets to dot an "i" or cross a "t", she is going to be there treating him like a teenager. So, if he is going to keep power and maintain the office hierarchy, he has no choice but to fire her. Now, she can go to HR about him, that is totally fair. But when HR asks for the company precedent on employee sexual harassment and wrongful termination, guess whose 30 years of precedent they're going to find? I hope Gerri is happy with a payoff and an NDA.

But here's the truly tragic thing, I think. Roman was one of Logan victims. Roman was NRPI. And everyone knew it. When Logan hit Roman in front of everyone in 2x06, instead of even just hauling Logan in for workplace harassment (Roman was an employee at the time), Gerri just said "it played well" and, like everyone else, pretended the hit hadn't happened. In the scene in 4x06, Gerri is trying to hold Roman accountable for a workplace violation against a woman, likely in part because she knows that he will never get held accountable for his violation of her trust with the dick pics. And Roman is throwing it back in her face and saying that Gerri should just clean it up like she did for Logan because Roman was one of Logan's messes that consistently got swept under the rug, both by Gerri and by others. And the fact of the matter is, they're both victims and both perpetrators of this system and instead of holding the root cause of their suffering accountable, they're shouting at each other. And it sucks.

#succession #gerri kellman #roman roy #my thoughts #i do love an unpopular opinion

246 notes · View notes

malavera · 1 year

Text

(18+) I'll show you how I am yours — Tom Cruise

summary: you're being emotional because it's that time of the month, Tom had to assure you for the millionth times that he's not going anywhere. To seal the deal just to convince you, he shows you how he's devoted to you and only you.

warnings: lil bit of fluff & angst, age gap (25/59), mature content, allusions to period sex, daddykink.

tagging: @tomsf18 @helloitstsyu @moondustfairies @deanscroissant @katherineswritingsblog @elenavampire21 @gypsymoon548 @love2write2626

We all know each month, a woman does not stay sane the same. The pre-menstrual mood swings would comes in various ways. We are all familiar with the Obsessive thoughts, easily irritated to feeling guilty and most importantly very self-critical. Your beloved has dealt with all kinds of moods and symptoms that you projects every month. But, he never complains. In fact, he lets you be however your mood wants you to be. When you said you wanted to be alone, although you made it clear after you snapped at him that you wanted him to leave you be—he would. But, it’s not like what you fear. He would close the door, lean against the wall besides it and wait for at least 5-10 minutes or more, for you to cool down—then he’d walk back in either with a cup of tea or bringing up your favorite sweets.

He’s different from the last two guys you dated. Because when it’s your time of the month, they’d never take you serious. They’d never wanted to take care of you, all they would do is complain on why couldn't you control it, why do you choose to snap at him, why are you so angry all the time and always ends up with a fight. That’s why you’re always insecure and afraid when the time has come, how would your new beloved react to you getting through all of these crazy hormones.

Sighing, you tighten your grip around his torso, snuggling your cheeks more to his chest. A negative thought has occurred, being a woman comes with so many fears towards man. What if it’s all just a façade?

“Tommy,”

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Tom scrunched his eyebrows in confusion, a small smile displayed on his face, turning his attention from the TV to look down at you.

“What do you mean? Of course you are beautiful, baby.” He replied with a kiss on your forehead.

“Why did you chose me?”

“Don’t you find me irritating sometimes?”

“Do you ever find me irritating?”

“Is there anything that I should change?”

“Out of all people, why did you choose me?”

"Would you ever leave me if you find anything that doesn't suits you?"

“Do you really love me?”

In all honesty, listening to all of your insecure questions due to your obsessive thoughts, aches his heart. Tom concludes that you have abandonment issues. Which breaks his heart not because he doesn't want you around, but it's because how easily you belittle yourself sometimes when you became his partner. He's glad that he found you, but he's not a jerk, he wished that you would've loved yourself more than you love anybody else.

"I'm sorry, do you think I'm annoying for talking too much?"

"I'm sorry if I would snap at you in any time of day later today, I wouldn't mean to. It's the hormones you know?"

Tom sighs with a warm smile on his face, he gestured for you to sat up and lean against the pillows, his arm placed behind your shoulders.

"Baby, listen to me... You don't have anything to be sorry for, okay? I understand. No, you could never irritate me. No, I would never find you irritating. No, there isn't a thing I want you to change, you're perfect in your own way." He gently spoke, his knuckles moving a strand of your hair out of your face.

"I chose you, because I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You're a good woman, you have a good heart. Yes, you may be tough at some time or place and you'd stand on your ground when it comes to your principles, but I respect that. I love you." Your lips tremble, the tears forming in your eyes almost blurred your vision as you are moved listening to the wonderful speech he said about you.

"You would never leave me, right Tommy?" You muttered.

"I would never. Because you're mine, and let me show you how I am yours."

And with that, his soft lips connected with yours—pulling you to sit across his lap gently without hurting you as your body is fragile during your period. His big and calloused hands caressing your sides, feeling the soft fabric of your baby pink tank top sending you shivers down your spine as the actions gives your brain ideas on what could those hands do. Just by thinking about it, sends tingle through your pussy as you start grounding your ass on his growing tent.

"Tommy, I think we should stop." You spoke in between the kiss.

"Hmm, why?" His lips captured your bottom lips, seductively tugging on them, as his eyes watches the way it bounces back once he lets go.

"I want you, but I'm on my period. It'll be a mess, besides, don't you find it disgusting?" Your voice sounded so soft and delicate, it almost came out as a squeak and he finds it adorable.

"I told you, I'm going to show you how I am yours, right? Then let me show you, baby." He muttered against your neck before he connected his lips to your sensitive flesh as you throw your head back rolling your eyes closed, your mouth fell agape letting out a moan.

His hands went to play with your clothed breasts before he tore the fabric off of your body, earning a gasp from you. He switched from your neck to snatch one of your nipples with his mouth, giving a light suck as the other he played with. You could never understand the anatomy of a woman's body, on why when men played with our breasts and giving them attention—an electricity will spark down to our pussy. Or is it just you?

You couldn't help but grind your hips against his bulge, circling and grounding to let him know that you really need him as soon as possible. But, he's taken his sweet time on getting you all worked up. He wants to prep you, before he goes on action.

"Tommy, please.."

"That's not my name, what's my name?" You whimpered, with a slap to your ass another one escaped.

"Need I remind you, baby?"

"Daddy, please. I need you, I need you to fuck me, now please." You pleaded.

"See, that wasn't so bad right?" He breathed. He switched both of you as you are now laying against the bed with him on top of you. He spread your legs as if its your wings, wide. He stands on his knees, palming his tent, looking at you with his jaw clenched.

“Now, I don’t care how messy it’s gonna get cause daddy’s gonna fuck you so good your pussy’s going to only want no one but me.”

#tom cruise #tom cruise smut #tom cruise fic #tom cruise x reader #tom cruise dirty imagine #tom cruise movies #tom cruise imagine #tom cruise x y/n #tom cruise one shots #tom cruise oneshot #tom #cruise #smut #tom cruise fanfiction #tom cruise fan fiction #tom cruise fiction

227 notes · View notes

ghosttotheparty · 7 months

Text

a mess of holy things 11 also on ao3 // prev // next cw: slight dumbification; brief gagging/choking; they’re both Kinda Weird

“No, I’m telling you it’s not something I can tell you about in public.”

“I’m aware,” Robin retorts, keys jingling as she leads Steve down the hallway. “I just think you could lower your voice if you tried really hard.”

“It’s not my volume I’m worried about,” Steve says, scoffing. “I just know you’re going to scream or something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m so calm. All the time.”

“Lies.”

She makes a noise that means she’s sticking her tongue out at him as she unlocks her door, and he follows her inside, looking around. There are two beds on the opposite end of the room, facing opposite directions, and Steve doesn’t even have to ask to know which side of the room is Robin’s.

Her bed is unmade, a colourful quilt folded back to reveal white and yellow striped sheets. Her pillowcases are mismatched, one dark blue and the other spotted with bumblebees. There are posters on the wall above her bed, but Steve doesn’t recognize any of the people on them. His eyes skim the words, the letters all bold, loud. Sonic Youth, Green Day, Sex Pistols.

Robin kicks off her shoes and nudges them toward her desk, where they join her other shoes, scuffed and dirty Converse All-Stars and worn leather boots with mismatched laces, one shoe yellow and the other purple. Steve copies her as they drop their backs, looking at her desk. It’s a little cluttered, pens scattered across it, an origami bird on a small stack of books. There are post-its on the wall in front of her desk, colorful and vibrant. Her handwriting is messy.

Robin throws herself onto her bed as Steve takes off his jacket, looking at the other side of the room. There are a few posters but nowhere near as many as Robin has. One is of a handsome man, smiling softly, and when Steve looks closer, he finds text on the corner of it that reads Tom Cruise. Another is of a few teenagers all posing together with The Breakfast Club at the bottom.

The bed is made neatly, the blanket soft pink and tucked in. The pillows have matching pillowcases, also pink with lacy frills, and there’s a teddy bear resting against them.

“Steve,” Robin says sharply from her bed. “Stop looking around like you’re in a museum and tell me what’s up.”

Steve exhales heavily and goes to her bed, tossing his jacket to land on her desk chair as he falls onto his back in front of her.

“I don’t know how to say it.”

“Words would be preferable.”

He scoffs and sits up, moving to sit cross-legged, tugging at the quilt so it’s not folded against his leg.

“Okay, I…”

His face is already hot, and Robin is already grinning, and he hates this.

“Did you fuck?” she says excitedly, and he groans loudly.

“Okay, we— No, we didn’t have sex, we…” He pauses, face hot, cheeks sore from smiling so widely. Robin’s eyes are wide and shining as she grins at him, shifting so she’s kneeling across from him, bouncing up and down. “We did… something. It wasn’t sex. It was…”

“Tell me,” she says giddily. “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”

“Okay, I…” He covers his face, sighing heavily. “I was— I was curious. So I asked if he… does it.”

“Masturbates,” Robin says pointedly, and he rolls his eyes, letting his head fall back.

“Yes. That.”

“Okay,” she says, eyebrows raised.

“And he said he does. So I…” He winces, looking away, squishing his cheeks between his palms. She reaches out and pokes him. “I asked if I could see.”

She stares at him, jaw dropped, grinning widely.

“So he jerked off in front of you?”

“…Yeah?”

She claps a hand over her mouth, staring and staring and staring, and he waits, still wincing.

“Oh my God,” Robin says brightly when she drops her hand. “You’re kinky.”

“…I don’t know what that means.”

She lets out a loud squeal, covering her face before she falls onto her back, cackling. She kicks her legs out, and Steve dodges them, laughing.

“God, I am so glad I get to be your sex ed teacher,” she says when she finally calms down, sitting up.

“I’ve had sex ed,” he says. “I just… I’m just inexperienced.”

“Oh, I know,” she says. “Look. Kinks are things that people especially like during sexy times. If you can think of anything, someone’s got a kink for it.”

Steve pauses.

“Okay.”

“So your man— Wait, what’s his name again?”

“Eddie,” Steve says bashfully, suppressing a smile.

“Eddie…” Robin coos. “So Eddie jerkin’ it while you watch is called voyeurism, and it's a whole thing.”

Steve blinks. Processes.

“Are… Are kinks only sexual?” he asks hesitantly.

“Generally,” Robin says, tilting her head. “They can be non-sexual, I guess. Why?”

Steve looks at her, pausing.

“We, uhm…”

Her eyes somehow widen even more, and she leans forward, bouncing up and down again.

“Tell me.”

“He spits in my mouth.”

She gawks, and his face flushes with heat again. There’s a long stretch of silence as Robin’s mouth stretches into a slow smile.

“You’re kinky,” she says again.

“Oh my God—”

He shoves at her, but she catches his arm, tugging him so he falls against her, and their limbs tangle as they laugh. Her mouth is right by his ear, and it’s so loud it hurts, but he’s never laughed like this with anyone before. He laughs so hard his stomach hurts and his cheeks are sore, and the two of them roll over so Robin is on top of him. She tries to sit up by pushing on his face, and he squeezes his eyes shut so her fingers don’t poke them.

It takes a long while for them to finally calm down and separate, untangling their legs and pushing each other away as they catch their breath. But every time their eyes meet, they burst into giggles again. They’re both red-faced, and Steve’s stomach hurts, but he feels light, like he doesn’t have to worry about anything at all.

And they keep giggling as they talk, sitting against the wall, hugging Robin’s pillows to themselves. Robin talks him through a lot, stumbling through words and definitions and hypothetical scenarios, which makes Steve kind of want to die, but she’s so casual about it all that he can’t really even be embarrassed.

“Okay, look,” she says finally, her knees drawn to her chest, looking at him intently. “The point is, it doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing or not, right? As long as everything is cool with both of you, it’s all fine. There’s nothing wrong with anything you like.”

Steve nods, looking down.

“Steve,” Robin says, leaning toward him. Their shoulders touch. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I know,” Steve says softly, eyes still downcast.

“Do you?”

Steve is quiet, pausing. His fingers twist in his lap, and he squeezes, forcing his knuckles to crack.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I just… It’s hard sometimes.”

Robin sighs softly, and she lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder. No one’s ever laid on Steve’s shoulder before.

He lays his head on Robin’s, closing his eyes.

He can smell her shampoo. It’s sweet and citrusy, and it somehow smells more like home than the hallway of his parents’ house.

“Eddie knows about it,” Steve says after a few quiet moments. “That I… I don’t know. Struggle with it. He actually noticed first.”

“How?” Robin asks, almost whispering, her head shifting so she can sit closer.

“He, uhm…” He hesitates. “We were kissing, and I just… I don’t know. Panicked.”

“What happened?”

Somehow he knows her eyes are closed too.

“He kind of noticed I was freaking out first, and he… asked if I was okay. So we stopped, and I… I couldn’t really breathe, and I just felt so… Bad.” He pauses, and Robin is quiet, waiting patiently. “He helped me calm down and then he… said to take my time.”

“He sounds really great,” Robin says softly after a moment.

“God, he is.”

“You love him?”

Steve scoffs. His throat is suddenly tight.

“Fuck, maybe.”

Robin coos, poking him in the side, and he giggles, slumping over and trying to dodge her as she pokes at him again, and again, and again, until he’s laughing so hard his eyes are squeezed shut and he’s falling onto his side. Robin climbs on top of him, digging her fingers into his ribs. He tries to push her off, but her legs are tight around him, pinning him in place.

He snatches one of her pillows and swings it at her, but she grabs it and shoves it in his face, muffling his laughter.

He finally manages to sit up when she cackles, and he pushes her onto her back. Steve smacks her hands away, his face hot as they jostle on the mattress, and neither of them hear the door open until there’s a gasp before it slams shut.

Robin tilts her head back to look at the door upside down, and she laughs loudly.

“We’re not fucking, Nance!” she calls loudly, and Steve bursts into laughter again, rolling off of her and leaning against the wall again as the door opens again.

“Well I didn’t look long enough to know,” a girl says as she comes inside, making a face at Robin, who sits up and tosses her hair out of her face. The girl looks like Robin’s polar opposite: her hair is styled perfectly, curls into neat spirals, bangs spread across her forehead, and she’s wearing a plaid skirt that reaches her knees with a loose, fluffy-looking cardigan. She’s carrying some books in her arms.

“Steve, Nancy, Nancy, Steve,” Robin says. “Roommate. Best friend.”

“I’m your best friend?” Steve says, looking at her as Nancy toes her shoes off with a scoff. She sets her books on her desk, watching them.

“Unfortunately, yeah.”

“That’s sad.”

They’re distracted by someone else coming through the door after Nancy, and Robin lights up.

“Jonny boy!”

“Robin,” he says dryly, his voice smooth and calm. He doesn’t look like someone that would be hanging out with Nancy, his hair falling in his face, his shirt unbuttoned and dishevelled, but he kicks his shoes off without sorting them neatly like Steve did, and then he goes to Nancy’s bed and flops onto his back, sighing heavily. Nancy rolls her eyes.

“Steve, that’s Jonathan,” Robin says, pointing at him like Steve can’t find him.

“Hi, Jonathan.”

“Hi, Steve.”

Robin rolls onto her stomach, looking across the room as Nancy takes off her cardigan and drapes it over the back of her desk chair. Steve clicks his tongue and smacks her leg when she kicks him.

“Robin,” a voice sings from the doorway, and Robin gasps as another boy comes in, his long hair billowing behind him. He looks nothing like Nancy or Jonathan; he’s wearing vibrant, tie-dyed pants and a teal and blue striped hoodie, and his pants are rolled up to reveal colorful socks that are spotted with smiley faces.

“Argyle,” Robin sings back, tilting her head back to look at him upside down, and Steve cracks a smile, watching, amused. She attempts to wave at Argyle, but she ends up waving at Steve, disoriented from being upside down.

Argyle tosses something to her with a bright, cartoonish whistle, and it lands on her stomach as she gasps, sitting up to look at it and look at it. It’s a package of gummy bears, and Robin lets out an excited noise like she’s a little kid.

“Ugh, Argyle, you’re the love of my life.”

Argyle lets out a wry laugh and he plops himself onto the ground, grinning up at Robin.

“I love you, too, broski.” His eyes look at Steve, brightening even more somehow, even though his eyes still seem to be at half-mast. “Are you Steve?”

“I am,” Steve says lightly.

“You’re so cool, man.”

“…Thanks?”

“I talk about you a lot,” Robin says, already ripping open the gummy bear bag.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Only heard good things so far, my guy,” Argyle says, his voice slow and sage.

“Are you guys already high?” Robin asks, glancing up at Jonathan, tugging the head of a red gummy bear off with her teeth. She holds the bag out to Steve, who takes a few after looking. Jonathan just giggles at the ceiling. “Oh, that’s a yes.”

“I drove,” Nancy says dryly, rummaging through a drawer. “Don’t worry— Jon, where did you put the edibles?”

“I don’t remember.”

Nancy huffs and rolls her eyes.

“You need to stop keeping your shit in my room.”

“They search the guys’ dorms more often than they search the girls’.”

“Not my problem.”

“It would be, because then you wouldn’t have weed.”

“…’S true.”

Steve watches them all curiously, how easily they exchange their words, leaning against the wall, drawing his knees to his chest, nibbling one of the gummy bears in his hand. Jonathan keeps giggling at the ceiling, splayed out like a starfish over Nancy’s bed, his worn and ragged flannel contrasting the soft shades of pink of her bedspread. Nancy sits on her desk chair as they talk, her skirt primly draping over her legs before she gradually leans back, relaxing, swinging her feet in the air. Argyle leans against the side of Nancy’s bed, and he gets distracted by Jonathan’s hand dangling over the side of the bed. He tangles his own fingers with Jonathan’s, smiling softly, playing with his hand quietly.

Nancy is a journalism major, Steve learns after a while.

She complains about one of her teachers, who keeps contradicting his own instructions, telling them to do one thing and then demonstrating by doing the opposite. She groans in frustration, looking up at the ceiling, letting her head fall back, and then she gets up and goes over to her bed. Steve watches curiously as she flops on top of Jonathan, who catches her with a startled Oof! before he wraps his arm around her, keeping his other hand down to hold Argyle’s.

“What do you study, Jonathan?” Steve asks, watching the way he runs his hand over Nancy’s curls and then down her back absently. Her face is hidden in his shoulder.

“Film and photography,” Jonathan says, his eyes visible over Nancy’s hair.

“Like movies and stuff?”

“Mmhmm.”

“God, that sounds so much more interesting than business.”

“You study business?” Argyle says like he’s aghast.

“Yeah?”

“Nah, man,” he says disappointedly, shaking his head in a way that makes it look like he’s dancing, swaying his hair back and forth. “You’re an artist, dude.”

“Am I?” Steve says, tossing a gummy bear in his mouth as Robin snorts.

“Oh, yeah,” Argyle says seriously, nodding. “I can feel it. There’s art in your heart.”

Steve hums thoughtfully.

“That’s nice,” he says lightly. Argyle nods in agreement. Robin snickers into Steve’s shoulder.

─────────────────

Eddie’s fingers drag through Steve’s hair slowly, catching on tangles and undoing them.

His other hand is on Steve’s throat, holding him loosely, lazily, his thumb stroking over Steve’s Adam’s apple, and he smiles when Steve hums softly.

Steve’s legs are across his lap, his hands tucked between the two of them. His fingers are curled into the fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt, pulling him back every time they part for breath. He feels like he’s floating, like the inside of his head is full of cotton, shivering from the slick sounds of their mouths.

“Alright?” Eddie whispers softly when they part with simultaneous gasps. Steve nods, tugging at his shirt, and he’s probably stretching the collar out, but Eddie doesn’t complain.

“Yes,” Steve breathes. “Feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie’s thumb strokes his throat again, and his nose nudges against Steve’s.

“Like making you feel good,” he murmurs. “My sweet boy.”

Steve nods even though Eddie didn’t ask him a question, and Eddie’s hand tightens on his throat. Steve keens, his head falling back a little bit, his lips parting to let out a weak noise.

“So beautiful,” Eddie breathes, and Steve’s eyes flutter open. His vision is blurry as he finds Eddie in front of him, and his lips curve into a smile. Eddie grins, jostling him back and forth gently by his neck. Steve’s smile grows.

Eddie’s lips are reddened and shining. His hair is a little tousled, and his cheeks are pink, and Steve’s stomach flutters.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks, touching their foreheads together, playing with Steve’s hair. Steve shrugs a little bit, closing his eyes, and he sighs, breathing Eddie in. He had a cigarette on the way home from work. Steve can smell it, but he doesn’t hate it the way he used to.

He sighs again, his hands shifting on Eddie’s shirt. When he tugs the collar down a little bit, he can see the edges of the tattoos on his chest.

His lips part to speak, but he stops himself.

“What is it?” Eddie whispers, because he doesn't miss anything.

“I…” He hesitates, cheeks flushing with heat, and he fidgets with Eddie’s shirt, tugging it down until he can see the head of the crow. “I touched myself. Thinking about you.”

He hesitates again before he meets Eddie’s eyes, head still ducked, bashful, and Eddie is smiling, head tilted like he’s fond.

“Did you like it?” he asks softly.

Steve nods.

He runs his fingertip over the top of the crow’s head, traces the feathers, and he bites his lip.

“It felt good,” he says quietly.

Eddie hums, running his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“Did you come?”

Steve shakes his head, meeting his eyes again. Eddie holds the back of his head and leans in to kiss him gently. Steve sighs as Eddie lingers there, kissing him slowly, nudging their noses together.

“Why?” Eddie whispers, and Steve shrugs again, running his finger over the crow again, touching Eddie’s chest. He’s so soft.

“Started freaking out,” he says softly. “Panicking.”

Eddie hums quietly, kissing him again, and Steve moves closer, letting his lips part for Eddie’s tongue, pulling at his shirt. Eddie tilts his head, fingers pressing into the side of Steve’s neck, squeezing gently, like he’s trying to reassure him that he’s there.

“Do you want to?” he whispers against Steve’s mouth. Steve exhales.

And nods.

Eddie kisses him harder, deeper, holding the back of his head, pushing his fingers into his hair, and Steve lets out a weak whine.

“I don’t know how,” Steve says when they part, gasping for breath. His lips brush Eddie’s.

“Got an idea,” Eddie whispers. Steve’s stomach flutters. “You know your colors?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes.

“Come sit on my lap, baby.” Eddie pulls away, leaning against the back of the sofa, and Steve is helpless to follow, stumbling over himself as he untangles his limbs from Eddie’s so he can find his place on his lap, knees on either side of his hips. Eddie’s hands find his waist, squeezing. “Okay?”

“Mhmm,” Steve hums softly. “Like sitting here.”

“I know,” Eddie says, smiling. “Me too.”

Steve lowers his head and kisses him, sighing, relaxing against his chest, tugging at the collar of his shirt again before he pulls away.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says softly, almost purring. Steve could swoon.

“Can you… Can you take your shirt off?”

Eddie smiles, his eyes dark and shining.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

He has to lean toward Steve to get his shirt off, tugging it out from where it’s caught between his back and the sofa, and Steve waits, heart pounding in his chest as Eddie’s skin is revealed.

He’s paler than Steve is, and in the dim light of the lamp and the shifting lights of the city outside, he looks like he’s glowing. His skin is marked with dark ink, and Steve gazes, in awe, tracing it with light, tentative fingertips. Eddie waits patiently, looking up at him.

There’s a dragon across his stomach, its wings stretching over to his waist, its tail dipping into the hair that’s sneaking up from under the waistband of his sweatpants. Its scales look delicate somehow, despite the bold, black lines it’s drawn in.

“His name is Dorian,” Eddie says, watching Steve stare, and a laugh bursts out of Steve. He looks up at Eddie, whose eyes are sparkling at him.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. Isn’t he pretty?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, pressing his hand over Dorian, spreading his fingers to take up as much space as possible, watching Eddie’s eyelashes flutter. “Pretty.”

He kisses Eddie, sucking on his lower lip, and Eddie hums affirmatively, a hand pressing into the small of his back. Steve’s breath catches in his throat as he slides his hands up Eddie’s chest to his shoulders, but his skin is smooth and soft and it feels so good that Steve’s hands can’t stay in place for long, sliding across his chest again.

“Tell me about it,” Eddie whispers between kisses. Steve’s breath catches again. “What’d you think about?”

“You,” Steve says breathlessly, hands finally coming to rest on the sides of Eddie’s neck. He can feel his heartbeat under his skin. It’s fast. “How you— How you touched yourself. How you touch me. How you talk to me.”

“How do I talk to you?” Eddie asks, like he doesn’t know, like he’s not doing it right now.

“Like I’m stupid,” Steve whispers.

“You know I don’t think you’re stupid,” Eddie says lightly, running his hands over his waist.

“You make me feel stupid,” Steve says weakly, looking at him. “Can’t even think— Fuck.”

Eddie smiles at him, and Steve feels like he’s overheating, his stomach fluttering. He closes his eyes, dropping his head, letting out a weak sound.

“Tell me what else, honey,” Eddie says softly, squeezing his waist, leaning in and tilting his head to kiss the side of his neck. Steve lets his head fall to the side, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, shifting on his lap. “Come on, baby.”

Steve whines.

“I…”

“You…” Eddie teases against his neck, tongue brushing over his skin. “Hm?”

“Wanna be good for you,” Steve says weakly, lightheaded, his throat tight suddenly, holding the back of Eddie’s head, his other arm wrapped around him tightly. “Wanna be your good boy.”

Eddie groans quietly into Steve’s neck.

“You are,” he whispers, his voice right by Steve’s ear, his breath against his skin, cooling his own spit. “My good boy, my baby.”

Steve moans softly, shivering.

“Oh, shit.”

Eddie pulls back and looks down, gazing at where Steve’s dick is now tenting his sweatpants, and he smiles brightly, looking back up at him.

“Good boy,” he whispers, like Steve is in control of this, like he did it on purpose. He holds Steve’s cheek and guides him into a kiss. Steve kisses him desperately, messily, pushing a hand into Eddie’s curls, holding him tightly. “Go ‘head, baby,” Eddie breathes into his mouth.

“I don’t— I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve confesses, even though he knows it’s obvious. It makes Eddie smile.

“Just do what feels good,” he whispers. He holding Steve’s hips and tugs, gently forcing him to press down against Eddie, and Eddie is hard too, and he’s pressing right against Steve, and—

“Oh, god—”

“Alright?” Eddie asks, and when Steve doesn’t respond, he squeezes his hips. “What’s your color, Stevie?”

“Green,” Steve gasps, shifting on Eddie’s lap again, rubbing against him, and he hugs Eddie’s neck. “Fuck, Eddie.”

“That’s it,” Eddie praises softly. “Feel good?”

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, his voice too high, nodding. He’s desperate, hands shaking as they slide over Eddie’s chest, running over the soft hair on his skin. “Feels so good, Eddie.”

“Go a little harder,” Eddie instructs gently, pulling at Steve’s hips, his voice sweet and kind, and Steve is helpless. He follows directions blindly, his vision blurring, and he closes his eyes, rolling his hips harder, more confidently, because it feels good. Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. “There you go, good boy.”

Steve lets out a soft moan, rocking against him, humming when Eddie’s hand slides to the small of his back.

“Eddie,” he whines, and he doesn’t even recognize his own voice. Eddie nods, rubbing his back.

“You’re okay,” he says softly.

“‘M okay,” he says weakly, mumbling, breathless.

“‘S right, baby boy, I got you,” Eddie whispers. Steve whines again, shifting against him, eyes fluttering, his mouth falling open, and he’s going to start drooling again, he just knows it. But he’s barely in his own head right now, and he can’t think, and Eddie is making him fucking stupid. His hands pressing against his back, his tattoos, his skin, his hair, his voice, his dick—

“Eddie,” he chokes, flushing with heat, rolling his hips hard and staying down, pressing against Eddie, feeling how hard he is, feeling how much he wants Steve, and he lets out a noise he’s never made before. It rips its way out of his throat, and he’s embarrassed in spite of the grin that spreads across Eddie’s face.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes before he lets out a quiet moan. “You’re okay, you’re doing so well, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes sting, and his lip quivers. Eddie nods, lifting a hand to touch his face, caressing his cheek, cradling him, and Steve feels delicate in a way only Eddie has ever made him feel. His eyes flutter shut, letting a tear fall down his cheek as his hips press to Eddie’s, slowly, rhythmically, steadily. Eddie’s thumb swipes over his chin, and Steve whimpers as he processes how slick it is.

Eddie smiles at him fondly, his other hand spread against the small of his back, tilting his head. His thumb, wet with Steve’s spit, brushes against his lower lip.

Steve’s jaw drops and he lowers his head, pressing his hands against Eddie’s chest, covering his tattoos with his palms, and Eddie’s smile widens. He presses his thumb into Steve’s mouth, nodding.

Steve lets his eyes fall shut, closing his mouth around Eddie’s thumb, sucking gently. Eddie’s fingers curl around his chin, holding him, nodding as Steve whines, grinding against him, almost rolling his body against Eddie’s. Eddie slides his thumb out a little bit before he presses it back in, sliding it over Steve’s tongue, and Steve’s eyes roll into his head.

Eddie laughs lightly, almost giggling, pressing his thumb into Steve’s tongue until it pushes his mouth open, and Steve lets out a guttural groan, hands sliding to Eddie’s waist. His fingertips press into his flesh.

“That feel good, baby?” Eddie says sweetly. Steve moans weakly, groaning a pathetic Yeah around his thumb. “You want more?”

Steve nods desperately.

“Go a little faster for me, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, slipping his hand under the hem of Steve’s shirt. His hand is cold against Steve’s skin, but it still feels like it’s burning through him. Steve shifts his weight to his knees, lifting himself up to move faster, desperately. “Fuck, that’s good. Open your mouth for me.”

He’s breathless, and Steve whines, listening closely, opening his mouth, groaning as Eddie presses his index and middle fingers into his mouth. He’s so gentle, watching like he’s in awe as Steve sucks on them, holding Eddie’s waist tightly. Eddie presses them in and out, smiling proudly.

Steve catches his wrist as he starts to pull his fingers out, leaning forward so they slide back into place.

“Alright?” Eddie asks softly, whispering. Steve looks into his eyes, pulling his wrist, tilting his head down, forcing Eddie’s fingers in deeper until they’re nudging at his throat. And he sees stars.

His back arches as he suppresses a gag, and he closes his eyes, moaning loudly.

“Jesus fuck, Steve.”

“Mm.”

Steve’s spit is dripping over Eddie’s hand, and he briefly wishes Eddie was wearing his rings.

“You like that?” Eddie asks breathlessly, leaning up to kiss the side of Steve’s neck, biting gently. “You like my fingers in your throat, baby?”

“Yeah,” Steve gasps, and he feels debauched. Fully dressed and so hot he feels like he might die. Eddie’s fingers in his mouth, his dick pressed against Steve’s. His voice is muffled by Eddie’s fingers, slurred and mumbled. “Feels so good, Eds, I— I love your hands s’much.”

“Baby,” Eddie breathes. He slides his tongue up the side of his neck, slowly, lingering at his jaw, and Steve keens, whining, his head falling back, and he knows he’s being noisy, knows he hasn’t stopped making noises this entire time, desperate, weak, pathetic noises, but he can’t stop. Can’t shut himself up.

“Fuck, I— I need more.”

“Take it,” Eddie says, biting him. “Take what you need, Stevie, make yourself feel good.”

“Oh, God.”

“I got you, baby, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Steve says breathlessly as Eddie’s hand falls from his mouth. Eddie nods, lifting his fingers to his own mouth, sucking Steve’s spit off. Steve whines, leaning back and looking down at where they’re pressed together. The front of his sweatpants is tented, and there’s a damp spot. “Shit.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie tells him, reaching to hold his hips. “I got you, babydoll, you’re doing so good for me.”

Steve shivers, pressing against him harder, biting his lip, whining again, and he knows it sounds like he hates it, but he doesn’t, he fucking wants it, so, so so, badly. He sounds pathetic, whimpering and whining and crying as he uses Eddie’s body, as Eddie lets him. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, hugging him tightly, moving against him desperately, whining loudly, his voice high in his throat.

“Eddie—”

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie gasps, pressing a hand into the arch of his back.

“Fuck, it’s so much, it’s so much, Eddie, I—”

“What’s your color, Stevie?” Eddie checks, pulling back to look into his eyes.

“Green,” Steve gasps, grabbing at Eddie’s hair. “Green, don’t fucking stop, baby, please, it— it feels so good.”

“Jesus.”

Steve sobs, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s, gasping for breath, trembling.

“You’re so close,” Eddie says softly, encouragingly. “You’re gonna come, baby boy, don’t stop.”

“Fuck, I don’t wanna stop,” Steve cries. “I don’t wanna stop, I wanna come for you, Eddie, please, please—”

“Come for me, baby,” Eddie whispers, nipping at his earlobe. “Come on, Stevie, baby, you got it.”

Steve whines, hugging Eddie’s neck, hiding his face, but Eddie pushes him back, lifting his chin and pulling him into a messy kiss. Steve groans low in his throat, clutching at him, breathing hard, letting out another sob.

He presses down harder, reaching back, his hand landing on Eddie’s knee, and he leans back, using it as a sort of leverage as he moves against Eddie. His eyes squeeze shut for a moment as he swirls his hips, groaning as Eddie’s hand finds his neck, holding him gently.

“Fuck,” Eddie says breathlessly, watching, eyes wide and dark. “‘S my boy, good job.”

“Eddie, fuck—”

“Come for me, baby.”

Steve moans, his eyes rolling into his head as his body flushes with heat, and it’s like the sky is opening up above him, like the stars are bathing him in their light, and Eddie’s hands are holding him, fingers wrapped around his throat. And Steve kind of feels like he might be dying, like this is it, like this is all he’s been waiting for. Like everything in his life has been leading to this moment.

He knows this isn’t it, that he has days coming after this, that the sun will rise in the morning, and as his head falls to Eddie’s shoulder, the thought wraps around him in the form of Eddie’s arms. And then he’s smiling into Eddie’s neck, humming weakly, his voice breaking.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks softly, running a hand over his back, voice painted with worry. And Steve’s head feels like it’s filled with cotton and dust, but he does his best to respond, nodding.

“‘M okay.”

“God, Steve.”

Steve whines, pressing closer, sliding his hands over Eddie’s chest. He still feels warm, and he’s still squirming in Eddie’s lap, shifting his hips against Eddie, who’s still hard. It feels nice, even though it’s a little overwhelming to Steve, and he doesn’t stop, even as Eddie’s hands find his hips, holding him gently.

“You’re amazing,” Eddie whispers. Steve’s smile widens, and he rubs his nose against the side of Eddie’s neck, making him giggle.

“I’m so…”

Steve trails off, exhaling heavily, shifting again, and Eddie hugs him.

“So…”

“…I don’t know,” he whispers. “I’m like… Tired. But ’s good.”

“You feel good?”

“Mm. Feels good.”

He hears Eddie laugh softly, running a hand across the small of his back.

“‘S sticky,” Steve mumbles absently, and Eddie laughs again, turning his head to kiss Steve’s temple. “Cold.”

“Wanna show me?”

Steve suppresses a sleepy smile and sits up, pausing briefly to press a kiss to Eddie’s jaw, and he hums when he sits up straight, arching his back to stretch it. Eddie watches, eyes shining with something Steve is starting to understand. Something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

He looks down at the darkened spot on the front of his sweatpants, and he hesitates for just a moment before he hooks his thumbs on the waistband and tugs it out of the way,

Eddie tilts his head to look, and Steve’s cheeks are lit aflame by humiliation as he reaches to tug at the front of his waistband. Steve’s come is sticking to his boxers, messy and gross, but Eddie just smiles, looking up at Steve, who’s looking away, embarrassed.

“Good boy,” Eddie says quietly, whispering, lifting his chin to prompt Steve to lower his head close enough to kiss him, and Steve does, exhaling and closing his eyes, letting his lips part for Eddie’s tongue to slip between them. “Baby.”

“Mm.”

Eddie lets go of the waistband, letting it snap against his skin, and Steve snorts, cheeks warm.

“Wanna go take a shower and clean up?” Eddie asks softly.

Steve hesitates, his head ducked shyly. He does want to take a shower. He feels kind of gross (in a way that he finds he doesn’t completely mind), and a shower would be nice, but the idea of being away from Eddie, of a door between them, makes him feel cold.

“…Will you come with me?” he asks quietly, looking to meet Eddie’s eyes. Eddie’s head is tilted like he’s curious, and he lifts a hand to touch his face.

“You sure?” he whispers.

Steve nods. He’s sure. He wants it.

To stand under the spray of water with Eddie, their skin bare and exposed, wet and sliding across each other, their hair tangling.

He wants to see all of Eddie. Wants Eddie to see all of him.

Every bruise and faint scar, every shift of his muscles beneath his skin, every freckle and mole. He wants to see each of Eddie’s tattoos, wants to memorize them all, to see them every time he closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Please.”

Eddie smiles up at him, eyes squinting as his cheeks rise, and it’s like he’s glowing. Steve’s chest aches.

Steve is wobbly when he stands, holding Eddie’s hands tightly, head fuzzy as he follows him slowly to the bedroom. He watches, leaning against a wall, as Eddie collects fresh clothes, and he knows Eddie is just grabbing clothes from his unorganized drawers, but he’s gazing, watching like he’s in awe, because Eddie’s just Eddie, just a man, just flesh and bone, but Steve feels like he’s on the verge of tears, watching him.

He’s so beautiful Steve’s whole body aches. He makes existing look so easy, tossing a freshly cleaned pair of boxers in the air and catching it with a silly flourish that makes Steve giggle, looking over his shoulder to smile at Steve with an ease that Steve longs for.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Eddie says as he takes Steve’s hand to lead him to the bathroom, his other arm holding their clothes, and Steve clings to his wrist, following him helplessly. Eddie’s hair shifts in the air as he walks, and Steve suddenly feels sick, and he needs to shut himself up before he says it—

He tugs at Eddie’s hand, and Eddie turns, lips already parted to speak, but Steve leans in to kiss him before he can say anything. Eddie hums, smiling against Steve’s mouth, fingers tightening on Steve’s. Steve doesn’t let him go far when they part for a breath, leaning in and catching Eddie’s lips again, because he needs to keep his mouth busy until the urge passes.

Because he knows it’s too soon.

Ridiculously, insanely too soon. He would be stupid to say it, especially now, making out with Eddie in the bathroom after coming in his pants so pathetically. (Eddie didn’t seem to mind, obviously.) But Eddie always makes Steve feel kind of stupid.

Steve groans into the kiss, stepping closer, tilting his head, letting his lips part. Eddie grins, opening his mouth, and Steve licks across his teeth, reaching to wrap his arms around his neck. Eddie drops the clothes onto the counter, and then his hands are pushing under Steve’s shirt, his fingertips cold, his palms warm, and Steve whines. He pushes Eddie toward the counter, and Eddie giggles when his back hits the edge of it, pressing a hand into the small of Steve’s back.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he tilts his head, burying a hand in Eddie’s hair and pulling as Eddie’s tongue slides into his mouth. Eddie lets out a soft sound, humming into Steve’s mouth, fingers pressing into Steve’s flesh in a way that would make Steve self conscious were it anyone else touching him, but Eddie’s hands make him feel beautiful.

He moves closer to Eddie, shifting so their bodies are locked, pressed together completely, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes that Eddie is still hard, straining against the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Eds,” he mumbles, tugging at his hair again.

“Mm,” Eddie hums breathlessly. “Yeah, baby.”

“Can I touch you?”

Eddie kisses him again, nibbling on his lower lip, dragging his hand up and then down Steve’s back, his nails tracing his spine.

“You don’t have to,” he says softly. “‘S okay.”

“Wanna,” Steve says petulantly, licking into Eddie’s mouth. “Wanna make you come.”

“Fuck.”

Steve hums.

“May I?” he whispers between kisses.

“Go for it, honey.”

Steve grins into the kiss, biting his lip briefly before he pulls away and bites his own lip as their foreheads press. He looks down, reaching for the drawstring of Eddie’s sweatpants. He tugs them down, tracing the hem of his underwear hesitantly. The dragon’s tail dips under it, winding around the trail of hair that Steve pauses to pet, stroking gently.

“Alright?” Eddie whispers. Steve nods, slipping his fingertips under the waistband.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

“So are you,” Eddie whispers, kissing Steve’s forehead. “We’re a good-lookin’ couple, aren’t we?”

Steve giggles, looking up at Eddie shyly as he tugs his underwear down.

Eddie exhales when Steve touches him, and Steve gazes at him, sliding his hand over Eddie’s dick slowly, carefully. Eddie’s eyes close, his head falling back, when Steve tightens his hand. Steve smiles, tilting his head curiously.

“Does it feel good?” he asks softly after a while.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie breathes. “Feels good. Love how you touch me.”

“I like touching you.”

Eddie lets out a soft noise, and Steve bites his lip, rubbing his thumb over the slit, looking at the way his own skin looks against Eddie’s. They are beautiful together.

He quickens his hand, squeezing, watching Eddie’s face, watching his lips part as he lets out a soft groan. His brows furrow and he grits his teeth like he’s wincing, like it hurts, but Steve knows it doesn’t. Because Eddie’s cheeks are flushed pink and he reaches to hold Steve’s neck, his palm to Steve’s throat.

Steve moans softly, letting his eyes flutter shut before he looks at him again.

Eddie is breathing heavily. He’s leaning back against the counter, and Steve watches his chest rise and fall with every breath. He looks down again, watches his hand shift up and down, watches Eddie’s skin become slick, and then he wants to taste it, wants Eddie’s dick in his mouth—

Which is a thing, he learned recently. Robin told him. Which could have been weird, but it was mostly just fun, sitting in Robin’s bed with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, chewing on gummy bears and giggling and gasping at everything she said. He learned lots of new words.

“Eddie,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Eddie says breathlessly.

“Can I use my mouth?”

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and it takes a moment for his vision to focus.

“You want to?” he asks softly.

“Desperately.”

Eddie snorts, and he pulls Steve into a kiss by his throat, manhandling him forward, and Steve keens, melting against him, his hand pausing. Eddie’s teeth catch on Steve’s lip, tugging at it. Steve is breathless when they separate, and Eddie’s lips brush his when he speaks.

“Get on your knees.”

Steve’s stomach does a somersault. He moans.

He lowers to his knees slowly, mourning the loss of Eddie’s hand in his throat, but then he’s smiling because Eddie is pushing his underwear farther down, and Steve gazes at the safety pin on Eddie’s thigh.

“Pretty.”

“Thank you, baby.”

Steve leans forward and nuzzles against him, burying his nose in the hair at the base of Eddie’s dick, inhaling, sighing when Eddie’s fingers twist into his hair.

“You don’t have to,” Eddie whispers.

“Wanna.”

Eddie snorts, tugging at Steve’s hair gently, and Steve hums, finally lifting his hands to touch him, sliding his hands over his thighs, rubbing, squeezing, before he reaches for Eddie’s dick again, leaning his head back a little to look. When he squeezes, a bead of liquid appears, and he’s leaning in to lick it before he can even think.

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “Mm.”

Steve hums, doing it again, closing his eyes. He listens to Eddie’s breathing become heavier, lingering close before he takes him into his mouth.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie says sharply. “So warm.”

Steve hums, sucking gently, and his head goes quiet. He reaches to hold Eddie’s hip, bobbing his head, humming weakly at the soft wet sounds that fill the air. His blood rushes, and his dick is filling out again. He pushes closer, longing for the feeling of Eddie’s dick sliding over the back of his tongue, for it to nudge too far down, where it shouldn’t go, where Steve wants it most.

He pulls away with a gasp, breathless, his chin slick with drool, his eyes half-shut like he’s sleepy.

“Want it in my throat,” he says absently, looking up at Eddie.

Eddie opens his eyes, looking at him. His cheeks are red, and he looks holy.

Steve melts, and he wants to cry. He falls to the side, legs folded under him like a mermaid basking in the sun, and he holds Eddie’s leg, looking up at him longingly. He wants to beg, to plead, and Eddie must see it on his face. He caresses his cheek, brushing his thumb under his eyes, and Steve turns into his palm, his lips parting to slide his tongue over Eddie’s skin.

“You sure?” Eddie whispers.

“Please,” Steve begs weakly, his voice cracking.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie breathes.

Steve moans quietly, arching his back, absently searching for friction.

“Take it slow,” Eddie says gently, running his hand into Steve’s hair again. “Okay? Don’t force it.”

Steve nods up at him, his heart pounding.

“Go ‘head, baby.”

Steve hums, opening his mouth again, sticking his tongue out, taking Eddie into his mouth again, sliding his tongue over the underside, tracing the vein that somehow tastes like the sky. Steve’s eyes roll into his head as he clutches at Eddie’s leg.

“Fuck, there you go, baby,” Eddie murmurs. “That’s it.”

Steve stiffens as Eddie’s dick nudges his throat, arching his back, furrowing his eyebrows.

Fuck.

“God, Stevie,” Eddie gasps. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Steve’s cheeks flush with heat, and he squeezes Eddie’s thigh, inhaling deeply before he relaxes, moving closer, letting Eddie’s dick push deeper, and his eyes sting as they fill with tears, and the ground is hard beneath him, pressing against his ankles and his hip, and it hurts but he doesn’t care.

He feels filthy.

He feels beautiful.

“Baby,” Eddie gasps, and his other hand finds Steve’s hair, pushing into his hair and gripping it tightly. Steve groans, pulling away to gasp for breath before he pushes in again. “Oh, fuck, Steve, fuck—”

Eddie tugs at his hair, hissing as Steve grips his thigh tightly.

“You like that, baby?” Eddie asks breathlessly, and Steve lets out a garbled yeah. “Yeah, you do. Fuck, you like my cock down your throat—”

Steve lets out a guttural groan, sliding his hands up to Eddie’s ass, pulling so Eddie’s dick pushes deeper, and Eddie lets out a moan, his head falling forward.

“‘S my boy,” Eddie says, groaning. “So good for me, babydoll, you’re so perfect.”

Steve whines, blinking tears out of his eyes. They’re hot as they roll down his cheeks, and he knows he’s pathetic, crying with Eddie’s dick down his throat, but Eddie’s fingertips are light on his cheeks as he wipes them away, carefully, lovingly.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps. “You’re so beautiful, Stevie, my beautiful boy.”

Steve groans.

He only wants to hear Eddie’s voice for the rest of his life, just like this. Gentle and sweet and tender, echoing off the tile walls, covering him like a warm blanket, like an umbrella in the pouring rain.

He lets out a soft moan when Eddie pulls his head back by his hair, his shoulders slumping. Strings of spit fall from his mouth to his legs, darkening the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Breathe for me,” Eddie murmurs, and Steve does, panting, his chest rising and falling as he holds onto Eddie’s leg. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Steve gasps, looking up at him. “I like it, I like it so much, please—”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. “I got you, sweetheart, you want it that bad?”

Steve nods pathetically, breathing hard.

“Want it,” he says absently, weakly, and he can’t say anything else because his mouth doesn’t seem to be connected to his brain.

“You want me to fuck your face, baby?” Eddie asks condescendingly, his voice sweet, and Steve’s stomach flips over. He whines, nodding, tears slipping down his face. “Sweet boy.”

“Please,” Steve breathes.

“Please what?”

“Eddie,” Steve whines, crying, hugging his leg, lifting his chin, but Eddie doesn’t let him, his fingers shifting to move his dick away from Steve’s mouth. “Please, baby.”

“Please what, sweetheart?” Eddie asks again, smiling, and Steve wants to pout. “What do you want, Stevie?”

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers, looking up at him. “Fuck my face. Please. Want your cock in my throat.”

“Jesus fuck, Steve,” Eddie says.

“Fuck me,” Steve says again, setting his chin on Eddie’s leg to look up at him. “Please, baby.”

Eddie’s dick jumps, and Steve grins, rubbing Eddie’s thigh gently, humming suggestively, whining when Eddie tugs his hair again.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Eddie says softly. Steve nods, inhaling, shifting onto his knees. “Ready?”

“Yes—” Steve says, just barely stopping himself from adding a soft sir at the end of the word. Which he knows is weird. Eddie is only a few years older than him, and they haven't even really talked about the way Eddie always takes charge, the way he talks to Steve like he can’t think for himself. Or the way it makes Steve melt into a human puddle, the way it makes him feel like he’s falling in love.

Other things make him feel like that too.

The way Eddie touches his waist when he’s passing by him in the kitchen, the way he glances at Steve when Steve glances at him, suppressing a shy smile.

The way Eddie’s voice sounds in the morning, all rough and gravelly and sexy, right in Steve’s ear as he says Good morning, beautiful because he knows it makes Steve shivers.

The way Eddie’s fingers feel in his mouth.

The way Eddie’s sweatshirts and bedsheets smell.

The way Eddie absently presses his fingertips into the soft flesh of Steve’s stomach and hips like he wants to pull him apart.

A lot of things about Eddie make Steve feel like that.

Eddie guides his dick into Steve’s mouth, one hand gripping his hair, and Steve moans softly, his eyes fluttering shut. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s legs as he takes him deeper, shifting to sit on his bottom again, holding Eddie’s legs tightly.

It’s gross, the way Eddie’s dick slides down his throat and then comes back out a little bit, the way Eddie grips his hair and guides his head up and down slowly, murmuring quietly. Steve chokes. He gags. His knees are sore from the ground. And he loves it.

His throat makes a clicking sound around Eddie’s dick, and he lets go of Eddie’s leg, reaching to his own lap, rubbing himself over his sweatpants. He moans, gasping when Eddie pulls out for a moment.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans. “That’s good, baby, you’re doing so good for me.”

Steve whines, lifting his chin to beg for more. Eddie gives it to him, moaning loudly. It echoes.

Steve’s hand pushes under his sweatpants, rubbing quickly as he clutches at Eddie’s thigh. His dick is already slick with come, and he groans.

“Fuck, are you touching yourself?” Eddie asks breathlessly. Steve whines, pulling away and gasping for breath, nodding, crying.

“Yeah,” he chokes. “Fuck, it feels so good, Eddie.”

“God, Steve.”

“Please,” Steve says weakly. “Gimme more, baby, please.”

“Open your mouth, baby.”

He does, sticking his tongue out, looking up at him, and it’s like he’s waiting for communion, like he’s waiting for Eddie to bless him.

And that’s exactly what Eddie does.

He presses his thumb to Steve’s tongue, pushing his jaw down. Steve keens, closing his mouth around it and sucking. Eddie smiles softly, curling his fingers under Steve’s chin. Steve squeezes his dick, whining.

“Open,” Eddie says softly. Steve lets his jaw drop. Spit falls down his chin. And then Eddie is sliding three fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, and Steve groans, closing his eyes. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly, his voice muffled by Eddie’s hand. Eddie grins, pushing his fingers deeper, stretching Steve’s mouth open. Steve whines, letting out a weak sob.

“That’s my boy,” Eddie says fondly. “Sweet baby.”

He pulls his fingers away, and Steve sticks his tongue out to catch the strings of spit that connect them.

“You want my dick, sweetheart?”

Steve nods, gazing up at him.

“Please,” he breathes.

─────────────────

Steve lets his head fall back as Eddie kisses down his neck, biting his lip. Eddie pushes his hair out of the way, sliding it across his wet skin, and Steve shivers.

He slides his hands over Eddie’s waist, and when Eddie’s teeth press into his skin, he drags his fingernails across his back, humming. He isn’t sure if Eddie hears it over the spray of the shower, but he doesn’t care.

The steam from the shower smells like Eddie’s shampoo, like home, and Eddie’s skin sliding against his feels like heaven.

Steve’s cross is pressing into his chest, but he doesn’t mind. It’s warm from the water, and from Eddie’s skin and his breath, and Steve isn’t even hard anymore (he hardly knew he was capable of having an orgasm, but less two in less than two hours), but he feels so fucking good.

Eddie’s hair slips between his fingers easily, and Steve wraps it around his fingers, pulling so Eddie pulls away. He does, smiling lazily, his tongue teasing his teeth, and Steve lets out a quiet moan.

There are drops of water caught in his eyelashes. His cheeks are pink. His piercings are shining.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve breathes.

Eddie tilts his head, smiling softly. His hair is sticking to his neck, perfectly swirled over his skin, the dark color contrasting beautifully against his pale skin. Steve reaches out and pushes it away, leaning in to kiss his neck. Eddie laughs softly, letting him.

Steve sucks on his skin, humming quietly, letting Eddie tug at his hair. He bites gently, teasingly, smiling against his skin when Eddie grips his hair and holds him close as his other hand presses against the small of his back. Their bodies press together, their legs entwining, and Steve moans softly, hugging him tightly.

“Sweet lamb,” Eddie murmurs. Steve smiles again.

His cheeks are warm every time Eddie looks at his body.

He’s shy, even though Eddie whispered that he doesn’t have to be as they were undressing. His eyes linger on Steve’s chest, and Steve is self-conscious of how hairy he is, but Eddie is smiling the whole time. He murmurs into Steve’s ear that he’s beautiful, and Steve believes him.

Steve’s skin misses Eddie’s as they part, and he bites his lip to hold back a whine as he watches him turn to get the soap. His hair is stuck to his skin, but it’s parted just enough that Steve can see ink under the nape of his neck.

He reaches up before he can even think, dragging his fingertips across Eddie’s shoulders to gather his hair out of the way, and Eddie lets him, his head turning a little bit like he wants to turn and look at him. He doesn’t, and Steve pushes his hair away enough to see the tattoo.

It’s an eye. Looking back at Steve, shining. It kind of looks like it’s been etched into Eddie’s skin, the lines uneven and a little shaky like it’s a carving. There are lines around the eye like rays of light.

Steve traces it lightly, his fingertips just ghosting over the ink, and then he leans in and presses his lips to it. Eddie hums softly.

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, setting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s head turns a little bit.

“For what?”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist. Eddie’s hands slide over his forearms, and Steve kind of wishes they could absorb one another, that they could melt together.

“Taking care of me.’

Eddie hums again.

“Love taking care of you.” His voice is gentle, breathy, like he knows Steve feels like he’s about to fall asleep. Steve sighs again, tucking his face into the side of Eddie’s, shivering as Eddie drags his nails across his forearms lightly. “My sweet boy.”

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectrum @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx @kazalohiku @lostonceandneverfound @strangerfreaks @bitchysteveharrington @nailbatanddungeon @newtstabber (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

♡ art of steve and eddie ♡ pinboard // playlist ♡ buy me a coffee

#!!!#sorry this is late ive been Having A Time #but im back!!#also ignore this if you want obv no pressure but if anyone is thinking ab donating to my kofi i would rly rly rly appreciate it #i have an exhibition coming up and i need to get some supplies #anyway #drink some water #take your meds #eat something yummy #love you love you love you #steddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #a mess of holy things

92 notes · View notes