#THAT SHIT HITS EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY BUTTONS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pasukiyo · 3 months ago

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EXTRA MOTIVATION

college baseball player!leon kennedy x f!reader word count: 2.4k warnings: smut!, fingering, sex in a public setting synopsis: when teaching her how to swing, leon has to come up with a more effective plan to get her motivated...

“How am I supposed to learn how to swing when you’re kissing my neck?”

Leon’s lips shape into a grin against the crook of her neck and she shudders when he pulls away, his breath warm against the saliva cooling on her skin.

“It’s for encouragement,” he says with a shrug, so casual for someone who’s driving her absolutely insane. A baseball whisks by and she flinches, nearly jumping straight out of her back into him. His hands find her hips to steady her and she can feel his laugh as it buzzes through his chest against her back.

“Jesus, can you turn the speed down, please?” She glares over her shoulder as Leon touches his lips against her shoulder. “Not everybody’s a goddamn Derek Jeter like you.”

With a roll of the eyes and a featherlight kiss to the peak of her shoulder, Leon pulls away, tossing the net of the cage over his head. “Can’t believe you’d compare me to Jeter,” he clicks his tongue as he presses his thumb against the down button on the pitching machine’s control panel. “I easily hit circles around him.”

She rolls her eyes as she leans on the bat. Cocky bastard.

“He’s the only player I know, because of you, mind you,” she remarks as he enters the cage again, a corner of his mouth tugged in a half-grin. “Anyways, fine. Not everyone can ‘hit circles around Jeter’ like you can.”

Leon titters and touches his lips to her temple, sliding behind her once again. “That’s more like it,” he whispers beside her ear, slapping his palm against the right side of her ass. Her entire body jolts and she hisses, narrowing her eyes at him from over her shoulder as another ball passes by, at a slower, more manageable pace this time. “Is that better?” He asks, gesturing with his head towards the plate where the ball had passed over just moments ago.

She turns and pauses, waiting for the next pitch to fly. She watches it as it passes, a small arch to it as it goes by, smacking the rubber backstop. She deeply inhales, feeling every single drop of air that gathers in her lungs before she releases it.

Why did she agree to this again?

“I guess,” she finally replies, picking the bat up off the ground, trying to figure out where to grip the handle. “Now, how do I hold this thing?”

She’s sure a dirty joke can be written there, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Leon was itching to tell one. If he was, he doesn’t act on the urge— fortunately— and he instead pulls away, muttering an “almost forgot.”

She watches as he steps out of the cage again, rifling through his ball bag until he holds up his helmet. Her face falls as he steps under the net again, grinning. “Gotta protect that pretty head of yours,” he says, kissing the crown of her head before sliding the helmet on. It feels heavy and a little awkward because it fits a little big, so she has to tilt her head up to even see him.

“This thing smells like shit,” she complains.

Leon wrinkles his nose, “are you saying I smell like shit?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she deadpans. “I’d also like to add that your head is enormous.”

His lips fall in a scowl and he spins her around by her shoulders, wrapping his hands around hers on the handle of the bat. “Careful, or that mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble,” he says, adjusting her grip on the bat. “Dominant hand over the other. Leave a little room between your bottom hand and the knob.”

She watches as his hands guide hers to where they need to be, another ball whisking by. “Maybe you should’ve turned the machine on after you taught me how to stand,” she says, feeling him shrug behind her.

“Too late. Now,” he begins, torquing her hips with his palms. “The key is to use your hips as your guide. The power’s all in the hips, baby.”

She rolls her eyes and lolls her head back, gently knocking the top of the helmet against his chin. He snickers, bringing one of his hands to wrap around either of hers again. “When you see the ball release, take a step with your front foot. It’s your windup.”

She goes through the motion as another ball passes. She waits in her position for his next instruction, his hands still on hers and holding her arms back. Her back begins to ache and she shifts uncomfortably as he pats her back thigh.

“You’ll twist this leg before your arms go into motion, using your hips just like I showed you,” he instructs, placing his hand back on her hip to guide her. “Your hips will guide you through your swing,” he says, finally grabbing a hold of her hands, slowly going through the swinging motion. “Like this.”

They go through the motion a couple more times until she thinks she’s ready for the real thing. Leon walks her to the plate and gets her into position, pressing a kiss to one of her shoulder blades. “My little baby’s first hitting lesson,” he murmurs against the fabric of her t-shirt. “Time moves too fast.”

Her eyes roll and she nudges him out of the way with her butt. “You’re insufferable.”

She can only envision Leon’s grin behind her. “You love it.”

With a pat to her ass, he backs away and she gets into the stance Leon showed her, willing herself to breathe as she watches a baseball roll down to the machine. It ejects— and she blinks. She swings the bat just like he’s taught her— and misses.

The ball hits the rubber mat serving as the backstop with a loud thud and she deflates, arms falling to her sides, leaning against the bat.

“I missed,” she says, a little dejectedly and Leon chuckles behind her, his hands rubbing either of her shoulders, his lips touching the side of her neck.

“Can’t all be naturals like me,” he jokes, nipping her skin. Her eyes roll, her elbow jabbing into his stomach. “Kidding,” he saves himself. “It just takes practice.”

His palms soothe up and down from her hips to her waist, his breath hot as it looms over her neck. Her breath catches in her throat as another ball goes by and she blinks when it hits the backstop, Leon’s hands snaking around her waist to the line of her shorts.

“And maybe some extra motivation?” He murmurs against her shoulder, pressing kisses into her skin all the way up until he reaches the edge of the helmet. Gooseflesh erects on her arms and quivers trail down her spine while his fingers toy with the hem of her shorts, his forefinger slipping beneath to draw a line above her pantyline.

“Leon,” she near-whimpers, feeling that familiar ache blossom between her legs as his fingers sink beneath her underwear. He hums against her neck, the pad of his middle finger finding her clit, his touch like the jolt of lightning that brings her to life, electricity flowing through her veins.

“Every time you hit the ball, I’ll make you feel good,” he whispers, breath curling around her neck, twisting all the way up to her ears in a warm embrace. It makes her shudder as Leon’s finger brushes against her clit, back and forth. “Easy enough, yeah?”

She thinks she’ll hit him with her bat.

“You drive me crazy, Leon Kennedy,” she mutters through gritted teeth as his middle finger flicks her clit, trailing down to her entrance, gathering the slick there. Her breath hitches as another ball passes, Leon’s lips curving into a grin between her collar and jaw.

“I’m counting on it, pretty girl,” he whispers, sliding his hand away from her shorts, pulling away from her altogether. She peers over her shoulder at him as he backs away, lips wrapped around his middle finger, a smirk on his face.

Her brow dips— one of these days, she’ll get him back.

She turns back to face the machine, getting back into position. She waits with bated breath as the next ball rolls through the machine, soaring through the air towards her. She swings with full confidence that she’ll make contact this time but that hope dies almost as soon as it comes once her bat swipes through the air above the ball, hitting air.

Blood bites her cheeks as she glances back towards Leon who simply stands with his arms crossed over his chest, the dark ocean in his eyes rippling with a playful luster she’s seen far too many times to count. She huffs and turns back to the plate, readying herself into position.

She misses again.

And she misses the next.

But the time after that, she gathers a lungful of air into her chest, heart pounding and core aching with determination. She’d have to hand it to Leon— he strikes a good bargain. Her pussy surely thinks so too.

Her vision zeroes in on the ball as it rolls through the machine, ejecting from the emitter and soaring towards her. She thinks back to the motions she and Leon went through, piecing them all together in her mind like it’s one giant puzzle. She holds her breath in her throat as she puts all the steps together— and finally makes contact.

It’s not a Division 1, college scholarship worthy hit by any means. In fact, it practically hits the ground as soon as the barrel of the bat makes contact— a daddy hack, she’s heard Leon refer to it as— but it’s contact nonetheless. Elation surges through her veins and she pumps her fist in the air, face splitting in a smile as she hops, turning to face Leon.

“Who’s Derek Jeter now?” She exclaims as his lips crack to reveal the pearly whites behind them, his chest stuttering with his laughs. “Deal’s a deal, Kennedy. Now get your ass over here and touch me.”

Leon’s chest rumbles with his laughter as he throws his hands up in admittance, sauntering his way towards her. “Deal’s a deal, can’t argue with that,” he says as she drops the bat, peeling off the helmet and sending it pummeling towards the ground. Leon’s arm snakes around her waist to pull her closer, his other sliding between their bodies, cupping her mound from over her shorts. Her lips fall agape in utter shock as he nears, their noses just barely touching when he whispers, “you’re lucky I’m a man of my word.”

His fingers are like shots of ecstasy injecting straight through to her veins as he slides them back down her shorts, finding the aching bud at her center. She tosses her head back but he cups it with his palm, bringing her back in to press his lips against hers. Their tongues tumble around each other in a sloppy, languid kiss, humming into one another’s mouths as his middle and pointer fingers sink their way through her entrance, rubbing against her warm, velvety walls.

Her lips part around his and he takes it as his opportunity to gain control over their kiss, teeth clashing against hers with a fervor only Leon can match.

“Shit, you always get so wet for me,” he practically groans into her mouth, sliding his fingers in all the way until their knuckles deep. It’s already enough to liquify her insides and jellify her knees. “You’re such a good girl, you know that?”

The endearment has more of an effect on her than she expected. She mewls against his mouth, clutching his bicep and sinking her nails into his flesh. She cants her hips into his hand, the heel of his palm rubbing friction against her clit when she does. It has her mind reeling, her head spinning.

Leon snickers at her reaction, pulling away from her mouth just to stare into her eyes, to watch as she falls further into submission in the palms of his hands. It makes his chest swell with pride, makes his cock twitch and strain against his boxers more than he’s willing to admit.

“You like that, huh?” He chuckles, moving the heel of his palm side to side against her clit, just to fuck with her. “Being called a good girl, hm? Being called my good girl.”

It’s unfair how a voice can have so much of an effect on her. It’s embarrassing even, but she leaves no room to protest, for he’s adding a third finger and all she can think to do is moan, “Leon!”

He brings their lips together again, grabbing a fistful of hair from the back of her head to keep her in place. She feels like she’s in a trance, her hazy mind turned to dark, murky slime with each pump of his fingers.

“You do like it,” he titters when he pulls away from their kiss for breath, shaking his head. She pinches her lip between her teeth as he digs her closer to her end, one of her arms locking around his neck to brace for impact, her opposite hand clinging tighter to his bicep. “Don’t think coming was a part of the deal, but I’ll make an exception, just for my good, good gi—“

The sound of the entrance to the cages permeates the building and it snaps either of them out of their lust-drunken hazes. With some reluctance, they push away from each other and she works to straighten out her shorts as Leon licks his fingers clean, turning just as two of his teammates make their way towards their cage.

“Carlos, Luis,” Leon says in greeting, a hint of an annoyed edge to his voice. She turns, scrambling to gather Leon’s bat and helmet she dropped to the ground, core throbbing, begging for attention.

“Kennedy,” Luis greets, dipping his chin as he says her name in acknowledgement too. She simply dips her chin as she turns, pressing Leon’s equipment into his chest. He turns to face her, a line between his brow. She huffs— perhaps sex in the batting cage just wasn’t in the cards for them.

She’s about to push past him when Carlos says her name, lifting a small, gray object in the air.

“This camera yours?” He asks and she freezes where she stands, nodding. “It’s still on, in case you didn’t know.”

Her molars sink into the flesh of the inside of her cheek as she pivots slowly around on her heel towards Leon who only lifts his lips in a tight, impish grin.

Crazy, she mouths. You drive me crazy.

a/n; i wrote this like 4 months ago and only just now got around to posting it i’m so sorry 😭 i hope it isn’t too late to reheat my college baseball player leon nachos 🤞

⚾️ if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply! your feedback is always appreciated 🫶

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aquasoftware · 26 days ago

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"HAVE SOME CLASS!"

FT║ Fem!Reader ✘ Sukuna | WC ➜ 624 ♪ ML

Desc | Dating a criminal with zero tech skills as a “high-class” model was your first mistake. ➜ Now, thanks to one accidental upload, the whole world knows exactly what you look like crying his name.

Cw║ (N)sfw 18+, màt!ng press, accidental sēx tape leak (Kuna being a dumbass whoops,) hūm!l!aț!on, degrādatiøn, sp!t k!nk, pøwer imbalance, s!ze k!nk if you squint, model! Reader + criminal!sukuna.

The world knew you as more than a model—a goddess. A vision draped in designer, skin kissed by flashing lights, a body sculpted to be worshiped. Your name carried prestige, once spoken in admiration. Now, it was scandalized like the greatest sin.

The leak had spread like wildfire. A single clip, no more than a minute long, of you folded in half beneath him—knees pressed to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders, his weight caging you in as he rutted deep, relentless, possessive.

Sukuna.

An infamous criminal—untouchable, unstoppable, and the last man anyone expected to see fucking you senseless.

The video was grainy, taken from a low angle, but there was no mistaking you. Manicured nails digging into his forearms, lips parted in a wrecked gasp. And him—looming over you, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other forcing your legs further back as he drove into you, each punishing stroke stealing the breath from your lungs.

The way your body arched for him. The way his inked hands owned every inch of you. The way your lips trembled as you whimpered his name, so pathetic “Kuna…”

But the worst part? Your voice—wrecked, needy—cut through the sinful symphony of flesh against flesh. “Spit in my mouth, please.” Sultry, desperate, dripping with desire. And he did—gripping your jaw, tilting your head back before letting a slow, deliberate trail of saliva fall onto your waiting tongue. The moan that followed? Indisputable proof of how thoroughly he’d ruined you.

And the cherry on top? His voice, mocking between every ruthless snap of his hips, calling you his little slut. Filthy words blending into the slick, obscene melody of him stretching you open. Your tight cunt clenched around his thick cock, a creamy ring forming at the base each time he bottomed out—proof of just how devastatingly deep he reached, and how much you craved it.

Your reputation was in shambles.

Your agent’s frantic calls went ignored. Social media was a wasteland, your name drowning in every filthy hashtag imaginable. Some people shamed you; others called you lucky to have a man like him wreck you so thoroughly.

And Sukuna?

That bastard was amused.

You stormed into his penthouse, the city skyline glowing behind him as he lounged on the couch, phone in hand. His sharp eyes flicked to yours, a slow smirk curling on his lips.

“Enjoying your newfound fame?” he drawled, tossing his phone aside.

Your rage surged. “What the fuck did you do?”

Sukuna clicked his tongue, stretching lazily. “Relax, princess. It wasn’t on purpose.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know hitting the wrong button would post the damn thing?” He exhaled, tilting his head back. “They need to make this shit less complicated.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re telling me you accidentally leaked it?”

His smirk widened. “Tsk, I was trying to send it to you.” He rolled his shoulders like this was some minor inconvenience. “Guess I hit the wrong button.”

“Sukuna, you fucking idiot—”

Your words shriveled as he grabbed you, yanking you onto his lap. His grip was firm, unyielding, his breath hot against your ear.

“Listen to me,” he murmured, lips ghosting along your jawline. “The whole world’s seen you now. They’ve watched you break under me, fall apart for me. You think any other man can look at you without seeing me buried inside you?”

Heat surged through you, a mixture of anger and something far more dangerous.

Sukuna’s fingers pressed between your thighs, feeling the warmth even through your designer dress. “Oh?” he purred. “You like that, don’t you?”

His teeth grazed your earlobe, a wicked grin curling against your skin.

“Let them look, princess. They already know who you belong to.”

Divider/Boarder creds | enchanthings-a + miffyvirtuales.

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gloomskulls · 4 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ after finding the courage and the balls to ask you out, Peter couldn't help but test the waters.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any. MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

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solarmorrigan · 1 year ago

Text

I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go!#eddiesteve #solar wrote

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matthewssweetheart · 3 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ meddle about 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𝜗𝜚 rafe cameron x dancer! reader✨

𝜗𝜚 just a little something that popped into my mind about getting face fucked by rafe after seeing this photo of drew — please keep in mind i literally wrote this while at work when i had the down time and i haven’t written ANYTHING in MONTHS!😭🤞🏼it’s rushed and all over the place, not edited☠️ butttttt it’s done now it’s time to hide🫣

𝜗𝜚 cw: throat fucking, nose pinching, slapping, some degradation, i think that’s it?

“rafe! we’re in the dance studio, we can’t…” you gasp in shock.

“shhh, it’ll be okay baby girl. trust me?” rafe presses his index finger to your lips as he whispers in your ear.

you blush and nod your head. that’s all it takes for rafe to take control as he shoves you down to your knees.

you look up at him with innocent eyes, completely lost in how damn good looking rafe was, especially in this moment. he was in jeans and a plaid button up with a few buttons loose showing off his chest. it was such a simple outfit but it drove you wild, wanting and needing rafe in all ways possible.

your eyes wander down, watching as rafe unbuckles his belt and shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough for his pierced cock to spring free, his tip already with precum. his dick was rock hard and throbbing, ready to ravage your throat.

“you’re going to look so god damn pretty with your spit and my cum dripping from that filthy little mouth of yours. don’t ya think?” rafe rasps, gripping your chin and making you look up into his eyes.

“please, rafe. i need you. now, please” you beg. you reach for rafe’s cock but he grips your hand and shoves it behind your back. you huff knowing he just wants full control.

“nuh uh. no hands princess. m’going to fuck your face so hard you’re going to be a blabbering mess when i’m done with you.” rafe smirks.

“oh fuck rafe, need your cock in my mouth, please?!” you practically scream.

“i love it when you beg, such a good little slut f’me. ready to feel my big cock on that sweet, sweet tongue hmm?”

“yes, rafe! yes! give it to me, can’t take it any longer!”

rafe wastes no time as he shoves his cock into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. he thrusts in and out at a brutal pace making you choke on his dick. you try gasping for air but rafe was beyond feral and with one hand he grabs the back of your head forcing your throat deep onto his cock. the other hand lands a harsh slap to your cheek.

“atta girl. just a whore for my cock aren’t ya?” rafe pinches your nose, making it even harder for you to breathe and tilts your head so you can see yourself in the mirror, mouth full of cock. “shit, you’re such a good girl. look at you, you’re making such a mess. doing so fucking well f’me. m’so close already baby girl.” rafe’s groans fill the empty room.

“i just know your pussy is soaked, fuck i can’t wait to get a taste later” you look up, hopeful, and so desperate for rafe to touch you. he winks at you while his cock his slides out and back in.

rafe’s thrusts start to become frantic and sloppy and you know he’s about to cum.

“FUCK! here it comes princess, now swallow it. swallow every single drop like the good fucking slut you are.” rafe thrusts to the hilt and his cock pulses, ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. he slowly starts to pull his dick out but not before you suck on his tip and give it a pop as you back away and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

“mmm, wow. rafe, that was…” you begin to say as you get up while watching rafe pull his pants up and buckle his belt.

“fucking fantastic? yeah, it was” rafe says. he grabs you by the waist pulling you into his chest and gives your head a kiss.

“now fucking kiss me on the lips rafe” you demand, getting on your tippy toes.

“whatever my girl wants, she gets.” rafe smashes his lips onto yours. nevermind the fact that your mouth was full of his cock and cum just seconds ago.

tagging some moots: @cameronsprincess @rafesthroatbaby @rafesheaven @oceandriveab @bloodibambiidoll @cameronwillow 🫣

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron thoughts #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron obx #rafe obx #rafe smut #sparkle divider cred: adornedwithlight #mdni diver cred: anitalenia

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cocqaine · 1 month ago

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♱ | brat tamer! joel, spanking, begging, smut, mdni

“you got a lot of fuckin’ nerve.” joel’s southern drawl standing out when he scolds you. his tall, muscular frame towering over. you should be scared, terrified even. but you can’t help the ache you get in between your thighs, watching his jaw clench and muscles tense has a greater effect on you then you’d like.

“didn’t do anything.” you spat, though it came out more monotone than harsh. he scoffs at that, looking towards the ground like you just said something outlandish. a large hand drags across his face. you can tell he’s tryna figure out the best way to set you straight.

he takes a couple steps close to you, his footsteps echoing throughout the bedroom. the sound of his boot hitting the wooden floor sends a chill down your spine. his head lowers to meet your gaze, eyes swirling with lust and anger. your breath hitches in your throat at the close proximity, and he seems to notice– a small smirk playing on his lips.

“you wanna play this game with me, darlin’?” his words are firm and clear, leaving no room for confusion or rebuttal. it makes your heart skip a beat, beads of sweat start to form at your hairline. you want to push his buttons and see how far he’ll let you, but before you could, his stern voice interrupts. “over my lap. now.”

you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a tinge of excitement when he said that. the whole reason you get him all worked up is because you love the anticipation. the thrill of it all, hearing his punishments and knowing that he’s going to follow through with every single one. your feet move before your mind registers it, and now you’re standing in between his legs.

“did i say stand there and look lost? over my lap, ass up. now.” joel doesn’t like repeating himself, and you knew that. you wanted to stand there and delay the action, but you did want to see what he was going to do. so you did as you were told and laid on your stomach across joel’s lap. his calloused hand ran over the globes over your ass, massaging the supple skin. it was nice, relaxing in its own way. until you feel your bottoms pool just above your knee caps, and the cold air hit your bare cunt.

a small hiss leaves your lips, an even louder one when you feel his hand connect with your cheeks. the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. each slap followed by your helpless cry. you claw at the sheets, at his thigh, anything to get him to let up, but nothing works. instead, he mocks you, giving you faux sympathy at the same time.

“oh come on, sweetheart.” he coos, his voice dark and syrupy. “don’t tell me you can’t take it. you were talkin’ all of that shit,” another slap fills the room, “but now you’re jus’ whining and whimpering. pathetic.”

“pl-please, i’m sorry. won’t talk back, won’t disrespect you again.” you beg, and joel listens. no cutting you off, no grunting, just pure silence. his hand starts to smooth against your ass again, kneading the skin as if he’s trying to apologize through actions. you melt from the sensation, untensing your body and relaxing into his lap. it’s nice, peaceful, and serene, but that’s exactly what joel wanted you to think. because the moment your pleas stop, another smack lands on your ass. “s’ cute, baby. but i think you can take ten more.”

#✍️ | writing #joel miller smut #joel tlou #yellowjackets #tlou #joel miller #joel miller tlou #tlou smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller drabble

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elliesbebegurl · 1 month ago

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Warmest Welcome

Abby x Ellie x Masc!Reader

synopsis: Ellie has always dreamt of being in a band. Her new bandmates are more than happy to welcome her.

warnings: 2.6k words, sub! ellie, dom! reader, dom! abby (idrk, abby doesn’t get involved much here but yea), reader plays with ellie while they write lyrics for their upcoming song TEEHEE, voyeurism, fingering (e!receiving), edging and implied overstim (e!receiving), asphyxiation (e!receiving), Y/N is used once

A/N: The song they’re “writing” here will be Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus SO THAT’S FUN 😍

also sorry this took a looooong time to finally post since I posted the sneak peek. IVE BEEN BUSY IM SORRY 🙏🙏

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ellie was never the type to be extremely social. She would only go to campus to finish her classes, go to the library to re-write her lectures and then go straight back to her place—avoiding any possibility of socializing.

Not that she was ever really talked to. Except her online friends. And when she orders takeout. Do they count?

Though one thing she loved was music. Whether she listened to it or played it herself. Every single pluck of the guitar strings as she played a familiar melody she had heard from the radio earlier that day.

She played beautifully. But who would believe someone like her fucking shreds guitar? See, the problem was that she never really was confident in her skills.

On the flip side were you and Abby. The two of you were pretty well known around campus, being a relatively successful duo after a song you made up one random sleepover with Abby blew up on social media.

Got a little tipsy after sipping on a little too much wine while you two had a “study night”, ended up writing a whole ass song and recording it in Abby’s closet before sharing on a platform for shits and giggles. Now… you’re not complaining though.

So when Abby hears about an upcoming “battle of the bands” happening back in her hometown right on your summer break from uni, trust that you haven’t been left the fuck alone for the past. Four. Days.

Abby spins in your desk chair, with you sat up on your bed as she bugs you for probably the 7th time that day. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Plus, we’ll get to meet other bands, and didn’t you tell me then that you wanted to try getting laid with a bass play-“

You groan. Running your hands over you face as you reason:

“Oh my God. Dude. We’re not even a band. How the fuck are we gonna sign up?”

Abby sits straight, her eyes narrowing as she hummed. “Uhhh…”

Your eyes remained on Abby, crossing your arms as she lets out an awkward chuckle. Rolling your eyes, you go back to “working” on your laptop. In reality, you were actually searching for ways to sign up for the event and its requirements. These are one of the fewest times that Abby would actually go and nag you about something she really wanted to do. So naturally, being her best friend, you try to find a way.

But it’s true though. You two need at least another member to proceed with this competition.

But how?

—————————

After another week of endless (and in-secret) searching, the post you made asking anyone willing to join your band finally got a good amount of emails sent to you. (Abby was blocked beforehand so she couldn’t see.)

One thing that caught your attention in particular was a sophomore who simply wrote in the email about how she wanted to audition as a guitarist—even making the effort of sending a video. Some others already did, so you shrugged it off. Naturally, you clicked on the video and sat back in your seat as it loaded.

When the play button appeared in the middle of the screen, you put on headphones before hitting play.

The girl was leaning over her camera, making sure it was steady before standing up straight. She then shakily introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Ellie. Uh-“ She cleared her throat, her pick now pinched between her fingers.

She chuckled nervously, making a small amused smile creep up your lips as you leaned forward on your desk—now more intrigued.

Hm. This is new.

“Sorry if this is awkward, but um… fuck—sorry, I’ll play.”

There’s a short pause when Ellie leans over, hitting play on her laptop and adjusting the strap of her acoustic before positioning her fingers over the strings.

The familiar intro of “21 Guns” starts playing. From the very first strum, you could tell she had that rhythm. She wasn’t holding herself back—yet also wasn’t playing senselessly.

Unlike the very few others who sent in an audition video where their wrists were stiff and too hyper-focused on getting the song right rather than letting themselves enjoy—Ellie was the exact opposite.

Even though her face wasn’t showing, just with the way her body rocked along as she played almost effortlessly, you could see just how much she loved what she was doing.

When the chorus comes, theres a sudden cut to her now playing an electric guitar, along with her fairy lights in the background now flickering to the beat.

This makes you chuckle in amusement, now nodding along as you sat through the whole video.

When the video ends, you take off your headphones and you sit back.

Well.

You grab your phone from your desk to text Ellie’s contact number.

—————————

Ellie’s leg bounces anxiously as she waits alone in the coffee shop—where the three of you were to meet up. The coffee she ordered wasn’t helping either.

After 10 minutes of her checking the time and biting the inside of her cheek, the sound of the wind chimes by the entrance gets her attention, where she finally spots you and Abby as you both enter the shop.

Ellie stands up abrupty, the screech of her chair pushing back turning some heads, but she was too starstruck to notice, nor care. The sudden noise makes the two of you turn your heads too. Ellie smiled sheepishly before waving you over.

Safe to say Abby approved of her.

Well, both of you did.

Too much so that you had to pinch her side under the table when she kept ogling at the girl. And her also having to remind you of what this meeting was really for.

“You’re making her nervous.” She whispered through gritted teeth as she faked a smile, but her eyes warned. You returned a sarcastic sweet smile before going back to your conversation with Ellie.

From then on, the three of you would meet up after your classes and have small talk just to get to know Ellie more.

By the fifth time meeting up, you and Abby finally decided it was time to bring her to the gig studio you two frequented.

Time to see if you three could really work as a band.

—————————

Ellie rushes to her dorm room, almost stumbling forward as she takes off her shoes.

She’s panting, mind running as she plopped on her bed.

Closing her eyes tightly, Ellie tried to get rid of the thoughts currently running in her mind.

These are your NEW and FIRST bandmates. Please control yourself. Fucking hell, Ellie. You’re weird as fuck. Finding your bandmates hot WHILE playing? C’mon, don’t fuck this up. Are you a pervert?

Ellie groaned as she thought to herself, covering her face in embarassment.

Still, her mind wandered. Because how could Ellie miss it? When Abby’s arms flexed everytime she hit the drums—the sleeveless shirt she was wearing earlier only emphasizing her toned muscles. The way you smirked flirtatiously at Abby and her when it came to your favorite part of each song, and how the flickering lights in the studio somehow made you hotter—whenever you closed your eyes and threw your head back when singing a particularly high note. How you were effortlessly playing the bass while doing so made her even more flustered.

And don’t even get started on how much compliments you two would shower her when you’d get the chance.

With that, Ellie swallowed. The ache she felt far too much for her not to give in now.

With one last sigh, her hand trailed down.

When her fingers finally reach her waistband, she closes her eyes and finally lays her head back before dipping lower.

No one would know anyway.

—————————

“Dun-dun, dun-dun. My lips start to shake.” Abby mumbles, waving the pen around as she scratches off the last lyric she wrote down.

“This might be fake,” You suggested from behind Ellie as you clung onto her, both of you sat in the middle of your bed.

Much to Ellie’s surprise (and to her delight, though she won’t admit), you were quite touchy. So when you asked for her permission the first time to hug her from behind as the three of you brainstormed all of the band “necessities”, she was ultimately surprised. And flustered.

You could tell. Very easily, at that.

Abby had to hold back a chuckle of amusement at how flushed Ellie’s face looked as she nodded.

Ever since then, it basically became routine for you and Ellie.

Did Abby get jealous you were hogging Ellie everytime you guys were at your apartment? Very much. But then again, Abby’s the one who’s always with Ellie at campus. Seems fair enough.

“This-must-be-fake,” Ellie suggested in her own tune, and you repeat it a few times in your mind and nod as Abby jots it down.

“Okay, so after we finish this verse, all we have is the bridge and the post-chorus?” Abby looks up at you both for confirmation.

“Mhm.”

“Yep.”

“How’d you come up with this song anyway? This is the typa shit I’d religiously listen to when I was in highschool.” Abby curiously asked, looking at Ellie.

“You still listen to the songs you used to listen to in highschool.” You teased.

“Exactly.” She agreed before shifting her attention back to Ellie.

“Uh… don’t know, actually. It just came up to me after watching the second Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie.” She sheepishly admitted.

Abby shrugged in acknowledgement as she went back to thinking of what else to add on the last verse. You snickered as your face buried in Ellie’s neck, your hold on her getting slightly tighter, though she figured it was just you being you.

Abby knew very well what you were planning on doing, so the sight only makes her roll her eyes.

“Can we at least finish this verse before you fuck her?” Abby grumbled.

Ellie’s eyes widen. “W-What-“

You click your tounge at Abby’s comment. “I’ll help you,”

You then turn your attention back to Ellie, face still buried in her neck. “Can I?”

It takes her a while to respond, so you reassure. “We don’t have to if you don’t wanna. Just want to reward you for this… little song you wrote. I think this’ll be a hit when it comes out. Don’t you think so, Abby?”

Abby doesn’t even glance up from her notebook, biting the end of her pen as she re-read the lyrics she had already written.

“I’d hope so.”

“Right now?” Ellie croaks out.

“Up to you.”

—————————

“I’ve got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby,” Abby sung for example.

You hum in approval. “That’s how the bridge sounds?”

“Yep. I think it would also sound better if Ellie plays that part with a palm mute. Then for the pre-chorus, the beat drops again—then the grain of the guitar, like, fades as the song ends.” The blonde further explained.

“Sounds good! What do you think, Els?” You remove your hand covering her mouth, and she takes a big gasp of air before it’s turning into high-pitched whimpers.

Here she was, spread out and leaning back against your chest as your fingers curled up into her g-spot relentlessly. She had opted to close her legs from the overwhelming pleasure a minute or two ago, but you made Abby sit in between her legs, making it so she couldn’t do so.

Ellie’s grey hoodie was now bunched up above her chest, her jeans and underwear long gone. You freehand is pinching and pulling at her sensitive nipple as your other drilled into her at a pace she didn’t even know was fucking possible.

Ellie couldn’t help but throw her head back, trying her best to hold onto something to try and keep herself grounded. She landed on the plush of your thigh, her back arching as she sobbed out. “P-Please-uhh, fuck!”

Abby closed her notebook along with her pen inside, and she frowns. “You’re wearing her out before I even get a turn.”

You wrap your arm around Ellie’s neck as you re-angle your wrist—making it ache so much more, but the sounds Ellie were making make it so fucking worth it. You had her in some kind of chokehold, not enough to stop her breathing completely, but just right to hold her down and make her feel lightheaded.

“Be patient.” You say to Abby, before turning to Ellie. “Be quiet, baby. Abby’s getting jealous. Can’t let her know I’m making you feel too good now, can we?”

Abby’s eyes land on Ellie’s face, already looking so fucked out. Eyes half-lidded and watery, and her mouth hanging open with no other choice than to let out pants like a pathetic dog.

Without thinking, Abby leans forward to gently cup Ellie’s face, her entire body shaking by the force of your fingers still fucking into her. She slowly comes closer, waiting for Ellie to stop her. When it doesn’t come, Abby’s crashing their lips together.

You continue your rough pace as you laugh mockingly at the way Ellie very clearly struggles to keep up with Abby.

Abby decides to pull away and finally wait her turn. Patiently. She’ll have Ellie to herself after this anyway.

Ellie’s eyes brimmed with overwhelmed tears as she rasped out. “I-I’m—

Can I? Please, can-can I?”

“Can you what?” You ask condescendingly, knowing exactly what she was asking.

“Can I c-cum? Please! Fuck, I can’t—“ She sobs, trying her best to be good and to please you, but your fingers feel too good and you aren’t giving her any permission.

“Hmm.” You hummed cruelly, wanting to drag this out a bit longer.

“Y/N. Take it easy on her.” Abby spoke sternly, already taking pity on Ellie’s current state. Not because she herself was only eager to see Ellie cum.

Not at all.

The blonde gently puts her palm flat against Ellie’s lower abdomen and slowly applies pressure. She looks at you pleadingly.

You roll your eyes. “Cum for me.”

As soon as Ellie gets the confirmation, her cunt is squeezing your fingers, and her cum gushes onto your palm. The feeling of Abby pressing down on her lower abdomen only intensified the feeling of your fingers deep inside her pussy, tears now streaming down her face.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream as her entire body shakes, her brows furrowed like she was in pain, but the desperate rut of her hips against your hand could beg to differ.

When Ellie does manage to get a gasp of air, she’s shakily whimpering from sensitivity.

When she calmed down, you slowly pulls put your fingers, earning a small squeak from her.

You bring your fingers up to your face to taste her. Once you do, you look at Abby, who’s already looking at you expectantly, with a grin. “You lucky bastard.”

You slowly slide Ellie off of you as you get up, making sure she doesn’t fall.

Ellie is now laying on her back as her chest heaved up and down, still recovering from whatever other-worldly shit she just experienced just about a minute ago.

You land two gentle taps on her cheek to check in on her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Ellie nodded, voice a bit hoarse.

Ellie looks down to see Abby’s large hands already smoothing up and down her thighs.

“You aren’t too tired, aren’t you?”

Ellie shook her head. “Mm-mm.”

You smiled at the interaction, knowing that she’s in for a hell of a treat with Abby.

You lean down to kiss Ellie gently as Abby now starts trailing kisses from the back of her knees to the inside of her thighs, gradually lifting them up over her shoulders.

When you pull away, you tuck away a strand of loose hair in Ellie’s face (among many others) with a fond smile.

“Welcome to the band, Ellie.”

—————————

A/N: I finished this half asleep. SORRY I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO POST ANY STORIES LATELY AAAA

I’ve been very very busy and I almost got hit by a bus last week so that’s a new experience

also sorry but I think this’ll be my last smut fic for a while (idk I still might write some other stuff while I’m at it) BECAUSE I just had a dream and I had the brilliant idea to make it into a story cause why not and I find it rlly interesting so I think I’ll be working on that for a while.

That’s all, THANK YEW

taglist: @bookpagecandlescent @raindontpourellie

I couldn’t find the other person that wanted to be tagged, ur tags are probably off :(( sorry

#wlw post #abby anderson smut #abby anderson #abby the last of us #ellabs #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams smut #sub!ellie #abby x masc!reader #abby anderson x reader #the last of us

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tayraedoll · 1 month ago

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Old Man- Sound the Alarm

Alastor faces a new enemy...your alarm clock.

TW: Swearing, tooth-rotting fluff because I said I wanted to write fluff

Thanks for the Ask @cryssyd! I will be writing some one-shots for Old Man from time to time <3

The shrill, spine-chilling chimes of your phone's default "Radar" alarm pierced through the tranquil serenity of your bedroom like an atomic bomb detonating. You groan loudly, trying to reach for your phone without opening your eyes to silence the aggravating sound that ripped you from dreamland so crudely. Your brows furrow together as you slap your hand down along your bedside table for the third time, only to come up empty. Hadn't you placed your phone there like you did every night? Did it fall on the floor? Fuck, that stupid alarm tone was annoying!

Just as you were about to aggressively wrench yourself out of bed to look for your damn phone, you felt the familiar sensation of static settle along your skin like a blanket. Your eyes fly open to find your lover, Alastor, standing beside your bed looking at your phone in his hand as if it personally offended him. Given his total revulsion to all technology more modern than the radio, perhaps it had.

"Darling, it appears someone is calling your handheld device", he states without looking up from your phone. You were sure he would incinerate it using his voodoo powers if it wouldn't upset you to do so.

Your lips turn slightly into a small smirk, "It's not a call, it's my alarm. Could you be a dear and hit the snooze button for me please?" You lay back onto the bed and fold an arm over your eyes, hoping to catch a few more minutes of rest before you officially started your morning.

"The what now?", Alastor cocked his head at you as he began hitting random buttons on your phone until the incessant hullabaloo finally ceased.

You sigh, resigning yourself to wakefulness knowing full well he would not leave you alone now. "The snooze button, it's a button that you press to stop the alarm for a few minutes before it goes off again to wake you up. I like to hit it a few times before I am awake enough to get out of bed."

You feel the bed beside you dip, alerting you that Alastor had sat on the edge of the mattress. You remove your arm from your face to shoot him a glare for making you conversate before you even had your first cup of coffee. He either did not notice or did not care- probably the latter- as he twirled his cane and smiled down at you with a quirked eyebrow. "Now, why would you set your alarm for an earlier time than you intend to awaken? Seems a bit counter-productive to your intent to sleep a bit longer hmm?"

"Because I need that few extra minutes to gain motivation to physically get up. Not all of us are so chipper in the morning ya know?!" You groan as you climb out of bed and shuffle into the bathroom to begin your morning routine. Meanwhile, still seated in your bed, Alastor was tapping his index finger to his lip in contemplation.

A wailing siren going off jolted you out of bed the next morning. Your large, doe eyes swept the room as your tail fluffed out in alarm, heart beating erratically as your tried to assess what was going on and if you were in any danger. Shit, were the exorcists back?! Did you need to find cover? What the actual FUCK was going on?!

Alastor suddenly appears next to you, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin. "Ah, good morning Sha! My, it's good to see you so awake this early in the day!" The deer demon saunters over to your bedside table, which now holds an antique, silver alarm clock with a single bell at the top instead of your phone. A long, red-tipped finger reaches out to hit the button on top of the bell to silence the dreadful alarm; the only sounds remaining in the room were your wildly-beating heart and Alastor's nonchalant humming.

"Alastor...what the fuck is that?", you clench your teeth as you feel your panic give way to anger.

"My Darling Doe, I have taken it upon myself to improve your rousing routine! You really shouldn't start your day by staring at that dreadful handheld device immediately- it's bad for the eyes you know. Plus you are already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with no snooze function required!" His sentence was puncuated with a "ta-da" track from his cane.

You sigh, closing your eyes and pinching the bridge of your nose to keep from losing your shit on your dearest heart; the man is an absolute menace, but at least he means well. "My Love, could you please explain to me why you want to change how I wake up in the morning? Please tell me it has nothing to do with me using my phone alarm."

You open your eyes as you finish your sentence, catching the way his shoulders tense and his smile falters almost imperceptibly. A small pop of static coincides with the clearing of his throat, the fearsome Overlord was clearly nervous about his response, you cock your head to the side and raise a brow in question.

"As you know, Sha, our mating has drawn us quite close to one another. I find that I am quite impatient to start our days together each morning, and I get flustered when you "snooze" the alarm. Not to mention that the beeping his highly annoying and you insist on listening to it thrice each morning!" Alastor rolled his crimson eyes in exasperation. "But I do apologize if I have overstepped. I shall endeavor to wait patiently for you to join me for breakfast each day."

Your heart constricts in your chest, here you were getting frustrated with him and all he wanted was to spend a little more time with you each morning. A soft smile graces your face as you make your way over to wrap him in your arms. You nuzzle your face into his chest as he wraps his long arms around your waist, his strong hold keeping you close to him. "I'll tell you what- you get rid of that monstrosity of an alarm clock, and I will strive to get up right away to spend more time with you. Do we have a deal?" You crane your neck to look up at him with a grin.

He chuckles low in his chest, the vibrations tickling your cheek. "You drive a hard bargain My Doe, but I accept your terms. However, I'll have you know that this is an exact replica of my own alarm clock from my time as a radio broadcaster!" His hand clutched his non-existent pearls in mock offense.

You raise a brow and deadpan "Ever wonder if that contributed to your psychopathic tendencies?"

You stir awake the next morning, not to the sound of your alarm as you expected, but to a pleasant scratching of your ears. You would be unnerved by this, if it wasn't for the comforting static and scent of the bayou that immediately put you at ease. "What are you doing?", you ask groggily as you snuggle deeper into the buck's chest.

"I was thinking: why should I allow that awful device to wake you when I know I can do a better job. New deal Sha- you can sleep in so long as I am the one who gets to wake you in the morning." His hand runs down your back, not stopping until he runs his claws through the thick fur of your tail. He cranes his neck to place a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

You let out a contented sigh, lazily wrapping your arms around his torso as you drift off again in your lover's arms. Mornings would certainly be a little brighter with Alastor sharing them with you.

#i'm back!#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor fluff #fem reader #Alastor is clingy #but we love him #back with an Old Man short

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biteyoubiteme · 1 month ago

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lucky charm teaser

choi beomgyu x fem!reader ⁷⁷⁷ㅤ

⚂ ⚃ synopsis: On impulse, you book a hotel room at one of the largest resorts and casinos on the Las Vegas strip. The same hotel where beomgyu had been living for five years gambling night after night waiting for a winning streak that he found the very first day he had walked through the side door. Without knowing each other you bet on the same slot machine promising to split whatever prize it is that you end up with. Only the night never ends and no one can stop the two of you from chasing every high you could get your hands on. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings: early 2000's au, gambling addiction, shopping addiction, violence, impulsivity/reckless behavior, smut, more to be added/subject to change/full warnings to be posted with fic

estimated word count: ~20k I could be lying I don't know how to estimate word counts so we will actually see how far off I am or just right when it’s posted lol

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ release date: 2025

an: it the month of beomgyu and I cannot get him off my mind- ive been spending so much time researching this fic and I love it sm it’s my baby rn so hopefully you enjoy it when the time comes :)) [m.list]

⸝⸝⸝

“I'll split it, whatever it is we get, promise,” he lifted his pinky like a kid on the playground, the digit the righter of all wrongs and the promise of all things great, at least to someone sitting in the basement of a hotel. Giving you back at least your two dollars would fix his transgression on your luck. And he had put his own last two into it before trying to add in yours; it was only fair.

“You have a deal,” it didn't even bother you, two dollars was less than you paid to wash the laundry and you knew that even if he split the twenty sitting in the machine you would have won more than you had expected to so soon. You locked pinkies with him, his thumb hiking up pressing your knuckles together like a fist bump. “Stamp it to make it real,” it felt silly pressing your fingerprint to his, imagining you could feel the soft groves of his life like a fortune ready to be told on an open palm. But you did it anyway, trusting the stranger you didn't even catch the name of.

Beomgyu handed you the last quarter to make the dollar, you slipped it into the machine and he nodded at the handle still there even when the new wave machines with the buttons were making their way onto every casino on the strip. You felt your hand itch to touch it, pull it, and watch the dials spin just as you had in the commercial that brought you here. Stretching your palm you watched the stranger break into a smile, the luck already funneling back into you at one single action before you pulled the lever.

The room had never been so loud. Beomgyu could only hear the blood rushing in his ears the second he had seen the second seven line up with the first, body cold all over as he instinctively reached out for anything to feel grounded again. You twisted your fingers in his, watching the way the fruits, bells, and little bars went round and round the sevens sticking out and catching your attention when the first two dials froze in place. You knew even with those two it would be more than twenty dollars the both of you went away with. But then the world began to slow just as the ticking began to dwindle, the tick…tick making the both of you catch your breath before the echoing alarm rang out and bounced off the cement walls.

“Holy shit-” he had whispered the words, his smile breaking out to show all teeth and gums, his laugh a mix of exhaled adrenaline and the glorious high of hitting the one jackpot he had never seen coming. He let go of your hand for all of a second, reaching out to run his fingers through his shaggy hair, pulling at the roots as he cheered. “We won! We fucking won!”

You were in a state of absolute shock, blinking from the screaming machine to the elated boy next to you grabbing your hand again to kiss your knuckles like they had been the key to tipping the last number into place. The screen did not read $20 anymore but a crisp 12k, the zeros lined up just as nearly as the triple seven the two of you had rolled on a triple multiplier roll. “We won-” It felt unreal, your laugh bubbling up out of you in disbelief as the tsunami of reality came crashing down on you.

⸝⸝⸝

taglist 🏷: want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! everyone on my txt taglist will already be tagged

#beomgyu x reader #txt x reader

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mistressofstars · 4 months ago

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A Lecture on Desire - Part III

Pairing: Kathryn Hahn x Reader

Summary: A lecture on The Price of Salt is supposed to be all about Therese and Carol, but when Professor Hahn locks eyes with you, lines blur. Slow-Burn. Non-magical AU

Word count: 2k

”What else mattered except being with Carol, anywhere, anyhow?“

- Patricia Highsmith, The Price of Salt

Part III

Your hands hover over the keyboard, each key feeling heavier than usual. You’ve drafted three replies and deleted every single one. Nothing feels quite right, polite but not too eager. Eventually, you settle for a reply.

Subject: RE: Glasses

Dear Professor Hahn,

saturday at 2 p.m. works perfectly for me, thank you for the invitation.

I’m glad I could return your glasses; I’d hate to think of you without them.

Kind regards,

Y/N Y/LN

You re-red it. Shit. Did you really just send that? You hit your head against the keyboard in disbelief, that stupid, flirty, awkwardly sincere message is now in her inbox, and there’s no taking it back.

Re-reading it. Shit. Did you really just send that? You hit your head against the keyboard in disbelief, that stupid, flirty, awkward message is now in her inbox, and there’s no taking it back.

You groan into your palms, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.After a feel minutes you sigh and move the cursor toward the corner of the screen to close your inbox, you just wanted to hide under your blanket.

A notification pops up.

Subject: RE: RE: Glasses

Dear Miss Y/Ln,

I’ll see you at Maury’s Tiny Cove, 3908 Harrison Avenue, Cheviot.

As for my glasses and hating to think of me without them? That’s quite the visual you’ve been entertaining. I hope it wasn’t too distracting.

K. Hahn

You blink, rereading it twice. Three times. The words sink in slowly, her voice practically slipping off the screen, that teasing edge.‘You swallow hard, feeling a strange mix of humiliation and thrill. Did she really just write that?

…

The days leading up to lunch feel impossibly long, each second dragging as your thoughts spin in endless circles. You try to distract yourself , but your mind keeps returning to that email. To her words. The teasing, playful edge in them. You want to stop thinking about it, but you can’t.

It’s Saturday, and you still haven’t figured out how to calm your nerves. It’s like the weight of what’s coming presses on you, no matter how many times you try to shake it off. Lunch with Professor Hahn. The thought alone makes your pulse quicken. You’re about to see her outside of class, outside of the usual boundaries. There’s something so… charged about the whole thing.

You glance at the clock—it’s nearly time to start getting ready. You swallow hard, feeling that familiar flutter in your chest. Time to make a decision. What do you wear to something like this?

Your eyes land on the red sweater you’ve worn a few times it’s simple, but it fits perfectly. The heart-shaped neckline shows off just enough skin. You bite your lip at the idea of Professor Hahn noticing it.

You apply your favorite perfume on your pulse point and on your wrist, letting the familiar scent settle over you. With a deep breath, you throw on your wool coat and reach for the thick scarf hanging nearby.

The restaurant feels warmer than it should. You glance at your watch for what must be the hundredth time. Five minutes past two. She’s late. Or maybe you’re just too early. The thought doesn’t make you feel any better as you fidget with the corner of your napkin, sneaking another glance at the door.

The sound of heels clicking against the floor snaps your attention back to the present. You look up, and there she is.

Kathryn Hahn strides in with an air of ease, as if she owns the room. Her white blouse is crisp, the first couple of buttons undone, hinting at the barest shadow of skin. A navy coat hugs her shoulders perfectly, and her hair falls casually loose, framing her face. Her sharp eyes scan the room until they lock onto yours. Intense. Steady. Unwavering.

You freeze under her gaze, heat pooling low in your stomach as she approaches. When she finally reaches the table, she slips off her coat with a fluid motion, draping it neatly over the back of her chair. The tailored blouse accentuates her figure, skimming over curves that make your throat dry.

Kathryn smirks, sitting down with deliberate grace. She leans in slightly, resting her elbow on the table. Her glasses dangle loosely from the open button of her blouse, the movement drawing your attention to the soft curve of her collarbone and the subtle hint of cleavage revealed beneath the crisp white fabric. Your eyes are lingering for a moment too long before you snap your gaze back up to her face.

“Hello, Professor,” you manage, your voice quieter than you intended, trying not to let your gaze drop again.

Her lips curve further, a touch of satisfaction colouring her expression. “Miss Y/LN,” she replies smoothly, her tone laced with something you can’t quite place.

You swallow hard, gripping the menu like a lifeline as she leans back slightly, crossing her legs.

Her fingers move to the glasses resting at the edge of her blouse. She pulls them free, slowly, painfully slowly and deliberate. The glasses catch briefly against the fabric before she unfolds them with a practiced ease. Sliding them onto her nose, low enough to peer over the frames, her eyes flick to the menu, as if entirely unaware of the way your breath hitches.

The waiter arrives, and Kathryn orders a Greek salad without hesitation. “And Texan Ranch Water,” she adds.

You scramble to order the same salad, your mind still racing over her drink choice. Texan Ranch Water? You scan the menu again, trying to figure out what it is, but before you can, you glance up to find her watching you.

She’s holding her glasses by the tip, her lips brushing the arm of the frame as she waits. Her eyes are locked on yours, her expression unreadable. You squirm under her gaze, heat prickling at the back of your neck.

“Something on your mind?” she asks, her voice low and teasing. Her lips quirk just slightly.

Your face burns. “Just, uh, trying to figure out what you ordered,” you mumble.

“Well, you don’t know what’s in a Ranch Water?? Honey…”, her eyes twinkling with a mix of surprise and amusement. It’s tequila, it’s lime juice,” she says, making a squishing motion with her fingers, “and it’s sparkling mineral water.” She chuckles lightly. “How old are you again? I would have thought you’d know something as classic as a Ranch Water by now.”

You tell her your age, and her smile widens, eyes flashing with mischievous delight. “Really?” she draws out the word, letting out a soft, almost teasing laugh. “That young, huh?”

She leans back again, her eyes never leaving yours, a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, sweetheart, there’s always time to educate you,” she adds, her voice drops slightly.

“So, Y/N…” she says, your name rolling off her tongue like melted chocolate. Your eyes widen slightly at the intimacy. “That’s a lovely name. Where’s it from?”

You hesitate for a moment, stumbling over your answer before offering a brief explanation. She listens intently, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes flickering with curiosity and something more playful.

“You’re not from here, though, are you?” she presses, the words slipping out with the ease of someone who knows they’re right. “I can hear it in your accent.”

You nod and tell her about your upbringing, feeling strangely vulnerable under her scrutiny.

The waiter arrives with your plates, interrupting the charged air between you.

Professor Hahn spears a tomato with elegant precision before raising a brow. “Afraid to ask about me?” she says, her tone teasing but pointed.

You swallow, pulling your nervous energy together, forcing a smile. The tension is unbearable, but you manage to say, “Was about to ask.” The smile lingers, a little more confident this time.

Her grey eyes gleam, intrigued by your shift in tone. She sets her fork down and leans back slightly. “Cleveland,” she offers casually. “But I studied in New York. Lived there for years.”

Kathryn’s drink is set down beside her. You watch her pick up the glass, her fingers curling around the rim as she brings it to her lips. Her eyes flick to yours as she takes a sip, and your stomach twists. She sets the glass down.

Without thinking, you find yourself asking, “Can I try it?”

Kathryn looks at you for a beat and without saying a word, she slides the glass toward you, your fingers brushing.

You focus on the faint lipstick stain on the rim of the glass. With a steady hand, you bring the glass to your lips, deliberately sipping from the spot where her lips had just been. The taste is sharp and refreshing, the tequila cutting through with just the right bite.

Licking your lips the taste is lingering as you meet her gaze. Her eyes darken, it makes your stomach tighten. You feel like prey.

“It’s good,” you say, your voice casual. You lower the glass, smiling at her as you hand it back. “I like it.”

“I’ll get you your own then.” She looks over at the waiter, raising her hand slightly and ordering one for you.

Kathryn leans back slightly, her expression shifting. It’s subtle, but you notice the change immediately—her posture straighter, her voice taking on that polished, professional edge. “So,” she begins, her tone a bit more measured, “The Price of Salt… How’s the reading going? You enjoying it?”

”I finished it. It’s a masterpiece, really. How Highsmith builds tension and captures desire… it’s mesmerizing.“

Expression unreadable, ”One of my students posed a question after class and I’m curious to hear your thoughts on it.”

”He suggested that Therese… ” She draws out the name, a soft emphasis as if weighing the idea. “….should have never gotten involved with Carol. That Carol, with all her complexities, is far too… perilous for someone as tender as Therese. And instead, they argued, Therese would have been better off with Richard—the safe, predictable choice.”

You take a large zip from your drink, the emotions bubbling up despite yourself. “Richard is everything Therese doesn’t want to be tied down to,” you begin, the words spilling out faster than you expected. “He’s suffocating. He doesn’t see her as a person—he sees her as some… accessory to his perfect life plan. Someone to mold into what he wants.”

Your voice sharpens but you feel the effect of the drink as you continue, fingers tightening around your glass. “Carol—Carol is dangerous, sure. But she’s also alive. She’s everything Richard isn’t. She’s freedom. She’s, longing, desire … lust.

You pause, your breath quickening as you think about it. “Being with Carol isn’t about playing it safe. It’s about choosing the fire, knowing it might burn you but stepping into it anyway. Because sometimes, the risk is worth it. That’s what makes it so—” You search for the word, your voice softening. “So irresistible. Richard could never be that. He could never make her feel this way.”

You glance down at the table, momentarily lost in your own words. When you lift your eyes back to Kathryn, her expression hasn’t changed. She’s still watching you, her grey eyes locked on yours, unblinking, as though she’s dissecting every word. The quiet that follows feels heavy, thick with unspoken tension, and you realize your heart is pounding.

Her fingers trail along the rim of her almost empty glass before she speaks, her tone impossibly calm. “Miss Y/L/N,” she says, “would you like to continue discussing this in my office?”

The words hang in the air, thick. There’s no mistaking the pull in her tone, no question of what she’s offering—or demanding.

You nod.

Author’s Note: A little homage to some of Kathryn Hahn’s iconic pop culture moments sprinkled in here, couldn’t resist! Next chapter? No more slow burn. That’s all I’m going to say.

#kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #Kathryn Hahn x you #carol 2015 #the price of salt #cate blanchett #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x you #agatha all along #agatha x reader #reader insert #professor x student

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aradassbadass · 3 months ago

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cellular sentiment | ceedee lamb ꨄ iv

‘& shii took everything not to give yo lil ass exactly what you wanted. now call me and lemme see hear it forreal’

you stared at the message stomach in knots. part of you wanted to be excited knowing that it was something in him that yearned for you just as you did him, but the nervousness overpowered that feeling entirely.

you throw your phone on the bed in frustration.

he wants me- or at least it sounds like he does. what if its just a joke. no he’s grown and this isnt high school anymore guys dont just flirt with you as a dare anymore. but guys like him, guys that can have anybody they want, usually tend not to go for somebody whose status isnt similar to their own.

falling back onto the pillows your towel falls off of you leaving your bare body exposed to the air. nipples going frigid and you glance down at yourself- something you often try to avoid. you grab at the pudge of your stomach and sigh.

these moments tended to happen where youd find yourself being overly cautious about your body. usually itd be when you were shopping for clothes seeing as to how you didnt find yourself in a lot of situations that pertained men. you didnt seek out relationships, you never had, and whether it was due to your intense schedule or your subconscious fear of rejection you didnt take much time pondering on it. this for some reason really bothered you.

your phone began to vibrate throwing your train of thought out of the window. you stare at it as it rings body stiff and unmoving.

i cant do this right now.

declining the phone you turn on do not disturb.

you know ignoring the situation wont make it go away entirely but hopefully this will deter it for now.

ꨄ

it had been 5 days since you had last talked to cedarian and you would be lying if you said this little escapade didnt hurt. a sea of emotion still clouded your better judgement but you knew you couldnt keep it up much longer.

the calls & messages from him did not cease after that night. he felt bad that much you could tell and it made you feel ten times worse.

im sorry i shouldnt have said that

can u please answer

i shouldnt have said that

fuck please answer i js wanna talk

answer me please

im sorry goodnight

hey js got out of practice i hope you have a good day at work im sorry again for ts

please answer me

hello

goodnight im so sorry

every single message from monday on was akin to one another. you wanted to respond but you felt bad for all the time you didnt so you continued till ignore him or that was until now.

you sat in your car outside of your house as the phone rang on carplay. you groaned and hit the wheel in frustration- not at cee but at your childish antics. you sighed and clicked the green button on the screen heart thumping as you did.

the other end of the line was silent at first then came the rasp of the voice you missed so much.

“hey.” a word so simple yet it felt so loaded with emotion.

“hi.” you say in response, internally kicking yourself.

“i-i um i dont know where to begin- im sorry for what i said. it was inappropriate- really inappropriate for our friendship and i-i dont know why i even sent that. fuck im sorry these few days have been hell without talking to you.” he says voice laced with emotions- sadness and regret being the most prominent.

it tugs at your heart strings and you feel worse than you did before seeing how you made him feel. “cee, you dont have to apologize. none of this is your fault. i freaked out when i read the message and started over analyzing shit because i couldnt process my own feelings towards the situation. fuck, im sorry none of this is your fault thought.”

the other side of the line is quiet and if not for the screen still displaying his contact you would have thought he hung up.

“over analyzing what?” he quizzes and you could all but picture him somewhere eyes wondering as he chews on his bottom lip.

“the fact that you could feel even remotely attracted to me. you are you and well im just me. i-i dont know cedarian i just kept thinking someone like him- someone who has the world at their disposal could even feel something as meaningful as desire or anything towards someone like me. it just made me relive all the times i was asked out as a dare or some stupid joke. i really do like you cedarian, you are one of the only people i still have with me and i-it all felt too good too be true to think that you actually liked me too.” you say the last part quietly.

the line is quiet again and you suddenly feel stupid. “see, i knew it was too good to be real.“ you say voice shaky as tears spill from your eyes.

“what, no, no. stop crying please god stop crying i feel the same way about you. no cruel jokes or anything. you dont see yourself like i do- you are beyond beautiful.” he says words beginning to soothe the ache of your heart.

“ you dont understand how your voice is my favorite thing to hear after a game- win or loss. you dont see how when im on long flights home i go through the album of screenshots i have of just of you. you dont even know how good it felt to finally hold you in my arms after wanting to do that for so fucking long. when i say it took every ounce of self restraint i had to just hold you and nothing more when i heard you call out for me i meant that. i dont ever want you to have to want for anything as long as there is breathe in me because you deserve everything.”

hearing this your heart skips a beat. you feel an immense sense of relief at the words and a new found yearning for him, something just short of primal.

“cee,” you say voice barely above a whisper.

“just say the words baby.”

“i need you.”

#smut #fanfic #ceedee lamb #ceedee lamb x reader #nfl #dallas cowboys #plus size reader #black reader #fluff #tee higgins #joe burrow #jamarr chase

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obxcc · 4 months ago

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⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ thinking about how bsf/baby daddy!jj and puppy!reader even got into this mess of raising a kid together

cw . . . profanity , unplanned pregnancy , smut 18+ ( unprotected sex , daddy kink , degradation , praise , size kink , accidental cream pie ) , plan b not working

in a house full of really hot people , it’s bound that the single ones are going to fuck like rabbits any chance they get. it’s science.

that’s what jj would say every time you two had the discussion of maybe calling it quits on the friends with benefits that live together with all of their friends thing you had going on. but of course , it never lasted long. you were too horny— for him specifically. he knew your body like his own , and he had no problem showing you just how much he knew you all of the time.

it’s not like you could avoid him. he was your best friend. you did everything with him. if jj maybank was anywhere , everyone knew you weren’t too far away. people noticed that you were closer to each other than most best friends , but they never commented on it. just once.

“sorry we don’t fit your social norm , john b , but i’d like to remind you that you kissed kiara once. that’s not very friendly either,” you’d reply , defending you and jj’s friendship whenever jj’s hand drifted a little too low to grip at your ass when you hugged. john b would just whine that it was years ago and he was sorry for saying anything.

later that night , jj couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth , low and raspy in your ear. “do friends do this , baby? huh? cause you’re the one always wanting my dick. actin’ like a bitch in fucking heat,” he grunted , grinding his hips into yours from behind. his entire weight was pushing you deeper in the mattress , forcing you to take everything he was giving you.

and god , you just took it , moaning back as he gave you an especially hard thrust before wrapping his arm under your throat and pulling you up just a little bit. “y’gonna answer me?” he asked , a hint of a moan ripping from his mouth when he saw the fucked out look on your face, “we just friends?”

“fuck , no , daddy!” you cried , trying your best to move your hips back into his , needing more, “please don’t stop!”

jj let go of you , causing your face to drop into the pillows again before he was flipping you both over and situating you on his lap. you whined , knowing he’d make you put in some of the work , and looked down. his cock rested against your stomach , stopping just below your belly button. “put that shit back in , pup. go to fuckin’ town,” he instructed , catching his breath and slapping the side of your ass, “c’mon.”

you lifted your hips , hand guiding him to your entrance before sinking back down into jj’s lap in one go. “fuck , s’big,” you mewled , yanking him into a sloppy kiss as you started bouncing up and down. you were swallowing each other’s moans at this point while you humped his lap as fast as possible.

“you take it so good , though,” jj smiled up at you , hand coming down on your ass again before helping your hips move, “can see myself up in your stomach,” he almost laughed , taking his other hand to rest on your lower belly and pressing down. your head fell back as you held onto jj’s shoulders for dear life. moans were floating around the room , yours mixing with his.

“shit , shit , shit. m’gonna cum , daddy,” you tried to warn him before it happened , but the head of his dick pounding into you just right was enough to make you cream around him and plant yourself on his lap.

“fuck! get off , get—“ jj whimpered , hips stuttering into yours as his hands gripped at the fat on your hips as his orgasm finally hit. you could feel his cum shooting into you , filling you impossibly more. “fuck,” he groaned , letting his head drop to your chest.

you swirled your hips when jj’s mouth latched onto your nipple , sucking it in and moving his tongue over your sick. “j,” you sighed , starting to build your rhythm again.

because shit , he’d already busted inside of you. might as well go a few more rounds. make the plan b worth it.

now here you were , sneaking through sarah’s bathroom cabinet to find the spare pregnancy test you knew she had. it had been far too long since you’d gotten your period , and you know the pill always fucked with you and your flow , but something felt wrong.

your tits hurt. so much so that jj smugly offered to suck on them until they felt better. and usually , you’d comply , but this time you smacked his hand away before going to your room. you’d been nauseous and crankier than usual. you just needed to know. so , you’d take the stupid test now and replace it before sarah noticed.

that was the plan before you looked down and saw the happy , little smiley face staring back at you. “jj!”

it had been so long since jj heard someone screaming his name like that. he didn’t hesitate to jump from the couch and come running upstairs to make sure you were good. “what’s goin’ on?” he asked all out of breath as he stood in the bathroom doorway. and then he saw it.

“looks like we should’ve stopped hitting it raw that night,” you chuckled , tossing him the test with tears in your eyes. he caught it , bouncing it between his hands for a moment before being able to properly read it.

#puppy!reader #babydaddy!jj #bsf!jj #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank obx #jj prompt #jj maybank concept #jj obx #jj maybank fluff

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sturnmeovr · 4 months ago

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♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader

You and Chris were lying in bed, limbs tangled together as he repeatedly smooths a hand through your hair. Most of your days had been lazy the last couple weeks due to your morning sickness, but today your baby actually let you be productive, not giving you as much of a hard time as normal.

You and Chris spent the day online shopping, purchasing a few essentials since you still felt iffy about going in public. Nobody except immediate family and close friends knew you and Chris were expecting. After breaking the news to his brothers, he immediately facetimed his parents and close friends, holding up a sonogram to show them. Of course, most of the reactions were pure shock. He made every single person promise to not tell a soul before he ended the call, even his parents.

Your head rested on Chris’s chest, raising and falling with each one of his breaths. An Adam Sandler movie played across the tv screen as Chris traces a finger around your belly button over and over again. The last few weeks you could feel slight movements, hinting that your baby was growing fast. A sigh escapes your lips, taking in the relaxing moment until a swift, sharp movement presses on your abdomen. You jolt at the unfamiliar feeling, letting a gasp roll off your lips as you sit up. Your actions make Chris sit up in hurry, “what? What is it?” he extends a hand out, placing it over your belly.

“I think he kicked!” you exclaimed, smoothing a hand over your stomach, poking it a few times to see if the baby would kick again.

“Are you serious?” Chris knots a hand in his hair while looking down at your small bump. He chews at his bottom lip out of nervousness as he studies your belly for any time of sudden movement. You let out a snort, “here,” grabbing his hand and guiding it to your bump, “I think Bean felt your hand.” His body tenses up and he holds his breath, acting as if your stomach was a bomb waiting to explode. Running a hand up his arm in an attempt to relax him, his eyes flicker to yours, letting a tight lipped smile pull at his lips.

A few seconds later the same unfamiliar feeling pokes at the middle of your belly, right underneath Chris’s hand. A gasp erupts from his chest, “holy shit! Did you feel that? He just kicked the shit out of me!” His words were laced with excitement like he was a kid in a candy shop. He lets out a laugh as the baby kicks his hand a few more times, making you quickly join in. At that moment he felt more serotonin than he ever had. The small butterfly-like kicks, only separated by the layers of your skin, lightly thumping against his hand. It made him like he was meeting his child for the first time. His heart pounding heavily in his chest just like it did when he first met you - like it did when he found out you were pregnant. Chris was over the moon, everything started to feel real for him the moment he felt his baby introduced themself for the first time. All he knew was these next few months needed to fly back, he couldn’t wait to meet his baby in the flesh and neither could you.

wc - 574??

an - This is my first blurb so be careful with me 😭 Serving more babydaddy!Chris content is my mission 🫡 Also I hit 300 followers last night tysm! 🥹🫶🏻

Posting before work because why not lmaoo

Dividers & photo edits by me. Feel free to use.

Babydaddy!Chris Masterlist

Tags - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @emely9274 @loveparqdise @sweetshuga @frickin-bats @katie-tibo @leila-marie4 @delusional-4-fake-people

#♡‧₊˚ cheyenne's works #♡‧₊˚ babydaddy!chris #♡‧₊˚ sweetheart!reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #babydaddy!chris x sweetheart!reader #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo au #♡‧₊˚ babydaddy!chris x sweetheart!reader

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words-4u · 11 days ago

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second chance - y.g

pairing: yolanda garcia x surgeon!ex!f!reader

wc: 1.6k

a/n: i love all of the fics for robby and abbott as much as the next girl but where is the love for my ladies?? need more wlw imagines pls and thank youuu

you know how they say 'don't shit where you eat', turns out it's not a bunch of random words strung together, it's a saying for a reason and pretty sound advise. but when you first laid eyes on dr. yolanda garcia every single thing your best friend cassie mckay advised you went out the window and you dove head first into your whirlwind relationship with garcia.

it was picture perfect at first, she made you breakfast in bed whenever you had days off together, walks in the park, you even owned a dog together (which she kept since she was more emotionally invested in sammy anyway) almost a year and a half in the cracks started to appear, long nights with no calls or text, shortened answers, it just didn't seem like she wanted to be with you any longer so you did what she clearly couldn't do and broke it off.

you were devastated of course but 5 months later and you're starting to get back on your feet. the one hard rule you both agreed on was to keep it professional at work and you tried to... sometimes.

"and what do we have today?" you say walking into the buzzing trauma room.

"high power machine degloved his arm almost crushing it completely. his buddy wasn't looking and fell onto a button. freak accident," perlah says.

the new interns and med students gather around waiting to be instructed.

you walk up to the patient. "wow, i know you guys don't get paid enough for shit like this,"

he almost laughs but it's too painful. "no kidding," he grunts instead, clearly trying to mask the pain.

"sir, my name is y/n y/l/n. you feel pain anywhere else on your body?"

it was at the moment your ex walks in.

"what's up party people?" she asks before her eyes lock on you. "why are you here? this is my consult."

"the page went to all surgeons. i got here first," you shrug.

"god, i wish i had popcorn for this," langdon says as he asses the patient.

"shut up langdon," you and garcia say in unison. if you weren't in a constant state of botherment with her, you would've smiled at that.

"okay, i'll just stand here and watch," garcia says making her way to the back, eyes still trained on you.

"fine by me. it's your time wasted," you retort. "you," you say pointing to one of the newbies.

startled, she points at herself.

"yes, you. name?"

"uh, santos. trinity santos."

"okay, santos. i need you over on this side. you're gonna carefully dress this arm before we take him up for a head ct,"

"how do you know he needs a head ct. his arm is a straightforward repair," garcia pipes up.

you make it a point to look at your ex and then at the patient, "sir, when you hurt your arm, did you fall? hit your head?"

"yeah, pretty hard," he says through clenched teeth.

you give an 'i told you so' smile to garcia causing her to roll her eyes.

"i think i'm done here," garcia says walking out annoyed, which you feel pretty content with.

"nooo, it was getting so good," langdon says.

"langdon, for the love of god, get a hobby. santos, on my right," you say.

santos makes her way around. you hand her gauze. "perlah, push some morphine,"

you cover his exposed arm with the skin dangling off. screams erupt from him.

"i know, sir. we're almost done here. okay santos, wrap 'er up,"

"can't we get a nurse to do this?"

you look at her, kind of shocked, very disrespected. "excuse you?"

"garcia's probably on some gnarly case right now and i just-"

you take the gauze from her. "you're free to go, dr. santos"

"oh i- no i just meant-" "i said you can go," you turn away from her. you point to another one of the interns/med students. "dr..."

"whitaker. just whitaker. i'm ms4."

you hold out the gauze to whitaker. "is wrapping gauze on this patient a task you feel is beneath you, whitaker?"

"no, dr. y/n," he shakes his head.

"great, it's all yours," you say moving out of the way as he comes around and starts wrapping.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

bar hangouts after long shifts got you through most of your days. you get to have your hair down, literally, and decompress from the day with your colleagues. it's essential to your survival.

mckay rants about her day. "and he was such a weirdo, like 'sir, your daughter is about to have surgery. stop trying to get my number'... god, i can't stand men,"

"amen," you say clinking your glass with hers.

"hey, as the only man here, i take offence for all of us, okay? some of us are good guys," langdon interjects.

"no, i'm not having this conversation with you again, frank, i'm just not," you chuckle.

"what? i'm just saying..." his joyful voice trails off as he stares at something, rather someone, behind you.

you look at him confused, "what are y-"

you turn around, now face to face with santos. she looks solemn and nervous and behind her... garcia.

"what the fuck is going on?" langdon whisper to mckay.

"i don't know but i feel like we shouldn't be here for this," mckay whispers back.

"we'll be at the bar," she announces to the table, dragging langdon by the hand who so clearly wanted to stay.

it was like you were in a staring competition with garcia. even after all this time, you couldn't help it, you can't take your eyes off her.

"santos, garcia... what's up?" you say stretching our words. why were they together and what did this have to with you?

"go on, santos, tell her," garcia says sternly, hands in her leather jacket. oh, she means business.

"y/l/n, i mean dr. y/l/n, i wanted to... apologize for my behaviour this morning. every case is important and every patient deserve our upmost care. i should've known better. i'm sorry," santos fiddles with her jacket zipper, avoiding eye contact.

you were just as shocked as this morning. "oh... okay, well, it's much appreciated. and you're right, you should've known better but... it's your first week and we are at a bar right now and i don't wanna talk about work, so if it's okay with you, it's water under the bridge,"

santos finally looks up, a smile adorns her face, "yeah, water under the bridge, i'd like that. thank you dr. y/l/n,"

"okay, that's all, santos. you can go now," garcia says.

santos scurries away to the other side of the bar with her age-mate colleagues leaving you with garcia.

tilting your head a bit, you give her a look, "okay, cut the bullshit, what was that about?"

"she kept bragging about getting off your case and needing a bigger challenge than wrapping gauze so i gently put her in her place," garcia shrugs like it's no big deal.

"and then brought her to do... that," you add.

"yeah, well, she was disrespecting you and i couldn't have that," garcia says with a seriousness, a protective seriousness, that you haven't seen in a while.

"i don't need you protecting me, yolanda, i'm a grown ass woman,"

"oh trust me i know you are," she says in a flirtatious manner but reigns it in quickly when she sees your deadpanned face. "i'm more than aware that you don't need my protection, but that doesn't mean i won't give it. i always will... even if you hate the sight of me."

you're silent for a moment, playing with the empty beer pint in front of you.

"i don't." you finally say. garcia looks at you, trying to decipher your words. "i don't hate the sight of you."

"you don't?" she asks, hope ever so present in her voice.

you shake your head. the next words bubbled to the surface and out of your mouth before you could stop it. "i miss you actually,"

"b-but you broke up with me? and i still don't know why."

"here's why, yolanda," you shifted in your seat to face the standing woman. "i broke up with you because you forgot about me. i don't know what was going on with you at the time and maybe i should've asked but i do know that i faded into the background. it was like... like you didn't see me anymore. so i did us both a favour."

garcia hangs her head in shame. "i-i had no idea you felt that way,"

"i'm not without fault i should've tried harder to communicate, i don't know," you shrug defeatedly .

"for what it's worth, i miss you too," she says taking one step closer to you. "and i really wanna fucking kiss you right now,"

"oh and there it is," you shake your head amused at her honesty.

"what, too soon?" she smirks.

you stare into her eyes and you know she means every word she's saying right now.

"okay, you can kiss me..." you say. garcia is quick to move in between your legs and cup your face. you put a hand on her forearm, "... on one condition,"

"name it. i'll do anything," she strokes your cheek with her thumb.

"i... want us to prioritize each other. but not like before. i mean intentionally. i... can't go through this again,"

"you won't. i promise," she says softly before drawing your face up to her hers closing the gap. a warm and comfortable feeling ran through your body as your lips touched. the kiss was soft and passionate. it would've gone on longer if your well-intentioned friends didn't ruin.

"let's goooooo!" langdon yells from the other side of the bar.

"get it girl," mckay joins in.

you pulled away from garcia laughing and slightly embarrassed. she strokes your hair. "so... does this mean i get a second chance?"

"yes... but you’re on probation so tread carefully," you say, kissing her once more, signing a new lease on your relationship.

#the pitt #the pitt fic #the pitt x reader #the pitt imagine #frank langdon #cassie mckay #yolanda garcia #yolanda garcia x reader #wlw #wlw imagine

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