#A Little Birthday Boy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spikershoyo · 3 months ago

Text

birthday special | lando norris x f!reader | smut | minors DNI!

warnings, tags, and notes: smut, oral sex (fem and masc), eating cake while getting your pussy eaten (lol), mentions of drinking, Lando having the tiniest existential crisis, fingering, happy birthday to the only boy ever <3

Lando groaned softly when his eyes opened in the morning, already knowing he woke up too early on a day off. But he quickly relaxed back into the sheets when he felt your warm body against his, head tucked into the side of his neck, he was content with laying there for a few more hours. He didn’t know that you were already awake, having looked at his peaceful, sleeping face when you had woken up.

You waited a few minutes to shift, murmuring a soft ‘good morning, baby’ as Lando tightened his hold around you. He grunts something back in response, eyes still heavy from sleep. You peppered kisses over his neck, eliciting a soft sound from Lando, your hands tracing down his warm body, making the Brit squirm. “Your hands are cold,” He sighed, relishing in your kisses. “Happy birthday, Lan,” You whispered into his skin.

Lando smiles at the low congratulations, murmuring a ’thank you’ before pulling you closer, turning you both over, and having you sit on his lap. Lando sighed with contentment, watching you with adoring eyes. Hair messy and his t-shirt resting over your frame, it’s better than anything he could have asked for.

Your hands now run down his bare chest, touching and feeling the skin you had access to at any time of the day, Lando’s wolfish smile beaming up at you as his hands rested on your hips, sliding under your sleeping shirt and tracing over your panties. “Look at you,” He hummed, shifting your hips so that you moved over his morning wood, making both of you groan out in pleasure. Lando entertains the idea of sinking into you and sleeping through the rest of the morning, meeting up with his parents later, but you have something else planned.

You slide down his lap and settle between his legs, planting your hands on his thighs as you gaze up at him. “Wanted to give my sweet boy something special on his birthday morning,” Lando’s dazed expression makes you giggle, his fingers gripping onto the meat on your hips.

Lando takes a deep breath when he feels your lips around the tip of his cock, your hands having pulled his boxers down. He leaned his head back on the pillows, getting comfortable while fighting back the urge to buck his hips into your mouth.

Morning head on his birthday sounded heavenly, it was more than he could have asked for. Lando doesn’t last long, quickly finishing in your mouth and pulling you back up to him for a kiss.

You managed to begrudgingly get Lando out of bed, still lazy from his first birthday treat. There were a few moments when Lando realized he was turning 25, a very real, very adult age. While avoiding a midlife crisis, you got him to get ready so you could go visit his family, who had landed in Monaco last night so they could celebrate Lando’s birthday.

Everything was perfect, all the people he loved gathered around for a nice brunch. His parents, brother and sisters, friends, cousins, grandparents, and you, the person he most loved.

He laughed and had the best of time, getting a small cake so the people he loves can celebrate him, and even now at 25 he still doesn’t know where to look when they’re singing happy birthday to him. So he settles to look at you.

Later into the day you and Lando had decided to go out clubbing with a few friends for some more adult fun, a few of the drivers from the grid coming out to wish him a nice one.

Lando’s tipsy and he’s happy, happier than he’s been in a while. He gets to hold you and kiss you, be celebrated by you, and just have a good day. So when you both come back stumbling into your apartment, tipsy and gleeful, Lando is insatiable. Ever since you both grabbed a cab back home he’s been all over you, whispering dirty promises and sweet nothings into your ears.

You’re hungry when you walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water, Lando whining for you to come to bed, wanting to have you undressed. “Baby, come on,” He sighs, bent over and leaning on the kitchen island, gazing at you. “Hold on, birthday boy, I’m hungry.” When you open the door to the fridge nothing looks too appetizing except for Lando’s birthday cake.

When Lando watches you stab a fork into his birthday cake, he smiles softly, walking towards you so he can settle his hands on your hips. “Gimme some,” He murmurs as he pulls you closer by your hips. You fork into the cake and stab him a piece, feeding it to him with a smile. Lando hums at the fluffy and sweet taste, the buttercream frosting melting across his tongue. “Come here,” He whispers, lifting you so you sit kitchen island. Your eyes gaze into his, dragging down his body, admiring the chain that hangs low on his chest, the few buttons he left open on his dress shirt taunting her to take it all off.

Lando’s lips quickly press against your neck, mouthing over the heated skin, licking and biting gently. A soft moan escapes your lips as Lando spreads your legs apart, settling himself between them. “Lemme have another bite,” Lando then whispers against your lips. Lando’s hands rest on the top of your thighs, waiting expectantly with a dazed smile.

You both share a few more bites of cake before the Brit decides he wants to eat something else. Slow, deliberate kisses are pressed down your chest, your party dress having been pushed down earlier. When he reaches the heat of your core he practically moans, hungry for more.

Your hands run down the nape of his neck, coming back up to play with his curls when he pulls your panties down, pressing his nose against your core and smirking, littering kisses over your inner thigh before practically making out with your cunt.

“Taste so good,” Lando moans, your hips bucking up against his mouth, whimpers falling from your lips with ease. Lando hums and nips gently against your clit, making you jolt and hit him swiftly in the back of his head, causing a laugh from the man between your legs.

Lando eats you out like a man starved, whining and thrusting into the air as he looks up at you, eyes hooded and nose pressed against your bundle of nerves. Your body felt like it was on constant overdrive, a wave of hot and cold washing over you.

“Oh, fuck, Lan,” You moan out, the sound resounding a bit in the fairly quiet apartment, the only other sound being the squelch between your legs, Lando’s tongue doing wonders for your pleasure. “H-hey, I should be the one pleasing you,” You chuckle breathlessly, cheeks flushed and feeling a beginning coil in your stomach.

“This is a pleasure to me,” Lando mumbles against your pussy, pulling back to lick his lips and dip two fingers, making your mouth open in a loud moan. “That’s it, pretty girl, I know you’re close,” He smirks, knees starting to ache from kneeling on them.

With one hand in his curls and the other one gripping the edge of the kitchen island, your hips buck up onto Lando’s digits, your bottom lip trembling when he blows air against your core. “Please, please, lemme cum, Lan, feels so good,” You plead, eyes staring down into pretty green eyes, his smile widening as you beg.

“Come on, baby, cum on my fingers,” Lando says, lips quickly going back to suck on your clit while his fingers pump in and out of your runny cunt, his soft chuckles sending shockwaves throughout your body.

When pleasure overcomes you, a delicious coil unwinding in your stomach, Lando licks up into your pussy, relishing in the slick and cleaning you up.

Lando stands up from between your legs and licks his fingers, crashing his lips into yours so you can taste yourself on his tongue. “So sweet,” He murmurs against your lips, one of his hands coming up to swipe at his birthday cake, finger dipping into the frosting before he presses the digits against your bottom lip, prompting you to suck the yummy buttercream off.

“And that’s even sweeter,” Lando cheekily adds, a small giggle escaping him once you roll your eyes at him.

Now as the night ends and you’re both in the bathtub, soaking in the bubbles, Lando realizes that this is all he could have ever wanted. Sure, the presents and the company were nice, but all he wanted was you, and his wishes were granted.

The Brit relaxes against your chest, freshly cut mullet damp and sticking to the nape of his neck, his eyes closed as your hands rested over his stomach under the water. “I love you,” Lando says, “Thank you for today, it’s been really nice.” He smiled to himself, knowing that this would be one of the many memorable birthdays he had. “I love you too, baby,” You whisper back to him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Happy birthday, Lando.”

#[v won’t stfu]#ln4 #lando norris #pretty boy #AGSAH I MIGHT DO SOMETHING FOR MY FAVES BIRTHDAYS NOW #lando norris angst #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #ln #ln04 #lando norris smau #lando x reader #lando smut #little lando norris #happy birthday lando!!!#[my writing!!]

764 notes · View notes

hitlikehammers · 1 month ago

Text

The One Where Wayne Munson KNOWS BETTER Than to Lend Air to IDLE GOSSIP

(and does it anyway on accident and ends up thinking his 💕boy's boy💕 might be ✖️stepping out) ——(1/3)

Wayne Munson’s lived his life mostly free from the hubbub of small town gossip. Some was unavoidable in his tiny holler as a boy; more was part and parcel to the service, and plain keeping half-sane in war—anything for a distraction. After all that though, Wayne’d had more’n his fill of even a teaspoon of hearsay, and compared to where he came from? Hawkins, Indiana was small potatoes for keepin’ his nose clear out of it.

Which is all to say he don’t mean to collect any of the latest scuttlebutt on his way just to town after he gets off his shift with the sun barely a glimmer, just past 5 for Leah’s to be open for a better cup-o-joe than the sludge he gets on the floor. All he wants is a hot nightcap because he knows damn well his boy didn’t pick up more grounds before Melvald’s closed last night, and Wayne doesn’t want to see his bed until he’s had a full mug of fair-to-middling coffee.

And honest: he don’t think that’s more than he’s earned to ask.

But it is more than he bargained for signing’ up to, when he sees the only other people in the diner at this hour on a Saturday.

Because the only other people are a girl he don’t know, though he can’t see her real well from the back, which only really means he sees her coffee date full-on and much too well in exchange because they’re leaned in and they’re being all touchy across the table, voices low but not too low—he don’t think they even noticed him come in, let alone come to wait close enough to hear ‘em while he insists on saving the lovely Leah herself the trip to a table when he can damn well carry his own drink, thanks kindly.

“You’re gonna have a coronary if you keep hiding this.”

The girl sounds…she sounds the way Wayne remembers his Mamaw sounding when she was about to hit his Grampy up the head over some harebrained such-and-such. Exasperated, but all from a deep well of unshakable loving.

Which is what perks up Wayne’s attention, and then churns his insides quick right-next, because—

Well. The boy this young lady’s being all over-fond at for his antics is Steve Harrington.

Who, for all that Wayne understands, is meant to be his boy’s boy.

“No, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, tone bowstring-taut; “I’m gonna tell him.” Kid sounds resolved for all of half-a-second before he’s groaning, running hands over his face: “Or, I mean—”

The thunk of the boy’s head to the tabletop clatters the cutlery, and if Wayne weren’t already clued into their conversation, he’d be wholly absolved for dropping eaves given how the noise echoes through the mostly-empty establishment bar-to-door.

“Dingus,” the girl says, and it drips with concern, with affection, with a deep choler that, again, sings loud of married-couple.

Which twists Wayne’s guts all the more to hear.

Because she’s talking to Wayne’s boy’s boy.

“I’m gonna, I promise,” Steve sounds not unlike a man on his way to the gallows, even more when he sighs deep as anything and traces out his lips with his fingers, hands shaky even out the corner of Wayne’s eye for a distance as he hisses low:

“Fuck.”

And Wayne, see, he don’t like borrowing trouble. He meant it about keeping his nose clean of the gossip and the hearsay. So he makes sure he reminds himself good in his own head that he don’t know the facts here, and jumpin’ to conclusions don’t do no favors to nobody.

It don’t do nothing for the way that what he does know, what he sees and hears with his own god-given senses in the now, don’t add up too kindly for the Harrington boy.

Not least because it seems to be adding up poor indeed for Wayne’s boy.

“Do you think he’ll—”

“Steve,” the girl’s voice goes softer, but also frantic almost, as Wayne sees her reach across the way and gather Steve’s hands with a familiarity to the motion that wouldn’t make sense unless…

Unless they’re something special to each other.

Wayne’s watched Eddie reach out for Steve that way. He’s watch Steve do the same. So it…it just don’t make sense—

“You’re shaking,” the girl says, all kinda pitiful, and Wayne’d seen it before, but now he chances a look again and: oh.

Boy’s a leaf in a cyclone.

“It’s a big deal,” Steve rasps out near under Wayne’s ability to hear it.

But he does hear it.

“You need to just lay it out,” the girl tells him, earnest now and more of that than any irritation, any frustration put-upon or otherwise; “be up front with him.”

And it ain’t fair, yet, even if all the signs are pointing that direction; but Wayne likes Steve. He doesn’t want to think the worst of him. And he doesn’t, really, in his heart, think Steve could do or be the worst, from all he’s learned and seen—Wayne’d had uncharitable thoughts about it he kid, before he knew better, based on hearsay which one more time, he don’t countenance as a rule, and he’d been taught better and quick from the second he saw Steve at his nephew’s bedside, and heard the only thing he’s proud and happy to have dropped in upon uninvited:

You nearly fucking died yourself dragging him out, Steve, what the hell—

That Henderson squirt, scolding Steve something fierce.

So Wayne reminds himself this boy loved his boy enough to risk himself to bring Eddie home. Before they were anything to one another. And Wayne knows damn well they’re both something to each other, now. It don’t make sense that Steve wants to…be up front about a notion with Eddie that could hurt.

But then: care can look a lot of different ways, and can change over time. Ain’t nobody to fault for that. And much as Wayne can’t quite believe the Steve he’s gotten to know these past many-months could swallow hurting his Eddie…

Wayne’s been proven incorrect about people more than enough in his life to know better than to think it’s impossible to be wrong about a man’s heart.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over fucking fantastic,” Steve’s huffing, rolling his eyes—apparently he don’t want to be up front with the person they’re talking about. Wayne tries to remind himself that they’ve not flat out said it’s Eddie yet. Wayne shouldn’t go making assumptions.

“Why not?” the girl’s pressing him. “Be honest, with him,” then her tone does go a little judgemental; “you can’t honestly think he doesn’t suspect—”

“I really don’t think he does,” and it’s a strange thing, because no matter the words themselves, it don’t sound like Steve’s meaning to be deceitful about a thing. Kinda sounds a little like he’s mourning, like he’s just in a kind of pain. “If he did, then at least maybe I’d have some kind of,” he waves his hand in the air, looks frantic, at loose ends all around; “heads-up for where his head’s at.”

And they’re both quiet for a spell, and Wayne looks for Leah in the back, knew she was getting food ready and was happy to wait—for better or worse with the conversation he’s been privy to without permission unspooling at his side—but he’s starting to feel antsy for all that he’s hearing, and the way he can’t quite tamp down associating it all with Eddie, with touchy things Steve might have to tell Eddie—

“Tell him by the end of the weekend.”

And now: think he might have to tell, encouraged so damn strong and single-minded by his lady friend with her hand on his arm.

“That’s fucking tomorrow!”

“End,” she’s narrowing her eyes sharp enough Wayne notices more in the shift of the room than to see it head-on; “of,” and then she’s smacking Steve’s arm to emphasize hard enough it rings out; “the weekend.”

Then Wayne notices how her posture shifts, and she leans closer again, so much affection, and easy with it, and welcome for it, no doubt about it:

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says low and earnest; “especially not when the thing you’re like this about is,” and then her tone shifts to something bright, near-on hopeful, even:

“It’s such a good thing, Steve.”

“I mean,” Steve mumbles, kind of miserable really; “of course you think so.”

And Wayne don’t like where his head goes for things the girl who’s watching Steve with such soft eyes might think to be good, might think while she’s touching him so close and —

“He’ll,” and she huffs a touch before going all heartfelt again: “Eddie is going to—”

And the moment his plausible deniability about the subject of the discussion is gone, Wayne gives up waiting for his coffee at the counter and…retreats to the corner by the door, far as he can get from whatever’s said next. He’d leave, honest, but the truth of the matter’s this:

He can’t be expected in good faith to figure out how to bring any of this up with Ed if he don’t have no caffeine in him.

☕ 👀 ☕

✨ part ii >>>

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—and since this is almost a YEAR LATE, could I possibly offer it as a normal-amounts-of-late birthday gift, more than as an egregiously-and-unforgivably-late prompt fill for you?

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

NOTE: it's important to me that you know that Wayne's accept belongs to nowhere, and is just the voice of someone I knew as a kid, who also sounded like a little of everywhere and then again nowhere. so if you think some turn of phrase doesn't fit what you think you're reading in terms of dialect? it's just that this way of stringing words together is—with intention—its own amalgam of places and times

divider credit here and here