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v1x3n · 24 days

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M E E T A N D G R E E T

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୨୧ 𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 : you re-meet your old friend, johnny mctavish, but he changed - a lot - and he had brought a few friends with him, who are all part of a band!

୨୧ 𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 : fluff mostly - slight suggestive mentions near the end, awkward reader, nothing much!!

a scottish voice shouts above the raging music in the background, a voice you recognized. a voice that belonged to an old friend, Johnny mctavish. but what is strange is that he is with a bunch of other blokes.

a large man, not fat but built, he looms' down on you with an almost menacing stare. the only piece of him you can see is his eyes. The rest was covered by a skull balaclava, leather jacket, a skintight white t-shirt, gray baggy jeans and some spiky boots. his arms were crossed and he stood up like a brick wall, he was tall as well. he was scary if you were honest. you could see a slight black tattoo peaks out under his jacket. skeleton hands printed onto the gloves. you could see a chain leading into his white shirt, from how tight the top was you could clearly see the rounded rectangle metal through them. some type of necklace.

The man next to him was utterly gorgeous, he had large eyelashes and a little bit of stubble, his big brown eyes were luring you in - almost putting you under a spell. eyes trailing down to look at what he was wearing, he gave off more roadman, would stab you for a greggs, which was different from the man you just looked at. He wore black cargos and a gray jacket opened, showing a cropped black tank top underneath. all up his ear was done with silver piercings, he also had his belly button pierced - showing it off with the cropped shirt, a ring hung around his left nostril. a layered barbed wire necklace hung from his neck along with a black belly chain.

Then right in front of you were two guys, Johnny - your old friend and another man who looked much older than the rest, 5 maybe 7 years older than the others. He was smart though, he looked homely, he looked like he could be a settled down dad with a paid off mortgage. His warm smile could cheer up any day, his beard covering most of the bottom of his face, a white shirt covering his chest with the first few buttons undone, a silky black tie hovering on the shirt. He wore black jeans with a black belt. the handsome man had his right eyebrow pierced, other than that you couldn't see any other piercings. he didn't have any necklaces on, but his fingers were loaded with rings upon rings. on his left hand wore a pain silver one on his ring finger followed by a repetitive skull ring on his middle finger. his other hand had a thinner silver ring on his middle finger then a bone ring wrapped around his thumb.

"How are ya, lass?" the man in front of you says, snapping you out your little transe. Your old friend has changed quite a lot. He still had his silly mohawk - but it was currently a little longer, scraggly and it looked like he had been roughed up - and his stupid grin. some type of logo tattooed onto his right arm. you glance up at his face to really admire his details, a strong glare and a grown yet stubbily beard, your eyes trail down to his jaw which his stubble grew over, then down to his outfit. The man in front of you wore a cropped turtleneck tank top - Jesus - patchy cargos with a belt that held the baggy pair up, on the belt was a skull buckle. Unlike the other man who wore a cropped top, you could see Johnny's happy trail leading up to his belly button. your old friend wore some black bracelets around his wrists, johnny was definitely the most jeweled than the rest of them. around his neck was a collar - it wasn't a choker, definitely not, it was a collar. It couldn't help you think what type of kinky shit he was into. He had a septum pierced into his nose, along with a bar leading across his left ear, trailing down with a few other piercings across both ears.

"oh! I'm good! haven't seen you in so long!" you smile and quickly pull him into a hug, getting a whiff of his scent, you linger on his shoulder when he wraps his arms around you. It was kinda awkward with all his friends cucking but you chose to ignore them and focus on johnny. "How are you? you look... very different!" you choke out a laugh. obviously you weren't laughing at the style, just the change of how he used to dress.

"i look good though, divnt i?" he chuckles and a cough booms from behind him, the masked, you would say gentleman but he certainly doesn't look gentle. "hahh- yeah you do! it suits you!" you gleam and pull away from him, glancing at the other boys.

"Shite sorry, this is Simon," he points at the masked man, "kyle," the pretty guy smiles sweetly at you, "and john!" The father-like man tilts his head and grins. Johnny introduces you to the gang and they all say hi. Some voices are gruffier than the rest. "What are you here for!" you try to quietly shout over the music that slowly gets louder.

this stupid bar was a regular one you visited, you'd usually come here for the bands and occasionally the men. "We performed here earlier" the man, John said with a strong smile plastered on his face. "holy fuck! youre in a band, jj?!" you exclaim and grab onto johnny's hand.

"ye, me and these ballsacks made one together, want an autograph then, lass?" he mocks.

you laugh at him and look around at the other three brutes there, "ye four chat, i'll grab some beers" johnny says before waddling off. you gulp, looking up at the men and awkwardly smile, "sooo..." you mumble quietly.

"How do you know Johnny, sweetheart?" blushing slightly as the man, John, speaks to you. "oh! We were close friends like all our lives, went to primary and high school together" you sweetly smile as another of the men speaks, Kyle, his voice like honey whilst he looks down at you. his big brown eyes taking you all in, "how'd you two meet back then? he tricked you into bein' his mate like?" Kyle jokes.

you laugh quietly, "hah- no, uhm we were in class when we were six or seven maybe? and he sat next t' me, he gotten glue all over the table and all over himself - on the first day - so the teacher told me i had t' clean him up," you fumble with your hands, looking between simon and the rest whilst telling your story, "so i was angry at him because i couldn't play outside that day cause i had t' help him clean up. and he has been annoying me since" you let out a light laugh. you could say you two stuck together.

kyle and john chuckle whether simons eyes dont give off a tell for what emotion

"you his girlfriend, then?"

"what?" choking on air for a few seconds at the accusation. you couldn't deny that maybe you had a small thing for him in highschool but that was just confusing friendship with romance, so if you really think about it - no you didn't. "God, no! He's just a friend!" laughing slightly. the group hummed, it sounded like satisfaction.

"So no boyfriend?" Kyle confirms.

"Like at all?" an eyebrow raises, you look toward simon, who hasn't spoken yet, then towards kyle and john once more with your head slightly tilted. "erm, no, there's no boyfriend" the three of them nod.

A long awkward silence fills the bar, the only sound being the blasting music and people drunk in the background. god this was awkward, but soon johnny came back. four pints and your favorite drink. your smile coated with sugar as johnny gives you your drink, "thanks jj"

"No bother, Bonnie," he passes the other drinks out. you five quickly go find a small booth in the back to talk in, "so what were yous talkin boot?"

"jus slagging you off, Johnny" Kyle pipes up which makes you snicker and Johnny rolls his eyes. "right." he scoffs.

"I was telling them how we uhm met!" you smile and take a sip of your drink. Johnny does the make and hums, "the glue story?" a nod that signals a yes, "still not forgave you f' that, mind." you give him a jokenly glare, "it was years ago!" Johnny gasps, Kyle laughs whilst Simon's eyes flirt between the two of you. your eyes wander over to simon who has his mask ruffled up over his nose so he can drink his pint.

the masked man had a bit of stubble around his face, his lips were pinkish and god you were almost hypnotized, you couldn't see that much but it looked like a lot. he took small sips from his glass and you gaze up at his eyes which were intently looking st you, listening to each and every word you said. you gulp and quickly look away to see john, johnny and kyle talking about something. you could probably piece it all together but you were too panicked that simon had caught you staring. fuck, you didnt mean too stare for that long but you honestly hadnt expected him too look like that.

"oh, i forgot t' ask like what do yous all do in the band?" you look at them all.

"I'm the bassist and backing vocals!" Johnny peeps up, smiling widely. "drums." John hums, looking at you and taking a gulp of his pint. "guitar." Simon says, his voice gruffier - it sounded like exactly how he looked, strange. "I'm the vocalist and rhythm guitarist." Kyle smiles and winks at you.

"cool!" you smile, a finger circling your glass whilst you look between them all, "anythin i would've heard?"

"mayperhaps" Kyle grins, "here" he grumbles and pulls out his phone, showing you his band on spotify. you gasp, "oh my god! no way! My friends have talked about your band!"

the four men look at eachother, "really?" Johnny speaks. you nod as a reply, "i never really listened t' it tho.." muttering under your breath.

"Shame, you should. not t' brag but we are very good" johnny smirks, he looks you up and down, “so what you been up t’? Anythin’ fun?” you think for a second, what have you been up to? You had a few boyfriends, not anything that serious though, you uhhmm… What have you done? You sit there with your thoughts as a few of the guys look at you, they sip onto their beers as they patiently wait for a reply to Johnny's question. “Oh uhm i dunno” you hesitantly let out a slight laugh, “i moved around here and ermm… had a few jobs around the place. Right now I am working at some cafe a few blocks away” looking down at your lap, you were almost embarrassed that you were telling your old best friend, who's successful right now, that you were just working at a small cafe. It was not paid that much but you needed the job - you obviously weren't going to tell him, or any of them, that you were just getting by though.

“Oh you live round here?” John peeps up, keeping his eyes on you whilst he finishes off his pint. your eyes follow his hands as he slams his glass down. “Yeah, do yous?” Simon looks off to the side of the table, out to all the people in the bar. “No we are on a little tour right now, just around the uk” Kyle answers after gulping a large sip from his beer. “Oh! Okay!” you smile at them, “where have you been so far?”

“Few places in London and well here, still going round though” you nod at Johnny's words. Lucky that you ran into them though, you had missed johnny and well his friends definitely weren't hard to look at. Wait wait wait, you couldnt think that, you barely knew them. They were a bunch of emos who have a band together, you only knew Johnny - and that was years ago.

You and Johnny had stopped talking in college. Maybe you had grown apart, or something happened, perhaps it was something you had said? But long story short you and him stopped speaking, full stop. At the time you were heavily distracted by other things though so it hadnt hit you that hard, sometimes you would sit in your bed, going through old photos of you and him together. Then it would hit you hard, at that time you thought to yourself ‘yeah, i miss him’ but then you would distract yourself from that feeling. Another thing that would distract you was your boyfriend, you two had been together for quite a while actually. Johnny actually introduced you two together at the start of college, his name was Danny, but then you and Johnny stopped talking after hitting it off with danny. You would wonder if that was the reason you stopped talking, Danny, but that simply couldn't be it because he and Danny were friends, and why would jj stop talking to you just because you were dating someone?

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “we should get going” a rough, gruff voice, one you only had heard once. Simon. You look up at him then your eyes trail around the table. All the drinks drank and everyone looked incredibly tired, “ah shite yeah, need t’ practise in the morning so got an early night” Kyle follows up. You nod at him, understandingly.

“Oh okay” a disappointed hum comes from you, “bye then” you smile as the rest stand up. You stand up along with them and look at Johnny whilst he walks over to you, wrapping you into a tight hug. You could smell his cologne once more but this time he smelt more like alcohol than before. You bury your head into the corner of his neck as his arms squeeze around you, his hands trailing down to your waist, Johnny pulls back and winks. “I'll hopefully see you again?”

“Yeah..” you murmur, “here uhm i'll give you my number f’ if you're in town again?” you suggest, pulling out your phone and passing johnny it. Johnny quickly puts your number into his phone, he smiles.

They all say goodbye, Johnny pulls you into another long, tight hug and lets you go almost winded. Kyle puts a hand on your arm and lets it trail down your soft skin, telling you he hopes to see you later. John bends down to kiss your cheek whilst he chuckles lightly, saying it was nice to meet you before his eyes wander around your person - muttering that you should come to one of their concerts some time. But Simon only pulls his mask back over his face, back to the original position it was in. Simon's eyes look you up and down as he grumbles a small bye.

And with that you're left outside of the bar, watching them all walk off, yet something catches you off guard, Simon looks back and sees you staring once more. Embarrassing. His eyes almost glimmer, but then he looks forward once more. Scoffing as a bright blush covers your cheeks, fuck, you needed to get fucked cause you were stood looking at 3 strange men and your old bestfriend, blushing because you thought they were fit.

But luckily you would and could never act on your horny thoughts that spew in your mind because you would never see any of them again. Right? Riiight.

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headspace-hotel · 3 months

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I've been reading a lot of articles trying to understand how the ranges of various plants expanded and contracted throughout the glacial and interglacial periods,

and it sucks, it SUCKS that we just cannot know about ecosystems in the distant past with the same amount of detail as today's ecosystems!!!!!!!!!!! I NEED TO KNOW WHAT KENTUCKY WAS LIKE IN THE UPPER MIOCENE. BITING CLAWING KILLING DYING

I've been reading about palynology which is the STUDY of POLLEN, so different plants have very different looking pollen grains so if you get some mud from a sediment layer from 11,000 years ago and look at it under a microscope you can see what plants were dominant in the area and therefore how the ecosystem was different

ONE PROBLEM: Only the especially numerous plants will be easily detected this way, and it is rare for insect-pollinated plants to have detectable records in sediments like this, because pollen made to be carried by insects, doesn't blow away in the air and end up in mud the way wind-pollinated plant pollen does.

TWO PROBLEM, ACTUALLY: Pollen grains aren't that different between individual species, you could only say "This is an oak" or "This is a ragweed" and probably can't detect which kind specifically.

So there could have been all sorts of crazy herbs and trees that we would NEVER KNOW about because they were not very numerous, they were insect pollinated (80% of plant species are insect pollinated!) or they are closely related enough to a species we DO know, that the pollen is indistinguishable.

The quality of data on actual plant fossil records in Southeastern USA is kinda shit for some reason. I've read papers about it where the scientists are trying to make sense of the data and they're like "This paper from 1979 says this species of walnut was found in Tennessee, but we think it's full of shit because the fossil was just a tiny chip of bark" or something like that.

Compared with the rest of North America, we know next to nothing about the prehistory and the Pleistocene environment of the Southeast, I guess because it's so warm, humid and wet, everything rots away super quick.

Which is PAINFUL because the Southeast is the most biodiverse part of North America, and the ranges occupied by various plants suggest some wEIRD SHIT was happening.

There are ~100 genera that have one species that lives in SE USA and a sister species that lives in SE Asia,

and furthermore, there are several species that are found in SE USA but ALSO found high up in the cloud forests of Central America, in a totally different habitat that just happens to be hospitable temperature wise.

There are tons of plant species found EXCLUSIVELY in Florida and nowhere else on Earth. There are also loads of plant species found only in the highest peaks of the Appalachian Mountains. And there's a bunch of species that are found only in random speckle-like patches in various places, like how did it get HERE and then all the way over THERE 200 miles away with none in between?!?!

#plants #evolutionary biology #prehistory #usa

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velnna · 3 months

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What are the races in your under garden comic? And how did you come up with them?

Oh oh oh juicy question

We're still exploring what "races" we have, how mixed they can get, etc etc, but I love yapping about this so I'll give a bit of a TL:DR

The Under Garden started off with me and my cowriter having a couple of DnD characters we got very attached to and didn't want to dispose, so the "basis" for their races was attached to DnD somewhat - namely drow and tiefling

HOWEVER when we decided to make it its own world we basically broke off with that and decided to, for starters, have a basic "elf" like race for humanoids. The range is basically any vaguely human creature with pointy ears, and then other physical attributes might determine where they're from but wouldn't exactly count as a whole separate thing.

When we worked out some of the large scale history of the world, we decided as well that the people we first interact with, with skin in shades of purple/blue and hair in shades of silver, would have been dominant at some point, then driven to seclusion in small pockets of the world. Meaning that if someone were to look vaguely.. "drowish" I suppose, they'd be linked to this ancient powerful people and the few places they're known to still exist in. They've got the longest lifespan (~250 years) and are also more intertwined with the high level magic system in this world.

For example:

From here we sort of made room for types of elf we haven't pinned down yet, and will probably parallel anything from bluer "sea" elves to stockier more dwarf-like people, and for all intended purposes even if someone just looks like a human they're a flavour of elf. For example:

And again, the further you go from the silver hair - purpleish skin combo the less connection you have to the OG magic dwellers. There's more nuance to the magic system but that's the gist of it.

ASIDE FROM ELVES HOWEVER we now get into what we decided to do with the "tiefling" side of it. The thought process here was funny because we had a character inspired by a cyborg but no way to have actual cyborg shit justified in this world without an extra layer of complication. So I was like yo what if he's like a bug instead. Exoskeleton vibes n all. So then we decided fuck it out more wack looking people will be mostly inspired by bugs. Within them you DO have a bigger variety of "races", lifespans, physiologies, etc, and there's a lot of room for us to wiggle. They're generally non magical and can cross breed with elves so bugness is also a spectrum.

Some bugs:

Some bug hybrids:

Basically anything with a weird number of limbs, eyes, odd scleras, exoskeletons, wings, etc is some flavour of bug or bug hybrid. They tend to be as far removed from magic as possible.

Obviously there's a bunch of more and lesser known types of bugs and the sheer diversity makes for some interesting worldbuilding questions and dynamics but as a whole it's a work in progress

*takes a bow*

#the under garden comic #ask

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cevherien · 5 months

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Abby Anderson.

Fucking you on her motorcycle ☺️

tags: no need to sugarcoat anything she eats you out on her motorbike, semi public sex, she's kinda rough with it, dom/sub undertones.

You were riding on Abby's motorbike, been so needy lately but she was a busy woman, so you weren't able to play around as you'd like. You had missed her touch, the way her muscles would flex when she had her strong hold on your flesh. But now you were alone, well on the road, no less. Your tits behind the flimsy material of the shirt you were wearing pressed against her back as you hold onto her.

Arms wrapped around her lower belly, playing dangerous but it was worth it, traffic safety be damned you were fucking dripping for this woman, head too fuzzy for consequences.

She was taking you to a friends house or whatever, you weren't listening when she told you that, instead you were busy grinding yourself on the seat of the bike like a pathetic little slut, but you pay no mind to such labels anymore. I mean if the shoe fits.

But you weren't completely stupid, obviously, so you wait like a good girl for a red light to strike, your hand drawing closer to her parted thighs once she stops the ride you are onto her.

"Abby-" delicate fingers playing with the material of her pants, near her inner thighs earning a surprised gasp from her. And as if taking that as your cue you press against her further and cup her clothed pussy.

She involuntarily drops her head back, with a heavy whine she spells out "What are you doing-?"

"You know exactly what," you apply pressure with two fingers on where you know her clit to be under those layers.

"Are you out of your mind-" her hips rise a little to gain more friction from your palm involuntarily, you take your hand away just to be a little shit. Making her groan at the lost.

"Maybe i am," but before you can do much else the green light is on and your time is up. She pushes on the engine and you almost fall back with the momentum, barely finding the time to hold back to her. "Whoa- hey- hey" maybe she was the crazy one.

Now you weren't the only one playing said dangerous game, her's were deadly though, nowhere near close to your little teases of cat and mouse. You realize she's changed routes, and her grasp on the handlebar lever a little too strong for the speed limit.

"Wait where are we even-" she cuts you before you can finish.

"We will play what you want, how you want bunny."

Abby pulls near a back alley, without telling you anything she spins you around and you brace yourself against the stone wall of the shady corner, only support being her motorcycle.

"Acting like a cheap whore will only get you so far you know," she gives a little slap at your butt, so rudely "Good thing i'm here, yeah?"

Goddamn, seeing her mean like this was something new, but fuck was it a welcome surprise. You whine then, she presses you further into the wall with your cheeks squashed and her hand on your ass.

Abby's next move was simple, pulling your pants down together with your underwear, bunching at your bent knees, leaving you open on display. The cold air of both the alley and reality of being bare in public, well, semi public but still, was making you drip down hard.

Abby kneels down, presses her face to your cunt, laps at your slick as if honey, only getting you wetter. Eating pussy from behind felt dirtier, cheap.

She spreads your lips to lick deeper into your wet hole, teething on your slick pearly clit. Kissing your puffy lips and playing on your rim, she knew how you liked it best.

Well she also knew she had to keep it short, unfortunately. If it was up to her she'd keep you open on display like this and lick you clean until you were out of it and spent, but alas, you were getting your ass ate in a back alley for fucks sake.

Her tongue continue it's magic for some more, enough to get you off for two times, your hole leaking down like some fountain of youth.

But before giving you the pleasure of a third orgasm she pulls back, slaps your pussy from the back and pulls your pants back up. A needy whine slips your lips while you move your hips together to feel better. That was not enough.

As if reading your mind, "Look at the mess," trust she was no different under those clothes, "We'll continue later baby, when we get back."

Yeah and when you do get back, she'd split you apart with her eight inch strap, well lubed up and well pampered until you can't remember ever feeling so needy.

#need her viscerally #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x you #abby anderson smut #lesbian #abby the last of us #abby tlou #cece writes ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧#cevherudite

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steviewashere · 8 months

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Perfect Timing

Rating: General CW: References to Sex Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Marriage Proposals, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Dialogue Heavy

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is having hope for the future together."

💕—————💕

Steve was sitting at the dining table, hands spread out on the surface, staring down at a piece of mail when he heard Eddie clamber through the front door. Based on the string of things being dropped and Eddie not reacting negatively, just sighing a little bit and picking things up, must mean he was having a good day.

It’s funny, Steve thinks, that he knows the way in which Eddie’s emotions express when he comes through the front door of their shared space. They began renting an apartment in Chicago just a year or so after getting together. Tail end of 1986 meant sharing a bed and house by August of 1987. And it’s theirs. Filled with miscellaneous clutter—a bookshelf brimmed with books, coffee table layered with Sports Illustrated and Heavy Metal magazines, dice and keys and Topps baseball cards, and picture frames they dust and drawings from Eddie’s sketchbooks and ‘failed’ art projects of Steve’s that Eddie thought were masterpieces. Point is, they’ve made it their home. And they started their lives with a breath of fresh air.

And now it’s 1995, depending on one another’s reactions, this all may just crumble at their feet.

See, Eddie was out playing a demo tape for a small record company based here in Chicago. A little indie place that’s been looking to expand their music catalogue from contemporary to a broader lick of alternative genres. Which, it turns out, includes thrash and heavy metal. Which, Steve adores, Eddie is amazing at performing.

But, Steve? He’s been anxiously waiting all day for the mail to arrive. Biting down on his fingernails, chewing them up so much they bleed and he has to run his fingertips under lukewarm water. Pacing the carpet of the living room. Pushing down and peering through the eggshell blinds. Biting his fingernails, again. And then it came and now he’s at their dining table and now he’s waiting for Eddie to careen around the corner and kiss his hair and ask in his greeting Steve voice, “What’s this, baby?”

“What’s this, baby?” Steve hears from above him. He jumps a little bit. Maybe he should have put on music or something, try to get himself to stay grounded in the present. “Stevie?” Eddie calls.

“Oh, uh,” Steve stutters. “It’s a letter I got in the mail, but I—I wanna hear about your demo tape.” Eddie gives him a sidelong glance. A little furrow to his eyebrows, a frown. “The letter isn’t anything bad, I read it already. But I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

Eddie hums, nodding in slow understanding. He slides into the dining seat across from Steve. Mirroring his position. Then, he realizes, based on whatever face Steve makes, that it’s only anxiety inducing. He sets his chin in his right palm, stretching the other onto the table for Steve to take. Waiting patiently. And says, when Steve actually grabs back, “It went really well, sweetheart. They offered me a contract.”

“That’s great news, Eds! What did—Did you sign it? Please tell me you signed it.”

Then, Eddie sighs. And Steve shrinks a little. “I did,” he tells slowly, as if testing the words for the first time. “I signed it. They’re keeping me based here. I’ll start recording next Saturday.” He squeezes at Steve’s hand.

“What’s the long face for, then?”

“I’m not making a face,” Eddie feebly argues.

“You are!” And Steve mocks him. Frowning, eyes distant to the surface of the table, bunching his eyebrows impossibly farther down his face. His shoulders slump. “That’s what you did! What happened? Were they pieces of shit to you or something? Did they like—Are they underselling your music prowess or something? Do I need to kick their—“

Eddie chuckles. His laughter like honey. “Babe, breathe for me,” he whispers. “My only issue is that—“ But he cuts himself off there. He leans in across the table. Eyes down at the letter in front of Steve. “That’s a letter from the community college, isn’t it?”

Steve pulls his hands back, laying them palm down on the paper. He swallows thickly. “It is. Why?”

“Did you get in?”

“I’m not telling you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“You telling me determines whether or not I have a genuine problem. So…Did you get into the college that you’ve been looking at forlorn every time we drive by it? Or did you not and I need to go kick some old people ass?” His eyes are large in earnest. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat. His hair curtaining his face, making his facial features impossibly darker, shadowed by something tricky.

Steve chews on his lip. “I got in,” he mutters. “I got into their English literature program. And once I’m done with that, I transfer. And once I transfer, I start classes at a four year. I’ll be studying English literature and secondary education,” he rambles. His fingers tap over the letter. “Is that…Does that ruin your whole music dream? I don’t want to be the reason that you chase something else.”

For a moment, the room goes scary still and silent. Eddie’s facial features soften. And Steve’s heart rabbits against his ribcage. Hard enough that he slides a palm over his t-shirt, massaging at the rapid beating, hoping that he doesn’t have a heart attack on the third floor of their complex. That would suck, he thinks bitterly. And my future would be done for.

He sits back in his chair. Anxiety thrumming under his skin when Eddie still doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him like he’s…Like he’s planning an entire five lifetimes with Steve. Like he’s about to sweep Steve off his feet, chuck him over the side of their mattress, give him hickeys until he’s a mottled lovesick mess, and then get down on one knee and surrender his heart to Steve’s hands. Like he’s gonna propose something wonderful like marriage. And, maybe, Steve lets himself believe something crazy like that.

“Remember when I told you that I consider marriage as a possibility?” Eddie asks abruptly.

And, goddamnit, if Eddie does something crazy and stupid like propose right now, Steve may just throw up out of excitement. How embarrassing, he thinks. And he chuckles despite that.

“I do,” he finds himself whispering. “What does this—“

“And I considered it with you. And I held you close and you cried against my lips and we made love like we were the only people in the universe? Remember all the times that you’d lay on top of me out of contentment? All the times I’d hold you close to my chest? All the times you kissed over my heart, like it was the only thing keeping us tethered to the moment?”

Nervously, Steve laughs. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, I remember all that. What is your point with—“

“Fucking margarita nights. You’re a sweet drunk, d’you know that? Like almost unbearably sweet.” Eddie scoots his chair around the table. Setting it next to Steve, on his left. And his hands come into Steve’s field of view. Gathering Steve’s palms in his, squeezing and caressing the skin. “All the times in which we thought that this apartment was all that we had.” He shakes his head, smirking, snickering like this intense reaction he’s having is something funny to Steve.

Fact of the matter, Steve is scared shitless right now. What if this is his way of breaking up, he can’t help himself from wondering. Cruel. He swallows against the lump in his throat. Words escaping him.

“I want to marry you so bad,” Eddie swears. “Wanna do the whole ceremony. And the paper signing. And the honeymoon, but in some little cabin on a mountain. Where we load the fireplace with wood and we huddle in for warmth and we sip at rich cups of Uncle Wayne’s hot chocolate. And then, in a few years time, when we’ve financially recovered from the wedding, we’ll buy a house.

“We’ll buy a house and paint it yellow,” he promises. Steve begins to cry, something silent, but can’t pinch his nose to stop himself. “It’ll be yellow because that’s your favorite color. With white shutters. And a big backyard for a dog or two. Wrap around porch so that we can sit and watch the sunrises and sunsets.” He takes a deep breath that sounds a little nasally. “I’ll make you breakfast every morning,” he continues, “serve you a fresh bowl of strawberries, ones that you grow under the big front window of our house. I’ll kiss you all over the face, like I do now, and you’ll grumble that it’s too early and then you’ll smell the bacon and you’ll give me your stupid sleepy smile that makes my heart do funny little flips and you’ll kiss me on the mouth and it’ll be disgusting because you haven’t brushed your teeth.

“And I’ll be a very happy man.” Eddie’s breath trembles in his chest. He swallows hard. Steve wonders if he can hear his own shaky breath. Or if he’s too involved in whatever this is. “I’ll be so happy,” he whispers, “And I’ll find myself thinking, how did I ever get so lucky? But it isn’t luck. And it isn’t fate. It was trauma that forced us together and I’ll laugh about it. But then I’ll sigh because who the fuck cares how we started all of this?

“You’ll be a funky middle school English teacher. With your nicely done hair and a sweater vest and some khakis. I’ll be a musician, hopefully. But, every day you’ll have a small lunch; an orange that I made you peel but I removed the pulp from, a tuna salad sandwich because you’re my fish loving dork, and a bottle of water. I’ll leave you a note everyday telling you how proud I am because I’ve never stopped being proud of you.

“I’m proud of you, Steve, d’you know that? So much.” He laughs wetly. His eyes staring down at their interlocked hands. “All this to say that I’m proud of you. That I’m happy. We’ve got a future, sweetheart. And I want to be your husband. Will you—“ He swallows once more, thick and heavy and almost painful looking. Can love hurt when it’s this sweet?

Eddie finally looks up. His eyes glistening and his cheeks wet and his skin tinted pink. His eyelashes stuck together. Nose dripping only slightly. He’s a messy crier, but Steve doesn’t fare any better. “Will you marry me, Steve? Stay by my side and we’ll accomplish our dreams together?” His voice is soft. Enamored.

Unbelievable, Steve swallows back. Because how did he get somebody like Eddie in his life? How did he manage to find love and have it promised back at him?

“Yes, Eddie,” he gasps out. “God, holy shit.” He drops his hands from Eddie’s hold, instead wrapping them around his torso. Muffled into Eddie’s shoulder, “All this just because I’m finally figuring my shit out? God.”

Eddie cackles, burying his own face in Steve’s hair. They sway a little. “I just—“ Eddie begins whispering. “I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while. Every time seemed right, but this one? Baby, this one was perfect.”

Steve sighs into the embrace. Content to not say anything else. Except, “I’m proud of you, too, honey. I love you so much and I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too, love bug. God, Steve, I love you, too.”

For the first time since 1983, Steve allows himself to truly settle in for a future. A future, he knows, he’ll be especially proud of.

💕—————💕 Fun fact, I accidentally deleted this whole ficlet when I was copying and pasting. Hit the spacebar and watched it disappear in front of my eyes. But I figured out how to get it back, not before almost throwing up on myself out of anger. Love y'all <3

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 12 #fluff #domestic fluff #domestic steddie #<3

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kedreeva · 2 years

Text

I tried to make sourdough biscuits to freeze as a test to see if they would bake afterwards, and how, and so I mixed them up and cut them out and carefully preserved them on parchment paper in my freezer and then hours later I bagged them once they were frozen so I could take them to my mom's and then I went to sit down and realized oh FUCK. I fucking forgot the butter. I FORGOT the BUTTER. I skipped a whole ass step.

And I told my mother, shit I forgot the butter, and she goes what do you mean like inside or on top?

Inside!!! Inside!!!!!!!!! I didn't mix the butter in during prep!!! These are unbuttery biscuits!!!

And she goes

I didn't add butter to mine (I had brought her some discard to bake these biscuits with a few days ago)

I said what do you mean?

She goes, the recipe you told me didn't have butter (I told her the recipe from memory)

I FORGOT THE BUTTER TWICE

but wait there's more!!!

She goes, your dad liked them

At which point I'm forced to ask: did he tho. Did he like them, or did he tell you he liked them, the way he LIED to us for 35 years about liking pizza?

Well, she says, I don't know. he did admit tonight to not liking brussel sprouts

Which they've been eating together for years now, literally this man is incapable of telling someone he doesn't like a food which explains a lot of my childhood meals

So I'm like okay okay okay okay. Okay. I know I forgot the butter and I know these biscuits are frozen hockey pucks right now but hear me out... What if I turn the oven on to preheat it, and then put the biscuits under the oven vent to thaw, and then just mix the butter in after? Surely nothing will go wrong with this plan.

So I break out the biscuits, and I turn on the oven, and I start thawing them, and I put the butter into a bowl, and start frantically trying to mash it with a pastry masher. This goes about as well as you might expect, which is to say terribly, because the butter just sort of turns into a pile of butter instead of a stick, and I need it to be pebbles of butter.

So I start sprinkling in flour, just until the butter stops re-amalgamating. The biscuits are basically thawed by this point so I try to mash those in and that goes very very very badly, so I clean the tool and just start folding the butter in with my hands like kneading bread, desperately just trying to mash it into one coherent form. It makes a ball of dough, or good enough to pass for one, and I cut out six biscuit sized chunks.

Put them in. Bake them. My oven light doesn't work so I can't even check on them while they're baking to see if I fucked it up worse.

Finally I pull them out, and I realize I fucked up but at least it was in the right direction. The biscuits don't look like they're supposed to, but they do look like layered biscuits, and they taste fine. I put a bunch of honey on one of them and it was pretty good.

I tell all of this to my partner when he gets home and he listens to all of it in silence. When I'm done his only comment is:

"Well, I guess we know how puff pastry was invented, now."

Yeah, it was some asshole hundreds of years ago trying to cover up biscuit sins!!

#breadventure #personal #stories about ked's life #sigh #this is why i can't be left alone in a house by the way #i just start committing crimes against myself

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huramuna · 8 months

Text

downpour - oneshot.

modern aegon ii targaryen x nanny reader minors dni, you will be smited.

this is for @targaryen-dynasty sleepover challenge 🤭 i got the babysitter au + the prompt 'why so shy?' i had so much fun with this, modern aegon is a menace and also a sopping wet cat.

word count: 4.5k

content: smutty smut smut (specifics under cut), aegon being a little shit (we love it), saltburn spoilers (lol), allusions to drug / alcohol abuse and rehabilitation, mullet aegon, jaehaera and jaehaerys are hel's kids but they have an unnamed / unrelated father, gratuitous use of song lyrics, probably a touch of power imbalance because of her job

murder on the dance floor - sophie ellis-bexter

warnings: oral (m receiving), face slapping w/ cock, degradation, dirty talk (this man never shuts up), face fucking / deepthroat, cum on face

“Jaehaerys! Jaehaera! Please don’t run in the house with muddy boots!” you called fervently, trying to collapse the umbrella with one hand, two teddy bears slung in the other.

“We won’t!” they both called in unison, followed by the unmistakable sound of muddy galoshes squeaking over the marble floor. You suppressed the urge to groan as you entered the exquisite home through the french doors that led to the backyard.

“Boots off, little ones!” you called again, kicking off your own shoes in a haste to catch the gremlins before they tracked grime all over madam Alicent’s home. You had been working at the Targaryen estate for the better part of a year as a live-in nanny for Lady Alicent’s two grandchildren– twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. It was a wonderful job for the most part, as the twins were a delight and you had grown to have a strong friendship with their mother, Helaena. She was a bit dreamy-eyed and wistful, but was a wonderful mother nonetheless, even if she did have her melancholic days.

The estate was huge and ancient, passed down from generations through Helaena’s father’s side, which was apparently a near royal bloodline from days long foregone. Viserys Targaryen, the father in question, was hardly ever home. He managed the family business (whatever it may be, you didn’t find it in you to ask– all you knew is that they were dirty rich) with his other daughter, Rhaenyra, from his first marriage. He had four children with Alicent, Helaena being the only one of the brood to still live at home.

You’d met two of the others as well; Aemond, a lawyer in the family business who was, in short, all business and no play. He never regarded you, really, besides a quick glance or stiff nod. He had, however, slipped you a eight-thousand dollar bonus at Christmas time with a simple card that read;

Thank you for taking care of the twins and my sister. And keeping my mother sane.

- A.T

The other sibling, Daeron, was the youngest of the bunch, visited usually during holidays, as he constantly was studying abroad. ‘Sowing his wild oats’, as Helaena had put it. He was cordial to you and very much had a boyish charm, and Helaena loved to joke that he had a crush on you. When he had come home for New Year’s, he brought you a souvenir from Iceland, an authentic lopapeysa sweater, made from wool and sewn with a beautiful geometric design.

“Awh, Daeron wants you to stay warm, lovey,” Helaena teased.

“I-It’s just– her hands are always so cold, a-and the wool is supposed to help keep warm! The inner layer is insulating.” Daeron had stammered, the tips of his ears growing red.

“Uncle Daeron has a brush!” Jaehaera squeaked, her words whistling through her tooth gap, she’d lost her first baby tooth just the week before.

“A crush, he’s got a crush!” Jaehaerys corrected softly.

Alicent thought the whole thing very amusing.

That left one child you hadn’t met. You didn’t know much about him aside from small bits of conversation you’d picked up on between the rest of the family. Aegon. The eldest of all of them, and apparently the troublemaker of the bunch. You knew what he looked like from the portraits– blonde hair like the rest but with severely more bags under his eyes. Upon entering the home, one would see the chronological order of family portraits.

It starts with Viserys, Alicent, and baby Aegon; the latter of whom is happy and chubby and bubbly.

Then, it moves to the three of them, plus baby Helaena, with her wide blue-eyed stare at the camera. Aegon is still happy.

The next one adds the addition of baby Aemond– there is a glint of sentience in Aegon’s eyes, but he hasn’t experienced the crushing blows of reality yet.

You weren’t exactly sure, but as he got older, he became more morose– more bags, less light in his eyes. Then came the ear piercings, the tattoos, the head shaving, the bloodshot in the whites of his eyes. The portraits ended with this past year’s Christmas photo. Aegon was noticeably missing from it. You’d heard during one of Alicent’s phone conversations with her father that Aegon was in rehabilitation for a myriad of issues, and looking at his photos, you could only guess which one was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

A particularly harsh clap of thunder broke you from your thoughts, coming back to yourself. You scooped up Jaehaera before she stepped on the carpet with the muddy shoes. “C’mon, let's get cleaned up for lunch, yeah? What do we want for lunch today, lovies?”

“Grilled cheese n’ tomato soup.”

“No! I want mac n’ cheese.”

The squabbling ensued, the twins arguing back and forth for a few moments before you butt in. “Alright, how about– whoever gets the floor the cleanest and puts their galoshes by the washroom the fastest gets to pick?”

The twins squealed in delight as they absconded from your sight, effectively going to do your bidding for you. You would, however, just end up making both meals anyway. As you moved to the kitchen, the sound of the doorbell rang. You bustled to the door, not sure who to expect– there weren’t many roving visitors in and out of the estate unless Alicent was explicitly expecting company– which you had triple checked the calendar when you woke up that morning.

You opened the door, expecting to see a debutante or someone of Alicent’s social circle– ‘twas not the case. You recognized him immediately, seeing his mother’s face in his own. Aegon. He was muddy, dirt flecks splashed on his face as he stood under the stoop trying to get away from the pouring rain. His face was a bit healthier than you’d seen it, the dark circles were still there, but not as prominent. It was like a gloomy day, rather than a full blown storm under his eyes. He had the wisps of a beard starting on his jawline, and his hair was cut into a makeshift mullet, longer in the back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, hands in his pockets.

“Erm– the… the nanny. For the children.” you stammered, his tone catching you off guard. You glanced behind him, seeing a beat up dirt bike caked in mud– that was probably how he got here.

“A nanny? You’re a bit young for that, yeah? My nanny’s were all wrinkly old prunes.”

“Oh– uhm, come in, Mr. Targaryen.”

He perked a brow at the name, but didn’t say anything. He beat the bottom of his boots on the doormat, which didn’t accomplish much. He immediately began to track mud on the floor. “Mum home? Hel?”

“Lady Alicent is… upstairs,” you offered, following behind him at a quick pace. “Helaena is taking a nap– the storm–”

“Yeah, I know ‘bout Hel’s issues with storms. Don’t need to tell me twice. So, you got a name, or are you just the nanny?”

You gave him your name as you glanced at the clock– it was almost time for the children’s lunch and you hadn’t even put it on the stove yet!

“Got any food around here? Fuckin’ famished.” he added then as he nosed around the kitchen, hands still in his pockets.

“I’m just about to make lunch for the twins– uhm, I can make you something too if you’d like.” you walked past him, quickly putting some pots on the stove and starting the gas. You and the twins were on a strict schedule, and if they didn’t get their lunch on time, they would turn into hellions.

“Sure. Whatever the kids are having. I’m not picky.” Aegon waved his hand behind his head as he disappeared from the kitchen and clomped up the stairs, likely to speak with his mother. You fretted for Alicent’s mental state once that was done, and you felt even guiltier for not giving her a heads up.

As the tomato soup heated on the stove and the water began to boil for the macaroni, you unlocked your phone– you were curious about Aegon and why he’d come back, exactly. Well, of course, besides the fact that he lived here (or did, at some point) he was still supposed to be in rehab for another three months. You went to instagram, rolling your eyes as you saw that his profile was on ‘suggested for you to follow!’

You clicked to his most recent photo, the first that he’d posted in over a year.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath as you put down your phone on the counter to stir the soup.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Aegon teased behind you. When the fuck had he gotten there? “Soup n’ mac and cheese?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese for Jaehaera, mac and cheese for Jaehaerys.” you responded plainly, trying not to notice that he was practically breathing down your neck. You glanced over as he leaned on the counter, where you had left your phone. Unlocked. Like an idiot. On his instagram page.

“Curious about me, are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard enough about me from my mum.”

“I don’t like to pry into Lady Alicent’s affairs–”

“I wouldn’t consider myself an affair, more like a one time fling, eh?” Aegon snorted, grabbing your phone. It took every fiber of your being to not break all sense of decorum you held to snatch it back from him. “You’re not following me– let’s change that,” he mused, beginning to scroll through your page now. “Lots of pictures of the kids here– ooh, a trip to the seaside. There’s no pictures of you on here, eh? Only of… my family n’ other stupid shit, like the ocean.”

“I’m a live-in nanny, sir,” you grit out, stirring the soup with more force than necessary. You consider yourself a patient person, and have become accustomed to how people in the Targaryen’s circle made their jabs. High society and filthy rich people had their own language of insults– ones that you wouldn’t realize they were insulting you until much, much later. It was like a game with a slow burning poison. But Aegon, apparently, was different. There was nothing meticulous about his jabs, no filter, no slow burning poison. It was all punch and sting, like a bite from a rabid dog rather than a viper. “I usually attend family trips.”

“Live-in, huh?” he drawled, his arm leaning over the counter in such a laissez-faire manner that you could feel yourself scowling. “Don’t get much action then, I take it? Let’s see if there’s any nudie judies on here, then…”

“N-no!” you broke then, all sense of manners flying out of your body as you struggled to take back your phone.

“Why so shy? Got something on here you don’t want me to see?” he staved you off, a hand planted firmly on your shoulder as he scrolled through your photos, making all sorts of gaudy faces. You didn’t really have anything overtly scandalous, maybe a few lingerie shots for an old boyfriend.

“Aegon, leave her alone. Give her back her phone.” Alicent’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stunning both of you.

He sheepishly gave you back your phone as she crooked a finger to her son, ushering him to a room on the farther side of the house.

As you fed the twins their lunch, you overheard some yelling, arguing and heated voices. You only saw Aegon later when going to your room to get ready for bed. His eyes were teary and red.

—

The next few weeks went by with some normalcy— everything was as usual, except it was like you had a third child to care for; Aegon. Except this child didn’t listen at all and had terrible habits. He was constantly flirting with you, but also would weave in jabs at the same time— you couldn’t quite tell if he even liked you or not. Not that it mattered, anyway.

You were sneaking in your own lunch one afternoon, eating scraps from the twin’s lunch while they napped— basically just the crust you cut off of the grilled cheese and the small bit of soup left in the pot.

“You eat like a mouse.” Aegon said, always managing to be there to annoy you.

“Too much food makes me tired— I won’t be able to keep up with them if I’m sluggish.”

“Could always drink a red bull or a monster, instead.” he offered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in the kitchen.

“You shouldn’t do that inside. It’s bad for the children’s lungs. Lady Alicent says—,”

“Well, it’s my fuckin’ house too, innit? I can smoke in here if I well and bloody like,” he growled, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face. “My mum must be paying you extra to be my nanny too, then? The way you’re up my ass all the time.” he flicked ash in your direction.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. He was goading you, baiting you into a reaction. He was being insufferable on purpose. You could tell by his pearly white smile he currently had plastered to his face, like a smug little—

“Never had a nanny so pretty, though,” he continued. “If I asked real nice, would you feed me soup? Dress me up? Give me a bath if I’m real dirty?” he got closer and you could smell him— the smell of marlboro reds and cheap aftershave that had become synonymous with Aegon blew out your senses until it was all consuming.

Your mouth parted as you tried to think of some witty response, some barb, some jab— but nothing came out. You just huffed and turned away from him in an attempt to hide your red cheeks. Why were you blushing?

You could practically hear the cockiness ooze from him, his mouth perked into a cheeky smile as he stole one of the crusts. He knew he’d gotten to you.

—

It’d now been over a month since Aegon moved back home and the building tension between you two hadn’t let up a bit— you constantly felt trapped and elated all at once. When you saw him, your chest fluttered slightly in anxiety and anticipation. What was wrong with you?

It was a dark, gloomy day. The seasonal storms were in full swing, pelting the estate in rain and hail. Alicent, Helaena, and the twins were out on an escapade to Alicent’s father’s house— you guessed Aegon hadn’t gone. But, it was a huge house, so surely you could enjoy some of your time off without seeing him?

A rumble of thunder shook the house, rattling its constitution— and then the lights flickered. Flickered… flickered… then… out. It was dark, then, even with your window shades open. You turned on your phone flashlight and tiptoed out of your room, going to see if perhaps you could smack the backup generator into working.

You hadn’t expected to work today, nor see anyone, as Alicent had given you the day off. So, you were subsequently dressed in your pajamas— a hilariously oversized Bass Pro Shop shirt (a gift from your dad in America) and cat-patterned sleeping shorts. Your toes cracked and creeped on the floorboards with each movement, and to your chagrin, as you passed Aegon’s door, it opened. He was wearing a shirt that said “MILF: Man I love Fishing”, with just his boxer briefs on, which didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Oh. You’re still here.”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, thought you were gone with the rest. Sad, I can’t do the Saltburn thing now.”

“The… what?”

“The Saltburn thing? Dance around the empty mansion to myself with my cock out.”

“What.” you responded with the most deadpan tone.

“Dance… with my cock out?” he repeated.

“No– I know what you said– but why?”

“Why not?”

You rolled your eyes, shifting the conversation. “So, the power is out– uhm, do you know where the backup generator is?”

“In the wine cellar. Nifty, huh?”

“... the… wine cellar. I can’t say I’ve been down there yet.”

“I know it like the back of my hand, c’mon then. I’m sure I can kick the old gen in the nads and get it to work.” Aegon said with surprising confidence, turning on his phone’s flashlight and half blinding you.

You followed behind him, to which he hummed ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ while doing a half-assed dance, apparently from some movie that was definitely something you hadn’t watched– you don’t remember the last time you watched a movie that wasn’t geared towards the twins.

“So basically… he had the whole mansion to himself, and then he dances through it with his cock out, hanging massive brain, y’know? It's murder on the dance floor, you better not kill the groove,” he imitates the dance, sprawling his arms out in the doorway to the wine cellar and shaking his bottom a bit, which was, admittedly, nicely fit in his snug boxer briefs. You felt a strange heat flush to your cheeks.

“And this… is a… what? Comedy?”

“Well, categorically no– I’m not a film aficionado. I guess it could be considered a psychological thriller, but I thought it was pretty funny,” he stopped before continuing into the cellar. “It gets pretty hairy in here, so stick close, okay? Ever seen The Conjuring?”

“... yes, actually. Horror movies are kind of my favorite.”

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he mused. “Well, think of the basement in that movie, but instead of a bunch of old useless shit, it’s a bunch of old wine.”

“And… instead of ghosts?”

“Oh, there’s definitely ghosts.”

“... what.”

“Yeah, estate is haunted. You haven’t noticed?”

“Shut up.” you murmured. You were a huge fan of horror movies while simultaneously being a huge chicken shit when it came to scary things– you were prone to hiding your face before the big jumpscare or running up the stairs from the kitchen when it was dark, just in case something was chasing you– and your feet had to be covered by the blanket at all times when sleeping.

“Aww, you scared?” Aegon teased, turning to you.

“I mean– ghosts are scary. Of course!” you offered sheepishly, pulling up the collar of your oversized shirt to cover your nose and mouth in an almost hiding manner– a nervous habit of yours.

“I’ll keep you safe, love, no worries about that.”

“... that’s what they always say, right? Then they totally leave behind their girlfriends to get stabbed by the killer or… eaten by the monster.”

“You my girlfriend now?” he asked, that stupidly annoying and somehow charming smug energy exuding off of him in waves.

“Shut up.” you grumbled as you both approached the generator. It was covered in dust and hadn’t been touched or tended to in a long time, it looked like. “Do… you know what you’re doing?” you asked Aegon tentatively, watching as he inspected it.

“Me? Oh, fuck no. I never know what I’m doing, honestly,” he shrugged, giving the metal box a kick and haphazardly pressing some buttons. “No dice, sweetheart. ‘Spose you’ll have to dance in the dark with me for a bit longer, huh? But, if there's a ghost, you'll be... ghost food, or whatever.”

You pinched your brow in annoyance. “I don’t understand you.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m a pretty open book, you know.”

“No– you aren’t. You flirt with me but also… insult me? I don’t get it.”

“It’s called teasing– picking? Picking on? Getting the goat?”

“What? So, like a little boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground because he likes her? That makes absolutely no sense, Aegon.”

“If you spend your time trying to find a reason for it, you’ll go insane. Why not just enjoy the point of it? I like you.” he breathed, suddenly very close to you. He set his phone aside on top of the generator, flashlight up. It illuminated the walls of wine and cast shadows of cobwebs and dust all around the both of you.

“What?”

“Are you deaf– I. Like. You.” he repeated, his knees bumping yours as you were practically glued together, your back now against the ancient stone wall.

Your lips parted as you inhaled a breath– okay, you weren’t exactly expecting him to say that, or even like you at all– you figured the flirting was all hot air, a defense mechanism, something for fun, not… real. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you became all too aware of the fact that you hadn’t been touched since you got this job, maybe even before that– and your previous boyfriends never made you feel… flustered like this. You couldn’t form words as he, uncharacteristically cautiously, put his hand on your cheek. He was so close, so close– his body heat mingled with your inherent coldness and warmed you instantly. You weren’t sure what came over you, but you leaned forward, slotting your lips against his. What the actual fuck were you doing– you were kissing your boss’ son, her notoriously bad mannered, foul mouthed, sloven slob of a son, and you liked it. Your hand instantly went to the back of his head, fingers grazing through his choppy curls– even giving them an experimental tug, which he seemed to enjoy, by the indication of something poking you in your thigh.

His lips moved against yours like a dance, and you couldn’t get the fucking song he was singing earlier out of your head– It’s murder on the dancefloor– you grasped at his hip, it was fleshy and pleasant, the tips of your finger slipping under the elastic of his briefs– But you better not kill the groove– his hands were exploring, too, under your stupid Bass Pro shop shirt, groping at your breasts with reckless abandon – If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong – the heat rose in your body until you couldn’t take it any longer, the two of you were practically eating each other alive in this dank, dusty cellar and it was undoubtedly the hottest experience of your life – I'll take you all the way, boy, just come along – your lips parted for a moment, still connected by a string of saliva, bridging the gap between the two of you – Hear me when I say, hey –

“On your knees for me, love?” he asked, his voice suddenly so deep and husky, his thumb skimming over your collarbone.

You fell to your knees for him so quickly– how pathetic. He wriggled down his briefs, already leaking at the fat tip of his cock. He wasn’t overly long, but he was girthy, like a beer can. Your eyes widened, which he must’ve noticed, as his face was plastered with a shit-eating grin. Your mind immediately went to an image of a so-called ‘American delicacy’ (your father’s words, not yours) called Beer can chicken, in which a can of beer is shoved in the ass end of a chicken and grilled. It is apparently as delicious as it is horrifying. Your throat bobbed as you surveyed it, a tentative hand around the base. He shook his head, prying your hand from him.

“Nope, mouth only. Open up, be a good girl.” Aegon muttered, looking down at you, the light of his phone flashlight illuminating him from below– he looked like a God. Or maybe a devil.

Your mouth parted as his hand guided you forward. You wholly expected him to nestle in your mouth, but he surprised you with a slap to your face with his cock. It didn’t hurt, just caused you to yelp in surprise. He smeared some of the pre-come across your cheek, then slapped the head of his length on your waiting tongue. It was somewhat degrading, what he was doing– but it lit a goddamn fire under your ass, the neurons of depravity in your body, wherever they may lie, were alight with each nasty little gesture Aegon gave you, before he finally slid home. It stretched out your mouth, prodding at the back of your throat.

“What would everyone else think, hm? If they knew you were such a fuckin’ slut.” he growled, gathering your hair in his fist like it owed him money, beginning to fuck himself into your mouth, careful to pay attention to your body language to make sure he wasn’t working you over too much. He made sure to be extra careful with his toys, rather than break them.

Tears welled, spilling down your face as you let him use you, degrade you– and yet, he also praised you.

“–such a good girl for me–”

“–you can take a little more, there you go–”

“–prettiest throat I’ve ever fucked–”

You felt like you were on fire, set ablaze by arousal you’d never experienced before– was this what they sang songs about? Dirty, borderline pornographic songs but the point still stood.

You had to chalk it up to the barometric pressure of the storm, right? Aegon wasn’t your type— your type was… well-adjusted, non-addicts, non-bad boy, non-troublemakers. Aegon was the antithesis of what you were into.

And yet— you were into him. You were into him in a pathetic, pitiful way. It made you cringe to think about but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes, nor could you forget the way he was whimpering— fucking whimpering! You squeezed your thighs together slightly at the sound of it, at the blurry-eyed, teary sight of him looking down at you on your knees, eyes half lidded.

He pulled out with a particularly throaty grunt, painting your face in his unnaturally warm seed, somehow careful enough not to get it in your eyes– small mercies. Your lungs inflated with oxygen once more as you caught your breath, trying to gather yourself. You felt the swathe of cloth over your face as Aegon cleaned you up with his ‘MILF: Man I Love Fishing’ shirt, which he had apparently taken off.

“You good?”

You nodded slowly as he helped you to your feet, brushing off your knees with the clean part of his shirt.

“Um– so,” he still held onto you, as if he was afraid you’d run away. “Do you want to watch a movie with me later, when the power is back on? Like, actually watch it– I won’t fuck your face, I promise.”

“... are you asking me on a date?”

“Umm… yeah. I think.”

“Maybe we could watch Saltburn?” you offered with a shrug.

–

“Your mum texted me,” you whispered. “The bridge is temporarily washed out from the storm, they won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”

“Do you know what that means?” Aegon said, suddenly giddy. You both had just finished watching Saltburn, and you finally understood what the ‘Saltburn thing’ was.

“You know your mum has like ten security cameras set up around the house, right?”

“Okay… and?”

“I’m not dancing naked in the hallway, Aegon.”

“How about just in my room? Please?”

You gave a sigh, beginning to take your clothes off.

“Siri, play ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor.”

‘Okay. Now playing ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, as featured in Saltburn.’

It's murder on the dancefloor!

But you better not kill the groove, hey-hey, hey-hey!

It's murder on the dancefloor.

But you better not steal the moves.

DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down.

#aemondtarqaryenssleepover #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #downpour #modern aegon ii #modern aegon ii x reader

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solarmorrigan · 10 months

Note

hallo! I saw the angsty prompt list thing, and the “don’t trust me.” One kind of stood out to me. You don’t have to write it, but you’re one of my favorite writers on here so I thought it might be cool :)

Hullo! So I did fill this prompt once already, but I'd had a bunch of ideas for it and I was in the mood for something a little softer, so I did another! Thanks for giving me the opening to write it (and for the compliment, you're so kind?? 😭)

[General warning for mention of Steve's shitty parents and their generally shitty parenting technique]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

“Why am I the one doing this?” Steve grouses, straining slightly as he struggles with the full box on the top shelf. “Instead of, y’know, you?”

“You’re stronger than me,” Eddie replies readily.

“Bullshit, I’ve seen you lugging amps and shit around during your shows,” Steve shoots back, grumbling as he works the box free from the high shelf.

“You got me.” Eddie grins, though Steve’s back is turned to him. “I just like watching you work, sweetheart.”

From the depths of the storage closet, Steve gives an audible snort of laughter, but he also stops arguing. Then, with a little noise of triumph, Steve finally manages to tug the box free, holding it aloft long enough to back out of the closet and then heaving it down onto the floor, where it lands in a clatter of plastic and jingling bells.

“Excellent.” Eddie falls upon the box, rubbing his hands together in anticipation before tugging at the tucked flaps. “There’s one more box, would you mind? It’s on the floor; long rectangle.”

“You said there was one box,” Steve says, eyes narrowed.

“Whoops, miscounted,” Eddie says breezily, smiling up at Steve with as much innocence as he can muster. “You know how bad I am at all that academic shit.”

“Says the guy who plays a math game for fun,” Steve drawls.

For the sake of time, Eddie leaves the bait where it is, instead batting his eyelashes up at Steve. “Pretty please, pretty boy? It’s definitely the last one.”

Steve holds out for exactly five more seconds before retreating into the closet with a roll of his eyes. “If you suddenly remember one more after this, I’m suddenly gonna remember something I have to do back at my house and leave you to do all the decorating on your own,” he calls back, muffled from behind the coats Eddie can hear him shoving aside to find the last box.

Eddie’s at least eighty percent sure he’s bluffing, but it’s no matter – he hadn’t been lying. Most of what he needs is in the box in front of him: strands of garland, wrapped tangles of lights, and the same ugly pinecone wreath with the world’s most annoying string of jingle bells attached that Wayne’s been hanging since Eddie was a kid. Everything else—the ornaments, more lights, and, of course, the tree—is in the hefty, rectangular box Steve is currently hauling out into the entryway.

Normally, Wayne would be there to help, but his and Eddie’s work schedules have fallen out of sync in the hectic holiday rush of extra shifts; if one has the day off, the other is too tired by the time they get home to entertain anything as energy-consuming as getting up on a ladder to hang lights. Eddie and Steve, however (somehow; miraculously), share at least one day off a week, which has seen Steve recruited as Eddie’s backup decorating partner.

“That it?” Steve breathes as releases the box and stands straight, tugging his sweater down from where it’s ridden up (Eddie can’t believe he’s dating someone who unironically wears ugly Christmas sweaters. He can’t believe Steve makes them look good).

“That’s it,” Eddie promises. He plucks two balled-up strings of lights from the box in front of him and stands up, one under each arm. “So here’s what I’m thinking: I’ll get started on the outside, while you,” Eddie puts a boot to the tree box and shoves it towards Steve with a grunt; even across the laminate flooring it doesn’t slide easy, practically cocooned in layers of packing tape from so many years of opening and resealing, “get the tree going.”

Already halfway wrapped up in how he’s going to string the lights (he’d always loved decorating the outside of the trailer, and now he gets to figure out a new configuration for the tiny porch on his and Wayne’s equally tiny new house; it ain’t much, as they say, but it’s home – or, at least, it’s starting to feel like it), Eddie nearly misses the look of confusion that crosses Steve’s face.

“Uh… how do you want it set up?” Steve asks.

Eddie cocks an eyebrow at him. “Stand goes on the floor, pointy end goes up. I have faith in you, Steve.”

Steve rolls his eyes again, but with his frown in place he looks like he might actually be irritated. “I mean, you have to tell me how you want it, like, decorated and shit. Where it’s supposed to go, that sort of thing.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve decorated a tree before, man,” Eddie says. “I know I saw one at your house last time I was there.”

“Yeah, but that’s my house. This is yours. You have to tell me how you want it,” Steve says.

Once again for the sake of time, Eddie leaves the obvious opening for a joke where it lies. “Steve, it’s – y’know, lights, garland, ornaments, it’s not rocket science. I trust you to do a good job.”

“No, don’t trust me, just tell me how you want it decorated,” Steve insists. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to do it wrong.”

“It’s… a Christmas tree, sweetheart,” Eddie says slowly. “You can’t do it wrong.”

“Oh, I assure you, I can,” Steve says with a laugh. “Seriously, like – people are super particular about how their trees are set up, I think. My mom always has been. I remember when I was, like, ten, she and my dad had been away for a while, and we were coming up on Christmas pretty fast, and none of the decorations were up, so I figured I’d at least put the tree up. Surprise them when they got home, right? Except my mom lost her shit when they got home and saw it.”

“Noooot in a good way, I take it,” Eddie hazards.

“Nah, I did it all wrong. The tinsel wasn’t spread out right, and there’s only supposed to be a certain number of ornaments on each branch, and she wanted the angel on top, not the star, so she made me take the whole thing down.” Steve shrugs. “So, seriously, even if you don’t think you have a certain way you want it done, I’ll probably manage to find the exact way you don’t want it, so you should just tell me.”

“Steve, I promise, that tree is, like, older than I am; you can’t make it worse. As long as you don’t set it on fire, I’ll be happy with it,” Eddie says.

“That’s not–” Steve cuts himself off, running one hand through his hair with a strained little laugh. “I don’t understand why you won’t just tell me how you want it done.”

Eddie shakes his head, dropping the bundles of lights back into their box; he hates when this happens – hates when he stumbles over some mundane thing that Steve’s parents have fucked up for him that Eddie only manages to poke like a kid with a sharp stick at a beehive because he didn’t even realize it could be an issue. Who the fuck gives their kid a complex over how the Christmas tree is decorated? Who does that?

(Then again, Eddie’s pretty sure it’s about more than just their expectations for the tree.)

“Okay, I need you to listen to me,” Eddie says, voice firm but hands gentle as he reaches for Steve’s own. “I swear I’m not trying to set you up for failure. I’m really not. The tree isn’t supposed to look perfect. It’s supposed to be kinda crooked and covered in dumb ornaments you can’t even remember the stories behind and only have, like, half a string of popcorn around it because you ate most of it when your uncle wasn’t looking and didn’t leave enough for the tree.”

Steve stares at him, brows furrowed, like he’s trying to piece what Eddie’s telling him into what he already knows about the world, like he needs both things to be true, even though they don’t fit together.

“Actually…” Eddie says slowly, deciding that it may be best to change tack, “come to think of it, there’s one thing about decorating the tree that I should’ve told you. Most important thing, really. Can’t believe I forgot.”

“What?” Steve asks, halfway between wary and eager for the instruction.

“You’re supposed to do it together. That’s what makes it good.” Eddie lets go of one of Steve’s hands to smack the heel of his own to the side of his forehead. “Duh. Silly me.”

Steve shakes his head, letting it hang forward with a little huff of a laugh as some of the tension leeches from his shoulders. “You’re such a dork, do you know that?”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums, grabbing Steve by the front of that stupid, ugly sweater (it has reindeer on it, how does it not look awful on him?) and pulling him up for a quick kiss. “So how about you help me do the outside lights, and then we’ll come back inside and do the tree together?”

One last flicker of uncertainty crosses Steve’s face. “What about Wayne?”

A flutter of fondness rolls through Eddie’s chest, the same as it always does when Steve doesn’t just consider Eddie, but the things and people important to him. “His favorite part is stringing the popcorn. We can do that when he gets home.”

“Oh.” Steve nods, as though he is considering this very seriously, then smirks at Eddie. “Should we make some to eat before he gets back, so you leave enough for the tree?”

Eddie smacks him on the shoulder, holding back a laugh. “Alright, Harrington, just for that, you’re the one untangling the lights.”

“What, like it’s a punishment?” Steve asks. “I’m great at untangling Christmas lights.”

“Oh, baby,” Eddie presses a hand to his heart and pretends to swoon over the box of decorations, “when you say things like that, it makes me want to keep you forever.”

And Steve’s answering grin at that is far brighter than anything they’re going to decorate with today, Eddie is certain.

#finntheehumaneater #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #I also wanted to write something a little holiday-related!#so I'll be honest this is a little schmoopy but like. that happens sometimes yanno?#solar wrote #answers from solar

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auspicioustidings · 9 months

Note

For the 1k requests/suggestions:

Druid!Soap who's protected the lands faithfully and ferociously for years, and Reader, the nature god/goddess/diety/spirit of those lands, decides to reveal herself and reward him for it?

Could go in any direction you want, pure fluff or darker or smut or anything! Just the first idea I had

Ok so you know how you said it could be darker or smut? Got carried away with this one :') This is just feral PWP that was written in one sitting and Johnny is mean as shit in it so pls HEED THE CWs.

Foul Magic

Words: 2.8k

CWs: Non-con, heavy smut, threatened bestiality (sort of, it's a Druid-ey shapeshifting hybrid thing and I have no clue how to CW that)

He was your greatest protector, had been for a decade now. When John MacTavish had offered himself to your service he had been a reckless teen, already an expert at spilling blood. You were no Silvanus, only a simple forest spirit with your own forest to tend and a handful of followers amongst the bordering villages mainly made up of the hunters and foragers who benefited from your kindness.

“I will pledge myself tae ye for 10 years forest spirit” the young man had called out in the midst of the trees, “and in return I ask that once my service is complete ye reveal yourself tae me.”

It was a strange offer. You had never had anyone pledge themselves to you before. People left offerings certainly, made small shrines, but you had never had a sworn protector. A Druid, you thought, you could make him a Druid. You could finally test what your magic could really do.

Human lives were such short things that you didn't fully believe he would complete the 10 years. The life of a Druid was solitary and hard. He took to it with a violent fury that took your breath away. Never before had the soil been so sustained on the blood of those who sought to plunder its treasures without the proper respect. Every boon afforded him, John took and wielded as if born to hold such power.

He was magnificent. Bear like in his strength, wolf like in his ferocity, fox like in his cleverness. And all too soon the 10 years was up. You had made a deal and would have to hold to it if you wanted to keep him. And you did want to keep him. The thought of your Druid leaving your forest made the flowers wilt around you.

He strode into your Grove, a man now. He was broad and full of scars proving his devotion to your protection, his hair shaved in at the sides but left long in the middle with braids shot through. You were fascinated by how strong he had become, muscles functional and snuggled under a layer of fat as proof of your care for him, tartan fabric held to his body with only clever pleating and a belt.

“I have served faithfully for 10 years as was promised, I’ve come tae collect what I’m due.”

“And I hope in those 10 years you have enjoyed my patronage.”

He turned to see you, an ethereal thing made flesh for him. Fucking finally. He strode forward as your fond, soft smile turned to a look of fear, his hand bunching up in your hair and yanking you to look at him. You found that when you tried to shift to another form his magic, the magic you had given him, was weaving through yours to try and block you. The thought that you would be as helpless as some human maiden was horrifying.

“If ye had any sense at all, ye wouldnae have given me all yer power. Did ye really think I’d serve ye for ten years just tae look at ye?” he spat, venomous and unlike the Druid that had spoken worship on the wind to you all this time. “Fucked plenty of virgins in yer wee forest right under yer nose, had them gagging and crying, but none of them have satisfied what it is I really wanted. Been thinking about your tight wee nymph cunt being good and broken on my cock since I could use it, and I am a very patient man when it comes tae the things I want.”

You glowered at him, feeling your magic slide against the wall he had built and glancing off. He grinned an awful beastly grin and threw you to the floor, the slam of your knees on dirt unfamiliar and unpleasant.

“You cannot do this. Please John, see reason. You are a protector of this place!”

He laughed and circled you, putting a boot firmly to the centre of your back and kicking you down so your face landed in the soil.

“Aye, I was until today. 10 years was the agreement, and now I take payment. Arse up, present properly for yer protector, least ye could do after all this time.”

He surely couldn’t mean to mount you like some beast. The idea that he meant to violate you at all was already unthinkable, but to do it in such a violent and debased manner was unforgivable.

“You will not do this!”

You flared your power and he shoved it back, forcing it to act against you. He controlled it, the sickening pulse of your own magic being twisted as your body cracked and shifted. It was wrong, some half shift that felt unnatural. You heard the tear of the thin gossamer gown draped over you as something ripped through it. He laughed meanly and you howled in pain as you were grabbed by what you realised was a tail to force your hips up for him. He had done a disgusting thing with your magic, keeping you in your human form with the tail of your wolf form purely to torture you. It was forbidden to do such a thing, to create some new creature outside of nature in any way. You could feel hot tears spilling over as he wrapped the tail around his fist, pulling and twisting horribly.

“Ye going tae behave? Or dae ye need to find out what I can dae to my own form?”

The implication was horrible. You scrambled with a sob, bracing your knees and moving yourself to present the way he wanted you to.

“Aww, dinnae want a nice knot?” he said as he leaned over you, pressing his body to yours so his hot, wet breath was panting in your ear. “Maybe ye’d prefer something else.”

His foul magic invaded you again and you could see how your nails sharpened. Your hand barely started to shift into the paw of a snow leopard and you immediately started to plead. If he fucked you using that kind of cock you would surely be torn to shreds.

“P-please! Your cock! Just yours John, I want it.”

“Aye? I dinnae ken if I’m convinced. Maybe it’d be good to get my barbs in ye, fuck you bloody.”

“No please, it… it wouldn’t fill me properly if it wasn’t your human form. Wouldn’t be able to breed me like I want. Please fuck me with your cock John, I want it so badly” you sobbed, bile rising at your own words.

He laughed in dark delight, the hand gripping painfully at your tail letting go to plunge two fingers into you. It felt like you were being penetrated with a hot poker with how little warning he had given. You choked through breaths as your shape twisted back to yourself, tail painfully deforming and the formation of paws reversing.

“Good thing yer body is backing ye up. So fucking wet and messy already little slut, knew ye’d be drooling for my cock.”

He noticed how you were taking shuddering breaths, clearly fixating on a spot in the distance to try and dissociate. That wouldn’t do at all and he ripped apart what was left of the thin gossamer so he could bring his open palm hard to the meat of your ass. He knew by how you squealed that nobody had ever taken a hand to you before and it was delicious.

Breaking you was all he had ever wanted, it was all he thought about when his cock was deep inside some new needy cunt or tight arse or wet mouth. He hated how after they would try to keep him as if he was something to be owned by anyone else. He had lost count of the lives he had taken from losing his temper over it. But now that he had you crying in the dirt, pussy throbbing around his fingers, he wanted to savour it.

Your nails clawed at the ground and you tried to get onto your hands and crawl forward when his fingers left you and instead he buried his head between your legs. His grip on your thighs was painfully tight, yanking you right back into position with your arms collapsing back under you, face down ass up.

It was too much, his tongue was wet and squirming and hot and inside you. He meant to devour you, to ruin you entirely. You had about braced to be fucked, but not for this, not for the intense spark of heady desire that came from this.

“Fuckin’ knew it, knew ye’d taste sweeter than anything else” he growled against you as he released one thigh to get his fingers on your clit, needing to get you wetter to sait the thirst for your arousal that was burning through him now. “Dae ye taste good everywhere?”

“J-John! Ah you can’t, not there” you babbled as he licked up to your rim, diving into it with the same enthusiasm as he had your pussy.

It was disgusting how he tongued up the slick that was weeping from your cunt to drag it to your ass, plunging his tongue in and out of your hole and driving you absolutely mad. This was debauched. The trees were creaking and groaning around you, powerless to help their mistress.

“Tell me ye fucking love it.”

“Stop, please!”

“Fucking say it” he growled, sinking his teeth into the same flesh he had slapped earlier.

You screamed, sure he must have used that horrid magic again to sharpen his teeth to that of a predator with how you felt the skin break, his tongue lapping at the trickle of blood he had earned himself.

“I love it” you said quietly, ashamed.

“Use your fucking words.”

The threat of his teeth was still there, they were scraping against your clit.

“I love your tongue in my ass! It’s perfect, thank you so much, making me so w- making me so wet” you moaned out, feeling your cunt clench with the shame of knowing it wasn’t quite a lie.

“Good girl” he purred, the praise vibrating through you. “Should reward ye naw? What dae ye want?”

There was a dark warning laced in his tone. You knew there was a wrong answer and you wouldn’t dare to give it. If you pleaded for a stop to this he would do much worse to you than if you pleaded for the less painful option.

“Want to cum on your mouth, want to cum on your cock in my pussy.”

“Mm? Whose mouth? Whose cock?”

You squeezed your eyes shut against the utter humiliation this human was making you face.

“Yours… master.”

“Atta girl.”

He laughed behind you before bringing that sinful mouth to latch onto your clit. He sucked hard and then lapped at it like a beast until you were squirming only to then go to your opening and make sure he got every drop of sweet liquid drooling out of you. It was torturous as your body betrayed you over and over again, pliant and gushing for him. He kept you on the edge of euphoria for what felt like hours before you broke.

“Fuck! Please master, want to cum!”

The panting moans were brainless, you were so desperate. He cooed at you, his tone saccharine even as his words were degrading.

“Needy wee slut, cannae keep your legs closed can ye? Disgusting bitch tae let a man do this tae ye. Bet ye dream of walking into the village and letting everyone have a go at this sloppy cunt.”

“Only you master, please please please!”

“Aye, only me.”

His tongue which had been wild before was now lethally precise, the tip of it flicking rapidly at your throbbing clit. As you felt yourself crest he wrenched one of your arms to put your own hand there while he removed his face. Out of some hedonistic instinct you started to play with yourself to make the orgasm last, so stupid from the pleasure that it took a moment for the pain to sink in as his cock was forced inside you to the hilt.

Johnny was in rapture. Forcing himself in while your poor cunt was fluttering and clenching on nothing was almost painful from how tightly his cock was being squeezed. Your body was panicked, pleasure and pain at their height at the same time making you so incredibly tight and hot for him. Fuck, the way you were pulsing around him it was almost like getting a blow job, the ripple of wet pressure making him howl out his pleasure against your screech of pain.

He had already so thoroughly broken you that when he started to fuck you at a brutal pace you just drooled and cried and babbled. The distinction between pain and pleasure, what you hated and what you loved, was completely erased. It was all the same liquid heat inside of you that was demanding this. Demanding for you to be fucked savagley into the dirt, for you to take everything he had to give you. Demanding to be bred like the bitch in heat you were.

“I ken sweetheart, ye need tae earn it. Cum around my cock again.”

You didn’t even know what you were saying out loud and what thoughts were your own anymore as your clumsy fingers slipped around on your clit, trying to create friction despite the smooth glide from how much you dripped with arousal. You could feel the stickiness on your fingers, feel tendrils stretching lewdly in a connecting strand whenever you moved them away from your skin.

“Fucking dae it, cum on my cock!”

It was a lightning storm of pain versus pleasure ripping through you as he adjusted to slam into that spongy spot inside you that set off every nerve ending over and over with no reprieve. At the same time he began to absolutely brutalise your ass with his open palms, violent and unrestrained. There was a gush of liquid as you came, screaming your throat raw.

John had never felt so powerful. You had been reduced to a squirting, screaming mess underneath him, a fucking animal begging in the dirt. He handled you how he liked, went as hard as he wanted. Any human would have broken. Any human would have fucking died with how he finally unleashed the beast inside of him, finally married violence with sex the way he had always wanted.

“That’s it, fucking daft bitch, stupid wee brood mare, made tae fucking take it!”

You were begging again, nothing left in your brain but the desperation to be bred by a strong male. He was happy to do it, loyal protector that he was. Happy to give you exactly what you whined and mewled for, slamming home and cumming deep inside you. He fucked you through his own orgasm. He fucked you even when it was painful. It wasn’t until his cock finally slipped out, spent and struggling to find any purchase when he wasn’t fully engorged given how fucking sloppy you were.

He pushed you away after, leaving you a pile on the floor panting and ruined. Sitting back on his heels he had to take a moment for the dizziness from what had just happened to subside. Time for him to get out of this forest he supposed. He was not welcome on this land anymore. As he stood he took stock. While his kilt simply draped again to cover the sticky mess you had left on his skin and the dirt on his knees was easy enough to dust off, your gown was torn to shreds, your body beaten and bruised. He was perhaps a little surprised when your eyes opened and you blinked at him.

You felt the delicious strain of the most satisfying fuck of your life, only opening your eyes when you heard him get to his feet. Oh, he thought he was leaving. His eyes lit up with confusion and a tiny spark of feral delight as vines erupted from the ground to ensnare his ankle. Silly boy, thinking you powerless. If you had truly imbued him with the amount of your power he had deluded himself that you had, his human body would have burnt up and been dust on the wind years ago. It was laughable that he would have been able to block your magic.

“Did you truly think I didn't know your intentions from the start? Oh John, you are mine” you said with the fond bemusement one might have for a grumpy child. “Now come and perform your duty to your mistress, I am hardly done with you.”

#mhairiwrites #cod au #john mactavish x reader #look I wrote this all and read it once #and I'm not even sure it makes sense #really the voices wrote this one and I cannot be blamed

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endwersed · 4 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the dreams that are @hedwig221b & @dear-massacre 🥰

Another week, another li'l excerpt from my current Sterek FWB AU WIP: you don't see me. Derek and Stiles are besties since college and roommates, and Derek is 'straight'.

"Don't try to swallow," Stiles says. "It can be... a lot, your first time. Especially for a straight guy."

Derek frowns. “I told you, I don't mind –“

A quick, high laugh from Stiles' smiling, pink mouth effectively cuts Derek off, and he abruptly yanks the supporting hand out from under his head to clamp firm fingers around Derek's bicep.

“Dude,” he monotones, "just trust me on this.”

Derek allows himself a beat to click his tongue irritably, but concession comes soon enough, in the form of a long, heaving sigh.

“Fine,” he grouses. “Just let me know when you’re close, then.”

"Sure, yeah, fine." Stiles' agreement comes out just a little bit breathless, and he squirms against the sheets as Derek knees his way in between his easily parting legs. "Shit. Okay. This... this is actually happening. Just – take it slow, all right? And be careful with your teeth, for the love of god."

The hot skin of the outside of Derek's thigh brushes, presses up against the soft skin on the inside of Stiles', and Stiles responds with an instant intake of breath, the grip he has on his own dick through his underwear tightening for a moment.

Derek feels like he's blinking through thick, sickly sweet syrup as he tears his gaze away and up to Stiles' face.

"Feel free to smack me around the head if I'm too terrible," he jokes.

Stiles rolls his eyes. The intensity of the gesture is undermined, slightly, by the bright flush that covers the entire expanse of his high cheekbones.

"Obviously I'm not going to smack you, Derek," he says.

Derek huffs. "I just mean, don't suffer on account of my ego, is all."

“I really don’t think I see any suffering on the cards here." Stiles pauses, head tilting to the side as he tucks one finger beneath the waistband of his boxers. "At least, not on my side, anyway."

"We should stop stalling," Derek rationalises. "This is already far too much talking for a decent blowjob."

Stiles scoffs, another finger slipping in to join the first. But still, they simply linger in that one place, making no move to push the item down, tug it away. Still, he just lies there, with the hard line of his dick obscenely visible through the indecently thin layer of fabric.

“Maybe I’m nervous,” he says.

Derek lifts an eyebrow. “You’re nervous?”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, a shaky laugh, a deep breath, and then his boxers are hurriedly pulled down to meet the bunched-up fabric of his sweatpants, his dick springing out to bounce against his taut stomach. “Okay. Fuck. Let’s do this.”

A snort escapes Derek at the severity in Stiles’ voice, the pinch of a frown creasing between his eyebrows. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep another burst of laughter from pushing its way out of him when Stiles’ mouth tugs even further down, almost comically downturned, at this barest hint of amusement.

Silently, Derek lowers himself, dropping his shoulders and his gaze until he can settle properly in between Stiles’ inched apart thighs. He takes in the length of Stiles’ erection, stiff and leaking a little at the tip, and he feels a hot simmer churn in his stomach, a vibrant current running underneath his skin.

Nerves, obviously. Simple, inevitable – nerves.

Enough words have passed between them now; too many words, just like he said before. And it’s without another syllable passing through his lips that he gets himself comfortable, reaches out to curl fingers at the base of Stiles’ dick to hold it firm and ready, and leans forward until he can wrap his mouth around the tip.

No pressure tags! @aurevell @crownofstardustandbone @lucky-bishop @renmackree @thotpuppy

#sterek #my fic #it's a bank holiday weekend coming up sooooo that means sat-mon dedicated to writing and writing alone #progress is happening ppl!

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evansbby · 2 years

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𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝒑𝒐𝒚𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, daddy kink, dark Steve, lactation kink, breeding kink, a/b/o dynamics, some feet stuff, oral (female receiving), 18+ minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve is horny but you’re asleep. That doesn’t mean he won’t have his fun...

(𝑨/𝑵): This is heavy with the somno, so please beware of that! If it isn’t your cup of tea, feel free to ignore and move on!

It’s only 11 at night when Steve walks back into his house. Sam and Bucky are still at the party, but Steve had grown bored within an hour. The truth was, parties didn’t hit the same anymore. Just a bunch of drunk assholes and slutty cheerleaders grinding against each other in a dark haze of alcohol and weed. And as much as Steve tried to enjoy himself, his mind would always drift back to you.

His little omega, perfectly quiet and shy. Safe and sound in his bedroom (he’d locked the doors of the house before he’d left, lest you sneak out. Not that you ever would). Sometimes, he drags you along to these parties only because you look so deliciously uncomfortable and cling to him in the sexiest way. He also likes showing you off from time to time, knowing that the other alphas would kill to have you.

But mostly, Steve likes keeping you safe in his bedroom. He likes walking in to you studying on his desk or his bed, with your little Steve Junior under your arm. Wearing Steve’s old football jersey that completely dwarfs you, his mark on your neck peeking out from under your hair and reminding him of his complete and utter ownership over you.

Fuck, now Steve’s hard. He hopes you’re not asleep, because he can’t wait to sink into your tight little snatch, feel you squeeze around his cock like it’s your job. You’re always so ready for him, so needy for his dick and so snug around it, all weepy and grabby as your feral desire overtakes your shyness. Jesus fucking Christ, his dick is harder than a rock, and he all but sprints up to his bedroom.

You’re asleep. And goddamit, you look so fucking cute. Wrapped up in the comforter like a little burrito in the middle of his king-sized bed. Your head resting on Steve’s pillow rather than your own, and your Steve Junior teddy cuddled up in your arms. Steve feels his mouth quirk up into a smile before he stops himself – he’s no pussy simp! But you do look cute as fuck, so sweet and innocent. So different from all the other sluts he’s used to.

Slowly, Steve peels the comforter off your body before rolling his eyes because underneath that, you’ve covered yourself even further with your little fuzzy blanket that’s more ratty than it is fuzzy. Omegas and their damn nesting tendencies. Steve makes a mental note to order you a new blanket as he sheds this one off of you, only to be greeted by a host of stuffed animals covering your body in yet another layer that he has to get past.

“Fucking asshole toys.” He mutters, before shoving all your toys (except Steve Junior) into a haphazard heap on the floor, making sure to give one or two of them a hard punch in the face for being annoying.

And sure, Steve realises that his room is a lot more feminine now ever since you moved in – flowery bedsheets and stuffed animals everywhere and your beautiful perfumey scent covering everything he owns. But he doesn’t mind as much as he initially thought he would. When Sharon was his girlfriend, he never let her live with him but she would spend the night and try to mess with his stuff by putting her own things on his desk. Best believe, Steve would chuck her random shit in the trash, but you? You’re different.

“So fucking cute…” He murmurs to himself, watching you shiver and hold on tightly to Steve Junior, your nose digging into his fur and a sweet little frown on your face at the loss of warmth from the lack of comforter. He can’t help but stroke your cheek with his knuckles, loving how soft you are. So sweet and pretty and perfect. And most importantly, all his. Every inch of your body belongs to Steve, and it makes him so fucking hard.

“Baby, you have no idea how horny I am right now.” He tells you, continuing to stroke your face while you lay asleep on his pillow. He casually palms his dick with his other hand, already feeling like he’ll blow his load just from looking at you sleeping. “And look at you, fast asleep when you’re the one who gets daddy all riled up in the first place.”

“Steve?” You mumble, scrunching your nose cutely, and it looks like you’re stirring. But you only toss and turn a bit before getting comfortable again, and Steve resumes stroking your cheek for a while before his hand starts slipping down. Down past your delicate neck which bares not only his mark, but often also the imprints of his fingers after he’s choked you during a particularly rough fuck. Down to your chest, covered in his old jersey filled with holes.

He pushes the jersey up over your breasts, watching, almost hypnotised, as your nipples harden in the cool air. God, he loves your tits so fucking much, and you look so pretty all nude and bathing in the moonlight.

It reminds him of the early days, before he’d claimed you. Sometimes, he’d follow you home. Well, that ratty dorm room you called home. And it was all too easy to stand outside your window, watch you change because you were too dumb to draw your curtains. And those moments when you were bare, the moonlight painting you a pretty silver and you being completely unaware that Steve was watching you… Fuck, how beautiful you’d looked. And how hard Steve would cum every time he’d jack off to the memory.

Except not anymore, because now he has you in his bed. His own personal omega to do with as he pleases. Awake or asleep, it doesn’t matter to Steve – he owns you after all. In fact, you should thank him for being thoughtful and not waking you up. And a part of him does want to wake you up so he can fuck the living daylights out of you while you whine and cry all sleepily. But there’s just something about you, asleep and innocent, not knowing he’s watching you and touching you.

Fuck, he can’t help but lean down to suck your nipple. You’re practically begging for it, after all! Lying there with your nipples so hard they could cut glass. And you let out the cutest little whimper when his mouth latches onto one of your breasts, almost as if you’re having a dirty dream about him. Steve really hopes you are, because he has sex dreams about you all the time. He has ever since he first saw you.

“God, your tits are so sexy, baby.” He tells you as he squeezes and sucks. And Steve loves sucking your nipples, he could do it for hours if it was feasible. He loves how you card your fingers through his hair (when you’re awake, that is) and press his face more into your breasts while you whine like a baby. Sometimes, he likes to pretend you’re pregnant and he’s sucking your milk as you let him feed from you. God, that would be so fucking sexy – he can’t wait till he knocks you up.

“Mmhmm.” You mumble in your sleep, and Steve smirks against your nipple, licking and biting and grazing his teeth against it, sucking your whole breast into his mouth obscenely, wishing he had set his camera up so he could’ve got all of this on tape. And then he’d make you watch it tomorrow morning and threaten to post it online. (Not that he ever would, but he loves making you cry and beg).

“Daddy knows,” He tells you when he glances up to see you still asleep but your lips have formed the shape of an ‘o’ and there’s a tell-tale furrow between your brow. “Daddy knows what a dirty girl you are, how you like it when I use your body while you sleep.” He switches to your other breast, wanting to bite down hard but knowing you’d wake up if he did. He squeezes and pushes your tits together as he sucks obscenely, his hard dick poking against your leg through his jeans as he hovers over you. Damn, he can’t wait till you’re pregnant and lactating, and your tits would be so fucking huge and heavy when you’d breastfeed him.

“God, you’re teasing me, aren’t you, baby omega?” Steve lets go of your nipple with a pop, admiring his saliva shining all over your bare breasts. “You just had to look all sexy while you slept, didn’t you? It’s all your fault that I have to use you like this, baby. All your fault. But that’s okay, because daddy’s gonna make you feel good too.”

And with that, he continues exploring your body. Stroking and fondling and licking his way down your stomach, making sure to poke his tongue into your belly button. You shuffle a bit at that, but Steve holds your body in place and watches intently as you mumble something unintelligible before relaxing into deep sleep once more.

“Let’s see how wet your little baby pussy is, shall we?” Steve asks, and he can feel his excitement because his blood is rushing straight down to his dick. If he was hard before, he can’t even describe how uncomfortable his boner is now. Quickly, he undoes his fly and pulls his dick out, hissing in relief once his throbbing length bobs up against his abs.

He grabs your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate how soft you feel, before prying your legs apart. And he knows you’re not wearing any panties because he forbade you from doing so in bed. (He needs easy access at night and in the morning when he fucks you). And your bare pussy glistens in the moonlight and fuck, Steve feels like a salivating animal. He gets the sudden feral urge to mount you and fuck you so hard, fill you up over and over again with his seed while you scream for him to stop because he’s being too rough.

Instead, Steve closes his eyes for a second and savours your sweet scent. God, your pussy smells so good. It’s like your scent but amplified. And the best part? You’re completely soaked. He can’t believe just how wet you are, your pussy glistening in the moonlight as you lay all spread out before him. You’ve even dripped down onto his sheets, leaving a damp patch underneath you and Steve is utterly transfixed.

“Naughty little baby, look at the mess you’ve made,” he scolds, giving your thigh a gentle slap. He wants to hit you harder but he knows you’ll wake up if he does. “Look how fucking soaked you are for daddy.” He glances down at his dick which he’s slowly pumping with his other hand. Instinctively, he swipes the bead of precum from the head of his cock and looks up at your face wickedly, “Daddy’s hard for you too, omega.”

He rubs his precum on your lower lip, breath hitching at the sexiness of it all. And you look so pretty and sleepy, immediately licking your lips and moaning softly while he stares at you with wide eyes. “Mmm,” you whimper, and it’s the sexiest little whimper ever. And, as if things couldn’t get any hotter, your lips latch onto his thumb, sucking his digit while Steve swears under his breath.

“You’re a little freak in the sheets even when you’re asleep, aren’t you?” He marvels, letting you suckle his thumb while his dick throbs with need. “God, none of the guys would believe what a slutty little thing you are behind closed doors. Sucking on daddy’s thumb like a little slut? And after I’ve fed you my cum? Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking sexy and you have no fucking idea, do you?”

You don’t answer, of course, but you pout in your sleep when he removes his thumb from your mouth. He gives your cheek a few condescending pats before refocusing on your pussy. Fuck, Steve’s practically salivating at your sweet little cunt all splayed out for him, and you’re none the wiser while you sleep, clutching that damned Steve Junior in your arms.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to dig in like he’s a starved man. His lips immediately latch around your clit, which is puffy and swollen and so cute. He sucks hard, eyes widening when you let out the loudest moan yet. But then you settle back down, still asleep, and Steve continues as if he’s famished and about to start a five-course-meal.

“Your cute little button’s all puffy, baby.” Steve tells you, “I wonder what you’re dreaming about that’s got you all worked up.” He puffs his chest out, “Well, I know it’s me. And tomorrow you’ll act all innocent like you always do, and stutter all cutely as if you aren’t acting like a little whore in heat right now.”

And sure enough, you’re steadily grinding down on Steve’s face, unconscious as ever but he just loves the feel of your wet cunt against his face. Half of him wants to flip both of you over so that you’re sitting on his face, completely smothering him with your sweet folds while he bites and sucks and probes and brings you to one orgasm after another.

Instead, he continues licking you, loving how your thrusts meet his licks, and how your quivering thighs limply wrap around his head. He spits, watching his saliva pool around your engorged clit before he gives it another hearty suck. And fuck, he knows your body so well, he knows you’re about to orgasm because of the way you start panting, and how your knees try to lock around his head.

And Steve pulls away, because you’re his and he’ll decide when (or if) you cum tonight. And he loves the little pout your lips form into, and how you frown in your sleep and clutch Steve Junior harder. “Slutty little omega…” Steve murmurs before trailing sloppy kisses down your thigh. Stroking the smooth skin of your calf before he grabs your ankle, and his gaze shifts and eyes grow darker.

He’s still jacking off with one hand, the other holding your leg as he carefully examines the anklet he’d gifted you a few days ago. It’s a dainty gold chain with charms that spell out his name. Steve Rogers. He’d instructed you to put it on and absolutely never take it off unless he told you to. It’s another reminder that you are completely and irrevocably his, an omega who is claimed property, and his first before anything else.

The anklet is amongst the many different ways he plans to own you. First was his mark on your neck, of course. Then this anklet that spells out his name. And then what? Maybe a necklace with his initials? Or a tattoo above your pussy that firmly states: “S.G.R”? God, his dick twitches at the very thought.

But the anklet looks so dainty around your ankle, and he gets the sudden urge to nuzzle your foot up against his face, the feeling going straight to his dick. He can’t help but admire your pretty feet, how he’d paid for you to get a pedicure and they’d painted your toes a pretty white colour. Fuck, so fucking sexy. He presses a kiss on each toe before his lips trail downwards, leaving wet kisses on the pad of your foot before licking a tantalising stripe down the instep of your heel.

Your entire body jolts, and Steve can practically sense your pussy clenching and releasing more of your wetness to drip down on the sheets below. Your sweet fucking cream staining his sheets because your baby pussy is getting turned on by your alpha kissing your feet. Steve can’t help but smirk, and wonders how he’ll tell you this tomorrow.

He takes his phone out and clicks on the camera, recording while grabbing your other foot and repeating the same actions. Pressing little butterfly kisses on each toe while you wiggle and squirm in your sleep. And then he licks up your foot, gently sucking on your toes while he tries not to groan at how sexy this is.

He lets go with a pop, throwing his phone aside while he smirks down at you, “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, baby. I know you did because I know what a slutty little girl you are.” He strokes your leg, “Don’t worry, daddy filmed it for my private collection. I’m sure you’ll love to see it tomorrow.”

He can just imagine how distraught and shy you’d be when he showed you the video, how you’d beg him to delete it. But he wouldn’t. He has almost hundreds of videos and pictures of you already taking up half the storage on his phone. He’s just so addicted to capturing you on film, addicted to how your naked body moves and responds to him. It’s fascinating, beautiful, so sexy and incredibly hot. And he can’t get enough.

Now, Steve crawls back up your body. And he knows he’s acting like a total creep, and that he could just wake you up and fuck you like how he usually does. But there’s something so vulnerable about you being fast asleep, and he’s nowhere near done playing with you.

You’re on your back, snoring softly into Steve Junior’s fur. But Steve gently manhandles you till you’re facedown, your stomach against the sheets and his favourite part of your body facing him. And he almost salivates at the sight of your bare ass, all cute and round and poking out at him as if you’re teasing him. As if you’re begging to be touched and groped and violated. (Not that it would be a violation, since Steve owns your body and can do with it what he pleases, and when he pleases).

He can’t help but give your ass cheek a firm little slap, watching with baited breath as you mumble something under your breath. Still asleep. He pinches and prods and squeezes to his heart’s desire, like your ass is his own personal toy. Which, in a way, it is. Under the dim moonlight, he can see his teeth-marks on your flesh where he’d bit you the last time he’d spanked you. He just couldn’t help it then, and his chest fills with pride now, hoping the mark will permanently mar your ass and remind you of who you belong to.

“Your sexy little ass is just begging to be fucked, omega.” Steve breathes, imagining how tight and sexy it would feel if he just shoved his dick up your ass. But instead, he leans down to give your smooth skin a light kiss, before turning you onto your back once more. And it’s crazy how deep of a sleeper you are, unperturbed by how he’s playing with your unconscious body which he jacks off.

“Steve…mhm…please…” You breathe softly, and the delicate sound goes straight to his dick. You were begging for his dick, even in your sleep. If that wasn’t the sexiest thing Steve had ever witnessed, he didn’t know what was.

“Oh. So you want me to take advantage of you while you sleep?” He tsks, giving your cheek another condescending pat. “What a naughty little girl you are, but I already knew that. You may be all innocent but that doesn’t mean you’re not a cock-hungry little slut when you’re under me.” He pinches your cheek and chuckles under his breath when you pout.

He carefully straddles your chest, making sure not to crush you with his weight. But now, he’s got his dick right above your sweet, sleeping face. He cant help but rub it against your cheeks and nose and forehead, making sure his scent and his precum is smeared all over your face. And fuck, he’s so ready to just blow his load.

“Slutty little omega…” Steve breathes, tracing the tip of his dick against your soft lips. And, as if on cue and by some fucking miracle, your lips part. Steve can’t believe it, “Good girl. That’s such a good little girl…” He praises you, inserting his tip into your mouth and watching in awe as you suckle it in your sleep.

“Mhm, daddy…” You moan sleepily, like a fucking porn-star or an actress at least. Steve is in complete awe at how whiny and needy you sound and it goes straight to his dick.

“That’s right, baby. Suck daddy’s dick like the obedient little slut you are.” He commands you, wanting to shove his whole length into your mouth but knowing he’d choke you if he did that. Instead, he lets you suck on his tip while he continues to jack off at the sight. With his other hand, he grabs yours and squeezes it, not really knowing why apart from the fact that he felt the need to do it.

He cums fast, and it’s no surprise since he’s been edging himself all this time whilst fondling your body. And he’s so used to cumming down your throat, that it takes all his willpower to pull out before he blows his load all over your face. And fuck, if it isn’t the sexiest thing in the world, your face coated in his cum, and you still don’t wake up.

“Fuckin’ cockslut.” Steve mutters under his breath, stopping to marvel at how beautiful you look before he gathers the cum on your cheek with his finger and slips it into your mouth, smirking when you suck it off obediently. Fuck, even in your sleep you’re obedient. He continues to feed you his cum until your face is somewhat clean (he leaves a bit of residue, something for you to wonder about in the morning). And then he climbs off you, something inside him compelling him to give you a soft kiss on the cheek for being such a good girl for him.

He takes a quick trip to the bathroom to piss and wash off before changing into a pair of sweats and returning. You’re still asleep, of course. It’s slightly alarming, what a deep sleeper you are, but you still look cute as fuck. You’re on his side of the bed, head resting on his pillow, and so he has to gently scoop you up and slip in underneath you before placing you down on his chest and covering the two of you with the heavy comforter.

“Steve? You’re home?” You say sleepily, cuddling up into his chest as his arms wrap around you. Your eyes are still shut and you seem to be half asleep still, and unaware of everything that’s just taken place in the past few minutes, but he can’t help but respond.

“Yeah. The party was boring.”

“Missed you.” You mumble softly into the hardness of his chest, and Steve feels a certain stirring deep down.

He yawns, “Oh yeah? I was only gone for a few hours.”

“Always miss you.”

And then you’re snoring softly once more, and Steve’s left to stare at the ceiling in pitch darkness. You’re still and content, cuddled up on his side and practically on top of him, with Steve Junior in your arms. Sound asleep. And Steve can’t help but hold you just a little bit tighter, and give you a soft kiss on your forehead, before he follows suit.

THE END!

Please do let me know what you think! I know this is a drabble but technically it isn’t bc it’s like 3.9k words!! So please do give feedback and tell me what you think and reblog and all that good stuff! Love you guys and I love writing for this pairing!!! I was hesitant to write more in Steve’s POV but I just focused on his horniness and not on any emotional stuff!!! THANK YOU FOR READING BYE

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #poyt drabble

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