#And shitty cloth tape

[dragoncarrion]

YEWAAAAAUCH

[karmaphone]

oops I stayed up all night again

[maisanshine]

𝐖𝐇𝐘?| 𝐉𝐉𝐊

Why do you still love me

The playlist series

Paring- romantic!jungkook x fuckgirl!reader

Warings- pwp (just a little) smut, unprotected sex, throat fucking, boob play, mentioned masturbating, rough sex, overstimulation, hickeys, biting, manhandling, and crying after sex

WC; 1.7k

A/N; chill, this is a mess

Not edited

Now Playing WHY? by Bazzi

☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆✩☆

Jungkook knows he's pathetic. He's delusional and idiotic in everything along those lines.

He just loves you so damn much. He knows he's not perfect, but he's committed to doing whatever it takes to make you happy.

He can't help it.

He is a romantic who fell for Anti.

Jungkook spends days crying about you; his parents hate you. His friends hate you. He doesn't care, though, and you don't either. Everything reminds Jungkook of you. The Netflix account that you two share. When he goes to watch funny videos on Instagram, remember that you blocked him for no reason.

When he's driving his car and sees the remnants of stuff you've left behind, the Polaroid picture is in his wallet. You and Jungkook had a simple agreement. Friends that have sex.

But Jungkook trapped himself; he started doing more than you asked. Buying you gifts, taking you to concerts, meeting his mom, and hanging around with his friends. You also did the same; Jungkook saw it as more. He thought you two were building something. But then, when he scrolls through his feed and your story doesn't pop up, or when he searches for your recent Instagram pictures, your account says it is unavailable.

It reminds him that, to you, he is only your friend. A friend that you block when you've found someone else more entertaining. You block Jungkook because he does too much and he ruins your other flings. Like when you actually tried to be in a relationship and Jungkook ended up in your ex-attempted boyfriend's car. Drunk because you blocked him two weeks prior and pictures of you and him fell out of his wallet.

Your attempted relationship called you an asshole for leaving Jungkook so quickly and moving into him. He could only ever imagine what you would do to him when you were bored.

You didn't talk to Jungkook for 3 months until you were bored and unblocked him. He came back like a stray dog on the street. Then you sent him packing again three weeks later.

Jungkook tried to play you back; he slept with some girls and sent you a very shitty sex tape. You answered two weeks later, saying you guys could make a better one. Pathetic, you know damn well Jungkook is head over heels in love with you. But you don't care. You're just happy that you can keep him around.

His friends call you weird and shady but still want to fuck you, and very few have succeeded.

But like today, you were scrolling on Tinder, waiting for someone to pop up. But it was dry, so you rolled over to your mirror, took off your clothes, unblocked Jungkook, and sent him a well-awaited nude.

He opened it 54 seconds later. And he was on his way to your place. Jungkook almost ran outside naked when he saw your DM. He threw on some clothes and ran. He actually running to your place, 7 blocks from his.

You stand in your window, and you hear Frantic steps. You look down the street and see Jungkook running for his life. He spots you on your balcony. With a sinister smile plastered on your face. You can hear his breathing from seven floors of the ground. "Hey, Kookie," you say, going inside and waiting for him. A few minutes later, you hear the elevator at the end of the hallway

Jungkook is out of breath, but when he sees you standing at your door with nothing but your little pink satin robe,. He almost crashed out. Out of breath, he kissed you, and while you slipped off your robe, he immediately touched your breasts. One of his favorite parts of you. Even though he loves all of you, he does have his favorite parts.

Your boobs, your hair, your lips he can go on and on. You two make it to the couch as he takes off his shirt, his chest still damp from his shower. You kiss his neck as he sucks on your breast. "Are you wet?" you say, and he nods, mumbling something. "What?" you ask, and he picks up his head. "I was walking out of the shower when you sent me that." You giggle as he leaves hickeys on your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples.

You moan in his ear. Sitting up, you shove his pants down. Take him into your mouth. Jungkook grunts. As your wet and hot tongue pleases, his very deprived cock. Getting hard immediately in your mouth. You take his length down you throat. Jungkook thrusts his hips into your mouth, and you moan, batting your eyelashes once. Signifying him to fuck your throat.

He does, and he moves faster than the lewd sound of you gagging on cock. Jungkook feels his orgasm. He takes your hair pounding it into your mouth. He look at your eyes, which are watering. He stops, and you take a deep breath and moan. Jungkok lifts you up from the floor, throwing you on the gray couch. He positions himself between your legs, entering you with a deep thrust. You arch your back in pleasure, feeling him fill you completely. Jungkook's hands grip your hips as he sets a rhythm that has you both gasping for air.

"You know I'm getting tired of your shit, Y/N. You blocked me for weeks, then you sent that fuck ass shit." Jungkook fucks harder. You feel it in your chest. You moan, digging your nails into your shoulders. As he continues to pound into you. He stops and flips you over. He smacks your ass. You pick it up for him and he grabs the meaty flesh. He thrust back at you, and you moan, gasping as you hit you with another thrust hitting your spot.

His eyes bore into your body, filled with a mix of happiness and frustration. "I'm not going to make this easy for you," he growls, his grip tightening on your hips. You can feel the intensity of his emotions fueling every movement, pushing you both closer to the edge.

"I'm going to fuck you for how you make me feel." His words thrust into you at an ungodly fast pace. "You like it rough, yeah, do you, baby? You love it when I pound into you like this." He's grabbing your ass so hard that it's probably bruised from the force. "Jungkook," you say in a hushed whisper. He smack your ass. Hard

"Shut up, this is how I feel when you block me for them other slow fucks," Jugkook continues with the fast pace. After about a minute or two, he feels your pussy throbbing repeatedly against his lenth, and then he slows down. Giving you long, painful, slow thrusts. You whimper, punching the couch cushin.

'This is how slowly the days move after, just waiting for you to call me back to you." He keeps up the slow pace. Your body aches from your orgasm, but you feel it lingering. Jungkook kisses you back. “You want to go faster, baby? Like how ast I came running to you," you nob your head.

"Beg," you let out a disappointed sigh. You shake your head, no. " I'm going to fuck you nice and slow till I come. I don't care about you right now," he says, flipping you over on your back again, and Jungkook lifts up your legs. When you press up against your chest, your calvles rest on his shoulder. He pets your hair, his finger running down your face as he fucks you slowly

Your body hurts from the ache, so you compile. "Please go faster; it hurts," you says, placing his lips on your neck. "Does it hurt, baby? That's what I feel like too sometimes," he said, nodding and agreeing.

Jungkook kisses you, sucking on your tongue. He pulls away. "But you want to know something, babe; I don't care how you are right now. Just like how you never care about me. Your such a bad friend," Jungkook plays with your clitoral. His still inside of you with his slow thrust. You feel at his fingers, playing in your wetness.

"Please, Jungkook, I'm sorry. Just please fuck me faster." Jungkook smirks and increases his pace, his thrusts becoming more intense. You moan in pleasure, but he's not moving fast enough. “Jungkook faster?" He shakes his head, continuing.

"Your so mean," you say, gripping on the cushin of your coach. Your head is spinning at Jungkook thrust, and your body is agching but also satisfied, even though you haven't come yet.

Jungkook, speed up. Knocking into you at the faster speed from earlier. He's almost cumming. He is going to make you feel good. He rub your sopping cunt. Kissing your neck. You start to moan louder as your orgsams appearing once again after a long time. You grip onto Jungkok's thigh. Gripping his flesh, your head is spinning as your body heat builds up inside you.

Jungkook's movements become more harrowing by the second, his grip on you tightening as he reaches his own orgasm. The room is filled with the sound of your moans and his heavy breathing.

And finally, after what feels like hours, you cum, you cum so hard that your body starts to shake at the sight of your eyes bugging out as you moan so loud. Jungkook also comes, you feel it shoot into you. The sticky white mixture is counting your simulated walls. Your head hurts, and your body is tired. You look at the alarm clock on your coffee table, eyeing the time. 1:39am. You feel yourself dozing off.

You usually fall asleep after sex. But this time was different. "I love you, so fucking much baby” Jungkook whisped into your ear. You feel tiny wet tears fall on your shoulder. Getting off of you Jungkook sits on the edge of the coach breathing heavily. You turn over, you can’t bear to look at him. He just fucked your brains and now he crying like a kids who got his candy stolen.

"Why do you love me?' This isn't the first time Jungkook has told you this. So you changed your question.

'Why do you still love me?"

A/N; so y/n hate fan club?😭

[ushiwakatrash]

The Bakusquad as Roommates

A/N: Hey babes, it's been a while! I've been so busy will college so I really couldn't write. But, yeah, I'm (kinda) back <3333

!Warning!: smoking (weed too)

According to the new rules, UA has decided to place two people per room.

(This deviates from the original plot line)

See the Dekusquad version here.

Bakugou Katsuki 爆豪 勝己

Did not like the thought of sharing his space with someone random but as per UA's orders, what choice did he have?

Very clean and very strict about house rules

Will constantly nag about how you can't do chores right

Your first weeks were a disaster. He was so scary and so intimidating, you thought he was the concentrated essence of evil

He's blunt and mean, but you figure out he just has a hard time expressing himself

One morning, he cooked breakfast for you but went with lame excuses like "I accidentally cooked too much." or "You look dead so fuckin' eat!"

Since then you went along with his shitty excuses and used them when giving him dinner

"Bakugou, you can have this 'cause I don't feel like eating anymore." or "They looked good so I bought twice as much for, uh, no reason at all."

Seeing your efforts in trying to be a good roomie, he warmed up to you eventually

Now y'all just argue like an old couple

Kirishima Eijirou 切島 鋭児郎

Looks tough, but he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.

A literal angel

Day 1: friends

Day 2: besties

Day 3: you would take a bullet for him

He’s kinda messy and his punching bag takes a lot of space but hey, no one’s perfect

He always waits for you before he eats, and always saves you a plate when you’re running late because of extra training

You seek each other for comfort. Especially when Kiri feels insecure about how his quirk isn’t flashy or how he thinks it won’t make him a top hero one day

You, of course, would never want or let him think that way. It will never be a chore to remind him how he’s so strong and sturdy and how his muscles are hot

You know how much potential he has so if you have to repeat it a thousand times again and again, so be it

MUST PROTECT THIS CINNAMON ROLL

Kaminari Denki 上鳴電気

Had the idea of the old ‘bucket of water on top of the door’ prank as a big welcome to his roomie

What he didn’t calculate is that you have very sharp and fast reflexes.

Before the bucket falls on you, you hit it and the water splashes on Denki

Both of you were stunned at first but you recovered quickly and said “feeling cold, sparky?” with such a smug smirk

His face instantly got red and he stormed out of the room with comical tears shouting ‘MEANIE!!’

An hour later he returns, 2 popsicles in his hands. He hands you one as an apology and both of you reconcile, even if it’s his entire fault

You both get in trouble for blasting heavy metal at 3 in the morning MULTIPLE TIMES

The two of you made an agreement to do this ritual with headphones on because Mr. Aizawa had threatened to make you switch rooms

Sero Hanta 瀬呂範太

Ah, the potheads unite

It was a secret that you tried to keep under wraps since but the your roomie figured you out instantly

At first you both just shared vapes, trying out different flavors the both of you would buy

until you saw a bag in the bathroom that had an oh so familiar scent

You confronted Sero about it but he just gave you a 'what's the big deal' look so you shrugged it off

a few nights later he invited you for a session and you obliged, only if he kept it hush

this has been a routine since you could remember and Aizawa has never suspected you. I don't know about Mr. tape man though.

Ashido Mina 芦戸 三奈

There was no adjustment period for the both of you whatsoever

You both became instant besties and shared EVERYTHING

from skincare to clothes to maybe thongs at times but hey, girls do that shit

As if being roommates wasn't enough, you still hung out after class hours

Mina has been your greatest support system especially with boy trouble

Break a man's heart and she's as proud as any mother could be

Your heart is broken? A tub of ice cream and shitty movies are ready for you

She loves you like her own sister and constantly worries for you

Honestly the best roomie in town

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

[gojodickbig]

patching up neighbor!toji after he went on a shitty mission

conts: fluff.

wc: 1,9k.

divider from @uzmacchiato !!

the room was quiet, except for the faint hiss of toji’s breathing and the rustle of bandages as you worked. the smell of antiseptic filled the dimly lit room as you knelt in front of toji, his shirt somewhere on the floor, and his bare torso revealing a nasty gash along his side. his sharp eyes followed your every move, a flicker of amusement dancing in them despite the grim situation. he had been complaining ever since you started patching him up—about the bandages being too tight, the antiseptic being too cold, and how “unnecessary” this whole thing was. but you had long since learned that his grumbling didn’t mean much. he was always like this when you had to deal with him— always too proud, always too stubborn.

"if you don’t want my help patching you up, then why did you come here?” you asked, your patience wearing thin. his attitude was getting on your nerves.

“i just needed a place to crash for a moment. i couldn’t go into my apartment like this—my kid’s there,” he replied, his voice low and lazy. “i can patch myself up, y’know.”

“yeah, sure, like you wouldn’t have just slapped some duct tape on it and called it a day,” you shot back, glaring at him. “stay still,” you snapped, pressing a soaked cloth to his wound. He winced but didn’t flinch. “you’re lucky this didn’t hit anything vital. what were you even thinking?!” you paused. “this is why you keep getting hurt, toji. you’re reckless.”

“luck’s my middle name.” he chuckled at his own joke, a deep, gravelly sound that made your stomach twist in a way you tried to ignore. “and besides, reckless gets the job done, sweetheart, and i’m literally still breathing, aren’t i?”

“yeah, barely.” you ignored his pathetic attempt at humor and grabbed another strip of bandage, your hands moving quickly but carefully.

“thought i’d be fine, like always,” he replied with a shrug that made the bandages in your hand tremble. “told you, sweetheart, i don’t die that easy.”

you glared at him. “you can’t keep living like this. one of these days, you’re not going to walk away.” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “you’d be in a morgue if i wasn’t here. now stop acting invincible and stop moving.”

“is that what this is about?” he smirked, his head tilting. “you worried about me?”

you sighed, pressing the gauze against his side a little harder than necessary. “you make it impossible not to, showing up at my door in the middle of the night like this.” his cocky tone pricked your nerves, but the anger fizzled quickly under the weight of your own concern. “and someone has to worry about you. you clearly don’t.”

that wiped the smirk off his face, replaced by something quieter. your hands brushed his skin, and his muscles tensed under your touch.

“you’re too soft, you know,” he said after a moment, his voice dropping. “patching up someone like me when you should just ignore me.”

“you’re like a stray cat. you keep showing up whenever you’re in trouble. it’s not that easy to ignore you.”

he laughed at that, though the sound was rough and dry. “a cat, huh? thought you’d pick something tougher.”

“tough things don’t need saving,” you said simply, standing to grab another roll of bandages.

his grin faded, and for a moment, the room felt heavier. “and you think i do?” he raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes.

you paused, glancing at him. “if you didn’t, you wouldn’t keep coming back.”

his eyes lingered on you, unreadable as always, before he leaned back in his chair.

“you’re a strange one,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “most people know better than to get involved with me.”

“most people don’t live next door, and they don’t show up at my apartment in the middle of the night like this,” you replied, starting to wrap the bandage around his torso again.

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “bad luck for you, then.”

your eyes shot up to his face, ready to argue, but the teasing edge in his voice was gone.

there was a slight silence between the two of you before he decided to speak again. “you’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“you’ve got a funny way of showing gratitude,” you muttered, looking up at him.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he paused, running a hand through his messy black hair. “i meant,” he continued, his voice quieter, “you’re the only one who bothers. everyone else knows better.”

“knows better?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“they know i’m not worth it,” he replied, his tone quiet but still laced with that same cocky edge.

you froze, startled by the admission. toji fushiguro, the unshakable rogue, didn’t flinch at death, but here he was, baring something close to vulnerability.

“maybe you are worth it,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself.

he barked out a laugh, though it lacked its usual bite. “that’s cute. you think you can fix me?”

“who said i’m trying to fix you?” you shot back, your tone firm. “maybe i just care, toji. ever think of that?”

his smirk deepened, though his eyes softened slightly. “care, huh? that’s a dangerous thing, sweetheart.”

“why?” you asked, your voice quieter. “you can move now.”

he leaned forward, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “because when people care, they don’t think straight. they do stupid things.” his gaze dropped to the bandage, then back to you. “you’re already doing one by sticking around me.”

“then why do you let me?” you countered, your heart hammering. “why do you keep knocking at my door when you’re like this? why do you keep showing up when you’re hurt? if you don’t want me near you, then why is it always you who comes near me first?”

for the first time, toji didn’t have a quick answer. he let out a dry laugh. “i don’t know. i really don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “maybe i’m just selfish,” he muttered. “guess i like knowing someone’s dumb enough to stick around.”

you raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “that’s the closest thing to a thank you i’ll get, isn’t it?”

“don’t push your luck,” he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “i’m not the guy you want looking out for you.”

"maybe not,” you replied, standing and crossing your arms. “but i’m not going anywhere. deal with it.”

his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between you. “you’re for real a pain in the ass.”

“you keep saying that,” you looked at him with a teasing smile, “and yet, you keep coming here.”

he paused for a moment, looking at you with that familiar, unreadable expression. “yeah, yeah,” he said, his voice soft. then, he stood, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor. “have a good night, sweetheart.”

with that, he gave you one last glance and walked out the door.

© gojodickbig on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #5: CADMIUM COLORS

(also on bandcamp and spotify!)

Once again, welcome back to the Constant Companions Closeups - a series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Last time, I wrote a whole diatribe about my OCs while talking about I Wish That I Could Fall, and today, we're eating paint! Cadmium Colors featuring Soneji of Project Mikan!

Consider this a content warning: this post will discuss the pandemic, struggles with mental health, and suicidal ideation/attempts. I'm hoping it'll ultimately be uplifting, but the discussions at hand are incredibly heavy, and it wouldn't do this song right to be vague. Please be warned.

---

Let's talk about COVID.

At the beginning of 2020, I was in the midst of a long-term break from making music. It wasn't completely cold turkey, and I might not have even called it a break if you'd asked me at the time, but things were dire. I was still dealing with the burnout I'd sustained from the making of Autumn Every Day; I'd had my ego bruised by a live performance at a house party that went so hilariously bad it'd hurt even the most stoic performers (imagine watching an entire packed room of people clear out in 5 minutes flat from the already hyper-exposed vantage point of being on stage in front of them and knowing you single-handedly caused that lol); I had just moved across the country, and was preoccupied with trying to make ends meet as a 22 year old dealing with pure adulthood for the first time.

I was working a shitty minimum wage job at a discount clothing store I will not be naming, slogging through late-night shifts that wouldn't get me home until 3 am some nights. I had friends and roommates, but they were all just as overworked and exhausted and dealing with their own shit as me. I was mentally ill and unmedicated. Suicidal ideation was rearing its ugly head at my lowest moments.

Then, as I turned 23, a global pandemic shut the world down, my grandpa died with me being unable to attend his funeral, and I had a catastrophic mental breakdown that suddenly turned the voices in my head into a deafening cacophony of self-inflicted malice.

In hindsight, I think being 23 kinda just does that to you

---

Fast forward to 2021. I was back at my retail job with the pandemic raging in full force, my sense of self was held together with duct tape, positive self-talk essentially didn't exist for me, and I was the loneliest and lowest I had ever been. I was working the fewest hours I could get away with, and still, almost all spare time I had was taken up either by work or by my recovery from it.

This was around the time I got an email from Crypton, of all places - the people that make Hatsune Miku, for anyone uninformed. They wanted a remix of the song Happy Synthesizer for a Digital Stars compilation. I could not for the life of me tell you how I lucked into this or why they reached out to me of all people, but they did, and I was deathly determined to prove myself worthy of it.

This was August of 2021. I was staring down the barrel, languishing in what felt like only half of a life, fantasizing about death and trying to twist my thoughts into something that could at least keep me blearily shuffling forward another couple days. It was untenable.

(I'd also recently been diagnosed with OSDD 1b - this is a whole can of worms I can't really open until we talk about Breeze Blows, but it's important to at least mention that coping with this was a significant part of this turnaround.)

It's melodramatic, but I had only two options - make things again, or die.

I finished that remix within 24 hours of getting the stems, and I will gladly toot my own horn about it - it's really fucking good, in my opinion. Bittersweet ended up coming together in a mad dash over the next couple months as well. I was making music again.

Even though I was exponentially busier, things paradoxically got easier. I made the creative process a priority in my life, and not only did it give me an outlet for everything that had otherwise been eating away at my soul, but it struck a chord with other people who had been struggling as well. Things just... started getting brighter.

So I kept making music and living and yadda yadda blah blah here I am. This is all a lot of words and very personal stories of mental health struggles to say this:

One: The line between being an artist and being one of countless people forced to work jobs that go nowhere, that put their life at risk, that force them to strip parts of themselves away - it is a faint and transparent line built on circumstances of class and privilege and luck. Making Art and being an Artist aren't magical elevated states of existence, but something anyone is capable of if given the space to nurture their creativity. I believe the world should be a place where any person can do this.

Two: It's easy to convince yourself that art is meaningless in the face of the world at large. And yes, revolutions aren't fought by poetry and paintings, and people aren't fed through songs. But art is a source and a medium for connection; Art is how we find beauty in a disorganized and entropic world; Art is what we come home to and what words we write and pictures we paint and songs we sing to remind us that people matter to us and love is real and life is worth fucking living. Maybe that's corny and stupid, but it's true.

Three: So help me God, I will never work retail again in my entire life.

---

This is another song that is heavily inspired by artists like Prefab Sprout, Peter Gabriel, Kate Bush, and other artists of that ilk - very 80s, very flowery and sentimental lyricism, focused on telling a story. I greatly admire songs that aren't afraid to paint otherwise banal or ordinary scenes in abstract reverence!! I wanted the verses to contrast heavily with each other in that way, with verse one's relentless poeticisms (prosaic practice of depravity) and idioms turned on their head (suspending innocents above their disbelief) against verse two's incredibly straightforward depiction of a factory worker's circumstances.

The flowery language might have worked against me somewhat, though! I've seen a lot of folks that thought the ending was darker or much more defeatist than I intended, and while some of that is just inevitable with a work of art, I want to be clear.

Translator's note: this means "don't kill yourself, you idiot"!!

As you may have picked up from the previous post in this series, this song does heavily feature a leitmotif or two predominantly performed under pudgy pretenses. I'm not going to go on that whole novella-length spiel again, but rest assured knowing that this song, too, is one that makes me think about my OCs. Since it's something many people missed, however, I will take a moment to point out that this song quotes none other than Autumn Every Day off of my album of the same name!

Painting and visual art have been something of a reoccurring obsession of mine in my own art. I grew up around visual artists, have always been friends with many visual artists, and generally have a really intense love of it as a medium and a mode of expression. However, there's also always been a sense of... well, I don't want to call it jealousy, but it's jealousy. I've tried many times to start making visual art of my own, and I have made some things, but it's been a struggle, and I worry sometimes that my eye has permanently outstripped my ability.

However, in my quest to toss out grand expectations and simply have fun making art, I did recently pick up a cheap little drawing tablet! I'm excited to be a beginner at something artistic again...

Finally, I want to thank a couple people: Soneji of Project Mikan for the gorgeous, soaring saxophone solo; friend_xp for the mindboggling MV editing; and especially my good friend Que for the GORGEOUS painterly art that goes along with this song! Que's style was just perfect for this, and really tied the whole thing together immaculately!! There's no joke or deeper lore or anything I just fucking love Que's art go follow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And with that, I think this post is complete!! If you have anything else you wanna know about, ask away in the replies! Tomorrow will be Breeze Blows with Marcy Nabors and Marlow Jacobs!!!

MAKE ART AND BE GAY

[pepperyduck]

“matte black” with toji fushiguro

word count: 1.4k

warnings: nsfw, ghostface! toji, roleplay, dubcon (it's planned out beforehand), gunplay, like lots of gunplay, knifeplay + cutting off clothes, unprotected p in v, backshots, a little crying, toji tries to scare you but it doesn't work out how he thinks. (18+ mdni!)

notes: hi guyssss tysm for 500 hunnid followers :3 i appriciate u all!!!!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

“i mean, really, who makes you work late on halloween?”

your complaints to your friend are barely heard, as she’s busy on the other line doing something with her boyfriend. but really, who makes you work late on halloween? okay, yeah, you’re an adult, but everyone with kids at your job got to go home at a reasonable time, so why were you just now getting home at nearly midnight?

and as you still ramble on about your shitty job, something lurks around your apartment. maybe it was all the halloween decorations you saw, or the feeling of the night itself, but you can’t seem to shake the feeling of something being around you.

that’s why you called your friend in the first place, though you were too scared to admit it..

“hang up the phone.”

the voice that speaks to you is right in your ear, yet you feel no one around you. it’s dark, raspy, scary. probably anyone’s worst nightmare on the night of halloween.

“hang up.”

you freeze in terror, even more so when you come to the realization of the cold barrel pressed against your temple. the friend that had been forgotten on the other end of the line hangs up when you don’t reply to her statement. and you think, just for a second, you are absolutely fucked.

“please don’t—,” you try to plead, and a hand comes over your mouth. cool leather presses against your face, whoever’s hand this is has to be absolutely huge.

“no talking, i’ll tape your mouth shut.” he threatens, his tone dangerous and intimidating.

but also, weirdly hot. there’s a fever coming over your body and a mix of feelings, and you aren’t sure if you’re more scared or turned on. you close your eyes and nod your head, a single tear rolling down your cheek to meet his glove. keeping your mouth covered, the man wraps his free arm around you, dragging you away to your couch. he throws you down, allowing himself to come into your view.

your suspicions are correct, he is big, a huge frame of nothing but muscles. your eyes trail up, seeing his baggy black pants, and the black short sleeve shirt encasing his broad shoulders. and, like any of those scary movies you watched, a ghostface mask sits atop his build, matte black eyes and mouth staring into the depths of your very being.

but even as frightened as you may be, you know exactly who’s below that scary costume, especially with that infamous gun tucked sloppily into the front pocket of his pants. but you decide to play along for now. your wet eyelashes flutter as you look into the empty eyes of the mask, coyly egging toji on to continue his terrifying persona.

“strip.” toji commands, grabbing the pistol out of his pocket and showing off the shiny metal. (it’s the same one you gifted him for your one year anniversary, with his initials engraved on the side and a cool design, but you ignore it.)

“but—,”

“i said, strip.” and once again, the cool steel makes contact with you, right in the middle of your forehead. he’s all too quick with his movements.

your somewhat trembling fingers make way to the top button of your blouse, hastily and frantically trying to unbutton your shirt. unfortunately, you take too long for toji’s liking, and unfortunately, he just has to pull out the shiny knife he had kept in his boot, adorned with a matte black handle. toji urges you back with the tip of the gun, and your back lands against the soft cushions of your couch, the knife is already ripping through the thin fabric of your shirt, cutting through the thin piece that held the cups of your bra together. your arms flail up in an attempt to cover yourself.

“aht, don’t move.”

the muzzle presses up against your chin, facing you away from him and from your body. thickly swallowing, you stare up at the ceiling and allow toji to do what he wanted to. when you look down, the mask is cut off by the round of your cheek, but toji’s obviously focused elsewhere as he saws through the denim material of your jeans.

“toji! these are—!” you try to get him to have some decency and unbutton your pants, but the muzzle only presses harder. it shuts you up, and the remaining parts of your jeans are shredded off, piece by piece, agonizingly slow. next to come off is your panties, a sharp riiip shooting through the air as the cold blade tears the cotton. the surrounding coolness of your home hits your sopping cunt. beneath the mask, toji grins.

“nasty girl,” toji spits, “you’re really getting’ off on this, huh?” the muzzle presses against your chin harder for only a second, before toji contorts you into his liking. he rips the gun away and flips your body over, bending you over the arm of the couch. you smile to yourself in the compromised position, at toji’s mercy, just how the both of you liked.

toji unbuckles the belt threaded through the loops on his cargos, removing it in one tug and throwing it somewhere on the floor. ears perking up at the clatter, you lift your head to try and look back at toji, and the mask stares coldly at you in return. there’s no emotion in a mask. he tugs the thick fabric of his pants down and his boxers at the same time, allowing his fully hardened cock to spring free of it’s confines. thick fingers prod against your entrance, sliding around in your slickened folds to halfway prep you for toji’s cock.

toji’s soft, rounded tip kisses your awaiting opening, barely teasing the weeping hole that was so ready for him. he slides in with ease, burying himself until his pubic hairs scratched the skin of your ass. unrelenting. you lewdly moan out, filling the once silent air with the sounds of your pleasure. it’s getting too hot too quick—toji notices how into all this you seem, even through the dark eyeholes of the mask. though his vision is blocked off halfway, he sees you fucking back into his slow pace, the wet sloshing of your cunt bringing utmost satisfaction to toji. and he stills. he gets an idea.

“fuck me, baby,” toji commands, dark and rough.

“toji,” you whine, doing the bare minimum to move yourself back onto him.

“like you want it,” his voice gets meaner, and he rips the mask off his face to get a better view. toji’s hand wraps around your hair just enough to force your head up, “c’mon, now.”

you grumble to yourself in dissatisfaction, but do as he says, moving your hips back to force his length back inside you. it stretches past each gummy ring, poking at your g-spot effortlessly. you hated him for how easily he made you feel like this, horny and so pleasured, as if his ego needed any more boosting.

toji rips the mask off his face, displeased with his limited viewing area. and boy does that stupid grin get ridiculously wider when you begin to slap your ass against him faster, holding yourself up with the help of his hand holding your hair. his cock splits you open, each inch going in and out becoming increasingly overwhelming. your mind is blank, only filled with the noises of your own pleasure and the big, strong, scary man fucking you.

“yeahhh,” he drawls, grunting as you force yourself back on him harder, “c’mere, babe.”

you try to lift yourself up for him more, yet your body falls limp when toji begins hammering into you without remorse. so, of course, he takes it upon himself to wrap an arm around your shoulders and lift you up, pressing your back into his chest. your body bounces in tune with his thrusts, arms switching between flailing around and grasping for toji. his other free hand wraps around your jaw to turn your head, his rough lips sloppily meeting yours.

even through all this, toji always finds a way to show you intimacy.

but really, he’s just found a few more of your weaknesses he’s going to exploit until you can’t take it anymore. a little fucked up of him, yeah, but toji knows you can take it. especially with the way your body melts into him so naturally, putting yourself at his disposal.

“don’t get tired now, doll,” he groans against your ear,

“we’re just gettin’ started.”

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Criminal ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Kidnapping.

Little gift for the New Year! Hope you guys like it :)

--

◾ Yandere!Criminal whose specialty is small robberies of convenience stores and bodegas, nothing that goes beyond that.

That also means that money is tight, it’s hard enough to cover for the insanely high rent, let alone cover for monthly groceries, water and electricity bills.

◾ Yandere!Criminal who’s fucking tired of sitting in his dark shitty apartment, smoking a blunt in hopes of deceiving the hunger that rumbles in his stomach. 

He lays back on his second-hand couch, eyes following the gray ropes of smoke that ascend from his lips, mind racing on every possible way of making money fast.

His rent is due in a week and his fridge is desolately empty, aside from a bottle of water. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal who gets restless and in the spur of the moment, decides to head out on a walk around his block. Maybe that’ll give him some ideas or distract him from the ache in his stomach. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal barely takes a few steps into the street when he sees you. 

A pretty girl walking down the street, eyes nervously darting towards every shadow that moves. 

What are you doing out in the dark street at such hours?

It’s way past midnight, as the old watch in his wrist tells him. That’s not time for a girl like you to be out, especially not his neighborhood at least.

You’re lucky that no one has approached you yet or you wouldn’t be looking so damn cute right now. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal whose interest is spiked when he notices the clothes you’re wearing under the dim moonlight.

The short dress only long enough to cover your ass, the high stiletto heels clicking on the dirty floor at each step you take. 

You’re looking like a serious sex-bomb in those clothes, despite the scaredy expression covering your dolled-up face. 

But a second look at your body has him squinting his eyes, brain engines rolling as he examines your outfit.

Is that a fucking Prada cocktail dress? And the heels that you’re wearing Louboutins? The fancy purse, a Channel limited edition? It’s got to be daddy’s money, cause that face of yours isn’t giving smart vibes.

◾ Yandere!Criminal who instantly knows this is destiny.

You were sent to him for a reason. And the reason is that you’re his new bank account. 

You have to be, otherwise it would’ve been some disgusting scumbag to find you first. 

He wastes no time in reaching out for you. He knows he’s not bad looking, high-cheekbones and lustrous dark hair. Hopefully that works in his favor. 

And it certainly does, a kind expression on his face as he offers you help. You immediately accept - so fucking naive, you poor dumb thing - immediately blabbering that your phone lost battery and that you’re sooo late to his super-chick party whose address you’re not entirely sure of. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal who nods, pretending to understand all your issues. Slapping his face as he remembers that - oh, yeah, he kinda forgot his phone in his apartment. Maybe you’d want to come with him while he grabs it?

It’s not safe for you to be out here, on your own. Dangerous neighborhood and all of that.

And you follow him right away, like a lost duckling. It’s so easy, a smirk creeping on his face when you enter his apartment.  

◾ Yandere!Criminal who instantly pounces on you, dragging you by the hair to his bedroom, a new found adrenaline running down his body.

You shriek and cry out loudly so he’s forced to push some old cloths on your mouth, using duct tape.

Honestly, he’s not even that worried about you getting away cause you’re barely able to put any fight. You’re a weak little thing, aren’t you?

◾ Yandere!Criminal who only waits a day before contacting mommy and daddy, demanding a good amount of green for them to be able to retrieve you.

He thinks a lot about how’s it gonna play out, creating a plan that sounds pretty much bullet-proof.

He gets easily distracted by you, eyes greedily running over your body. The dress doing even less to cover you in the daytime light, the make-up smudged and half-disappearing, revealing a younger – cuter – face.

You’re relatively obedient too, toning down your hysterical cries after he harshly yelled at you. He could bet that if he put on a mean face and threatened you, you’d probably suck him off. 

◾ Yandere!Criminal who finally gets his money, a large grin opening up in his face as he receives the cash. More than enough for him to move into a fancy mansion on a private neighborhood and retire for the rest of his days. 

No more stealing, no more spending his days worried about rent or food. Now he can finally sip on a freshly-made margarita and relax by the infinity-pool of his new house, the sunny rays hitting his toned skin. 

Maybe after he’s done with his drink, he’ll go pay you a visit. You’re still adapting to your new house - and him, hence why he’s keeping you in a tight leash (literally). 

Now you’re all his. His little ATM.

[ihavenointerestinreallife]

filming a sex tape w/ homie… :3 not beta read. enjoy anyways 18+ mdni

—

It was 12:23 AM, most of America was sleeping, or at the very least settling down. But not you, you were wide awake, and definitely not your Supe boyfriend.

Your nimble fingers worked urgently to get the shitty, grainy laptop webcam to be at the perfect angle. You grasped the laptop monitor with a sense of haste, undertones of anxiousness not going unnoticed by your partner standing a few inches away. Homelander watched you perform your intended execution; find the best angle to record a sex tape.

His arms were folded over his chest, as if he were a child being denied. “Is this really necessary babe? I mean, cmon, it’s not like anyone is gonna watch it.” He stated matter-of-factly, his eyes devoid of any emotion. But you knew he wanted this from how he acted the day leading up to the act; more touchy, more possessive– as if the knowledge of what was to come heightened a sense of ownership over you.

Any disinterest he showed in this moment you knew was fabricated. Being a Supe yourself you had heightened senses, and the sweat dripping down his forehead coupled with his rapid heartbeat made you blatantly aware of his want, his need to be so intimately claimed by you.

You plopped yourself on Homelander’s black leather couch to see the view of yourself in the webcam. “God, with how rich this company is, you'd think they could afford technology with better quality than this shit.” You rolled your eyes while checking yourself out, flipping your hair to the back to get a good view of your clothed breasts.

Once again Homelander scoffed at your actions, this time at you caressing your own breasts– especially now that your peaked nipples were so painfully obvious to him. “I thought this was supposed to be our sex tape, not yours.” He grabbed your body with ease, not setting you down until he was seated in your previously occupied position, and you in his lap.

“You’re right babe, this camera angle does suck,” he paused, moving your hair from one side to the other to begin peppering kisses down your neck. “Barely fits us both, which is crazy considering how fucking small you are.” Homelander shuffled forward, unintentionally teasing himself in the process when his semi-hard on rubbed against your clothed crotch. He reached in front of you to angle the monitor up to a point where it caught a glimpse of both of you– your lightly flushed face and his eyes dark with need.

His fingers danced up and down your arm, slowly creating goosebumps in their wake. “When you asked me to do this the other day, I thought you were fucking crazy,” he said, huffing out a small laugh against your shoulder blade. “But now I know I was the crazy one for not thinking of it sooner.”

His earnest tone made you release a small whimper of need, forged from the desire to be wanted even more by him. Homelander let out yet another chuckle against your back, this time adjusting to where he was sitting up straight and you sliding further down his lap.

“You know,” you began, pausing to bite your lip to suppress another whimper when he began rubbing your thigh, “Ashley is gonna kill us if this gets out..”

He pulled back, scoffing with what you couldn’t tell was actual annoyance or not. His blue eyes, now tinted with a shade of black from his blown pupils, bore deep into yours on the screen– you thought your heart was going to explode out of your chest. Homelander’s eyes trailed down after a moment, beginning to rub your thigh again. “Fuck Ashley,” his eyes snapping back up to meet yours in the computer screen, “and fuck everyone else that isn’t you and I.”

Truthfully you were ready to start recording ten minutes ago, but now your hands inadvertently rushed to hit the record button, earning a small smothered laugh from your partner. “Oh baby, you really are desperate aren’t you.” Homelander said with a newfound deep, husky tone– he was a natural.

As if he could sense your rapid heartbeat, he took control to save you the trouble. His gloved hands maneuvered your body to twist in a somewhat uncomfortable way, but it became worth it when your lips locked. The two of you collided like animals, teeth almost clanging together from how bad you wanted the other; but truthfully, you both needed each other– in more ways than one.

Whimpers and muffled moans spawned from your throats, you sang together as if you were doing a duet you’d done a hundred times. Sex with Homelander was passionate; rough when needed, but always creating a sense of bliss whenever you both came together. The two of you had an unspoken dynamic, something you shared about who controlled the power during these moments; it was a matter of whoever grasped that power first, and it seemed he had this time.

Homelander forced himself to take his lips off of yours by pulling your hair, forcing you off as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it alone. “Face the camera honey, don’t be greedy. Show ‘em how sweet you are to me.” He doted, rubbing your cheek as he faced you back towards the camera.

When you hadn’t moved after a moment, he let out a low grumble that resembled a growl. His fingers pulled on the hem of your shirt, beginning to tear it in half before you grabbed it from his grasp and pulled what remained of it off. “That’s a good girl,” he praised you, fingers teasing your pebbled nipples through the lace material of your bra.

He leaned back against the couch�� slightly out of the camera's view– to admire the set you wore for this occasion. You felt his cock grow under the confinement of his suit as he realized the colors resembled that of his own personal brand: red white and blue. Fuck, he thought, hand rubbing up and down the exposed skin of your sides, drinking in the view in front of him like he couldn’t get enough.

“Ladies and gentleman, America’s favorite whore.” He bestowed that title on you as if it were a royal position, then sitting up and wasting no time unclasping your bra as if it were a lock hiding buried treasure.

He continued addressing the nonexistent crowd– one that would hopefully never exist– as he kept his eyes on you. “I don’t know why she insists on wearing this unnecessary thing all the time, a slut like her should always be ready for me. Isn’t that right sweetheart?”

You were in a daze, staring at Homelander’s face on the screen– it seemed as if the only thing keeping you from zoning out was the flashing red button that signified the ongoing recording. Homelander got tired of waiting though, despite how stupidly cute he thought you looked, and he grabbed your jaw with his glove; an act he knew you loved.

“I asked you a question,” he flashed his canines to the camera, “and I intend on getting an answer.” He especially knew you loved when he was mean.

You spoke for the first time since the camera began recording, finally setting it in stone that it truly was America’s most beloved Supe couple about to have raw, unedited sex right on camera. “Mhm, fuck,” Homelander hooked his thumb in your mouth, a taste of rubber flooding your tastebuds as you desperately tried to suck it, “‘m such a slut for Homelander..”

Homelander’s free hand palmed your left breast in response, the other still held in your mouth because he just knew it was causing a pool down in your panties. And he’d be right, like always; you’d be a fool to think he didn’t know your body better than you did.

You began to grind slowly on his lap, careful not to set too fast of a pace, lest he deem you too greedy and halt your movements altogether. Homelander wasn’t an idiot; he could feel your slow movements whether you tried to hide it or not– and your erratic heartbeat was a dead giveaway, anyways. But he didn’t mind– instead, his hand occupying your breast came down to roughly grip your thigh, urging your movements to gain speed.

And you did just that, gasping whenever your clit rubbed against his equally needy cock. You knew that your boyfriend’s superhuman strength would be the cause of the bruises that would appear on your legs soon, but you didn’t care– in fact you loved when he would mark you up and make you his, you craved ownership just as much as he did.

“Look at you,” Homelander vocalized as if he were singing a song to you like a bird. His right arm came down, taking his thumb with it, and pulled you flush against his chest. His eyes met yours for a brief moment as your bodies collided before turning back to the camera, “getting my suit all wet, humping like a bitch in heat– some might say she wants to be watched.”

You let out a loud moan at his words, choosing an even faster pace than the one you went at before. Homelander stopped speaking, instead choosing to sit in silence and drink in the sounds you gave him. He could tell you were getting close from how desperately you began to grind in his lap, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn’t getting close to that point himself.

Both your eyes and his met again, longer than just a brief moment this time. He held you there without a word– you knew that he was forcing eye contact with you and breaking it would result in a punishment. “I know how bad you wanna cum on my lap,” Homelander took pride in the fact that he could get you off practically without touching you, all he had to do was maneuver his hips into a perfect angle that could grind against you until couldn’t take it anymore. “I know baby, I know- but we’ve got an audience to impress.”

He gave you no time to react to the fact he was unbuckling the golden belt that hung around his waist, having to arch your back in order to act with one hand; his other was busy forcing you in place by a rough grip to the shoulder. Despite your attempts to look back over your shoulder and watch the way he prepped himself to fuck you, it was to no avail. “Keep your eyes forward, honey.”

You threw your head back in a fit as if you were a child being told no. A small whine of impatience slipped out, earning you another breathy chuckle from Homelander. He gave your attitude no attention, instead rubbing small circles on the flesh of your ass, creeping closer to the lingerie seemingly vomited on by American patriotism. Fuck, he thought– this time expressing it aloud. It was in these moments you felt your relationship with your Supe boyfriend become the most aflame; his possession, need and want to claim you whole. You wouldn’t be surprised if he devoured you one day.

Homelander’s fingers, still gloved, slowly moved the lacey material of your panties to the side. One hand rubbed teasingly up and down your soaked slit, the other jerked his cock slowly– not only was teasing you, but he was teasing himself. “Look at the camera, sweetheart, I want you to tell them why you think Homelander should give you his cock.”

It was an interesting request, the man spoke as if he really was convinced this would get out. “H-homelander should– fuck,” you were cut off by the tip of his finger shoving its way inside you– not all the way, but just enough to make you ride it as if it were the best thing you’ve ever felt. Clearing your throat, you continued, “Homelander should give me his cock cause I’m his good girl, his good slut.”

Your response must’ve satisfied him based on how he picked you up as if you weighed nothing and turned you to face him. He wasted no time maneuvering your body to an angle in which the camera could watch his cock slip inside achingly slow, his head falling back against the couch in pleasure. You both let out loud moans in responses as if you were teenagers again, lost in the feeling of the first time.

Once sheathed fully inside your cunt, he waited til the first pulse of your walls to begin moving. Homelander’s hands gripped the fat of your hips and moved you himself, not giving you a chance to contribute to move on your own. He was groaning– growling even at that point, you knew his possession of you peaked during these moments; it was a high.

“Look at the way your pussy grips my cock, like she was fucking made for it.” His eyes met yours, now ignoring the audience that never existed in the first place. “Maybe you were made for it baby, what do you think? Not made to receive Compound V, no– not even to save the world.” His pace began to increase, the sound of skin on skin echoing through his large penthouse. “Just made to sit pretty and take it.”

Homelander licked his lips, thumbs rubbing circles to make up for the rough grip he had. The movements of his arms had you bouncing up and down on his lap, and his eyes were fixated on where your cunt swallowed his cock– it was like where the ocean met the sky, a renowned beauty. You knew he was obsessed with how he’d trained your body to act under his command, something he didn’t even have to try to do. It came easily, being Homelander’s.

His hand gripped the base of his cock and pulled it out achingly slow, earning a whine from you in response. He clicked his tongue at your obvious need. “Turn around, angel,” he commanded. You were quick to oblige him, flipping to have your back flush against his chest in a flash– you loved being a Supe. His hands rubbed on your sides, and you could feel the heat from his body radiating through his suit on your back.

Homelander flashed a smile at you on the screen, to which you smiled back. He kept your eyes there, fixated on the sight of his messy appearance as he slid back inside you. He watched on the monitor as your mouth went agape, but all he did was laugh; he mocked you– eyes wide, lips open and an overly exaggerated moan. To anyone it might have spawned embarrassment– but it only stirred you on, made you moan again.

That must’ve ignited some nasty, primal urge in him; the fact you got off on him lowering you to stare of inferiority, the way your half lidded eyes locked on to the sight portrayed on the screen. He made sure to show the camera each and every time your cunt swallowed his cock full. Homelander felt so full of himself here, he basked in the knowledge you were addicted to the feeling only he could give you.

His gloved hand wrapped around your throat, sparking you to grind your hips faster on his lap in an attempt to reach your peak. Nothing but a gentleman, Homelander was set on always making you cum before himself. Of course, there were times he failed– he blamed it on the fact your pussy was just too made for him– but he paid it back tenfold, giving you as many orgasms as you could take.

But at the end of the day he was human, too, and you could both tell you were getting close. “Cmon baby, fuck, I know you’re getting close, I need you to show ‘em how you cum on my cock.” He panted out, expression now seemingly dazed too at the way you tighten when he squeezes your throat. You loved watching black spots dance in your vision, a stark contrast between the abundance of pleasure you were receiving.

You nodded. “Yes, let me show them,” you choked out with all the air still left in your lungs. Your ears began to ring, blood trying its hardest to keep you conscious but alerting you to its incoming failure.

Sensing your impending asphyxiation, he let go– but Homelander had no intention of giving his girlfriend time to bask in the new air now swarming in your lungs, instead bringing that same hand down to rub harsh figure eights on your puffy, swollen clit. It was almost as if he was in a rush to get you to cum, knowing the new sensation would bring you to that place.

And he was right, your head fell back on his shoulder as your body shook upon your orgasm. He fucked you roughly through it, hips still snapping at the same pace as your evident release began to coat the fabric of his suit. Your shaking hands found their way onto his cheek, moving your head slightly to the side in order to pull his lips to your own. It felt like grabbing a table to avoid falling, he was your hold.

The kiss kept going while he finished inside you. His hips slowly began to stammer, only stopping completely when both of you whined in oversensitivity. Instead of slipping out, Homelander kept you locked in a kiss, only breaking it to touch foreheads with you– a silent way of asking if you were okay. You’d nod, smiling.

He’d pull away after a few moments, turning his attention back to the screen as if he’d just remembered it was going. “Well folks, I hate to cut it short but I’ve got to go fuck Miss America– again,” he spoke as if he were a goddamn talk show host. “But this time all for myself.”

You giggled, burying your face into his neck as he stopped the recording. Of course, you knew Homelander wasn’t bluffing, he never lied about when and where he’d fuck you. After taking you once again on the couch, he’d take you in his bed– once, twice, until you both fall asleep.

A nice slumber, your naked, sore body wrapped in the sheets with his. The room smelled of sweat and sex, but you loved it. You’d even argue the sleep afterwards was the best part of it all…

…until a frazzled redhead practically beats the door of Homelander’s penthouse down, screaming about how your naked bodies are now plastered online. Oops.

—

i need God

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a joke. they were supposed to be in steve’s backyard with all their friends and family in shitty lawn chairs, holding cans of budweiser and jamming to whatever song eddie was in the mood for that day blasting through the speakers. steve was supposed to be in front of them all in a tuxedo t-shirt and powder blue dress pants, flowers in his hair that had been teased to high heaven and dark black sunglasses to keep out the bright sun. that’s how they had planned it all those years ago when they’d been high and drunk and young and in love.

but somehow instead, the yard is full of flowers and benches that hopper and wayne put together with spare wood for everyone to sit on and there’s an archway at the end of the aisle and soft acoustic songs spilling gently out of the speakers. steve’s still at the front, that was always supposed to happen, but this time he’s wearing an actual tux, light cream with a boutonnière and everything, and his hair is pushed back just so. there’s no flowers in his hair and no sunglasses but it’s cloudy enough of a day where he doesn’t really need them anyway.

they weren't even supposed to do this. there wasn't supposed to be a grand entrance and a walk down the aisle, no flower girls or ring bearers or anything remotely traditional. but what started off as, "well, i wouldn't mind walking down the aisle," and "i think exchanging rings would be cool," and "who cares if it isn't legal, i'm going to marry you anyway damnit," turned into this beautiful day of friends and family and love.

robin’s standing beside him in a tux of her own, pinstripe grey donning a pocket boutonnière that matches nancy’s bouquet, with a few notecards in her hands. and speaking of nancy, she’s heading down the aisle in a flowing dress, and when her eyes catch robin’s, she crinkles her nose before blowing her a kiss. she stands opposite of steve as eddie's not-quite-bridesmaid and grips her bouquet tightly, her eyes never leaving robin's.

and then there's dustin. he's in a tux that matches steve's and he has his curls pushed back with probably too much gel and a tie that suzie got him for their 3rd anniversary. the best thing he's sporting, though, is the smile on his face and the ring box in his hand and the joy in his eyes as he looks out at the crowd. having him there as best man and smelling the cheap cologne he wears so he seems more grown up calms steve's ever beating heart enough to where he doesn't think he'll throw up from nerves anymore.

all of their loved ones are surrounding them in clothes steve’s never seen before but he couldn’t care at all what they’re wearing because they’re all smiling wide and bright at him. he catches himself rocking back and forth on his feet so he shakes out his hands and holds them behind his back to distract himself. his stomach is rolling with waves or butterflies and when he catches joyce's eye in the front row, she mimes taking in a deep breath which he instantly copies. the soft grin she sends in return tells him that he thinks it could actually work to settle him. mothers have that healing way about them.

he’s never been good with weddings, always fidgeting in a too tight suit his mom picked out, but he never thought he’d be this antsy at his own.

steve's just about to give up and sprint down the aisle to get eddie so they can run away together and leave nerves and or butterflies behind him, but then the music stops. he sees lucas changing out the tapes quickly, giving a thumbs up to mike who throws one to will who runs back behind the shed to where he knows eddie is waiting and when will pops his head back out to run back to his seat, it hits him.

he's getting married.

steve doesn't have time to think about it anymore than he already has been for the last 8 years because eddie's coming around the corner of the shed.

'here comes the sun' is playing out over the speakers, soft and perfect, and eddie's smiling, wide and beautiful, and steve can't help but mirror it back to him. the clouds overhead seem to hear them, hear the song and hear their hearts beating in time with each other, because as soon as eddie gets to the aisle, bright warm rays of sunlight peak out and make the rhinestones he demanded line the lapels of his own black tux shine like real diamonds.

steve stops breathing. he swears he does, and he knows his family are all feeling the same way. he can hear a few gasps, hears joyce muttering what she thinks is a silent, "oh my god," in hop's ear, and watches how wayne stands up just a bit straighter from his front row seat.

eddie glides down the aisle like the drama king he is, soaking in the looks from everyone they care about and soaking in the sun that seems to come out only for him. it's like the sun knows he's a star, too, and wants to come out to be with one of it's own. eddie's always been sunshine and starlight and a blinding thing to look at and take in. he's the light, steve's the moth, and a few clouds on their wedding day could never change it.

"well, that was insanely good timing," eddie whispers to steve once he reaches him. his grin softens and he brings up a hand to wipe gently at the tear tracks on steve's cheeks. "hi, baby."

and steve can do nothing but choke out a laugh, catching eddie's hand in his own so he press a kiss to his palm. he thinks he can feel eddie's heartbeat against his lips and, even if it's his brain playing tricks on him, he likes the sentiment that it brings. "i love you so fucking much."

it's eddie's turn to get teary-eyed and the sun glints off the tears that fall down his cheek before heading back behind the clouds, dotting quick-to-fade sparkles on his face like a wedding present.

steve kisses him. he can't help it. it's nothing but a fast press of lips, watery smile to watery smile, and everyone is cheering except for robin.

"hey! it's not time for that yet," she says with a pretend scowl, arms pressing to each of their chests to keep them apart. it's enough to leave nancy giggling where she stands behind eddie, her laugh like bells bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. "just give me like ten minutes and we'll have you married and you can kiss all you want then."

steve swears he can hear mike groan at that which cause him to grin which cause eddie to grin back and then they're holding hands like it's the only way to get through the next ten minutes. and it might just be the only way to get through it. knowing them, if they didn't hold on tight, one of them would make a move first and there'd be hands around waists and fingers tangled in hair and robin would hate them forever because she wouldn't get to do her speech.

it's after vows are shared, after rings are on fingers, after kisses are pressed to lips and cheeks and temples and hands and everything else they can quickly reach, that the two of them get some peace. everyone is inside eating snacks and drinking cheap champagne, and it goes unspoken that they're going to take some time for themselves. take some time to bask in their new maybe not-so-legally real but as real as could ever be in their hearts marriage.

they make their way, hand in hand like they've always been meant to do, to a table set up for them. eddie pops a bottle of champagne that they pass back and forth between themselves as they share cheesy smiles and champagne-laced kisses. and it's as they look into each other's eyes, fingers lacing so their rings clink softly against each other, that the sun peaks out to say hello once more.

[loveinhawkins]

The RV careens out of the trailer park and hits the open road with what pretty much amounts to ‘all speed, no grace.’ The turn Steve makes is, quite frankly, abysmal; he’s sure that if his driving instructor could see him now, the poor man would be weeping in distress.

Yet his passengers erupt into cheers as they pass the Leaving Hawkins sign, like he’s pulled some kind of James Bond move.

And, for all his insistence on being the absolute antithesis to so-called ‘jock culture’, Eddie rushes over to the driver’s seat, starts squeezing Steve’s shoulder with decidedly jock-like exuberance.

“Holy shit, holy shit, that was so fucking cool, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s definitely broken through the depression stage of the ‘finding out there’s an alternate dimension in Hawkins’ journey—landing firmly in the fuck it, might as well have some fun stage.

Steve could tell they’d reached that point even before the goddamn ‘big boy’ comment, when Eddie had taken one look at the Michael Myers mask, looked Max dead in the eye and said, “This is gonna be. So fuckin’ stupid. Let’s do it.”

Steve goes through a few seconds more of having his shoulder pummelled before saying, “Dude, you’re doing a shitty job at being undercover, stay down.”

“Like, do you have any idea,” Eddie says breathily, as if Steve hasn’t spoken, “just how perfect that was? That was, God, a childhood dream fully—”

“You dreamed of stealing an RV?” Steve says dubiously.

“Not in such crude literal terms, no. C’mon, Harrington, you must’ve had an imagination once—”

“Hey!”

“—didn’t you ever dream of, like, daring escapes, pulling the sword outta the stone, all that shit?”

Steve thinks about it. “I mean,” he says, “when I was a kid, I just kinda… climbed trees and stuff.”

Eddie sighs as if he can’t decide whether Steve’s done something especially annoying or endearing. “Of course you did.”

They reach a stop sign and Eddie finally flops into the passenger seat, facing Steve like he’s sitting side saddle on a horse.

“So,” Steve says, “I take a right after this, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm, well remembered, Mr Getaway Driver.”

Steve scoffs, glances over—finds Eddie framing him with his index finger and thumb, like a director trying to capture the perfect shot.

“James Dean,” Eddie says authoritatively, dropping his hands.

“What?”

“Was tryin’ to figure it out, your whole look, you know? Very Rebel Without a Cause.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “but I have a cause, we all do.”

Eddie just blinks at him, and Steve chuckles.

“You, idiot.”

“Oh.”

Steve has a moment to appreciate the way Eddie’s eyes go all soft and maybe just a little shiny, before he has to set off again. He takes the right turning.

“We should watch it,” Eddie says eventually. “Hell, I’ll take any movie. Just gimme, like, two hours of not having to think.”

“Tell me about it.”

Steve’s sure he’ll never complain about double VHS tapes ever again. Then a thought occurs to him.

“Shit.” He calls to the back. “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know when we left Family Video, did we even lock up?”

“Yes,” Robin says followed immediately by, “No?”

Steve snorts. “God, we’re so fired.”

He hears Robin making her way up to the front, then Eddie saying, “Oof, Buckley, that was right in the ribs.”

“Why the sudden concern about our jobs, dingus?”

“I’m not concerned, I just got reminded of—Eddie was mentioning—”

“—Rebel Without a Cause,” Eddie finishes.

“Oh, Steve, I know you’ve seen it, I put it on last week!”

“Uh, maybe I was preoccupied doing, I dunno, my job.”

“It’s the one with—”

“James Dean,” Eddie cuts in.

“Yeah, I gathered, thanks,” Steve says sarcastically, but he can’t help smiling as he does so.

“—and it’s, you know,” Robin goes on, “troubled kid moves to a new town, and—”

“Aw,” Steve says, “you think I’m troubled, Munson?”

“It’s all in the eyes, Harrington. Such depths.”

“Right?” Robin says, and she’s laughing, tongue-in-cheek, “I’ve always said so.”

“You ever considered wearing a leather jacket?”

Steve laughs, too. “Tell ya what, Eddie, why don’t I just wear all your clothes?”

“Well, we know denim suits you.”

“If only you saw his last car-stealing outfit, Eddie.”

Steve sighs. “Robin, shut it.”

“Excuse me,” Eddie says, “d’you have form, Harrington? Grand theft auto form?”

“Literally once. Crazy circumstances.” Rest in peace, Todfather. “It was a Cadillac.”

“A Cadillac.” Eddie sighs dreamily. “Do you have any photos?”

“Uh, no, I was kinda busy.”

“I shall mourn the loss.”

“Take the next left here,” Nancy calls, which Steve is grateful for—the directions had gone completely out of his head.

“Wheeler, come up to the front,” Eddie says, “it’s a party.”

She must do, because her voice sounds much closer when she says, “Shit, I think I forgot to lock up, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, “no-one’s gonna ransack The Weekly Streak.”

Another stop sign—Steve looks over, smirks at how Eddie has ended up squished between Nancy and Robin, all of them sharing the one seat.

“They better not.” To Eddie, Nancy adds, “I think I gave your uncle the impression that I’m doing a big piece on you. Like, testimonials for an innocent man, stuff like that.”

For a flicker of a second, Eddie looks nauseated at the thought—Steve spots the shift, the decision to make a joke about it.

“Well, Wheeler, you better make me sound good.”

“Oh, I was going more for journalistic integrity.”

“Hey.”

Steve hears a couple of thumps behind him; without even glancing in the mirror, he says, “Sit your asses down, shitheads, don’t make me turn this thing around.”

“Don’t make me turn this thing around!” Lucas parrots.

Max scoffs playfully: “Nineteen going on forty.”

“Eddie was standing before!” Erica points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, Eddie’s a law unto himself. Look, just sit down and, like, make a list or something, I’ll stop off for food after we’ve—”

Dustin laughs. “You really are forty.”

“Uh-huh, one more wisecrack and you’re not getting any chocolate pudding.”

Steve’s hamming it up, he knows he is—smiles to himself as he hears a quartet of giggles.

“Can you believe they used to think I was cool?” he says.

“I dunno, Harrington,” Eddie says warmly, “at least one of them doth protest too much.”

Nancy stands in search of a pen, Robin following, insisting to Dustin that, “We’re getting one of those camp stoves, if I don’t eat something hot soon, I’m gonna die.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Maybe it’s because they’ll soon be arriving at The War Zone; his levity slips just a little when he says, “It’s probably, like, a proximity thing. Henderson’ll have a scientific term for it.”

Eddie chuckles. “What, the Steve Harrington effect?”

Steve shrugs. “You get too close, the shine wears off eventually.”

He doesn’t realise until he’s said it that the joking, perhaps, has stopped somewhere along the way.

“Huh,” Eddie says. “I’m no scientist, but that doesn’t sound like the Steve Harrington effect to me.”

“No?” Steve says.

He can see the parking lot in the distance, and he gestures for Eddie to duck.

“Nope,” Eddie says. Steve can hear him moving, crouching to hide behind the driver’s seat.

He parks and everyone’s abruptly all business, deciding who’s staying in the RV, who’s going into The War Zone.

Steve hates it, has a sudden intense longing to keep talking about movies, to just be stupid.

And maybe Eddie can tell, because just before Steve heads out, he catches his eye, smiles.

“Hey, don’t worry, Harrington,” he says with a tiny, fleeting wink. “You’re still my leading man.”

[thirstywoso]

LESSONS IN PHOTOGRAPHY (PART 4)

Jessie Fleming x Reader 18+

AN: this is shitty, the ending was so rushed but my motivation got lost somewhere on the way. I do have more works coming which will hopefully be better than this one!

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, fingering, strap on use, marking, sucking the strap, again probably more but I can't think

Your finger tips trace over the purpling bruises, feeling the heat rise in your core again as your eyes flicker over to where the camera sits on the side.

That's when a great idea comes to mind.

Heart racing you look at the clock again, surely Jessie wouldn't be back for a little while yet.

Pulling yourself up out of bed you go to where the camera is set up. Removing the SD card and grabbing your laptop from the side you sit back on the bed pulling up the video.

You watched the close up of Jessie as she inched her way towards your dripping and aching core, the memory sending heat waves to the exact same place, only this time you didn't have Jessie to help satisfy those needs.

You then watched as your girlfriend possessively growled the word "mine" into your thigh before making eye contact with you through the screen.

The throbbing between your legs becoming all too much as you snake your hand under the waistband of your panties finding your soaked centre.

Running your fingers through your folds you find your bundle of nerves, tightly circling it with your slick digits. Groaning at the feeling, obviously not as good as Jessie would do it but watching her on the screen sliding her tongue through your folds whilst her nose bumps along your clit made you hotter than ever.

Throwing your head back you push two fingers into your soaking core, your pussy hungrily swallowing your fingers enjoying the delicious stretch they provided.

The feeling so good that you didn't hear the front door open and close downstairs and your pants drowning out the noise of your bedroom door as it creaks open.

It's only when your head snaps forward and eyes shoot open seeing your girlfriend staring down at you as she grabs your hand stilling it.

Too afraid to move the tape keeps playing on your laptop, making it very hard to deny what you were just doing. If not for the video you were watching but the evident sheen of arousal on your fingers that Jessie was now beginning to suck into her waiting mouth.

Swirling her tongue around your digits you couldn't even speak, continuing to stare at her as she pulls your fingers from her mouth with a pop.

Shutting the laptop and putting in on the side she pushes you backwards straddling your waist.

Looking you in the eye as her hand closes around your throat. Gulping and the thick tension that now filled the room. Opening her mouth to speak you had only now realised neither of you had said anything since she entered the room.

"How many times have I told you that I'm the only one that's allowed to touch that pretty pussy?" She asks

"Umm" you swallow.

"Too many, too many times after I have asked you nicely, demanded you, pleaded with you and yet you still disobey me" she pauses for a beat

"What will it take for you to finally listen to me? Huh? Or is that it? You get off on being punished like the filthy little slut that you are?"

Your mouth opens to respond but no rational response comes out

"That's what I thought"

Squeezing down on your neck a little harder her thumb pushing on your chin so you're forced to look up into her eyes.

"I own that pussy, you only cum when I tell you that you can"

"Yes Jessie" you whimper out, mouth agape staring up into her darkened eyes.

"Good" she replied before spitting into your mouth and holding it shut so you swallow.

"Good girl" she says before standing up off the bed.

Removing her clothes as you remove your remaining items which were your sleep shorts and panties.

"Look how wet you are for me already, this is going to be so much fun" she grunts out with want.

Crawling back on top of you her fingers find your wet slick sliding through your folds sending ripples through your lower stomach. No matter how many times you did this with Jessie it always gave you fireworks down below.

Kissing along the column of your neck as she lazily spread you with her digits. A sigh getting caught in your throat as she suckled down on your pulse point, laying seductive kisses, nips and licks along the bruises she had left the night before.

Lacing her free hand with your fingers propping it above your head as she continued her administrations only adding to the marks already littering your skin, the dark purple contrasting with the red. Running out of space to mark she looks up at you.

"Clearly these marks mean nothing to you, I own you and if this isn't enough for you then I'm going to have to claim your chest too" she shrugs at you.

Her mouth then attached to the side of your breast, sucking down hard grazing her teeth along the hot skin, trailing her tongue from one side of your chest to the other. Back and forth littering your skin with hot seething bites and kisses, marking every piece of available skin. Going back over any part she missed, claiming you inch by inch, pulling back she looked down at you grinning.

"Perfect" she whispers.

You sit up slightly looking over at the mirror and can see the way your entire torso is marked up, completely destroyed, absolutely no chance you'd be able to hide any of them.

"Jessie please" you beg.

You get a laugh in response "patience"

You squeeze your legs together trying to pull her fingers deeper in an effort to get some relief, looking down at you with a sadistic grin she removes her fingers and holds your legs apart.

Gazing down between your legs before letting out a guttural moan at the way your arousal coated your thighs.

Transfixed on you, Jessie could barely speak. Mouth agape as she took you in before muttering "I cannot wait to have you cumming down my chin" a promise that you sighed at.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy, she had wanted to punish you for disobeying one of her rules, at least now you knew eventually you'd be getting some pleasure. Which is one of the things that keeps you strong throughout all of her ministrations.

"You are ruining our sheets already, dripping everywhere for me huh?" She asks teasingly

You just nod your head, eyes fixated on hers.

Leaning down to kiss you, she takes your bottom lip between her teeth biting down slightly before soothing it with her tongue, which she then slides into your mouth tangling with your own tonight. Starting out slow and teasing and working up to being a hungry and needy kiss.

She moans into your mouth and you can taste the faint orange of one of her energy gels on her tongue.

Your rake your nails up and down her back, feeling her relax more into the kiss, her already sticky skin pressed tightly against yours.

Some people would probably find it gross but the scent of a sweaty Jessie after she had been training just turned you on even more. Especially when she pushed up off of you on her forearms and you could see the way her muscles flexed under then sheen of sweat.

"Hey, my eyes are up here" she laughs as your eyes slowly trail back up her body to her face.

"S...sorry" you stutter out

"Admiring the view?"

"Of course I am" you say confidently.

With one final peck to your lips Jessie kisses a path of fire down across your chest and abdomen to where you were dripping.

"Maybe I should've put a towel down for you" she laughs before kissing your pubic bone.

Proceeding she kisses everywhere but where you need her, she then looks up at you one last time as your hands find her hair pushing her towards your core.

"Do you not remember what I said to you, I'm the one in control and now you'll have to wait longer"

She then begins kissing around where you need her again as your hands scratch at her scalp, looking up at you she blows gently across your centre before attaching her lips to your swollen puffy clit.

Suckling on you, her arm finding its way around your hips holding them down to the bed as you try and arch your back pushing yourself up into her mouth.

Flattening her tongue along your folds, gently dipping her tongue inside you before running back up towards your clit. Her tongue dancing across your nerves as you tug at her hair, before dipping between your folds and along your entrance.

Groaning at the taste of you on her tongue, slipping inside of you lapping your juices as you dripped down her chin. Grabbing the pillow and holding it over your face biting down to stop yourself from screaming out.

Jessie tearing it from your grip and throwing it to the floor, pulling her mouth away from where you needed her "don't you dare suppress those beautiful noises, I want to hear everything" she says before her middle and forefinger find their way inside you abruptly.

Her mouth returns tongue matching the pace of her thick fingers as they scissor you open, you can't help but clench on her fingers feeling so fucking full of her, trying pull her deeper inside you.

"You look so fucking beautiful the way you take me" she groans into your dripping heat before her teeth graze gently over your clit bringing it into her mouth. Her tongue flicking across the nerves as she continues to hold it between her teeth.

Seconds later you are begging Jessie to let you cum, so badly needing that release that she had promised you.

"I can promise you it won't be that easy" she laughs removing her fingers and shuffling up the bed so she's straddling your abdomen, her fingers slipping past your panting lips so you can clean them of your arousal.

Once she deemed you finished she took them into her own mouth the faint taste of your arousal still evident.

"I think it's time I fuck you properly, I thought what I had given you last night would be enough but clearly not" she rolled her eyes at you.

Jumping off the bed she retrieved the strap on from you en-suite bathroom where it had been left after it was cleaned the night before.

Returning she again straddled you before shifting upwards so she was on your chest, looking down at you with almost black eyes you knew exactly what she wanted and you obliged.

Drawing circles over your lips with the head of her new appendage before dragging it down pulling your bottom lip with it, opening your mouth so that when she pushed forward again the tip found it's way in. You swirl your tongue around opening your mouth wider allowing Jessie to start fucking your throat.

Her head thrown back as you gag and choke on her length, unable to reach up with your arms pinned to your sides by her legs you could do nothing but take the battering your throat was getting.

Your eyes welled with tears as she finally pulls back out of your mouth smiling down at you.

"You're such a good girl, slicking up my cock for me"

She shuffled back down your body before tapping the strap on your already throbbing clit.

Hooking your legs over her shoulders Jessie filled you in one fluid motion, a cry falling from your lips and an urgent groan from hers. Kissing you as she pulled back and re-entered you speeding up each time.

Holding herself up on her muscular arms she looked down into your eyes, boring into your soul you had to look away. The intensity of Jessie's gaze all too much as you felt yourself become full and the empty repeatedly.

Grabbing your face she twisted it to look at her "eyes on mine whilst I fuck you pretty girl, this pussy is mine"

She continued to jackhammer into you, her legs out straight on her tiptoes to get the angle just right as she slammed her way home. The tip of her cock hitting just the right places as you walls were stroked perfectly, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Play with your clit for me, show me just how good you touch yourself seeing as you like it so much" you are quick to snake your hand between your legs ferociously rubbing at your clit until one last thrust of Jessie's sends you over the edge.

"You're fucking mine and I hope you know that"

Nodding at Jessie as you refrain your breath "Yes Jess"

Flopping down next to you spent from her day of training and her multiple workouts with you.

Cuddling into her side you sigh in contentment ad you both drift off.

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

Leaving out how shitty of person Sakura is and how she literally never grows up. She was nasty at 8, nasty at 16, and continued to be nasty in her 30s when she became a parent...

People who genuinely don't like Sakura aren't sitting there disparaging her body, hair, or forehead. They're calling into question how her one goal in life was to become the wife of a boy she continued to disrespect for years. How she didn't take her job seriously and put her team in danger because of it, despite no one forcing her to become a ninja. How she continues to treat her own friends and even her daughter terribly.

Emotions?

You mean where she consistently invaded someone's personal space, refused to take NO for an answer, and then made his trauma about her contrived feelings?

Or how she invalidates everyone else's feelings in favor of her own and manipulates even her child's father, so he won't learn the truth of her behavior at home?

Ideals?

You mean the obsession with her looks and not training until Sasuke and Naruto almost die in front of her?

Or how even after that she didn't start taking things seriously until Sasuke left?

Or what about when all her character growth vanished because she got the chance to see Sasuke again and just stopped being helpful in the canon story and went back to being selfish and rude?

Dreams & Goals?

You mean the desire to be Sasuke's wife regardless of how many times he's pushed her away, told her she was annoying, and avoided her?

Or how her obsession with him was so intense she had to try and guilt trip him in the middle of a war for the sake of the world, into confessing non-existent love to her all because SHE claimed to love him?

Or how she was so attached to being an Uchiha wife that she wears his mon like a badge of honor on all of her clothes when he can't even force himself to wear it or even return to the village to see her and his kid.

Relationships?

You mean where she got the guy in the end, but still decided to be a sob story who did everything alone and then complained about getting no help?

You mean where she was hoping with everything in her being, that her new teammate would insult her supposed best friend too so she would be just as hurt?

Or is it how her obsession with a guy was so intense that she drugged her entire team and left them unconscious in enemy territory just so she could go off to see him to 'kill him' but still needed her drugged teammate to come and save her from being killed by him instead?

Or what about when she broke off her first ever friendship over her obsession simply because of hearsay?

Or what about when she taped her picture over the picture of her husband's friend, and then got angry because her daughter found out and dared to ask questions about it, so she threw a super punch at the space by her kid's feet and took the whole house down in the process?

Or what about that time where she was heavenly pregnant and decided to charge into a very dangerous situation, all for the sake of pride and not being left in her teammate's shadows as usual, and then literally put herself and her unborn child at risk?

Abilities & Strengths?

You mean how her stans try to act like she's surpassed her master by 17, and is better than every other woman in the series when she keeps getting curb-stomped and still needs to be saved by everyone else?

Like, no one is arguing that she hasn't improved as a ninja, cuz it's pretty damn obvious she did, but when y'all sit there being like, 'she's a goddess and Hinata sucks!' are you really being truthful? The enhanced punches aren't helping her all that much so all she's got is healing and even then, she's still not the best at it by adulthood. And she hasn't exactly made a name for herself as she never got out of her teammate's shadows... because she wasn't serious when it mattered.

Y'all brag about how 'Sakura won' when comparing her marriage to Ino's as if Ino isn't in a happy relationship. As if Ino doesn't have a good family unit and that Sai isn't a good father. Sasuke won't come back to the village and only talks to Naruto. Sasuke has never kissed Sakura but HAS kissed Naruto and a Dinosaur of all things. Sasuke didn't even know what his daughter looked like when he met her. When Sakura got stabbed while standing beside him, he didn't care, but when it happened to Naruto he asked after Naruto's well-being. Sakura got the guy she always salivated over, but she didn't actually win anything.

Your consistent need to degrade Hinata and Ino as characters to 'prove' that Sakura is somehow better than them, is also sus. Objectively, they have more character growth and better motivations, and while they might not be super strong and can't punch a house to smithereens in a tantrum, they're far better characters and have better relationships with the people in their lives.

But yeah. People not liking SH for all of these things that make up her character, means they are misogynists.

[kayharrisons]

Really fucked it up this time, didn't I my dear? [BJORN X FEM!READER] [18+ ONLY] [4 OF?]

Where it all went wrong.

A/N: HELLO I'M BACK AHAHA have chapter 4 :3 we learn why Bjorn and Reader started to fall apart :) this is ANGSTTTT

Series warnings: unplanned pregnancy, discussions of abortion, eventual childbirth, commitmentphobe Bjorn, possessive Bjorn, talks of morning sickness and other pregnancy symptoms, friends to fwb to something Worse, cheating mentions, nsfw content such as sex and eventual Alien type scenarios

18 weeks ago

"I'm gonna break it off with him," you murmur, one morning, curled into Bjorn's side and trailing your fingers up and down his chest.

He grunts a sleepy noise, squinting at you through half closed lids. "Why?" he asks, yawning, as he idly brushes his fingers through the ends of your hair. "Wha'sthe twat done?"

"Bjorn," you frown, shifting to sit up a little, searching his face. "I can't... it's not fair on him. He's not done anything wrong-"

"Beyond be a bit shit in bed?" he deflects, and you scowl.

"Bjorn!"

"What?" he huffs, arm flopping back onto the bed, frown firmly in place. "Not wrong, otherwise you wouldn't be coming to me for a shag, now would you?"

You flinch, staring at him with wounded eyes. His jaw sets, but he offers no apologies. "Is that what you think?" You ask, voice wavering. "That's the only reason I...?"

His eyes darken, and he shifts uncomfortably, looking outside of his bedroom window. There's nothing of interest outside of it, of course there isn't. But he's unable to meet your gaze, your hurt eyes.

"What else is there?" he asks, voice cool, exhaling hard as he looks at you again, daring you to say more.

"I can't keep doing this," you laugh, bitterly, as you drop the bedsheets and stand, grabbing your bra, your underwear, furiously tugging them on. Usually you'd relish the feeling of his spend still lingering between your thighs, but now? Now it feels like a mockery, a sham. "You keep fucking- every time we- I can't live with this!"

"What?" he barks out, sitting up and yanking on his t-shirt. "Can't live with what, love? Hm?" He challenges, pulling on his boxers and standing, scowling at you.

"This!" You shriek, gesturing between you both. "You're my best friend and I- fuck, Bjorn, when was the last time we hung out and it wasn't for sex?"

"Y'say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not, it's- I just miss you," you whisper, ducking your head down with a shaky exhale. The Bjorn of before, your best friend, he'd comfort you, would reach out and pull you into a hug. Would settle his hands on your shoulders and look into your eyes, telling you everything would be alright. Would press a kiss to your forehead before shoving you in the direction of the couch so you both could watch a shitty film.

This Bjorn, the one standing before you now? He makes no such moves. His fists clench and unclench by his sides, something flashing across his expression that you can't quite put a name to.

"Right here, aren't I?" he asks, voice hoarse, thick with emotion. His vulnerable eyes meet yours, a look you haven't seen from him in...

You reach out, cupping his cheek in your hand, gently brushing your thumb back and forth along his cheekbone. "Are you?"

He swallows, leaning his cheek into your hand before ripping himself away, back to you, his hand scratching at his scalp. "You should go," he mutters, staring holes into the pictures taped to his wall; years and years with his family and friends, group pictures, silly takes, you in his arms like you belong there. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, hands balling into fists by his sides again. "Y'know, 'fore your boyfriend comes home."

You say nothing. There is the shuffle of clothes being pulled on, the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing and then...

Silence.

"FUCK!" comes his shout, as he slams a balled up fist against the cool metal of his bedroom wall. He leans against it for a moment, ignoring the dull throbbing of his hand as he tries to regain his bearings.

It's impossible, when you've knocked him so off kilter.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Now.

"Fuckin'..." Bjorn slurs, as he leans against your kitchen counter. "Nice... nice dishtowel." he gestures, vaguely, at the pink thing neatly sat on your counter. It wasn't often that you saw a colour that wasn't some shade of brown, grey or beige. So you'd snatched it up at the market, unable to stop smiling that day.

"Thanks," you retort, sourly, arms crossed as you lean against your shitty kitchen table. "What do you want, Bjorn?"

"Can't a bloke cum'n'see his best mate?" he asks, giving you a cheeky grin.

Your eye twitches. As if that damn stupid smile was supposed to erase the last few weeks of torment you'd been putting each other through.

"You haven't said a nice word to me in about two months, you know that, right?"

"Oh, like you've been a ray of fuckin' sunshine lately, love." he shoots back, before taking one look at you and sighing, slumping and scrubbing his hands down his face. "I've missed ya, alright?" he mutters, stumbling on over to your couch and sitting down on it. "Fuckin'... Tyler, man, yappin' on boutcha... not his fuckin' best mate..." he crosses his arms, glumly slouching into the comfort of your couch.

"What the fuck has Tyler got to do with anything?" you ask, bewildered, blinking at him. "He's been a good friend, y'know? Actually asking how I'm doing and not telling me to go fuck myself-"

"Look so pretty with ya fingers inside'ya though," he smirks, bouncing his brows at you. Upon seeing your Medusa scowl, he immediately holds up his hands. "Sorry. Fuck, fuck- I promised myself I wouldn't do that-"

"What? Hit on me after weeks of not talking to me?" you snort, sitting down next to him, tentatively.

He nods, eagerly, reminding you of those little bobble head puppies you sometimes saw sitting on desks on offices. "Yeah! That! The fuckin'... deflection shit. I wanted ta... fuck, I'm sorry, love, alright? I just..."

He looks at you, with his hazy, half open eyes. He reaches out, gently clasping the back of your neck and leaning his forehead against yours, bringing you closer to him. Your heart skips.

Be it from the familiar warmth of him, or the glimpse of the old Bjorn, you're not sure.

"I've missed ya," he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. You try not to recoil from him, the smell of Aspen clinging to his breath. You'd always hated the smell of the beer, and with the baby-

It feels surreal, sitting in the presence of your best friend, your baby's father, and him being blissfully unaware of its existence.

"Missed ya so fuckin' much," he whispers, stroking his fingers along the nape of your neck. You fight back a shiver. "Fuckin'... don't feel like m'self these days, y'know? Like 'alf of me's missin' or summit, even though you're right there and- and fuck, why'dya have t'say it?" He slurs, damn near sobbing the last part out. "We were- we were fine 'till y'said it-"

"We weren't," you whisper, shaking your head and lurching back from him, forcing yourself to your feet. "We weren't, Bjorn! Neither of us could've kept going the way we were!"

"But we had each'otha-" he reaches out, grabbing your hands. "That was- was all I ever wanted-"

"It was all I wanted too," you whisper, giving his hand a squeeze. His palms are clammy, his fingers cold. You squeeze a little tighter, hoping to give him some warmth. "But it was killing us Bjorn. It was."

He lets out a choked sound, resting his forehead against your joined hands. "Why'dya hafta say it?"

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

10 weeks ago.

You lay side by side, panting, both slick with sweat. The room is silent save for your laboured breaths.

"Should we-"

"No." Bjorn grunts, pulling the sheets over his waist, eyes glued to the ceiling.

"Bjorn-" you protest, pushing yourself up, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Just slipped out, didn't it?" he asks, glancing at you, before flinching and returning his gaze to the ceiling. "Slip of the tongue. Happens to the best of us. Can pretend it never happened."

Silence.

He glances to you again, startled at the sight of tears rolling down your cheeks as you stare back at him.

"Fucksake-" he panics, sitting up, gently taking your face in his hands, wiping the tears from your face. "Y'alright-"

"I said I love you." you whisper, and it may as well be a shout from how hard he flinches as you say it. "I can't just- I can't just ignore that, Bjorn."

"Why?" he asks, desperately, searching your face. "We can just-"

"Go back to the way things were?" you finish, bitterly, and he ducks his head down. "I... I can't. I won't. We need to talk about this-"

"We don't!" he snaps, dropping his hands from your face in favour of carding them through his hair. "We're mates, that's all there is to it, ain't there?"

You shake your head, exhaling shakily. "You know as well as I do that that's not the case, not anymore. I love you and I- you love-"

"Don't fuckin' tell me how I feel!" he interrupts, scowling at you. "Don't you dare- I'm the only person who decides that, alright?!"

"Are-" you give him a once over, another tear streaking down your cheek. "Can you honestly tell me you don't feel the same? That this is just- just physical?"

Bjorn sighs heavily through his nose, not quite meeting your eyes. "Just mates, love." he mutters, picking at a loose piece of skin by one of his nails. "S'all there is to it. Nothing more."

"I love you." you repeat, oh so quietly, but you know he hears it. His flinch gives him away. You wait for him to say something, anything, you wait and wait and-

He says nothing back.

"We're done." you whisper, firmly, as you stand and redress, as he continues to pick at his skin and refuses to look at you. "You and me we're- this is over."

"Fine."

You feel like screaming, like grabbing him by the shoulders and demand he fights for you both, that he drops this bullshit facade he has up, that he just fucking admits it-

You do none of this.

You flee, instead, back to the safety of your own trailer.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Now.

"Because that's how I felt," you say, leaning down, pressing a kiss to his head. "Can't change any of it now, though."

"We were fine," he repeats, eyes damp as he looks up at you. "We..."

"Weren't."

He chokes back a sob, tugging insistently on your hand. You sit back down next to him, watching his face.

His beautiful, handsome face that even now still sends your heart skipping a beat or two.

"I..." he clutches your hand tight. "Fuck- messed up. I ruined-"

"You didn't feel the same, Bjorn," you sigh, giving him a tight smile. It still hurts, even now, after all these weeks. "That's... not a crime. I just think it could've been handled better."

"But I do!" he snaps, squeezing your hand. "I fuckin'- christ, love, I've been mental 'boutcha for years-"

Instead of skipping a beat, your heart stops. Drops to your stomach entirely as you listen to him, as you watch him. He's drunk. So very drunk.

What he's saying, it's everything you'd been hoping for, that you've dreamed of...

You reach out, pressing a finger to his lips.

But it isn't right.

"No," you say softly, shaking your head. "No. Tell me when you sober up, okay? I don't... I don't wanna hear it from you like this."

He blinks at you, oh so confused... before nodding, pecking your finger. "Okay..."

You stand, scrubbing a hand down your face. "Sleep on the couch tonight, okay? I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Okay." He repeats, nodding still. Your lips quirk up a little, as you toss a blanket his way.

"Shoes off."

"Okay."

That gets your snorting. He blinks innocently at you, toeing off his boots.

"Night, Bjorn."

"Okay..." he slurs, already half asleep and tangled with the blanket you'd tossed his way.

Your eyes linger on him a moment before you head to your bedroom, before you curl up on your bed and resist the urge to cry all over him again.

He won't be there in the morning. You know it.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow (i finally thought of a title for this)

part 1, prev part

cw: blood

The hospital gets louder and louder by the second. More and more people getting brought into the waiting room, nurses running around to make the tough decision of who needs care and who can come back later. Screaming ensuing when they are told that the pain in their shoulder can wait until the emergency shelters are set up and that those who are bleeding or have broken bones are more important. But even those aren’t as important as the person placed on the gurney, being rushed into surgery.

Dustin knows that it’s out of his hands now. That Eddie is alive enough for it to make a difference. For the chances of a successful surgery to swing right over fifty. A fifty percent chance he’ll see his friend again. Where the blood can be washed off his clothes and be forgotten as long as Dustin keeps his eyes open. Eddie’s dying smile imprinted on the back of his eyelids.

The fifty is a number that Dustin made up. Overheard the doctor say about someone who could very possibly not be Eddie, but he ran with it. Eddie’s a fighter, he proved that in his last moments. Stupid as he was, to run fighting without backup. But he was always a fighter, never a runner. Even if he didn’t quite believe that recently. Dustin knew it in his heart. He just had to figure out a way for Eddie to believe it too.

Maybe then, he’ll stay alive.

“Dustin, you’re next,” Steve says, breaking Dustin away from staring at the swinging hospital doors.

“What, no,” Robin protests. “You need to go back Steve, you’re bleeding again.”

Dustin looks down to Steve’s waist, where the makeshift bandage loosely holds together his broken flesh. Still awaiting an answer how it got there in the first place. Among the spatters of green camouflage, there are patches of dark red. Something’s wrong.

“It’s not mine, we know that. Dustin.” Steve grabs Dustin’s shoulder while he tries to catch a nurse’s attention.

“I’m fine, Steve,” he tries to fight. The pain in his ankle screaming as he tries to stand straight. Tries to prove he’s ok. “See, I’m standing fine.”

Steve scoffs. “And totally not wincing in pain. You need an X-ray, to make sure it’s not broken.”

Nancy comes back from talking to the nurse who helped take Max back, having gotten here before Eddie did. “I felt it before we split up again. It didn’t feel broken.”

“You may be smart, but you’re no doctor.” Steve continues to try to find anyone to take a look at Dustin.

He can notice the wince every time Steve tries to breathe. The patches of red are growing.

“No, I’m not,” Nancy snaps. “But I’m smart enough to know that my torn shirt makes for a shitty band aid. And while it might have been enough then, it is clearly not enough now. You strained yourself while carrying him out of there and it tore open your wounds. Just look at your clothes.”

“Not my blood,” Steve repeats through his teeth. “Excuse me,” he says to a passing nurse. “My friend here had a bad fall, can you check that his ankle doesn’t need anything serious.”

The nurse nods, having Dustin sit on a chair.

“Seriously, Steve. I’m fine. We’re fine. You’re the one that’s not fine here.”

The nurse feels around Dustin’s ankle. “Doesn’t feel like anything’s broken. Someone will find you some tape to wrap it in until we can give it an x-ray to make sure. Try to keep weight off of it for now.”

“Thank you,” Dustin emphasizes, looking up at Steve with a cocky expression. Being right and all.

But it fades as soon as Dustin sees the white of Steve’s face. He’s struggling to breath, gripping the back of a chair with a white knuckles grip.

“Steve,” Robin says alarmed. Grabbing his shoulder and trying to get him to respond. “Steve, what’s wrong?”

Steve pants, trying to get a word out but can only fight to inhale another breath. Nancy rushes to the front desk to get them to phone a doctor.

No one needs to protest to them because Steve just drops. The blood from his clothing starting to seep onto the floor.

“Steve,” Robin yells as she crouches down, reaching to check his pulse. “Someone get a doctor.”

Dustin sits there in shock. Feeling more helpless than he has in years. Frozen, stuck to his chair. As his heart fills his ears and the rest of the room becomes muddy. Movement flashes before his eyes.

A gurney gets brought over; Steve’s limp body laid on it while nurses say a mess of medical jargon to each other. Wheeling him behind the double doors, right up to the surgery suites. Paperwork getting thrown into Nancy’s hands, her and Robin filling in the blanks so it can get started.

Dustin’s only seen Steve pass out once before. At the Byers when Billy hit his head so hard it knocked him out. Where the only way to get Billy to stop was for Max to stab him with a sedative. But that could be fixed with bags of frozen peas, wet rags, and colorful bandages. Then, he knew Steve was going to wake up again.

This. This was far beyond anything Dustin’s ever seen. He’s seen the black eyes, the split lips. Being drugged and the red marks of rope around his wrists. But never this much blood. Never this white. Never this scary.

Somehow, Dustin gets back home. He remembers his mom coming to the hospital, wrapping up his foot in a makeshift brace. Robin helping her get him to the car. He remembers protesting. Wanting to stay until Steve and Eddie made it out of surgery. Until Max’s bones were reset. Robin told him it was too crowded for people just waiting around. It was better for him to be at home than taking a chair from someone who needed it.

But what about her? What about Nancy? Weren’t they going to stay? They didn’t seem like they were going to leave. The day had been long. They were running on fumes and whatever adrenaline hadn’t crashed yet. They all needed sleep, they needed to go home too. But Robin turned right around and went through the hospital entrance again. Leaving Dustin out of the loop.

He’s not just some kid who doesn’t know anything. He deserves to stay. Steve was like a brother to him, like family. Bound by a pact. “You die, I die.” Why should Steve have to die when Dustin’s safe at home in his own bed?

Dustin sends out a message on the radio when he gets home. To let whoever is listening know he’s safe. Lucas radios back that him and Erica made it home safe. They’re still shaken up, and Erica is hiding behind her locked bedroom door. But they’re safe.

Twice in one day, two people Dustin loves put themselves at risk in the name of keeping him safe. Of helping him. Like he’s some child on the sidelines who can’t do anything for himself. Which isn’t true. Dustin’s not twelve years old wandering around the woods looking for his lost friend anymore. Spinning in circles to try and find out why his compass wasn’t working.

That was still dangerous. Throwing rocks at the Demogorgon was dangerous. And he was fine. Traumatized, but fine. He wasn’t some dumb kid who needed constant protecting. He didn’t need to be put above his friends just because of his age.

Especially when it is the reason both of them are in the hospital right now.

When Dustin lays down to sleep that night, he ends up staring at the ceiling. The lights of the hospital blinding him every time he closes his eyes. The face of fear Steve made right before he dropped. The blank look of Eddie’s eyes as he took his last breath.

Both of them might still be alive. Both of them might be dead. But he won’t know that until the morning because he’s here instead of the hospital. Here in a bed where he can’t sleep because all he can think of is the possibilities of what could be happening in that operation room. What could be happening in that hospital across town. What happened right before his eyes and terrified him to the very bone.

For two people who did everything just to make sure he was safe, they didn’t think about what would happen as he saw the consequences of those actions right before his very eyes. At this point, Dustin would much rather prefer a hospital bed and a few bites of his own than to wonder if his friends are still alive.

Next part

Note: Chapter one of this fic is now posted on ao3, if you wish to follow it there. The first chapter is the first four parts, the Wayne POV, the next will be the section of Dustin POV's, and so on. I am also changing the main tag for this from morgan's wayne pov to #chills right to the marrow fic, since that is now the title.

tag list, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

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@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

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[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍' 𖥔

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 ; steve comes home to find you more than just asleep

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; steve harrington x girlfriend!reader, female oral seggs, slightly pervy steve, kinda exhibitionism, somnophilia. let me know if i forgot any !

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ; 1.3k .ᐟ

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ; steve makes brain go brrrr

the air was sticky, cascading a blanket of humidity over your body. a light sheen of sweat present on your now dewy skin. it was hot — too hot for your liking — and you cursed your shitty old air conditioner for breaking at the hottest time of the year.

given your losses, it was enough to warrant your desire of wearing absolutely nothing while having to spend the day cleaning your small apartment. you weren't sure how you had let things get so far behind, but with multiple loads of washing and a kitchen sink filled with dishes, you weren't about to slug yourself around and torture yourself with unnecessary layers of clothing.

you danced around the kitchen, twirling on the tips of your toes as you placed dishes into their designated spots. sticking the occasional finger up at the broken air conditioner for damning you to endure such insufferable temperatures, and for making steve take on more shifts at work so that you could afford to fix it.

after hours of cleaning, the warmth finally starts to take its toll, tiring you out until you couldn't possibly stand on your feet any longer. you seek refuge in the bedroom, falling into a heap on the bed where your book from this morning still laid.

the sheets are soft against your bareness, fitting into every curve and crevice. the window above your bed is open, letting in small gusts of summer as you slowly flip through the pages once more. but not even the words of your favourite author could keep you awake, and your eyes begin to flitter closed.

it's not until the late afternoon that steve finally ventures home from the video store, climbing the staircase in the building and letting out an exasperated sigh when he reaches the door to your apartment. his fingers are tired from constantly prying open video covers and sifting through tapes to scan — all he wants is to see your face.

his shoulders fall when he enters, expecting you to be sitting in the lounge reading a book or baking away in the kitchen like you always were — you loved to surprise him with new recipes — but you weren't doing either of those things.

he's surprised by the silence, and even more so when he makes his way to the bedroom and sees you in bed. the furrow in his brow quickly dissipates, and breath catches in the back of his throat. your face is all cute and puffy as you sleep, lips swollen and cheek squished against your book, but he's mostly surprised by the view he had been granted the second he walked in the door.

another gust of warmth dances across your body, causing your nipples to taut. it was a new sensation, one that you seemed to like, as you stir from your sleep, tossing and turning to get more comfortable atop the sheets. spreading your legs open for some sort of relief while also giving steve the perfect view of your flower as he stands at the foot of the bed. he swallows hard now, his jaw tensing as a heat begins to build up inside his pants, his member straining against the compact of his jeans.

there was nothing steve loved more than the sight of you opening up for him, showing off your velvety centre and letting him bury his head between your thighs. he loved the sight of you — the taste of you on his tongue — and as he stood there watching as you had unintentionally given him the thing he desired the most, he couldn't not think about how you tasted in that moment.

slowly, he slips off his shoes, unbuckles his belt and lets his jeans fall to the floor in a heap, giving his shaft some release as a growl forms in the back of his throat. his family video vest and polo shirt following suit, and with careful motions, he crawls across the bed towards your middle.

he wanted, no needed, you on his tongue now.

he moves forward enough to wrap his hands around the underside of your thighs, large fingers holding them apart in case you felt the urge to close them on him. then, taking in the sight of your beautiful sleeping face once more, knowing how much you were going to love his little wake-up, and with a smirk splayed across his lips, he slowly swipes his tongue across your goodness.

he revels in the taste of you. sweet on his tongue and already slightly wet. you must've been having a good dream.

it takes you a moment, slowly stirring from your sleep, grasping at the sheets around your head while steve laps up your taste. he begins to move his tongue at a faster pace now, making sure to get you nice and wet before starting on your sweet little bundle of nerves.

the instant contact sends a rush of goosebumps across your skin and sets you alight with ecstasy, a whimper leaving your lips as you finally come to. your chest is heaving, rising and falling so dramatically that it takes you a moment to collect yourself.

"w-when did you get home?" you ask between heavy pants, a moan escaping you at the end when he hits your most sensitive spot.

he pulls his tongue away momentarily and you instantly regret asking the question, wanting his touch back on you. his hair tickles your thighs as he moves to press a chaste kiss on your lips, letting you get a small taste of yourself, "a few minutes ago. i couldn't resist..." he smirks before delving right back into your sweetness, this time with the help of this thumb on your clit as he works magic on your core.

"well, i'm glad you couldn't - fuck, stevie." you cut yourself off, the pleasure consuming your every last thought.

steve rubs small circles on the nub, as he tongue-fucks your hole, insatiable moans leaving you. your back arches, hips jutting, and fingers snaking through his hair, gripping onto the loose chocolatey curls as he pushes you closer to your high.

“fuck, right there,” you cry as the pressure grows, a pulsing inside daring to break free.

you can feel the ball inside your stomach, a coil begging to snap, as your hips jut into steve’s face once more. hands now grabbing at the sheets, the pillows, anything to help you ride it out. “god, you’re so fucking beautiful.” steve mumbles, his big brown eyes staring up at you through his lashes and dishevelled hair.

it’s then that the orgasm hits, crashing down over you like a wave as you hold his gaze. he doesn't take his eyes away for so much as a second. he watches you intently, thumb still working you as his tongue licks up your slick. the only sound in your otherwise quiet apartment is the mixture of moans and curses leaving your lips.

steve doesn't stop, wanting you to get the most out of your orgasm, as he takes in the sight of your shaking body. your eyes now rolling into the back of your head as your mouth forms the most perfect 'o' shape. it was a sight he would never get sick of, one that would continue to consume his every thought for as long as he lived.

as your high comes to an end, steve can feel you pulsating on his tongue and presses a soft kiss to you before eventually pulling away. a roguish grin immediately takes hold as he moves to lay with you, slumping down on the sheets.

still breathless, you pant, "that was the best wake-up i've ever had."

"maybe you should be naked when i come home more often," he chuckles softly, brushing the hair from his forehead.

turning to him, a smile present on your lips, you say, "maybe i should."