#if i didn’t have red hair i’d want to have black hair

[mrsriddlenott]

~ Costume? That’s Barley Clothes.~

Theo Nott x fem!Reader

[masterlist]

Summary: Malfoy!Reader who’s annoyed that they can’t be Theo’s date to the Halloween party dresses up to get his attention and ends up with more than one set of eyes on her. This is kinda short, I just wanted a Halloween themed oneshot.

Warnings:Possessive Behavior,Jealousy, Secret Relationship,Toxic(ish)Theo,Smut,Choking, Creampie.

“Baby, you know I’d go with you if it were up to me. I thought he wouldn’t be there I’m sorry.” Theo was annoyed to say the least, not only did his plan fail miserably, but you also seemed to blame him for it. The only reason he even wanted to go to this stupid party was for you, but of course Draco just had to decide last minute he wanted to go after all.

“I’m sorry, I know you wanted to dress up but he’s not gonna sit this party out.” You just eyed the much taller boy, he hadn’t put on his costume yet and could easily decide to stay with you but, “He’d get suspicious,” like it would be the end of the world if Draco knew. All you could do was roll your eyes with a sigh, laying down on your bed with a book as Theo watched you.

“Are you gonna say anything?” You just huffed at him, meeting his eyes for a second before returning to pretending to read your book, “If Draco found out I ditched the party he’s gonna come looking, and if he finds he in his little sister’s dorm he’d throw a fit.” You slammed your book shut, crossing your arms with furrowed brows before eyeing him from where you sat.

“His little sister huh?” You were frustrated, you couldn’t tell what he wanted anymore. One minute he’d be calling you his sweetheart, future wife and mother of his children, and the next he’d barley look at you, laughing in the Common Room from jokes Draco makes at your expense. “Just go to your party, I’m not some little kid who’s gonna cry without your attention for an hour,”

You huffed as his jaw clenched, eyeing you with a flash of anger, “I didn’t say you were a little kid, It’s just that if D-“

“Yeah I know if Draco finds out you’re in trouble,” You sighed as you rolled your eyes, slipping off your bed and leaving Theo trailing you with his darkening eyes, “I’m gonna take a shower, have fun at the party.”

Theo grumbled to himself as he left your dorm, slamming the door behind him as hard as he could just as you slammed the bathroom door. You sighed to yourself as you stared into your mirror, you weren’t just gonna sit out on your last Hogwarts Halloween party with Theo and he should have known that. You quickly threw on your costume and did your makeup light, wanting the glittery cat ears on your head to be the center of attention.

You wore a small black dress that could honestly barley be called a dress, paired with black heels that would bring your height to only a couple inches under Theo. You let your hair fall straight behind your shoulders, holding it back with the cat-ear headband, black eyeliner bringing out the color of your eyes with classic red lipstick drawing attention to your lips. You decided for no bra to let the dress hug your figure entirely, pulling it all together with a tight black belt adorned with a sleek black cat’s tail.

Goosebumps covered your skin as you made your way up the stairs to the packed Slytherin Common Room. A haze of smoke flitted over the various packs of dancing and conversing students while you made your way through to Draco and his friends usual spot.

Your skimpy black cat costume was basic, but a classic that was sure to drive Theo crazy. Your eyes met his as soon as the crowd parted to let you through to the group, leaving almost immediately to rake his eyes across your body as you approached. However you completely ignored him, walking up to Draco and announcing your presence before slipping away to get a drink, feeling Theo’s dead eyes stare into your back as you did so.

You hastily filled a glass with spiked punch and leant against the table with a sigh as the lanky figure of Lorenzo Berkshire approached the drink table only a few feet away from the group,“I didn’t know you were gonna be here tonight,” You eyed his loose button up and black jeans, he wasn’t wearing costume and if he was you had no clue what it was but you didn’t mind. He’d do.

“I wasn’t planning to at first,” You lied, turning to fully face the tall brunette, feeling Theo’s burning gaze on you both now, “But since it’s all you guy’s last year I figured I should come to as many parties as possible this year, don’t you agree?”

You maintained eye contact with Enzo as you lightly bit your lip, watching his eyes fall to watch it bounce back in place before meeting yours again. His eyes lingered in yours for a second as a smile slowly grew on his face. “I’m gonna be honest here, I thought you and Theo might’ve had something going on.” Enzo’s voice was low and intoxicating as he inched closer to you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Theo zoning in on the words spoken between you and his friend with a clenched jaw, no longer trying to hide his annoyance.

You laughed sweetly at up at Enzo as he eyed you with his bloodshot gaze, “Theo? He’s just my brother’s best friend Lorenzo, why would there be anything going on between us?” You had to make an effort to keep your eyes on the lean boy in front of you as his hand found it’s way to your waist, he tugged you closer to him slightly just as the shadow of Theodore Nott engulfed you.

“Walk away Enzo.” The boy in front of you retreated with raised hands and a mocking smile, sending you a wink that made you giggle as he slipped into the crowd, much to Theo’s dismay. Theo’s large hand took in your wrist as he tugged you toward the boys’s dorms. “Aren’t you afraid Draco will see you leave with me Teddy?”

You forced the most sincere voice you could muster, poking out your lip in a dratamatic pout as he turned to you with daring eyes, “I don’t fucking care.” He spat, tugging you into his dorm room before slamming the door shut behind you both.

“What the fuck are you wearing first of all?” Theo snapped, turning to meet your eyes as he loosened the tie around his neck with a huff. You looked down at your dress then back to him with your eyebrows furrowed before simply saying, “A costume.”

“A costume?” He chuckled, poking his tongue into his cheek as he eyed your body again, “That’s barely clothes.” Theo sighed, eyes dead and set into yours before eyeing your outfit again, though this time he didn’t seem to have a problem with it at all.

“It’s the same thing I would have been wearing if you came with me,” You huffed, crossing your arms with a roll of your eyes before meeting his gaze again with a challenging stare.

“That’s different, I’d have been with you.” You narrowed your eyes at him as he spoke, taking in his sentence with a laugh and shake of your head. “So maybe you should have come with me?”

“I would have if it weren’t for your annoying ass brother,” He snapped, stepping closer as you stood your ground in front of his bed. “Speaking of which, I’m just Draco’s best friend now? Last time I fucking checked not all of Draco’s best friends get to fuck you almost every weekend,” He shouted, his eyes bore directly into yours but you didn’t waver. He didn’t scare you and he knew that, but you both knew you probably should have feared him a little.

“Well I guess I could change that couldn’t I, Enzo seemed rather eager, maybe I’ll start with him.” You laughed, biting at your lip and going to turn around before feeling Theo’s large hands dig into your arms, turning you to face him as he shoved you into the end post of his bed.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” His voice was strained, clearly hurt by your jab but you didn’t care, though you probably should have. “Or what?” Your voice dripped with desire as his face edged closer to yours, your thighs clenching together subconsciously and before your knew it his lips were on yours in a hungry kiss. His hands fell to your waist as yours wrapped around to meet in his hair, tugging at it to egg him on as he lifted you just to toss you on his bed.

“You’re a fucking brat.” He growled, crawling up your body as his eyes dug into you before smashing his lips back against yours. Face paint and lipstick smeared together, ending up in each other’s mouths as your teeth clattered together. “Now I’m gonna have to teach Enzo a lesson on who he can and cannot touch because of you.” He whispered into your mouth making you shiver and sending a rush of warmth directly to your core.

Theo’s lips and teeth worked down your neck, nipping at it and leaving a trail of bruises in their wake as his hands worked to push up your dress. You fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking together loudly as you tugged it off of him and tossed it aside before eagerly unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down. Theo quickly moved your panties to the side, lining himself up and meeting your gaze for consent with hooded eyes before filling you up entirely.

He immediately set a ruthless pace, staring into your eyes as he groaned and grabbed at your neck, “If your eyes leave mine you don’t get to come until I say so, understand?”

Your thoughts jumbled together as Theo hit your g-spot over and over, working overtime just to form the word “yes” while Theo picked up his pace. He kept one hand gripping your neck tightly as the other held onto your hip with a brutal grip. “You’re mine Baby, I don’t fucking care who knows anymore. You are mine.” He growled, mostly speaking to himself as he lost himself in your soft walls.

You moaned up at him as you dragged your nails down his toned back pulling a groan from him before wrapping your legs entirely around him and trapping him between them. Theo began speaking Italian down to you, still fucking into you while watching your face intently, you couldn’t understand a single thing he was saying making you glow bright red as he chuckled down to you.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous.” He muttered as his hips smacked against yours repeatedly, filling the room with the obscene combination of the smack of skin mixing with your moans and the creak of the bed drowning out his whispers of praise. “You feel so fucking good baby, I’m gonna fucking cum. Can I fill you up Baby?”

You moaned his named loudly as he tugged you closer to him by your neck, stealing your breath as you desperately mumbled a yes into his mouth. His hips snapped into yours faster as his hand fell between your legs, fingers finding your clit immediately to pull out your orgasm. You clenched around Theo as he hissed and sped of his thrusts, driving into you harder as he stuttered and moaned loudly. Your name repeatedly falling from his lips as he came deep inside of you pushing you over the edge, you clamped around him while your legs shook and your head became cloudy only being able to think of Theo as he fell on top of you completely.

Theo slowly pushed himself up further to look down at you, your face, neck, and shoulders smeared with his face paint and red lipstick just as his was, your hair a mess on his pillows, your eyes teary and staring up at him. He swore he’d never seen anything so perfectly ruined in his life.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Draco stood in the doorway, sighing into his hand after taking in the scene in front of him. His best friend had his sister in their dorm, that they shared. “Eh put a fucking sock on the door next time or something.”

Theo turned quickly as the door slammed shut before he could glimpse his friend, “Does that mean he’s not gonna hex me?” Theo asked, eyes fixed on the cloak swinging back and forth on it’s hook on the door.

~~~~

-HP Taglist-

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#theodore nott oneshot #theodore nott fic #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut #theo nott #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #smut #harry potter #harry potter smut #hp #harry potter oneshot #harry potter fandom #hp fanfic #theodore nott x you #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x fem!reader #theo nott x fem!reader #smut and fluff #halloween #halloween smut #draco malfoy #yn #secret relationship #x reader #angst #hp oneshot #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire

[propertyofwicked]

FIX THAT ATTITUDE - LN

warnings: smut !! MDNI !! semi public sex, fingering, oral (fem!receiving), withholding orgasms, overstim, light choking, unprotected sex, implied aftercare

3.4k words (sorry i had a LOT to say) (not proof read)

masterlist

thank u for 1k!! lemme know if u want more fluff/smut content in the comments - my inbox is also open for requests! <3

“you wanna fix that attitude before i fuck it out of you?” lando whispered harshly in her ear, his hands resting on her hips as he stood behind her. to anyone looking at them, the exchange looked nothing more than a romantic moment between the young couple, but y/n knew better.

she had barely seen him for 3 weeks, with him travelling for races, and then training and meetings when he was home, her behaviour was a cry for help.

she’d tried everything. brushing past his crotch when she walked past him, bending over in front of her vanity to apply her lipstick, even hiking her dress up dangerously high when she sat in the passenger seat of his car, dragging her fingers up his veiny arms when his hand came to rest on her thigh. but still, he didn’t react, he simply smiled at her like she was an angel, softly stroking the top of her thigh without even a second glance in her direction.

she didn’t want to be treated like an angel, she didn’t want soft. she wanted to be fucked from every angle, covered in their sweat. she wanted him to use her until she was sore, legs shaking, clawing at his bare skin for anything to ground her in reality.

so, y/n got to work. complimenting oscar on his suit, smiling a little much and for a little too long at any man that approached her, twirling the ends of her hair around her fingers throughout entire conversations, all whilst ignoring lando, only acknowledging him when she wanted another drink.

he wasn’t stupid, he caught on quickly, but he let her continue. she’d get what she wanted, but he wanted her to work for it. he was jealous, sure, but he trusted her to not take it too far, and god did he find it amusing watching her try so hard to provoke a reaction from him.

“you wanna fix that attitude before i fuck it out of you?”

the unwavering grip on her hip, sure to leave bruises - even through the layers of her dress - lando’s glares and tensed jaw. was she scared? no. was this exactly the reaction she was hoping for? well, she hadn’t worn that short black dress that dropped a little too low on her chest for lando to simply open the door for her and hold her hand like a gentleman. she wanted him, and she wanted him bad. she was desperate for any ounce of his attention.

“i’d love to see you try,” she whispered in response, tilting her head back to rest on his shoulder, so her words could only be heard by him, her back arching as she did. he pulled her waist in roughly, rolling his hips into her slightly.

“you think anyone here could have you writhing underneath them like i do? you think they could make you feel so good you forget your own name? i’d love to see them try,” he added, sending shivers down her spine and straight to the base of her stomach. he said no more, instead, he moved to stand beside her, taking her hand in his and guiding them to sit in a nearby booth. oscar sat opposite them, glancing up in concern at the red flush rising on y/n’s face.

“y/n? you good?” he asked.

“she doesn’t feel too good,” lando answered for her, his hand resting on her thigh, “combination of a long day and too much socialising, i think,” he adds, his eyebrows raising at her when he mentioned socialising.

“you know me,” she interjects, taking the chance to speak for herself, “social situations without a drink in my hand don’t mix.”

the men chuckled lightly at her response, before discussing an upcoming meeting that oscar had forgotten about, all the while, lando’s fingers toyed with the base of her dress, pushing the material further and further up her legs. she was thankful that the large table and dim lighting hid the way her hips rolled into his hand as his fingers came to stroke over the lace of her underwear. he pulled his hand away quickly, moving to grab his drink as she whimpered quietly at the loss of contact.

“you ok, angel?” lando asked her, feigning innocence, as he held the back of his hand up to her forehead, “y/n, you’re burning up,” he added, biting back a smirk.

“there’s an outside area, through that door there,” oscar told them, pointing to his left, “get some fresh air, it might help.”

“thanks, mate,” lando said, pulling the girl up to stand, her hands tugging her dress back down as he did, “ill see you later, yeah?”

the boys nodded a quick bye at each other as the couple walked in the direction of the door, the fresh air engulfing the two of them as the door closed behind them.

“you need to learn to behave yourself,” lando started, glancing around at the empty patio before pushing her roughly against a nearby wall, “whimpering like that when i barely touched you.”

“im sorry,” she replied, kissing his jaw lightly.

“you’re sorry? no, you wanted this. acting up all night like a desperate little whore,” he spat, before pressing a harsh kiss to her lips, his tongue moving into her mouth as their teeth clashed slightly from the force. the kiss was messy and heated, one hand resting on her jaw, the other on her waist as his rolled his hips into hers. she moaned into his mouth, tugging lightly at his curls as he pulled her leg up, his hardening bulge grazing her lace panties, exposed as her dressed rolled further up her thighs.

“not here,” he groaned in her ear, pulling back and letting her leg drop for her to stand.

“you didn’t care before,” she retorted, her hands grabbing at his jaw to kiss him again, “playing with me in front of oscar like that.”

“not risking someone walking out and seeing what’s mine,” he said again, grabbing her hand before walking around to the valet. y/n trailed behind him, taking large steps in a bid to keep up with his pace with only his arm to leverage the distance he put between them.

the car ride was tense, the silence heavy as she waited for lando to do something, anything. instead, both hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. the anticipation had her clit pulsing, blood running hard and fast through her body as she sought for any friction to relieve her. y/n wriggled in her seat, repositioning herself over and over again with no such luck.

“is my pretty girl so desperate she can’t even sit still?” lando taunted, glancing to his side to watch as she sat fully upright, shoes abandoned in the footwell. she brought one leg up on the seat, her head resting on her knee as her free hand moved over the grab his from the steering wheel.

“please, lan,” she begged, guiding his hand to rest on her thigh.

“we’re almost there,” he countered, yet his hand still gripped at the flesh of her thigh, releasing only to stroke his fingers along the skin, closer to her heat.

“just do something, please lan. i’ll do anything you want, just need you now please,” she said, pleading with him again. his fingers grazed her panties finally, pulling the fabric to the side as his fingers slid through her folds softly, coating his fingertips in the wetness she’d built up throughout the evening.

“so desperate, so wet for me,” he said, rubbing small circles into her clit as he patronised her, “couldn’t just behave for one night could you? just had to try and rile me up to get your way, huh?”

“just missed you is all,” she panted out, head rolling back as he pinched at her clit, she was getting close, “wanted you all night, just you.”

“too late for you to act cute, y/n,” he warned, “you wanted this. you’ll get what you want, you just need to be taught a lesson.”

he pulled his hand away, resting it on the back of her head rest as he turned to reverse into the parking spot. she whimpered at the loss of contact, having her climax snatched away from her, her sounds sending blood rushing back to his cock.

this was a game they played, he was never truly mad at her, he knew her bids to make him jealous were just that - bids. he’d do anything to see her smile, anything to be close to her, anything to show his gratitude for every little thing she does for him. if she wanted it rough, she’d get it rough. if she wanted gentle, he’d be gentle.

and right now, she wanted him between her legs.

lando pushed her down on their bed, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her heat closer to him. he pulls at the sides of her panties, toying with the fabric before slowly pulling them down her legs when she moans at him to hurry up. she’s resting on her forearms, staring down at him as he rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up, her hair falling down her back as she rolls her hips up, desperate for him.

“patience, angel. taking my time with you,” he says, breaking the silence. he wraps an arm around her leg, pulling it over his shoulder as he rests his forearm over her stomach, stopping her wriggling. his finger returns to her folds, still slick from earlier, as he pushes a digit inside her, feeling the stretch around him. he pumps into her a few times, before adding a second finger, twisting them into her, feeling the way her walls contracted around them.

“more, please,” she moaned out. he simply chuckled at her.

he ignored her, fingers never faltering as he curled them up in her, hitting a spot that had her struggling to arch her back as he pinned her down into the mattress. he moved his head closer to her heat, dropping it to the side to rest on her leg, lightly kissing at her inner thigh and nipping at the skin. his eyes flittering from looking into hers before moving back to watch as his fingers disappeared inside her. she tightened around him, her breathing heavier as she got closer to finishing.

lando retracted his fingers, pushing her leg from his shoulder as he stood to look down at her.

“what the fuck?” she stated as her orgasm slipped away from her for the second time this evening.

“i told you. good girls get to cum. whores get taught a lesson,” he replied, hovering over her as he pushed the same two fingers into her mouth. she whined at him, muffled as her tongue ran along them, tasting herself.

he moved back, eyes dropping to her chest as he pulled her dress down. he stopped at her breasts, thankful for the lack of bra, as the tight material pushed the flesh upwards, her nipples hardening as he leant down to blow softly on them. one hand propped himself up, the other moved to grasp at the flesh, squeezing it roughly. his head dropped, taking her other nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around them, teeth nipping at the surrounding skin. he dropped his grip on her other breast, fingers moving to tug at her, her back arching, chest rising into his touch.

“love these,” lando groaned, pulling away to look down at her again. her hair fanned around her head, chest rising and falling with hesitant breaths. he dropped to his knees again, face to face with her heat. with no warning, his face dove into her folds, licking a stripe from her hole, nose nudging at her clit.

“taste so good,” he mumbled, though he doubted she heard him, as he moved back to circle his tongue around her clit. his hands pawed at her thigh again, gripping the flesh as she pulled her legs up, wrapping them over his shoulders. lando’s free hand reached up, gripping her breast again, fingers flicking at her nipple. he could hear her moaning out his name, almost like a chant, his trousers growing unbearably tight.

“lan- fuck, so good.”

he groaned in response, sending vibrations through her heat. her legs tightened around his head, desperate for more, trying to hold on to her orgasm.

“im gonn-”

“hold it.” he said, slapping at her thigh lightly.

“i can-” she started, words halted as her climax washed over her. she tried to hold it, but the overstimulation from the previous assaults took over, pushing her to her finish, legs tightening further around his head as her hips rolled up. his nose brushing her clit again as she rode out her high, using his face.

when she caught her breath, her legs relaxed. lando crawled up her body, his crotch pressing against her heat as he did. he held back a moan.

“i told you to hold it,” he said, hand coming to squeeze lightly at the base of her throat.

“i know, im sorry, i tried, im sorry,” she rambled, panting in between each statement.

“i know you tried,” he cooed at her, mocking, as her hands came to undo the buttons of his shirt, pushing the material away from him. his sat back on his knees, taking the shirt off and launching it across the room as she sat back up, resting on her forearms.

she glanced down at his crotch, noticing the way his bulge strained against his suit trousers, the pressure enough that the zip was starting to roll down by itself. y/n’s hand reached out, palming him through the material before fiddling to unzip them fully, tugging the button out from the loop.

“let me make it up to you,” she begged, eyes blown wide as she stared up into his. he nearly folded at the sight, a groan getting caught in the back of his throat. he didn’t respond, he simply leaned forward, laying her back down on the bed as he pressed a heated kiss to her lips, his tongue grazing her bottom lip before pulling back to press kisses along her jaw, his hand returning to squeeze the base of her neck, harder this time.

“not tonight,” he groaned in her ear, rolling his hips over hers slightly.

lando tried to keep up the poker face but she pouted at him, turning her face, as her eyes questioned him. his head dropped to her neck again, sucking lightly at the skin.

“if i even think about you with my cock rammed down your throat, ill cum - and i’d quite like to feel that tight pussy around my dick,” he laughed softly, as did she, her smile sending warmth spreading through his stomach.

her legs raised around his back rolling the two over so that she straddled his waist, his hips jutting upwards at the weight of her sat on his clothed cock. he wriggled the two of them up the bed, so that he sat upright against the headboard, his trousers shuffling down in the processes, his boxers soon after.

his cock sprang up, hitting his stomach. y/n isn’t sure he’s ever been this hard. hell, lando isn’t sure he’s ever been this hard.

her hand moved to him, thumb running over his tip spreading pre cum down his shaft, his sensitivity causing him to momentarily forget who was supposed to be in charge. lando’s hands moved to grab hers, pulling them up to rest on his shoulders, before dropping them back to her waist to raise her hips up above his cock.

“you cum when i say you can,” he stated, eyes staring directly into hers, her eyelids fluttering from exhaustion. she nodded at him. his free hand lined his tip at her entrance, running it through her folds a few times to use her slick to prepare himself. she began lowering her hips, assuming she was taking the lead. however, when she had taken only half of his shaft, his hands gripped her hips, pushing her roughly down, filling her completely.

“fuck,” she whined, as he continued to pull at her hips, the two of them working together to maintain the pace he set as she slid up and back down his cock. his moans filled the room, his head rolling back slightly at the feeling of her tight walls clamping around him every time he bottomed out. one of her hands gripped the headboard, the other playing with the curls at the back of his head as he leant back forwards to take her nipple in his mouth, a free hand helping to grip at her flesh.

“lan, fuck. too big,” y/n whimpered again, as his hips moved to thrust up into her, taking back control of the situation.

“too big?” he laughed, “never complained before,” he added before pressing a kiss on her jaw.

his hand moved back up to her neck, finger stroking the small bruises forming on her skin.

“you think anyone else could fuck you like this?” he asked, his grip around her neck tightening, her eyes shutting at the overwhelming pleasure racking her whole body.

“eyes open,” he told her, and she pried her eyes open to stare into his. her pupils were blown, and he imagined his looked the same, noises escaped her open mouth, no longer able to form words.

“good girl, taking me so well,” he praised her, noticing the way her body began to slump, her walls tightening around his cock as he continued his brutal thrusts into her, “who else could make you feel this good?” he asked her, but she simply whimpered in response, words caught in the back of her throat.

his hand left her neck, slapping softly as her cheek as her eyes closed again.

“who else?” he asked again, tone harsh.

“no one,” she stuttered, “only you.”

“good girl. you gonna come for me?”

she nodded desperately, no longer sure if she was asking him or telling him.

“can you hold it for a little longer?” he asked, eyes looking softly into hers despite the intensity of the pace he set, “wanna come with you.”

“please, lan. i need t-”

“i know,” he leveraged with her, “im almost there baby,” he added, fingers dropping to toy with her overstimulated clit, her body arching forwards so that her head rested on his shoulder, arms tightly wrapping around his back.

she felt his thrusts falter, his pace slowing as his jutted up into her inconsistently.

“that’s it, baby. come with me, come for me.”

she felt herself let go, waves of climax washing over her again as her entire body shook around him. the walls of her heat, tightening and relaxing as she finished, the feeling pulling lando to his own finishes, each contraction milking his cock as ropes of cum shot into her.

the couple fell silent, lando remained inside of her as she curled into him further, both panting, trying to catch their breaths.

“fuck me that was -” she started, unable to find the words to finish her sentence. she didn’t need to though, he knew what she wanted to say as he hummed in agreement. he rolled the two over, pulling slowly out of her as her face scrunched up from the sting. he looked between the two of them, looking at the mixture of both climaxes coating his own shaft and the top of her thighs, leaking onto her dress slightly.

“you wanna shower?” he asked her, resuming domestic conversation between the two.

“i don’t think i can walk,” she said, smiling, as she rolled onto her back and throwing her arms to either side of her body. she was a sight to behold, fucked out, hair messy and the dress they never took off sat scrunched up around her stomach leaving her mostly exposed. he laughed at the sight, not in jest, but admiration for the woman before him.

“come on,” lando said softly, moving round to her side of the bed, “let’s get you cleaned up and into some clean clothes.”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando x reader #lando smut #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #formula 1 #mclaren f1 #mclaren #lando norris fluff #propertyofwicked #oscar piastri #LN4 #OP81

[anastasiabowe]

𝘾𝙃𝘼 𝘾𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂! — Your husbands who just can’t say no to your cute little face, but sometimes that comes with a cost you will have to pay.

note: This one came to me in a DREAM. I want a man like this, so why not make my man like this?🤷🏽‍♀️

Content warnings: overstim, piv, punishment, rich husband, spanking, tough love, swearing, anything else 17+

★ — 𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗜

Nanami loved when you were happy. It wasn’t even a happy wife happy life situation, it was a I love seeing her smile situation. He never denied you of any expensive item you wanted. I mean how could he say no to you? He watched as you practically skipped around the mall with his black card, showcasing it if anyone who glanced at you.

He smirked seeing you happy, but yet he felt a little disappointed by your lack of self control. He knew what he was getting into when he pulled out that million dollar ring. His strong arms were lined with black bags and name brands, your hands only holding his card and one small bag. He didn’t mind though, as long as you were happy!

But don’t think he lets you get away with everything! If you have an attitude after this shopping spree, which you do, he will punish you, and that’s because he loves you! It was an agreement, if you can spend his cash, he can use you, or what he likes to say, “enjoy you.”

“Nanamin!” You whined as your new set of black nails tried to push his stomach away.

“Yes?” His deep, yet professional voice oh so casually responded, despite his deep thrusts.

“P-please slow down! I can’t t-take it!” He chuckled at you, you were too cute to ignore, but this is what you deserve! You spent thousands of dollars today, and when he simply asked “are you almost done?” You give an attitude? Oh no, no, no. You weren’t going to get away with that.

“I’m sorry baby, just wanna show you who’s paying for everything you bought today. Just wanna show you who you were giving an attitude to.” He started to speed up, and you cried from the amount of orgasms you’ve had.

“Just one more, then you can have a break.” He kissed your head, and readjusted his position, you both know it won’t be one more.

★ — 𝗧𝗢𝗝𝗜

Toji hated when you spent his money. And what I mean by hate, I mean he will hand you his card and regret it later. You’re actually a modest shopper. You have a bit of an expensive taste, but you have respect for Toji enough to not go crazy. But when Toji had handed you his card at the mall and gave you and said something back handed, you went a little wild.

You bought new heels, expensive jeans, expensive make up, expensive bags. You swiped his card until your hand had a rectangular shape from how hard you gripped it while you tapped it to the card reader.

When Toji later that night checked all of the receipts (which you purposely got so he could see how mad you were) he nearly blew a fuse. $10,000 worth of items you bought. Even though that is nearly nothing compared to how much is in his bank account, it was the principle of it.

“I give you my fucking card only for you to use it like a fucking piece of plastic.” His hand smacked your left ass cheek, making you dig your nails into his thigh.

“I-I’m sorry!” You cried. He rubbed his hand over the deep red mark, and tsked.

“I bet you are.” He landed two more hits to your left and right cheek. You let out a whimper and he ripped both of your cheeks again.

“$10,000, y/n. What were you shopping for, a house?” He chuckled at his own joke, but you didn’t find this funny. He landed another smack. “What made you think that was ok?”

You sniffled from crying and the rage you felt earlier burned through your body again. “Maybe if you didn’t call me a gold digger, yo I wouldn’t be $10,000 poorer!”

The word “poor” irked something in him he hasn’t felt in a while. He grabbed your hair and pulled your head up.

“I’d watch your fucking mouth, I’m the one who fucking pays for your shit.” He spat, you frown, and your bottom lip slowly popped out. He knew what you were doing, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Nah, don’t pull that shit.” He smirked, but the longer he looked at your face the more guilty he felt.

“Y/n.” He warned. You continued to look at him with that face, and he sighed. “You spoiled brat.” He let go of your hair, and moved you to straddle him.

“Just don’t be spending my money all crazy ‘n shit.” You nodded, and he rolled his eyes.

You always fucking win.

#jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #nanami smut #kento nanami x black reader smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x black reader

[dilftaroooo]

Being perverted strikes naturally within Gojo, so when the idea of being a step brother comes to mind during sex he can’t help but act upon the roleplay. You think he’s gross for it, but his questionable passion for it keeps you engaged (oddly enough).

☆word count: 6.3k+

★tags/tw(18+): dark content + stepc*st roleplay + foot f*tish + toe sucking (f!recieving) + dubcon (because reader is unsure at first) + reader is college-aged/gojo is 28 + squirting + age gap + vanilla sex + pubic hairs + scent kink + implied ass eating + hesitancy + reader is afab using she/her pronouns + mentioned latex kink + use of 'satoru-nii' + established relationship + gojo is a lil' mean + and sassy + lots of kissing + nipple play + creampie + getting caught having s*x + exploring kinks + praise kink + pet names + skull fucking + gag reflex + snot + we're talkin' 'big beefy whore with black compression shirt' gojo here + reader is a bit inexperienced + questions of certain kinks.

☆a/n: hey alexa, play 'poundtown by sexyy red' ayyye come suck a bitch's toooes. enjoy y'all, this shit nasty af.

You’re not a kink shamer.

You understand the sexual thrills of getting off to something that turns one on to the point of fulfilled ecstasy–weighted breaths and skin coated with a sheen of sweat from the unorthodox fantasies that provoke the human mind and manipulate the human body, keeping them bound to the shackles of pleasure as their perversion engulfs them whole. It feels beautiful–ethereal, dare you say, and you get that. Who wouldn’t want to feel blissfully satisfied just by mere thought alone? 

Now, exclusive of the deranged fetishes involving children, scat, or whatever fucked up shit out there that's befitting for a lowlife, you would say that you're a pretty open-minded individual. Always tolerating the naughty anecdotes told by your friends’ concerning their past hookups, distinctively remembering the giggles you all shared when reciting one of the stories from a particular friend that had them clad in a latex suit, lips decorated with ruby red, and three-inched heels coming into contact with the cheek of their previous partner as they squirmed in shameless arousal.

‘It was pathetic to see, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t get me going…’ And that mutuality between both parties is what makes it even more fun. They both get a kick out of something they enjoyed, so what’s to hate about it?

You’re not a kink shamer–not at all.

You and your boyfriend of a year and four months, Satoru Gojo, always carried the qualities of a couple depicted in unrealistic romance movies: the nuzzle of the nose that tickled your cheek before delving in for a peck, the surprise hugs he’d startle you with as you prepared an early morning breakfast, as well as the intertwined fingers while you both make your way to his favorite bakery (his kisses are even more sugared after scarfing down the kikufuku he’d order no more than a minute ago).

You always felt like the princess to his prince, stumbling over your gown to keep up with his hurried footsteps as you both venture through the gracious evergreen of a mythical forest. You have no time to remove the pastel violet and pink petals slotting themselves in your locks since your hand remains occupied with Satoru’s, moving exquisitely to the melodic song of the nightingales. It was a dream from a childhood storybook.

Moreover, what was revealed in public was, undoubtedly, the same in the comfort of your bedroom, living at your university’s on-campus apartment that you shared with two indifferent roommates. He would frequently stop by after work to spoil you with his affection. Always asking how your day was and whether or not you finished your assignments.

He was a tad bit older than you–twenty-eight and going, but you didn’t mind the age gap, it gives you all the more reason to tease him for his ‘old’ age, to which he responds with a pout and furrowed eyebrows, ‘Oh, how mean! Who would’ve ever thought that my darling angel could be such a devil…?!’ He’d say with faux anguish. He knows you’re only playing around–such the jokester.

Though, he couldn’t say the same for you in bed. Protected by the warmth of your sheets, you relished at how accustomed your body and soul were to his heartfelt transactions, vanilla-flavored sex, so sweet and tasteful on your tongue as he kissed you with want. Tongues twirling a sensual dance as your lips combine in rhythmic harmony. You also loved it when he coos in your ear, reminding you of how you’re so good to him before wrapping his lips around puffy areolas in a way that makes you writhe.

He’s so gentle with you. Handling a fine china cabinet with the utmost care, he makes sure he touches you in ways that wouldn’t break your fragile body. And when your nude skin presses against his as a result of his thrusts to your core, he reminds himself to get you moaning in his ear and get your hands gripping against the muscular curvature of his back.

It feels good. It always feels good. So, why does a part of you feel…bored?

The love is there, you won’t question that. When you come, you feel as though you’re one with the stars. And above all, he praises you. It’s nothing new, but in this context, you like to be his ‘pretty girl’ whenever the tip of his nose pushes against your wet clit. So, why do you feel like something is missing? You don’t know.

You haven’t been in many relationships. The last one you remember was in high school, dating a boy who only loved you out of teenage fever, and you shamefully admit that you reciprocated his confession. You were both young and unknowing of what the aspects of ‘love’ really meant. You never went past the boundary of hand-holding and cheek-kissing, so it remained stagnant until the moment you both broke up.

None of it was mutual, however. You can recall how distraught you were as you bawled in your mother’s arms, asking her what you did wrong while she soothed you with maternal pets to the crown of your head. That being said, it’s safe to say that you really don’t know what’s missing from you and your boyfriend’s intercourse–like, really.

But, thankfully, Satoru makes up for what you lack, telling you not to fret since he knows a lot and letting you know how much he’s been wanting to get to this point of intimacy with you–wanting to whisk his girlfriend away from the comfort zone that you’ve grown so attached to.

Satoru is without exception, enthusiastic to portray more during times of intercourse, yearning to teach you more than just the fluffy, domestic sex you both indulge in. It’s lovely and all, bleh bleh, whatever, Satoru gets it, but, man, what he wouldn’t do to see you on your knees, between his sinewy thighs parted for your form as he hovers above you, your head tilted upwards to take in his thick shaft through wet lips.

He’d make sure his red, throbbing tip hits the back of your throat so he can hear that sickening gag scurry out your mouth paired with the sloppy froth of your saliva slapping against his heavy balls with each quick thrust. He’d be too occupied to find the snot dribbling from your nose revolting because you’d be taking him in so deep.

That’s forever been his little fantasy–that amongst the vast amount of others. And to try each and every one of them with you would be a delight.

After you confessed to Satoru, you couldn’t help but notice how peculiar his ministrations started to get. It was gradual–starting with spanks on your ass to eating said ass. You’ll even bring up the time he used your feet to get off. It caught you off guard, you’d admit.

That day he had you pliable–on your knees with the left apple of your cheek flushed in the pillow beneath you and arms resting idly on your sides as you allowed your enthralled boyfriend to take the lead.

You assumed he was just gonna spit on your already-soaked pussy before massaging your puffy clit in the teasing, clockwise motions he likes to test you with, cock oozing with leakage before languidly gliding upwards to push in-between your cunt lips, but what you didn’t assume he’d do was trace his slimy precum against the soft skin of your toes to then rub his tip across your soles.

You tried to retract your feet away from him (toes wiggling in the process which had them accidentally graze across his balls. You could’ve sworn you heard him hiss) and protest his weird behavior but Satoru was already three steps ahead, firmly gripping both feet and nearly squishing them together if it wasn’t for the thick base of his cock preventing them from touching.

Each thrust he made ached with raw fervor and fuck him from being incapable of suppressing his passion because he couldn’t help but look down and see your cute pussy pucker and asshole twitch. What a sight for sore, cerulean eyes. Just as sore as your ass after he slapped it with an ever-so-firm hand, silently thanking his calluses for the rough impact.

He found it adorable how your shimmering entrance craved for insertion, winking rhythmically at him as though it’s saying, ‘Please fill me up, ‘toru! ‘M so lonely without you…’ (he chuckles to himself at the personification when done in a high-pitched tone).

But your pussy always gets his attention. You have another hole too, ya’ know–one that sits right above it, unused and virginal. Just imagine his excitement as he leans forward, cock still buried at the innermost part of your feet, to take a closer look. He’d smile at your coyness when you felt his hot breath blow on your skin, unsure of his next move.

In this new position, he can trace the faint smell of sweat emerging from you, and God, does that turn him on. More than it already does. So of course he had to steal a taste, trailing a fat strip of saliva against the rim, you squeal at the warm and wet feel of his tongue touching a place it had never been before,

“S-Satoru…what the fuck!” You jolted before moving from your position, migrating to any spot as long as it's far from your lover. You’ll never forget the sleazy look on Satoru’s face as both corners of his rosy lips tilt upwards for a cocky grin–yuck.

It grossed you the fuck out.

Not in a way that antagonizes your boyfriend, you love him too dearly to feel as such, but in a way that questions his morals. Why on earth would someone like Satoru want to be minimized to using the bottom of your soles for pleasure or savor the briny taste of sweat that builds up around the tight ring of your ass? I-I mean, you excrete from there, for God’s sake! That’s gross, especially in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

You understand that he likes doing it, but why? How could something so perverse and dirty get him hard so quickly? Where’s his shame? His humiliation? His guilt? Were they not present whenever he sneaks a lick at your toes?

Perhaps you are trying to understand–who wouldn’t want to indulge in their lover’s feet, to caress the tough surface of their heels, and lead up their toes, to draw soft lines against them with plush lips as their medium before dipping them inside the wet cavern of their mouth and sucking the small digits before swirling their tongue and–ugh!–no! No, no, no, that’s sick! How can one do such a thing with ease? You can’t possibly imagine that.

But you’re not a kink shamer…right?

Your question remains unanswered, though, as you’re interrupted by Satoru’s moistened kisses trailing down the curve of your neck. You must’ve been in your daze for quite some time considering that the camisole top and loose shorts you lounge in took their positions on your bedroom floor. 

“Come back to me, baby.” You hear your boyfriend murmur and you deliberately oblige by running your digits through the white sea of his mane, wild and free as your fingers feather against his roots. He hums with love before leaving a kiss that's sloppier than the previous one. It starts with your usual routine, with soft and tenderhearted sex.

He pecks at your clavicle and you whimper in return as silvery lashes tickle the most sensitive areas of your skin. The passionate atmosphere continues to flow within the four walls of your room–containing your moans and your kisses and your touches, reverberating them in your heated figures while filling you both with distinct pleasure. It was good so far.

“Have any ideas in mind for tonight, sweetheart?” His voice is muffled as he joyfully sucks at the skin between the valley of your breasts, teeth clasping over the hot flesh to induce a mark darker than what your skin tone provides. You hold onto the fabric of his black shirt, soundlessly wondering why he is still garbed in unbreathable polyester while you remain bare save from your panties.

Lolling your head to the side in thought, you dwell on his question. Should you have something in mind? This isn’t the same as getting asked where to eat for dinner, per se. And owning to your inexperience with sex and fetishes, you’re incapable of bringing anything to the table in this sense.

You open your jaw, mouth filled with saliva due to the raunchy actions performed by your boyfriend onto your supple body, ready to speak your retort as you lick your chapped lips in preparation, but, Satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” It’s like he was born to study you. Your eyes travel to his person again, orbs resting upon Satoru’s scalp as you wait for him to finish. “Nothing in that gorgeous head of yours. It’s okay, though. I don’t blame you. I know an amateur like you wouldn’t have anything planned.” 

As might be expected, your brow raises at his comments slightly glazed with a patronizing drip, it’s gotten your attention, all right, as you turn your head to glare down at him. He’s sucking on your nipples this time and you forge a jerk but don’t falter, perked up by this newfound attitude from your loving partner.

“Oh?” You start and it carries the same uppity weight as his tone. “And I suppose you have it all figured out?”

He nods right after gazing up at you with arctic globes saturated with a heavy rush of sincerity and you can already feel the dreamy sigh materializing in your throat but never emerging. Satoru immediately sniffed out the indignance behind your words like a trained bloodhound. He rises from his spot upon your heaving chest to travel his way to the swoll of your chin, apologizing with a quaint kiss. 

“I do,” His smile is affectionate. “You know I always do, sunshine.” You gasp once something hard nudges against your squishy thighs before poking the outermost part of your panties.

“-Always think of something for that little cunt.” It isn’t long before it's cast to the side for clear access to your glimmering slit, doused in slick because your boyfriend had a remarkable way of handling you. He didn’t miss the embarrassed mewl of his name when he used filthy words.

He also didn’t miss the pull of air you took in as his thick finger swept up your bodily remnants, coating the fingertips of his middle and ring finger. You voluntarily buck your feeble hips in desire for him to push through your entrance but you know he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “You know, it gets me going when we do stuff like this when others aren’t around–when we do something so forbidden.” 

What–?

“Forbidden…?” Each syllable muddles your tongue as you ponder on its meaning: something that typically isn’t allowed or accepted–you’re not unaware, it’s a simple word, but is that the word he meant to say? “Why would it be forbidden? You’re my boyfriend, are you not?” Unless there’s something you’re unknowing of.

Perhaps he has a wife that he kept hidden in the shadows of his past. What if one wife turned into several wives? Maybe he’s a bloodthirsty murderer, ready to indulge in his next killing after getting you to trust his charming blue eyes and pink-liped smile. You don’t exactly know what the forbidden aspect of it all that he’s keeping from telling you-

You hear him ‘tsk’ and you assume it was meant to be taken seriously but it seems covered in mockery.

“Hah, Boyfriend? Have you no shame?” And he chuckles deep and grimy. “Don’t act like don’t know, dear.” You honestly don’t. “What would our parents think if they saw you, my sweet, little sister, grinding her greedy pussy against her older brother’s fingers?”

Oh.

Oh God.

Gritting your teeth for an evident cringe, you hurriedly toss your head to the side to break eye contact (how did he even manage to hold it for that long despite what he just said?!). There’s no way he’s doing this. Out of all kinks…

“For the love- Satoru. Stop, that’s fucking-” A sharp whine halts your sentence, stressed to the point of exaggeration. You don’t bother looking back up at him, already imagining his brows creasing with complaint at your disgusted remark.

“Ehh, what happened to ‘Satoru-nii’?” You almost would’ve forgotten the fingers sketching light circles on your sensitive button, going in for a pinch before tapping it aimlessly due to its slippery surface.

You clench your thighs together but Satoru’s heaping form prevents you from doing so. He’s a big mass of muscle reminiscent of a bull–broad shoulders along with thickened veins peeking through tough skin in the forms of streams, carrying the pulsing blood flow of adrenaline and transporting through each significant section of the body to energize his raging carnality.

“Are my fingers dwindling your vocabulary already? I just started using this pussy, sugar plum.”

A part of you wanted to believe he was joking–trolling like he usually does on literally every occasion. He knows how acquiescent you were in situations like these. So easily obedient to follow his golden rule when clinging to his hip, taking full advantage of your attributes to get you to do the perverted shit that spoiled his brain to corruption.

Of course, there’d be times when you’d retaliate, shouting out a brief ‘no’ before leaving the conversation unfinished, but it’s okay because he can butter you up to your good side. Use his words and his hands to do the convincing. Satoru has attributes of his own too.

But gazing into his eyes and seeing how aquatic blue dissolves into crimson red, only driven by lust, tells you he’s serious.

You look off to the side once more because staring at your nightstand is more soothing than staring at your deviant boyfriend. Out of all kinks, why this one?

“I don’t,” You close your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself free from his piercing glare. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You weren’t about to do this. You weren’t about to play into his wicked fantasies of being a relative of any sort. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.

“Don’t be like that, babe.” He mutters softly as if other people were in the room, prying with open ears to catch whatever dialogue is being transmitted between the two of you. A fingertip taunts at your sloppy entrance, just barely shoving past its tight grip. Sexual anticipation surged through your core at his ministration (his giggles at your hopelessness didn’t help you any). “You won’t know unless you try. Come on, do it for me?”

He’s too cute to refuse when your peripherals pick up his bottom lip raising upwards for a pout and feather-like lashes fluttering over glossy, blue orbs. Practically, begging you to follow through with this look alone–if only he wasn’t so handsome and used his charm against you in every way possible. God damn it-

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Then you’re my antidote.”

You exhale in defeat since you unfortunately realize there’s no way out of this. Satoru’s too adamant to get you to play along with him, it’s insane. Turning your head to fully face him, which feels like the one-millionth time you’ve done so, you look him in the eye before aiming at the button of his nose, upturned and perky. Mentally getting ready to produce the God-forsaken words you are about to utter.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You start and the way Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas irks you. 

You still feel mortification swirl in your skull like second nature. Your cheeks feel hot and it hurts–were you really about to do this?

Satoru was still teasing you to no end. Teasing that doubtlessly wet pussy with expertise. He was killing you by not giving you what you craved, only remaining on the surface as he waited for your verdict. Just one more push, one more shove and you’ll get there.

“And why is that?” He inquires.

Your bottom lip quivers with hesitation before an erotic groan escapes you. He’s so close to putting them inside. “Because you’re-” You pause to wait for a sliver of courage to finish your sentence. You’re not sure if you can-

“...I’m?” He continues.

You both catch on to the shaky breaths you’re letting out, two separate bodies feeling two separate emotions, one agitated and the other electrified.

“You’re my,” You tense but Satoru loosens. “-my b-brother.” He’s the Cheshire cat as of now. You wail once two fingers invade your thirsty hole, entering with a mushy squelch.

“And what is it that we’re doing, huh? What is it that we’re doing that would be so revolting to the public eye, hm? Tell me.” Can he stop pushing you already, for crying out loud?

“You fingering my, my,”

“You got it, keep going.”

“...fingering my p-pussy.”

Satoru cherishes your hesitance and rewards you, his obedient puppy. 

Digits curl upwards in search of that sensitive g-spot resting amongst your gushy insides. If applied enough pleasure, he’d be able to see how your back arches off your cotton sheets. Your mouth opens for a silent scream as the force of his fingers supports the buildup of liquid passion, pounding the area in addition to his palm rubbing your stiff clit the deeper he goes.

“There you go, my sweet girl, my gorgeous, little sister.” He fingers you harder and sucks at your erect nipples–when did they get so hard? As a matter of fact, when did your body feel so hot and needy? As though you’re deprived of something. 

Your boyfriend sucks at your tit before biting the small nub, grazing his teeth along sensitive skin for a chomp, causing your hands to fly to his head and grip the fur of his undercut, all while wincing in pain. He retracts his head with your nipple still in his mouth, giving it a stern tug like an elastic rubber band. You would have cursed him out if it wasn’t for the fingers still beating at your nether regions.

“Ah, S-Satoru!” He bites harder and you remember his request from earlier. “Satoru-nii.”

As if you hear a winner's buzzer, he hums in approval and releases before gorging his lips around the other one, gently guzzling it this time, skillfully whirling his wet appendage around the nub in combination with hungry sucks. He unloosens with an obnoxious, wet pop!

“M’so glad your mom married my dad. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little sister’s pussy like how I’m doing now. Wouldn’t that be so sad?!” He inquires gleefully. “I’d be so miserable–jerking myself off to meaningless porn when I could be stuffing my big dick deep inside your aching cunt. Hearing you moan out how much you love your older brother for making you squirt your sticky juices all over me. You even got your hairs trimmed in the way you know I love.”

The sound of fabric grinding against fabric fills your ears as he maneuvers his head to reach down to your pelvis, stuffing his nose on top of the shortened pubes, his mouth hangs dangerously over your clitoris.

He takes in a deep breath like he’s smelling the fresh air of healthy trees and freshly cut grass, basking in your heady scent while feeling his cock go rigid in the plush of your mattress. 

Too aroused to feel embarrassed, you buck your hips so you can finally get his mouth on your itching button and he finally compels, switching between sucking in your clitoral hood and tonguing your labia. Satoru moves his fingers faster in hopes of provoking your climax. He knows your proximity by noting the way your thighs tremble and toes spread across your sheets.

You finally get to the stage you’ve been craving since the beginning of this session. Releasing your fluids onto your awaiting boyfriend, the grip at the nape of his neck more powerful than before, you squeal a brief ‘Satoru-nii!’ as he proceeds to lap at your overstimulated pussy. He’s now sparkling with your juices. Satoru sits up on his knees after wrapping his buff arm around the width of your shoulders to hoist you up and get you closer to his thighs, your figure remains seated as you process what he wants you to do–he wants you to suck him off.

So you lean your sweat-stained face over his clothed member and unwrap it like a Christmas present you’d save for last because it's so big. His cock springs up rudely and smacks at his now naked abdomen (when did he take off his shirt?) with a loud clap. His abs are so detailed and his pecks puff out in pride while he looks down on you, like his little servant.

He controls the length of his cock with a stern hand and traces ivory white lipstick over the plump of your mouth, a hazy web of precum connecting to your upper lip.

“Wrap those beautiful lips over my cock, darling angel. You know it makes me happy to see you stuffed full with my dick, no matter the hole.” He cheeses when he hears a quick scoff come out of you.

You listen anyhow, swallowing the tip of your big brother’s rod, hallowing your cheeks like a skeleton to circling your tongue around its rosy circumference. You feel your remaining cum dribble onto your bed when you hear him make a guttural moan from above. Clenching his ass cheeks as fingers place themselves on top of your head like an armrest, laying idly as of now.

“Oh shit, baby, yeah, just like that. Keep sucking me off juuust like that.” He bucks his hips impatiently once you decide to devour him up to the mid-base, continuing the actions of sucking in your cheeks to tighten around his cock. “Fuck!” He mewls before chuckling humorlessly.

He stares down and you look up. Your eyelids roll back til they’re just below your brow ridge to catch sight of azure undertones. You were just about to wonder why he was tittering until pressure made its way to both sides of your head. When his pearly white smirk twinkled under dim lighting, that's when you knew-

“Hmphh,” The noise was pitiful when subdued by the heavy weight of Satoru’s cock.

“Hold still, pretty girl.” He coos before pushing his hips back and applying the same manner to your head as he controlled you effortlessly and then thrusting forward and forcing your head to do the same. His balls slap on impact with your chin when he buries himself deep into the hot cavern of your throat, you have your nostrils planted on the silvery wisps of his pubes, reeking of potent masculinity. He leaves you in that position, powerless as he ignores the smacks to his meaty thighs.

“Hold it,” He warns. His voice is pitched below the Earth’s surface. “Gotta teach you how to please big bro properly.” You fight hard as his tip keeps irritating the thing that hangs at the back of your throat, trying to oppose your body from naturally activating your gag reflex but it ends up being fruitless. Your throat convulses as it bulges with his cock print and you cough out an ugly sound. Your vision blurs once you feel your eyes start to water up. You want him to move back already!

“Good.” It’s like he heard your thoughts because he finally retracts from his perfect spot lodged in your gullet. His swollen tip tickles the surface of your lips as you gasp several breaths of air. Just what was he thinking? You could’ve puked!

“What the hell was- mmph!” Halted by another intrusion of his cock burying itself in the pits of your throat, you muffle out a sound of surprise. You couldn’t believe it.

Satoru starts, “Less talking from you, sunshine. I wanna hear you slobber on my dick. Think you can do that for me?” He quickens up the pace of his thrust, going at the speed of someone walking. You gag disgustingly at each thrust and you can feel snot starting to leisurely slip from your nose (just what he wanted to see).

“That’s a messy girl, my messy sister. Got you, hah, so worked up you even got snot dripping from your nose and your spit running down my balls. Oh, you don’t know how much I longed for this.” He resumes his praises and tips back his head for a howl, feeling himself approaching his end as he hears you glurg, glurg, glurg on his veiny member.

“Oh shit, shiiit…!” Suddenly, you’re abruptly pushed off of him, freeing your esophagus from the restraint. Your back lands on the bed with a thud, your landing protected by your doughy comforter. Satoru stands motionless as he recovers from edging himself to oblivion. Biting his lip, his cock twitches up and down before it gradually remains unmoving.

You don’t even remember it happening, but you’re already restricted underneath Satoru’s panting body, thighs folded backward for a mating press, squeezing your squishy tits together, and feet perched on top of his shoulders. He takes his infamous spot between your legs, his overworked hands, decorated in calluses and scars, cuff around the underside of your knees.

He gifts you a heated kiss on your lips. “‘Toru-nii-” You say while struggling to keep up with his tongue. He breaks away from you and the string of saliva snaps into two.

“I hear you, baby, want me inside you already, I know, hear you loud ‘n’ clear.” His tip finds your entrance and it's sopping wet tenfold. He’s never seen you so needy in his life. He pushes in slowly and smoothly. Relishing your moans as he delves within you inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. You squirm in lascivious desire each time he enters you.

“I know, sugar, I know…” He soothes you upon hearing your sobs go up an octave. His head rests at the empty spot next to your neck and his hair tickles the crevice. “Almost there.”

As soon as he sinks deep in your warm cunt, he pecks your cheek with a softness that resembles duck feathers in a pillow before plummeting into you. A pornographic squelch resounds through your room.

“Hnn, T-Toru-nii is, so deep, ah, in my pussy!” You yelp. He’s so glad you’re still following his gross footsteps. So dazed by his cock hitting every ridge nestled within you.

“Yes, that’s right, little sis. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, right?”

You give a nod, “Yes, I will. I always will. Just f-for you.”

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s what I like to hear.” 

He inclines his torso backward, finding his attention on the feet placed at each side of his shoulders, more specifically, the one to his left as he grabs your ankle with ease, stroking the bone and putting your pedicured toe between wanting lips, your french tips hitting the roof of his mouth while lapping at your salty skin.

His pelvis hammers into you at a steady rate in combination with the gushes emerging from both sexes, it's so damn loud, you’re quite sure your Resident Assistant will come banging at your door frantically, telling you to lower it down because of the noise complaints that lead to your room.

You giggle, not just at the thought but at how much it tickles to feel Satoru’s tongue swirl around each toe.

“Satoru, that tickles.” You quip and the aforementioned man stares at you with knowing lids, purposely tasting your soles which have you trying to take your foot away, but the position you’re in makes it impossible.  

You feel as though hours go by as your older brother pushes on with fucking you silly and having a makeout session with your foot. His v-line collides with your poor pussy on every steady beat and you can’t help but let your earlier accusations fall from your mind like slippery soap.

The revulsion, the distaste, the discomfort–all of which were confined in a silk-woven case, trapped and compacted hitherto its evolution of approval. Although tentativeness plagues its cycle, the result remains beauteous as a cherry red butterfly protrudes through the rotten surface of the cocoon. The successful escapee finally swarms the sky with a setting sun.

It feels good. You feel good. Your pussy feels good as your step brother pounds it with intent–with purpose. You wiggle like a fearful worm ready to be eaten once the need to release creeps up slowly.

“My little sister always manages to feel so good. This pussy is just gripping me so fucking tightly and-” He stops abruptly and so do your moans as you hear your front door creak open.

The sound of jiggling keys and the chaotic trembling of plastic bags alert both your ears as you hear the door slam shut accompanied by a relieved sigh. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand–‘10:35 PM’. One of your roommates is back from work. Coming home to rest easy from their enervating shift, she wants nothing more than to take a scalding hot shower, laze in her bed, and listen to nothing but silence as she drifts off to sleep.

But before those temptations come into play, she first wants to check up on you to see if you’re still in your room. Walking up sluggishly to your door, she raises a hand to prepare a few knocks while you and Satoru both stare wide-eyed at the shadow that occupies the crevice beneath your bedroom door–still like Michelangelo's statues.

“Hey, (Name), you in there?” The pause is long as you look up to Satoru and see his gaping mouth transform into a smirk before turning your attention to the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You ask, slightly hoping that your answer will satisfy her queries on your safety before retreating to her room.

“After work, I took a quick trip to the store for some wings and frozen pizza if you’d like some. Even got honey-barbeque-” You smile at her gentle antics. She remembered your favorite flavor.

“Oh, thanks, I really appreciate th-oh!” You’re stopped once Satoru resumes pounding your sloppy pussy. You cover your mouth in an attempt to conceal your yap but a strong hand grabs both wrists to cuff them above your head.

“Keep talkin', sis. Can’t leave mom pondering, now can we?” He whispered with precaution. That devious little-

“H-Hey? Are you okay?” The squishy slaps of both Satoru’s precum and your wet fluids compose a cacophonic symphony. Shit, if he keeps going, you’ll- 

“Yeah, m-mhm. I-I’m, fuuuck, fine.” Satoru grins maniacally above you his hot breath pasts your cheek and into your ear. The tip of his cock abuses your cervix as he compacts you tightly under giant muscle, arms littered with bulging purple and blue veins as he keeps you steady. His pubes tickle your clit whenever his hips kissed yours. Both breaths were getting heavy.

“Are you sure, you sound…sick.” Her words were laced with worry as she stood there, unmoving. “Do you need for me to come in?”

Satoru finds her naivety hilarious but decides it's time to break the barrier. He does so by raising his hips to an exaggerated extent before hammering back into you, the sound much louder than before as clapping fills the atmosphere. He guarantees your roommate will pick it up. Which she does.

“Wait, are you-” She gasps when she hears your sobbing moans echo in her ears. “Oh my God.” You’re too fucked stupid to give a reply when she blurts out an embarrassed ‘sorry!’ before taking hurried footsteps away from your door.

“Guess we scared her off, huh?” Knowing damn well he was the one who only made the effort to let your roommate know you were being pounded to oblivion. “Think she’s gonna tell everyone about this? Tell everyone how her son and daughter ruin the family name because we were caught fucking each other in your room?” He’s quick to pick up in your roleplay.

“Hnngh, I don’t know, ‘Toru.”

“I’m quite sure she will. What do you say, sweet girl, how about we both give a real reason to soil the family name and let me come in this pussy?” His thrusts start to stutter with each filthy word–cream drips from your cunt and down to the tight rim of your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you groan quietly.

“Answer me now, sweetheart, or Satoru-nii is gonna-”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck. Please come inside me, please, ‘don’t care about anyone in this family but you! Come inside me, Satoru-nii!”

With that being said, he fulfills your wish by giving you one, big thrust and stilling his cock deep in his little sister’s pussy to pump his hot seed in increments. Whimpering loudly as he does so. His face contorts in the cutest grimace that you wish you could smooch. You heavily breathe in unison until he pulls out of you (fingering his remaining cum back into your fluttering hole).

He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and lastly your lips before saying, “You did so well for me.”

And it’s after this session that have you thinking–‘perhaps you do get it’.

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk smut #jjk x reader #tw:stepcest #tw:foot/fetish #tw:dubcon

[fangirl-dot-com]

Charles Leclerc - Arthur, you are not French...yeah Charles, drag his ass!

I’ve been excited to write this chapter! I know that reader is a Red Bull driver, but I am a Tifosi through and through. Charles holds such a special place in my heart (but so does Max). I feel like one of those “breaking my silence – how I got into F1,” low and behold, I got into the sport from that one Ferrari thirst trap where Charles is lying on the couch. Yeah, you know, that one. 

Anywho, I write these little things before I even get to writing the story and sometimes I don’t even know where I’m going with it. I know it's not Christmas yet, but the people spoke - SO HERE WE GO!

Sadly, the tag list is closed to do us reaching the 50 people mark! I never thought that I’d get there though with my story! So thank you to every one of you for making that happen! 

Like always, comments, questions, concerns, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love you all &lt;;3 

Your beanie had started to itch. You had needed it outside due to the cold weather, but now that you were in the car with the heat cranked, it was starting to get a little too warm. As you pulled up to the red light, your hand quickly yanked the hat off. Not to your surprise, your hair was sticking in all directions. That’s ok, you could fix it before you walked into the house. The light turned green, and you had to remind yourself that this was a regular car, on a regular street. Not a hybrid-engine-ran rocket ship that exceeded 300 kilometers per hour on sweet Grand Prix asphalt. 

This year, you had finally accepted Arthur’s invitation for Christmas. Earlier, you had done Christmas morning and afternoon with Max, Kelly, and Penelope. It was everything you could have wished for. And now you were going to spend the rest of the evening with your best friend and his family. You were a tab bit nervous. Sure, you had met them on a handful of occasions, but you tried not to get too close. They were always at grand prixes for Arthur, not you. 

You glanced at the presents that were stacked on the passenger side. The most important one, however, was placed in a bag on the floor. You were not about to let that fall over and possibly break. You knew it was made to be sturdy, but you couldn’t be sure. Arthur had given you the gate key. You pulled up to the little black box and pressed the numbers. You rolled your eyes as you realized that it was just Charles’s and Arthur’s racing numbers squished together. 

Arthur had also reminded you that Lorenzo was not going to be joining due to him being at his wife’s family’s for the holiday. That was one less person to impress you had told yourself. 

You pulled into their driveway and parked your car. It was not as impressive at Charles’s custom 488 Ferrari Pista Spider. It wasn’t as if you were almost drooling at the sight of it. Knowing yourself, you’d probably be too scared to drive it to actually enjoy it. Max also had a Ferrari, maybe he’d let you drive it. 

In a parking lot and not exceeding 5 kph. You snorted. Yep, that was Max. 

You did however, have your eye on two special cars. But you wanted to wait a bit before purchasing. You Pinterest board was full of different ideas, but you had to be careful. Maybe Christian could help you out with purchasing. You technically hadn’t bought this car, it was a gift from Lorenzo. You wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it might be nice to have more than one car. Besides, multiple drivers had multiple cars. You’d just join their ranks. 

Juggling the presents, you walked to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Your face was hardly visible over the tops of the boxes. The door opened and a familiar voice sounded. 

“Mon Dieu, let me help you.” Presents were being taken from the big stack. 

“Thank you Charles.” You prided yourself on being one of the few people who could recognize the difference between Arthur’s and Charles’s voices. He didn’t reply as he took the presents farther into the house. You followed him through the door and toed off your shoes. Your eyes caught all the lights and decorations in the house. Growing up, you didn’t have such things. Your family always said that being in karting was always going to be your present. Nothing more, nothing less. There were no cookies for Santa and no tree to decorate. 

As you walked more into the warm house, the decorations just kept getting better. Where Max’s house was decorated by Kelly who like a clean Christmas aesthetic, the Leclerc household leaned towards the warmer decorations. The lights didn’t necessarily match and flickered colorful light. The stockings weren’t the same color: they showed personality that matched their owner. Even the ornaments weren’t all from the same container. You found Charles staring down at the presents that he had taken from you. 

“Who are these for?” he turned his head to look at you. 

You snorted, “They’re for your family.” His eyes widened as he rubbed his chin. 

“You didn’t have to.” 

You only shrugged as you began to take off your coat, “I felt like I did. You all have been so kind to invite me here on a holiday that I couldn’t come empty handed.” Charles gestured for your jacket and you gave it to him. 

“You can look around some more if you’d like to. Arthur and maman will be back from the store soon.”  Your cheeks heated at the thought of him catching you ogling at his home. You shook the thought away and looked at everything a little bit closer. 

Like all homes seemed to have, there was a wall filled with picture frames. Some were of each child; some had the full family. It was nice to see all 5 of them together in the center one. You cocked you head at one of them though. You all but tiptoed to get a closer look. It was one of Charles and Arthur, and then an unfamiliar but familiar man stood between them. 

“That’s Jules. If you were wondering.” 

You jumped in place, not noticed that he had snuck up behind you. You looked over and saw that a sad smile had graced his face. Arthur had told you little about him. Charles and Lorenzo would always have been much closer to him. 

“I met him once. During karting,” you trailed off. Charles raised his eyebrows. 

“Really?” It seemed as though the breath had been knocked out of him. 

You gave him a comforting smile, “Yeah. My race was right after yours. I think it was back in 2010,” you looked back at the picture, “and you won that day. I watched him cheer for you like he was the proudest person there that day. He was in a racing suit and had a helmet. I thought that he had come straight from a race or something. But, I only remember wishing that I had someone there for me like you had.” 

Charles now had a guess as to what day that was. He vaguely remembered finally beating Max and feeling so happy. But, he didn’t remember Jules having a helmet. He took the picture down so that the two of you could look closer. It was definitely not taken the day that you were talking about, but the way you talked about him intrigued Charles. He gave you a head nod, silently saying to continue. 

“That day, I also won my race. It hadn’t been the easiest, but the boys were too busy pushing each other off that they didn’t even notice me. I was able to overtake and win. The boys though, weren’t the only ones who didn’t notice. My parents weren’t around when I looked for them. I must have turned around so many times, just trying to find them, but I never did. I had taken my kart back to my station when someone tapped me on the shoulder. He scared the ever-loving crap out of me, but he held my shoulder and told me that I did a great job.” 

Your eyes were slightly watering at the confession. Charles just continued to look at you. 

“I knew who he was. He was the man who always cheered for the Justin Bieber look-a-like who liked to push a certain Dutchman off the track, into a puddle, and claim it was just an inchident.” Charles snorted. 

“I did not look like Justin Bieber.” 

“Whatever floats your boat.” He gave you a look. “American expression. Anyway, after he said that he gave me a hug before my dad came stomping over, complaining about something, I don’t even remember. But all I know is that he made my entire day. My godfather wasn’t able to visit that much or come see me race. So, it was nice to have someone in my corner, even if they weren’t truly there for me.” 

Charles hung the picture back on the wall. The two of you stood there for a quiet moment before Charles spoke up. “How’s your godfather?” 

You inhaled sharply. “He died in 2020. Caught some illness in 2018 and wasn’t able to recover.” 

It broke Charles’s heart to hear you talk about it so nonchalantly. 

“Does Arthur know?” 

You nodded your head. “He caught me crying the first year of his anniversary. Made me spill the beans about what happened. He thought he needed to go beat someone up.” You let out a wet chuckle. When did you even start crying? Looking at Charles, you saw that he was crying too. You continued, “Lorenzo, he, uh, died the day before I debuted in F2.” 

Memories hit Charles like an 18-wheeler. That was you? He remembered that most of the F1 drivers had been invited since the F1 and F2 races were so close together. Hell, even Max was given the opportunity to give the winner the trophy. He remembers watching you dominate that race. He watched you offer that trophy to the sky. He saw a hunger that he hadn’t seen in a long time. 

He finally spoke up, “You were incredible.” 

“Thank you,” you paused before adding, “he’d be proud of you. Jules, I mean.” You looked back at the picture and how it seemed right at home amongst the others. 

“Lorenzo would be proud of you as well.” You flashed him a grateful smile, full of teeth. He mirrored, dimples prominent. 

You threw your head back and laughed. Charles cocked his head. 

“What’s the matter?” he barely got out as he began to laugh as well. 

You poked his cheeks, “You and Thur have the same dimples.” Charles rolled his eyes and ruffled your hair. You pouted. “Rude.” 

He was about to reciprocate but the sound of the door opening caught the two of yours attention. Charles quickly pushed you into a dark room. You gave him a confused look before he put a finger to his lips. You smirked back and stayed silent. 

Pascale walked in first followed by Arthur. Charles greeted his mother and then brother. 

“I saw Y/n’s car in the driveway. Where is she?” Arthur looked around the house. 

“She went to the bathroom, but hasn’t come back. I think I scared her off,” Charles faked a sad look.  

Arthur flashed a comforting smile to his brother. “I’ll go find her. Hopefully she didn’t fall in or something.” That almost made you laugh. 

Arthur flipped on the lights to the hallway. This was your chance. He barely got past the doorframe before you jumped out onto him. 

His squeal echoed through the room, laughter following it. In your grand scheme, you had accidentally fallen on top of him. Your giggles continued as Arthur tried to push you off. He finally gave up after a few moments. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, but honestly you didn’t care. You swear you heard a click of a camera, but you disregarded it. 

“Are you done?” Arthur sarcastically asked. 

“No, I’m actually quite comfortable. Thank you for asking though,” you smirked. After a few more moments later, Arthur quickly rolled you off and got up. You let out a huff before making grabby hands at him. He rolled his eyes and pulled you up. 

You were finally able to greet Pascale. She brought you into a hug and did the two kisses. You reciprocated. It came naturally after being teammates with Arthur for so long. You smiled at the memory of him doing it to you for the first time. He was so embarrassed after until you calmed him down enough to say that you didn’t mind. You knew it was a part of his culture and that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed to do so. 

“Thank you for inviting me.” You shot her a shy smile. She rubbed your back before exiting the hug. 

“There is no need for thanks. Arthur has been begging for years.” A noise of protest rang through the air. 

“I have not.” 

“Non, it’s true. He has.” Charles looked at his brother. Arthur had a look of betrayal that sent you spiraling into another laughing fit. 

By the time you were finished, Arthur gave you a look. 

“Where’s you Christmas sweater?” You looked down at the one you were wearing. You thought it looked just fine. It was a nice dark green and Kelly had complimented you many times. 

“I thought this looked nice?” You were beginning to doubt. Maybe you couldn’t do this Christmas thing. 

Arthur shook his head before disappearing down a hallway. 

You glanced at Charles and whispered, “I ruined it didn’t I?” You looked down at your feet. 

“Non gosse, you didn’t ruin anything. Just look.” You looked back up and saw that Arthur now had another sweater in his hands. (translation : no kid)  

“I can’t believe I forgot to give you this. Sorry Y/n, we normally wear ‘ugly’ Christmas sweaters to celebrate. The one you have on is fine, but this is the Leclerc celebration now.” He all but shoved you towards a bathroom so that you could change. You slipped the other dark green sweater on after you took off your first one. 

The front made you laugh. It wasn’t ugly per say, Arthur must have toned it down for you. On the front was the Grinch. It was actually kind of cute if you thought about it. You folded your first sweater and walked out. Now you noticed that Charles’s had a bright orange sweater with a gamer Santa on it; Arthur’s actually lit up; and Pascale had a cute one with a reindeer on it. 

When he noticed your return, Arthur’s arms shot up. “Now you look festive!” 

“How long did it take you to find that one TurTur?” You motioned your finger up and down, pointed at his sweater. 

His arms crossed protectively around it as he let his jaw hang. “I’ll have you know that this is imported.” 

You gave him a bombastic side eye. “Sure.” 

Pascale clapped her hands, “Picture time by the tree!” 

You kind of awkwardly stood there as she took pictures of the two boys. You warmly smiled as she gushed over the two of them. You made your way to the kitchen and picked up two bottles. Were these alcoholic? You squinted at the label. 

“Y/n!” You froze and looked at the family of three. Arthur was snickering. 

“You know you’re not allowed to drink yet.” You rolled your eyes. 

Charles shot you a mischievous smile. “Gosse, come, we’ll send a picture to old Maxy. Maybe give him a heart attack.” 

You smirked back as you walked with the two bottles. You posed in front of the tree with the glasses on either side of you. The four of you laughed as you set them down. You wanted to make a run for it, as to not ruin the pictures, but Pascale insisted that she wanted one of the three of you. 

Your heart swelled as she took a picture of you in the middle of Arthur and Charles. She also insisted to get one of just you and Arthur. Your cheeks heated as you caught her muttering about a picture to show your kids one day. You only hoped that Arthur hadn’t heard. 

He did and his heart soared at the thought. 

Once the pictures were done, everyone was able to have a few snacks and drinks, yours of course being non-alcoholic. 

Then it was time for the presents. The thing you were worried about the most. You soon found yourself seated on the floor in a half circle. Pascale was the only one in a chair, but you didn’t blame her. The boys were the ones to pass out the presents. To your surprise, you had received three presents. Your eyes wanted to water, but you blinked the tears away. 

They all opened the ones from you first. 

Arthur lit up like a Christmas tree (pun intended) when he saw what you had gotten him. The two of you had been shopping earlier in the year, when you had come across a watch shop. Arthur had wanted to buy a specific one, but was heartbroken when they said that they were sold out. But, while Arthur was having a crisis about it, you secretly asked to be put on the waitlist. They had said that they couldn’t be 100 percent that you’d get one, but there was no harm in asking. 

Surprisingly, when you got back for a small break, there was a package from the store waiting for you. You had also taken it to another watch store to have something added. 

“Turn it over,” you whispered, scared of his next reaction. He inhaled sharply at what the engraving read. 

January 25, 2020 – Best Friends for the Rest of Our Live, Keep at it TurTur! 

Arthur quickly clamored over to you and wrapped you in a deep hug. Again, you heard the sound of a camera, but dismissed it. 

Next Charles opened his. It wasn’t as sentimental as Arthur’s but you tried your best. Before hand, you had asked what type of jewelry Charles likes. You knew he was a ring and bracelet guy, but had rarely seen him with a necklace. So, you got him a simple one that he could wear with any outfit. 

He thanked you with a warm smile. 

Pascale was very happy with hers. Knowing that she had a hair salon, you googled many gift ideas for her. But every sing one of them to come up was always a pair of scissors. Wanting to do better, you did some more digging. Finally, you decided on one of those fancy circle vacuums that moves by itself. You knew how your back hurt after sweeping up a floor. You couldn’t imagine how her’s might feel. She also gave you a hug. 

Now it was your turn. 

The first present was from Arthur and it had you in tears. There in a rectangular box was a new pair of Lightning McQueen crocs. 

“You know this is like my third pair right?” 

He only nodded, “Yes, but are those pairs signed by Lightning McQueen himself?” Your eyes bulged as you turned them over. 

You were expecting Owen Wilson’s signature, but when you read it, you laughed even harder. There on the bottom, in fancy script, was Charles’s signature. You looked over at Charles as you wiped your eyes. 

“I’m honored sir.” 

Charles rolled his eyes, and touched his heart, as to accept the thanks. His present wasn’t as funny, but it was appreciated. You guessed that Arthur had told him what your favorite restaurant was because his gift was a hefty gift card. Your eyes widened when you saw the total. 

Pascale’s was very sentimental though. In her present were multiple pictures in frames. Some you noticed that she must have gotten from the internet or had Arthur reach out to Vito. The one that made you tear up was one of the last pictures taken of you and Lorenzo. Your smile was so bright as you held you trophy. You were looking into the camera, but Lorenzo was looking and smiling down at you. Your fingers traced his face. 

You placed the pictures down and brought her into a giant hug. After you were done, you wiped your eyes, overcome with emotion. Arthur clapped his hands to bring everyone’s attention to him. You almost jumped out of your skin. 

“All right, party time!” He raised his arms and started to walk toward the kitchen. 

Your eyes widened as you remembered something. “Wait!” 

The three of them stared at you. You inhaled. 

“I have one more thing. For all three of you.” They looked at you with a puzzled look. You walked over to the counter where you had placed the black bag that you came with. You gestured for them to come over. 

Arthur cocked his head, “Y/n, why’d you bring a helmet bag? We swapped helmets already.” His accent got thicker as he got more confused. 

You shook your head slightly as you let out a shaky exhale. You carefully started to unzip the bag. It was true, what Arthur said. The contents were a helmet. 

“Gosse, is this your new helmet for next year? It’s very outdated and I don’t think this is safe, ” Charles questioned, confused as to why you’d bring a helmet to Christmas. 

However, Pascale let out a gasp as her eyes danced over the helmet, now in your hands. She put her hands to her mouth. She had recognized it immediately. 

“Is this?” The rest of the question went unsaid, but you knew what she was going to say. You nodded you head and handed it to her. She turned it around, expecting all the angles. She let out a wet laugh as she carefully and slowly handed it over to Charles. Arthur stood close, looking at it as well.

“Arthur, before you got here, I was telling Charles of how I was able to meet your godfather,” you started. “And I wanted to tell you how thankful I was for his encouragement. I knew that he had come straight from a race, because he was still wearing his suit and he carried a helmet.” 

Charles made a confused face, “But he didn’t have a helmet. His hands were both empty, because he caught Arthur when he ran over to him after he showed up.” You could tell that his mind was trying to connect the dots.

“Well. He wouldn’t have had the helmet,” you trailed off. Arthur’s head shot up. 

“Because he gave it to you,” Arthur finished. Charles inhaled sharply as he looked over the protective gear in his hands. 

Pascale had come close to you, a hand around your shoulder that rubbed up and down, trying to give some comfort. 

The two boys looked as if they were going to cry. Charles let Arthur hold it. 

“How? Why?” Charles questioned, tears threatening to fall. 

“Well, I thought it had gotten destroyed or thrown away. I left it at my parent’s house, and when I told them I was moving out for reasons, they didn’t react well.” You didn’t want to give too much away. “I was sure that they were going to burn all of my things. But, I went back to see just in case. I was mostly correct; except they didn’t touch my closet. It was hiding in the back behind some clothes.” You remembered crying when you found it, holding it close for comfort. It had been one of the few things that you took from the house back to your apartment in Nice. 

“I also wanted to bring it back, where it belongs.” 

Charles glanced at you and then the helmet between Arthur’s fingers. “But, he gave it to you. You need to keep it.” 

You shook your head. “Jules told me to keep it safe and to hold onto it for safe keeping. I always thought that I’d be able to give it back to him one day. I guess this is the closest thing I can do.” 

Arthur gave the helmet back to his brother and walked over to you. You looked into his big blue eyes, filled with tears. Unable to hold back, he tucked his face into your neck, holding you tight. You squeezed your eyes closed, tears falling down your cheeks. 

You knew that Arthur always felt bad about not being as close to his godfather, like Charles and Lorenzo had been. He had been 15 when Jules died, and you always wished that the family had had more time with him. Pressure was added on your other side. Looking over slightly, your eyes caught sight of Charles’s brown hair. You managed to put your other arm around him. You held the two brothers close, your heart melting. 

Is this what a family is supposed to feel like? 

Max’s family was a different dynamic. Yes, they enjoyed hugs and being close, but it wasn’t like this where you could hold each other for hours. Well, maybe Max would let you, he was so overdue for a giant group hug.

Arthur couldn’t get over the fact that you were so close. He hoped that you didn’t hear his heart racing. He’s waited this long; he can wait a little longer. His tears had dried up, but he never wanted to let you go. Your heart was too big and too fragile for anyone else to have it. But here you were, opening it up to his family. He couldn’t have asked for someone better to hold your place in his heart. He could only dream that you held him close to your heart, as he did with you to his. 

You would never tell him, but you did. 

Charles on the other hand could not stop the tears. He wondered how long you had waited. Shy, quiet you. Before this, he had seen you a couple of times before with Max at the beginning of the break. He’d often run into the two of you shopping or getting groceries. You’d always find a way to give a small wave, before turning to do something else while Max talked to him. He wondered what was so special about you. Max, in all his life, had never looked at something as he looked at you. It was different than the way he looked at Kelly. Heck, he even looked a Penelope differently. Charles had rolled his eyes a few more times than he’d like to admit whenever Arthur would bring you up in conversation. But now, as you tried to comfort him and his brother, he finally understood. You were the family that they were missing. 

Pascale watched as the three of you broke your little hug. Smiles adorned your faces as you held the other close. She wished Lorenzo would have been here to meet you. She had a feeling that he and Charlotte would like you, as her other two sons did. 

Their little celebration started moments after, the helmet at the center. Your smile never left your face for the rest of the night. You were sad that they didn’t let you sneak in one sip of the bottled drink. 

“It’s probably not even good,” you told them as you took a sip of your drink. 

“Y/n it is good. We French know what good alcohol is,” he took a sip. You raised an eyebrow and smirked as you saw Charles gawk at him. 

“Arthur, you are not French,” you watched as Charles put an arm around Arthur’s neck. You were quick to grab his drink so it wouldn’t stain the carpet. “Yeah Charles, drag his ass!” 

Arthur held out a hand, dramatically going down. “My best friend betraying me for my brother. Could this day get any worse?” 

“Charles, you should have heard all the times he said that he was French when we would do videos.” You smirked evilly at the two. 

“Y/n! You weren’t supposed to tell him!” 

“Arthur, how many times to I have to tell you? WE ARE NOT FRENCH, WE ARE MONAGUESQE!! 

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse @ashy-kit @agent-curt-mega @julesbabey @lydialawrence @stopeatread @claudia5912 @nichmeddar @blueberry64857959 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @leptitlu @alessioayla @badassturtle13 @kaaale @wcnorris @cool-ultra-nerd @hockeyboysarehot @agent-curt-mega @myxticmoon @cmleitora @sam-is-lost @misartymis @boiohboii @alexander-hamilhoe @jayda12 @indesicivelyconfuzzled @fangirl125reader @itscrzy @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fionaschicken @torchbearerkyle @ineedafictionalman @loaksmuntxa @classiclitfreak @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @luisie @jayda12 @comfortzonequeen @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @inejghafawifesblog

ATTENTION: TAG LIST IS CLOSED

#charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x driver!reader #max verstappen x reader #platonic grid x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 x you #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #logan sargeant x reader #alex albon x reader #george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #fernando alonso x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #f1 x you

[softlyspector]

Grays

Summary: Joel likes to be read to and held and have his hair stroked. He would never dare admit it, though. Based on this lovely ask.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: Joel being insecure about his looks, age, gray hair (idiot 🙄 affectionate), Joel being a nuisance by sweating and chopping wood, Joel's bad attitude, reader is implied to be from the south/Appalachia (and has an accent), food as a love language, food mentions and eating, minor internal angst, Joel character study?because I'm insane, very domestic, fall vibes

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you like this and thank you to the anon who sent that ask. I wrote this in just a few hours because you inspired me so and a price can't be put on that. Thank you all for always being so lovely and letting me write whatever comes to mind/inspires at the time💕

“Are you almost done with that?” 

The ax arcs through the air again, splits solidly through the log and then thumps down onto the stump beneath. Two halves of split wood go flying in opposite directions, and you set about gathering them up for Joel, who pauses, one hand on his hip as breathes heavily through his nose. 

There’s a tendril of sweat snaking down his temple; the ax hangs loosely from one hand like it weighs nothing. 

“What?” He snaps. 

You smile and repress the urge to laugh, turning your back so he doesn’t see. “I said, are you almost done?” 

He makes a disbelieving noise, an indignant half-squak. “This has gotta be done before winter sets in, in case it slipped your mind.” 

“I didn’t say it doesn’t,” you agree, rounding the stump to prop up one of the halves back onto the ax scarred stump. “It’s just that you’ve been at it for a good long while. Ain’t you tired?” 

You step back and Joel straightens his shoulders, fingers tightening around the handle of the ax again. He lifts and swings, muscle straining in his arms, shirt lifting just enough that you see a thin line of his skin. The log splits, and you step forward with the other piece, ignoring the flutter in your belly at the sight of him. “Would go faster with help,” he grouses pointedly. 

“Mhm, or you could come get some dinner. It’s gettin’ dark.” 

Grunt, lift, swing, slice. 

No answer. 

You roll your eyes and instead sweep the fallen pieces of scattered wood into your arms and start toward the growing pile of firewood along the back side of the house. You don’t get very far with your burden. “Hey,” he says, tugging you back by your shoulder. “Quit that. C’mere.” The firewood is out of your arms before you can protest. 

He shoulders past you, heat radiating off him in dizzying waves. The autumn air is chilly and growing colder, the day dunked in a gray, dusky fading light. The sky is that late autumn purple it sometimes gets to be, rosy like blush and lavender, the fingers of the trees sharp and black against the horizon. “If you want help,” you comment, following closely behind him. “You do actually have to let me help.” 

His shoulders pull taut, the wide cut of them straining at the red flannel he’s outfitted in. “Uh-huh.” He drops the wood on the top of the pile and turns back to you. His eyes flicker over you, chin tucking down, head tilting as he assesses you. “You eat?”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him.

Typical Joel.

“Might be what I’d come to fetch you for. Supper’s on.” 

“That so?” 

“Chicken and dumplings,” you say by way of explanation. “And gravy.” 

 “Sounds good.” He says it with a note of surprise in his voice. “Real good.”

“‘Cause it is. Come eat. The work will be here tomorrow. You’ll even have my help that time around. If ya happen to let me help that is.” You beckon him with a jerk of your chin toward the open back door. 

He swipes the back of his hand over his forehead, then runs it down his face, palm cupping his chin. The thick tendons outlined in his throat tighten when he clenches his jaw and considers the mess of the backyard. Warm yellow light is starting to unspool across the lawn, over long dead grass and the whisper of browned leaves. “Ellie eat?” 

“She’s with those friends of hers tonight. Suppose she’ll eat with them.” 

He makes another vague noise in the back of his throat, still looking at the stack of logs he’d yet to split. 

Joel does this sometimes. Works himself like a dog, gets grouchy and sharp, forgets to eat. 

Sometimes it takes a firm hand and hard pressed coaxing to get him to give it up. 

If you weren’t there, you wonder how long it’d last, that rise and fall of the ax, the strain of his body, already well past its limits. 

He must be exhausted and hungry, not that he’d ever rightly admit to that.  

That’s another thing you wonder after — did Joel even feel those things anymore? 

Yes, you think. Since Jackson, yes. He just had a way of ignoring his own needs. He’d run on empty for days if he had to. 

But he hesitates, makes a show of surveying the work he has left for him, the last dregs of the dying sun spilling weak across the yard. Or, maybe it's not a show. With Joel, things rarely are. He’s earnest, feet rooted firmly to the ground. 

You watch him while he deliberates. One huge hand is still fisted around the handle of the ax, the bulk of his forearm straining, muscle and vein twisting prettily beneath flushed, damp skin. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, the top few buttons of his shirt left undone. His chest and neck are tinted the same color, dappled in the same sheen of sweat. 

His hair is starting to go properly silver, a dark attractive gray that extends to his beard, the chest hair that just pokes out against the top of the flannel. 

It’s unfortunate, really, how he seems to get more beautiful each year. Age shouldn’t look as good as it does on him. 

When your eyes flicker back to his, he’s already watching you. An unreadable expression is tangled over his features, complicated and unknowable. Just as quick as it’s there, it’s gone, his expression cleared. You aren’t sure what he’s seen on your face that makes him fold inward, shut the door closed on you. 

“All right,” he agrees, leaning the ax against the stack of wood, seeming reluctant about it. 

Still, he follows you up the back porch stairs and through the door, wipes his shoes on the mat and then toes them off as you close the door to the encroaching night.

There’s something about socked feet, bare feet, that is painfully domestic, painfully homey and full of a feeling you don’t know how to articulate anymore. Something that reminds you so starkly of life before. You’d both gone months, once, without ever taking your shoes off, aside to tape them and switch socks, too afraid you might not have a moment to put them back on. 

Joel glances at you as you shuffle past him, a hand placed gently between his shoulders for just a second, before you trek further into the house. “Smells good,” he compliments, following close on your heels. “I ain’t had chicken n’ dumplings in years.” 

“That so?” 

“Mm.” He moves toward the stove in what you’re sure will be an attempt to serve both of you. 

“Nuh uh, sit,” you intercept him bodily and direct him into the chair at the breakfast table. 

He huffs at you and sits, only mildly annoyed.

“Crabby,” you comment, spooning out a sizable portion. You always feel that he doesn’t eat enough, that he tries to leave too much behind for you and Ellie, especially after hard work. Joel still ate like he expected rations to run out. It’s unconscious, but it still worries you. 

“I ain’t crabby,” he gripes. 

You roll your eyes, sit the plate in front of him, and press the back of your hand to his cheek. The sweat is drying tacky on his skin, the strained rose color fading from his cheeks in the warmth of the house. He should have been wearing a jacket; his skin is a clammy kind of chilled, even sweaty and warm as he is. “You’ve actually never not been crabby, and it’s worse when you haven’t eaten,” you inform and hand him a fork with your other hand. “Ellie would agree with me.” 

His hair curls at the base of his skull with the evaporating humidity of his skin. Like his socked feet, it feels painfully domestic to witness. Incredibly human, which Joel seemed more than, sometimes. “Guess she would,” he agrees. You lean your hip into his side and wait for him to take a bite, moving your hand away from his cheek to rest on his shoulder. 

Joel might show his love through killing himself chopping wood for the winter, but this is the way you do it. He can’t cook, anyhow, and it makes you feel good to give him something good. It reminds you of better times.  

When he swallows, eyes fluttering closed at the taste, you pat his shoulder and start to pull away to get your own plate.

“Hey,” he catches at your hand. His fingers tangle briefly with yours. His thumb sweeps over your skin, soft about it, though he doesn’t say anything else for a long moment. “It’s real good.” 

“You’re welcome, Joel.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. 

When you’re both done eating, he does the dishes, builds a fire in the grate in the living room so the room is warm when you find your way there, book in hand with the intention to complete a nightly ritual that he’s never raised complaint at since it was quietly started. 

You alternate between words and music, and last night Joel had played the guitar for you in the chilled air of the back porch, a blanket tucked around your legs. 

Joel would never dare admit it, not in ten thousand years, not in the pits of hell with a knife at his throat, but he likes to be taken care of, too. 

It’s just so often that he bristles at it, feels guilty and faulty over it. 

After dinner, with a full belly, and a stiff drink in him, he’s better about it. 

Better about letting you shove him down onto the couch to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging at those delightfully gray locks. It’s longer now, too, and you like that too. You hope he forgets about getting it cut. 

It’s such a nice look on him. Handsome. You should probably tell him that, but the words never come out. 

He lets you do as you like, easy about it, eyes closed, breathing even and slow as you settle beside him, pressed tight to his chest, ass hanging off the edge of the sofa. You mean to open the book lodged somewhere between your bodies, but you don’t. You just look at him, sleepy, between the fire and the heavy food. 

Maybe he’d never admit it but this is one of the many little ways he can accept it. He lets you feed him food that reminds you of your childhood, lets you read to him on alternating evenings, lets you bring him in from the cold when it starts to get dark. 

“Should I add chicken and dumplings into our rotation?” You wonder aloud, tracing the lines by his eyes carefully, the vein in his throat, the hollow at his clavicle, the slope of his broad shoulders.  

He only grunts and doesn’t open his eyes. “It was good.” And that’s the closest you’ll get to an admission that he would like to have it again. 

“Glad for it, Miller,” you say and tuck yourself under his chin. You hear the book fall to the floor and make no move to get it. “You need a shower,” you complain instead, nose pressed to his throat.

He does, but he doesn’t smell bad. He smells like himself, sweat and sawdust and cedar, the faintest whiskey. It’s a human scent, almost comforting. And Joel has, frankly, smelled much worse.

He just locks one thick arm around your waist, the wide flat of his palm against your spine. “In a minute.” But he’s breathing deeply already, halfway to a place you can’t reach. His arm tightens, his head tips down heavily against yours, solid and comforting, mostly asleep. 

“In a minute,” you echo.

Joel wakes to a dark living room, a chill creeping in around the edges of the room. You’re still pressed tight against him, though he can’t see how with the way you’re practically halfway onto the floor. If he loosens his arm even a fraction, you’ll go tumbling down. 

He considers doing it for just a second, suppressing a chuckle at the unimpressed reaction it would garner, the wet cat look of anger and indignation that would pull over your face. 

Instead, he nudges you awake, rubbing your back until you start to stir. The bedroom would be warmer for you, now that the fire had burned down. He hates the thought of you cold, always has. “Let’s go to bed,” he says in your ear. 

He doesn’t know exactly where you came from before. It doesn’t really matter anymore, doesn’t  hold any weight or meaning, since most places are just empty graveyards that can’t really be returned to. But wherever you came from gave you a pretty little accent, a twang in your voice that’s different from his. 

It’s something he loves about you, sounds like home. 

“Joel,” you complain, brow scrunching. “You just go on and leave me be.” It’s almost funny, how much twangier it is when you’re close to sleep. 

“Can’t do that, honey. C’mon now,” He pats your hip and keeps a steady pressure on your back until you grumble and start to sit up. “Go up to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.” 

You’re rubbing your eyes, leaning back against his legs. “Why?” 

“Fire,” he nods to the still glowing embers as he sits up. “Don’t want the house burnin’ down. Wanna make sure Ellie got home all right, too.” 

“Okay.” He keeps a hand on your waist until you’ve got your tired feet under you, still mostly asleep, he thinks, as you balance with one warm hand on his bent knee until you stumble away towards the stairs. 

He sighs and tends to the fireplace, then checks out the kitchen’s back window to see the glow of Ellie’s lights on, before following you up the stairs. He expects a dark bedroom but you’re propped up against the headboard with the bedside lamp on, changed into sleep clothes but definitely still awake. “It ain’t that late,” you say when he arches a brow at you and leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “And it’s my turn,” you hold up the battered copy of the book you’ve been slowly reading to him. 

“It’s all right—”

“Uh-uh,” you interrupt. “Go shower. Then come here.” 

He holds up his hands. “Yes ma’am.”

“Mhm,” you hum and flip idly through the book, no longer looking at him.

There’s a hope lodged in his heart that you’ll fall back asleep while you wait. It ain’t that he doesn’t want to hear you read. He’s invested in that story now, and he loves your voice even if he didn’t. The cadence and shape of the words, the rumble of your voice against his ear is a nice balm to drift off to. 

What's more is that you deserve the sleep, that he shouldn’t have fallen asleep on you downstairs. 

There’s a lot of things about you that scare him. How much he cares for you, for one. But the thing bothering him most now is the one that stares back at him when he looks in the mirror.

Jesus, it’s like everyday there’s more gray in his hair, his beard, even his chest hair is starting to go white and gray. It’s like everyday, he looks and gets a little bit older. 

It’s goddamn embarrassing the way he worries about it, the way it bothers him. He doesn’t remember aging, isn’t really sure when it happened. Maybe he spent so many years avoiding the mirror he missed it. 

And, well, it wasn’t important before. But now that he has time to think beyond the next day, the next meal, he thinks about it. About how fucking old he looks, especially next to you. 

You aren’t younger than him, not but maybe a couple years, if you are at all—another thing that doesn't matter anymore, birthdays and age and counting the years—but you don’t look your age. Your hair has retained its color, aside from the very artful looking gray starting to creep in at your temples, just barely there. Your face isn’t lined, not like his anyway, delicate, graceful little lines by your eyes, instead of the deep creases that crack up his. You don’t seem to ache in the same way he does, either. You don’t seem to feel old. 

Maybe that’s why he’s so set on working himself down to the bone over chopping that wood, to prove he was still worth something to you, worth keeping around. Proof that he could keep up with what needed keeping up with. 

He watches himself in the mirror, the lines under his eyes and across his forehead, age creeping in around the edge of him like a slow poison. The way you look at him sometimes. . .he knows you think about it too, know it too. You had been in the yard before dinner, eyes locked on him, a look on your face he couldn’t quite get a read on.  

It worries him. Makes him sharp with you when he should be the opposite. 

It’s embarrassing, really, the way he thinks about it, hates the way your eyes linger on him and feels too fucking self-concious about it to just ask you what you’re thinking. Maybe he just doesn’t want to know. 

He glances away from his reflection, a sigh heavy in his chest. He needs a damn haircut, if nothing else. 

He makes quick work of the shower, dressing in something warm because he’s always cold, even if that's just another thing he won’t admit to and that is an aversion that gets worse as the years go by.

You gave him a scarf recently, blue and soft, and he wears it because he likes the way you look at him when he leaves in the morning with it on. 

When he pushes the door open, you’re still awake, curled up on his side of the bed, book held open with one hand. “Thought we were supposed to do that together,” he says mildly. 

“I’m just re-reading where we left off.” 

“Mm,” he sits down at your hip. “Scooch.” 

You move over just enough for him to lie down, which he does with a huff and a groan. “You got that whole other side there, you know.” 

“I like being close to you.” 

“Well it ain’t like I’m far. Now c’mon, move it.” 

“Cranky.” 

“Thought it was crabby?” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “Real funny. Y’know sometimes I don’t even know if y’like me at all.” 

The way you say it makes something sting in his chest, a sharp little barb wedged between two of his ribs. 

You start to move further away, like he asked, when he hooks an arm around your waist, props himself up over you, tangled up in the middle of the bed like you’d end up anyway. “Like ain’t exactly the word I would use.” 

A wicked smile pulls the corners of your mouth up. “What word would you use then?” 

“Hm,” he looks you over, feels the curve of your thigh, the hook of your knee, press against his hip. “I think you already know what word I’d use.” 

You reach up to cup his face between hands that have seen too much violence. The skin of your palms is softer than he remembers it being just a few years before, calloused thumbs sweeping in a tender arch over the apples of his cheeks. “Mm, I think I do.”

“Yeah, y’do,” he agrees, and then lets you pull him down against your chest. The comb of your hand slides through his hair, against the back of his neck and the tops of his shoulders. It’s nice. It’s the kind of affection, attention he’s not sure he’s ever had before.

Not since he was a kid, at the very least. He’s never been the one that got held, just the one doing the holding, and he hates that he likes it. 

And he does like it, craves it. 

Things like this, they were so easy to get used to, and the hardest thing in the world to adjust to. The mix of it, the easiness and the hard knot of disbelief and potential rejection, make for a disarming cocktail. 

You’re so warm and soft under him, the scent of you wild and homey, like cooking and chilled air and soap. 

“You smell better,” you tease and pinch his bicep. “You awake?” He feels you shift, book cracked open over his shoulder. “Or am I reading to the ghosts?”

“You got me,” he mutters, curling his arms around your waist, behind your back, and you arch just a little to accommodate him. The material of your shirt rucks up under his hands, soft, scarred skin warm where he touches you. “I’m listenin’.”

You rub the back of his neck again but don’t start reading. He waits a few minutes, listening instead to the sound of your breath, even and slow in your chest, the tap of your heartbeat against his ear. 

“You forget how or somethin’?” He asks eventually. 

You shake your head, and the paperback comes to rest against his spine. “Have I ever said—” You stop and he waits, but nothing more is forthcoming, just your silence and the kind way you touch him. 

“What?” 

When he picks his head up, your brows are tilted down over your eyes; you’re frowning at him. “Nothin’,” you dismiss, massaging two fingers against his temple, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“Said what?” He tries not to have a bite in his voice about it but he does anyway. Just a little bit of a snap, because he worries whatever you might have not said are all the things he thinks about himself. 

You shrug. “I just think the gray looks real nice on you.” You twist a strand of his hair around your finger and tug gently. 

He huffs, expecting you to grin at him so he knows you’re just teasing him. But you don’t, your gaze is reverent, adoring where it’s focused on him. “It just makes me look fuckin’ old,” he disagrees and sounds bitter about it.

“No, it means you got to get older, Joel. Not everyone gets the privilege.” 

That takes the wind out of his sails. He doesn’t say anything else, words collecting in the back of his mouth like a little ocean he can’t seem to make drain away.

“It makes you look. . .rugged,” you decide, tracing the curve of his jaw. “Handsome.” 

“You like it?” 

“Yeah.” Another tug. “I love it.” 

“Mm.” He clears his throat, tips his head down against your body again, the trapped wing of your heart fluttering faster than it had been before. “All right. Get to readin’ now.” 

It makes it just a little bit harder to hate, if that look in your eyes was appreciation, affection. Maybe that’s what he’d seen in your face earlier, and couldn’t quite recognize it.  

You tap the book against the back of his head. “Idiot,” you sigh, and then start to read. 

It’s some kind of thriller, something you’d started at the beginning of October and still haven’t entirely worked through. The plot is a little ridiculous, all things considered. After all the horrors he’s seen, this book doesn’t do much to thrill him, though it is entertaining in its own way, maybe a little funny. 

He’d have to find something new when you’re done with it. Something seasonally appropriate, if he can help it. Some kind of Hallmark holiday romance ordeal. He’d like to hear you giggle through reading something like that out loud. 

Yeah, even if it keeps him up, he’d find you something like that. 

When your voice fades, each word cottony and long in your mouth with fatigue, he reaches back to pluck the book from your hands, and then flick out the light. 

“Baby,” you coo, and it’s nice to hear, nice to have you reaching for him in the dark, kissing him goodnight, because he’s yours, and you like him fine. 

What’s the other word? The one that’s decidedly not like? 

“Love you,” you say against his mouth, the edge of your lip sticking wetly to his. “Even though you’re always crabby.” 

He loves you, too, even though he’s cranky about the whole goddamn world. 

💕 Thank you for reading! I would love to hear any thoughts you might have! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[corroded-hellfire]

I've got this image in my head of very pregnant!AYW reader sitting outside with her feet in a kiddie pool, letting the older boys splash around and keep her cool on a hot day. Maybe a cooler full of frozen treats at her side.

I have had this one in my ask box forever because I wanted to write something I’d be happy with and I think I’m there lol. I hope it makes you happy as well 😘

Words: 1.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Of course. The August that you’re seven months pregnant is the hottest summer Hawkins has had in over fifty years. Of course.

Eddie could see how the heat was getting to you. Sweat would dot your forehead just moments after you’d step outside. Your ankles had swollen to almost double the size. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that you were a little more irritable than usual as well. But your husband wasn’t sure what he could do to comfort you. Usually, his way of comforting you included wrapping you up in his arms but the one time he’d attempted to do that you’d given him a death glare that blazed hotter than the weather. He’d learned his lesson after that: no touching when the temperature is above a hundred degrees. 

One early Saturday afternoon, you and Luke are eating lunch while Eddie and Ryan run a few errands. Luke had wanted to go too, but ever since you started your third trimester, Eddie didn’t like the idea of leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet between you and your ten-year-old son when the back door bangs open, making you jump and swivel around in your seat–which was no easy task. Perspiration runs down Eddie’s forehead, Ryan’s own golden brown hair plastered to his forehead from the moisture. Patches of Ryan’s gray shirt are black and clinging to his skin from the sweat. If Eddie’s black Iron Maiden shirt weren’t so dark, you know you’d see the same thing on him. Despite how hot and sweaty they both look, they both have smiles on their faces and Eddie looks quite proud of himself.

“I f’ought oo were goin’ to da store,” you say around a mouth full of pasta salad.

“We did,” Eddie said, breaths labored.

“And we set up a surprise for you!” Ryan adds, his beaming grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“And me?” Luke asks optimistically, craning his neck to look over at his father and brother.

“Actually, kind of,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Come on.” Your husband waves the both of you over towards the back door before remembering he should help you up out of the chair–even though you’re capable of doing it yourself. 

The boys both run ahead of you as Eddie stays back with your waddling pace. It feels like no sooner than your bare foot hits the grass of the yard than sweat begins to break out along your hairline. You swear you’ll never complain about the winter being too cold again. 

“It’s small,” you hear Luke say. 

Your eyes catch on the short inflatable kiddie pool set up in the middle of the backyard, two white and blue striped lawn chairs set up beside it, and a large red cooler between them. The garden hose is hanging inside the pool, the green tube writhing like a snake as the water whooshes in to fill the empty space. 

“Cause it’s a kiddie pool, duh,” Ryan replies to his brother. 

“I thought,” Eddie starts, reaching up to rub your shoulders before catching himself, not wanting to make your discomfort worse, “you could sit out here with your feet in the nice cold water. Might help your ankles, too. And you know these two monkeys are always splashing so you’re bound to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Hey,” Luke protests, but Ryan nudges him with his elbow because they both know that their father is right. 

“And…” Eddie takes your hand and gently leads you closer to the chairs, where he opens the cooler that’s nestled between them. Inside there are different flavors of ice pops, ice cream bars, and cold drinks, all enveloped in gallons of ice that have a pleasant chill wafting off them. 

Words become trapped in your throat. Your wonderful husband did all of this for you just because he knows how the heat has been making you feel lately. And after you’ve been a pain in the ass. This would’ve made you emotional even if the hormones didn’t beat you to the punch. 

“Eddie,” you say, all other speech cut off as your bottom lip begins to wobble.

“Uh oh,” Luke whispers.

“No, could be a good thing,” Ryan mumbles back quietly. He was slightly better at understanding the emotional aspect of hormones than his little brother. 

“This is so sweet,” you say, turning to cup your husband’s face in your hands. 

“You’ve been hard at work cooking that bun in the oven,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Oven needs some cooling down though, she’s getting overheated.”

“Ahem,” you hear from behind you. Ryan moves into your peripheral vision, and you turn your head to look at him, sliding your hands down to Eddie’s shoulders as you do. The eldest brother is clearly holding something behind his back, and you scrunch up your brow as you look at him.

“Whatcha got?” you ask.

Eddie huffs out a small chuckle and presses a kiss to your temple before saying, “Ryan found something at the store he says is on every ad for the beach.”

“You bought me sand? The ocean?” you tease the boy.

Ryan rolls his eyes, another reminder that he’s a preteen now. 

“No,” he says. From behind him, Ryan brandishes a floppy hat, and he is certainly right—a woman is wearing one of those in every ad for the beach.

“Ryan, I love it!” you exclaim with a giggle. The grass crunches beneath your feet as you waddle over the few steps to the boy. He holds the straw hat out to you, a bright grin on his face at your happiness. 

“You know,” you say as you accept the hat from him, “I’d bend down so you could put it on my head but then I wouldn’t be able to stand back up.”

“Like crowning a princess!” Luke adds as Ryan laughs.

“Well,” your husband says, coming up behind you, “it’s a good thing I’m taller than Ryan then, huh? Or we could’ve just made Luke help you back up.”

Eddie plucks the hat from your grasp, the straw scratching lightly against your fingertips as he pulls it away. He steps in front of you, and you keep your head level, only raising your eyes to watch Eddie’s pale, toned arms lift to place the floppy hat on top of your head gently. 

“Your Highness,” Eddie says, bowing his head. Your giggle makes Eddie grin as he gestures towards the lawn chairs. “Your throne awaits.”

Twenty minutes later it’s as if the summer heat were merely an annoying insect that you’re only somewhat aware of. Even though the chill water of the miniature pool only goes up to midcalf, sloshes of water have hit you all the way up to your neck. The cool beads of moisture feel like heaven as they meander down your red tank top, though. The denim shorts you’re wearing will weigh a ton later since the boys’ splashing has gotten them so wet, but Eddie’s such a pro at taking your clothes off that he could use a little challenge this time. 

Luke and Ryan manage to find games to play in the small pool—after Luke’s failed attempt at Marco Polo, anyway. Toy boats glide through the water, a few of them on the grass from flying overboard. The two boys shout but they’re outside and having fun, and it’s nice to hear. 

The sound of the back door slamming shut reaches you as you tilt your head back, protected from the sun by Ryan’s thoughtful gift and the sunglasses you grabbed when you got changed. Eyes closed, you listen to footsteps in the grass as Eddie walks your way from the house. They come to a stop and you sense as he crouches down next to you. Lazily, you loll your head to the side and crack your eyes open. 

“How’re my girls?” Eddie asks, placing his right hand over the soaked red shirt covering your baby bump.

“Mmm, good,” you hum. “She’s very happy you bought strawberry shortcake bars.”

“I’m glad she liked them,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “What about you, princess? How do you feel?”

You pretend to consider his question for a moment before speaking.

“Kiss me?” 

You pucker your lips and there’s no hesitation as your husband leans in and gently presses his own against yours.

“Perfect. Now I’m perfect.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #older!eddie #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

[darthannie]

potential side effects

pairing: Jonathan Crane x f!reader summary: After giving you an experimental medication, Dr. Crane helps you get over your fear of intimacy.  word count: 2,143 warnings: 18+, minors DNI for the love of god, DARK, rough at points, I’m gonna go ahead and say NONCON, au where Dr. Crane has a private practice, abuse of power, reader is under the influence (kinda like the fear toxin), reader is sleepy, Crane doesn't take no for an answer, dacryphilia, inexperienced!reader, floor sex, spit, fighting back, a smidge of aftercare at the end. a/n: Please do not read if you’re not into what's in the warnings. I had fun experimenting with this one. I tried to be a little more thorough in the warnings. Better safe than sorry. I’m still toying around with Jonathan’s voice. Let me know if you want more of this kind of thing, or something different. I’d love to interact with you guys more!

Dr. Jonathan Crane had been treating you for the better part of a year and was in the midst of creating a new medication regimen for you. Your previous treatment plan was not working as intended, so it was back to the drawing board.

He selected you as the first person to receive an experimental medication. It was meant to be inhaled and doses were to be given during the time of the appointment. You didn’t necessarily know what to expect. He’d briefly mentioned that there may be potential side effects but didn’t go into much detail. 

You were nervous the first time you’d gone in to receive a dose. As you approached the door to his office you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. You knocked and after a moment he opened the door. Jonathan always wore the same thing most of the time. Today he donned a black blazer and slacks with a white button-up. His red tie was placed right at the center of his collar. His dark hair framed his face perfectly. He looks good today, you thought, better than usual. 

You exchanged your normal pleasantries and sat across from him on a couch. His office was spacious and dark. All the furniture was made of wood. In the corner, there was a big bookcase that consisted of books on fear, pharmacology, and different editions of the DSM. The DSM-4 was missing from the shelf, presumably on his desk. 

The room brought you a lot of comfort. It was the only place you ever got to see him. It felt like Dr. Crane was the only person in all of Gotham that understood you. It was his job after all. 

Soon the time came for him to administer the medication. 

“I’m going to spray in front of your face and you’re going to breathe in. It doesn’t take much to be effective.”, he said. 

You nodded and he sprayed. 

Your nerves subsided almost immediately and your mind became quiet.

“Any difference?”, he asked. 

“My mind is silent. All my racing thoughts have stopped.” 

“Good. That means it’s working. Some of the other side effects may begin to set in now.” 

He was right. Like clockwork, you started to get drowsy. It was like someone had given you a little too much Benadryl. It was hard to keep your eyes open. 

“Dr. Crane? Is this normal?” You couldn’t help but drag the ’s’. 

“It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the medication working. How do you feel?” He seemed a tad on edge as he awaited your answer. 

“I feel all warm inside.” 

He then leaned back against his desk. “Any drowsiness?”

“Lots of it.” You chuckled slightly.

“That is normal.” He said, answering your question. “The medication was likely to make you feel tired.”

“Does it go away?”

“As your body builds up a tolerance, the effects will lessen. Now, I wanted to talk about the recent screenings you filled out. I would like you to check over them and rate their accuracy on a scale from one to five, five being very accurate.” 

He handed you a piece of paper and you looked it over. “Four.”

“Why not five?” His eyebrows furrowed. 

“Number six. ’S worse.” Question number six pertained to your interest in sex. More specifically how terrified you were of having it. 

It was a topic you were working on with Dr. Crane since it impacted your life so much. You were hesitant to mention it at first, but he assured you it was better to talk about it instead of holding it in. So, you spilled every detail. This included your inability to get yourself off and failed hook-up attempts.

You’d try very hard but when it came time for you to do the deed you shut down and found a way out of the situation. You hadn’t been getting out there much because, frankly, the thought of being intimate with someone was frightening. You didn’t know how you’d ever get over it. 

“Have you sought out any partners to help with your fears?”, he asked.

You took a moment to process what he said. “No, I haven’t. I can’t. It’s too-“

“Frightening, yes I remember you using that word.” He removed his glasses before continuing. “I think there’s a way I can help you with that. Personally.”

You yawned. “What do you mean by that doctor?” 

“I can make you feel better.” He looked down at you and brushed your cheek with the back of his hand. 

“How do you mean?” You could hear the apprehension in your voice. He ignored your question and reached down to the hem of your top, lifting it slightly. 

You pulled back a little too quickly and you got a bit dizzy. “I don’t know about that Dr. Crane. I can’t- I’m not well.”

He ignored you. “I think it’ll be easier if I just take you here on the floor.” 

He dragged you off the couch and onto the ground, sitting up. The hardwood was cold to the touch but started to warm under your body. He kneeled next to you. You tried to fight him as he reached for your sweater. He grabbed your wrists to stop you from thrashing around. 

“I would hate to have to tie you up, sweetheart.” You knew he would follow through so you did what he wanted. You stopped fighting back.

He neatly folded and put aside each article of clothing he took off your body. Eventually, you were completely bare in front of him. You were almost too gone to grasp what was going on. Almost. The fear began to creep in and he could tell. Maybe the medication was not working the way he intended it to. Maybe he lied about what it was intended to do. 

You slurred, “Dr. Crane, please don’t- Please don’t do this.” 

He leaned over you and you tried to push him away. He only offered a small smile and reached his hand down between your legs. You whimpered as his fingers moved lightly over your clit. You mewled at the new sensation. You gave in to the feeling and your eyes started to close. When they wouldn’t open again Jonathan lightly slapped your cheek. 

“No, no, no don’t fall asleep. I need you to stay awake for me.”, he said. 

You fought the exhaustion and watched as he used his fingers to tease you. 

He noticed you getting wetter and moved his fingers down to your entrance. He slowly stretched you with two fingers, watching your face as your mouth fell open. 

A tight-lipped smile appeared on his face. He started slow and then moved his fingers in and out very quickly, hitting a new spot until he found the one that made your legs shake. You lied back and let him work on you. All you felt was bliss. No one had ever touched you like that. 

He took his hand away and you whined. This was a first and you were glad you made it this far. This was a win. 

You thought it was over, but then you noticed him unbuttoning his pants. 

Your breath quickened and you put your hand out. “Wait! Please, no! I think I’ve had enough for today.” 

“We’re not done with your treatment yet, princess. Please hold still. It will be easier for the both of us.” 

Your body was made of putty. The side effects had gotten worse. He brought your legs into position before grabbing himself in his hand. He stroked his cock a couple of times before entering you. 

He gave you no time to adjust. His pace was slow but he fucked hard. You gasped at the feeling of him inside you. You’ve never been fucked like this before. But, that didn’t matter to him. All he wanted was to feel you around him. Make you his. 

The sounds in the room sent you reeling. You didn’t know you would moan so much. The sound of his skin hitting yours filled the room along with his heavy breaths and moans. He grabbed your hips as he thrust hard and fast. You were having a hard time coping with all the feelings you were having at once. The fear, exhaustion, and pleasure were beginning to mix. You wanted to scream. Instead, you cried. 

Jonathan moaned at the sight. He loved watching you cry. He’d seen it happen during sessions and couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if you moaned while you cried. Now he knew. You were unable to keep quiet. Silent cries became sobs which became whimpers. 

He caressed your tear-stained face, “Shhhhhh, hush now it’s alright. You’re doing so well.”

You tried to talk through your tears. “Please Jonathan- Dr. Crane, Make it stop!”

This time he went deeper. You yelped as you felt him hit a new part of you. “I’m not stopping until you tell me it feels good. Tell me, does it feel good?”

“Yes,” you moaned, “it feels good.” 

“Yeah? Are you still frightened? Are you scared of me?”

“Yes.”, you admitted. It was hard for you to get out. How could you ever fear him? All he had ever done was help you. This was just another one of his unorthodox methods. 

He bent forward and put his arms next to your ears, locking his fingers on the top of your head to hold you in place. Your body was limp as he continued fucking you into the floor. Your eyes closed; you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

He shook your head slightly. “No, eyes on me. Look at me.” 

You looked at him wide-eyed. 

“Open your mouth.” You obeyed and he spit in your mouth. In all honesty, you savored the taste. It was another way of him claiming you. 

“Swallow.” When you did he hummed contently. “Good girl.” 

You felt something weird tightening in your core. “Dr. Crane. I feel like I’m gonna-“. 

A long moan came out before you could finish your sentence. He fucked you as you rode your high and soon after his thrusts started to falter. He sat up and grabbed your hip to use as leverage. You mustered up as much energy as you could to move away from him, using your legs to drag yourself across the floor. He was much stronger than you at this point and he pulled you back. 

“No, come here. You’re gonna stay still while I finish. Got it?”

The tears kept flowing, but you obeyed. You lied back as he came inside of you. He stayed inside of you for a minute, savoring the moment. You were tired and blissed out. He pulled out of you without a word. He watched as his cum dropped out of you. 

“What a sight.”, he said matter a factly. He helped you sit up and wiped tears from your face with his thumb. He brought you close to him and kissed your forehead. 

He got up and put himself back together again. He fixed his clothing, tucking in his pristine white shirt and fastening his pants. He fixed his tie and looked past you into a mirror. 

Once satisfied, he grabbed a towel from his desk and cleaned you up. He helped you up to your feet and began dressing you. His demeanor was softer now. He took his time as he got you dressed. Once he was finished he helped you sit on the couch. You curled up into his side, seeking comfort from the man who had just used you. 

You’d never felt more confused. You knew this shouldn’t have happened. Every boundary had been crossed. But, the special attention from him felt better than anything. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He let you sleep on him for a while before he got up to write notes on what had just occurred. He found his glasses, put them on, and returned to his desk to begin writing. He included your reaction to the “medication” and how receptive you were to the treatment.

You woke up about an hour later, confused. You looked around and recognized his office. The memories of earlier events came rushing back. You felt your cheeks get hot.

Jonathan looked up from the paper he was holding up. “Rise and shine.”

He grabbed a sheet of paper from your file. He attached it to a clipboard and grabbed a pen. He handed you the materials and you looked down. It was another questionnaire. 

“Fill this out as accurately as possible.”

“What is it for?” You cleared your throat. He sat back down at his desk and picked up the paper he was previously inspecting. He looked at your file before looking back at you. 

“Our next session.”, he replied. 

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane x reader smut #i proofread this but no one is perfect #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #dark jonathan crane #dark!jonathan crane #annie writes #dark jonathan crane smut #scarecrow x reader #dr jonathan crane

[luminiamore]

ghostface armin arlert x black witch reader

warnings: minnie is psycho & stalker ish, murder (not reader), possessive, mention of branding, minnie has a big d!ck!

a/n: i just wanna say that scenario is crazy, but it’s armin!!!

masterlist

New York City, renowned as the place where dreams come true, the city that never sleeps, but also, unfortunately, the city where danger lurks. Recent events have shaken the East Side with a series of gruesome murders, each marked by the presence of a Ghostface mask. Residents, be vigilant: lock your doors, stay armed, and avoid deserted alleyways. Let’s unite to ensure the safety of our beloved city.

Armin remained indifferent as he listened to the static emanating from the car radio, his expression unmoved. Tsk. As if that would save them. On that dark night, a vast moon cast its glow across the sky. A faint swoosh of cold water could be heard from the harbor directly beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. The cream-colored 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air he had stolen roughly 20 minutes earlier emitted a creaking sound before finally coming to a stop.

He forcefully shut the fragile car door before moving deliberately to the other side. With swift motion, he dragged the unconscious, thin man, securely bound in the passenger seat, onto the freshly laid cement pavement. Two sharp punches to the face jolted the man awake.

“Damn it!” The man grimaced, holding his now bloody nose. “Listen, I’ve got about a grand in my wallet. Just take it! Please, I haven’t done anything!” Armin listened to the desperate pleas, his oceanic eyes rolling in irritation. He contemplated shutting the man up with another punch. With a sigh, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him towards the edge of the dock.

“D’you want to know why you’re here?” Armin coolly asks, unfazed by the tears the man started dropping. His patience was wearing thin; just looking at his face made him itch to kill him.

“N-no! Please, I just started college! I have-” Armin lands another punch on his jaw, a resounding crack at his sheer force echoing across the empty dock. The man groans as his eyes twitch slowly, open and close. Armin crouches down, bringing himself to eye level with the man on the ground, his gaze fixed on the screwed-up, bloodied, frowned face.

“Does the name Y/n L/n ring a bell to you? You wouldn’t like the outcome if you lie, so try not to.” He asks yet another question with a flat face. The man looks up with a shaky breath; in fact, his entire body is shaking. He nods, trembling.

Armin gives a hum, “I thought it did. Do you remember the interaction with her just yesterday?” He calmly tuts, tilting the man’s semi-dislocated jaw as if examining him.

“L-Listen-” The man gets cut off again with a forceful grip on the same jaw. He cries out at the pain.

“Think about your next words, Porco.” His voice deepens by an octave, and Armin’s demeanor is noticeably less composed this time, his anger slipping beyond his control.

“I was high out of my mind, man! I don’t- I don’t remember anything!” The dirty blonde-haired man sobs. He was petrified for his life. Tonight, Armin wasn’t even adopting his other persona, Ghostface; he was acting solely as himself. He didn’t want the police to suspect —what could he even call her?

The woman he stalks every day? The woman he kills for?The woman who causes him to beat his dick red every night at just her aroma? The woman he craved incessantly, day in and day out? The woman he’s in love with? 

“No? That’s okay, I’d love to refresh your memory.” The moment Porco gazes up in desperation, his breath catches at the sight of a knife—the same knife he had seen on TV after the news reporter detailed yet another gruesome murder by the man in a ghost mask. Am I about to die? That same thought again and again was at the forefront of his mind; it was a broken record.

“You approached her pretty arrogantly, might I add. You tried to take her home, but naturally, she denied. You got upset,” Armin drags the knife slowly against the blue vein on his neck. Lightly grazing, barely applying any pressure to make a mark. He draws closer to the petrified man.

“You touched her.” He seethes. “But my girl is strong and pretty special, too. So, she handled you. I’m sure you remember that, there’s the bruise right here to prove it.” He applies pressure with the tip of the knife to a purple bruise on the left side of his throat. A slow trickle of blood falls down the inside of Porco’s shirt. 

“S-She already made me apologize, man. I don’t k-know how many times I can say sorry-” The sound of gurgling pierced the stillness. Armin, tired of listening, drove the infamous Bowie Knife into the man’s neck, then glanced to the side. 

The man feebly tried to grab Armin’s arm; he was nowhere near stronger, though, and once Armin twisted the knife, the struggle abruptly stopped. He pushed the knife deeper. Porco, too deeply penetrated, fell limp on the ground.

Armin paused, taking out his phone to check the time. ‘10:47’ Shit. It was almost time to check on his girl. He still had one more kill left before he saw her again tonight. He swiftly pulled out the knife from the dead man’s neck and kicked him right into the freezing water below. This was one kill he didn’t want Ghostface to be responsible for.

This next kill, though, he did. He strolled over to the classic car, retrieved the black hood and cloak with jagged edges, and draped it over himself. The ghost mask rested on the leather seats, its eyes fixed on him under the moonlight. With a slight smirk on his pink lips, he picked it up and disappeared into the night.

Quite to the contrary, New York wasn’t your birthplace. Your parents were esteemed practitioners of witchcraft in Cap Haitian, Haiti, renowned for their formidable abilities throughout the country. However, their prominence also drew numerous adversaries. When you were born, they resolved to shield you from the harsh realities of their world and allow you a childhood free from the burdens of survival. Thus, they made the decision to move to the mystical city of New Orleans.

There, they taught you their practices. Every day was dedicated to honing your powers, relentlessly training until you surpassed both of them following their passing. Despite possessing the ability to prolong their lives, your parents chose to embrace their human existence and concluded that their time on Earth had reached its fulfillment.

The pain was too bearing for you, and so you decided to move to The Big Apple. Impulsive decision on your part, really; you just wanted to get away. But your life in New York proved to be incredibly peaceful, your only concerns being your powers and the three cats you lived with. 

It started off being peaceful, but your beauty unfortunately came with repercussions, too. With senses finely attuned, you remained acutely aware of your surroundings, quickly detecting a figure shadowing your every move. At first, you believed he was stalking you with intentions of abduction, and though you suspected he was a killer, three months passed without him making any advances towards you.

It was a game. You noticed him watching you closely, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of your awareness as well. Armin knew you wouldn’t address him first, and he was fine with just stalking you. But Armin was just a man. A man who got captivated by your beauty every time he saw you. A man who noticed that killing everyone who approached you would be a never-ending task. A man who made the consecutive decision to claim you instead.

Claims come in different forms, Armin knew that. He could brand you, permanently etching his name into your body so you knew you were his. He could mark you, letting the world know he was the only one who had the pleasure of painting your skin like a canvas. His favorite idea so far was to dump his seed past your pretty brown pussy lips daily. 

Would you let him? Who were you kidding? You were aware of someone monitoring your movements nearly around the clock, yet you still chose to wet your sheets almost every week with the help of your Rose toy. He’ll make sure to punish you for that. The only time he ever wanted you to come was with him. You even leave your windows open as if inviting him to perform such a task. He knows you’re not stupid; your actions had a purpose.

You sat on your silk cream sheets, arranging your supplies and ingredients for another round of setting up a protection spell. The lavender and rose sage aroma filled the air, leaving a potent scent of smoke in the background. You were genuinely fatigued from constantly performing various iterations of the same spell each day. Why weren’t they working?

Black salt, Rosemary, Cinnamon, Bay Leaves, Mint, and Sage ashes. With the black salt, you draw a circle around you and light tall black candles in the dim light of your room. You start chanting. 

Elements of the moon,

Elements of the night,

Come this way

And grant me with your might.

Powers of night and day,

I summon thee,

I call upon thee,

To protect me.

So shall it be.

The flames coming from the candle become stronger, whooshing rapidly. An unseen gust extinguishes the flames and sends the sand you placed around you swirling into the air. Huh? That wasn’t supposed to happen. That shouldn’t have happened. Why the fuck did that happen?

As rustling outside your window catches your attention, you glance sharply but see nothing. Returning your focus to your sacred space, you raise your hand, ready to relight the candles, only to be halted by a gentle yet commanding voice.

“You look pretty tonight, Y/n,” Armin catches your attention as he stands from behind your closet door. You had yet to spot him. You understood the importance of maintaining composure and clarity in moments like these. The awareness of being followed had long been present, ever since it began. The protective spells were intended to deter him, yet frustration mounted as they proved ineffective against his persistence.

Armin wasn’t really thinking of any of that; rather, he fixated on how the red robe you wore accentuated the curves of your ample chest. The way you knelt emphasized the softness of your thighs, he wanted to drown in between them. 

“Come out. You’ve stalked me enough,” Your honeyed voice calls out. You survey the room, your gaze shifting from the cabinet housing your altar to your queen-sized bed and then to the wooden door of your walk-in closet. Your gaze settled on there a few seconds longer before shifting away.

You hear a small chuckle, and your frown only deepens, “The fuck is funny?” You’re about to get up from your position on your carpeted floor, only to be stopped by a large hand on your shoulder. When did he even move? Armin sits on the edge of your bed, eyes taking in every inch of you. When he firmly presses down to keep you still, your breath hitches.

You sense his presence drawing closer, the fabric of your silk robe brushing against him. Though you didn’t know what he looked like, his energy alone had you on the verge of surrender, prepared to relinquish control of your mind to him. You always knew you weren’t normal. After all, you are a witch. Getting sticky from a man that smelled like Baccarat Rouge 540 and commanded attention from just aura alone, though? That was beyond you.

“Relax, love.” He whispered gently in your ear, as if not to scare you. You were anything but. Your nerves were racking up in a different way, and small tears of sweat were forming on the inside of your pressed thighs. You had no panties on, and when Armin leaned down into the crook of your neck to smell you, his eyes caught sight of this.

“E-excuse me? Nigga if you don’t-” You continued to resist and shuffle out of his grip, and Armin understood the reason behind it. Your pride stood as a barrier to your surrender, but he remained undeterred. He’ll break you soon enough. 

He silenced you abruptly with a firm grip on your delicate throat. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool with you—not unless he was fucking up your insides. You weren’t in control here. And the problem was, you still thought you were.

“That’s wasn’t nice. Be nice, Y/n.” He squeezed tightly, restricting your airway a bit. You knew you weren’t normal when you felt a long trickle of your slick slip down the side of your soft brown flesh at the action.

“I want you, y’know? I think-” He pauses and sucks in a breath when he brushes his nose right against your sweet spot. You shudder. “I think I like you?” He seems confused himself, Armin really never felt this way before. He couldn’t even describe precisely what he was feeling with accuracy. Infatuation? Obsession? Devotion? He doesn’t know, but what he does know is that he would gladly offer you the world on the finest silver platter if you so desired.

“I’d like to show you. I want to give you everything I’ve been feeling for the past three months. Let me, baby.” He tilts your head in his direction, your lips a hair away from each other. When you steal a glance at his face, your slick only gets heavier. Fuck, he was pretty. His porcelain face is adorned with small dried splatters of blood, his oceanic eyes framed by long, hooded lashes, and his medium-length blond hair gently brushing against your cheeks.

This wasn’t a good idea, you knew that. Armin couldn’t share the moral compass you thinly held onto because he was just so consumed. He was entirely taken by you, believing that you might have staked a claim on him before he had the chance to do the same to you.

Any doubts and moral compass you held vanish through your half-opened window as he tenderly presses his pink lips against your full ones. Initially gentle, as if testing your response, he gradually presses harder when you offer no resistance, deepening it with intimacy.

You gasp when he squeezes your throat once more, allowing him to slip his skillful tongue into yours. The force of his kiss caused you to moan out in slight desperation. He smiles at this without pulling away from your addictive lips. He presses into you even more.

The way you gave in so easily felt completely out of your will, this wasn’t like you. You usually had more self-control, but before you even caught a glance at this man, he had you captivated. There was something about him, the mystery he held, the danger that clinched onto him just by breathing. It made you curious, eager to know more about the man who didn’t bother to hide his intense desire for you. And you alone.

Armin had a reputation for his patience, remaining consistently composed and collected. But, you and your perfect face had a way of unsettling him, causing him to act out of character with every move you made. He was keenly aware of this, finding himself compelled to do things for you that he had never considered doing for anyone else. Tonight, he learned that patience might not be his strong suit anymore.

Your skin felt like it was being electrified as his right hand traced a slow path down your body. Starting from your neck, trailing down to the center of your chest, and finally arriving at the fat of your pussy. You almost instantly grind against his middle finger, wanting him to do more. 

He noticed of course, he noticed everything about you. “I want you to beg, baby. Can you do that for me?” His whisper makes you shake in anticipation. You were wet, dripping all over the fabric of your carpet.

“P-Please-” You abruptly cut your whimpers off, realizing something that had completely slipped your mind: you didn’t even know his name. You snapped back into reality in a split second, struck by this realization.

Once more, he noticed. “It’s Armin. Moan it real pretty for me, kay?” The way he knew what you were thinking made you less hesitant to give him what he wanted you. What made your control slip was when he slid his finger down to the top of your sopping clit and rubbed lightly, enough pressure to make you squirm. He liked teasing you.

“S-Stop teasing- Ah!” He shuts you up when he presses two fingers harder, his rubbing making tight circles. Your breathing starts getting heavier at the bliss he’s making you feel.

The blonde asshole only smugly tutted at you, “What was that? I didn’t hear you beg, Y/n. Come on, you’re a smart girl.” 

He was teasing as if his heart wasn’t beating outside of his chest, just being this close to you. He was internally scrambling at how your slick was so much it fell off his fingers. He wanted to taste you. He wanted you to beg so he could taste you. 

You would’ve kept quiet, not feeding into his antics. But, he made you feel so.. good. The way his fingers rubbed up and down your slit, not quite going inside your tight walls. His rapid kisses all over your face and down your neck. The way you could feel his print, pressing heavily on your silk fabric. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please just- Shit. T-Touch me, Min.” He groans and exhales sharply at the name your blank mind mustered. Min. You called him Min.

Without warning, Armin hoists you up from the floor and gently places you onto your ice-cold sheets. Lying on your back, your red robe barely clung to your brown skin. You were completely exposed to him, your freshly painted white toenails grazing his shoulders, your soft thighs spread so that sticky pussy was on full display for him.

You must’ve been an angel or a goddess that he’d gladly worship. He could make a religion out of loving you, you were just that enchanting. He leans into your inner thigh and presses a kiss. It burns your skin. He presses another kiss, this time on your twinkling pearl. You jolt.

Maybe teasing wasn’t the best option for him. His erection was painfully hard in his black sweats, his impatient longing hidden from you as he bucks on the edge of your bed. You were too busy choking out pitiful cries when his lips latched onto your sweet nectar. “Oh, fuck!”

You started to feel hazy, your heart pounding and your brown eyes dazed at all the attention he was giving your pussy. Your hip began to spasm and twitch when he sucked harder, teasing your creamy opening with his long finger. 

“Say my name, mama. You remember it, right?” His husky plea fills the air. This time, you didn’t hesitate to let anyone within a 5-mile radius know who was eating you as if he starved himself all day just for this.

“A-Armin- Oh shit, Min! Please, more!” You sob, begging him to drench himself in you. He obliged, more than happily. He was at your disposal for the night and many more to come.

His ring and index finger find themselves nestled deep in your core. He stimulates your sensitive parts fast, quickening his pace inside of you. He relishes in the loud cry you make, latching on your pretty clit again. He knew how messy you could get, I mean look at how you were leaking. You had to be tired of changing your, no doubt, expensive sheets when you ruin them like this.

You felt a burning pressure in your gut, were you coming already? Armin answers your thoughts for you. His movements speed up, and the sounds of light smacking from how deep he was penetrating your g-spot echoed in your room. Your back tries to arch off the bed, the pleasure becoming too much for you. Armin makes you take it, pressing his large hand over the pudge your stomach made. You squeal.

“Fuckk,” Your moans get dragged out when a clear sprinkle of your cum escapes you. You were in a frenzy, the loud, lewd squishing sound of your pussy filling your ears. It was like a dam bursting, and what kept your eyes permanently in the back of your head was when he didn’t stop sucking. How could he? It was like you tasted better when you came, and Armin wasn’t a fool. He was determined to not let a single drop go to waste.

He removes himself from your lips with a resounding pop. “I’m going to fuck you now. So, don’t run.” Your eyes widen at his statement, your jaw almost dropping at his sheer size when you realize his sweats are carelessly scattered on the floor. There’s no way that’ll fit inside of you.

Armin knew what you were thinking, he surveyed the way your eyes wandered around nervously. He grasps your chin and plants a gentle peck on your slightly pouting lips, intertwining his fingers with yours to calm your nerves. 

“Breathe, mama.” He softly grunts. His kisses start getting heavier, blocking you from letting out a loud scream when he pushes into your weeping walls, inch by inch. He was making sure you felt everything, every vein, as he penetrated you. He blesses your ears with a breathy moan, caught off guard by how fucking tight you are.

He had to remind himself to breathe. Your muffled moans against his lips consume him, making his entire body tremble on you. You were being pushed to your limit, and Armin only paused for a second to let you adjust before his animalistic tendencies got the best of him. He wanted to fuck you up, bad.  

His hips begin to snap against your twitching legs at a desperate pace. The position he had you in was honestly mind fucking. Your thighs were firmly pressed to your chest, his hands caressing the balls of your unusually soft feet. Was everything about you so smooth? So beautiful and perfect. He answered his own question when your frantic mewls got louder. Yes.

Your pussy was dripping all over his chest, all over the fat cock rapidly pushing in and out against your cervix. Your pretty tits bounced under him, matching the forceful thrusts he fed you. They looked too... bare for his taste. He wanted you to be covered in his love marks, he wanted to make it impossible for you to remove them. He leans down, somehow pressing your shaky thighs closer to your upper body.

His wet tongue laps around your dark areolas, biting and pulling at them with his teeth until you push your hands into his hair and pull hard. Armin becomes drowsy, losing himself in the comfort your body gave him. He sucks and bites on the fat of your pretty tits, leaving behind deep purple bruises.

Was this heaven? You thought you saw the pearly gates as he continued hitting your G-spot with extreme accuracy. Every deep thrust he made you take caused you to let out helpless, euphoric shrieks. You press your hands against his rock-hard chest, running away from the pleasurable torture you are receiving. 

Well, you were trying to. You’ve convinced yourself you couldn’t take it, but Armin knows you can. So, why are you playing with him?

Armin grappled your wrists, pinning them above your head, and sucked his teeth, “You don’t listen?” He heatedly addresses you, trying so hard not to fill your perfect cunt with his seed. 

“Why you running, mama?” He questions you softly as if he wasn’t splitting you in half with his girth. He listens to your jumbled screams with a sly smile, pressing a delicate kiss right next to your diamond nose ring.

“I- I can’t, Ouuu shit Min! Can’t take it- Oh god!” Your sweet voice wails out. He makes a tsk sound, and to prove that you can take it, Armin reaches a hand down your stomach. Not once stopping his merciless rhythm, he rubs your engorged clit, desperate to see you cum again. You keen, and in an instant, your sweet juices spray all over him, your creamy essence coating his cock. 

“See, there you go. Fuck, you wanna take my cum, pretty? Want me to fill you up?” He deeply murmurs in your neck, sucking lazily. Your body falls limp against him. He was so close, so close to showing you just how much you have an effect on him. You nod frantically, mind not even on planet Earth as he overstimulates your now bruised pussy.

“Please, Min! I-I want it!” 

How can he deny when you beg him like that? When you gaze up at him with tears in your eyes, as if he’s your sole lifeline. You look at him as if he’s your deity, as though you can’t exist without him. You’re almost sure that after tonight, you can’t. His thrusts start getting sloppy, his hips stuttering as they leave a resounding slap against yours. Armin tenses and whimpers pathetically in your ear, unable to take the ecstasy your wet cunt made him feel. 

He gives you everything, all his cum, all his passion, and pumps in and out of your warm hole slowly. He shudders, his eyes clouded with pure infatuation as he leans down to force you into a nasty kiss. The kiss was incredibly messy; Armin seemed to be devouring you, with saliva escaping both your mouths as he began sucking on your tongue. When he notices you sucking in heavy breaths, he pulls away from you.

Armin pulled out of you, watching as his cum overflowed out of your sobbing slit. What a sight. He flips you over, on your stomach this time. You let out a long whine when he presses your back into a deep arch. What is he doing? His following words cause your breath to catch in your throat.

“You didn’t think we were done, right? Ass up, mama.”

#lumiwrites #x black reader #armin x reader #armin x black reader #armin arlert #armin arlet smut #armin arlet x reader #armin arlert x black reader #armin arlert x black reader smut #connie springer x black reader smut #x black reader smut #porco galliard #fanfic #eren yeager x black reader #aot x black reader #aot smau #witch reader #witchcraft #black tumblr #onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #ghostface #aot smut #aot x black y/n #18+ only #armin arlert x reader smut

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead On Main AU Part 4

Masterpost

Jason listens carefully to Jazz’s half of the conversation, but Jazz seems to be mostly listening. Jazz says he’s taking him to Nasty for dinner, which Jason can’t say he’s excited about. He doesn’t know if Nasty is supposed to be describing the food or the place. Either way it is not comforting that whatever Nasty is, it is somehow a better source of food than his soulmate’s house. 

Eventually Jazz hands the phone back to him. 

“Everything good?” Jason asks.

“Yeah, your dad, Dick, and Tim are going to be driving me over, but It’s a long drive so Jazz will get you dinner and then you can do whatever. I have a gaming system, and you’re welcome to use my bed. If you need help finding clothes, or really with anything, then Jazz will help you.”

“Got it.” Long drive with B, Dick, and Tim. They’re all going to interrogate him immediately. While he’s trapped in a box with them for hours. “Hey, my family is really nosy and they will pry and they have no emotional cues so they will not know when to stop. Just… Tell them if they’re bothering you, and you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.” Jason doesn’t know who will be worse in this scenario. Bruce is going to interrogate him for literally everything, Dick is probably going to be all relationships and feelings, Tim is a nice in-between which just means he’ll probably support any and all interrogating. 

“Same goes for you. Jazz is studying to be a psychologist, and my entire family forgets that we’re not all test subjects for whatever they’re working on. Mom and Dad with their gadgets, and Jazz with her… studying and analyzing you. There are no boundaries.” 

“Oh, I’m familiar with that concept.” Jason chuckled.

“Well, given the circumstances I’d say if we can survive each other’s families that’s probably a pretty good sign.”

Kid is probably right. Fate and everything. 

Jazz goes out to clear a path to the door, making sure there are no weapons to run into. When she gets back she leads Jason out, but when they get to the ground floor Jason is grabbed. 

“Happy Birthday Dann-o!” The person holding him is tall. Very tall compared to Danny, and taller than Jason in his regular body. He has black hair and it looks like he's wearing a jumpsuit. After squeezing to the point where Jason couldn't breath for a second Jazz gets the man to put him down. 

“Dad, this isn't Danny right now.” 

“What do you mean princess, of course it is!” 

A woman comes around the corner to stand next to the man, she is also in a jumpsuit but she has Jazz’s red hair.

“Guys, it's his sixteenth birthday.” So Danny's parents remember his birthday but not how old he is? Could be that they’ve forgotten the significance of a person’s sixteenth birthday, but given it should be an important day in a child’s life, they should have remembered.

“We know it's his birthday dear.” The woman comes over to give Jason a hug as well, but this one is less painful. And she's tall too, Jason is not used to feeling this short anymore.

“Mom, Dad, this is Jason. Danny’s soulmate.” The both of them just blink for a second. Jason, this is Drs. Jack and Maddie Fenton, Danny’s parents.”

“Nice to meet you both.” Jason gets out.

“Well, this is wonderful!” Dr. Fenton-Maddie says. “Figures Danny would be the younger one. Are you going to be here for dinner?”

Jason glances over at Jazz.

“No, you told us that you would be busy, so we already made plans.” Jazz sidesteps the invitation. Jason couldn’t tell if that was true or a lie to get him out of the situation. Would they tell their son that they were too busy to have dinner with him on his birthday? He wants to think the answer is no. “Shame Danny will be missing out, but we’ll save his presents for him.”

“Alright, well you kids have fun then!” Maddie and Jack left as quickly as they came, rambling about something that Jason could not understand.

“They didn’t want to know where Danny is? Who he’s with? Where we’re going? Anything?” Jason turned to Jazz who had a pinched look on her face.

“Neither of us get up to much trouble, they’ve trusted us for a while now.” 

“Trust him to be magically transported who-knows-where?” Jason is almost stupefied by the utter lack of regard for Danny’s well-being. He is insulted on his soulmate’s behalf. “He could be in another country for all they know! They didn’t even ask!”

Jazz nods. “Best not to think about it. Everything is turning out alright anyways. Now come on, let’s get dinner.”

Jason is seething, but doesn’t think it will do much good to argue with her here so he decides to calm down. He startles a little when he realizes how easy it is to calm down in this body. Just decide to, and then move on. None of the lingering churning in his gut or fog in his mind. 

He frowns as he follows Jazz out the door, hoping that Danny’s not having too hard a time in his body.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #my writing #fanfiction #red hood #danny phantom #soulmate au

[skullrockbi]

Eddie Munson’s Sex Dungeon, 636 words, rated T for language, Steddie fluff

===

Steve doesn’t always look at the tabloids, especially the ones about his husband. But this one caught his eye in the check out aisle. “Eddie Munson’s Sex Dungeon!”

Eddie having a sex dungeon was news to him. He picks the magazine up to read the article.

“We all know Eddie Munson is a dungeon master for Dungeons and Dragons, but rumor has it there’s another dungeon in this rocker’s life! In an exclusive interview with a close personal friend, details have been revealed of his basement sex dungeon.

‘Eddie asked me over to play a game, I didn’t realize what type of game he meant. I asked him about his partner and he told me I was too pretty to resist. I don’t want to be vulgar, but the night we had together was very passionate and kinky.’

The article included a picture of a woman’s hand being handcuffed by “Eddie.”  It was cropped to protect the source’s identity. Steve thinks if the source really wanted to remain anonymous she’d have a less distinct hair color. He knows those terrible and tacky highlights. The male hand closing around the metal had chipped black nail polish and one of Eddie’s signature rings. It was a convincing photo of you didn’t know any better. The unnamed source also shared a few snaps of the dungeon. Walls were covered in red drapery and there was a black velvet bench.

Steve refrains from cackling like a madman at the grocery store, but he can’t wait to bring this article home.

“Oh loverboy! Eds baby where are you?” Steve can’t help but use a sing-song tone of voice. 

“Sweetheart you don’t have to butter me up to help you bring in the groceries.” Eddie pulls Steve closer for a hello kiss. Steve starts to kiss all over Eddie’s face.

Eddie pulls him in for a deeper kiss before slightly pulling away. “I’m not letting the ice cream melt again.

They bring the groceries in and make sure all perishables are put away safely before Steve brings out the magazine. “Now Edward, is there something you need to tell me?”

He shows the cover proclaiming Eddie having a sex dungeon.

“Oh damn,” he replies deadpan. “The tabloids are onto my secret sex dungeon.”

Steve is giggling, “you have to read the article! Look at the pictures baby.”

“Is that my closet?”

“I mean we did have sex in there before.”

“Steve, this isn’t funny!”

“You’re right. It’s hilarious.”

Eddie throws the magazine on the table. “A stranger took pictures of my closet and is telling people I’m cheating on you.”

Steve points to the hair. “Not a  stranger.”

Eddie sighs, “I guess I need a new assistant again. Fuck.”

“You can worry about that tomorrow. Frankly I think right now what you need to do is take me to your sex dungeon and ravish me.”

“I can do that.” Eddie uses all his muscles to pick up Steve and throw him over his shoulder. “You can see my sex dungeon anytime sweetheart.” Steve chuckles breathlessly and smacks Eddie on the ass. 

Eddie tosses Steve on their bed and gazes adoringly at him for a moment. “Steve, you know I’d never cheat on you, right?”

“Baby, it was a silly tabloid story.”

“I know, but I just need you to know that I’m never going do that to you. I don’t like when those stories get published.”

Steve laces his fingers with Eddie’s and pulls him down. Steve presses a gentle kiss to Eddie’s lips. “I know you love me. Just like I love you. Now I was promised ravishing and a sex dungeon.”

Eddie gives his most cocky grin while pulling off Steve’s shirt and kissing the exposed skin. “Sweetheart when I’m done with you, you won’t be worried about our location.”

#steddie ficlet #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fluff

[writtenbymoonflower]

can i please request any of the marauders (dealers choice) with a shy quiet reader who’s just a little lonely, and doesn’t quite understand why he (the marauder) wants to be her friend but he just follows her like a lost puppy! if not totally cool- also it can be romantic i don’t mind but i just love the way you write the boys they’re so perfect

definitely did not use this request as an opportunity for MAJOR projection... of course not. Not sure if he's as openly needy as you were wanting, but I hope this is okay! Thanks for requesting hunny! shy!reader x flirty friend!Sirius Black

cw: drinking, smoking, kinda mean friends

1.4k words

Much to your dismay, your drink didn’t look any more interesting than the last twenty times you stared into it. Still, it was better than letting your eyes roam around the party and looking as lost as you felt. The friends you had come with ran off about thirty minutes ago, pulling attractive strangers onto the floor to dance. You were sat on the microfiber settee, swirling your drink and playing with the frays on your jeans. The jeans that your friends had stuffed you into, claiming they ‘make your ass look fantastic.’

Unfortunately, the effort was for naught, because you had been sitting down the whole night. The whole room was a mix of sounds, loud laughter, cups toppling over, the thump of the music from the stereo. You scanned the room, trying to see if there was anyone you recognized, you didn’t have to even look over for someone to call your name. 

“Y/N, love! I didn’t know you were here!” You looked up to see Sirius Black bounding towards you, not having any time to process before you were being hauled up into a hug. He was holding you far too tight to be socially acceptable, considering how you didn’t really know each other that well.

You had met at a party similar to this, one of your friends had a thing going on with someone in their group. Since then, it seemed like anytime he clapped eyes on you, he pulled you onto his arm. 

“Hi, Sirius.” You said quietly, still having the air squeezed out of you by the tattooed boy. He smelled like strong, clean cologne, tinged with musk, hair product, and makeup. It wasn't bad, actually kind of nice. He pulled back, but didn’t let go of you. You noticed he was far too pretty to be fair, smokey and sparkly liner rimming his eyes, high cheekbones topped with glitter that shimmered in the colorful lights, and dark, glossy lipstick, slightly smudged and blotted from his cup. He always looked his best at parties, but he took your breath away extra tonight, maybe because you hadn’t had enough to drink, too scared to run out and go up yourself for a refill. 

“What’re you doing, sitting here all by yourself, you goose.” He playfully scolded, finally letting his arms drop from around you. 

“My friends ran off, I was trying to get drunk.” You laughed pitifully. He was looking at you with enough intensity to make your ears burn. He peered between the two of you to look at your cup of beer. 

“Oh you poor thing, you’re never gonna get drunk enough on that. Come with me, let me fix you up.” He grabbed your free hand and dragged you over to the drinks table, you felt bad pulling him away from the people he came with.

“Aren’t your friends gonna worry? I don’t wanna steal you” You said, setting your red cup down to pick at your nails. 

“Let them worry. Besides, I’d let you steal me any day, dollface.” He winked at you, making heat rush through your body. “Anyway, let me make you a drink.” He picked up a bottle of red juice. “The key is, stay away from things that taste nasty.” He acted like he was teaching a class. “If you want to be drunk, you have to not suffer while you’re drinking.” He poured the fruit punch into another red cup, before grabbing a bottle of tequila and pouring a hefty amount in with it. He swirled the drink before handing it to you. 

“Thank you.” You said, looking at your shoes.

“Anytime.” He smirked at you. You hid your face in your drink, taking a tentative sip. It tasted mostly like fruit punch, with a tinge of warmth as it went down your throat. 

“This is dangerous.” You laughed nervously. “It’s really good, thank you.” You were smiling so shyly and sweetly at him he thought he could cry. 

“No need to thank me.” He shook his head like you were being silly. You looked over to see his usual tribe, smiling and laughing. Your heart burned, wishing you had a group like that. You liked the friends you had come with, but they treated you more like a pity project than anything else, it was embarrassing. Sirius was probably doing the same with you. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m gonna go outside for a smoke.” You started to turn on your heel towards the patio. 

“They’ll be okay, I promise. Let me keep you at least.” He pleaded. “I could use a smoke too.” He caught up to walk beside you. 

“Only if you want to.” You said, barely looking at him. 

“Can’t think of anythin’ I’d rather do.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes roved appreciatively over your form, making you want to hide and show off to him all at once. He held the door open for you, both of you sighing as the cool air hit your overheated bodies. 

“Thank you.” You muttered again.

“Lose the pleasantries, babydoll. It’s just me.” He shook his head like you were being silly while he pulled out a pack of cigs, handing one to you before sticking another in his painted mouth. 

“I don’t wanna take your stuff.” You said, ashamedly. You were already causing him enough trouble, pulling him from his friends, making him babysit and play bartender, now stealing his substances. You were quickly working your way to mooch status.

He spoke around the unlit stick in his mouth. “You’re not taking, I’m giving. Now c’mere.” He pulled you by your arm, wrapping his hand around your baggy jacket. He grabbed the cigarette from your hand. “Open,” He said, unusually quiet. You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion, making him laugh. “Open your mouth, silly.” 

“Oh,” You said, complying with his odd request. He placed the cigarette on your lips, letting you close your mouth around the filter. You thought your heart jumped into your throat as he stepped closer, cupping his hand around the side and flicking his lighter on, lighting the end of your cig for you. You could feel your pants turn to ash on the spot. 

“There you go.” He whispered, stepping away to light his own. Your brain short circuited, struggling to process the last few seconds. You took a drag of your cigarette before taking it out of your mouth. 

“Thank you.” You looked at your shoes again. 

“Bad girl, what did I just tell you?” He laughed loudly. You took a deep breath. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” You whispered, cheeks flaming. He blew smoke out of his nose, face pinched in confusion. “Babysit me, I mean. I know you just feel bad cus’ I was sitting by myself.” You picked at the lint on your coat. He looked offended, making you want to pass out on the spot. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret.” He said, hushedly. “It seems you don’t realize it, but I’m mean.” You must’ve looked as confused as you felt, because he kept going. “I’m not really very nice, I don’t do things for the sake of others, not like it seems you think I do. So, I’m not doing this for your sake, I’m doing this for mine.” He smirked at you, his sharp canines glinting in the moonlight. 

“I don’t believe that.” You looked him in the eye for the first time that night. 

“And I don’t believe that anyone would pass up the opportunity to be with you, but here we are.” He smiled at you. “Now, if you’ll let me, I would like to spend my time with the person I really want to see. My other friends will be fine, trust me. They’re probably thanking their lucky stars I’m finally leaving them alone, actually.” He wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling you into his side and swinging an arm over your shoulders. 

“Okay.” You said, looking at your shoes again, voice barely louder than a mouse. He shook his head again. 

“You’re so fucking cute, you’re gonna be the death of me.” He chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. You let your fingers swipe the area gently. 

They came away with his pretty burgundy lipstick staining them.

#sirius black x reader #sirius black fic #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black one shot #sirius orion black #sirius black fluff #fluff #marauders #marauders fanfiction #drabble #marauders fandom #marauders era #x reader #anon ask #anon request #lily’s asks

[wingedhallows]

"i'm older than you think." ; sirius black

pairing: sirius x reader | 1k words plot: Sirius is taken aback that you're actually older than you look. prompt: "I'm older than you think." authors note: just a little something that came to me some nights ago.

navigation

The Black’s family home was lively, more than what you expected. Two redheads rushed past you as you brought a hand through your hair. The strong wind had messed with it. 

“Get back here you two!” a woman, also with red hair, yelled after them.

“Oh, hello, dear.” she spoke, her voice gentler.”Hello.” You answered. “Y/N, there you are.” Tonks' voice came from behind the red headed woman. A small smile spread on your face as your friend approached. “For a moment I thought you wouldn’t come, come on.” 

She engulfed you in a hug and rubbed your back in a comforting manner. With an iron grip, she dragged you into the kitchen. “I didn’t know we would have another guest, here, let me fetch another set for you.” The woman chuckled as she pushed past you two. “No need-”Don’t try, that’s Molly Weasly, just eat.” Tonks laughed as she pulled you through the door.

Around the big kitchen table sat a few more red heads, some teenagers and adults.

“Everyone, this is Y/N L/N. She’s one of the greatest Aurors I know and hopefully, after tonight, a member of the Order.” Tonks announced, a comforting hand on your shoulder as she pushed you towards the table. A man, curly hair framing his handsome bearded face and a sly smile beaming towards you, held his hand out for you to take. 

"Sirius Black, the owner of this lovely house. I’m glad a more beautiful person is joining us. Nice to meet you, love.” He spoke before he kissed your hand with a grin on his face. A certain heat crept onto your cheeks as you shot him a grin yourself.

“Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Black. This house is indeed very lovely, so bright and colorful.” You chuckled. His eyebrows shot up and a laugh escaped his mouth. 

“And she’s got humor, merlin.”

“Holy, get a room.” Tonks spat with widened eyes. She grabbed your arm and pushed you down onto a chair. “Here you go.” Molly grabbed your shoulder and placed a bowl of food in front of you. Without another word of refusal you ate what Molly had given you. You didn’t miss the many times Sirius had glanced your way.

After the meeting and your agreement to join the Order and help Harry Potter, Sirius’ godson, to help defeat Lord Voldemort, Remus Lupin had asked for another drink and you agreed to stay. Harry and his friends had gone upstairs an hour ago claiming to go to bed, though you believed otherwise. Sirius had seated himself across from you.

“So, you’re an Auror?” with a sip from your cup you nodded. “I became one right after graduation, I’ve been one ever since.” You shot him a smile and reached for your pack of cigarettes. 

With a small smile on your face you held out the pack for him. “Want one?” he shot you a smile and nodded his head. “I’d love one.” you chuckled. After lighting your stick you leaned over the table to light his. His eyes widened as you came closer as expected.

“As an Auror, you must be in grave danger.” He spoke. It was only you two, the others were immersed in their own conversations.

“It’s always dangerous, feels nearer than it did last time though.” His eyebrows furrowed and he chuckled as he blew some more smoke from his lips. You did the same. “Last time?” you nodded and took another sip from your cup.

“The first war?” You tried, he didn’t get it though.

“What would you know of the first war? You’re barely an adult, we all know Tonks’ hardly one.” He stomped out his cigarette and without a warning a laugh escaped you. “Oh, merlin.” You heaved, wiping the non existing tears.

“What’s so funny?” he spoke, a unsure smirk on his face. “Mr. Black-” you had to laugh again.  “This is truly hilarious.” you paused

“I’m older than you think.” you took a sip from your cup and a big smile spread on your face once again. 

“What?” he managed to say, the cup of firewhiskey in front of him long forgotten. You lit yourself another cigarette and gave him a smile.

“We went to Hogwarts around the same time, I think.” you paused and his eyebrows furrowed once again. “You were a fourth or fifth year. I mean who could ever forget the great and mighty Marauders?” His mouth had opened in disbelief.

“I’m almost ten years older than your cousin.” you whispered.

“So-”Yes, I’m almost as old as you, so.” He shook his head and stood from the table. With his cup in hand he made his way next to you.

“Well, forgive me, darling. You look hardly a day over twenty.” You had to laugh again and shook your head.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Black.” he clasped your hand in his and gave you another smile. “Please call me Sirius, love.” you nodded and took another sip of your drink.

“And since the Firewhiskey is slowly loosening my tongue, I believe that I do not feel ashamed to say that I'm slowly starting to fancy you, Y/N.” you stopped yourself from laughing and nodded at him.

“I’m afraid, me too.” A wide smile spread on his face as he came close.

“Good, then I get to do this.” with a hand on your cheek he came closer. His warm lips connected with yours and with almost rehearsed movements you kissed. Your hand found the back of his head, the other sat on his neck.

 “Ew, you two.” Tonks spat and Remus had to laugh at the sight of you two.

“Definitely hardly an adult.” Sirius chuckled.

You two were out of breath as you rested your head in the crook of his neck with a grin on your face.

#harrypotter #hp fanfic #marauders era #sirius black #the marauders #sirius black post azkaban #the order of the phoenix #harry potter fanfic #sirius black imagine #marauders imagine #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you #the marauders era #marauders #tonks #post azkaban #post azkaban sirius #azkaban #prisoner of azkaban

[suppose-i-was-worm]

Iceberg Siren pt 1

**based on a prompt by @purple-goo-writes about Danny getting a job as a club singer for Penguin- I hope y'all like it!**

Oswald Cobblepot watched as his lounge’s newest acquisition crooned on stage, the crowd transfixed by the young man’s stunning voice. The Penguin was beginning to notice that the Iceberg’s profits went up by twenty percent every night this particular new hire was singing, and he had plans to promote the kid. Daniel Nightingale lived up to his name.

He’d stumbled into the young man in an alley, starving and beaten, and offered him a cleaning job. Daniel had taken him up on it, after his sharp blue eyes searched Oswald’s face like he could see his very soul. One of his bartenders had heard the young man singing while he worked a few weeks in, and soon enough, Daniel was the Iceberg’s crowning glory, even if he didn’t know it himself.

Oswald would make sure the young man knew how valuable he was to the Penguin and never left.

Danny gave a short bow to the crowd after his last song, and they all made noises of disappointment as he slipped off the stage through the door in the back. It had been several months since he’d started singing at the Iceberg, and he was thriving. Penguin had started paying him more for less work- Two nights a week he sang, enchanting the denizens of Gotham’s underworld.

It was probably cheating, that he was using some ghostly tricks picked up from Ember, but it’s not like the GIW existed in this universe to track him down.

“Siren! Boss wants you in the VIP lounge before you take off.”

Matt, his security detail, was waiting for him outside his dressing room.

“Sure! Walk me up?”

Danny winked at Matt, who just rolled his eyes.

“Happily married, Siren. Let’s go.”

With a laugh, Danny turned to head up the back steps to the VIP area, swinging his hips a little to make Matt sigh in exasperation.

He wasn’t truly interested in Matt- nor anyone else he’d met in the dimension, but as he began to be fed on a regular basis and filled out more, he found that people thought he was attractive, and he enjoyed the attention. It was far different from being reviled as a nerd or even as the local menace. The attention of people who wanted him felt easier to control even than the attention he received from the ghosts as their king.

The door to the VIP balcony swung open as he approached, and he was waved through. Plastering a sultry smile on his face, he slunk through the tables, winking at patrons as he made his way to his boss.

The Penguin was sitting in a comfortable chair on a raised dais, across the table from a man Danny hadn’t seen in the Iceberg before. The stranger was wearing a domino mask, and had a streak of white through otherwise black hair.

“Thank you for coming, Siren. Please, sit!”

An attendant melted out of the shadows with a third chair, placed beside the bossman. Danny smiled gratefully at the attendant and settled into the chair.

He wasn’t sure what Penguin wanted- sometimes he called Danny up just to show him off in his glittering dress that clung to his skin, and sometimes he called Danny up to read whether a person was trustworthy or not.

“Siren, Mr. Hood here was suggesting a possible business deal- why don’t you hear him out and tell me what you think?”

Ah, reading. Danny could do that.

“I don’t have time for nonsense, Cobblepot.”

The man’s growl raised goosebumps on Danny’s arms, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. Damned if that wasn’t sexy as hell.

“Oh, but Mister Hood, I’d love to hear about your business proposal! What my employer does with his money affects us too, you know- if the business proposal falls through….” Danny batted his eyelashes at the man. “I’m sure you know what happens to the bottom line.”

Red Hood sighed, and then began to explain himself.

Danny didn’t listen to the actual proposal more than he needed to make the appropriate noises. Instead he listened to the tone and cadence of the crime lord’s voice, the way his body moved as he spoke. Everything screamed sincerity, even the small, half-formed core pulsing in the man.

Wait. Hold up. Turn around, go back. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. A core? Here? In someone so clearly still living?

He would have to investigate, but later. His employer was beginning to look to him for a verdict.

“Wow! That sure does sound interesting,” simpering, Danny stood and wrapped an arm around Penguin’s shoulders. “I think you should hear him out, boss- he seems pretty up-and-up to me!”

Penguin smiled sharply up at him and then waved him away.

Danny could feel the stranger’s eyes on him as he left, swaying back to where Matt was waiting at the door.

~~

Look. Danny didn’t intend to get into this situation on his day off, but things just happened to him that didn’t happen to other people. Sam and Tucker would call it the “Fenton Luck”.

Danny didn’t think luck was involved at all.

If luck had been involved, the weird clown wouldn’t have attacked him with a crowbar. If luck had been involved, Danny wouldn’t have responded like he would with a ghost. If. Luck. Had. Been. Involved, the clown would not have flown back into a brick wall and then slumped like a marionette with it’s strings cut.

Stepping forward, Danny leaned down to check his victim’s pulse, but reeled back when he got a good look at the man’s face.

The Joker’s sightless eyes stared back up at him.

Ancients.

“Whatcha got there, sweet thing?”

Luck had nothing to do with anything in Danny’s life, ever. He was cursed somehow, that had to be it.

“A bagel?”

Harley Quinn hopped off the roof and came to investigate Danny’s dead body.

“Sure looks to me like an ex-boyfriend of mine, and not at all bagel shaped. You didn’t even leave a hole in him!”

“I’m…. Sorry?”

Harley grinned up at him, all teeth and a fierce light in her eyes.

“No need, sugar, you did a good thing. What I wonder is why the gas hasn’t triggered?”

Danny laughed nervously- he couldn’t help it, his fear response was laughter!

“Gas?”

“Mhmm! Had his body rigged, the bastard. Joker gas should have spread for six blocks or more when his vitals stopped.”

“Oh. I- you won’t tell the bats, will you?”

“My lips are sealed! I don’t owe Batsy anything!”

With a sigh, Danny shrugged.

“I’m a meta. Joker gas preys on fear, and so do I. The gas must have triggered, but I’m close enough that I filtered it pretty fast.”

Harley put her hands on her hips.

“Batsy doesn’t like metas much.”

“The Bat can suck it.”

She laughed and slung an arm over his shoulder.

“I like you, kid! Let me call my body disposal squad.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Ten minutes later, Poison Ivy and the Red Hood walked into the alley, looking around cautiously. Harley had talked Danny into braiding her hair, and was chatting amiably at Danny.

“-And that’s why Bill owes me a trip to Cabo. I don’t plan to collect, though, he’s just a henchman. Ives! Thanks for coming!”

Red Hood put his hands on his hips.

“I get why you called her, Harley, but why me?”

Harley tilted her head, pulling her hair out of Danny’s hands carelessly.

“You deserve to see him before he disappears, kid. The whole of Gotham deserves that, but we can’t risk it.”

“See who?”

She pointed at the body, and Red Hood went to inspect it. While he did so, Ivy walked up to Danny, peering down on him.

“I know you.”

“Hi, Dr. Isley.”

“I was right! You work for Oswald. Almost didn’t recognize you without your getup. I take it this was your doing?”

“Yes ma’am, although entirely on accident.”

She laughed, and Danny smiled too.

“One we’re all glad for. Thank you.”

There were stomping footsteps, and Red Hood was suddenly in front of them. Harley stood up from the box she’d been sitting on, shielding Danny with her body.

“You did this?”

Danny the angry pulsing of the Hood’s half-formed core. It felt similar to the way his own core had felt when he was forced away from Amity Park. He slid out from between Harley and Ivy and held out his hand.

Hood took it, whether on purpose or unconsciously.

“Hi. Danny Nightingale. I just avenged thousands by accident. Please don’t kill me.”

The pulsing turned from anger to relief, and the Red Hood laughed. It sounded odd through the modulator in the helmet, but Danny smiled along nonetheless.

#dp x batman #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #danny phantom #dead on main #jason todd #harley quinn #poison ivy #Arctic Siren AU

[steddiealltheway]

(This is way way way longer than intend. You have been warned.)

Steve cannot stand Eddie Munson. And the feeling is definitely mutual. From their first meeting Eddie had sneered, “Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. I never understood why they called him that when I was right there.” He had obnoxiously fluffed his hair as the kids had laughed along.

Okay, yeah. Maybe it wasn’t like the greatest insult of the century, but it was a cheap shot. Robin tells him that that’s the stupidest reason she’s ever heard when it came to an automatic dislike. But it’s not just that!

It’s the loud dramatics that Dustin is always praising and imitating. And the dumb faces Munson pulls that makes his eyes twinkle manically. It’s the constant jabs whenever he sees Steve - calling him “pretty boy” and “King Steve.” He tries not to flinch and give Munson the satisfaction - he hates that damn smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

The kids call them a divorced couple - throwing in “Mom and Dad are fighting again” every so often. He and Munson hate it - but that’s the only thing they’ll ever agree on.

But then the kids come up with an evil plan that isn’t revealed until it’s too late. Dustin invites Steve to a game night with the rest of the Party which… fine, he’ll come to it especially since they’re having it at his house. Sometimes he can’t say no to the kids - specifically when Will gives him those puppy dog eyes, but he’ll never admit to it.

But the dreaded day finally comes, and Steve is in the kitchen pulling a pizza out of the oven when he hears that damn voice. “You didn’t tell me this was Steve Harrington’s house,” Munson spits out Steve’s name as if it’s the most vile thing he’s ever said.

“You promised to join our game night no matter what!” Dustin argues.

That’s when Steve’s eyes land on Munson. He looks entirely out of his element for once and is just wearing that damn Hellfire shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows with ripped black jeans. The lack of the usual leather jacket or flannel or something as a second layer makes Steve feel… weird- no, angry.

Munson snorts, “Comfy enough?”

Steve glances down at his yellow sweater and gives the older boy a confused glare. “Something wrong with what I’m wearing, Munson?” It’s his turn to spit out the boy’s name like it’s an insult.

“I would just prefer if you were wearing less,” Eddie says with a sarcastic smile, knowing the line will make Steve flush red with rage.

Butterflies stir and die in Steve’s stomach at the comment. “And I’d prefer if you were wearing more.”

“Flustered, Harrington?”

“In your dreams.”

Munson winks and comments, “Well you’re there often enough.”

Steve just knows he could win in a fight against him, and severely wants to try in this moment.

“What the fuck guys?” Dustin says. Okay, maybe Steve forgot he was there.

“Language,” Steve warns then continues, “Why did you invite him?”

“Why did he invite you,” Munson fires back at Steve although he wasn’t even talking to him.

Steve gestures around. “It’s my damn house!” Munson’s mouth opens and closes a few times, realizing there’s no good way to make a comeback out of that. Steve revels in the win.

Munson just sighs and stalks out of the kitchen towards where the rest of the group is loudly chatting.

Dustin stays where he was with his hands on his hips which looks like a poor reflection of Steve’s usual stance. “Can you guys behave and get along just for once?”

“Not if he’s going to act like that.”

Dustin sighs and opens his arms dramatically - Steve thinks he got that from Munson - saying, “If you two just gave up on whatever rivalry there is between you, then you’d really get along. Come on for just one night!”

Steve thinks about it for a moment. Not having to constantly be on edge around the other boy for one night. Not constantly being a target to Munson’s jabs and sarcastic flirtatious quips. Not dealing with him constantly getting up in his physical space just to rile him up. He replies to Dustin, “No way.” He can’t let his guard down for one night because… well… because… he just can’t!

Dustin sighs and steals a plate and three slices of pizza. “You’re going to need more pizza,” is all he says before he announces to everyone that thee pizza is ready.

Steve sighs and looks at his timer which is close to going off - meaning the other pizza already in the oven is done. He’s prepared. He warns the kids that the fresh one is hot but doesn’t bother when Eddie comes in. He only feels a little bad when he hears the boy curse under his breath.

And that’s definitely not why he pulls a cold Coke out of the fridge and hands it to him so he can relieve the pain. He just does it because it’s worth seeing the suspicious face Munson pulls at the kind gesture. Never let them know your next move.

Soon everyone is finishing up their pizza in Steve’s living room where Steve sits on the floor as far away from Munson as he can. “Okay, first up charades!” Steve gives Dustin a look after the announcement. “What? El has never played. Everyone partner up in teams of two!”

Teams of two makes no sense when it comes to this large of a group, but when does anything make sense when it comes to the kids? Oh shit. Everyone pairs off into teams of two - Mike and Will, El and Max, and Lucas and Dustin leaving…

“No way,” Munson announces before Steve can beat him to it.

“For this one game, guys,” Dustin pleads with them.

Steve is about to argue, but he catches the extremely judgmental face Max is making and doesn’t want to even hear whatever comment is swirling around in her head. “Fine. This one game.”

Munson gives him the same suspicious look as they get little scraps of paper to fill out with random things to mime during the game. Once a random bowl is filled with the paper, the teams pair off to sit in the chairs and on the couch.

There’s a small available space left on the couch. Steve takes up the entire space expecting Munson to sit on the floor in front of him. Instead, he shrugs and flops right on top of him. Steve just obnoxiously wraps his hands around his waist and pulls him in tighter until he can tuck his chin over his shoulder. “What a sweetheart,” Munson whispers into his ear then has the audacity to kiss his temple.

Steve tries to suppress a full body shiver and is shocked when Munson doesn’t comment on it. Then the game goes on. At one point, Steve starts absentmindedly stroking his thumb up and down Munson’s arm while watching El and Max score six points. But then there’s a hand in his hair, lightly scratching, and he becomes overly aware of everywhere he’s making contact with Eddie.

He wants to kill him. He also wants to melt against him and give into the touch, but that’s exactly what Eddie wants! So, he ups his game, in whatever game they’re playing, and moves his hand to Eddie’s thigh finding the closest rip in his jeans and hooking his thumb under the material to lightly stroke at the skin there. Then he uses his other hand to sneak a hand under the hem of Eddie’s shirt and stroke at the skin at his waist.

Steve can feel the shape intake of breath as Eddie tenses up then relaxes back against him. The hand in his hair then tugs roughly, and Steve bites back a fucking moan.

He freezes as he realizes where they are. And who they’re around. Steve takes a quick glance around but finds everyone too intrigued in the game to notice whatever the fuck is happening between him and Eddie. The other boy must notice the freeze in his antics because his hand quickly comes out of his hair. “Kids,” Steve whispers.

“Right,” Eddie whispers back. Then the round is ending, and Dustin is jumping up to play which clears a space on the couch next to them. Steve takes the moment to gently move Eddie off of him, knees coming up immediately after the other boy is gone, and he finds Eddie snatching a pillow on his lap. What the fuck.

Steve tries to clear his head during the round, but Eddie’s arm is still pressed against him and it’s overwhelmingly distracting. God he can’t stand him.

Sooner than he expects, Dustin and Lucas’s round is over only racking up four answers and a bitter argument. Steve realizes he and Eddie are the last group to go up. Eddie nudges him to get up, pillow still firmly in his lap, and Steve would make a comment if the sight didn’t make his head spin.

He takes a deep breath as Dustin starts the timer for them, and Steve snatches up a piece of paper - train wreck. Yeah, that’s how he feels. He makes an awkward gesture of his hands coming together then blowing up that no one could possibly get.

“Train wreck.”

Steve grabs another paper - ice. He makes a cube shape with his hand and shivers.

“Igloo… No, ice.”

Dracula. Steve tries making fangs.

“Vampire.” Steve gestures for more. “Dracula!”

Lightsaber. Steve pretends to hold one and slice.

“Lightsaber.”

Steve hears Dustin whisper under his breath, “What the fuck?” As he pulls out paper after paper until the timer runs out.

The kids stare at the two in awe and shock as Dustin announces, “Eighteen. You guys got eighteen…”

Steve and Eddie share a look of slight discomfort. That can’t mean anything. Really. It can’t. Maybe Steve is just good at charades. So, Steve just nods at the man and sits on the couch in front of him. Another round in and Eddie is hooking his legs around Steve’s torso, and Steve is shooting him a glare. Insufferable asshole. He lays his head against his knee to mess with him as Eddie plays with his hair.

Soon enough, it’s their turn again, and Steve is grateful because he was about to embarrassingly doze off comfortably because of Eddie Munson. He takes his place on the couch and watches as Eddie prepares to start. This is the moment they prove everyone wrong about being a good team.

Eddie’s hands make a circle. “Ferris wheel.” Eddie shoots him a look and picks up the next paper. Shit.

His hand awkwardly flops in what Steve supposes is meant to be a wave. “A wave.” Eddie gestures for more. “The ocean.” Eddie picks up another paper.

Eddie points up then use the same hand to gesture something coming up. Something rising… “Sunrise.” Eddie picks up another paper.

Their round goes on the same as before, but this time the kids are all laughing as Steve guesses stuff almost immediately after Eddie makes a gesture. The timer goes off, and Dustin announces, “Twenty-five!”

A big grin splits out on Eddie’s face which Steve is sure he mirrors as he runs over to him and gives him a high-five. “That was so metal!” Eddie says, eyes twinkling with glee. Steve wants to stay in this moment forever.

Wait. No. He doesn’t. He fires back, “Just because I’m excellent at guessing, it had nothing to do with you, Munson.” Unfortunately, the name doesn’t quite land as it usually does, it now sounds a bit twisted up in joy.

Nonetheless, Eddie’s smile slightly falters as he punches Steve’s arm and replies, “I’m just great at miming stuff, Harrington.”

Dustin clears his throat, and Steve realizes they have an audience. “Next up we have Pictionary which is just charades but with drawing. Does anyone want to change groups?”

Steve freezes. Shit. This is supposed to be when he and Munson argue that yes, they do, but before they can Dustin says with a little too much excitement, “Looks like no one does, so we’ll keep it the same!” He goes off to wheel in a whiteboard Steve happened to find in his dad’s unused office.

Eddie sits on the arm of the couch this time - which Steve realizes could’ve been an option the whole time - and whispers, “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Because no one wanted to change groups.”

“Well, I didn’t see you raise your hand.”

“I didn’t see you raise your hand either,” Steve fires back but then the reality of what he said hits him. Shit. Eddie shoots him a shit eating grin.

Two rounds in, he’s sliding off the arm of the couch and into Steve’s lap complaining about it being uncomfortable. For some reason, Steve doesn’t tell him to just sit on the floor like he did.

Pictionary goes the same as charades does, with Steve and Eddie somehow on the same wavelength with every single scribble. On their last turn, Eddie’s marker dies out and Steve somehow guesses that the invisible scribbles are the Statue of Liberty.

I think that’s what really does it for everyone. The kids start demanding to know how they’re cheating, and Eddie and Steve actually team up to defend themselves on how they have no idea how they’re so good at the games.

The whole things has everyone switching teams, but it turns out that only Steve and Eddie can guess each other’s gestures and scribbles. At one point Steve yells at Dustin, “How could you not get the Loch Ness Monster from that?!”

And Dustin yells back, “How could you get it from his hand just going up and down?!”

Even when they all agree to do a round of everyone excluding the other half of Steve or Eddie, they find they can only guess around five things from Steve or Eddie on average. They let Steve and Eddie team up one last time and they score above twenty correct guesses on both turns.

It becomes suspicious to the point that Eddie and Steve both start questioning the group on whether they’re faking it. But when Max says, “I don’t think any one of us could’ve guessed that when Eddie’s hand started going up and it wasn’t even past his shoulder that it meant a giraffe - except for you,” Steve cringes and realizes she’s probably right.

He glances at his watch just for something to do when he realizes that they’ve actually been on this argument for a long time. Long enough that Nancy should be there any minute to pick a few of the kids up.

Sure enough, there’s a knock on Steve’s door. “Looks like Nancy is here.”

The teens start to complain about how time has gone too fast, and they'll have to beat Steve and Eddie another time. Dustin finally gets to the door first, then he yells, "Last one to make it to the car is the true loser!" The kids bolt.

Nancy puts her arms up as they pass her. She gives Steve and Eddie a tight smile after she finds all the kids struggling to fit themselves in her car.

"I brought half of them here; I can take them back," Eddie offers kindly. Jeez, Steve wishes he could be like that with him.

"Thank you, but I think they'd kill me if I tried to kick any of them out. You know how they are."

"We definitely do," Steve says and smiles brightly at Nancy. "Tell Robin I said hi."

Nancy's smile turns into a real one as a blush rises on her face. She nods and quickly says her goodbyes. Steve closes the door only to realize Eddie is still there. "Want to help me clean up?" Steve asks, fully expecting a rude response from the man.

"Sure," Eddie says instead, moving to pick up empty soda cans. Steve tries not to let his eyes linger as he bends over to do so. He shakes his head and moves to clean the whiteboard and wheel it back to his father's office.

When he comes back, he finds Eddie has stacked all the cans haphazardly in his arms. "Where's the trash can?" Steve motions for him to follow and pulls out the drawer in his kitchen with his trash can. "Rich people," Eddie mumbles as he drops the cans in.

Steve moves the pizza pans into the sink to wash later as Eddie comes up behind him. "We make a pretty good team, Harrington."

Steve scoffs and turns around, finding Eddie smiling openly at him. He doesn't like it. It feels too... suspicious. "In your dreams, Munson."

Eddie's face falls again. "At least you're nice in my dreams."

Steve laughs. He's got to be kidding. "Why would I be nice to you? You can't stand me, and the feeling is mutual, buddy."

Steve becomes overly aware of how trapped he is with his back digging into the counter. It's worse when Eddie leans forward and puts his hands on the counter at each side. Steve's crossed arms are the only reason Eddie isn't fully pressed up against him. And he does not want to put his arms down and fulfill the want in his traitorous mind.

Eddie breath ghosts over his lips as he says, "Yeah, you invade my space at every given moment with your hands itching to touch me because you can't stand me so much."

Steve cocks his head and leans further into Eddie's space, not afraid of the close proximity. "Yet look who's the one invading mine first."

"And look who's leaning into it."

With that Steve shoves Eddie off of him. He doesn't want to play these fucking mind games with the asshole. What he really wants is to get as far away from his as possible and to take a really cold shower.

Eddie laughs, and Steve just needs him to shut the fuck up for once. And that's the exact moment he storms into Eddie's space and kisses him.

And that's the exact moment he realizes he's fucked up.

(Thank you @henderdads for encouraging me to turn my concept into a ficlet, and since I am unable to stop myself from writing way more than I intend and making everything into a wip... I will be dropping the AO3 Link to this once I continue it. Also, this isn't even the whole first chapter or part to this story ahhhh)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #another... wip #are you kidding me

[loveshotzz]

I hope I’m not late for request this🥹:

[inside one muses’s office] with AIRWIY!Steve? And reader give him his first blowjob?🥹

So this one got a little out of hand, but 🥺 I love him and he deserves the best head in the world if you ask me. Thank you for your request! 💕 I hope you like it!

older!steve x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ age gap, new established relationship, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, smidge of size kink, smidge of daddy kink, finger sucking, swallowing.

wc: 2.8k

A/N: This request is apart of my completed series All I Really Want Is You, but can be read as a stand alone. For those that read the series this takes place shortly after chapter ten.

It was supposed to be a nice lunch in his office on your day off. You weren’t supposed to be giving him elevator eyes from the other side of his desk while he complained to you about his day. But no one had warned you about what middle of the work day Steve looked like. Not quite as dishievied as the end of it when he’s checking his mail, but not put together like when you see him leave his house through your bedroom window when the sun is barely touching the sky. More importantly, you didn’t know about the glasses.

The thin silver frames sit perched on the end of his nose with hair that looks like he just started running his hands through it. The slicked back style it began the day in still sticks to some of his auburn locks while the rest develop a crazed mind of their own. He had popped open the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, revealing a matching tank top underneath and the beginnings of the soft dark thatch of hair that covers his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to the middle of his forearms, and the tan he still has left over from the last few days of summer makes his skin look bronzed. The scruff that lines his jaw is thicker today than he’d usually allow too, but that’s because he’d forgotten his razor in your bathroom the last night he slept over. 

God, he was handsome. 

“Wrapping up at the end of a season, especially one where we didn’t make it to the finals has been nightmare, honey.” He rubs his eyes from under his glasses leaning back in his seat. 

He was stressed too.

The leather squeaks with his movements, and your gaze finds its way to his newly revealed waist. His black dress slacks are pulled tight over his thighs, and the silver buckle of his belt gleams when it hits the sun spilling in from his office windows. 

“Just one more week till your vacation,” you remind him gently, your fingers playing with the hem of the sundress and you catch the way his eyes track your movements, wetting his lips.

“One more week till I get to have you all for myself.” He counters, making you giddy at the thought of your first trip together to New York, “enough about my day though. Let me get a better look at this pretty dress you’re wearin’, is it new?” 

There’s heat flickering behind his gaze when he gestures for you to stand in front of him, something a little mischievous in his grin that makes your skin buzz.

“Yeah, I got it at Lost Girls after work the other day. I’d been looking at it for a while through the window, thought I’d do something nice for myself.” Your nerves make you ramble as you get up, but Steve thinks it’s cute. He thinks everything you do is cute.

“It’s really, really nice baby,” he praises when you get in front of him letting his eyes roam all the ways it hugs your curves just right, like it was made custom for your body and his slacks get a little tighter. “You look so beautiful, give me a little twirl.”

Your face burns like it’s the middle of June at his request, and the golden emerald of his eyes get darker from behind his lenses. The air around you both turns electric when your already short hem flutters out around the tops of your thighs, spinning around twice for him, just enough to give a glimpse of the red lace that hugs your ass cheeks underneath. 

“You gonna be wearing this tonight when I pick you up for dinner?” He asks with big hands reaching out for you, begging you to get closer.

“I didn’t know we had plans tonight.” You giggle letting your wedges carry you to the space he made for you between his legs. The cedar and spice of his cologne envelopes your senses when you get close enough for his hands to find the back of your thighs pulling you to him with a squeal.

The whites of his teeth show when he looks up at you with a smile that steals your breath away, squeezing at the soft dough under his palms.

“What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t show you off any chance I got?” The pads of his thumbs swipe against the hem of the lace that meets at the curve of your ass, butterflies in your stomach because you’ll never get used to hearing him say that.

“Yeah, I’ll wear it, handsome.” You agree, making him hum in approval. 

He lets you run your fingers through the soft silk of his hair, silver strands showing themselves to you in a mess of dirty blonde and auburn as you scratch along his scalp. Steve groans at the feeling and it goes straight to your core, his long fingers tightening around the plush of your thighs, leaning his forehead against the soft pudge of your tummy with his eyes closed.

“Fuck,” He mumbles against you, the wheels on his chair roll him closer as his hands grip higher, warm palms finding the dough of your buttcheeks when you scratch at the nape of his neck. 

You watch the way his shoulders slump, the muscles in his body finally starting to unwind from your touch. You want to unwind him more.

“Steve?” His name comes out in just above a whisper, your nerves threatening to get the best of you. 

“Hmm?” He hums in response, too lost in the feeling of your nails dragging over his scalp.

“Let me take care of you.” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tug a little at his roots asking him to meet your gaze. 

“Honey,” It doesn’t sound like a protest, and it doesn’t feel like it either when his nails dig half crescent moons into the backs of your thighs, staring up at you with wide eyes.

You remember the empty hallways on your way up. Everyone was gone for the season, including Richard.

“You’ve been working so hard, you deserve it.” You cup the side of his face, your body buzzing when he leans into your touch. “Will you let me?”

“I - “ Wetting his lips, Steve glances at the door before bringing his attention back to you, “yeah, okay, shit, yeah.”

You hold his heavy lidded gaze with a confidence he’s never seen before as you drop to your knees, the nails that were just in his hair dragging along his thighs and it sends him reeling. He doesn’t know how long you’ve thought about this.

The carpet is rough on your freshly lotioned skin, the bottom hem of your dress pulling up over the tops of your thighs. Leaning back in his chair, the new angle gives him the perfect view down the deep heart shaped neckline of your dress. The necklace he got you on your first date shimmers just above the swell of your breasts and it makes his cock press into the metal of his zipper. He wishes he could take a picture of you right now.

“You want this baby?” His voice comes out gruff when he asks, the gold inside his eyes darkening to something almost black as he runs a hand through his hair.

“You have no idea, just how bad I want it … daddy.” Looking up at him through thick lashes, you punch the air out of his lungs in a low exhale through his nose when you don’t hesitate to start working at the silver of his belt buckle.

“Fuck, you can’t say - ” He huffs out exasperated, contemplating taking a half day so he can spend the rest of it in bed with you. 

Leather squeaks underneath him when he lifts his hips to help you tug his pants down. The hard outline of him strains against his briefs, mouth watering when you notice the darkened spot where he’s already leaking into the black cotton. More confident now, your palms find purchase on the tops of his hairy thighs, leaning forward you let heat of your breath make him twitch, earning a low groan when your lips trail like a ghost behind it.

“Can’t say what?” Your tone drips innocence, your bottom lip tugging down against the covered head of his cock before lifting your gaze with a mischievous smirk, relishing in the sharp inhale he takes through his teeth. 

“I think you’re gonna kill me.” He almost laughs, running a hand over his face. Pushing up his glasses in the process he settles his heavy gaze on you with a lazy grin as they slide down the slope of his nose.

You hum, glossed lips twisting at the corners as you hook your fingers in the elastic of his briefs, giving them a gentle pull to signal what you want. Steve gives it to you without any hesitation, the full weight of his cock slapping against his stomach making your thighs press at the thought of being stretched by it. The pink tip swipes against the hem of his button up that sits rucked up at his belly button and you don’t think you’ll ever be immune to just how big and pretty he is.

“That wouldn’t be very nice of me huh?” you tease looking up at him with a pout.

“Nuh-uh” He mumbles, face crumpling a little watching your fingers try to wrap around the base of him, the tips of them just barely meeting on the other side. The grip he has on the armrest of his chair, stretches his skin so tight the whites of his knuckles start to show.

“And, I wanna be nice,” he feels like velvet in your hand, the pad of your thumb tracing the large vein that runs up the side, before swiping over his sensitive head. You collect what he’s already given to you with enough pressure to make his toes curl inside his wingtip dress shoes.  

Leaning forward, you slowly let your tongue run the length of him, feeling the way he twitches against the muscle before paying extra attention to what’s weeping for you, swirling your tongue around the tip. Salty and little sweet from the way he drinks his coffee in the morning, you hum pleased when he hits your taste buds. 

“God, honey.”

You don’t give him any warning when you wrap your lips around him, a greedy tongue flattening along the underside. Gagging when he hits the back of your throat, you still try to open up just a little more, your hand keeping up with what you can’t reach.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve’s jaw goes slack, eyelids growing too heavy to keep open at the heat of your mouth enveloping him. His head pushes further into his chair while he fights to keep his hands from flying to the back of yours.

Scooting closer, you feel him spread his legs even more, and your hand that’s not wrapped around the base of his cock, slides down his thigh. The blunt ends of your nails dragging through the rough curls that cover it.

“That’s - that’s so - shit, you’re making me feel so fucking good.” He grunts, finally working up enough strength to pry his eyes open to get a look at what he’s dreamed of a million times alone in the shower. “Always so good to me baby.”

You moan at his words, the praise drowning out the dull throb in your knees from the hard floor, and your throat opens up just a little more, the tip of your nose a ghost against his thick happy trail.

“You like that?” The tone he uses is deep, like someone laced the honey it’s always had for you with cinnamon. “You like when I tell you how good you are?”

Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck even harder, the wetness between your legs only getting worse when he lets out a strangled groan. You slowly work up the length of his cock with tight lips, before releasing him with a loud ‘pop’. For a second Steve thinks he might add more to the shining mess that covers your face, spit still connecting your chin to his sensitive head. 

You drag your teeth over your swollen bottom lip, his dark eyes tracking the movement when it pops back into place, twitching in your hand that hasn’t stopped pumping him. He thinks he likes this better than your gloss. You nod in response with a smile and he can’t believe is a little shy. 

Leaning forward, he wipes your chin with his thumb before tracing where your teeth just were with the pad of it. His eyes darken even more when your mouth opens, strawberry lips wrapping around him with no hesitation.

Yeah, you’re going to kill him. 

“Fuck, look at you,” He pushes down on your tongue, watching the way your thighs press under your dress sucking on the digit with the same force. “I’m so lucky.”

You moan around him, the motions of your wrist getting faster, and the urge to taste him becomes unbearable. With a gentle scrap of your teeth you let go of his thumb, pushing up on your knees to beg for a kiss. The wheels of his chair clink against the hinges when he eagerly accepts your request, one of his hands finding the back of your neck pulling you closer to lick into your mouth without a second thought. 

Your teeth scrape together, tongues battling for dominance while the stubble that lines his jaw threatens to rub your skin raw, but you don’t care. The inside of your thighs start to get sticky and the large vein that runs up the side of his cock pulses against your palm with the need for your attention. It’s the only thing that can get you to pull away from his lips that won’t stop devouring yours.  

It’s with new determination that you take him back into the heat of his mouth, doing your best to take him deeper down your throat than before. He moans your name loud enough that you’re sure anyone in this part of the building would hear if they were actually in their offices. He lets a big hand find the back of your head this time, while both of yours find the tops of his thighs. 

Your cheeks hollow again while your tongue wraps around as much as you can get, more spit, more slick to bob in rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. The tip of him catches at the back of your throat, and the way it squeezes his head when your reflex hits makes his toes curl, fingers burying themselves in your hair to keep you there.

“Oh, that’s - that’s it- take the whole thing. Shit. You’re gonna make me cum baby. Just like that, don’t stop, don’t stop. Good girl, good girl.” 

Each snap of his hips gets as desperate as his babbling, like he’s completely forgotten he’s still at work. One of your hands leaves his thigh to cup his balls that have been screaming for attention since the moment you walked into his office in that dress. Rolling them in your palm is the final touch that makes his vision go white behind his eyes, body tensing and face going slack just like his jaw. 

“Baby, baby, baby.”

Twitching, he spills hot down the back of your throat and you try to swallow as much of it as you can before it dribbles down your chin, dripping onto your chest. His full weight falls back onto his chair, the wheels it’s on moving just enough to have him slide half soft from the warm velvet of your mouth. He tasted even better than you’d imagined, promising yourself you were going to do this again to him after dinner. 

Chest heaving, a breathy laugh escapes him, and the hand that was buried in your hair runs through his before his eyes open up back to their normal golden brown. His cheeks flush pink when he gets a look at the mess he made of you, and it only deepens when you collect the spend that found its way to the swell of your breasts with the pads of your fingers before sucking them clean.

“I think I’m gonna take a half day.”

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