(N)SFW PROMPTS BASED ON MY FAVORITE SONGS
rules: send in a song title from this list with one of the characters from this list
“ribs” - sharing a bed with your friend for the first time. they’re just a friend, right?
“cause for concern” - god, you hate them. but you’re stuck together. might as well fuck their stupid face, right?
“like a prayer” - fucking them in a church. just straight up
“505”- you show up at your ex’s door, you had nowhere else to go.
“maroon” - you can’t help but think of your first love, even with someone else.
“tear you apart” - you were sent here to kill them/they were sent here to kill you. tensions rise to the bed.
“from eden” - both of you have resisted for too long, finally giving into temptation.
“tongues and teeth” - you can’t wrap your mind around why they love you when you find yourself so unloveable.
“enjoy the silence”- a confession interrupted by a kiss.
“cinnamon girl”- soft sex with two traumatized messes.
“i melt with you”- soft 80s au.
“dream girl evil”- mean female dominant in a m/f relationship.
“francesca”- post break up reunion sex.
“it will come back”- you swore there would be no strings attached until one started showing up.
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505 ft. steve. ((just imagining showing up to steve’s house post break up makes me a wreck))
you were at a party in the neighborhood. one you certainly didn’t want to be at, but your friends had dragged you anyway. if they’re gonna be pushy, you’re gonna get blackout drunk and make it their problem. that was your spiteful philosophy for the night.
you started drinking almost immediately, taking a shot whenever you noticed yourself looking down the street at steve’s house. nope. you broke up with him for a reason. you’re not going through this again. you were snapped out of your drunken thoughts when a girl bumped into you, spilling her drink all over you. and she laughed.
“what the fuck?” you snarled, spilling your own drink over her. next thing you know, you’re being tackled to the ground, her long nails digging into your skin as she slaps you across the face. you’re too drunk to register the pain at the moment, pulling her hair to get her off of you, kicking upwards, doing anything you could do. the sound of police sirens finally got her up, carelessly kicking the side of your face as she ran. that one you felt. you slowly pulled yourself up off the ground, now drunk with a concussion, looking for your friends; who were nowhere to be found.
fuck.
you really did not want to do this. but you were desperate, drunk, concussed, and not looking to be arrested. you carried yourself as fast as you could diagonally down the street to steve’s house.
he was already at the window, watching the commotion down the street, as he caught a familiar silhouette wearing the doc martens he bought stalking toward him. fuck. he sighed and went to the door, ready to say something incredibly snarky, ready to give you a piece of his mind, ready to make you regret why you—
and he could see through the window of the door that you’re bleeding. he opens it immediately. “what the fuck?” he asks as gently as he could.
“i’m sorry.” you looked up at him, and the pain and the drinks caught up to you. your eyes filled with tears and his heart sank to his knees. “i…i was at that party and…” you sniffed. “my friends ditched, me alright? laugh all you-“
“why is your cheek bleeding?” he interrupted you in a softer voice than you expected, pointing at the shallow cut on your cheek. he doesn’t wait for you to answer, he simply puts a hand on your back and guides you inside.
“look i just…” you hiss as steve touches your jaw where you were kicked.
“sorry!” he put his hands in his pockets so the urge to take care of you would subside. he knew that wouldn’t do shit, though. “what were you saying?”
“i…i need a ride home.” you take a deep breath, cutting to the chase. “i’m drunk, and i got in a fight, and i’m kinda sure i have a concussion, and i’m a fucking mess.” you rambled, your voice on the verge of tears.
“woah, woah…” he put his hands up. “a concussion? who the fuck were you fighting?” he asks, a hint of protectiveness still left in his voice. he guides you to the kitchen and plants his hands on your waist, and your heart quickens at the thought of the last time he touched you like that. but he just sat you down on his counter.
why were you disappointed?
“you don’t get into fights.” he grabs a package of frozen vegetables from the freezer and holds it to your jaw, in such close proximity to you that you could see his brown eyes burning with a feeling you couldn’t place. “who the fuck were you fighting?” he asked again, this time in a softer tone. he’s not gonna let this go.
you sigh. “it was stupid alright? i don’t even know her name.” you look down, ashamed of yourself now. “she spilled her drink on me and just laughed, and it was so petty. i did the same to her, next thing i know, i’m on the floor.” you recounted. “look, i know it was ridiculous, berate me all you want-“
“berate you?” he was visibly taken aback. “why would i berate you?”
“you have a habit of talking down to people when they’ve made bad decisions.” you said quietly, shrugging. he takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. he wants to defend himself, but he’s not gonna argue with you in this state. “so can you please just…drive me home?” you asked, almost pathetically.
he shook his head, looking into your eyes again. “if you get out of my car and something happens to you in the middle of the night because you’re actually concussed, you know i would drive myself crazy.” he murmured the last part in a low voice. “not happening. you’re staying here for the night.”
“steve…that’s not necessary….” you trail off as you feel his large hands on your face again, one on your cheek, the other cradling the back of your head to look at your eyes in the light. “yup.” he answers simply, nodding to himself. “your pupils are dilated, it’s absolutely necessary, princess.” your pet name creeps out of his lips quickly out of old habit. it pierces through your heart and warms it up at the same time.
he gets a small bandage to put on your cheek from another cabinet, holding your face again. if he wasn’t such a mother hen, you would swear he was doing this on purpose. “there.” he says. “you should get some rest.” he leans back. “you can have my bed, i’ll take the couch.” he starts to walk away. you hop off the counter.
“it’s your house, i’ll take the couch.” you argued, following him as he sets up pillows.
“you’re the guest, i’ll take the couch.” he argued right back. stubborn, quick bastard.
you don’t argue and resign to his bedroom, where he shows you any changes that were made that you might need to know about in the two years you haven’t seen it. before he goes out the door, you grab his hand.
“i’m gonna regret asking this…” you mumble to yourself. “but stay with me? just for the night? it would be better for your….pseudo-nursing.” you blush, and he smirks at your comment.
“of course, princess.”
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