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littlexdeaths · 1 month

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sympathy for the devil - e.m.

demon kas x human eddie x fem hunter (supernatural au)

i found god, i found him in a lover.

when his hair falls in his face, and his hands so cold they shake…

i found the devil, i found him in a lover.

and his lips like tangerines, and his color coded speak…

warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI! established relationship, hate fucking, oral (fem receiving), unprotected piv sex, cream pie, mentions of blood, anything italicized is eddie’s inner dialogue to kas

word count: 3k

a/n: it’s me back again with another repost of an old fic. i also want to give a big shout out to my darling @undead-supernova for helping me edit multiple parts this fic. ily august 💕

You knew he was here.

From the smell of sulfur lingering in the air, to the heavy presence in the room. Your skills as a hunter were too great, you knew he couldn’t have led you astray.

But maybe he wanted you to find him.

This cat and mouse game you’ve been playing for months was just a little too exciting for him to give up. You should’ve been scared, your instincts told you to be. But hearing his husky voice cut through the darkness of the abandoned warehouse made your heart skip a beat.

“Nice to see you again, sweetheart…”

You couldn’t tell where he was yet, still using the cover of the night to shield himself from you. You clutch your bottle of holy water closer to your side as his chuckle bounced off the walls. “You’ve tried that before, it didn't work out so well last time. Did it, pet?”

He was getting closer, you could tell by the way your hair stood up on end. Squaring your shoulders as he finally steps out into the moonlight. The sight makes you freeze, your eyes widening in disbelief. Kas looked different from the last time you had seen him.

He had taken on a new vessel, one that had become quite familiar to you.

Eddie Munson, a bartender you had met at a place called the Hideout. After you’d stumbled inside the rundown bar for a drink after finishing a grueling hunt somewhere in Indiana.

He was sweet, and you both needed to let off some steam. So you took him back to your motel room for the night… and the night after that. The male had made you feel things no one else ever could. So you kept finding yourself going back to that shitty town to see him. Where he was always waiting with that charming smile and a rum and coke.

But now guilt riddled your chest as his once chocolate hues were a stark onyx, Eddie was long gone.

The demon in front of you smirks, eyes watching you in amusement as the recognition crossed over your features.

This was your fault, you put him in harm's way. You had been told time and again not to let yourself be involved with non-hunters. Regular folk. It would put them at risk, not knowing about the things that go bump in the night.

But demons were especially dangerous, they didn’t need consent to take over someone’s body. The only reason you were protected was due to the dark ink that swirled over your hip bone.

Kas takes a step toward you, causing you to take one step back in return. This only made that smirk widen as another chuckle slipped past his lips.

Lips that had been on you too many times to count.

“He thinks about you a lot, you know… wanted you to stay with him so many times.” The demon hums condescendingly, the implication behind his words makes your heart stutter in your chest.

Coming to the realization that you could never have that happy ending now, not with him, or anyone.

After crossing paths so many times, you knew how malicious the demon standing before you could be. Even if you were able to banish him back to hell, Eddie wouldn't be able to return to a normal life.

Once that veil between those worlds is lifted, there’s no way to undo the damage it causes. You’ve seen it more times than you can count.

“A little pathetic, really…” Kas continues as he advances on you slowly, backing you further into a corner.

Your emotions are clouding your reasoning, allowing the demon to continue to close in on you. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this, but as much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise… you knew one thing was true. You had fallen for the metalhead.

And now you’d never get him back.

“But don’t worry, sweetness— he’s still in here with me,” as he speaks you feel your back connect with the cool concrete, the male now caging you against it.

His body felt warm against yours, a juxtaposition to the cold seeping into your back. His familiar scent of citrus and tobacco engulfs your senses completely, bringing you back to the last time you saw each other. Your limbs were tangled together as you lay in a post sex haze. His lazy smile made your skin tingle, finding yourself tracing over the faded tattoos on his chest.

From the flash in his dark eyes you knew he was reliving a memory of Eddie’s, if not the same one.

His calloused fingers begin to trail across your neck, unintentionally allowing yourself to lean into the graze of his fingertips. Despite how your mind screams at you to push him away, your body continues to betray you. Kas can’t help but notice how your skin heats under his touch, how your thighs squeeze together. It amuses him more than you’ll ever know.

“Don’t touch me,” you mutter, wishing your words held much more malice than they do. The slight shake in your voice causes another dark chuckle to spill past his plump lips. Mocking you.

The demon leans further into your space, those damned lips grazing over your collarbone. The feeling causes you to shiver as goosebumps break out across your skin. Kas continues to leave hot, open mouthed kisses along your throat. The feelings of fear, anger and arousal mixing together— making your head spin.

“You can deny that you want this with your words all you want sweetheart, but I see the way your body reacts to this vessel.” He taunts, letting his teeth nip at your tender flesh.

“I feel those goosebumps on your skin, the way you shiver under his touch, and… I can smell you.” Kas growls, his teeth sinking roughly into your skin.

A slight whimper leaves your lips as you attempt to push him away. But it’s too late— he has the upper hand now.

His fingers lace themselves into your hair and tug, exposing more of your neck to him. He licks a stripe up your throat to your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth.

“I can feel how bad he wants you too, you know. The way he reacts to your body… you have no idea how much he wants to feel you again.”

Your eyes widen in shock as the demon presses his hips into yours, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his jeans.

Get the fuck off her asshole, she’s mine!

Kas chuckles again, pulling back slightly as his hands continue to wander down your body. There’s a flash of something in those onyx hues, leaving you to wonder what hidden joke you’re missing out on.

“Your little boy toy isn’t very happy with me, sweetheart… he doesn’t want to share. How selfish of him,” he feigns a pout, leaning forward as his nose glides along your jaw.

I’m warning you, dickhead.

His deep chuckle fills the silence once more as his large hands grip onto your hips, “Isn’t he selfish, pet?”

“Fuck you,” you spit back, shoving him away but only momentarily. His hands quickly return to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

That spark of defiance returns, which only makes the demon grin wider. His hold on your hips becomes harsher, the metal of his rings biting into the skin there.

“Hmm… with pleasure, darling.” His lips hover over yours as his sweet breath fans across your face. There’s a moment when those black hues slowly start to fade, the brown of Eddie’s returning.

Seeing that flicker of him, the man you had desperately fallen for— is what finally breaks your resolve.

Closing that short distance between you and angrily smashing your lips against his. He moans into your mouth, his hands hooking under your thighs to lift you. Trapping you further against the wall as he grinds his pelvis into yours.

You don’t know where Kas starts and Eddie ends, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

The kiss is angry, all tongue and teeth viciously clashing together. There’s still a small part of you that’s begging you to get away, that this was wrong. But your body has taken over control, that little voice fading with each press of his lips against yours.

His tongue glides along your lower lip, begging for entry you weren’t yet willing to give. The male doesn’t give up that easily though, his hands roaming over the curve of your ass and squeezing.

The action takes you by surprise, the small gasp you let out allowing him to slip inside. Kas groans as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, before setting you back on your feet. He pins your hips against the rough concrete as he kneels before you.

The demon eagerly buries his face in between your thighs as he inhales deeply, “I need to know if this pussy tastes as sweet as it smells.”

You’re stunned into silence as he reaches to quickly unbutton your jeans. Finding yourself all too eager to aid him in sliding the denim and lace down your legs. Stepping out of the fabric as Kas tosses them somewhere in the dark of the warehouse.

The brunette doesn’t waste another moment before his tongue is licking a fat stripe up your slit, forcing your thighs apart in his strong hands. Your fingers lace themselves in his wild curls, tugging harshly as you feel his tongue dip inside your entrance. His growl vibrates against your core, nose nudging your bundle of nerves in a way that has your legs trembling in his grasp.

“Hmm, even better than his memories…” you nearly miss his admission over your soft whines, but you don’t have time to dwell on it.

Kas eagerly replaces his tongue with his fingers as the muscle swirls up and around your swollen bud. Your head is swimming, his actions bringing you that much closer to the edge. The male enjoys the way you grind yourself harder onto his tongue as your grip on his hair tightens. Feeling the way your walls flutter around his fingers only encourages him to pick up the pace.

While your eyes have slipped shut, his are wide open. The stormy irises commit each pleasurable expression that flits across your face to memory— to both of their memories.

The almost inhuman speed of his fingers and the firm pressure of his tongue finally pushes you over the edge. As your loud cries echo throughout the empty warehouse. You attempt to push his head away, but his lips don’t leave your body. Instead he trails them down your thighs, smearing your slick across your skin.

You curse softly before dropping to your knees, pushing him backwards. He is surprised by your sudden dominance, but allows you to lay him back on the dirty ground. Your hands fumble with his belt, pulling the zipper down with an urgency you had never seen from yourself before. It makes him chuckle, as you greedily shove his pants down to his knees.

“If you were that needy for our cock you could’ve just said so, sweetness.” He grins devilishly as your hands reach for the elastic of his boxers.

Mine, not yours…

Your eyes flick up to meet his, the smirk plastered on his lips fuels your irritation further.

“Shut the fuck up, Kas.” You say between gritted teeth, pulling his hard cock out from the confines of his boxers as he stifled a moan.

Fuck, that’s my girl…

You don’t give him much warning before you’re straddling his hips, sinking down onto his full length with a whimper. It didn’t matter how many times you had taken him to bed, you were still in awe of just how well he filled you up. You could feel every vein and ridge of his cock, caressing your inner walls in a way no other man could.

It was addictive, a slice of heaven you never wanted to lose.

The male grips your hips tightly, guiding them as he rocks his own up against yours. He’s groaning beneath you, dark eyes watching the space where your bodies are connecting with almost… fascination. A creamy ring has formed around the base of his cock as you continue to ride him. You let your nails dig into his clothed chest with a satisfied whine, your head falling back as you take him deeper.

She really is an angel…

The demon doesn’t seem pleased with your languid pace any longer as he abruptly flips you both over. The movement knocks the wind from your lungs. Kas grins down at you, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight that has filtered in through a broken window. His large hands hold you firmly in place as he begins slamming into your cervix. Causing your back to arch off the grimy floor, your shirt riding up in the process.

The sounds of your bodies connecting fill the once eerie silence of the night. His eyes rake over your newly exposed skin, pushing the material further up your torso. His calloused fingers trace over the ink splayed across your hip with a dark look.

“This little mark might protect your soul, but it’s not going to protect your body.” He grunts as he continues to slam his hips harder into yours, “Not from me. Or him.”

You don’t answer, instead grabbing a fist full of his hair and smashing your mouths together. He kisses you back just as roughly, teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The familiar taste of his saliva mixes with a harsh metallic flavor. The taste of you on his tongue only fuels the fire raging inside you. The male sucks your bleeding lip in between his.

Kas grabs your shaky legs, wrapping them around his waist to join you closer together. A gasp escapes your lips as he hits that sweet spot inside you, causing your eyes to roll back. The demon groans as he feels you pulse around his cock, trailing his lips over your jaw. The mixture of his spit and your own blood smearing across your skin.

“No wonder he can’t stop thinking about you,” his words are spoken so softly you almost don’t catch them.

Pride blooms in your chest as a small smirk graces your features, but it’s wiped away just as quickly. His hips pound into yours even faster, leaving any snarky comment to die on your lips. Instead a pleasurable cry pierces the air as your nails drag across his back.

You can feel your orgasm building with each deep stroke of his cock, filling you to the brim. His lips suck onto the base of your throat, his breath coming out in short pants as you tighten around him more.

“That’s it, angel. It's okay, I’m here.”

Your eyes that had previously fluttered shut, now snap back open. Coaxing his face up from the crook of your neck. No one ever called you that but Eddie, not even Kas.

Your eyes meet his brown ones, letting his hips slow their pace. That signature dimple indents his cheek when he smiles down at you, tears blurring your vision. You quickly blink them away to see him more clearly. Eddie leans down, gently kissing away the moisture that has stained your cheeks.

He wraps you in his arms, pulling you up and into his lap. The new position only buries him deeper inside you, allowing the pleasure to wash over you completely. Your body trembles in his embrace as you rest your forehead against his.

“Eddie,” you moan, grinding yourself harder onto his cock as he holds you close.

His touch is much softer as his hands reach out to caress every inch of you. While he still has control over his own body. Allowing himself to soak in every moment before he’s ripped away from you again. But between your pretty cries and his husky groans, neither of you will be lasting much longer.

“I’ve got you, angel… come for me.” The promise of safety in his voice makes your heart flutter in your chest.

Feeling his fingers encircle over your sensitive nub, he gives you one more hard thrust before you finally fall apart. A breathy cry of his name tumbles from your lips as you feel him twitch inside you. Your body melts further against him, an attempt to keep him here with you. Despite knowing the reality that was soon to come.

“Fuck… I love you. I love you.” He sounds desperate as he mutters the words against your temple.

In your blissful state you don’t notice the black haze beginning to overtake his irises. His words ring in your ears as you feel him spill inside you. Not stopping the movement of his hips as he fucks his essence deeper inside you. Letting your head fall into the crook of his neck as you mumble those three words back into his flushed skin. His comforting scent washes over you as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Well wasn’t that just so sweet,” your body stiffens in his embrace, his deep chuckle snapping you out of the sweet cocoon you were just in.

You quickly scramble out of his lap in an effort to detach yourself from him. His previously comforting touch now sets your skin ablaze, as if he had burned you. You can feel the mixture of your arousal dripping down your thighs as you hurry to find your discarded clothes in the dark.

In your frenzied state, you don’t hear him approaching until he’s right behind you. His ringed fingers dig into the curve of your waist as you bend over to retrieve your jeans. His hips flush against your ass, the metal on his belt pressing into your bare skin. His hand reaches around to dip in between your thighs, collecting some of the mess you both made.

Kas eagerly sucks the digits into his mouth with a moan, before you feel the warmth of his body disappear.

“We’ll be seeing you soon, sweetheart… you can count on that.”

Is the the last thing you hear as he slips into the still of the night.

#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #kas eddie munson #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #supernatural x stranger things au

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oneofthetorturedpoets · 2 months

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505

based on 505 by the arctic monkeys.

(not proofread)

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

you walk down a darkened street, only thing to light up the sidewalk you walked on, is one flickering street light. you look to your left, across the road.

how'd you end up here? out of all places, what lead to here? you knew what it was. it was your thoughts. too busy thinking too notice were your mind was taking you.

you turn to look both ways before running across the street. you look up at the opened sign before opening the door. the classic ding, ringing in your ear.

"you need a room?" the man at the desks asks as he sits up.

"uh yeah... for the week" you step closer to the counter.

"any specific floor?"

"yeah actually, do you have room 505 open?" he clicks around on his computer, you tap your foot, impatiently.

"we do, can I get your name and your payment?" you dig in your front pocket for your wallet.

"y/n y/ln" you toss your cash on the counter. he inputs your info into the computer before taking the cash.

"alright, you're all set, here's your room key and the wifi password. enjoy your stay."

you walk down the parking lot, like deja-vu, you look up to see '505' printed on the door. you insert the key, opening the door. the smell of the room bringing you back to your thoughts from earlier. you look towards the bed and could almost see Natasha laying there on her side. you blink and the image is gone. you should've known she was going to haunt you.

"here's the key, our room is 505. i'll grab the bags" Natasha says before jogging to the stolen car. you sigh before walking down the parking lot, reading each door as you pass. you find the room and open the door just as she's shutting the car door. you hold the door open for her as she slips in, dropping your bags to the floor.

"it's nice" you try, she nods shortly.

"yeah, hopefully we don't get bored of it." she walks over to the bathroom area, taking off her jacket at the same time. you follow, grabbing the jacket before she tosses it to the floor. she smiles shyly at you. you look down at her blood-stained white tank top. she goes to pull it off but flinches. you urgently step forward.

"let me, nat" you lead her arms through the holes and slowly pull it over her head, revealing the dirty gauze on her side. you reach for it, pulling it off as gently as you could. "it looks infected." you comment. you lead her into the small toilet area and push her to sit down on the lid. you grab the motel towel and get it damp before starting to clean her wound. you try to ignore her staring.

"you think they followed us?" you shake your head.

"no, I saw them crash."

"how long do we have to stay here?" nat questions as she paces back and forth, her phone close to her ear. "are you serious? what about food and the payment for the motel?" she sighs "alright, ill talk to you soon, bye" she throws her phone on the bed, she sits by it.

"how long are we staying?" you lean on her, she lightly rubs your head.

"5-7 months."

"as long as its with you" she smiles tiredly.

you lay facing Natasha as she sleeps, trying to memorize every detail of her face. its been two months into your hideout, you've fallen for her. you both had no other choice but to get to know each other, going from strictly co-workers to something that has to be more than friends, you're not sure.

Natasha begins to stir, knocking you out of your thoughts, she opens her eyes, smiling she meets your stare.

"goodmoring, detka." she mumbles, before stretching out her arms. she goes to get up but you pull her back down. she inches away, close enough to kiss. her eyes flash to your lips, back up to your eyes. she leans in, laying her lips on yours. you lean into her, putting as much passion you could into the kiss. she melts into, kissing back harder. she climbs on top of me, one hand on my check, they other on my waist. she lightly pulls my hair, then pulls away.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for so long” she laughs as she talks.

“so have i” she just stares at you for a while, running her hand along your check, laying kisses on your neck.

weeks after your first kiss, you were confused by the situation. you guys didn’t mention the kiss, it was like it never happened.

Natasha sits at the desk, typing on her computer. you watch as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, focusing on what she was writing.

"Natasha" you call out, she doesn't respond. "nat" she peaks over her shoulder. "can we talk?" she nods and closes her laptop. you watch her walk over to you, sitting next to you.

"what's wrong, baby?" you turn to face her.

"what are we?" her eyebrows pinch in confusion.

"what do you mean?" you shake your head.

"you know what I mean, nat... you kissed me and its like you forgot about it. I just want to know if it meant something to you." she grabs your hands, gently squeezing them.

"it did mean something, im sorry for not clarifying my feelings for you. I've been in love with you since the start of this mission, I couldn't imagine doing this with anyone else. If you would take me, I want to be yours." you can't help the smile that spreads on your face.

now five months into your mission, Natasha is getting antsy.

"I don't think I can be in this room any longer, I feel like I don't have any space away from you." Natasha said exasperatedly.

you knew what she was saying because you felt it too. every time you too disagreed, there was no where for you to cool down. you both felt trapped. "Natasha-"

she interrupts your sentence. "shut up. I can't stand to hear you talk. just- let me use you for tonight." she walks up to you, pulling you into an mind-breaking kiss.

that's how most of your nights ended. her using you for her own pleasure. not that you minded, necessarily.

"you two are good to leave, please make your way back to the compound as soon as possible." both you and Natasha sigh in relief.

after you two pack up the little things that you had, Natasha grabs both of your hands. "I promise to be better to you when we are out of here. I know I haven't been what you deserve but when we are able to have our own normal lives, things will get better."

you smiled gently at her. "I know, my love." you kiss her, trying to show that you forgive everything.

"I just need space for a few more days, baby. I swear it's nothing you did, it's just- the whole hotel and all of the time we spent together nonstop, I just want to have a few nights for myself to recuperate." Natasha said as she shut the door to her room.

you two went from spending every waking second together to only seeing each other passing in the hallway. it didn't feel like you two were a couple anymore. you couldn't even remember the last time you two had kissed. it felt like 5 months you two were dating, didn't mean anything to her.

you show up at her room door, you knock a few times. "Natasha, it's me. we need to talk." the door slowly swings open, revealing Natasha in a white robe, looking as beautiful as ever. her curled red hair laying just below her shoulders, her green eyes holding your world. this is going to hurt worse than you thought.

"hey, y/n. come in." she moved over, creating space for you to walk past her. when you did, her perfume took over your senses. "is everything okay?"

you shook your head. "no, nothing is okay. why do I feel like I'm losing you? I mean I get that the months we had in the hotel were rough, I felt it too, but why does it feel like you don't even want to try to have a normal relationship? it feels like we're back to were we started." Natasha grabs your hand.

"i'm so sorry I'm hurting you, y/n. I just- I don't think I can do the whole relationship thing. the time we shared together was amazing but I think I realized I can't do it. commitment scares me and I don't want to do anything to hurt you more." with every word she says, it feels like your heart is being ripped from your chest.

after the break up, the team took Natasha's side. you had obviously expected that, they were closer to her than they were to you. what you never expected was the way they treated you.

every time you entered the kitchen and they were there, you got at least one dirty look, almost as if you did something wrong. Tony took everything he has given you away, including your dresser, night stand and bed frame. Steve has gone ten times hard on you during your sparing sessions. Bruce has refused to fix the hole in your suit, causing many malfunctions during battle. Clint has outright cussed you out, yelling at you for 'hurting' Natasha. Thor was the only one who was nice enough to ignore you.

you weren't sure what hurt you the most, the fact that none of them ever asked what happened, they just assumed you hurt Natasha and deserved to be punished or the fact that Natasha never corrected them.

it's now been a year since Natasha broke it off with you and you're still haunted of her. as you sit in the same hotel room that changed your life. since the break up, you have since quit the avengers, you felt more like a prisoner than a friend to all of them. you have been on the run from them for a few months now, since they declared you a fugitive.

you're not sure why you're back here. you thought you had moved on from Natasha. the whole in your heart half way patched up. as you sit in the old chair that was sat in the corner of the room, you stare out the window, watching as the rain starts to pick up. you see a figure just outside, in the middle of the parking lot. you slowly stand up, peeking out of the blinds as you watch it walk forwards. as it inches closer, you recognize her curves, the same ones you spent every night studying. you open your door, the wind slightly catching you off guard. Natasha finally close enough for you to see her face.

"what are you doing here?" Natasha says, you scoff.

shaking your head. "I could ask you the same thing... how did you find me?"

she chuckled. "I didn't mean to. I think we are here for the same reason. I'm running from the law now too." hearing her voice hurt more than you thought it would. "do you mind if I stay with you? I don't have any more money for a room, I figured id just break into one and stay for a night... but if you don't mind, I think it would be easier?"

you contemplate for a minute, your gut is telling you not to let her in, but you do anyways, slowly moving over for her to come in. she walks in, sighing at the warmth. she takes her jacket off, about to throw it on the floor but you take it from her before she can. the deja-vu making your stomach turn. she smiles at you, innocently.

"you know... I've missed you. I really have. when I found out you left, I felt like I really lost you." you roll your eyes at her statement.

"you lost me a while ago, Natasha." her eyebrows raise at your hostile tone.

she looks down at her feet, almost nervously. "I know, and I regret that night everyday. I was stupid to let you go."

she steps closer to you, clearly holding herself back from reaching out to you. "Natasha" her name came out more pathetic than you wanted, as you hold back tears.

"detka, I am really sorry for the way that I was. I swear I took this time to reflect on how everything played out and I am embarrassed for how I treated you." you turn around, not wanting her to see you cry. you brought the sleeve of your long sleeved shirt, up to your eyes, trying to stop your tears from falling. Natasha turned you back around, gently grabbing your hands, holding them. "you deserve so much better than how I was... I know I never said it before but I love you. with every inch of me, I love you. you have set my world on fire and I stomped it out because I was scared of how much I loved you. please, let me make it up to you." all of your tears seemed to fall at once as you practically fell into Natashas chest, looking for the comfort you never had.

taglist: @natashamaximoff-69 @allamanamedearl @ricejucie @marvels--slut

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#fanfic #fem!reader #my fic #wlw fiction #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha x you #black widow #marvel #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #civil war #captain america civil war

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hsllfirescoopsreblogs · 2 months

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╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all steve rogers stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!)

MASTERLIST • MARVEL MASTERLIST • 04/16/24

: ̗̀➛ code blue by @bonky-n-steeb

✮ Steve is angry on you for behaving recklessly and you decide to let him take his anger out on you in a very unprofessional way...

: ̗̀➛ oh captain my captain by @starryevermore

✮chris knows how much you enjoy captain america, so he makes sure you live out all of your fantasies. (chris evans pretending to be steve rogers)

: ̗̀➛ it’s you that i lie with by @lipstickbisous

✮pt 1- steve rogers realizes that his love for you is unparalleled, but when he chooses to return to you by the lake, he receives a certain visit from the time variance authority

: ̗̀➛ mr. perfectly fine by @sparkleofpizza

✮Hello, Mr. perfectly fine, how’s your heart after breaking mine?” - Taylor Swift (Mr. Perfectly Fine)

: ̗̀➛ @espinosaurusrexex

☾ forever, of course

✮Steve has a crush on you but your flirty character isn’t making things easy for him. Now he even has to marry you to please a 6-year-old superfan of his. Whether that’s a good plan or not, isn’t quite clear for Steve yet.

☾ watchful eyes

✮When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

: ̗̀➛ something new by @buckyownsmylife

✮The one where Steve moved onto another woman’s arms after the blip, but now that you’re back…

: ̗̀➛ back to you by @literaryavenger

✮You've always been there for Steve, and now you're watching him go back to the girl he always wanted.

: ̗̀➛ hideout by @ronearoundblindly

✮Grant, a guest at your middle-of-nowhere motel, has needs not covered by the usual turn-down service.

: ̗̀➛ he’s just not into you by @sergeantbarnessdoll

✮Steve isn’t into Sharon, but he’s in Y/N.

: ̗̀➛ to know him is to love him by @anonymityisfunwriter

✮ to know steve rogers is to love him. to know him is to keep handing over your heart over and over again. to know him is to be broken by him.

: ̗̀➛ airbag by @ichorai

✮ five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

: ̗̀➛ lift by @str-spangled-banner

✮ You confess to Steve that you’ve always wanted to do the Dirty Dancing lift. Somehow, he agrees to do it with you.

: ̗̀➛ caught by @moonlightyeager

✮ you and steve get caught

: ̗̀➛ you’re stuck with me by @your-eternal-lies

✮ As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

: ̗̀➛ hangry by @just-another-blog-of-fluff

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers series #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff

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i-thewriter · 4 months

Text

How to meet your lieutenant's roommate, with whom he is secretly in love

Summary:

Soap meets Ghost's roommate. She seems a little strange, but that's apparently what made Simon fall for her so hard.

Words: 1,369

Their vacations are short. It's just week to gather strength and lick wounds. Though even then, Soap knows that if Kate finds some trace of new threats to humanity, their vacation may be over before they start.

That’s why he decided it wasn’t worth coming back to the family house. Moreover, he won’t be able to rest if his mom notices the new bruises he got on his last mission. It’s also possible that his mother will call Price again to tell him how to properly take care of her boy. After she did this, he couldn’t look into his capitan’s eyes for a week, while Price couldn’t stop laughing at him.

And although Soap loves his mom, he will not survive this same thing again.

That’s why he decided it was worth complaining to Ghost about it. Over and over again, like an annoying mosquito in a room.

But hey, in his defense, he thought Ghost would understand his problem. Soap seriously doubted that he would have a charming house in the countryside to return to after a long mission. It suits him better to hide in a cemetery with other ghosts as company. He probably has his own comfortable coffin, from which he gets up only at midnight to drink the blood of virgins.

He got an extra bruise on his arm for this joke.

That’s why he is only partially surprised when Ghost says he knows the place. At first, he thinks about a hideout or a motel for hours.

That's why he’s so surprised when Ghost asks him (which sounds more like an order) to join. Soap, being Soap, immediately agrees. He doesn’t even think about how awkward it might be to be locked together in one dingy motel room for a week.

But as they say (no one says that), it’s better to make decisions right away and regret them later.

Making stupid decisions, is not stopping the warmth blooming in Soap’s chest at such a sign of trust from the cold-hearted lieutenant. It’s a transition to the next level of their growing friendship.

(He wonders at what level of friendship he will unlock Ghost’s tragic backstory.)

To say he’s just shocked is to say nothing.

He really expected some kind of dungeon without running water, but not this. The apartment is nice. Flat with three doors, a small kitchen with an island, and a charming living room.

At the entrance, Ghost tells him to take off his shoes and put them by the doormat. He goes deeper inside and sees more things that don’t make any sense. A thick chemistry textbook is next to the sink, along with a Star Wars mug and one pink sock on the couch.

Pink what?

When the rest can be explained as Ghost’s twisted hobbys, it can’t be. Maybe in his free time, the lieutenant reads collage textbooks or blushes while watching Kylo Ren take off his helmet (don’t ask him how he knows who Kylo Ren is), but the sock?

Hell will freeze over before Ghost wears something pink.

But before he can start racking his brain trying to connect all the facts, Ghost asks him if he wants some tea. Like a good host, which of course he isn’t based on how forced it sounds.

And Soap wants fucking answers to questions he will never ask because he wants to live. He doesn’t want a fucking tea made by this speaking Mount Everest. But like a polite Scot who they both know he isn’t, he opens his mouth and says:

- umm.. Yes, please.

Ghost nods once and starts the horrifying process of making tea. He takes three mugs, including the Star Wars one. When Soap stupidly starts to wonder if Ghost will drink from two cups, the front door opens. He almost throws his bag on the floor and reaches for his gun, only to remind himself that he’s in civilian clothes.

- Easy, sergeant - Ghost’s voice makes him relax and he hates how he reacts like a damn Pavlov’s dog to the bell. But at the same time he’s happy that whoever opened the door is not a threat.

- If it’s your other PTSD bullshit- soap does a double take at a woman’s voice coming from the door. Woman visits Ghost?!- I swear to God I’m calling...- she stops as she notices him.

She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and... she is pretty (and younger than he expected but will never say this loudly). Even though her hair is disheveled, she has dark circles under her eyes, and the crooked collar of her shirt... she looks beautiful. As if she had just rolled out of bed after a long night of... No..NO! He’s not going there. He’s not thinking about her long l..

Soap almost jumps out of his skin when Ghost puts the mugs on the island with a bang.

Fuck, he forgot Ghost was there.

And he stared at his friend/ girlfriend? Like a creep. In his defense, his tired brain just lagged after seeing first pretty girl after that long time. But his mom raised gentlemen, he will apologize later. Her and Ghost to make sure he survive that night.

The girl recovers from shock faster than him (which is humiliating for him and all the military training he has undergone).

For a moment, the three of them stand in an awkward silence that only he seems to be only one who feels nervous. Ghost looks at him as usual, that is, in a terrifying stillness. She, on the on other hand, looks him over from head to toe without any signs of shame. Finally, after what the animals in the zoo must feel like, her eyes meet his and recognition shines in them. Which shouldn’t be because he’s sure as hell he’s never seen her before. Maybe Ghost told her about him?

And then she steps forward, smiles wider than the devil himself, and holds out her hand to him. He carefully takes her hand in his own and doesn’t even marvel at how soft it is. He’s more worried about Ghost’s gaze burning holes in his head.

-Simon didn’t say he will bring a friend from the team - when she talks, her eyes never stop exploring his features—and never said he had friends.

- I have friends- Simon grumbles.

- Soap remembers to take his hand out of her grip before Ghost decides he don’t need friends any more.

- Now I see it. - she says and then introduces herself- I’m his roommate.- she adds at the end.

...they are not together?

But before he has time to ask this question and probably get himself a death sentence, she passes him and goes to Simon. - I started to think you were dead - she says when he takes the bag off her shoulder and puts it on the table.

- Would you cry for me? - there must be something wrong with Ghost’s voice, it should never be so soft.

- I would if you bought me this lucky cat I showed you.

- NO.- Normally, cadets faint under this look. Why not her?

- Then you lost your chance to have me as a weeping widow.

- I think I will survive that.

Then you just stand on your tiptoes, grab Simon by the lopels of his jacket, and kiss him on the check (he’s wearing that creepy mask). Soap’s jaw didn’t have time to hit the floor when it was all over, and you turned around, sat down on the stool, and took a long sip of tea.

It’s hits him like a brick that all these things that don’t fit Ghost are yours. And it hits him like a truck that he hasn’t introduced himself yet.

- I’m John MacThavis, you can call me Soap. -he says this with a slight blush on his cheeks. The twinkle in your eyes at his code name makes him blush so hard he has to hide behind his steaming mug.

Then Simon’s hand brushes against your back as he takes the seat next to you. At this moment, John recognizes a glint of softness in Ghost’s eyes and knows that you are more unavailable than Pentagon.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #x reader #fanfic #simon riley x reader

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marvelfilth · 2 months

Text

AKA Shut up and listen

Pairing: Jessica Jones x f!reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, self-deprication

Summary: you love Jess, Jess doesn't get why

Masterlist

"So... This is it?" you mumble, your gaze pinned to the roach on the wall to your left.

You really shouldn't be disappointed - you heard enough of Jess' grumbling whenever she came back from a hideout with too many compromising pictures on her camera and too much alcohol on her breath.

So, yeah, it's all your fault, since it was you who begged her to take you with her, just to get a taste of that PI life.

"Yes." She opens the window, letting some fresh air flow into the tiny motel room.

"Cool," you sigh and search the room for a safe place to sit. Unfortunately, the entire place looks like a biohazard, so you have no choice, but to settle on the edge of the single bed.

Your hesitation doesn't escape Jess' watchful eye. "You realize you'll have to sleep here, right?" Jessica drawls. She's sitting on the windowsill, her flask clutched between her fingertips. She raises her eyebrows at your silence and you shake your head, feeling hot all of a sudden. Lately, it's been happening too often - her looking at you far longer than a friend should, and you flushing under her heavy gaze.

"You said it won't take long," you mumble, turning away to hide your burning cheeks with your hair.

"It won't. Twenty hours top." She shrugs, taking off her leather jacket to reveal her toned arms, your eyes zeroing in on the muscles hidden under her soft skin.

"Great," you sigh.

The roach on the wall moves closer to you and you have to fight the urge to stamp it down with your shoe.

It probably has a family somewhere.

"You don't have to stay. I can call Trish, she'll pick you up. She can take you somewhere fancy."

Your eyes roll at the obvious attempt at getting rid of you. You know she likes you enough to tolerate you for at least a day, but you also know she prefers to work alone. Even Trish never gets to tag along.

"You know I like you more."

“Really?” She husks sarcastically around the neck of her flask.

“Yes.”

Another roach crawls from under the bed, making you squeak and jump off it. Jessica rolls her eyes, gesturing around you. “This. This is me.”

You blink. Then blink again. “A roach?”

She hums, turning to look outside and taking another swing from her flask. “Yep. A roach, dirty motel, cheap booze - all me. Doesn't seem like your thing.”

You huff, crossing your arms, your shoulders suddenly tense. “Luckily for me, you're more than cheap booze, and shitty motels, and roaches. So yeah, you're my thing.”

She tilts her head, her dark eyes brimming with exhaustion from countless sleepless nights spent chasing leads, but there's a flicker of something, something important. It's gone faster than you can place it, and she turns back to the window, lifting her camera, and covering her face from your scrutiny.

“Get us some food, yeah?” She whispers, pretending to focus on the streets below.

You let out a frustrated huff, but nod nonetheless, leaving in search of something edible.

You come back a little over half an hour later, a paper bag full of takeout clutched tightly against your chest, your heart still racing after a ride with a sketchy man on a sketchy elevator.

Jessica startles you with a question.

“You okay?”

Her body is halfway out of the window, facing the building across the street, but her eyes are pinned to you. The flask lies empty on the windowsill.

“Peachy,” you mumble, pushing a container into her hand. “Eat it all or no booze for two days.”

She frowns, eyeing you warily. “Don't bullshit me.”

You smile, humming, and nudge Jess to make space for you on the windowsill. You dig into the food, almost moaning at the rich flavor, and note with pride that Jessica seems to enjoy it too.

“Not bad,” she says around a forkful. “Not as good as your famous lasagna-”

You shove her before she can finish her thought.

“Jess!”

Her brow arches in question, and she keeps a serious expression for all three seconds before the corners of her mouth jump up in a fleeting smile. “What? I liked it.”

You groan, pushing the food around. She'll never let you forget it. And to think that you were just being a caring friend, spending all day perfecting a recipe you found online, chasing down Jess, and making her eat some of it.

“Just a little less salt next time,” she says, leaning back against the wall, her eyes on you.

You shake your head, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

The evening is settling in, the warm glow of the sun seeping away, giving way to the chilly breeze. You shudder, goosebumps littering your bare arms, and consider moving to the bed, or maybe wrapping yourself in a blanket. You eye it warily - it's thin, its color washed away and even from here you can see some of the stains.

You jump up when a weight settles over your shoulders, a familiar scent of leather enveloping you. When you turn to look at Jess, instead of looking away like you thought she would, she looks at you, head-on.

“Thanks,” you whisper, pushing your arms through the sleeves. “You're not cold?”

She shakes her head no, pushing her food around. “Looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” You look down at your lap, fingers fidgeting. The air grows heavy.

She reaches inside her bag and takes out another flask.

“I'm no good for you, you know?” she says after gulping at least a quarter of it.

You look up, startled.

“I'm an asshole with a drinking problem. You deserve better.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “You’re not an asshole.”

She snorts, and finishes the flask in quick gulps before carelessly throwing it to the floor.

“Jess.”

She hums.

“You're not an asshole.”

“I heard you the first time.”

You huff, and pull the take out box out of her hands before gently setting both of your food on the nearby table. “Jessica,” you start, squaring your shoulders. “I need you to listen to me very carefully.” She rolls her eyes, but turns to face you nonetheless. You can tell she's ready to bolt or at least deflect, but you won't let her. Not this time, the conversation is long overdue.

You take her hand in yours, fiddling with her slender fingers. “You’re one of the best people I've ever met, Jess-” the scoff that follows is expected “-yes, you are!” You insist, giving her hand a sharp tug. “You're brave, and selfless, and kind-”

“I’m an unreliable, unstable alcoholic with a fucked up head,” she growls, jumping off her seat. “I'm not kind or brave. I don't do nice things. I'm not nice, period. I have a hole in my wall and more empty bottles than cutlery. I haven't washed my jeans in two months. I- fuck, sometimes I can't even look at you without thinking about you leaving, eventually.” She starts pacing, fingers lost in her dark tresses.

“Jess.”

“I can't take care of myself, Trish does that half the time. I have one bedsheet. I don't have a vacuum cleaner. My door is permanently broken.”

“Jessica.”

“I'm a fucked up-”

“Shut up.”

She stops mid rant, looking at you with tired eyes, and let's out a long-suffering sigh. “You deserve better.”

You shake your head and take a step towards her. “I love you.”

She recoils, suddenly looking like a frightened child. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “What?” She croaks.

“I love you, Jess. I love you when you're drunk and miserable, and I love you when sober up and smile like you don't have a care in the world. I love you when you're out of reach for days on a case, and I love you when you make sure to spend time with me, even if it means sacrificing sleep-”

“Stop.”

“-I love you when you don't have time to take my calls, and I love you when you answer me from strangers’ balconies. I love you when you're being mean, and I love you when you choose to be the kindest person I know, even after all of the shit you've been through.”

“Y/n…”

“I love you and your broken door. And I love your cutlery.”

“Don't-”

“And I have a vacuum cleaner.”

She sighs, but her eyes soften just a slightest bit. "A vacuum cleaner, huh?"

You swallow and take a deep breath. “I- I don't want anyone else, Jess. I want you. I love you.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her jaw tenses, brows furrow in thought. “Okay,” she nods slowly, begrudgingly.

“Yeah?” You whisper, inching closer.

“Yeah,” she breathes against your lips, before pulling you in a tender, almost chaste kiss. She's pulling away a second later and it's over before you even fully register the feeling of her soft, full lips on yours. “I- You- Fuck, why is this shit so goddamn hard?” She grumbles, closing her eyes briefly before taking a deep breath. “You deserve better, so-”

“Jessica,” you growl, pushing her by the shoulders. She doesn't budge, pressing you closer to her chest, her grip on your waist tightening.

“You deserve better, so I'll get better. I'll do better. For you,” she finishes slowly, begrudgingly, and for a moment you're speechless. “Less booze should be a good start, right? No girl likes to smell alcohol all the time,” she sounds like she's complaining, like this is the worst situation she could ever find herself in, but her eyes shine in a way you've never seen before. It's hope, you realise after a moment.

“Not for me, for you,” you state firmly, cupping her jaw. “You'll get better for you.”

She blinks. “That’s not a good enough motivation,” she grumbles.

You press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, fighting back a smile. She's so Jess. “We'll work on that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. I... I love you too, I guess.”

"Mhm," you hum, and she opens her mouth again, so you pull her in a proper kiss before she can say anything else.

#jessica jones x reader #jessica jones x you #jessica jones x female reader #jessica jones #jessica Jones x y/n #jessica jones x fem!reader #AKA Shut up and listen

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starlightsearches · 1 year

Note

requesting reader asking bf eddie to do his eyeliner n he says yes but only if they will sit on his lap while doing it!! if it gets spicy i absolutely dont mind!! also no rush!!!

AO3 Request: What about one where the reader is painting Eddie’s nails black for him after watching him struggle and somehow in between them drying they start making out and it turns a little NSFW and something about “Don’t, you’ll fuck the paint up.”

Looks That Kill

Thanks for the request, friends, and even more thanks for your patience!! Hope you enjoy 😚

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

Warnings: very very horny but not really smutty (18+ only please), language, Eddie is a SIMP always and forever, hints at sub! eddie, finger sucking, I know licking nail polish to smooth is out is gross but sometimes it's just what you do, okay??, mentions of impact play, some unfortunate cockblocking, and i think that's it! If I missed anything let me know uwu

"Jesus- fuck."

The eyeliner pencil slips from Eddie's fingers, again, clattering against the basin of the sink and leaving little black smudges around the porcelain before it slowly comes to a stop. He rubs the matching smudge off the corner of his eye with his thumb, smearing black down his cheek.

Normally, this is the point where he'd give up. If this were a gig at The Hideout, he wouldn't have even bothered to try with the makeup— would have rolled out of bed an hour before, still half high for another fucking show of watered-down covers.

But this is not just some show.

"You good, Eds?"

Your head pops into the shitty motel bathroom, drying your nails with pursed lips painted dark, perfectly-lined eyes meeting his own. Eddie shivers like you’ve got your hands on him, even though it's just the slow up and down trace of your eyes.

He knows what the look you give him means. You're trying to figure out what his problem is.

There's an immediate reminder of the secret he's been trying to keep from himself—that he's got more to be nervous about than this show and maybe a record deal and trying to put a little, black crayon by his eyeball.

"How do you even do this shit?" Eddie asks, holding the eyeliner in a tight fist like he's trying to choke it.

"It just takes practice."

You lean up against the door frame, unphased, because nothing ever gets to you. Not nerves, not shitty guys at shows, not late nights spent driving or hours in the van with nothing to look at but corn fields.

With Eddie, it's the opposite. Everything gets to him. Especially you.

He knew it was a bad idea, letting you take Grant’s spot when he went off for college. The guys were a second family to him, and the idea of replacing any of them always felt weird, like finding out your dad has a new girlfriend, and he wants you to call her mom.

But Corroded Coffin needed a bassist. And you could play—could play so good he’s pretty sure he’s been in love with you since that first note hit him in the chest.

It doesn't help that you're so fucking pretty, with your over the knee boots and those short, short skirts and fishnet tights that have him biting into the meat of his palm when you're not looking.

It doesn't help that Jeff and Gareth know way too much about his little problem, and still took the other room, leaving him high and dry.

"I don't have time for practice," he grumbles, mostly to himself, capping the eyeliner again and planting his hands against the counter.

It's not like anybody in the crowd would care if he had eyeliner on or not. Openers never got that much attention anyways. The record studio guy might be too high to even notice the name of the band, let alone what any of you looked like.

But Eddie cares. When he steps out on that stage, he wants to feel like he belongs there.

He catches you staring at him in the mirror, chewing pensively on your bottom lip, brushing a few hairs back behind your ear. You've got it just barely secured—like you always do before a show—knowing by the end of it you'll have all the loose strands sticking to your sweaty skin, making sure that everybody in the audience (and at least one of the guys on stage) can't think about anything else but fucking you.

There's a moment of prolonged eye contact between you that has Eddie glad the shirt he's wearing is black, so you won't see him sweat.

You push off the wall behind you, sliding up beside him at the counter. "Scoot over."

Eddie does, watching you take a little hop up onto the counter, shimmying the hem of your dress back down over your thighs, the fabric tight enough when you spread your legs he wonders if it'll pop at the seams.

Jesus.

"C'mere."

And Eddie gets what's going on—or he thinks he does—but it's like he can't get his legs to listen, stumbling toward you like a baby deer until his legs are just brushing your knees.

You roll your eyes at him. "Closer."

He lets out a little yelp when you tug at his wrist, pulling him in, widening your legs until there's enough room for his hips. There's a quiet sound, like fabric tearing, but maybe that's just leftover brain-rot from all the porn he watched in high school.

Your thighs close around his hips, and they're so fucking pillowy, molding against him. One of your ankles curls around the back of his knee. Eddie wonders if you can feel how close he is to buckling.

You're so fucking chill about it all, though, taking the eyeliner in one hand, gripping his chin in the other until you're almost nose to nose. It's just clouds of your shampoo and the smell of cherry-scented lip gloss Eddie'd snatched from the counter the second you stepped out of the room. Spread over the back of his hand, watched it shine in the light before immediately licking off. He needed to know what it tasted like.

You've got the pad of your thumb pressed into the soft skin under his eye, swiping away the evidence from one of his hundred other attempts.

"Look up," you tell him, catching his lashes gently under your finger when he obeys, "and stay still."

He's got no other choice. Eddie knows if he makes the slightest move, he'll feel your body move against his, and that'll have him popping a boner so fast he might lose consciousness.

One eye, and then the other—you swipe the pencil around his lash line so fast it would make him dizzy if he dared to look. The cap snaps back over the top of the eyeliner, and you drop it back into the bag.

"All done, rockstar," you tell him with a tap on the cheek, "check yourself out."

Eddie leans around you, trying to get a good look in the mirror, but his balance is all off. He's gonna fall on his ass, a thought almost too embarrassing to name, and he catches himself on the closest thing he can grab at.

Your thigh dents too pretty underneath his fingers, the backs of his rings snagging against one of the strings on your fishnets.

Fuck. Eddie's gotta play it off or he'll look like a tool—fucking about to faint because a girl is touching him—which means he's gotta keep his hand there, even if his vision is going dark at the edges. He can hardly see his own reflection.

"What d'you think?" he asks instead.

You're smiling, but in that way that has Eddie questioning everything you say, like it's all some fucked up riddle designed to torture him.

"It's sexy, Eds. You look great."

He just rolls his eyes. It's sexy, Eds. You're so fucking sexy, Eddie, and I need you to take me on this motel bathroom sink and fuck me for hours or I'm gonna claw my eyes out.

Yeah right. In his dreams, maybe.

But you didn't push his hand away, either. Let him cop a feel and you didn't even shrink away from him, or hurl. So maybe he's just being a mean little bitch to himself for the fun of it.

"Anything else?"

Yeah, Eddie thinks, slap me hard across the face then kiss it better.

But that's not really in the cards for tonight, so his eyes flash around the bathroom, landing on the black bottle of polish you brought in with you. Eddie raises his free hand, the one not on your thigh—which will stay there until he dies if he gets his way—spreading his fingers wide. "How 'bout a manicure?"

Your fingers grip at Eddie's hand, coating each of his nails with one clean swipe of the polish, breathing in deep and slow while the room floods with the scent of acetone.

"Blow," you command, placing his nails in front of his lips before you grab the other hand. Eddie's more than happy to do what he's told.

He watches you, watches the way your brows knit together, totally focused on perfection.

"You know," —your breath puffs against his knuckles, voice all quiet, "you don't need any of this shit, right? You're gonna blow it out of the fucking water, like you always do."

Eddie hopes his nails are dry already, because he's got no more breath in his lungs, just barely managing to gasp out a word.

"Oh."

You glance up at him through your lashes, and past your cool exterior and the twenty layers of apathetic irony bassists always seem to have, he knows you mean it.

Eddie flinches, hand slipping against yours. When you pull back, there's a big black smear across your thumb.

"Oh, damn, sorry."

He's left a dent in the polish on his middle finger, pushed some of the already-dry paint around until a sliver of his real nail was visible beneath.

"Don't worry about it."

If Eddie had a thousand years and unlimited guesses, he still wouldn't have come up with what you do next—taking his middle finger in your hand, pulling it toward your lips.

Your mouth is wet, and warm around his finger, and maybe Eddie moans when you suck at his skin but the roaring in his ears is too loud for him to be sure. All he knows is that he'll never need another dirty magazine or porno for the rest of his life. He's gonna be jerking off to this exact feeling forever.

Your tongue drags flat across his nail, and when you pull the digit from your mouth—all wet and shiny with your spit and stained purple with lipstick—the polish looks good as new.

"Tastes like shit, but it works," you tell him, leaning over to spit in the sink.

There's a smirk on your lips when you turn back to face him. Eddie feels like such an idiot.

All those times you'd bent over in those short skirts, gripped at his thigh while you reached for a pencil, or one of those discarded pages of lyrics on his bedroom floor and he'd sit there, staring at the ceiling and trying to name all the state's capitals so he wouldn't be sporting a boner hard enough you could see it through his jeans.

You were fucking with him this entire time.

He could have been fucking you this entire time.

"Jesus," he says, "you're a fucking tease."

You smile wider, tightening the grip of your thighs. "Maybe I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to get the fucking hint."

Eddie braces himself against the counter with both hands when he leans forward, nudging your mouth towards his with the tip of his nose and just diving in, no backup plan, no parachute. He's all in, crushing his body against yours until his hips ache against the sharp edge of the counter.

You're kissing him back, cupping your palms around his jaw, smearing that cherry lip gloss all around his mouth with the way you get into it. Breathing heavy against his cheek, slipping your tongue past his lips and tapping it against the edge of his teeth.

He grabs at your thighs—desperate and totally indifferent if you know it—pulling at you until your hips bump against his, skirt riding up again until it's sitting in the dip between your stomach and the tops of your thighs.

He slides a hand up the lattice of your tights, climbing higher and higher, so close to your cunt he can feel the heat caught up in the space between your legs.

You drop a hand from his face, press against his wrist, gasping out the words between the harsh crush of his mouth.

"Don't. You'll fuck up the paint."

Eddie shakes his head. "Don't care."

You pull back, scrunching your nose at him indignantly.

"I do."

There's a knock on the door, timing so perfect it's like you summoned it. Gareth's voice calls out through the thin walls, saying something along the lines of, "showtime, motherfuckers."

"Fuck that," Eddie lets out a hard sigh through his nose as you slide off the counter, but he makes space for you to slip out from between his arms. He watches you, leaning back against the counter while you wipe off the smeared lipstick with a washcloth, moving in close to reapply.

He couldn't give two shits about the show now.

You snap the cap back on the tube, hand him the stained rag so he can clean himself up. It turns his skin red where he rubs at the sticky stain, but he gets his first real glance at the eyeliner. It looks pretty metal.

You catch Eddie by the collar just before he's about to step out of the bathroom, two fingers sliding against his skin, pulling him close.

"Listen," —and Eddie is, feeling your lipstick brushing over the shell of his ear— "you get us this record deal, and you can do whatever you want to me tonight."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #my writing #requests

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knucklescum · 2 years

Text

Motel Room - Billy Butcher x fem!Reader (The Boys)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x fem!reader (The Boys)

Word Count: 1719

Warnings: Swearing, implied smut (i was too pussy to actually write it lmao), ONE BED FIC!!! also you wear one of his shirts…

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Last time, it had been with Hughie. The time before, M.M.

And now here you were, stood in the doorway of yet another shitty motel room as Billy fucking Butcher threw his bag onto the bed.

The bed. Singular.

You don’t even attempt to hide your annoyance as you shut the door, letting out a loud sigh.

“Come on, love.” he says, turning to you as he shimmies out of his coat. “I’m not that bad, am I?”

A scoff escapes your lips as you drop your duffle bag onto the desk, shaking your head as you remove your hoodie.

You fold your jumper up, placing it gently over the back of the desk chair as Butcher falls onto the mattress with a content hum.

“Not so fast, dickhead.” you say, your voice a dry laugh. “I’ll help you make a ‘lil bed on the floor.”

You lean over him, not even attempting to catch his eyes as you snatch up one of the pillows, throwing it onto the floor.

“I’m sure your coat will work as a blanket,” you say, tilting your head innocently, although your smirk tells Butcher all he needs to know.

“What,” he starts, sitting up on the edge of the mattress as you lean against the wall. “- makes you think I’m giving up this bed, sweetheart?”

He tilts his own head, mocking you with a similar shit-eating grin to your own.

“M.M gave me the bed. So did Hughie, you know,” you pause. “Like gentlemen?”

“Oh I’m the gentlest of them all, love. I’ll even give you a little cuddle if you fancy,” he smirks, nodding his head at you.

“Get fucked,” you whisper, quickly arming yourself with your jumper and launching it at his head.

To your dismay, he catches it with no problem, throwing it to the floor alongside the pillow.

“Now hang on a second, princess,” Butcher says, bringing a hand to his chin in faux confusion before pointing a finger at you. “Hughie told me you two shared the bed?”

Of course he did.

“Well, yeah,” you sigh. “I wasn’t going to let him sleep on the floor now, was I? He’s fragile.”

Butcher can’t help the small chuckle that slips out of his mouth before his face hardens again.

“So why am I sleeping on the floor?”

“Because you’re a cunt,” you say, flippant as you turn back to your bag, rummaging for your wallet. “I’m going to get a snack.”

“Grab me a-” you slam the door shut, ignoring Butcher and whatever request he may have had.

The cold night air was refreshing. You had spent an awfully long time just staring at the vending machine, any excuse to get away from that warm, tiny room where Butcher was, maybe, waiting for you.

In fairness, the vending machine was in serious need of a restock: the only things left were a singular packet of skittles and a redbull.

“Fuck it,” you whisper to yourself as you input the code for the skittles, and then the redbull before finding the perfect spot on the side of the building for a good lean. Maybe it was the result of some kind of long forgotten trauma, or just a part of your being, but you’d always found that a nice, cold wall always brought you back to reality.

You cracked the can open, your back flat against the wall as you took a sip of the drink.

To this day, you weren’t entirely sure why being alone with Butcher made you so tense. The two of you met just after Becca went missing, when Butcher started his ‘mission’. From day one, he’d got under your skin - his snide remarks, his nicknames, the way he treated the other guys. But there was another side to him that, albeit unintentionally, he had let slip from time to time. He was genuinely funny, weirdly sweet - especially to you and Hughie, and he always had your back.

And you couldn’t deny the fact that you’d felt his eyes on you, occasionally. When you’d get out of the shower in the hideout wrapped in a towel, on hot days when you’d stroll out of your ‘room’ (a flimsily curtained off section of the basement) in just an oversized shirt. You were certain that you’d caught him watching you, but you know he would never admit it.

Quickly, you down the last of your energy drink before tossing the can into the bin, making your way back to the room.

You’ve barely shut the door when Butcher jumps up from the bed, a wash of worry across his face before he quickly replaces it with his usual teasing expression.

“What were you doing out there? Foraging for a kitkat?” he asks.

In the time you were gone he’d removed his boots and folded your jumper back on to the chair, as well as returned the pillow back to its spot on the bed.

“This is all they had,” you say, throwing the bag of skittles vaguely in his direction as you tuck your wallet back into your bag.

He lets out a sigh as he opens the packet, immediately tipping half of the contents into his mouth.

“Save me some, asshole!” you exclaim.

After your internal battle at the vending machine, you give into your exhaustion and flop yourself on the bed, spread like a starfish directly in the centre. Pulling your eyes closed, you hear Butcher shuffle around the room and - is he undressing?

“Butcher, what the f-” you shout in a whisper, sitting up and keeping your eyes on his face, afraid to move your eyes anywhere else, just in case.

“What? Can’t a man change into his fucking jim-jams in peace?” he utters back to you, his voice a breath louder than yours.

“Jim-jams?” you mock. “Jesus christ, Butch.”

“If I’m going to be squished into this bed with you, I at least want to be fuckin’ comfortable,” he says, raising his hands in defence.

“There’s always the floor.”

“Fuck off, sweetheart,” he says, turning his back to you to pull his pyjamas on.

When the two of you eventually look back to each other, it’s hard to stop your eyes from roaming over the entirety of his body. He’s ditched his shirt all together, donning only a pair of baggy, plaid bottoms.

“What?” he says as he returns to the bed, pushing your limbs out of the way as he parks himself on top of the duvet. “I saw Hughie’s, thought they looked quite nice.” He turns to face you, a questioning smirk on his face. “Is that alright with you?”

You nod your head before resting it back onto the pillow, sinking into the mattress as you become increasingly more aware of just how close you are to the man.

The two of you remain in your weirdly comfortable silence, your breaths becoming softer as you start to relax.

That is, until Butcher interrupts you.

“You’re sleeping in jeans?” he scoffs. “Get your fucking PJs on, love.”

You bring your hand to your face, rubbing your forehead before you sit up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and pushing yourself up onto your feet.

“You had your shoes on in the bed too? Mad fucking woman,” he utters, shaking his head as he watches you cross the room to your bag.

“I’m tired, alright? Fuck off,” you sigh.

Holding yourself up on the desk, you slide out of your trainers before turning your back to Butcher.

You feel around in your bag for a top to wear to bed, your hand meeting the soft material of one shirt in particular.

Shit.

Ignoring the feeling of the imminent questioning, you wrestle the shirt out of your bag, placing it on the side before removing your own top. Despite facing away from him, you can feel Butcher’s eyes on your bare back as you undo your bra, a small, satisfied hum escaping your lips as your tits fall freely.

Of course, he can’t see your front, but you’re sure he’s imagining.

Quickly, you pull the shirt over yourself, beginning to fasten the buttons when you hear Butcher’s breath hitch.

“Is that my shirt?” he says, his voice low.

“It’s comfy,” you shrug, shuffling out of your jeans before turning back to face him.

“I’m well aware,” he whispers.

Your eyes meet his almost instantly, his pupils large and dark, remaining focused on yours with each step you make closer to the bed. Closer to him.

He shuffles slightly closer to his edge of the bed, so much so that your skin doesn’t even brush his as you crawl back into the bed.

“I’m not going to bite you, Butcher,” you laugh, nodding your head for him to scoot closer. “Come on, you’re going to fall off the bed.”

He nods in response, moving maybe half a centimetre closer before stopping again.

“Jesus fucking christ, you can touch me, Butcher,” you sigh, making yourself comfortable on your side of the mattress.

“I don’t want to hurt you, (y/n).”

“Oh.”

You and Butcher were very obviously not on the same page.

Your mind starts to race. He wants to touch you? Wait, fuck - he said your name! How long has he wanted this? Do you want this? Of course you do. You’ve wanted this for a while.

“You have no idea how much I want you, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I-I’m always thinking about you. It’s stupid, I know. You’re you and I’m, well, I’m a fucking state-”

You cut off his ramblings with your lips on his. There’s no sparks, no fireworks, but fuck it feels so right.

He kisses back instantly, scooting closer to you, your chest brushing against his. A few seconds pass before he pulls away from you, a never ending distance between you once again.

“Sweetheart, I can’t. I’m too old - you’re too young to be messing about with someone like me,” he whispers, his dark eyes boring into yours.

“Stop denying yourself,” you utter. “You’re Billy fucking Butcher.”

In an instant, his lips return to their place on yours, his beard a soothing scratch on your face.

“You’re fucking right I am.”

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #butcher #billy butcher the boys #butcher the boys #the boys #amazon the boys #one bed #billy butcher one bed #wearing billy butcher's shirt #billy butcher shirt #karl urban #boys #one bed fic

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rottenroyalebooks · 5 months

Text

Love Drunk - 0.1

Pairing: Eddie Munson x older sister!Harrington reader

Also includes: Steve Harrington x sister!reader (siblings)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Y/N Harrington left Hawkins as soon as she turned eighteen with her boyfriend to follow her dreams of being a Rockstar. Three years later, she returns to Hawkins alone and scarred. Now, she has to repair her broken relationship with her younger brother, all while trying to prevent herself from falling for a cute metal head who plays at the Hideout, where she works.

Warnings: None.

Next ->

Driving back to Hawkins, Indiana, was the last thing I thought I would do.

I wouldn't say I liked this hellhole and got away as soon as possible. I never wanted to see the all-too-familiar roads and trees filled with bad memories.

Why did I come back here if I hated this place so much? My life fell apart underneath my feet, and I had no choice.

The drive was long and taxing, but I had a caravan from the 60s that still worked beautifully, so I didn't have to stay in any motels. I left California with a few boxes of my possessions and my black and white Saint Bernard Baxter, and we hit the open road together. It was a long trip, but eventually, I pulled into the driveway of my family home, which was pitch black.

Being late into the night, I was not surprised that the house was dark. I pulled my van into the backyard so it wouldn't be seen by anyone who drove by. I turned my van off and climbed into the back of my caravan, grabbing my travel bag and waking Baxter up so he wouldn't be sleeping outside in the cold.

I tried the back door, but it was locked, so I had to grab the spare key that was always kept underneath my mother's favorite garden gnome. I scoffed, showing the key to Baxter, who tilted his head. "See? They're predictable."

Once I unlocked the door and returned the key to its hiding place, I crept into the kitchen slowly, with Baxter trailing behind me and lazily trudging around. I poked my head into the garage, seeing it bare of any cars, and scoffed, "Nobody's home? They're probably away on business again." I pulled myself back into the house and closed the door.

I started thinking about my little brother Steve. He must have been nineteen, probably off at some fancy university far away from this town. Good for him.

I found my way to my old bedroom, letting Baxter in with promises of bedtime, and closed the door behind me. The room had barely been touched, though my parents were never home enough to care about what had happened. My bed was a mess, my posters were still on the walls, my desk was nearly covered in junk, my old makeup lay on the dresser, and my records were still in a box I had put together.

Sighing happily, I put my backpack on a chair and watched as Baxter jumped onto my bed, making himself as comfortable as possible. I sat on the bed next to my nightstand, which held the phone I had begged my parents to put in for me. I picked it up, hearing the dial tone and beeping as I pressed one of the few numbers I had memorized.

I pressed the phone to my ear, listening to the ringing. Finally, after a few rings, there's a male voice coming from the receiver, "I swear to god, somebody better be dead if you have the bright idea of calling me at three in the fucking morning."

I held back a laugh, "Jim! Hey, it's Y/N,"

I could almost feel his mood lighten, "Y/N? I never thought I'd hear your voice again! How've you been, kid?"

"Could be better. it could be worse. I'm back in town wondering if the pub needs a bartender."

He hummed lightly, "Luckily for you, Paul retired two weeks ago, and I've been having trouble finding decent help. You got any experience bartending?"

I smiled, thankful that he didn't push my return further, "I was a bartender for three years. I kept my nights busy."

"Perfect, you're hired. Can I go back to bed now?"

Giggling, I nodded, knowing he couldn't see me, "Yes, yes, sorry for calling so late. Goodnight, Jim." I placed the phone in the receiver and began stretching, getting myself ready to sleep.

My peace didn't last very long as my door swung open, revealing none other than my little brother, who wasn't so little anymore, welding a baseball bat in his hands. I jumped slightly and held my hands up in surrender, "Whoa, whoa! Steve?"

He stared at me, his features melting into a look of surprise, "Y/N?" He kept the bat high up in the air.

The two of us spoke in unison, "What are you doing here?"

"I asked you first, twerp."

He looked at me with an exasperated expression, "I'm literally the one with the bat."

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest as the adrenaline died down, "I have an attack dog. Don't make me sick him on you."

He glanced behind me, looking at Baxter; smirking, he just looked back at me as he lowered the bat, "Oh yeah, he's an attack dog alright."

I looked over my shoulder and turned to look at Baxter, who laid there unbothered; passed out nearly dead to the world. If it weren't for the slow rise and fall of his upper body, I would have thought he was dead.

"I could be facing an actual murder right now, and you would just be blissfully aware until you woke up to see my dead body."

Steve sighed, "N/N, what happened?"

I turned back to him, "I'm back in Hawkins. Mom and Dad don't need to know. Hopefully, I'll find a place of my own soon. Trust me, you'll barely know I'm here."

He just stared at me, his expression unreadable as he contiplated my words. He grew a lot since I last saw him. His hair was shorter back then. He was shorter. He's no longer the scrawney kid I had to protect in my senior year, when he was merely a freshman.

I probably looked different, too, but in other ways.

"I should probably get some rest, I have an early shift." He awkwardly ran a hand through his hair. I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, kid. We'll talk later, I want to know everything I've missed." I smirked, grabbing the covers and pulling them over my legs, "Hit the lights on the way out?"

He chuckled lightly, nodding, "Yeah, goodnight, Melody." He baked out of the doorframe, flipping the lights off for me before closing the door, leaving me to stare up at the ceiling; which still had the glow in the dark stars on it.

Baxter rolled over a bit, cuddling into my side as we got comfortable in my bed.

#writers of tumblr #fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #fanfic writers #fiction #rottenwrites #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x older sister!reader #love drunk #love drunk rrb

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ronearoundblindly · 2 months

Text

Hideout (4.2)

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

Horny Teen, part two (see previous or series)

Summary: A late-summer heat wave hits you and Steve hard.

Warnings for smut (kinda unprotected sex, momentarily--guess that's dubcon to be safe--fingering, lots of foreplay things and dirty talk but Steve can't actually talk dirty, so...hot talk? IDK, gang, I 'bout died writing this. Prepare thy loins, babes). MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this series is not for you! WC 3.1k

A/N: This part contains a cannibalized version of the original idea for this series, but since we've developed differently to this point, it is very different.

He calls ahead. For the first time in a year of visiting, he calls ahead and knows you aren’t working the night he’ll be here.

You work in the garden as long as you can stand before hopping in a cool shower. You aren’t even wrapped in a towel when the trill of your room phone—extension 14, as Steve now knows it—blares through multiple closed doors.

He’s checked-in, and in Room Two, but no pressure, if you want, if you don’t have plans, he’s here. It is the most adorable and awkwardest conversation of all time. It also never gets old to hear him scramble for the simplest of sentiments.

Translation: I’m excited to see you.

Your heart soars then immediately stalls in the stifling weather.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” you chuckle.

Of course, he opens his arms for a bear hug the instant the door labeled ‘2’ swings wide. Steve has fewer troubles with platonic affection when alone, that’s for sure, but who could blame him? You’re elated he’s here under any circumstances.

Record-setting heat this late in the summer has left all the AC units taxed to the brink, running constantly, and even with the in-room thermostat set stupidly low, a tank top and shorts is too much.

This means another first: both of you, in bed, naked.

Nothing’s happened, mind, because the swelter of the day zapped energy out of every creature for miles and miles around. The ice machine can’t keep up with eight rooms and your family needing relief from the blaze. From the bright stripe of red across Steve’s cheeks and his earthy musk, he was outside plenty. He’s wiped, too.

You wonder absently when the last time he wore cologne was and what it smelled like. Perhaps he never used it. Perhaps he misses small luxuries more than he ever realized.

Steve looks on the brink of heat-stroke, so you inched yourself onto one side of the bed to start, thinking skin-to-skin contact might be unwelcome. You barely got your palms on the sheets before he pulled you to him. You did not fight it.

It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him—and it is.

Your cheek settles on his chest, eyes watching through the sheer curtains as dusk takes over the sky, a happy man stretched like a cat beneath you, smiling, heart beat slowing in your ear. So strong, so steady, so secure.

He’s safe. He’s comfortable. That’s all that matters.

You peer up from your perch. The thin worry lines on his forehead have relaxed. He seems younger. Freedom looks good on Steve Rogers, just as good as it looks on Captain America, maybe better.

You fall asleep straddling his hips, one knee hitched so the crook of your ankle drapes his thigh, slowly pushed up and down by his deep breaths.

You’re drifting, rocked gently by powerful waves in the nothingness of your blank mind, free like him, blooming in the warmth of a bright sun embracing you.

The glow continues until Steve gently shakes you awake.

The room is pitch black, the lights of the parking lot too muted to pass through the gossamer layer over the window.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare,” his rough timber booms close to your ear.

“No, I—“ you wipe at your face “—I don’t think I was dreaming.”

Steve’s not so relaxed under you now. His abs quake slightly, and those slow breaths have become stunted, shallow with control.

“Did you?” you ask, looking towards his face, useless in the dark but your drowsy brain hasn’t caught up yet.

There’s a shuffling noise above you.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Did you have a nightmare? You alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes,” and you lift your arm to brace on his chest. It unhooks your leg from his, and the hard length of his erection moves from its perch at your ass, nudging the joint of your hip and thigh from below.

“Not—not a nightmare,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

Steve’s voice is husky, his grip on the back of your knee tight and unyielding, keeping you from trapping him between your legs.

Your impulse is to soothe him, to tell him he is fine and it is okay to be turned on, generally, when naked and pressed to someone you find attractive—hell, you definitely are—but if he wants you to ignore it, if he’d rather not, if it’s too soon or too hot (metaphorically, physically) or just too much right now, then you respect that. None of this has ever been about making him feel like how he chooses to receive affection is wrong.

Without moving any limbs, your fingers retract and relax, a gentle, nailless scratch to his broad pec beneath your hand, and his cock twitches, tapping your leg.

“Sorry,” Steve huffs.

“Do you want me to get off of you?” You suppress the urge to make a minor edit in that statement because it’s very close to what you want to do.

The shuffling noise sounds different.

“No,” he says softly.

You slide your hand up his chest to his neck and around the back of his head, petting the corner of his bearded jaw just below his ear, careful to use as few muscles as possible.

His cock taps you again anyway. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

You ignore it, as asked, and continue scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Hey,” you start in the darkness, “is this comfortable?”

You run your fingertips over his features while he nods, following his jaw up and down.

Unable to see, this paints the most vivid picture of Steve’s reactions. You feel the vibration of a hum through his cheek, the draw and release of his brow as you skate over his forehead. You hear his short chuckle when you brush ever-so-gently across his long lashes and boop his nose. Finally, you trace his open-mouth smile with the edge of your thumb, his ragged exhale rushing over your palm.

Tap.

“Sorry.”

“Comfy though?”

His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah.”

The drag of your fingers past the edge of bristly stubble and down his throat makes him shiver.

Twitch.

“Sorry.”

You flutter across his collarbone, wondering if that means he’s ticklish on more than just his sides.

“Comfy?”

He hums. You feel it rattle your cheek as much as you actually hear it in your ears.

You continue. His corded muscles giving only slightly to the pressure of your touch. His arm, his chest, down to the hand he keeps on your leg.

Several more breathy apologies sound above you. Steve’s other arm is draped over your waist, and with every pulse of need that betrays him, his grip tightens just a little. His fingers now dig into your soft flesh absently.

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how his abs won’t stop tensing, searching for attention where he denies it.

You flatten your hand to his chest and make to move.

“May I?”

Steve’s swallow is louder than the ‘okay’ he returns.

You are careful not to push him in any weird angles as you raise up to your knees and straddle him, pinning his erection beneath you, not directly between your folds but nestled at the apex of your legs, just so he won’t have to worry about every involuntary poke.

With such fresh contact, he clenches his ass hard in response, lifting your whole weight completely before he settles again. The surge of heat to your core has you biting your lip to muffle a moan.

“Comfy?” you rasp at the same moment Steve offers a strangled “sorry.”

The low, constant whine of the air conditioner fills the hollow space around your cocoon of anticipation.

“New plan,” you laugh, relaxing your fingers to splay across his warm skin, “both of us stop doing that, huh? You have nothing to be sorry for, and I’ll trust you to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

“So…” Steve shuffles on the sheets, but whatever he moves doesn’t affect your position. “Can I touch you?”

You bite your lip harder before answering, your voice dropping to a sweet reassurance. “Yes. Of course you can, Stevie.”

You keep your pets of his chest and arms light, trying not to tickle him. He’s always so hesitant; you’re worried the tiniest misstep will send him back into his head—not in a good way.

The silence now feels purposeful, dense with possibility, and then rough fingertips land like a foreign explorer who’s braved months at sea solely to experience this moment.

A calculated inhale and exhale rock your pelvis, a wave of nerves foaming in your gut.

He starts innocently enough, mapping your thighs, muttering something about how soft they are, but you don’t dare lean to hear him better. No sudden movements. None. Even though your skin lights up as explosive as those 4th of July fireworks you missed.

Since there’s nothing to see in the room, you feel everything.

He keeps to the periphery of you at first, abandoning your legs to brush the same arms touching him, running fingers together, separating them just as quickly, caressing your palms gently, and dragging his short nails up your wrists without pressure.

You stiffen in pleasure, fighting not to shrink away from the purest intimacy you’ve ever experienced.

His long arms reach the curve of your shoulders, flit across your collarbone, and you’re doing your damndest to keep it together, leaning your head back in lieu of talking.

Don’t scare him.

It can’t last; you’re only human.

Steve’s hands slowly descend over your breasts, middle fingers catching your peaking nipples, and a lewd and aching cry tumbles from your bitten lips.

The force of it surprises you, but more surprising still is him, unfazed, encouraged to linger.

In that low timber, he growls.

“You like that… Knew you would.”

Your body throbs, pulsing with need and emptiness.

That means he thinks of you. He’s imagined this. He’s wanted this.

Stunning electricity shoots through your body as he pinches and twists, squeezes and kneads. Nothing too harsh, but he’s highly motivated when you purr and gasp atop him.

What else does he think about doing? How long has he fantasized? Is this as good as his imagination?

Yours aren’t the only noises now. He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan.

Arousal pools at your folds, and without realizing you started to move, the shy momentum of your hips has nudged his length to lay flush with your dripping center. His tip glides over your clit.

Again and again.

A hot pressure builds in you, faster than ever, kerosene dumped on your wet-dreams and burned to life, a spell manifest in the night.

Steve shakes beneath the palms you brace flat on his chest, the heels digging into his diaphragm.

He moves to grip your thighs hard.

Fire spreads beneath your skin as you two pant and gasp, his whole cock slick and slotted so close to where you truly long for him.

“Wait,” Steve groans, but you can’t understand.

No one could imagine how good this feels, how much you need this, how—

He sits up to stop you, accidentally notching himself at your entrance, your residual motion sliding the thick head of him past the that first, tight ring.

Steve’s lusty moan is barely eclipsed by your own, and you’re too close to halt sheathing him within you, arms instinctively wrapping his shoulders. Desire winds the coil in your belly too taut, the thought of losing this climax unbearable.

“N-uhhh god—“

He’s too sensitive though. He flips you both so your back crashes to the soft sheets and digs his grip into your side, his other hand thumping to anchor on the headboard. Steve sucks air through his teeth like he’s afraid the faintest smell of sex will set him off.

“Don—don’t move,” he orders in thick command.

It makes things worse.

You’re so close, vaulting off the ground and suspended by legs clamped around his waist, dangling on the precipice of ecstasy. You whine and clench, totally unable to control yourself, your nails digging into his back.

Steve cries out, choked at the hilt by your desperation and lost to his own finish.

His hand races from your side to your ass. He pulls out of you only to slot himself there and thrust his cock between your cheeks, cum shooting on the sheets below.

Mindlessly, you ride the cut of his abs, his course pubic hair adding almost enough friction to keep ascending toward your own end, but the void left behind is too consuming. The fire sputters and dims.

Steve buries his face in your neck, breath cooling the sweat lining your skin as he curls away from you, overwhelmed.

“Swear I was gonna wait,” he confesses to the tender spot behind your ear. “I swear.”

“Please,” you croak, tears prickling your eyes in lament for your ruined orgasm.

“Was gonna be better. Swear I’ll do better for you.”

You grope and claw at those thick arms which hold all but his face far away. “Please,” you beg pathetically, “fucking touch me, please.”

A drawn out grunt vibrates the column of your throat.

“Y’shouldn’t have ta beg...”

He shifts to his forearm, caging you in as you plead over and over. He kneels to hover, and your thighs weakly squeeze at his own to emphasize what you need.

“Sounds so pretty when you do…”

Something between a screech and a snarl erupts from your chest.

Steve shushes you, smoothing a big hand across your damp cheek, and quietly, he commands you, “show me what to do.”

Your quivering hold guides him by the wrist down your body. Words to instruct him won’t form in your sex-steeped brain. As luck would have it, he doesn’t need specifics.

“Next time I’ll taste you.” One finger teases your folds in search of his entrance. “Next time you’ll have to beg me to stop.” Two fingers drive forward, displacing a gush of your shared juices. “So wet,” he groans, agonized to silence when you jerk his hand to thrust faster.

“More.”

He sets a loving and delicate pace, the heel of his palm working your clit.

Too delicate.

“More,” you gasp.

He obliges, muttering how good he’ll be to you from now on. You’ll always be first. He promises.

The fire takes over again.

“More, Stevie. Please.”

You grind down on him to prove your point, and he marvels that this isn’t too rough for you.

Each strangled breath ties your moans together in a crescendo worthy of Carnegie Hall.

“God,” he rumbles by your ear again, “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Steve’s pumping fingers bully your body farther and farther up the bed, using only a taste of his real strength.

Your chant of ‘yes’ catches in your taxed lungs. He doesn’t need an answer though.

The super-stretched band snaps, a plateau of peace and weightlessness tipped at the vertex until—crash—nerves are razed all along you like a carpet-bombed battlefield.

“Uhnn, is that what you’re gonna feel like around me?” He sighs at the thought and stills his hand just to commit the ripple to memory. “How’m I s’pose to last?”

You slap a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hold in your yelp of relief.

That mouth…that fucking mouth of his is a weapon all its own.

Tiny explosions wreak havoc on you, body and soul, as his fingers greedily coax you to keep coming—just a little more—just for him—one last rush—give him everything.

His lips open in your palm, but you grip his face harder.

You can’t. You can’t listen right now. You can’t hear one more dangerously sexy, completely innocent thing fall from his beautiful mouth.

Steve lets his hand go lax but doesn’t take it away from your clenched and spasming thighs.

He tries to speak again then gives up, waiting.

Finally, before you can collapse boneless to the bed, he hooks his arm behind your leg so you don’t land on the cold, cum-stained sheets.

He shakes off your forgotten grip of his jaw.

“Tops?” he whispers, patience personified in the long pause before you hum acknowledgment. “Can I kiss you?”

That fucking mouth…

There’s barely enough breath in you to make a sound, but the instant the ‘ye—’ forms in the back of your throat, Steve’s lips are on yours.

It's your first real kiss, of all the ways, after all this time, following all that.

You’d laugh if you weren’t smiling, suffocating in the gentle press that becomes deep and adoring. He kisses you thoroughly after each frantic gasp for air, savoring you, even in the reckless passion of the moment.

Steve rolls to lay you atop him again, more intimately than before. He keeps his face close, sharing breath even in the heat and stench of sex in the room, your wetness now smeared from his navel to his knee.

Turns out, he is a very good kisser, focusing on the act of physical connection. Not only do your lips touch, but he likes to nudge you into whatever minutely different position with his nose. He likes to nuzzle his beard on your sensitive skin until you giggle and squirm. He relishes you like you relish him.

He whispers things too soft to make out at first. It takes him a while to find his voice, to push past his insecurities, to find his confidence, but eventually, you hear it.

He mumbles how he should have been better, more prepared.

You weave all your fingers through his hair, propped on his chest by your elbows, smiling so he’ll be able to tell in your tone.

“Take the win, Cap.”

You freeze.

You’ve never called him that, and Steve stays silent for an excruciating beat.

“Sorry,” you offer in the dark, air conditioner churning out sobering drafts of reality.

Steve runs his knuckles gently in patterns across your bare back. There’s a short huff and an amused snort, you mind scrambling to plan some explanation as to why you’d haul the drama of out there into his safe space.

He guides you to settle against him again, tucking you into his strong hold with his chin resting on your forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, he simply asks, “comfy?”

A/N: In case you were wondering...

[Next part: Desperate Man, part one]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @mrsevans90 @lemonadygirl

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #nomad steve #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #touchstarved #touch starved!steve #touch starved #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #nomad captain america #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #hideout series

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foreverknightalways · 1 year

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Back at the window, The unknown man is setting a detonator to some type of explosive device.

Nick says, As much as I've enjoyed this male bonding, Schanke, I've got to go. Schanke answers, Yeah? You're going to go, huh? Well, check in with Myra and Jenny for me. Nick says, I'll make sure they're all right. Schanke says, Well, tell them I'm all right, and catch that sucker, comprende? Nick answers, Capisce. Watch some TV or something. Schanke answers, Okay. Nick tells the Officer, Make sure he's all right, will you Struthers? Schanke says, What's on TV?

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platonic-soulmates-gencest · 14 days

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I read about crossdressing Sam so now I'm bringing you crossdressing Dean! (kinda nonbinary actually)

It's already canon that Dean has tried out lingerie and liked it. So my take is that it goes downhill from there. He's hiding it ofc. How could he not? But those years when Sam is at Stanford and John ditches him, Dean gets a bit bolder about his habit.

At first, he starts wearing skirts and dresses inside his motel room. He's alone. Nobody's seeing him. It's fine.

Then he gets greedy.

He knows he has a pretty face. It's not hard to put on a wig and some make up.

It's easy actually. Dean loves the feeling of it.

Making his body look more female is a big hurdle though. He would intentionally get skirts with tight waistbands and he would tie all his dresses with belts as far as they could go. He tries corsets. He finds scarfs to hide his adam's apple. He wears jackets with long baggy sleeves so his biceps won't stand out. He wears long dresses and skirts to hide his thighs. But there's no way to fully hide his legs under the knee so he shaves. And he LOVES the smoothness there.

He knows that he's playing with fire. John might ask him on a job any minute. What if Dean got hurt? What if John had to take his pants off and he show his shaved legs?

But Dean is addicted. He doesn't stop.

Then he gets Sam back and he has to hide it. His shaved legs, all the girly clothes he has collected. And it's hard to part with this part of him but he does. Because he can't have Sam leave him again. He wouldn't survive that.

So the clothes get tossed aside. He stops shaving. He even stops wearing lingerie. It's not safe with Sam there.

Then, many years later, in the safety of the bunker, Dean tries on the lingerie again. It's easier to hide now that they have a whole hideout as their home base. Sam doesn't notice.

Until Dean messes up on a hunt and Sam has to undress him and he SEES and Dean wants to find a hole and crawl and never come back.

Sam would have teased him if he hadn't already seen the lingerie collection in the bottom of Dean's closet, if he hadn't found the makeup supplies in the back of the bathroom cabinet, if he hadn't seen Dean stare at shops with female clothing with fire in his eyes.

"Dude, we've saved the world how many times now? I think you are entitled to wear whatever you want."

And Dean knows its genuine but he still feels disgusting doing something like this. He doesn't buy clothes still.

Not until Sam shows up with a red dress that has Dean pretty much salivating and practically forcing Dean in it.

Dean cries because it's been so long.

Sam keeps buying him clothes and slowly Dean is back on his routine.

It doesn't stop at shaving his legs this time though.

He lets his hair grow out. It gets longer than Sam's and it looks so good with his new clothes.

So it might have taken him some years, but Dean is finally letting himself dress as he wants, all thanks to Sammy's support.

#gencest #spn #samdean #weirdcest #wincest #nonbinary dean winchester #transfem dean winchester #this got out of hand #im sorry #i should write a fic lol

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bettyfrommars · 7 months

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Love the new theme!! It’s giving Holiday Horror where a family gets snowed in at a motel in a small town somewhere off the beaten track 🎄

Close, Holiday Hallmark, but this is for you:

A Very Hawkins Christmas

18+

towtruck!eddie x f!reader

no horror, just something random in honor of the Holiday Romances I watch with my mother this time of year. This is as cliche as it gets.

Reader is a big city girl who has worked hard to scrape and claw her way to the top of the company. Your boss is a soulless scrooge who loves to bulldoze whole communities to build parking lots and strip malls, and guess where his eye lands next? That's right, Hawkins. He makes you trek out there the day before Christmas eve to scope it out, since you're the only one of his employees without family. You roll into town hours later and find out that the only room available is at a quaint Bed & Breakfast owned by Joyce Byers. Jonathan, the guy working the desk, asks if you'll be staying to see the Lighted Farm Implement Parade on Christmas night, but you are like, absolutely not, just one night please (you can't wait to get out of town.)

You're told that the two best bars in town are the Hideaway and the Hideout, and you frown, wondering why the names are so similar, but it doesn't matter, the Hideaway is in walking distance, so you bundle up and go there. The only other person sitting at the bar is a guy named Jim, you find out he's the Chief apparently, and with one glance, he knows you are new in town. He asks what brings you to Hawkins, but you give a vague lie and says you're just passing through. He buys your drink. You overhear Jim talking to the bartender about the fundraisers people are doing to keep the small businesses of Hawkins from going under when the new strip malls and chain stores come to town.

Morning comes and you wake up to a snowstorm the likes of nothing they've seen since January of 1964. But you're determined to get out of town regardless, hoping to be able to catch a flight home, at the earnest protests of Joyce who is sincerely worried about you. You don't have snow tires, so your car slips around, only to find out that the roads are closed and, yes, you are stuck in Hawkins.

You have a little frustrated cry behind the wheel, and then become defiant, and try to cut through a backroad to evade the roadblocks. Unfortunately, your car goes off the road and nosedives into a ditch.

Good thing a guy behind the wheel of a big towtruck with Munson's Garage on the side happens to be rolling by on his way home. You flag him down, relieved, and he playfully gives you shit for being a "city girl" and not having chains or snow tires.

You think he is crass; he thinks you are a snob. He reminds you that there is no way out of Hawkins unless you grow wings, and he offers to tow your car back to the dry safety of his garage until the storm subsides.

When he drives you back to the bed & breakfast, you offer to buy him dinner, to thank him for everything (he refused to take any payment from you. The people of Hawkins are just generous and hospitable like that.) But he tells you he can't, his band is playing a show at the Hideout that night, and he invites you. You tell him you'll probably just go to bed early, but of course you change your mind.

The phone lines are down, so you can't call your boss or check in with anyone. A girl named Robin overhears you asking if there are any Taxi's in town that could take you to the venue. Robin laughs and says there are no Taxi's in Hawkins, but she's going to the same place, and you can ride with her in her truck.

You make friends that night, enjoy yourself, and think Eddie the towtruck driver is sexy as hell. The bar is an actual dive, and initially, you're afraid to even touch anything, but the booze and the people loosen you up.

You walk around town the next day, to buy some warmer clothes, and visit all of the quaint little shops, including the bookstore that Robin owns. She tells you that when Barnes & Noble comes to town, she'll go out of business, and how sad that makes her. Eddie sees you trudging around in the show, and he asks you to have lunch with him at the diner that Murray Bauman owns. At lunch, you find out how much the two of you have in common.

On Christmas day, you find out that Joyce bought a present for you, a festive sweater, because she didn't want you to feel left out. Joyce's business is also at risk of tanking when the big hotel chain comes to town, but she tells you that she'll find a way to make it work, she always does, she doesn't want you to worry. At this point, you've been vague about what you do for work, so no one suspects that you are at the root of their problems.

At the Lighted Farm Implement Parade that night, you and Eddie get close. He takes your hands in his to keep you warm, and some tender moments happen. A guy named Steve is dressed up as Santa for the kids. You meet Wayne, Eddie's uncle, who is at risk of losing his job at the mill when it closes. You and Eddie have hot chocolate and make snow angels.

The next morning, the roads open, but you don't really care because you're no longer in a hurry to leave. You like Hawkins now, and you love the people in it. You're going to tell your boss that this town is the wrong fit for his company, that you will find him some place else that suits his needs. You're also realizing that you hate your job, and you haven't felt this light or happy in a long time.

But your boss is already downstairs, he came because he hadn't heard from you, and he is ready to buy out some buildings and get to work with that wrecking ball. You see him in his expensive suit introducing himself to Joyce and Jonathan---they know his name, everyone received official letters about the possible liquidation, and it's all anyone has been talking about for weeks.

The cat is out of the bag now. You see the sadness and disappointment in Joyce's face when she looks at you. Head hanging low, you go with your boss in his posh SUV, and then it's time for the big reveal at the town meeting in the old Methodist church.

Your boss is very friendly and fake as he addresses the crowd, basically letting them know what a "good thing" these new additions he's planning to bring in will be for Hawkins, and he's "looking forward" to getting to know all of them. You try to explain yourself to Eddie, but he refuses to even look at you as he gets in his van and drives off.

Your heart aches, and you realize you have to think fast.

You decide to confront your boss and tell him he can't have Hawkins. When he laughs in your face and reminds you that he can have anything he wants, you pull up all of the proof of all of the affairs he's had over the years, all of the emails, the flower deliveries, the lies to his wife, you kept a record of all of it.

He's says he'll sue you blind--he'll ruin you--"you'll never work in this town again"... but you tell him it might be hard to follow through on that since his wife will take him for everything he has. In fact, she'll probably be on your side, and it's her family money, so it will be his ass on the line.

He tells you you're fired, and you say, "too late, I already quit". You go over to the garage to find Eddie, but one of the mechanics named Jeff tells you that he's not there, so you take your keys and go. What you don't know is that Will, Jonathan's little brother, overheard the conversation you had with your boss, and he tells his mother after you are gone.

You're just about to pass the sign that says "Leaving Hawkins" when Eddie's tow truck pulls out in front of you, blocking your path. He says that Joyce told him what you did, and that he doesn't want you to go. He tells you that he hasn't felt this way about anyone in a long time, but also, you still don't have snow tires, and he can't let you drive in these conditions.

Then, you're standing under the mistletoe back at the B&B, in the sweater Joyce gave you, and you and Eddie kiss while everyone cheers.

The End

#Eddie Munson fluff #towtruck!eddie #a very Hawkins Christmas #eddie munson

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satancopilotsmytardis · 2 months

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Petting? For an example Shigaraki pets Dabi’s hair and he is GONE, like in the touch deprived fic?

The first time it happened he was playing poker with some guy he had sort of been seeing on the side, and he'd started absently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck while they talked with some of his acquaintances and soon Dabi was squirming and kissing at his neck, trying to convince him to leave so they could go fuck because for some reason he was hornier than he could ever remember being before. After the fact, after the other two had asked to pass him around for enough pay Dabi had let it happen without setting their pubes on fire, he had been half certain one of them must have dosed him with a lust quirk or something and he avoided running in those circles again.

The second time he had been high and washing the black dye out of his hair as he got ready for the meeting he was supposed to be having with the League of Villains the next day. But as he scraped his nails along his scalp, his skin started to tingle and he'd found himself slowly, but surely he'd found his arousal creeping higher as he washed the dye out and dried his hair. Being high was probably the only reason he hadn't felt embarrassed about dropping back onto the bed at the shitty motel, keeping one hand in his hair and stroking and scratching along his scalp as he fisted his other hand around himself and brought himself over the edge again and again until his piercings were twinging and aching. It was a very weird thing to realize he was into when he was sober the next day, but he figures it doesn't really matter. So he likes to have his hair played with, so what? He's pretty sure that's not the weirdest kink he could have discovered about himself. And he's got more important things to deal with right now.

The third time it happens is right after he gets his shit kicked in and the rest of them get rocked in Kamino. He's got a fucking massive bump on his head and a pretty severe concussion and woke to having his head in Shigaraki's lap as he gently carded his fingers through his hair while he barked orders for the others to bring the doctor, checking to see if he was bleeding, if he would need stitches. But Dabi had been too busy caught between the painful nausea of the concussion, and the pure bliss of having a hand in his hair. He has no idea how arousal manages to start to curl through him, but he's really, really glad someone took off his coat and tossed it over him like a blanket because he's pretty sure he's half hard and that would be noticeable through his tight pants. He can't even stop himself from moaning softly as Shigaraki figures out it's just a bump and moves his hand to a less tender area of his head.

"Ujiko will give you something for the pain," he promises. And when the doctor does come and check him over, he overstates his tolerance so that he can have enough of the meds he couldn't get hard if he snorted Viagra and is able to focus on trying to piece together what happened after everything went black.

///

It's been two months since then and Dabi didn't know he could be any more strung out or exhausted than he already was. But it turns out ending up on Japan's Most Wanted definitely makes things difficult. Even fucking worse, he hasn't been able to get laid since before joining up with the League and the petting thing stopped feeling good enough for him to get off doing it for himself unless he's high, and he can't even afford weed right now. It fucking sucks and he knows he's not the only crabby one because of the lack of privacy and building tensions between hideouts. He's pretty sure that Twice snuck off to a glory hole nearby out of costume, and Spinner has definitely been playing some hentai game on his phone late at night with his headphones not quite low enough. Toga and Duster, if they're feeling any of that strain, are apparently way better at hiding it. Unless Toga is getting off every time she takes a hit from her blood capsules, but he is not gonna think about that too hard. Compress is the only one not suffering because when he wants to bail to get laid, all he does is swap out his clothes and add a rasp to his voice, and leave. Dabi hates him so much.

Their current hideout is two small one room... buildings. Shacks? He's not sure what they were even for before they were abandoned, but he thinks that maybe there was a road that used to go through this overgrown strip of land and they might have been waypoints or a rest stop or something, because one of the buildings does have a tiny shower cubicle and toilet that's got sulfuric water must be pulled from a well nearby. He's not positive, but it means that their hygiene at least isn't terrible. Whatever. Point being, he and Shig are out between them because it's been gusting annoyingly and this was the only place where the smoke and ash from his cig wouldn't keep getting blown in either of their faces as they talked about his recent recruitment job. Which is a big fat nothing because the people who want to join are too short-sighted and stupid to be worth the time and effort to try and find space for them.

They finish the work shit, Dabi finishes his cig, and Duster sighs and leans back against the concrete wall before he reaches up and takes the hand from his face, dropping it back into his pocket before running his hand through his hair and Dabi's need feels like it's going to choke him.

He wishes it had choked him when the next second he's saying, "Let me suck your cock." Entirely without meaning to.

Duster's eyes fly back open and he blinks at him, seemingly as surprised as he is over his sudden proposition, but Dabi doesn't back down. He said it. The only thing more embarrassing than having done that is scampering off like a dog with its tail between its legs. "...Why?" And he sounds more generally curious than bewildered.

"I'm bored, I'm horny, you're the best option I've got? Take your pick." Dabi shrugs. "Don't have to reciprocate or anything as long as you... play with my hair while your cock is in my throat."

"...That's it?" More confused now, eyes dragging over him critically.

"Not 'pull', play with. Do that and don't dust me and I'll get you off, Shig."

"...Alright."

Thank fucking god, because Dabi was pretty sure he was going to overheat from his embarrassment if he had said 'no' after that. The space between buildings is already narrow and he's going to be squeezed in tight to get on his knees here, but he really, really hopes none of the others come out and try to find them. He sinks down into the overgrown grass and immediately gets his hands on the other's button and zipper. He just wants to get this going so that he can stop feeling so damn awkward. He almost laughs when he sees the flash of red as he opens them up that matches his shoes, but he is abruptly distracted from his mirth as he sees how large the shadow of his cock is even still soft beneath his boxers. Holy fuck.

He reaches in and pulls him out, and yeah, not imagining it, his cock is big, and if he's a grower too, he's going to really, really give Dabi a run for his money. Might even tear his staples. That shouldn't be so appealing, but he's always liked sucking cock. He wonders now if that's more or less because it was also the only other time someone had their hands in his hair but he's not going to think about that for too long. He shifts his focus, licking his palm as he starts to stroke him, watching with rapt attention as he starts to fill and, yeah, gets even bigger in his hand. Not often that Dabi has ever met someone with a cock he legitimately thought he could choke on, but Duster has more than earned that classification now. He licks at his head, and he tastes like clean skin which is good. He really didn't want to find out that the derogatory gamer moniker extended to the unwashed stereotype too.

Every thought in his head leaks out his ears as Duster threads four fingers into his hair, scratching gently across his scalp and carding through the strands. His eyes immediately flutter shut as a hot, syrupy pleasure starts to spill out from those points of contact through the rest of his body. It's exactly what he's been wanting so badly and he rewards Shigaraki for the touch by moving his hand along his length as he starts to kiss and lick along every other inch of his exposed skin.

He makes sure that Shig is slick with his spit before he takes him into his mouth, closing his lips around him and starting to suck softly. He's rewarded for it by Duster petting and stroking his hair so perfectly, occasionally scraping his nails across his scalp. Dabi has always liked sucking dick, but he can't remember the last time he ever felt so eager to do a good job, so putty-like at his partner's feet because he normally had to worry about getting fucked over if he let himself float away. Scared someone might grab the back of his head and force their way into his throat until he choked, or until the staples tore out of his face, some violence that he always had to worry about. But even though he has Duster's deadly hands in his hair, Dabi doesn't hesitate. He relaxes.

It's so easy to run his stud along his slit, around his head as he takes him further and further into his mouth until his lips are stretched wide and he's sucking and swallowing, bobbing his head at a lazy, hazy tempo as Duster keeps playing with his hair. The other hand joins the first, tucking some of the longer tufts behind his ears, pushing his fringe back and pulling, just a little to get him to tilt back a little more so he can blink blearily up at him.

Not expecting him to be watching, eyes half-lidded and so hungry. Nothing urgent or demanding in his expression either. Just. Just something that makes the soft touches feel even softer. Dabi moans around his cock, only realizing then that his is dripping all in his pants. He's achingly hard and he wants more, wants to get off, wants to get Duster off. He presses closer, feeding his cock in so that it's against the back of his throat. And then he starts to swallow around him.

It's a little uncomfortable, he's so big that the stretch is sharp in his throat and at the edges of his lips, but it's worth it because Shig moans softly and strokes his hair before murmuring, "That's it, firefly, just like that. Fuck, you're so hot. You feel so good, baby. Look so pretty like this."

Dabi wasn't aware he could float like this without being high, and he has a very, very bad feeling he's going to be chasing it constantly now. Doesn't matter to him in the moment though because now he's moaning as he starts to up the pace, take him deeper, taste his pre starting to drip bitter across the back of his tongue. And his hands. Moving over his scalp, stroking, carding through, scraping his nails, thumb tracing his hairline, Dabi is embarrassingly certain that there have been times where a hand or a cunt haven't made him this hard and desperate to cum and no one's hands are even near his dick.

They're both pent up and everything happening feels so wonderful, that Dabi isn't surprised that when Shig wraps one hand around the back of his neck in gentle encouragement to keep him deep in his throat, and the other hand pets him all the way from his hairline to the back of his head, and that's all it takes. He moans loudly, the sound choked out around the solid weight of his cock between his lips, as Dabi cums in his pants, untouched like a teenager. He's so distracted by his own pleasure he forgets what he's supposed to be doing, but Duster just rocks his hips into him, just a little, just enough, and then he's warning,

"Close," And Dabi remembers and starts to swallow and suck at him again. The hands tighten in his hair one more time, still not going nearly tight enough to pull, and then he's swallowing down the other man's cum.

Dabi is panting and dazed when Duster pulls his cock from between his lips and tucks himself back into his pants before he's pulling Dabi back up from the ground and pushing him up against the wall instead. He's not really expecting him to kiss him, but he's so hazy in his afterglow that he's not complaining, letting him lick into his mouth and taste the salty bitterness of his own cum. When Shig pulls back just far enough for breath and to level him with those smoldering red eyes, Dabi barely manages to reboot his brain enough to snark, dazedly, "You're gross, Duster."

That gets a soft snort out of him before he's proving the point by licking up a dribble of the mess that slipped over his chin. "If I'm not willing to have it in my mouth, why should I expect you to?" Dabi doesn't get a chance to reply to that before Shig's hand is moving between his legs. He lets out a humiliated mewl as he touches him and the leather and his boxers move together in a soft, unmistakable squelching sound that tells the other exactly how much he liked having his hair pet and his throat fucked. But Shigaraki doesn't make fun of him. He kisses him again instead, and then murmurs, "Whenever you want me to touch your hair, I'm happy to, Dabi. Whether you also want to get on your knees or not."

"Okay," and he sounds as dazed and breathless as he feels.

Red eyes are impossibly soft on him. "Why don't you wait here for just a second so I can go check to make sure the others are out? And then I'll come back and we can go get you cleaned up, and I'll keep petting you as long as you want afterwards? Does that sound nice, baby?"

Not what he expected when he fumbled into making his offer, but Shigaraki's sounds so good that he doesn't think he could say 'no' even if he wanted to. "Okay."

"Okay, just wait for me here. If you change your mind before I'm back, that's alright too, Dabi."

"Okay." Duster makes sure he's not too rumpled and then slips out between the buildings to check. Dabi stays put. He absolutely isn't going to change his mind if Tomura keeps making him feel this good.

#tanco speaks #ask #asks #shigadabi #my writing #kink ranking ask #nsft txt #nsft asks

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