#she's so scruffy i love her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atticrissfinch · 20 days

Text

Alright with a Slow Burn | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

A Bonus Meet Me in the Back Oneshot

[Moodboard for aesthetic purposes only]

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: Just a casual cockwarming competition on a weekend afternoon. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, degradation!kink, cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, assplay, clothes-ripping, brief spitting, v brief over-the-pants footjob action ig, bad casino metaphors, some friendly competition with stakes <3, Olivia Benson appearance, random fluffy moments??? word count: ~5.4K | ao3 a/n: surprise! a dirty little oneshot for you. this takes place a while after part 6, probably a couple months post. title is from Slow Burn by Kacey Musgraves which feels very fitting for them.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

You love when Joel has a weekend night off of work. Your schedules are so misaligned, you often find yourselves stealing frantic early evenings together between your workday ending and his beginning.

The more you’ve taken Joel inside you the more your body molds to him — craves him on the daily. He still takes your breath away each time he enters you, and he still swears up and down about how tight you are every goddamn time. It’s symbiosis at its finest as far as you’re concerned. A mutually beneficial, delicious destruction of your respective selves at the hands of the other.

You fuck and you chill. You chill then you fuck. It’s a lazy cycle, but it works.

Right now you’re relaxing, Joel sitting on the couch and you lounging with your legs draped over his lap. Olivia Benson is solving especially heinous crimes on Joel’s crappy television, filling the leisurely silence of the trailer with a marathon of your shared comfort show. Joel had slept until 2 PM, as is his standard. You’d found yourself at his door as soon as he was once again alive to the world. There’s something about you appearing on his doorstep in fully done face, hair, and dress with him scruffy and bleary-eyed in nothing but joggers that sets your heart alight.

You like him simple, uncomplicated. You bring enough complications of your own. He’s a welcome reprieve with unceasingly open arms and a predictably hard cock. There’s not much more you could ask for.

Joel rubs circles into your ankle with his thumb, occasionally slipping down to the sole of your foot to apply pressure to the arch. Quiet moans of approval creep out of you at the treatment, and you can feel Joel responding to your sounds against your lower leg.

“Hi there,” you giggle, pressing the side of your calf into the initial stages of his bulge.

Joel’s grin gives way to a shallow grunt at the friction, and he clasps a hand around your ankle.

“Better be careful. Snake’s gonna start rattlin’.”

“Well, they don’t call me the snake charmer for nothing,” you joke, sliding your leg over his crotch again.

Joel snorts, quirking his brow. “They call you that, do they?”

“Yes they do,” you assert, nodding resolutely. “I get yours dancing easily enough.”

Joel exhales a laugh through his nose and squeezes your ankle. “Someone’s gettin’ a little big for her britches, ain’t she?”

“I’m not the one bursting the seams of my pants right now,” you retort, a smile playing on your lips.

Joel clears his throat and readjusts his seat, nonchalantly fixing his dick inside his joggers. “Don’t know what you’re jawin’ on about. I am one hundred percent unaffected by those sexy little moans of yours.”

“Oh yeah?” You challenge with a smirk, entirely unconvinced. You bend your leg and inch your foot back slowly, placing it directly onto his growing erection. The arch of your foot starts to massage him gently and Joel’s eyes drift closed for a mere moment before he snaps them back open.

“Yup,” Joel responds matter-of-factly, while noticeably avoiding your eyes.

“Mmm,” you hum, nodding and feeling Joel harden rapidly under your dedicated ministrations. “You, the same man who has never seen me and not popped a boner at some point during the interaction?”

“Don’t know who you're talkin' about,” Joel dismisses, attention honed in on the screen in front of him, but you can see the corner of his mouth fluctuating and his fist clenching at his side.

You catch your bottom lip between your teeth as your grin broadens. “Daddy?”

“Mmm?” Joel answers, like he’s afraid if he opens his mouth again, his whole cover will be blown and a much more vulgar sound will escape.

“You’re hard as a rock right now.”

Joel finally glances down at his crotch and swears. “Fine. You got me. You happy?”

“I will be soon,” you say with a shit-eating grin adorning your face.

Joel rolls his eyes and tugs at your arm, hauling you up onto his lap. “Come here, you little temptress.”

You giggle, swinging a leg over his and sitting on top of his undeniable arousal and grabbing onto the back of the couch. Joel’s smile matches yours now, eyes going hooded as he revels in having you in his lap once again — where you’re pretty sure he would like you to be at all times.

You dip your head down, stopping just short of your lips becoming one, and whisper, “This position familiar enough for you, big boy?”

Joel’s expression crumbles, a defeated moan pushing out his throat before he’s closing the distance with gusto, clutching the back of your head and burying his fingers in your hair as his tongue intertwines with yours.

You sigh into his mouth with a pleasurable sound of your own and begin rocking your hips down onto his straining cock. “Turn the TV off,” you utter against his lips. “Feels weird to fuck with this show in the background.”

The breath from Joel’s laugh puffs over your face as he snatches up the remote and hits the power button. The room goes quiet, save for the sound of your increased breathing and a barking dog outside. Joel’s hands run over the sides of your calves and the tops of your thighs until he reaches the hem of your sundress. Joel already knows what he’ll find underneath, but he moves it up glacially, building the tension rising in your bones.

“Lean back on your hands,” Joel instructs with soft authority.

You plant your palms solidly on the coffee table close behind you and lean back as your dress rucks up along with Joel’s upward movements. When the skirt hem meets your hips and reveals your lack of panties, Joel exhales heavily out his nose and shakes his head incredulously. “Perfect every time.”

You spread your knees further apart on either side of him and bait him with, “So make it not so perfect.”

“Not possible,” Joel mutters reverently, sliding a thumb between your glistening lips and stroking up from your dripping entrance to your throbbing clit. “Perfect now, different kinda perfect when she’s full o’me.”

“Joel, that is so…filthily sweet,” you admit, your voice pitching higher as his thumb makes another pass up the line of your cunt.

“Ain’t never wanna be nothin’ but that with you, sugarplum,” Joel replies huskily, spreading your outer lips with his middle and pointer fingers as he deftly works his cock out from his pants, tucking the elastic band under his balls. His length slaps weightily against his bare stomach and your pussy pulses in response.

Joel’s mouth shift for a moment, his cheeks concaving slightly, and then he reaffirms the spread of your lips and spits down onto your already dripping pussy.

You moan at the gesture and roll your hips onto Joel’s fingers as he rubs his saliva around your lips and pushes it into your waiting hole. “Put your cock in me, daddy.”

“So excited for him,” Joel chuckles lightly, but slides a supportive arm around your back for you to push yourself upright and fully into his lap again.

A gasp leaves you as your bare pussy descends on the underside of his exposed cock for the first time today and adds pressure to your clit. You allow yourself to grind on him a few times as you press your lips to his ear and say, “I’m gonna drop it down on you so good, daddy. I know how much you love this pussy.”

“I do love this pussy,” Joel sighs, his hands gripping your hips as you grind, “But I’ve got a little idea for you.”

“An idea?” You ask breathily.

“A little wager.”

Your hips still in his lap and you rear back to take in his expression. He’s got a mischievous look on his face as his thumbs stroke at the tops of your thighs.

“What kind of wager?” You ask skeptically.

“If I win, I get something I want. If you win, you get something you want.”

You furrow your brows at him. “You’re putting your cock in me. We both win in that scenario.”

“And what if I just put my cock in you? And I don’t do nothin’ else?”

“Like you’re not gonna move?” You ask, perplexed.

“That’s right.”

“So how do you win?”

“First person to give in. To start beggin’. To start movin’.”

“And you really think I can’t handle that?”

“Oh, baby, I know you can’t handle that.”

You scrunch your face up at him. “Rude.”

“Now, now, you said it yourself. I’m about to put my big fat daddy meat inside you. That don’t sound rude to me,” he chides, gripping his cock with his hand and stroking it to maintain his erection as you work through his proposition.

You roll your eyes. “Ok. What are the stakes?”

“What do you want, baby?”

You mull over a few ideas in your brain, humming thoughtfully as you parse through them, until you arrive on one. “You have to go to see Les Mis with me when it comes to town next month.”

Joel’s nose crinkles immediately. “Ain’t that the one where all those sad people singin’ and cryin’ about bein’ sad for five hours?”

“Three hours. You’ll survive. And I’ll let you fuck me to tears afterward if that’ll make you feel better.”

“Deal,” Joel whips out immediately, and you laugh at his haste.

“Ok. What do you want?”

And Joel is already locked and loaded with his answer. “You let me fuck your pretty, puckered backdoor.”

“Joel,” you groan, elongating the vowels in dreadful hesitance.

“Within the next two months,” Joel negotiates, cupping your face with his palm. “I’ll give you time. We’ll prep you real good before we do it. I just need to shove my cock into that juicy forbidden fruit at least once, babygirl. I gotta. Please let me.”

You know how badly he wants this. You’ve known he’s wanted it for a long time. But he’s just so huge. You have no idea how you’re going to fit him, and you mean that so honestly. But people do it, right? He’s done it with other women. He’s told you about them. It’s possible.

And shit. You are curious. You want to see if you could take it.

You sigh and say, “Two months. Lots of prep. And I can say to stop at any time.”

“Of course, baby.”

“Ok,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Deal.”

Joel’s eyes brighten with heartbreaking earnesty, a smile breaking across his face. “Really? Deal?”

“Don’t ask me again,” you advise sternly. “I said deal. Put your cock inside me.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joel replies hurriedly, giddily, guiding your hips up and positioning his cock at the entrance of your cunt. “Make it count, baby. Ain’t gonna feel me rubbin’ on them pussy walls again for a long time if I got anything to say about it.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you taunt, taking just the head of him inside you as you drag out the descent. “I know how you get when you’re buried inside me.”

“And how am I?” Joel banters back, his hands flexing on your hips as you sink down another inch.

A lazy smile cracks across your face as you poise your lips at his ear again. “Rutting into me like a mangy mutt until you get your nut out. Like your only purpose in life is to breed me like your bitch.”

Joel grunts at your words, his fingers digging into your flesh as you continue to slide down onto him. “So we’re playin’ dirty, are we?”

You laugh softly in his ear and say, “Don’t remember us ever playing any other way, daddy.” You give a sharp nip to his earlobe and hear him moan.

“Such a naughty fuckin’ girl,” Joel purrs, slipping a hand up your torso and between your tits until he’s cupping your neck delicately. No pressure, just a reassurance of his presence and a daring power move. You hum into the crook of his neck as you finally bottom out, your ass flush with his thighs and the tip of his cock nestled as deep as he can reach in this position.

Joel’s hand glides from your throat to your jaw and guides your face back up to his, his nose nudging yours as he says, “Let the games begin, baby.”

Your mouths fall into each other so naturally like this now, Joel always searching for your lips when he’s breaking you apart, like that will hold your pieces together. When the kisses grow deeper, you have to police your own movements carefully, resisting the urge to roll down onto him as the passion ramps up between you.

Coming up for air is bittersweet, knowing you can’t compensate for the loss of contact with renewed vigor in your hips. You gasp when you feel Joel’s cock flex inside you.

“That’s not allowed,” you whine, leaning your forehead against his and tucking your fingers into the hair at the back of his head as he smirks at his little loophole.

“Ain’t grindin’, ain’t movin’. Not against the rules.”

“You’re making shit up.”

“Am not.”

You groan a little as he flexes again, racking your brain for an idea until you come up with your own sweet revenge. Silently thanking your kegel exercises, you focus your muscles to contract around his cock in retaliation.

Joel groans in response, his head falling back against the top of the couch. “Fuck me, you little devil. That’s so fuckin’ not fair.”

“All’s fair in love, war, and sex wagers,” you tease, squeezing around him again just to hear him grunt again.

“Well, I’m callin’ a truce then,'' Joel says, nipping at your bottom lip. “I don’t move him, you don’t squeeze her.”

“Fine. Truce accepted.”

“Good girl.”

You hum and capture his lips again, sighing as he eagerly melts into you once more. Your pussy feels full, in a sensation that is both incredibly frustrating and oddly satisfying. You’ve longed for a simplified scenario of this for a while — to just exist with his cock stretching you open until your pussy doesn’t remember how it’s ever felt any other way. For time to pass and your bodies to remain as one. For him to take root inside you, cast out tendrils that affix to your walls and imprint their memory in the plush welcome of your cunt. This ever-present, almost anxious instinct to entreat your body to remember him and how he makes you feel.

This wasn’t exactly how you imagined it happening, a silly competitive sex game, but you’ll take it. This route seems much more organically Joel than anything else would anyway.

Your lips part from each other again and you rest your head on his shoulder, a sneaking suspicion that the two of you will be in this for the long haul. Joel’s hands slip under your dress and up your back, thumbs grazing back and forth at the sides of your tits.

“‘S kinda nice,” Joel mutters into your hair.

“It is. Unexpected side effect of our competitiveness, I guess,” you reply, words slightly warped by your cheek smushed against his shoulder. “Better not go soft on me, old man.”

“Can’t help it. You make me a little soft,” he says, a bit of solemnity in his voice.

You feel your heart flip over in your chest for a moment at his words. “Oh. I—I mean. I meant something much less appropriate than that, but…”

Joel expels a brief laugh and shifts his thumbs to your nipples, fussing with them as they harden under his attention. “I think you know, little sugarplum, that you’ve made me hard in the cock and soft in the heart for a hot minute now.”

“Shut up,” you mumble bashfully, but you close in and place a kiss onto the side of his neck. “Say something dirty, please. You’re actually going to go soft at this rate.”

Joel laughs again and tweaks your nipples between his fingers, making you squeak quietly in cheery arousal.

“You wanna know my favorite part of tearin’ up this tiny slit?”

Your giggle mingles with a moan as he shifts tone so effortlessly at your behest, but indulge him. “What, daddy?”

Joel’s hands skip down to the creases of your hip and thigh, rough fingertips running over the divots in your skin where you’ve sat on him for what feels like ages. “When I fuck into you just right and I feel your tight little snatch clamp down on my cock. Jesus.”

You whimper into his neck, actively fighting your body’s need to grind on him, ride him until he loses control and spills inside you.

Joel groans himself as he recounts his memories of you and him together. “Or when I’m hittin’ it so deep you can’t say a goddamn thing. No fuckin words, no slutty little sounds. Just braindead on my fuckin’ pussy pounder like the dick-drunk cumslut you are.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine against him, nails biting into the back of his neck as your hips scream at you to move. “You can’t say shit like that to me and not…”

“Not what, baby? Do some pussy pounding? You want Daddy Joel to treat you like a whore, sugarplum? He ain’t do that enough? He too nice to you?”

You moan as you feel wetness flowing out around Joel’s cock at his words. Joel really is usually so nice to you with only a few exceptions. He’s dirty and filthy, but he’s become annoyingly respectful to a degree. “I want you to treat me like a whore, daddy.”

“Poor baby,” Joel placates, raking his nails lightly over the tops of your exposed thighs until you shiver. “Better watch what you’re wishin’ for. Your resolve's lookin’ a bit shaky. And you wouldn’t wanna lose, would you?”

One of Joel’s hands drifts behind you, dipping a finger down between your cheeks and ghosting directly over the site of his potential earnings if you don’t pull your shit together.

You swear quietly and regroup, taking a deep breath. “Not a fucking chance, old man.”

Joel chuckles tauntingly, gripping your asscheek in his hand before relinquishing you and settling his hands back at your hips.

“Can you put on the TV or something so I can distract myself?” You whine, placing your hands on his chest.

Joel puts on a mocking pout and says, “Aww, you need a distraction from daddy’s cock filling you up? Are you daddy’s little bunny rabbit? Just need to bounce, bounce, bounce?”

“Fuck you,” you grumble, burying your face in his neck again. “How is this so fucking easy for you?”

“Who said it’s easy for me?”

“You’re just acting so breezy about this.”

“I still got it up, ain’t I?”

He is still rock hard. You can assess that with no trouble. You’re filled to the brim with him, and you imagine that his precome is coating the entrance of your cervix with how perfectly he’s made his home there.

“Yeah, very much so,” you admit.

Joel’s thumb strokes over your cheek delicately. “Believe me. As long as I’m hard, stayin’ still inside you ain’t gonna be easy for me. My goddamn brain is programmed to bust your fuckin’ walls down.”

“And you do it so well,” you coo, snaking your hand down between the two of you and slotting it into the small opening between your converging hips until your fingers are in reach of his ballsack.

The moment your fingers graze against the sensitive skin, Joel releases a helpless sound. “Oh, sugar, you can’t—” His words are cut off with a deep moan as your hand lightly contracts around his balls.

“Ain’t grindin’, ain’t movin’,” you imitate poorly back at him, cupping his sack and softly massaging the skin between them as he bites his lip and groans at your devious discovery.

“When I win, that little cock box ain’t gonna know what hit it when I’m done with you, little girl. And that asshole’s gonna be puckerin’ in fear knowin’ I’m gonna ream it out just as hard when the time comes,” Joel threatens, the severity of his words significantly weakened by the pitiful desperation in his voice.

“Big talk for a man I’ve got by the balls right now,” you deride with an impish grin, kneading the rounded pair of flesh in your palm, dutifully enough that it makes him keen. You feel the head of his cock twitch against your insides, and you’re fairly certain it was unintentional on his part. “Daddy’s getting a little excited in there, isn’t he?”

“Smug little shit,” he retorts, inhaling deeply through his nose to ground himself while in your clutches. Too lost in the amusement you’ve found in toying with Joel’s testicles, you nearly jerk up on his cock when you feel a spit-slick finger prodding at your unoccupied hole. “Still feelin’ smug?”

“Joel, don’t that’s—ohh,” your words trail off in a moan and your hand stalls below his cock when the tip of Joel’s finger pushes past the ring of muscle to the first knuckle.

“Said we were playin’ dirty,” Joel says huskily, wriggling his encased fingertip in a coaxing circle around the rim of your asshole from inside, pulling a whimper from you. “Figured I’d play where my whore is dirtiest.”

“That’s fucked up,” you argue breathily as his finger pops languidly in and out of your clenching hole. You give a slightly tighter squeeze to Joel’s ballsack and feel his cock twitch again. “You can’t pilfer through the goods before you’ve won. I should make you sit through my shitty rendition of I Dreamed a Dream if that’s how you’re gonna play.”

“Sing your heart out, little songbird. Ain’t gonna get you any closer to winnin’,” Joel says, voice straining against the pleasure you’re driving with your dexterous hold on him.

You whine as your body wrestles with being penetrated in two holes at once by Joel, your clit throbbing at the delicious noises Joel is making at your hands-on treatment, and you feel your determination dwindling by the second. You have no idea how long Joel has until he breaks, and your brain and body are screaming at you to allow this man to do what he does best and let him rearrange your guts with unbridled ferocity.

You know you could convince him to go to Les Mis with you regardless.

And you‘ve been planning on gifting him anal soon anyway. But he doesn’t need to know that. You can let him think he won it from you.

You don’t give a shit about the competition anymore.

You just need to get dicked down.

So you finally blow the whistle, wave the white flag with a, “Fuck it,” and smash your lips against his, ratcheting your hips back and forth like a snapped rubber band.

Joel’s reactionary groan is loud and raspy as his fingers sink into the meat of your ass, hauling you with impassioned movements to assist in your primal need to make up for lost time.

“Fucking finally,” he growls into your mouth, starting to lift your hips and pull you back down onto his length as you moan like a shameless whore at the friction. “‘Boutta make you the sorest fuckin’ loser this side o’the Miss’ssippi, sweetheart.”

“Do it,” you cry out, pressing your foreheads together as your fingers tug at the hair on the nape of his neck and you begin to bounce on his cock with all the tenacity you brought to your stupid competition. “Fucking destroy me, daddy.”

You feel like your cervix is bruising from each punch of his cock inside you, from the way he’s yanking you down on him while fucking up into you with a deafening grunt on every thrust. He gives a final, punishing thrust before pulling you off his cock entirely and nudging you back.

“Get on the fuckin’ floor. On your back.”

You narrowly miss smacking your head on the coffee table in your haste, scrambling down to the carpet and falling onto your back for him. Joel loses his sweats in no time flat, swiping them across his sweat-dappled forehead and tossing them to the side before kneeling between your spread legs.

Joel’s fists clench around the rounded neck of your sundress as he looks you dead in the eye. “You love this dress?”

You swallow and shake your head vigorously. Even if you did, you didn’t give a single fuck in this moment what happened to it. Which is fortuitous, because Joel rasps out a single low grunt and the cotton dress tears like tissue paper at his hands. He rips it right down the center, collar to hem, the straps over your shoulders the only fabric keeping it attached to your body. But Joel, having revealed precisely what he wanted, doesn’t bother with further destruction.

He just takes a few moments to drag his eyes up and down your now fully exposed body, nipples peaked and hard, pussy spread, stretched, and drenched, and your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath for the brief, heavy few seconds you’re sharing before he pounds you into oblivion.

You remember the last time he ripped clothing of yours. That very first time in the backroom when he wrenched your panties clean off your bottom half to give himself unfettered access to your enticing offer. It feels appropriate that the second time he wrecks your wardrobe is to once again lay claim to his spoils.

You love feeling conquered by him. Vanquished.

There really wasn’t much of a point in you winning. He’d won a long time ago. The moment he sunk into you the first time. You were done for.

Joel corrals your legs onto his shoulders, folding you in half as a balancing hand appears next to your head on the shag carpet and the other guides his cock to your waiting heat.

He notches at your opening and looks down at you, halting there. “Tell daddy he won.”

You whimper at the tease of his thick, slickened head at your hole, but concede with no ambiguity, “You won, daddy.”

Your mouth falls open in a breathy gasp as he splits you open around him again, pressing back in to the hilt with no resistance. The hair at Joel’s base prickles at your folds, dampening them with your accumulated wetness. His hands bracket your head as he drops down to steal a sloppy kiss from your lips, sucking your blatant arousal off your tongue.

“Daddy’s gonna enjoy your little slot machine, baby. Heard she’s as loose as a fuckin’ whore in Vegas.”

“She feel loose to you?” You counter, squeezing around his cock again, now that you’re free to do so.

Joel groans, retracting his hips inch by inch, pausing with a smirk to say, “Sure feels like a jackpot to me,” before plunging back inside you.

He hits so different from this angle, and you never seem to remember just how much until he dives in. You feel winded on the first thrust, but it’s an addictive sort of high. It’s like he’s got a hand around your throat, commanding your breath with his strokes, but, as disgusting as it is, the only hold he has on you in this moment is your heart.

Maybe you’re “dickmatized” as your friends say, but you can’t help but think that with a cock like his, it’s so easy to fall for this man. And then he follows it up with attentiveness and affection, and it feels like a fucking rabbit hole you’re tumbling down. Only he has ever been able to steal your breath with his dick, and then steal it again with his sincerity, just to breathe you back to life when you see him again.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating, two sides of the same coin that seems to be spinning indefinitely. Part of you wishes Joel would catch it, flip it onto the back of his hand, and reveal the result for you. But he would never do that on your behalf. So you just let it spin.

The buildup has Joel relentless in his mission to show you just why you lost to him, and what you were missing by thinking you could win. Although, you have a sneaking suspicion that he fabricated this entire game to all but guarantee his chances at exploring your “forbidden fruit” as he’d called it. You can’t fault him for that. The man is clever.

The noises falling from your lips are unfiltered and raw. You couldn’t restrain them if you tried. Joel’s cock is mind-numbingly agonizing, slamming into you with undeniable intent to demolish you. You’re vaguely aware of the scrape of Joel’s flesh under your fingernails as they rake for purchase on his back, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Joel is definitely babbling to you, but with all the noise in your brain it’s fragmented as it meets your ears.

“…pussy’s so…chokin’…big cock…lucky girl…rolled daddy’s snake eye, didn’t ya…”

Your eyes are rolling around in your skull as he hammers into the end of you with unfathomable stamina. Joel offers what you sense are filthy encouragements as your pussy welcomes the onslaught and your sounds begin to fail you, exactly as he said happens when he’s fucking you just right. Your mouth lies open with nothing to fill it, even your own vocalizations.

You can feel two rough fingers on your clit, but it’s blurred on the edges of your mind. Your brain doesn’t comprehend it, but your body does, because you can feel it seizing, clenching in preparation for the inevitable release. And release it does, your back arching off the ground, forcing the last remnants of sound from your throat in a final, high-pitch whimper as your vision flashes white and your hearing goes staticky.

You think you hear a telling groan from Joel indicating his own completion, but it gets lost in the haze. Your body comes back to you in gradual sections. You feel your fingers first, still earthed in Joel’s back like they were dead-set on drawing blood — which they may well have done. Then up your arms and down your abdomen, where you soon recognize the press of Joel’s face in your neck and his hot, panting breath over your skin. The sensation in your feet trickles back to you and you pinpoint them locked in a vice grip around Joel with your heels still digging into his ass like the masochist you’ve spectated yourself becoming since you met Joel.

You find your voice again, and it feels like sandpaper, but you’re compelled to ask, “Wait, did you already come?”

Joel breathes a laugh into your neck. “Like Jesus Christ himself, sweetheart.”

“No, I missed it,” you groan, dragging out the first word in disappointment.

“‘S alright, baby,” Joel consoles, stroking down your hip soothingly. “There’ll be a million more where that came from if I got anythin’ to say about it.”

You flex your pelvic muscles to suss out the situation down there. It feels empty, evidence of the gaping absence of him. You clench, and your pussy might as well be crying. To be refilled, to be left alone. To lick its own wounds, to have more inflicted before you even bother. And then there’s the drip of him from inside you, a crude balm to the aching gash between your legs. The only remedy that you think—that you hope—you’ll ever need with him.

Your orgasm had clearly taken you out of commission for a few minutes, because Joel’s cock already lies completely flaccid against your stomach, rung dry by the iron grip of your cunt. Joel’s lips find yours and it’s messy and perfect. Like an ardent forgiveness for your self-imposed sin of not witnessing his achieved euphoria. It’s healing precisely where you need it to heal.

“You’re fucking incredible,” you sigh, your limbs going limp around him, sliding off to land where feels natural. One of those places happens to be your hand intertwining with his.

Joel’s grin presses into your neck as he plants a kiss there. He slips his free hand around the curve of your ass, fingers dipping into the split of your cheeks in a cruel foreshadow, chuckling as he says, “Hope you’re still sayin’ that when I cash in my chips.”

Please follow @atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic! Visit here for instructions on how to get a tab just for the blogs you've subscribed to at the top of your tumblr page!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #sleazy!joel miller #tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #katy wroted fic #mmitb

1K notes · View notes

buckyalpine · 2 months

Text

Bucky comfort. What I need like air right now is a sweet, chubby baker Bucky who notices his bunny is down. She doesn't say anything out of the ordinary when she comes to visit the bakery, kissing his soft scruffy cheek before taking a seat at the booth with a fresh Danish he made.

Cherry, because that's her favorite.

He can tell something is off when her smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and she's curled up in his hoodie quietly nibbling on the pastry instead of clinging onto him like she usually does.

He doesn't like it. Not one bit.

He loves when his girl hugs his thick waist tightly from behind while his works at the dough and rolls out croissants. Her little hands usually knead at the fluff around his belly. Instead she seems to be in her own world, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and pushing herself further into her seat to hide from the rest of world. You tell him you have to run a few errands and he doesn't miss your steamy eyes and small voice as you scurry off out of the bakery and it just adds to his worry.

Bucky was having none of that.

He lets Sam and Steve take over a couple of his orders, cleaning off and deciding to go straight home to you instead, he knows you don't actually have errands to do, he always makes sure to take care of them anyway. When he arrives back home, he isn't surprised to see your smaller form curled in a ball on the couch, eyes wide, surprised to see him.

"Bucky?" the quiver in your voice gives away that you'd been crying moments earlier.

"C'mere baby bunny" Bucky cooed, scooping you up in his beefy arms, and cradling your body to his, holding you to his chest while you nuzzle into his neck. "Wanna tell me what's going on in that little head of yours" He whispered against your hair, stroking it while you pull back, giving him a shrug. He knows you don't always want to talk about it but he's going to do what he can to make you feel better

"I'm not sure" You say with a sigh, your mind still running around a thousand miles a minute. Nothing particularly bad happened but one thought led to another; questioning if you were happy with your job, if you were happy with where you were in life, if you were someone Bucky would actually even want to be with, someone so sweet and loving and handsome like him, all your friends seemed to have found their footing and you were still here so unsure-

"Shhh" he kissed your forehead as if he could hear your insecurities screaming at you from inside your head. "What do you need sweet girl" His lips brush against the top of your head, breathing in your soft scent of peach body wash and vanilla lotion. He has you perfectly tucked into his much larger form, as if he were trying to protect his baby bunny from the rest of the world.

"Cuddles?" You cling onto him, sighing contently when he shifts so he can wrap you up in his arms while you bury your face into his chest. Everything about him is so comforting, if you could find a way to burrow yourself into him, you would. Your wiggling and shifting to get even closer makes Bucky chuckle, cooing at the whine you let out when he pulls away.

"Not going anywhere bunny, just getting us more comfortable" You're not sure how he does it but with minimal effort and movement he's helped you strip off all your clothes along with his, tossing the fluffy throw to cover you both up. You love feeling his bare skin against yours, practically purring now that you can feel every bit of him.

The rumble of your stomach doesn't go unnoticed by Bucky and he makes sure to wrap you up in a blanket burrito before getting up and padding over to the kitchen.

"Where are you going now" You pout and he cups your face with the gentlest touch.

"You're hungry bub, I'm just getting a snacky" and with that he walks off, grinning at the giggle you let out watching his perfectly perky ass saunter off.

"Yummyy" You wiggle happily from under your blanket at both the sight of you very pretty, very naked boyfriend carrying in a plate of more Danishes and a bunch of other pastries and fruit he grabbed on the way out when he left the bakery.

Bucky adores seeing you like this, setting down the snacks so he can hold you again when you give him grabby arms. He doesn't let you lift a fingers, feeding you another Danish, kissing the crumbs that clung onto your lips. He runs you a bath next. His bunny doesn't feel like moving much so he's happy to carry you there while you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear.

By the end of the night he loves seeing the light return to your eyes, your soft giggles when he has you perched on the bathroom counter doing your skin care routine with him.

"Keep your little paws to yourself, doll" Bucky swats away your hands when you reach for the lotion, taking over the job for himself. He's more than happy to massage up and down your calves to your thighs. He massages all the knots out of your back and shoulders before carrying you off to bed again for more cuddles and kisses.

Anyway, this was sitting in the drafts for weeds and it's still what I need rn.

2K notes · View notes

sayoneee · 4 months

Text

☆ AND I KNOW IT’S OVER (STILL I CLING)

percy jackson, who never seems to know when to quit, keeps coming back. (2.9k)

contains: percy jackson x daughter of minor god! reader. post tlo (alt universe - everyone lives). book percy descriptions. apollo (derogatory).

kashaf’s note: book percy descriptions bc that was my first love. (sry if i get some of the words wrong, english isnt my first language pls be patient!!)

SUMMER BURNS. at camp half-blood, the scorching heat has dwindled to soft caresses, from the heat of the fire during sing-alongs where your cabin joins hands and toasts marshmallows to the cool breeze balming the sun’s glare at its zenith in the sprawling strawberry fields. at home, the scorching heat leaves marks — the biker with flames for pupils who clutched an openly bleeding wound as he thrust a first-aid kit at you, and the girl not much older than yourself with tears marring her face as she handed you a pregnancy test to ring up, avoiding your curious (sympathetic) gaze.

however, despite it all — you stand infallible, much like your grandfather’s part convenience store and part pharmacy, a poor man’s family heirloom.

you stand idly, flipping through an edition of seventeen when the rusty door swings open to admit a familiar face — with unruly black hair and an equally reckless grin (you know exactly who it is from the ba-dum of your heartbeat), the infamous son of poseidon (with the same smile as shawn hunter from boy meets world) is easily recognizable.

you glance at the crimson blooming around the crevices of his knuckles, tightly gripping a faded and worn-out skateboard, his scruffy converse squeaking across the tiled floor, raising an eyebrow as you coolly say, “band-aids are in the back, on the right.”

jackson laughs, an all-consuming sound (the wind-blown half-blood hill where apollo seemed to smile down at you, the laughter, like the memory, evanescent), “thanks, doc.”

you discreetly watch him perusing the aisles, before stopping in front of the ancient fridge — your grandfather’s store was something of an 80s pompeii with the peeling posters of back to the future and motley crue and the antiquated maroon and cream color scheme — and pulling out an arizona green tea.

when he finally goes to look for band-aids, you attempt to fix your attention back on the magazine in your hands, but like a moth driven to a flame, percy jackson was unbelievably hard to look away from (a magnet among mortals and immortals alike).

jackson’s hands are on his hips, his tupac t-shirt creasing, thick brows furrowed as he decides between different types of candy with the same intensity as a single mother with two children and a nine-to-five (even in the mortal world, there is something else entirely about him, something that made it so that you could never truly write him off).

when he approaches the register again, it’s hard not to look up and watch his ascent. when he finally does come to a stop in front of you, he looks the same as he did the last summer, though the tiny silver trident earring is new, the camp beads resting peacefully atop his collarbones aren’t.

you ring up his items: a box of band-aids, the arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks, looking away from him all the while.

“good to see ya, doc,” jackson says, a wry grin on his face, and his eyes are so green — as green as they were at twelve.

“it’s never good to see you, jackson,” you snark back, reciting his total, “four ninety-five, by the way.”

he laughs again (your heart goes ba-dum again), and hands you a five dollar bill, shoving his things into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his baggy jeans, with a salute on his way out (his turning back was a sight far more innocuous than the last time).

the next time jackson breaks whatever tacit agreement lies between the two of you, your hands are similarly stained. reds and purples line your palms, much like the burgundy seemingly permanently staining your grandmother’s fingertips; the culprit (the bowl of pomegranate seeds) sits innocently beside you.

“back again?” you say, glancing at the familiar scarlet stains adorning jackson’s hands (a familiar blue friendship bracelet sits on his wrist, edges frayed with five years of wear, and there’s a lump in your throat).

“why, did you miss me?” jackson asks, again with that wry grin of his, skateboard in hand.

“you’re the one who came back,” you say, crossing your arms across your chest, willing the constricting feeling to disappear.

“doc, i’m sorry to have to be the one that has to break this to you,” he sighs sympathetically, putting a bleeding hand over his heart, “but the sun doesn’t revolve around you.”

“actually, jackson, the sun kind of does revolve around me, ‘cause y’know apollo, the sun god apollo? my grandpa apollo? my grandpa, the sun god, apollo?”

“going by your logic, that would mean time revolves around me, ‘cause y’know kronos, the time titan kronos? my grandpa kronos? my grandpa, the time titan, kronos?” jackson says, a shit-eating grin on his face as he sets down another band-aid box, an arizona green tea, and a pack of blue gummy sharks on the counter.

“y’know, if you cared this much, you might’ve passed greek,” you say, referring to the progress report cards you were handed at the end of summer.

he shrugged, handing you another five dollar bill, and proceeding to shove everything into his black holes of jean pockets, “yeah, well — wait, are those pomegranates?”

“yeah,” you say, “i peeled them myself — do you want some?”

(your father liked these, your grandmother had said earlier this afternoon, your mother liked to peel them for him, as i peeled them for her, and your grandfather.)

jackson suddenly looked bashful, fidgeting with the hem of his a tribe called quest t-shirt, “i’ve never had pomegranates before,” he confessed.

you blinked, taken aback, “you’re seventeen years old and you’ve never eaten a pomegranate before?” you pushed the china bowl toward him, “now you have to eat it.”

“my mom liked telling me the myths when i was younger,” he begins, setting down his skateboard, and reaching for the spoon before halting, like he was shocked, “she told me about persephone —”

“jackson,” you say, sardonically, leaning over the register to look him in the eye (there was always a storm brewing in his eyes), “i promise you, hades won’t come out of the ground and drag you to the underworld if you eat the pomegranate seeds i peeled.”

“i know what my next sleep paralysis demon is gonna be — thanks to you,” jackson says, looking down at the bowl and its floral blue pattern around the edges, playing with the spoon, and shifting the seeds from side to side.

“percy jackson, i swear to asclepius, you’re missing out on pomegranates,” you say, coming out from behind the register, and looking percy in the eye again, and there is something so earnest, so raw about your next sentence that his breath catches, “and, i swear on the styx, if hades does somehow come out of the ground to drag you down to the underworld, i’ll come down myself to drag you out, even if it’s tartarus.”

a rumble of thunder can be heard overhead despite the clear sky and scalding sun; percy blinks, before breaking out into a slow grin (your stomach seems to grow wings of its own, on the verge of flight.)

“invoking your dad, huh, doc? these pomegranates must be serious,” percy says, finally taking a bite — stepping around the bomb you just dropped.

you watch him intently, studying him as you studied tennyson and homer, “they are that serious.” there is something innocent about the way he eats, starved like every other teenage boy with black holes for stomachs.

“y’know, i can put that into a tupperware container and you can take it with you, right?” you offer.

“really?” percy asks through a mouthful of seeds, looking up from the bowl at you, “won’t you think i’ll steal it or something?”

“not really,” you shrugged, “i trust ms. jackson.”

percy nods solemnly — sally jackson is sally jackson after all, a queen among women, and an achilles of sorts, with her soft smile and steely eyes.

steeling your nerves, this is already the longest conversation you’ve had (ignoring the forever-ago late-night debriefs under a firmament of stars), you step up to the plate and take a swing, “how is she, by the way, haven’t seen her in a while.”

percy swallowed, eyebrows furrowing, “great — oh, wait, did i tell you she was seeing someone new now?”

“no way, really? good for her, honestly. i know, poseidon’s a god and all, but like, she’s always deserved just, so much more.” (you manage to make contact with the change-up thrown your way.)

there is something so sincere about your words, that percy can’t help but grin back, finally reaching the depths of his sea-green eyes, and there is something still so boyish about him, that you can hardly believe any time has passed at all, and that somewhere within this demigod who successfully defeated kronos, while saving luke, there is still a semblance of your percy.

“yeah, the guy, paul blofis, he’s an english teacher — absolutely worships the ground she walks on.”

“sounds perfect for her.”

“you should come over some time — see her, meet paul, y’know,” percy offers, still funneling spoonfuls of pomegranates, meeting your gaze head-on (this is the home run you were waiting on).

you grinned, a slow smile overtaking your face, pushing your hands in the pockets of your jeans, “might just take you up on that, before you change your mind.” (you’re leaving the ball in his hands now; it’s up to him to tag you out or let you reach home base safely.)

“nah, i won’t change my mind, unlike someone else i know.”

you ignore the jab (a smaller, suppressed part of you itches to shoot a reply back), instead choosing to focus on the hesitant hand of friendship being offered — as your father liked to say, keep moving forward.

you shrugged, and you swear, for a second you think the intensity of his gaze has lessened, almost as if disappointed. almost as if mentally shaking it off, percy hands you the china bowl back, empty, running a hand through his shaggy hair with a sheepish grin.

you smiled wryly, glancing down at the bowl and back to his face. “fatass,” you say, affectionately, and then almost freezing, wondering if you somehow overstepped the invisible lines constricting you.

percy laughs — a green light.

“lucky for you, though,” you say, disappearing behind the register for a moment before reappearing with a tupperware container filled with peeled pomegranates, “i peeled more.”

you hold it out to him, and he glances down at your outstretched hand, then at your face, before seemingly making up his mind, and accepting the olive branch, “you’re really committed to seeing my mom, huh?”

“well, obviously — the other alternative would be seeing you, wouldn’t it?”

“aw, c’mon, doc, i know you missed me,” percy says, a bit smug, picking up his skateboard, the tupperware container in his other hand (the one he still wears your bracelet on).

“in your dreams, jackson.” there is a peal of odd laughter in your voice as if you were unused to this kind of jocularity when fumbling over his name.

“in my dreams, we do more than just argue,” percy says, with one last smug smile and salute, before walking out the door, leaving you behind in the worst state of confusion you’ve possibly suffered (percy jackson: 1, you: 0).

(your grandmother admonishes you later that evening as you stand beside her stooped figure at your kitchen counter, peeling pomegranates, you gave the rest of it to that boy, didn’t you? her voice is not scolding, but you feel like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar once more. your immortal grandfather, the nuisance that he is, stands in the doorway, hands in an 80s leather jacket and matching sunglasses, waiting to be welcomed in. in contrast, his son — your father — brushes past him, grumbling, and takes on your grandmother’s burden.)

the analog clock reads ten fifty-five as you start mopping the floor, yawning when the front door swings open with a jingling bell, and a sharp metallic smell wafts into the store.

you whirl around, gripping the mop in your hand as a baseball bat, immediately alert as your demigod reflexes come into play. you physically relax at the sight of percy clutching his side, crimson pooling on the edges of his white t-shirt.

“of course you would attack a man when he’s injured,” percy says with a grin, blood dripping from a gash over his eye (luke had returned to camp some years ago, with a similar scar), and a split lip, collecting like rust on his t-shirt collar.

you scowled, dropping the mop and immediately rushing toward him, your healing instincts kicking in. lifting one of his arms and letting it curl around you, you shouldered him to the register, cringing with every audible wince percy let out.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked, as you sat him on your stool, reaching for the ambrosia and nectar you kept hidden under the counter for emergencies (one could never be too careful).

percy grinned — it came out more of a grimace, “what isn’t wrong with me — that’s the question you should be asking, doc.” he nodded to himself, and then immediately cringed at the action.

you glared at him, shoving an ambrosia square in his mouth, before turning away from him to put antiseptic on cotton pads. “does ms. jackson know you’re here?”

“no?” percy says. you walk over to the fridge, grab a water bottle, unscrew the cap, and drench the part of his t-shirt covered in blood.

“ow? in case you forgot, i’m still injured here, doc?” percy clutches at his side.

“you dumbfuck, your mom is probably worried out of her mind right now,” you say, scowling, stepping closer to percy (he still towers over you, even when sitting down).

“i iris messaged her,” he shrugs, looking at you as you shift even closer to him, cotton pad in your hand, “she just knows i’m with you — pretty relieved at that, dunno why.”

reaching out to grasp his jaw in your hand, you begin dabbing at the bruises on his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut as you try to ignore the way his hot breath is fanning across your face right now. “you didn’t tell her what happened?”

percy opened his eyes, staring at you. “no, how could i?” he says, slowly, “you were her favorite — still are, by the way.”

you don’t say anything for a moment — after all, how could you? (sally jackson’s homemade cookies drift to the front of your treacherous mind — the sunny afternoons with her kind voice, and percy’s loutish laughter.)

“you didn’t come to see her,” percy says, the statement not accusatory, his eyes fluttering shut again (you try not to let the way his eyelashes sit so prettily distract you) as you dab at the gash over his eye.

“i didn’t think i was welcome,” you say gruffly, turning away to grab bandages. “after everything.”

while the deeper wounds have eased into far easier, superficial ones, you still make sure to wrap and bandage everything — percy had a penchant for getting into trouble (one that you knew all too well), so it was the least you could do.

“i just told you that you were welcome, last time i was here, didn’t i?” percy says, an accusation.

“yeah, well, it was hardly an invitation was it?” you say, turning away from him, packing your supplies up.

“doc, you didn’t even come to take your tupperware back.”

you ignore him, moving to walk away when his hand is enclosed around your wrist (the hand that wears your blue friendship bracelet), tugging you around to face him.

percy’s standing up now, his green eyes looking more like a swirling storm with each passing second — he still hasn’t let your wrist go.

“what do you want from me?” you ask, trying to snatch your hand back from him, to no avail — his grip is ironclad.

“i can’t let you walk away with your back turned to me again,” he says (the dim, lantern-lit night comes back into focus, and you wonder if you were too consumed by your own pride, if you had just turned around, if you had just stayed).

you realize too late that tears are pricking in the corners of your eyes, and you manage to successfully wrench your hand out of his grasp, a watery, sarcastic laugh escaping, “you’re a couple years too late, asshole.”

“i know that,” percy says, earnest, reaching out to cup your cheek, and wipe a stray tear (the action stuns you into paralysis), “but i miss you, and my mom misses you, and she hasn’t gotten off my case about you, yet.”

the thought of tender-hearted sally jackson scolding percy is an amusing one, and draws a laugh out of you against your will (percy’s smile grows a little brighter, and asclepius knows you’ve never been able to resist that smile of his), “i’ll come over for ms. jackson, not you.”

percy’s smile is even wider now (his hand is still ghosting your cheek), “same thing.”

“shut up,” you say swatting at his shoulder, trying to duck out from under his arms.

percy avoids your attempts to escape him, instead latching onto your hand, and pulling you out of the store. “c’mon, she’s expecting us for dinner.”

you let out an incredulous laugh, and let yourself be dragged out anyway (you would follow this boy anywhere, even to the depths of tartarus).

(your grandmother watches from the apartment window above the store, a soft smile gracing her lined features.)

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #percy jackson imagines #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #woc friendly #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson one-shot #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson series #percy jackson x fem! reader #percy jackson oneshots #kashaf ki likhai

991 notes · View notes

lovebugism · 15 days

Note

oh my god absolutely feral for the cynical prompt list PLEASE!!! maybe like bad at feelings/grumpy!r x steve with these vibes?:

• "you.. LIKE ME???" "i'm a little wary but so far, yes."

• "you're my favorite person. i didn't know you could have those."

• i love the idea that although they're cynical they would simultaneously not care to admit it ^ like "okay, yeah, i fell in love. so what???? people fall in puddles, and pools, and you know, other things!!! don't hold this against me!"

or literally anything from that list like i just know you’d eat

hope you like it angel xoxo — you tell steve you love him for the first time in front of all your friends who didn't even know you were dating (grumpy!r, fluff, 1.3k)

Eddie drops off a few Hellfire stragglers at Family Video after a lengthy campaign, you among them. Robin watches you file in with a freckled chin nestled in her palm. “Stevie! Your children are here!” she singsongs in the otherwise empty store, flipping unenthusiastically through an old magazine.

Dustin and Lucas grumble under their breaths about being called children, though you think they’re still very much deserving of the term. Eddie, meanwhile, crosses his leather-clad arms over his chest. “You know I’m older than him, right?” he monotones with squinted eyes. “So that’s, like, scientifically impossible.”

You deadpan from beside him, somehow more stoic than the raucously dressed metalhead. “And also, I’m dating him,” you frown. “So that’d be, like, extra weird.”

Everyone looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, then. Like you’ve just said something awful.

Steve’s presence saves you, but only for a moment. He comes out from the back wearing a stupid grin on his scruffy face. “Hey, babe,” he greets you first, with a wide hand spread warmly over your back.

When he ducks down for a fleeting kiss, you can taste the Cheetos he’d been snacking on and the wintergreen gum he’d just plucked into his mouth. The concoction is strange. Maddening, still.

All of your friends leer at you for several long moments. They gape at the two of you in horror, as though there was some kind of truth in what Robin had just announced moments ago — as though you and Steve shouldn’t be kissing at all.

“Wait,” Lucas mumbles, filling the heavy silence. His face twists in confusion a second later. “What?”

Eddie’s pale face contorts in something short offense, like you’ve betrayed him somehow. You sort of did, in a way. You’re Hellfire’s prettiest, grumpiest, weirdest member — you’re not supposed to be dating Steve The Hair Harrington. It goes against, like, every unwritten rule in the handbook.

“Is this why you wanted me to drop you off here?” he questions, palpably heartbroken. “So you two could— suck face?”

You shrug, emotionless. “Sorta.”

“We have a date tonight,” Steve announces with a proud smile. He squeezes gently at your shoulder, then cowers at the glare you give him. He clears his throat and corrects himself. “Not date.”

You’ve noticed his very strange tendency to call any time you spend together a date. You don’t like that. It makes you feel it’s some kind of appointment you have to book with him — an engagement you have to put too much effort into. Sometimes, you don’t want to go on a date. You just want to sleep over at his place, steal one of his shirts, and raid his kitchen in your underwear.

Eddie does everything but pout. “But I thought… I thought we came here to bother Steve until he let us take something home for free?” he confesses in a quiet voice.

“We can still do that if you want.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” he frowns.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Robin shouts, abandoning her magazine and waving her hands in front of her face. “How did I not know about this?”

Steve bounces his shoulder, jostling the nametag pinned to his chest. “You don’t know everything about me, Buckley,” he sasses.

“So… you like him?” she presses, pointing to you and then the boy beside you. “You like Steve? Steve Harrington?”

You swallow hard and hope you don’t look as anxious as you feel. You shrug to feign an air of nonchalance. “I’m still a little wary about it, but, yeah… So far, anyway.”

Dustin’s senses return to him, then. He shakes his curly head in disbelief. “That is just… confounding,” he mumbles to himself.

“And how long has this been going on, exactly?” Robin squints.

“Couple months, I guess,” you monotone.

Steve has a much different, much more enthusiastic answer.

“Well, if we’re going by the first time I knew she liked me, it’s been five months. But if we’re going by the first time we kissed, it’s been four,” he rambles with his honey eyes flitted to the ceiling. “But if we’re going by the first time she actually admitted she liked me, it’s been… A wonderful six days.”

He flashes you a grin, which you meet with a hardened scowl. “Shut up…” you grumble, but don’t push him away when he cuddles you closer to his side.

“You? And Steve Harrington?” Eddie gapes. “You’re kissing?”

Steve scoffs. “Well, we’re dating Munson. So obviously we’re kissing. Among other things…”

You dig an elbow into his ribs to shove him away. “Do you have a death wish?” you spit, eyes narrowed and bitter, while the boy just chuckles to himself.

“It’s just… weird,” Dustin remarks.

“But, like, a good weird,” Lucas nods. “Like a solar eclipse, sort of weird.”

“Or, like, that one in a billion chance of atoms aligning and your hand going directly through a solid object, sort of weird,” the curly-haired boy adds, punctuating his sentence by slapping the front counter. His palm collides with the hard surface with a resounding thud.

“What did you think was gonna happen?” Steve monotones when Dustin winces.

“Well, impossible things happen all the time, Steve. Including now.”

You start to choke on the attention. The stares are borderline suffocating. A bunch of wide-eyed gazes holding yours until you feel like you can hardly breathe.

“What’s the big deal?” you blurt before you mean to. “We fell in love. Who cares? Dustin fell into a puddle earlier today— how’s that any different? People fall all the time.”

Dustin’s eyes narrow. “I thought we agreed not to bring that up.”

“Wait…” Steve mumbles, pink lips quirked in a crooked smile. His chocolate gaze glimmers with hope and confusion, eyes darting back and forth between yours. “You’re… You’re in love with me?”

“Yeah?” you shrug, trying not to cower at the way he looks at you. “So what?”

His grin widens. It takes everything in him not to kiss the life out of you then. He settles for a warm squeeze at your shoulder for now. “Nothing. Nothing, I just— I love you back. That’s all.”

The honeyed moment is ended bitterly by the sound of Eddie’s fake gagging. Robin gripes beneath the horrid noise, “You guys are gross…”

Lucas smiles. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Only ‘cause you’re more lovesick than these two idiots,” Eddie scoffs. He saunters away from you and takes the two Hellfire boys by the shoulder, leading them inevitably to the Sci-Fi section. Robin has no choice but to fix her frowning face and smile when a customer walks in.

With the crowd freshly dispersed, and the attention no longer on the two of you, you look up at Steve with a softer look than you’re used to. “Why did you look so shocked?” you murmur, eyes all squishy around the edges. “When I told you that I— that I loved you or whatever.”

“I wasn’t shocked,” Steve laughs and turns to face you fully. “I just… wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

You squint. “So you were shocked?”

“…I guess so. Yeah.”

“Well— you’re like— my favorite person or whatever,” you stumble over your words, finding it suddenly very difficult to meet his gaze. You gesture wildly with anxious hands. “And I didn’t even know you could have one of those, so… By that logic, I figured I must be in love with you.”

Steve grins, maybe bigger than he realizes. It’s all plush and pink and petaled, dripping with an adoration you’re not sure you deserve. “Well, by that logic, I must be in love with you, too, then, huh?”

“Guess so…” you grumble under your breath.

Steve smiles at the distant look of disgust scrunching your pretty face. “You’re so cute…” he mumbles under his breath, pressing a kiss to your pout before you can blink.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #st drabbles #stevie drabble

547 notes · View notes