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stevebabey · 1 year

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Steve hates to ask this of Eddie.

Really, it’s a last resort sort of thing. Robin’s gone for the week, some trip upstate with her family. And it’s fine, they’re close but Steve’s a big boy. He can handle a week without his best friend.

But, well, it’s just unfortunate for it to creep up on Steve when Robin’s gone. It being… shit, how did Robin explain it? She was so much better at keeping track of all those things than he was, all the terms filed away nicely in her head to be recalled as needed. Steve’s much messier— in his head, in his life.

Touch aversion, that’s what she called it. A by-product of the severe lack of touch in his childhood she had said; not enough hugs, hand holding, the works and now Steve’s grown to find it too strange. Something prickles under his skin, pulls in his gut all the wrong way, when someone’s too touchy-feely with him. Robin’s said it’s normal, and he believes her.

It just makes it harder when this comes by. That completely strange backward want that carves into his chest, creating a chasm that just aches. Suddenly, Steve wants to be touched, needs to be touched — like something behind his ribs is just begging for comfort in the form of touch, any way he can have it. Like some young part of him can still remember the hunger he had for it and it comes back in full force, a tender wound between his lungs.

It doesn’t happen that often — though, it’s more frequent than ever recently — but usually, Robin’s here. She can almost always tell before Steve works up the courage to ask. Twitchy fingers give him away. He hovers closer than normal, shoulders brushing more often.

She always gives him a smile, softer than her usual snark and says, “C’mere, dingus.” and stands on her tip-toes to envelope him in a hug. Steve can’t help but sink into it, gripping her close around the waist for as long as he needs until the hole in his chest feels a step closer to patching up.

Robin also tells him he can have as many hugs as he’d like but Steve is firm with himself; he only needs one, then he’ll be back to fine.

It what’s he needs now. One really fucking good hug. Still, he hates to ask, least of all from Eddie, because, well— okay, Steve has no reason to assume Eddie wouldn’t give him a hug.

He’s seen Eddie’s hugs before. Like everything he does, Eddie puts his everything into it- he hugs Robin til she wheezes, loves to lift Nancy off the ground, and the hug he gives Dustin is sweetest of all, a hand on the back of the littler’s head while he does some strange little sway. Dustin always laughs, playfully shoving him away by the end but Steve knows he loves them, that it helps in more than one way.

Steve is glad that Dustin has someone, besides his Mom of course, who can hug him, because Steve can’t give that to him. Maybe one day, but for now, hugs from Steve are a rarity — few and far in between. Maybe, he thinks, he doesn’t want to ask Eddie specifically because of that niggling feeling that comes up around Eddie, all gooey and soft. A feeling the swings too close to a crush that Steve has no fucking clue what to do about.

So, he hates to ask. Really. On the drive over to Eddie’s, a hangout organised before Steve started to feel the lack of touch creep in, he runs through any other options. Wait til Robin gets back? Steve’s not sure he’ll make it another 4 days. When left alone, it seems to consume him and make everything harder, everything heavier to deal with.

He’s still tossing it when he climbs the steps to Eddie’s trailer. Steve decides that he’ll see how it goes, see if there’s an opening to ask…semi-naturally or something. He’s not gonna spring it on the guy.

Eddie is wonderful company as always, devilish grins and god-awful comments about the film he picked. Steve feeds off it, drinking in the infectious energy. He tries to let it be enough; their shoulders pressed together, Eddie’s knee knocking his when he laughs, the way Eddie leans into his space to whisper even though it’s just them here tonight. Steve wants it to be enough. But even then, he can see the way his hands twitch in his lap, desperate for more.

Steve closes his eyes. Curls his hands up so tightly his nails bite into the skin. He tries to use it to wane off the feeling, the ache that sings out for Eddie beside him and it nearly works. Until—

“Steve? Y’okay?” Eddie’s voice pipes up, making Steve open his eyes in an instant.

“Hm?” Steve hums, hoping that his casualness will be enough for Eddie to skip over his peculiar behaviour. He blinks, tilting his head just a bit to show he was confused why Eddie was asking.

Eddie chuckles lightly, gesturing towards Steve’s lap, where his hands sit still clenched, white knuckled with his self-restraint. “You seem a bit stiff, that’s all.” Eddie rechecks. “You good?”

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, forcing his hands to unclench in his lap. “I-“ he begins, then stops, unsure of what he was going to say. He did say he would look for an opening tonight. The way Eddie’s regarding him, open faced with his concern, is as good as he might get.

“This might sound a bit weird,” Steve starts, defensiveness already tingeing the words, his shoulders curling in just a bit. Eddie could say no. He’s allowed to say no. Steve really doesn’t want him to. “Like, if you think it’s weird, that’s totally fine and we can just, like, forget I said anything and—”

“Steve.” Eddie cuts him off, a linger of an amused smile on his lips. “I don’t think I’m going to find anything you say weird, sweetheart. Shoot. What’s on your mind? What troubles the great mind of Steve Harrington?”

God, it’s like a whole bunch of words designed to set Steve’s head spinning. ‘The great mind of Steve Harrington’ makes him want to scoff. ‘Sweetheart’ makes him want to swoon. He can’t decide which one he wants to do more.

“Can I-” Steve stammers, the words halting automatically. It’s too much of a habit to swallow them down. Coercing them out takes more work. He stares up at the ceiling as he grits his teeth, releases a harsh sigh, pulling himself together. “Can I… have a hug?”

There a moment of silence and Steve holds his breath.

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Steve takes his eyes off the ceiling to see just what that Oh means. Eddie’s smiling, a soft one gracing his pretty mouth, and Steve thinks, maybe, one day he’ll have the courage to ask for a kiss as well. Relief moves sluggishly through his veins— Eddie’s smiling, this is good.

“Well, of course,” Eddie grins widely and opens his arms, inviting Steve in. Steve hesitates for only a moment before he leans in gratefully, his arms tucking around Eddie’s midriff tightly. Eddie’s arms curl around Steve’s neck, pulling him in close. It’s the easiest thing in the world, sinking into it, so much that Steve tries his best not to immediately slump against Eddie. It feels a bit too pathetic, so Steve reels himself in. He can’t make his arms relax, trying too hard to take only what he needs and not a moment more.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Eddie’s voice teases beside his ear, his breath warm. “You call that a hug?”

He squeezes Steve a little tighter, pulling him even closer and Steve can’t help the way he melts into it— he slumps, leaning against Eddie properly and burying his quiet whine of relief into the juncture between Eddie's neck and shoulder.

“There we go,” Eddie murmurs comfortingly.

Eddie takes him wholly, gives a damn good Munson hug, all warmth and comfort. He smells like, well, Eddie — a lingering scent of weed, something musky, something Eddie. His arms around Steve’s neck shuffle and Steve worries he’s trying to pull away so soon, only for one of his hands to tangle in the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. He combs through, light fingernails scratching at Steve’s scalp and shit, Steve really can’t control the noise of contentment that slips out his throat.

“Can’t believe you got so worked up just to ask for a hug,” Eddie tsks, tone coloured in disbelief. Steve makes a noise of protest, trying for a moment to wind it all back in but, like Eddie can sense it, he’s squeezing him tighter again. He begins to rock them, a soft sway side to side that lets Steve lean on him even more. He hums a tune Steve doesn’t know, low and soft.

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles in reply, though he’s not entirely sure what he’s apologising for. For having to ask, for taking so much, for enjoying Eddie’s arms around him just a little too much.

“What the fuck for?” Eddie laughs lightly, one of his hands beginning to drum against the divots of Steve’s spin. It feels like he’s tapping pure delirium with each fingertip, shivers that make Steve’s chest glow terribly warm. It feels good, so good to be held and honestly, Steve could stay here all night if Eddie let him. Knowing Eddie, he would, because he’s that fucking nice.

That knowledge alone forces Steve to sit himself up, extracting him limbs even though so much of him mourns the warmth, the touch, that goes with it. He wants the touch but he’s had enough. Some scorned part of him burns bitterly to think Eddie would give him more just to be nice. Steve doesn’t want that— Steve wants Eddie to touch him because he wants to.

“Sorry, man, I just, uh, get like that sometimes.” Steve feels the need to explain, bringing a hand up to rub at one of his eyes. He does it half so can hide his embarrassed expression from Eddie— who’s looking at him so gently and still so so close.

“Just, aha—“ Christ, it wasn’t this awkward telling Robin. Steve’s hand moves to rub the back of his neck. “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile since,” He gnaws on his bottom lip, something alike to humiliation curling in his gut. “Since I’ve had some touch. Usually, Robin’s around but y’know.”

He waves a hand, huffing another awkward laugh. Eddie hasn’t moved much, just listening intently, his brows ever so slightly inching closer together. He looks outright concerned at Steve’s next words.

“It’s okay, I’ve— I’ll be good now.” Steve nods along, like the motion will help him convince himself as well as Eddie. He’ll be okay now. Usually, one hug is all it takes. He ignores the surging tidal-wave want that is still going, still aching to be held by Eddie again. It would be selfish to ask for more. Eddie didn’t invite him around to hug— it’s weird, and Steve shouldn’t- can’t ask for more.

“Sooooo,” Eddie draws out the word, an impish smile beginning to play at the corners of his lips. He opens his arms wide again. “You don’t want another hug?”

In his lap, Steve’s fingers twitch. Eddie’s eyes dart to them for a second, before fixing back on Steve. He does, he really fucking does want another hug. He can’t. He’s had enough, really, it would greedy to have more.

Steve shakes his head, forces himself to huff another laugh that accidentally comes out as a strained sigh. He smiles weakly, “No, no, I’m good, dude. It’s… I’m okay, swear.”

For a moment, Steve thinks he’s convinced him. Eddie studies his face, his mischief slipping away as he deliberates Steve’s words. His eyes narrow, arms dropping just an inch before he smiles brightly and says, “Okay, can I have a hug then?”

Which, okay, right, Steve didn’t think of that. People don’t ask him for hugs. He blinks, a bit dumbly. Eddie is waiting, face eager and for a second there’s an expression of almost smugness on his face — like he’s about to get exactly what he wants. Because he knows Steve would never be rude and say no.

“I mean,” Steve breathes, voice a bit tighter than he’s expecting. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, you can have a hug.”

“Great!” Eddie replies and he wastes no time. He’s all up in Steve’s space, arms around Steve’s waist this time. The motion takes Steve by surprise, enough that because he’s not expecting it Eddie’s weight pushes him back so he’s lying on the couch.

If Eddie cares, he pays no mind, his head curling up into the crook of Steve’s neck as he hugs him closer. His hair gets in Steve’s mouth, making him splutter for a second, but Eddie just grins, wriggling closer until they’re pressed firmly against each other. Steve would go as far as to say this is closer to cuddling than a hug, with Eddie squishing him from above, his arms around Steve’s middle.

“Just so you know,” Eddie’s voice rumbles from where their chests are touching, his breath sweeping across Steve’s neck. Steve shivers without meaning to, feels Eddie’s responding grin even as he continues. “All hugs requested by me are automatically 10 minutes long. Hope you’re okay with that, sweetheart.”

Steve isn’t stupid — he knows Eddie is doing it for him, doing it because he could see right through Steve’s stupid facade, had peered his yawning hunger for touch right in the face and hadn’t blanched. Instead of feeling tricked or fooled, Steve just feels…warm. Comfortable. He works his arms around Eddie’s neck til their more comfortable and find the courage in him scrape his fingers through Eddie’s hair— like he had done to Steve. Eddie’s sighs sweetly and Steve thinks he could listen to that noise forever.

“I’m… I’m okay with that.” Steve murmurs lowly, yet he knows Eddie can hear him. Eddie noses closer, a borderline nuzzle against his neck, and further down, one his hands starts to stroke softly up and down Steve’s ribs.

Steve can’t help the way it makes him freeze, the breath in his lungs holding tight as he tries to relax, tries to ignore the prickly feeling under his skin. It’s a lot. A lot of touch that Steve just isn’t used to just yet, even if he desperately craves it.

“Relax,” Eddie whispers into his skin, a soft instruction paired with the motion, one soothing stroke up and down his ribs. Steve pushes the breath in his lungs out, forces the tension out of his body, trusts that Eddie wouldn’t be offering— wouldn’t tell him to relax if he wasn’t allowed to.

“That’s it.” Eddie praises, feeling the body beneath him settle and sink a little lower into the couch. “Now, watch the movie.” Eddie instructs, jutting at the still playing screen with his chin. Steve laughs a bit, but obeys, turning his head to see what part they’d gotten up to. They’d missed a big chunk in their hug. Steve nearly apologises for it, the words on the tip of his tongue, before he decides Eddie might smack him for it.

So, he doesn’t. He watches the film, let’s the gentle touch of Eddie on his skin relax him til sleepiness starts to fill each of his limbs, heavy like lead. Eddie’s hand stops moving eventually, when his breath gets heavier, lulled by Steve’s scratch in his hair. A snore starts up, loud and quite frankly, annoying, and yet, Steve finds that with Eddie’s arms around him, he has no trouble finding sleep.

It’s the first time in years Steve’s fallen asleep in someone else’s arms. And even if he doesn't know it yet, it’s certainly not the last.

now with a part two!

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joelscruff · 1 year

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you know i don't mean it (joel miller x reader) 18+

welcome to my 300 follower celebration! \o/ i polled my followers on which character they'd most like to see in some new smut and joel won (not surprised). this was supposed to be a drabble but ended up getting a bit longer than i anticipated, hope you enjoy! summary: you and joel get off together. that's pretty much it. you also have some unresolved feelings for him and he's being closed off. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), praise kink (the term 'good girl' is used maybe 432534 times), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (but make it soft), mutual masturbation, come-play, come-eating, this is filthy word count: about 2.5k | ao3 link

"This is the last time," he mutters under his breath, belt buckle jangling as he lays down across from you, "We can't keep doin' this."

"Yeah, yeah," your hand is already buried in your panties, index finger lightly rotating against your clit, "That's what you said last week too."

He grunts and you watch as he slips his hand inside his jeans and palms himself, squaring his shoulders and trying to relax. He pretends he's doing this for your benefit, like its you who needs help getting off, as if he's not a middle aged man who hasn't been touched by a woman in years. And it's not like you haven't offered, you've genuinely tried to give yourself to him more than a few times, but it's simply a line he won't cross.

Other lines, however, are much easier to cross. It had started out relatively innocent, something that had happened completely by chance, or at least you both led yourselves to believe it was. You'd both had the same idea one night and had ended up getting off together in the same room, you in the chair beside the fireplace of the abandoned ski lodge you'd both been posted in, him on the couch.

"Are you -" he'd gasped into the darkness when he'd heard the wet sound of your fingers a few feet away, plunging in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm.

"Like you're not," you'd hissed back, "I'm not deaf."

"Thought you were sleepin'," he'd muttered, hand stilling on his cock where seconds ago he'd been stroking like his life depended on it.

"And that makes it less weird?"

He'd groaned, releasing himself and sitting up to squint at you in the darkness, "So what are you gonna do about it?"

You glared at him, not bothering to remove your hand from your underwear as you continued to finger yourself, breathing deeply, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going. And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."

After a few seconds of silence, he'd flopped himself back down on the couch and reached for himself again, fucking into his fist, "No talking," he said through his teeth, "Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"

"Deal," you'd replied, and roughly added a third finger as you watched the dark silhouette of him jacking himself off barely six feet away from you.

One night turned into two, turned into five, and now ten. It wasn't every night, only when you were on patrol together. You'd privately asked Tommy to make sure that Joel was your patrol partner as often as possible, because you felt "safer" with him... you're not sure if he'd really believed you.

You're back in the ski lodge again tonight, both of you situated on the couch in your usual positions, on opposite ends and facing each other. It's ridiculous how quickly it's taken you both to get used to these sessions, the casual feeling of it making it even hotter somehow.

"How many fingers are you using this time?" Joel murmurs, eyeing you where you're touching yourself, unable to fully see what he'd like to.

"Up to you," you breathe, still prodding your clit, "How many do you want me to use?"

"Three," he replies, and you watch as he pulls his cock free from the confines of his jeans, jutting large and solid against his stomach, "Real slow, then real fast."

You nod, lifting your hips up to pull your panties free and expose yourself to him, legs wide.

"Stick to my rhythm," he tells you, watching as you trail your middle finger through your folds, "If I stop, you stop. If I tell you to stop-"

"I stop," you answer for him, throwing him a smug smile, "Same rules as always."

He stares at you without speaking, just waiting. You get the hint and begin to slide your finger inside slowly, making eye contact with him under your lashes and smiling languidly. He fists himself just as slow, looking down at your finger and licking his lips.

"Slow enough for you?" you whisper, adding a second and grinning when his eyes darken, "Should I go a bit faster?"

"Not yet," he whispers, thumbing the head of his cock and fucking into his hand at the same pace as your finger, "Keep it nice and slow for me 'til I say so."

You obey, fucking yourself with your middle and ring finger at the slowest pace you can muster. No matter how annoying his orders are you always do as you're told, not because you're afraid of any sort of consequence, but because you like seeing him enjoy himself, seeing him take control. You've only known him for about six months but you've known for a while that he's been lacking any sort of control in his life for a long time; you're glad to be the one who can give it to him.

"Add your third," he whispers and you oblige, slipping your index inside yourself alongside the others, "Good girl," he breathes, "Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"

You nod, your smugness immediately starting to fade. When he talks to you like this, praises you, it's impossible to keep your hard exterior up for much longer, feeling yourself submit to him. In any other circumstance you love to challenge him, to argue, but in these moments it's the last thing on your mind. You do as you're told, and that's the end of it. He needs control, you need submission.

"Tell me," he whispers.

"I'm your good girl," you breathe, shivering and continuing to shove your fingers in and out at his pace.

He smirks, "Yeah you are."

You continue to fuck yourself at his painfully slow pace, watching him fist his cock at the same speed. He likes to tease you, to build you up until you're begging for it. You thumb your clit and start to whimper, legs trembling.

"Okay, faster now," he tells you, voice low and sultry, "Not too fast, though. Watch me," he tugs at his cock at a bit quicker of a pace, still much too slow for you but you can't do much else but obey him, mirroring him with the thrust of your fingers, "That's it, like that."

After several more thrusts he suddenly stops stroking himself, stilling in his palm. You groan, halting your movements, following the rules.

"How is it that you follow orders so God damn well when you've got your panties around your ankles?" he asks, voice rough, "Yet when we're actually patrollin' you don't listen to a word I say?"

"I'm not your good girl when we're patrolling," you reply with a teasing smile, "But I could be, you know."

He rolls his eyes, "Enough, it's not happening," he nods to your hand, still motionless at your core, "Play with your clit for a second, give me a chance to breathe."

There it is, the line he won't cross. You've already told him that you're willing to give yourself completely over to him, be exactly who he needs, but no matter how many times you try he just won't budge. It's disappointing, truly, because you really do like him. Sure, he's a bit of an ass, plus he's about thirty years older than you, but you've seen the side of him he doesn't show to others. Maybe only hints, but you've seen it. And you care about him.

"I don't do this with anyone else, you know," you whisper, pressing your index finger against your clit and rubbing small circles into it, "You're the only one I'd let treat me the way you do."

He looks at you curiously, raising an eyebrow, "I treat you good, don't I?"

You nod, whimpering a bit as you rub yourself harder, "You do, but you're the only one I'd ever submit to like this, you know that, right?"

He hums, brushes the wide head of his cock with the tip of his thumb, "I know, baby. But it feels so good, doesn't it? You like being my good girl, don't you?"

You bite down on your lip, core aching as your fingers lay still against your folds, save for the index that continues to furiously stimulate your clit, "I do," you whisper, cheeks warming, "I fucking love it."

"There you go," he murmurs softly, then begins to move his fist again, "Use your fingers again, baby, get your pussy all full for me."

You don't need telling twice, your three fingers plunging deep inside yourself without any hesitation. You whimper when your fingertips brush against your favorite spot, so close yet so far. You eye Joel's cock and try to imagine what it would feel like for it to really be inside you, the fat tip of it pounding relentlessly against the deepest parts of your cunt, his girth stretching you out so much your whole body would be shaking. You feel your mouth drop open involuntarily, brow furrowing.

He follows your gaze and frowns at you, pumping himself a bit faster, "You can't have it," he whispers, like he can read your mind, "I know you want it, pretty girl, but you can't. I'm sorry."

"Why?" you mewl, sounding absolutely pathetic as you keep fucking yourself, "I want it so bad, Joel."

"I know you do," he closes his eyes and leans his head back, "Don't ask me why, you just can't."

You'd pout, tease him a little, but he's not looking at you anymore and it physically makes you ache, the way he avoids any allusion to actual sex, an actual relationship. You've asked him so many times and it's always the same answer, never a real reason. You wish you knew why, wish you knew if there was anything at all you could do to make him open up to you.

Instead you mirror his position, tilting your head back against the arm of the sofa and fucking up into yourself, listening to his labored breathing and the slap of skin whenever his fist hits his belly.

"Fast as you can now, baby," he mutters gruffly, close to the edge, "Need you to come for me, need you to be good."

"I'm always good for you, aren't I?" you whimper, opening your eyes to peer at him again, "I always listen, I never break your rules."

"That's right."

"So why can't you fuck me?" you sit up suddenly, yanking your fingers out of yourself and looking at him angrily. He sits up just as quickly, eyes narrowing as he releases his cock and stares at you, "I'm serious, Joel. I want an actual answer."

"You just broke a rule," he mutters and you sigh exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry for breaking the rules," you genuinely mean it; you know how important this control is for him, but you can't help it, "I'll submit again if you just tell me why you won't fuck me. Do you...do you not want me? Is that it? 'Cause I can accept that, I just want to hear you say it. I'm sick of not knowing."

He stares at you incredulously, hand coming up to squeeze the space between his brow and nose, "Jesus, of course I want you, but it's not that simple."

"Yes it-"

"It's not," he interrupts you, shaking his head, "I can't...this isn't..." he exhales deeply, "This isn't the time for this conversation, okay?" You hear raw emotion in his voice, buried deep but still present. Fuck, you didn't mean to make him feel bad.

"...Okay," you finally whisper, "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," he runs a hand through his hair, "Look, we can stop-"

"No," you lean back and open your legs wide again, putting yourself on display for him, "No, I wanna be your good girl again, please let me."

"We don't-"

"Joel," you whimper, slipping your fingers back inside, "Let me be your good girl."

His hard expression fades, eyes softening as he peers at you, watching you fuck himself for him.

"It's all yours, even if you won't touch me," you whisper, using your other hand to pull yourself open for him, showing him how full you are, feeling your orgasm start to build in your tummy, "It's yours," you repeat, whimpering.

He nods, stroking himself again hard and fast, brow furrowing in pleasure as he keeps his eyes trained on you, "That's right," he murmurs, "It's mine. You're mine."

You close your eyes tight, "I'm gonna come."

"Go ahead, pretty girl," you hear him groan, the snap of his wrist making you completely come undone, "Squeeze around those fingers, pretend they're mine, okay? You can do that, you can pretend."

You shudder at his words and feel your orgasm overtake you, the image of Joel's thick fingers pounding into you enough to send you over the edge. You moan loudly, crying out his name and tossing your head back as you come.

"Good girl," he groans, voice strangled, "Such a good fucking girl for me."

You close your eyes as you ride out the waves of your release, fingers still pumping gently inside of you until it's too much and you pull them out. Sighing contentedly, you open your eyes again and watch Joel relentlessly fuck into his fist, belt buckle still jangling against the couch as he gasps. You want nothing more than to reach forward and take him in your own hand, help him ride out his own release, but you don't. Because those are the rules.

Instead you just watch him, smile at him as he shuts his eyes tight and groans deeply, coming into his fist. You watch the thick white liquid cover the sides of his fingers and you involuntarily salivate, jaw going slack.

"Fuck," you breathe, "Wish I could taste you."

He groans again, hand stilling as he breathes heavily and starts to come down, eyes closed. You sit quietly, panties still hanging off one of your ankles. You'd usually already be putting your clothes back on at this point, but something tells you to stay still, don't move, he's gonna do something different.

He swallows and looks up at you, stares at you for a few moments. You're unsure whether the regular Joel is about to come back, tell you it's time to go back on patrol, grab your gun and be quiet. Or is this still your Joel, the one who tells you you're pretty and good, makes you feel less alone in this shitty world.

"Here," he says, shaking his head and bringing his come-coated fingers up to your mouth, "If you wanna taste, you have five seconds."

Your mouth pops open in surprise, hesitating only for a second before you lean forward and wrap your lips around his fingers, feeling the salty taste of him flood your mouth. Your cunt begins to throb again, your eyes closing as you suck and lick and take everything he's giving you. When you open your eyes again he's still looking at you, but his expression is soft, tender.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

this is now a series, and other parts can be found on my masterlist.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fic #tlou fic #*#this was so fun to write #i like this dynamic a lot and might end up writing more for them who knows #fic: soft!dom joel

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beth-march · 11 months

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A list of things I adored about the new Little Mermaid movie:

The Hans Christian Andersen quote about mermaids having to suffer without tears in the beginning sequence

Ariel saving Max by pushing him towards the boat

The clarification on Ursula’s backstory regarding her “when I lived at the palace” comment

Ariel noticing Eric’s compassion before his beauty

Ariel being such an open-minded free thinker that she holds a different opinion from everybody she knows about humans, despite the fact that a human was responsible for her mother’s death

Ariel being more conflicted about Ursula’s deal, acknowledging that it’s wrong

The fact that Eric has a collection just like Ariel does, the fact that they’re both explorers

Eric and Ariel finding ways to connect without her speaking! Pouring over maps together, communicating with gestures and smiles.

Eric stopping the carriage to move the goats, and Ariel disappearing while he has his back turned, because she’s so intrigued by the market that she can’t help herself

Ariel constantly discarding her shoes and eventually trading in her boots for sandals

Eric showing Ariel star constellations and her telling him her name by pointing out Aries. The line “That’s a beautiful name,” replacing “That’s kind of pretty.” Eric saying her name is written in the stars.

When Ariel and Eric are saying goodbye after their day together and she hops down the stairs to put his hat on his head and give him an earnest, sweet, open smile

Grimsby kicking the wedding ring out of sight so Eric couldn’t give it to Vanessa

Ariel being the one to defeat Ursula! Ariel, as a mermaid, unable to stand, slipping and sliding down the deck, hefting herself up to spin the wheel with all her strength.

Ariel having a tea length wedding dress! I love her gaudy puffy 1989 dress but this felt more in tune for her character, light, airy, free, youthful.

The union of Ariel and Eric representing an alliance between mermaids and humans, and an appeasement to the sea gods, so that the port will be successful again

The nuance in Ariel’s relationship with the ocean. She acknowledges that leaving is a sacrifice and a loss, even while understanding that it’s the right thing to do for herself. The balance of feelings made it very emotional when her family came to the surface to tell her that they would always be there for her. A poignant depiction of growing up, really.

#belle rambles #the little mermaid #disney princesses #i fear i might write a fic about the last point

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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oml hiiii, i rushed here immediately when i saw your requests are open ive been in love with the idea of maybe ghost having a teenage niece (his older brothers daughter) who he basically raised when he wasn't on duty but like none of the 141 knows about it because he keeps her a secret. He's basically her father at this point cause the rest of the family was murdered when she was only a baby. Anyways, you can do whatever you want with this prompt or not if you don't want to. But like I can totally just imagine Soap just seeing them in a Tescos and absolutely losing his shit when seeing a teenager swinging from his Lieutenants arm.

if you choose not to do this prompt that's completely fine!!! thank you!!!

—Sole Survivor

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Your father died years ago, and so you fall under the stiff, and unyielding, protection of your Uncle Simon. But it's not all bad. He can be funny when he wants to be.] ❞

When you were the only one to live, the sole survivor of that massacre, Simon knew he was in trouble.

He’d found you under the bed. The blood was still congealing over the wooden floors—whoever put you there, Tommy, his mother, Beth, or even his nephew, was all a mystery that no one would ever know the answer to. Yet, the larger question was how you, a baby, had managed to stay silent through it all.

Simon had picked you up with panicked breath and tears in his eyes as the sirens of the police had gotten closer, holding you to him as you blinked awake and yawned. The bodies of his family were strewn around the floor, broken and bent; murdered. But you. Little you.

Alive.

It would be best to leave you to be found by the authorities. To go somewhere far away from him and the future that was now stained into his soul—the pact of revenge and horror that would live through him like a brand. It was the right thing to do; the correct thing.

And then he remembers his mother’s eyes, and he’s already rushing to the back window while cradling your squirming body. The rest, of course, passed as the flow of time always did.

“I’m thinking we should have steak,” your voice pipes up as Simon grabs a bag of crisps from the shelf. Brown eyes blink down at you, balaclava tight to this face.

“You have steak money?” You were a teenager now, older and figuring life out one day at a time. He hadn’t told you the whole story, and he won’t until much later, but you know enough to a point that you were comfortable with.

You know your family loved you.

“You’re the one with the job,” he huffs at you as you utter under your breath.

“Exactly,” Simon grunts. “Eatin’ me out of house and home like I never feed you.”

“I,” you point a finger into the air, “am growing. Soon I’ll be just as tall as you, y’know that? I’ll be towering over everyone and giving them that same dead-eyed look that—” brown orbs level with you, unimpressed. You beam, punching his shoulder. “See! That one!”

“Fuckin’ piss off, would you?” Simon grumbles, moving down to the next aisle in his large and darkly-clothed glory. Your laugh trails after him, feet heavy on his heels. “Givin’ me a headache.”

You both walk around the Tesco, Simon getting strange looks while a beaming teenager walks beside him talking about supper, class, and anything in between. He offered short responses, sometimes sarcastic and sometimes serious—it depended, but the point was that he did answer you, no matter how pointless the conversation.

“I think I’m going to join a club this year,” you speak as you gaze at the items your Uncle puts in his basket. A gaze side-eyes you slowly.

“What, then?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, shoulder bumping into his arm and tilting your head. “Were you in any clubs?”

He grunts, shaking his head before a hand descends to your hair, ruffling it as you hiss in annoyance. “Never had time.” Simon hadn’t told you about his father or what he had done, and God help him if he ever uttered a word about it. That wasn’t something that mattered in your story, just his…he’d never place that weight on you willingly.

You frown as your uncle's arm loops your shoulders casually, keeping you to him as other people walk past you. Brown filters over posture and facial expressions—looking for the barest hint of ill-intent. When there’s nothing, and the forms move around you as easily as they had come, Simon’s attention leaves, and he continues on as if nothing had happened.

“Try Debate.” Your face turns to him, curious.

“Debate?” His eyes twinkle, and behind his face covering you immediately find the tell-tale twitch of a smirk.

“Argue so bloody well you could convince a rookie that a P890 can hold 10 rounds.”

You fight the shocked smile that pulls at your lips. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.” Eyes swirl, and a hand squeezes your arm; jostling you slightly.

“It’s a compliment.”

“You’ve always been shit at those.” You get a firm glare and a grunt from above.

“Fuckin’ language.” Your lips mock his response, making fun of him before he sends a flick of his thumb and forefinger into your temple.

“Hey!” Simon chuckles lowly, walking closer to the front of the store to get ready to pay as you mutter. “Jerk.”

It was a surprise though, that when you had barreled onto your Uncle’s back for an impromptu piggyback ride as payback—which the man didn’t even flinch at, already used to your antics—that the wide eyes of a man with a mohawk met yours. Your head is atop your Uncles, resting there as the lady at the front gives you strange looks from behind the register as Simon places the items in front of her.

He was gobsmacked, this stranger with his hair all done up like that, and your eyes blink at the display of tags around his neck that mirror your guardians. Broad, yet not so like Simon, and muscled, also, not as much as Simon.

“Unc?” You ask, and the man below you hums in question, pulling out notes from his wallet absentmindedly. “Who’s the guy with the mohawk?”

Simon tenses under you, fingers freezing.

“With the what?” It wasn’t really shocking that no one knew about you besides Price—and the only reason he knew was that in the event something happened to him, Simon had made the Captain swear that you would be taken care of.

Imagine his horror when his brown eyes darted up only to find them meeting the cobalt blues of his Sergeant, the Scot's hand outstretched to a box of pancake mix with a pack of Irn Bru in the other.

There’s an immediate sinking feeling in Simon’s chest when Johnny awkwardly tips his fingers in a shocked greeting—eyes flashing up to your curious face before he thins his lips and blinks.

You wave enthusiastically back.

“Oh, bloody fuckin’ hell.”

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lilisettean · 3 months

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Phantom Touch | Headcanons

About: It was one thing to video call him, it was another, however, to call/answer while you were barely clothed.

Pairings: Xavier/Reader, Zayne/Reader, Rafayel/Reader

Notes: This idea came to me when Rafayel video called MC in the middle of the night (Lv 20 Random Painting). Also should I do Caleb's as well?

Warnings: 18+ only please! Enjoy :)

Xavier

It was by accident when it happened. You were trying to find your favorite hairpin after your shower but it was nowhere to be found.

You searched high and low, flipped cushions and threw your blankets onto the floor. Nothing. Goddamnit you can't afford to lose that hairpin- it was one of the gifts Grandma gave you, you just simply can't lose it.

In an act of desperation, you called Xavier on your phone, not caring whether you pressed on normal call or video call. You just needed him on because you might've left it in his place.

To say Xavier was surprised the moment you came on screen would be an understatement. He almost dropped his phone (it did slip from his hands but he was quick enough to hold onto it), and not a word you said has registered in his brain.

His eyes were fixated upon the water droplets that clung to you skin, following the trail a drop of water left behind as it slid down from your neck, to your decollete, and between your cleavage. His mind was busy tearing that insolent piece of cotton fabric into shred for daring to shield you from his gaze.

It was only when you shuffled forward and waved a hand in front of the camera did he snap out of his less than innocent daydream.

"Xaiver? What are you staring at?" "Are you aware of what you are wearing?" "...Shit-"

"No, don't." He said the moment you tried to cut the call, and instead, with much strength he could muster not to ogle at your form again, he diverted your attention.

He found your hairpin lying on his bedside table and when you were about to thank him, a mischievous smile crept up his face, and you just knew what he was about to ask.

"Can I have a reward for finding it so quickly?" Xavier asked, his gaze predatory as he flicked his eyes down to stare at the towel that was clinging onto you for dear life. With slight trepidation, you settled down on the sofa, and slowly peeled off the towel that you knew he wanted off. Now.

You squeezed your thighs together and bit your lower lip when you heard the soft Mmh over the phone. He greedily drank in the sight of you, your bare, still unmarred skin glistening under the soft lights.

A daring thought suddenly struck you. Smiling at him, you brought your hands up to your breasts, propping them up and giving them a good squeeze (which he quietly groaned your name in response), before flicking your nipples.

You knew he was hard, with how he slumped against his sofa, one of his hands nowhere to be seen. The stuttered breath he let out made you wonder whether he was palming over his hard on as you gave him this little show.

He was. He was pressing his cock against his palm, rutting against it as you played with your pert nipples. He was imagining grinding his cock against you, fucking your slick folds as he buried his face between your breasts.

In a daring move, you tilted your phone downwards and lifted your legs, showing him the effect he had on you. But before you could spread yourself further to give him a better look, he suddenly stood up, giving you an eyeful of his clothed cock that was straining against the front of his pants.

Before he abruptly cut the call, he eyes drooped to a seductive narrow, and pinned you in place as he spoke.

"Don't move. I'll be there within the minute."

Zayne

Zayne, despite his icy demeanor, was a softie and a worrywart when it comes to you. He would always tell you to call him once you were home just so he knows you made it back safely.

So when he received a text asking if he was free and alone instead of a call, his curiosity was piqued.

As soon as he said that yes, he was alone and about to be off work, he received another text. A text that he did not expect you to send.

It was a picture of you on his bed, wearing nothing but one of his white button up shirts, if he can even call it that. You didn't button it all the way, leaving your collarbone and cleavage bare for him to see.

He immediately video called you, and as expected, instead of commenting on your attire, the first thing he asked was-

"Why are you in my bed?" "I knew you'd ask that first. Really?"

You explained with a huff that you wanted to surprise him a little. It has been a while since you two have seen each other for more than 5 minutes, with you two being busy with work and all. And with his day off being tomorrow, you jumped on the chance to be with him.

After a beat of silence and you fiddling with the hem of his shirt, he sighed, his features softened at your nervous fidgeting.

"Well, go on then. What do you have to show me?" "Show you- Aren't you still at the hospital?" "It's a peaceful day and I'm alone in my office. Would you give me a preview at what's in store for me at home?"

He stared on intently as you teased your nipples, brushing over them while they were still covered. Your pert nipples poked through his shirt, the outline of them fueling his imagination.

If you were on his lap right now, he would've done that for you whilst sucking on one of your nipples through the shirt you were wearing.

You were about to unbutton the shirt but his voice stopped you. "No, don't. Leave it on... Good."

He made no move to touch himself, as anyone could walk in at any moment, but by God did he want to. His eyes flicked between your flushed face and your body, already imagining the places he would leave his mark on.

He already knew what he would do to you once he got home. He would set you down on his lap, forcing you to feel how hard you made him with your little show, and leave open mouthed kisses on your neck while slipping his hands under his?- no, yours now, with how well you wear it, shirt.

But deep down he knew that once he got home, he would have no patience for that. He would most likely push you down to the bed and use one hand to grope your breast, while the other fixed your hip in place, allowing no escape as he rutted his stiff cock against you. He doesn't care if his pants get ruined, he just wants you-

"Zayne?" Your voice brought him back from his thoughts. And with much reluctance, he motioned for you to stop. "That's enough for now sweetheart. I still have to get home first." "Should I send you more pictures while you're on your way?" "No need. Just be a good girl and wait for me."

Rafayel

Being a painter, Rafayel would sometimes work late into the night, busy with his newest piece. And while he enjoyed the peace and quiet nightfall brings, at times he would find the studio too quiet, too suffocating, especially without you around. Thus, he would call you and ask you to keep him company as he painted.

And on this night, it was no different. Save for the brush strokes against the canvas, the room was too quiet for his liking. He had expected you to pick up within a few rings and show up disheveled on call, but as soon as you answered the call, the thought of teasing you like usual quickly dissipated.

"What- What are you wearing?" He diverted his gaze elsewhere, occasionally sneaking peeks at his phone screen while you blinked the sleep away from your eyes. Instead of your usual pyjamas, you were wearing a lingerie set he had not seen before.

He had half a mind to tell you to pull up the strap that had fell off your shoulder mid sleep, but the words died in his throat the moment you shifted and the strap slipped further down, revealing more of your decollete to him.

The blush that was already on his face intensified when he noticed the hickies on your skin, the evidence of him ravaging you highlighted by the moonlight shining through the window.

"Rafayel? What is it?" You asked, still half asleep. You wondered why he was quiet until you found him staring intently at your chest and- Oh. Of course.

You had bought it because you wanted to surprise him by taking pictures of it. But it seemed that you were too tired and fell asleep in the process. "...Surprise? I wanted to show you earlier but-" "Wait. Hold that position."

You did as you were told and froze. He was studying you again, perhaps for future reference. As much as you liked being his model, you pouted at his antics. Not even a single reaction? Sighing, you broke the silence between you two.

"I could come over and wear this for you, if you want." "You would do that for me?" "Of course." "Then come." "What?" "You said you would come over, no? Then come now. But before that..."

"Would you mind showing me more before I tear it off?" And how could you say no to a request like that?

Settling your phone down, you bent forward to show him your cleavage before standing to show off the lingerie you were wearing.

"Turn. Now hold it." You fidgeted as you faced away from the camera, wondering what he was doing as he marveled your form. The faint sound of rustling clothes and a belt unbuckling floated from the speaker, and you instantly knew what he was up to.

"Do you enjoy it that much?" "And what about it? Turn again."

As expected, he was sitting on an armchair, slowly stroking the base of his cock as he watched the thin fabric flutter around you. Heat pooled within you when caught his eyes roaming all over you, his face flushed and lips parted as he touched himself.

He groaned when you parted your legs to show him more of you, his cock throbbing at the sight of your slicked folds. Precome beaded at the tip as he stroked more, with some of it sliding down his tip and to the underside of his cock.

Something within snapped the moment you dipped your fingers into your wet entrance. And with one smooth motion, he stood up, unintentionally (or perhaps intentionally) giving you an eyeful of his stiff cock, and picked up his phone.

"Enough. Come to me now." "Just don't tear it when I'm there." "No promises." "Rafayel-" "Hurry now, before I come find you instead."

#love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace xavier x reader #love and deepspace zayne x reader #love and deepspace rafayel x reader #love and deepspace headcanons #so uh yeah. i might actually write fic based on this instead of just hcs #i am so down bad can you tell lmao

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