#st. van smut
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Genre: smut
Pairings: lee geumhyuk x female reader
A/N: I really wanna write for vav again but I suck at this fic stuff but I crave this man omg so here’s a lil thingy hehe EDIT: THIS WAS EMBARRASSING TO WRITE I AM GIGGLING :3 🦬
The room was loud with the noises of your breathing and skin against skin. Your thighs pushed against your stomach as your husband pounded into you like a jackhammer through concrete. It felt like slow motion, the way his cock rammed inside you kissing your cervix and pulling away leaving you wanting more, feeling every inch of his cock push and pull around your cunt.
“My pretty flower.” Geumhyuk moaned softly as he tore up your guts. “You’re so so gorgeous like this. Such a good girl for me.” Your eyes rolled back at the praise as your hands grabbed the sheets on either side of you. Geumhyuk pushed your thighs closer to your stomach with each stroke. It was getting harder to breathe so after letting him know he let you lower your legs. “Sorry, I got a little carried away you just look so cute and breedable with your legs above your head I just couldn’t help myself.”
“Geummie baby,” you choked out your legs feeling limp against his thighs. He rested both his hands on either side of your head his body above you, his beautiful brown eyes piercing through you. “I love you so much oh god.” You blurted out feeling your orgasm drawing near.
“I love you too y/n, I wanna fill you up so full of my seed. I want you to carry my babies oh you’d look so beautiful with a big round belly. Just knowing that I made you a mother would drive me crazy. Baby I could fill you so full of cum and you’d take all of it. I know you would you always do. You’re such a good girl, you’d be an amazing mother please let me fill you up.” At Geumhyuk’s request you felt your thighs start to shake. He slowed down his cock pushing inside you even more than you thought possible.
Geumhyuk’s hair was wet with sweat, sticking to his forehead, his abs were sweating, his tattoos on his arms were shining. You grabbed his arms and squeezed digging your finger nails into his skin.
“You wanna mark me don’t you baby. Are you close? I can feel the way your cunt hugs my cock. Let’s cum together hmm? I wanna fill you up, wanna give you kids so bad.” As he sped up your thighs shook around him. Arching your back off the mattress you threw your head back onto the pillow. The thought of your husband cumming inside you without a condom and getting you pregnant just made your orgasm come closer and faster. He wanted you to be a mother? He wanted you to be full of his seed? Carry a baby inside you and become a mother? He really wanted to be a daddy? You had talked about this a lot as he was always bragging about how good of a mother you’d be but the thought driving him wild was so attractive to you. What he wanted and how he was going to do it.
You had stars in your eyes when he told you to look at him. Stars and hearts and glitter, jeez you were so so over the top, head over heels in love with your husband and you would do anything to make him happy and you knew full well he’d do the same. Geumhyuk’s thrusting slowed and became sloppy, his breath hitched, he leaned closer to you as he whispered all the things you loved to hear. About how much he loved your body no matter what size you were and how he couldn’t wait to dive in between your thighs just to make you cum over and over.
“My pretty wife and her pretty body and pretty pretty pussy.” He growled in your ear his lips now marking up your neck sucking and biting at the skin.
“Geummie I- I’m so close!” You squeaked. Your hands pulled away from his arms and ran through his hair. He smashed his lips into yours his thrusting speeding up again. You both moaned, his face buried in your neck. He pulled away and curses fell from his lips. You were both so close you just needed to push him over the edge. “Please Geummie baby, give me your babies please. I wanna feel your cum all the way inside me pretty please baby.” You choked out.
That was all he needed as you felt hot ropes shoot out coating your walls with his sticky yogurt. You both screamed, exchanging curse words. You came, your thigh shaking around Geumhyuk’s waist. Chanting “fuck” and “I love you” over and over as your cunt pulsed around his cock. You felt him twitch inside you as the last of his seed filled you up. Without even pulling out he collapsed on top of you his head falling against your soft breasts, his breathing tickled your nipples. Your hand came up to gently pet him on the head.
“Thank you y/n. Thank you for being my wife and just everything. I love you so much, you did such a good job my pretty flower.” You smiled and he rose up and when he pulled out the sounds that followed almost made you cum a second time. You wanted to sleep but your husband wasn’t done making you feel good. Wasting no time he pushed your thighs apart and dove down his tongue lapping up your juices like a thirsty dog. The way his tongue and teeth licked and pulled against you skin oh he was fully making out with your pussy lips and boy did it feel amazing. So amazing your thighs squeezed around him but he grunted before stopping.
“Keep them open for me pretty. I’m not done making my wifey feel good. You deserve to cum again don’t you think. Just close your eyes and Daddy will take care of you.” You hummed your hand reaching for the strands on his head. “Gonna make you feel so so good. I love you.” He hummed before his tongue disappeared inside your walls again.
#miagwynwrites.exe#vav#st. van#lee geumhyuk#vav st. van#vav fanfiction#vav fanfic#vav smut#kpop fanfiction#kpop fanfic#kpop smut#fanfiction#fanfic#smut#tw: smut#tw: daddy kink#tw: breeding
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r/Marriage: am i (24m) overly obsessed with my wife (24f)? — satoru gojo



౨ৎ pairing — oyabun!gojo x secretary!reader
summary — all work and no play makes the fearsome oyabun of the gojo-gumi a tremendously dull boy. since you're a saint, you come into his office with no panties and a mission; to let your puppy play.
word count — 13k
౨ৎ content & warnings — mdni 18+, pwp, mlw, fem!reader, normal modern au, yakuza au, humor, smut, fluff, pet names (baby, sweets, sugar, princess, pretty, wifey, hubby), gojo and reader are married, whipped gojo, gojo is actually insane, dark themes, violence, mentions of murder, p in v, submissive top gojo, sub!gojo, dom!reader, femdom, mommy kink, semi-public sex, pussydrunk gojo, office sex, mild pet play / puppy play, oral (f! receiving), cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking (both receiving), reader uses gojo’s tie like a leash, MEN WHO WHIMPER >>>
author's note — i love yakuza aus and i love sub top wife guy gojo what can i sayyyy. this is my first fic on this account and it's just self indulgent as hell tbh. this is Not necessary to read, but if you want a little more background on this au, you can find info here. more notes at the end! hope u all enjoy 🫶🏽
writing © getouyuri. fanart © maronjapan9art. dividers © thecutestgrotto.
It’s not even 12pm on a Friday, 95 degrees, when the white flag swinging from his person is finally brought to his attention.
“Boss,” Choso says, completely straight-faced as he cleans a gun and stares imploringly at Satoru. Waxing and waning. “There's… something hanging out of your pocket.”
“Oh?” Satoru looks down, snags his fingers into the panties that are peeking out from his slacks, and rubs his thumb over the delicate embroidery in the hem. Interesting. “Oh, sweet.”
A completely normal, well-adjusted member of society would turn into a bumbling, blushing maiden and stuff these goodies away, mortified. Too bad he’s a shameless certified freak, seven days a week.
Like he’s playing cat’s cradle, he pulls at the inner hem and spreads the lingerie open to get a good bird’s eye view down into the panties. Satoru tests the stretch of the material. Turns it this way and that. Examines the gusset for any exciting stains and clicks his tongue when he finds none.
The air of the group at his beck and call sours into something painfully awkward, almost disbelieving. When he clears his throat, all eyes look away from him. Satoru takes the opportunity to crumple the fabric and press his nose into it in order to breathe your scent in.
Delectable. 10/10.
Outside the nearest window is the familiar buzz of typical Tokyo afternoon activity and traffic. Sitting in a loose ‘v’ around him in the ten-seater van they’re packed into are the men he’s tagging along with to swing by the red light district in pursuit of Ryomen’s trail. It’s rare that Satoru himself gets involved in tasks like this that are far below his pay grade, but he’ll take any opportunity he can get to get close to that fuckface and give him hell. He can practically smell his rival’s scent on the breeze.
“Huh,” he finally remarks. Choso is the only one that dares to look at him. “My wife must’ve planted these on me earlier.”
That morning, Satoru regretfully had to pull himself from his comfortable bed and his wife’s soothing warmth, though he promised you (with cuddles and kisses to further convince you and wipe the frown off of your face) that he’d wrap things up quick and meet you at the Gojo-gumi’s main headquarters for lunch. Unfortunately, hours later and worn ragged, he knows now that there was no way he would’ve been able to head over there any earlier than now. He texted you to let you know the change of plans.
Pure fucking chaos was unleashed on Tokyo this morning, all of it carefully orchestrated by Ryomen. One of the Gojo-gumi’s bigger warehouses that they use as storage for black market weapons and drugs was ransacked and then bombed by Tora-gumi shitheads. Many of Satoru’s men that stepped in to try and defend the warehouse’s stock were killed.
At the exact same time there was a shootout in one of the strip clubs— fittingly named Hell’s Paradise— that Satoru owns as one of his many, many business fronts. He and his men arrive on the scene soon after the fact and find the bodies of some of the women that worked there, all of which were personally beneath his unwavering protection that he failed to give them today, alongside some civilians that got caught in the crossfire.
Shoko herself isn’t here, but the traces of smoke linger around her girlfriend— and Satoru’s friend— like a protective ward when he goes to speak with her. Clearly, Shoko was either in the building or cat napping with her not too long ago.
Satoru isn’t labeled as the most terrifying oyabun in Japan for no reason; he handles all of it coldly and clinically to make sure many, many people pay the price for daring to threaten the syndicate, his family, that he’s worked so hard to maintain and provide for. He personally beats the fuck out of and kills the Tora-gumi’s members that were involved in both incidents, and what Satoru doesn’t do with his own bare hands, he sends Choso out like an angel of death to take care of.
While Choso ‘cleans up’, he calls Shoko and sends her out on the prowl to feel out if there’ll be any more planned attacks on the Gojo-gumi.
Fucking Ryomen.
Stepping out into the alleyway behind Hell’s Paradise, he fishes his good luck charm out for the fifth time today and takes another long whiff.
But hey, at least he has a piece of his wife with him wherever he goes, right?
Satoru gets a ride back to the Gojo-gumi headquarters. There’s a bathroom attached to the room with a shower that he had installed years back, so he strips off his bloodied clothes, showers and changes into a fresh suit, meanders back into his office, and tosses himself into his chair.
“God, what a pain,” he whines to himself.
If Satoru could pawn this monstrosity of a paperwork pile sitting in front of him off to one of his secretaries (like you, for example), he so would. Alas, things of this caliber are delegated to the boss man, and the boss man only.
His blue eyes linger on the skyline outside of the window. The Gojo-gumi headquarters is located in the heart of Tokyo and it’s not exactly a secret; hell, even the police know where this place is and what goes on behind its closed doors. Unlike his various business fronts, this establishment is strictly a hub that his syndicate directly operates out of. Organizing all their criminal operations, managing businesses, holding meetings, it all goes down here.
Years ago, it was rare that Satoru could be found sitting here. He used to just swing by the main room, get shit done, not spare his office a glance, and leave. Now, though, he has extra incentive to frequent his office. You’re here every day of the week.
The room feels filled to the brim with your presence despite you being conspicuously absent. The dark wooden surface of his desk is topped with a framed picture of you and him at their wedding, and next to it are various trinkets that you’ve bought with him in mind. His sweetheart.
Satoru lounges back in his plush leather chair (because he likes that it makes him look like royalty, thank you very much), man-spreading with a faint pout. The beginnings of a migraine buzzes right behind his eyes the longer he stares at the work calling his name.
There’s that deal he needs to finalize with Suguru that’ll leave them with a 20% increase in profits by the end of Q1. The Gojo-gumi's gonna be swimming in cash, and the Sutoraifu-gumi will have a steady supply of the goods their members need. Lord knows Suguru and his men need it after the whole Kenjaku debacle that went down a while back. Satoru’ll get to those papers soon and send them off with Suguru’s biker girl whenever she swings by again to hang out with you.
Then he has to look at the letter from the chief of police, which, yawn, that’s the least of his concerns. The detective— Kusa-something, whatever, he always forgets his name— must’ve tattled on him again for his, ah, unsavory way of handling business. That damn rookie Kusachi has a nasty habit of getting in his way and trying to take him on. Satoru could just try to pay the chief off again… and maybe he could visit Kusada’s home, set him straight. And by set him straight, he means chatting to Kusabuse’s family and telling him that their man’s extracurricular activities are gonna get him killed. His family can handle it from there.
And then—
A soft knock at his door pulls him out of his reverie. “I’m busyyy, Kento, Ijichi!” he calls just in case they’re here to hound him, fingers adorned in rings absently adjusting his tie.
It opens to reveal Kento’s unimpressed stare. He glances over Satoru’s unorganized desk, important documents scattered all over and clearly not finished. ‘Organized chaos’ he calls it. You tell him that it’s just shit on a platter.
“… cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Satoru says glumly, his pout unbefitting of an oyabun further deepening.
Apparently, by the little entourage that Kento has with him, his second-in-command isn’t here to scold him, though. Because you, his gorgeous wife, enters his office next with Ijichi shuffling in behind you, who closes the door behind the group of three.
Satoru perks up like a meerkat and leans forward, fingers dropping away from his tie to instead interlace as he regards everyone, you in particular harboring most of his attention, with a cheery grin that’s at odds with his reputation. Though he’s the epitome of lax playfulness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his gaze as he looks them all over. You have a folder tucked beneath one arm and you look bored.
"Well, well, well, look who it is," Satoru drawls, his tone as smooth as silk. "My three favorite people, alllll in one room. It’s a little too early to be throwing me a surprise birthday party, isn’t it? My birthday isn’t for another few months,” he jests.
Ijichi not so subtly checks the date on his phone even though he knows damn well it’s April, not December. On the other hand, Kento’s eyes flatten slightly. One of his hands goes to his hip while the other massages at the bridge of his nose as if he’s already getting a headache; as he usually does in the oyabun’s presence. “Now isn’t the time for jokes, Satoru,” Kento inserts, dour as ever.
Your poker face twitches.
A blown raspberry echoes in his office. “You always say that, Kento. Would it kill you to pull that stick out of your ass and smell the roses? Experience joy and whimsy?” Satoru dramatically intones. His hand splays across his chest. “You wound me.”
Kento doesn’t even bother to entertain him. Back straight and thumb practically digging into his skin, he rattles off his report; the Gojo-gumi were able to intercept Ryomen’s ploy to undercut the Gojo-gumi’s control over the heroin trade. When he finishes, he promptly turns and makes like Scooby Doo, not wanting to be there a second longer. Ijichi hurriedly scurries at his heels.
The door clicks shut behind them and he puffs out a breath of relief at his wakagashira’s and saiko-kommon’s departure, sitting back in his chair with a gentle creak of the leather beneath him. Satoru kicks his leg up over the other, the side of his calf resting on his knee, and looks you up and down. “And then there were two. Fancy seeing you here, wifey,” he drawls.
“You say that as if we don’t work in the same building,” you snort. Then you soften, closely examining him. “You okay? Your texts worried me earlier, so I texted Choso and his partner to get more details. I heard things got pretty hectic earlier.”
He smiles at you, feeling all warm and fuzzy. Satoru doesn’t get how couples just faze out of the honeymoon stage. Years later and you still have him wanting to kick his feet whenever he’s in your presence. “Things are peachy, pinky swear. I’ve got it covered, sugar. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” he assures you. He crosses his fingers over his heart.
You eye him for a moment longer, but whatever you spy on his face makes you relax. Thwacking the folder against the wooden surface before scattering it among the pile, you then round Satoru’s desk and plant yourself in front of him. He inhales unsubtly, catching a whiff of your perfume that makes him go a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, and your lips twitch as you take your throne on the lip of his desk.
Everyone here at headquarters is required to follow a certain dress code. Satoru outshines them all, of course, fitted in finely tailored slacks and dress shirts with either a crisp light blue waistcoat thrown atop it or an ironed suit jacket. And as one of the many secretaries flitting around the building keeping the well-oiled Gojo-gumi machine chugging, it’s important for you to look just as professional. Especially since you’re his wife.
Which is why you look like an infuriatingly sexy librarian, decked out in a tight black pencil skirt that hugs your hips, a blouse with the top two buttons undone and the collar pressed open to flaunt the designer necklace he bought you swinging from your neck, sheer black nylon thigh-highs that he’d kill to feel around his head, and stilettos, cute little charms on the buckles giving your outfit a whisper bit of cheer.
(The thought of you making yourself look extra pretty today just for him has Satoru internally busting on the spot, his blood simmering beneath the fine layer of his skin.)
‘The oyabun’s wife’, his men always dreamily sigh when you walk past them— only to whip around and stare at the wall when he slinks by not even a step behind you, his blue eyes cold and caustic when he glares at them in warning. Gorgeous, breath-taking, a prized jewel— and you’re all his.
“Normally I’d only be here to scold you and make you do your work, hubby,” you hum.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in my near future,” Satoru muses aloud, raising his eyebrows at you in question.
“No. Just a ‘however’.” Instead of being two dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyy’, they’re two smartasses fashioned in the same factory, complete with warnings labels.
“Yeesh. Can I ever be right with you?” He plasters his hand over his heart yet again and gives you a simpering moue.
You roll your eyes, a wordless ‘duh’. Satoru's lips slant upwards into a Cheshire cat smile as you reach forward and loop his tie around your fingers before giving it a tug, coaxing his chair to roll forward on the sleek hardwood floor. He uncrosses his legs and allows himself to be pulled up and out of it, heeled like a dog, stepping forward to stand between your legs after lightly kicking his chair away with a soft clatter.
Looking down at you through long white lashes that flutter like the first snowfall of winter, his gaze is a mix of playfulness and appreciation in its rawest form. Satoru has to admit, this view is far more pleasant than any spreadsheet that he was pretending to give his attention to before you strode in.
Your perch on his desk gives you an air of sophisticated dominance that makes his cock give a very interested twitch in his trousers that he can’t help. Sue him for being horrendously attracted to his wife.
Though he towers over you by a mere head due to the slight height advantage that his desk gives you, there’s no doubt that he yields completely and utterly to you. His brain conjures up an image of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. Glorious and championing above the rest of them; victorious.
‘Woof’, he thinks unintelligently.
“However,” you finally continue, beginning to smile. You keep a hold on his tie and tap his nose with the pointer of your free hand, which he wrinkles at you. “I’ve decided that I’ll spare you the lecture for today.”
Satoru's hands come up to rest on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow circles on the sleek nylon covering them. Your inviting warmth bleeds through the thin fabric. He so badly wants to get on the floor, brush them down, and sink his teeth into your plush skin until your skin pinkens. He settles for giving you a gentle squeeze.
“I thank you, oh great and benevolent goddess of the yakuza underworld,” he proclaims, delighting in the fondly exasperated groan that rumbles low in your throat. “I gotta say, I'm grateful for the reprieve, sweets. Though I suspect your mercy is short-lived," he adds with a chuckle. “So give it up already. Spill.”
Fucking hell. There goes a tiny fraction of the element of surprise that you thought you were holding over him like an anvil in a cartoon.
You silently curse his eerie perceptiveness. And his newfound x-ray vision, apparently, since he leans back a fraction to take you in again, his focus lingering on your skirt. But hey, the ball’s still very much in your court, and you’re playing to win.
Not letting it faze you, you heft your legs up, his hands shifting with you, and drape them around Satoru’s waist. His desk creaks beneath you at the distribution of weight. “Yeah, yeah. What I mean to say is that your husbandly duties are calling to you, not your obligations as oyabun.”
Satoru’s blue eyes search yours and he tilts his head, adorably puppy-like in a manner that suggests he’s more innocent than his ruthless reputation paints him to be. Though he’s the epitome of laxness, there’s a questioning sharpness to his expectancy that’d make lesser men quiver and confess to their every sin.
You stare right back at him. “I don’t have any panties on,” you explain simply.
If Satoru was aroused before, he’s now hornier than a pent-up nun. He hardens so fast that it makes him dizzy. “So you’re on that type of timing, got it,” he notes through his suddenly dry mouth as if his brain chemistry isn’t actively warping with this new information.
He wets his lips. His attention darts to the door. “Ijichi locked it,” you confirm before he can ask his question.
Good. Now he can focus on what matters: no panties. No panties. No panties. Fuck.
"Well, as your husband, it's my duty to attend to your every need and desire. And right now, it seems one of those needs is to have me buried deep inside your pretty kitty,” he coos, voice dripping something sinful. “But wowww, I never thought I’d see my stern ‘business over pleasure’ sweet pie pulling this kind of stunt. Seducing me so shamelessly in my own office, where anyone could walk in and catch us in a compromising position... for shame! What would people say if they knew you were on a mission to tempt your poor, innocent husband into sin?”
You sigh, long-suffering.
Suddenly curious to see if you’re hiding another surprise elsewhere, one hand leaves your knee and drifts up to the undone buttons of your blouse, popping another one open to expose more of your soft skin. Satoru bites his lip as his eyes snag on the lace of your bra. A shame that you’re not bra-less, but he’s fine with seeing you wear half of the set he commissioned for you from a designer in France that you like. He’s more than okay with this, actually.
You make no move to scold him or cover yourself up— you just amusedly stay fixed on him, your eyes gaining that telltale gleam when you’ve got him all tied up in knots. He’s walked into a honeytrap, hasn’t he?
Despite the clear desire emanating from him, there's a tenderness to his touch, a reverence for your body as the hand on your knee skirts up. He slides it higher up your thigh until the hem of your thigh-high gives way to skin, disappearing beneath your tight skirt to ascertain your bold claim. When Satoru’s knuckles graze your bare folds, which are slowly slickening, he whines as if he’s the one being touched. “Fuck, princess... you're actually not wearing anything at all, huh?” He groans softly, half surprised and half not that you were telling the truth.
“Duh,” you exhale. “I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you, though. Did you not see the—“
“The little treat that the panty fairy snuck into my pocket?” Now understanding, Satoru’s grin grows. Reverent… and, well, very perverted. “Sure did. I sniffed them, too.”
Your face contorts as if you don’t know what part to address first before you give up.
“But sometimes thiiis guy.” His eyes pointedly roll upwards in the direction of his forehead, then down at the obvious bulge in his pants. “Likes to take the backseat and let this big guy do all of the thinking. Can you blame me for being a little off my game today?”
“I can, actually. Do better. Even Yuuji gets more work done than you do,” you reply plainly.
Which says a lot. Yuuji’s one of the other secretaries here, though giving him that title feels… a little generous. You and Satoru see him regularly since Choso feels more comfortable going out and doing his job when Yuuji’s safe at headquarters. The teenager comes scampering into the building every day after school and Satoru pays him to do the class work that his teachers send him off with, play on his Nintendo Switch, and sometimes organize the racks of boxed files or make phone calls.
“Heyyy!”
Your cool breaks and you laugh. “You’re just easy to get to. That’s okay, though. It makes things more fun for me,” you tease in a slight singsongy lilt. You turn your head to worry his earlobe between your teeth, nipping then sucking for good measure before releasing it with an audible pop.
Breathing starting to pick up, he drops his face into the crook of your neck and drowns himself in the cocktail of the spritz of that floral perfume you favor and your natural scent. All the while, he blindly traces your slit. Up and down, entrance, clit, entrance, clit.
You cup your husband’s nape as Satoru nuzzles into your neck more urgently, feeling him shiver against you as your palm rasps over the short prickly hairs of his undercut, petting him. Your legs part a bit, skirt inching up as you rut your cunt against Satoru’s exploratory fingers and smear your wetness on him. Still, he doesn’t push in yet.
You’d think he’s teasing you if not for the obvious signs that he’s stalling. Either waiting for your permission or waiting for the best time to ask for it.
How well-trained.
"You make it sound like a bad thing, sugar. Like being under your thumb is a weakness and not a treat," Satoru says abruptly. "I prefer to think of it as... being very, very stupidly in love with my wife. I’m so far gone for you that I’d do anything that you asked of me.”
It’s so easy for him to say such devastating things from the heart without batting an eye; he’s as earnest as a child. It fells you day by day.
His voice is soft despite his low, raspy cadence, brilliant blue eyes bright with his eagerness to serve. At times, it’s almost hard to reconcile this man, the one who’s eating out of the palm of your hand, his nonexistent tail wagging the entire time, with one of the most feared oyabuns in Japan who could probably level half of Tokyo in an hour.
But you’re not forgetting his acts of what he calls ‘devotion’ any time soon. It’s rare that you walk in on him showing the full spread of his true colors, but there’s multiple incidents that stick out like a sore thumb. The one that clings to you like a particularly persistent burr occurred months before you even started dating.
It had been a fairly normal day, all things considered. Most of the men of the Gojo-gumi were preparing to intercept one of Ryomen’s ploys, banding together like sharks after blood in the main common room at headquarters. You remember frowning as you peered at each passing individual that was armed to the nines, searching for their leader so that you could deliver important documents before he could go gallivanting off to get his hands dirty, but Satoru was nowhere to be found.
You went to drop off the manila folder to his office but paused when you heard voices through the cracked door of his office. Sighing, you squatted to slip it under his door and leave, but Satoru’s voice in particular made your blood run cold and your joints lock up before you could lower yourself. “I should cut your balls off and feed them to you, you piece of shit,” he muttered with a scoff.
Apparently, one of his men, Hiro, had been coveting after you. His little work crush was fairly innocent to everyone who caught wind of it, but Satoru? He was the only one who dug into it and discovered Hiro’s… unsavory way of going about privately expressing his affections for you.
Unable to resist, you peeked through the crack right as Satoru unceremoniously tossed Hiro to the floor in front of Nanami and Choso, both of them passively watching. The easy, relaxed posture of Satoru’s lean frame hardened, his broad shoulders squaring as he stared down at the man’s mask of fear. His light blue eyes, typically vibrant and full of mirth, held a cold, calculating glint, like fake flakes fluttering around a snow globe.
You couldn’t watch much of what followed. You turned away when Satoru drew a wickedly sharp dagger from the strap around his thigh and stabbed it straight through the thickness of Hiro’s leg without so much as a warning. His underling’s screams echoed through the room as Satoru slowly, methodically twisted the blade, tearing through flesh and sinew. Blood pooled around the wound and spilled down the sides of his leg, staining the polished floor a deep, sticky red. Numbed to the violence, Nanami bent down at Satoru’s gesture and snatched Hiro’s phone from his pocket as he sobbed and sobbed, decisively crushing it and any evidence it contained beneath his shoe.
“Miss secretaaary, that you?” Satoru’s voice startled you for a second time that day. You forced your attention back to the cracked door, gaze locking onto Satoru’s pleasant, cheery smile that he gave you as if he wasn’t brutally torturing a man that he was planning to soon kill in cold blood. “Oh, good, it is. You can leave those documents on my desk.”
And that was that.
Satoru’s not exactly a good man. He’s done terrible things, will do worse still. This is a man that’s killed for you countless times and would do it again in a heartbeat. But if you asked him to give it up, he’d walk away from the Gojo-gumi and Japan as a whole without a word. He’d start fresh, wash himself of his sins, and build himself anew just for you. Not that you’d ever ask him to do that, but just knowing that you could and that he’d follow through… you’ve never felt so powerful, so needed in your entire life.
Satoru truly loves you.
“You know, I’ve heard that it’s good to air your privates out from time to time. For circulation and all that jazz.” The Satoru of the present interrupts. The tip of his finger curls, swiping up some of your wetness that spills from your entrance. “Clearly, though, you just wanna fuck nasty.”
You snort out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, I need you or whatever,” you dismiss him. As if you don’t need this man to nut in you, like, yesterday.
You grab his wrist, guiding him to fully probe at you instead of skirting around the core of you like he has been for the last few minutes. Quick to take you up on the offer, he parts your folds.
Satoru’s pointer finger sinks into you knuckle-deep, hot and fast, and you moan. It takes him a moment to realize why the slide is so easy, and when he does, he whips his head up, suddenly wild and straining at his leash.
“Sweets,” he groans with barely concealed awe. “When did you do this, huh?” He crooks, searching, and you arch when the roughened pad of his trigger finger pets at your walls, so close to where you want him. Tightening around him does nothing to disguise how comfortably loose you are from prepping yourself earlier. Then, a little giggly, a little manic, “Did all those spreadsheets on your desk get you hot and bothered?”
“Mhm, you know I just lo-love payroll,” you hiss when he works another stupidly long finger into you, then a third, his wedding band gleaming on it, and finally massages your g-spot. Your nails flex against his nape. “Had a quick finger blast 1000 session in the staff bathroom.”
“Hot,” he says with feeling. While prying for the sordid details is tempting, there’s more important matters at hand. Like rearranging your guts on his desk to satiate yours and his neediness while you chant ‘good boy good boy good puppy’ before someone inevitably comes knocking to bother him.
Humming a jaunty tune, Satoru pumps his fingers in and out of your cunt, feeling you grow wetter and hotter with each slow lazy thrust. He takes his time, relishing the way your velvety walls flutter around the intrusion of his digits every time he perfectly hits his mark.
Artistically draped atop his desk, you’re beautifully flushed and your eyes are glazed over, lashes fluttering when they threaten to roll back. He can see the fondness etched into your expression, the love, even as you examine him with that imperious tilt to your chin. Your face says what you don’t speak aloud: 'I know I have you wrapped around my little finger, and I'm not afraid to use that to my advantage.’
He’s no art fiend, but he’d go scuba diving in an instant to find the missing head of the Winged Victory of Samothrace and gorilla glue the two parts back together to prove that you’re art in the flesh, a statue of a goddess made with blood, sweat, tears, and passion come to life.
There’s very little space between you. Your breaths intermingle. Pointedly, he glances down at your lips, and you do the same to him.
“C’mere,” he beckons, but you’re already hauling him in with the hand on the back of his neck.
You slot their mouths together with a low, happy noise akin to a purr. He kisses back eagerly, desperately, positively starved for your affection that he’s been yearning for all day. Satoru’s lips part with a shuddery sigh and he pushes his tongue past your pillowy lips to stroke along yours, tasting the sweetness of your mouth; a dash of mocha overridden by those matcha chocolates that he got you hooked on.
You squeeze tighter around his waist, milking a wounded noise from him. Gentle yet firm, you trap his tongue between your teeth, scraping over it and coaxing out the reaction you want. He predictably wedges himself closer and you drag your nylon-clad thigh over the bulge at the crotch of his pants, up and down.
The desk creaks beneath you again as Satoru leans into it and shamelessly dry humps your leg with obvious flexes of his hips. You’re no better, though, rutting into the cup of his palm and squirming in delight every time those delicious callouses of his chafe against your aching clit.
“Feeling good?” He mumbles into you. You nod, tilting your head and realigning your lips, making their kiss that much more heated. His ministrations briefly make your mouth uselessly part against his, too wrapped up in pleasure to function.
Satoru’s the first to break away. He hikes your skirt up, revealing more of your plushy legs clad in those sinful thigh-highs until he finallyyyy lays eyes on the prize. He cups your mound then pulls his palm away, just to watch how thin translucent strings chase after him before snapping and splattering on your inner thighs.
He lifts his hand and looks you dead in the eye, warming some of your gathered wetness between his forefinger and middle before sucking them clean. Ravenous. You know what he wants.
“Can I, y’know, take a proper look at your pussy up close?” Satoru asks, sly but not sly. “I wouldn’t be a good hubby if I didn’t make sure that my girl properly got herself nice and ready for m—“
“Satoru? Get on your knees.”
You have to give it to him, the man moves fast as fuck when given an order. Satoru swiftly drops down, making you worry for his knees that hit the rug hard enough that the wood below it audibly thunks.
And he stares. In an unabashedly perverted manner, at that.
“Let’s see this pretty pussy,” is all he mumbles, chewing his lips and fastening his thumbs into the skin around your folds, tugging you open with a filthy squelch of wet skin peeling away from wet skin. Spreading you wide enough that you prickle with pins and needles— or maybe that’s just because of his unnerving stare.
Your glistening cunt is swollen and enticingly slick with need. The sight of your pussy lips unfurling before him and your clit peeking out from beneath its hood has his mouth watering. Satoru’s cock jumps in his pants like he’s just had a live wire threaded into the slit of his cockhead, desperate to bury inside of you, balls deep.
He looks up at you then. His cerulean eyes gleam with a borderline manic light, wolfish in his intensity. “What next? Want me to heel? Chase my tail? Roll over?” He drawls, cocking his head. He’s more than ready to debase himself in any way you want just to get his back scratched.
You shrug, “I want whatever you want.”
Greed is a sin or whatever, he thinks dimly. But he can't bring himself to care. His fingers dance up and hook under the crook of your right knee, placing it on his shoulder. “Then lemme eat my meal.”
You hate that that makes you shudder. It also makes you wanna shut him up.
“Who are you asking?” You check, cupping your ear. “Try again; you know better, baby.”
The lilt you take on to simultaneously coax and rebuke him only serves to turn him on more, making his poor neglected cock press insistently against his zipper. Satoru knows that look in your eyes. It's the same one you give him when he's been particularly foolish— the ‘bouquet(s) incident’ instantly comes to mind— or when you want something from him. In this case, it's clear that his wife wants him to be good.
His cheeks flush a soft pink, his blue eyes growing hazier with lust, not embarrassment. You’d think that he’d rally against the condescension that coats your words like condensation pearling on a windowpane, but not an inch of his pride bristles beneath your firm hand. Not when he’d strip himself down to the marrow and hand all of himself to you on a silver platter. His pleasure, his pain, his heart and soul… it’s all yours for the taking.
“Mommy,” he moans as if the word itself does more for him than it does for you. And it probably does. “My sexy, gorgeous, take-no-shit-from-anyone, especially her husband, mommy. Can I taste you, please?”
You smile, pleased. Then, finally, because he’s been waiting so patiently, “Go ahead.”
Shit, you don’t gotta tell him twice.
Like a scenthound tracking a trail, Satoru instantly shoves his way between your legs and buries his face in your crotch, gulping down lungfuls of your scent with the desperation of an addict and making you huff out a shaky laugh. The heat radiating from you is staggering.
"You smell like heaven, holy fuck. Good enough to eat. Lucky for you, I’m starving,” he borderline complains. It’s a complete juxtaposition to how he purrs those muffled words into your skin. You shudder at the vibrations.
“That was corny as—“
Satoru was as menacing when it came to pleasuring you as he was as oyabun. There’s no shooting straight and simple with him; he’s reckless, skateboarding on the knife’s edge for the hell of it. He goes from carelessly smothering himself into you, eyes teetering back in their sockets as if drunk with each pass of your slick across his chin, lips, cheeks, to turning his head and dragging messy kisses into the crease between your hip and leg. His saliva and your wetness ooze down your inner thigh, akin to a ripe May mango being carved open and spilt on hot concrete.
But if he’s dangerous, then you’re terrifying.
Pain shears razor-sharp through his scalp. You snag your fingers into his hair, guiding and tethering at the same time, forcing him to stare into the mess they’ve both made of you. He whines, chomping at the bit for it.
“That’s not what I gave you permission to do. Down, boy.” You click your tongue. His teeth click together with how fast he shuts his trap. “I’m beginning to think that you can’t take orders after all. What a shame,” you sigh, the timbre of your voice gentle but your words condescending.
Though he gives you a guilty pout, his cock instantly spurts precum due to the way you’re speaking to him, further soiling his boxers. A teensy part of him wants to act out, harmlessly push against you until you round on him with the intensity of a thousand suns so that you’ll break him over your knee. Playing the part of the petulant brat is fun sometimes. However, his knee-jerk reaction to prove you wrong and take you up on your silent challenge that you’ve presented him with wins out.
Satoru can be a good boy without a doubt.
Sure, he was never the type to care about what other people thought of him, just as long as everyone knows that he’s the reigning king of the yakuza scene. That he’s the richest, the handsomest, everything in that vein.
But the idea of showing you how he could lend his ear to you and listen well, how he was only good for you, that he was only yours to kiss and love and fuck, was enough to drive him borderline crazy.
With his extremely selective hearing and all that corded muscle packed beneath his baby soft skin, you both know damn well that he could steer this situation however he pleased if he wanted to. Yet he goes pliant in your grip, watching, waiting, licking hungrily at his pronounced canines. A predator turned tame as he awaits your order.
It makes you feel drunkenly valorous.
You tilt his head up, angling him so, as if reminding yourself that you’re holding genuine gold and not any of that counterfeit bullshit. His blue eyes are half-mast and dreamy when you peer into them, pupils blown wide. He’s sitting back on his heels with a casual ease, too far away to kiss but not far enough that you can’t smell the intoxicating scent of him, a heady mix of vanilla and cinnamon and sandalwood.
This beautiful, arrogant, infuriating nutcase of a man. Seeing him like this makes your heart do flips. You live for moments like these, when he can let go and just be yours completely. The most feared man in Japan, brought to his knees by the woman he loves.
You tap your chin. “Didn’t your parents teach you that it’s improper to play with your food?”
His retort comes quick. “I think they cared more about making sure I could properly unload, load, and shoot a gun in less than ten seconds. And juggle multiple businesses at once. All of which I excel at, by the way.”
“Smart ass,” you scoff, but the words lack their usual bite. You sound affectionate.
“Mm, but you love my mouth.” Satoru, lecherous, wiggles his eyebrows. You can’t deny that.
“What was it that Suguru told me ages ago?” Satoru wonders aloud, glancing up at the ceiling as if it’ll come to him in a show of divine light. You’re incredibly unimpressed and almost want to shove him face first into you and do all the work yourself, but you wait. “‘Thanks should be given thricefold?’ That’s all I’m doing.”
He replants his face into your inner thigh, wetting the lacy top of your thigh-high with one indulgent lick, then latches onto your plump thigh and sucks and bites with a vengeance. The peachy pink of his shapely lips bleeds forth and mixes with your skin, producing the same color beneath his teeth. Once the hickey is dark enough for his standards and you’re writhing a little, he mumbles a faint ‘thank you’ and switches to your other leg, mauling your skin with obnoxiously loud slurps, leaving a second mark and professing his thanks again.
Then his mouth finally makes contact with your cunt and you’re a goner.
This is the same man that got you a little wet on their first date, you remind yourself. You remember sitting across from him, taking subtle deep breaths as if the very air in your lungs would break every piece of fine china in the five star Michelin restaurant that Satoru dragged you to, and stiffly cutting your wagyu steak.
Satoru knocked back the rest of his non-alcoholic drink like it was a shot, ice clinking against his lips, then sucked the single cherry between them. Grinning a little at you, he chewed into the cherry with crisp snaps of his teeth until only the stem remained. And the show-off kept his mouth open so that you could watch him tie the teeny tiny stem into a neat knot using only his tongue and the support of his teeth.
It’s safe to say that he’s really, really talented with his tongue.
He drags deep, open-mouthed kisses up and down your slit, sloppily making out with your cunt. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and firmly licks into you, and when he moans like a whore into your quivering pussy at the first taste of real, genuine ambrosia, the vibrations take root in your nerves and shake them fiercely. You keen as if you’ve been socked in the stomach, hands digging harder into his fluffy white hair and making him moan again.
“Oh, shit, yesyesyes, good boy,” you pant at the very sudden and very enjoyable onslaught.
From what you’ve learned, the best way to train a puppy is through positive reinforcement, patience, and rewarding good behavior. It works wonders.
Satoru's hand crawls to the underside of your left thigh and he tosses that one over his broad shoulders too, settling in to eat you out with single-minded focus. He feasts on you like a man starved, gathering the wetness that drips from your core, dipping inside your entrance that doesn’t resist him even a little bit to taste you more fully and nuzzling his nose against your clit, spurred on by the praises you keep singing. Three laps and he’s a swimmer. The cocktail of his saliva and your slick coats his chin and pools on the wood beneath your ass.
You dig the points of your stilettos just above his shoulder blades. Using your newfound stirrups and gripping the reins of his hair, you vigorously grind yourself against his face to try and unravel the knot in your stomach. Satoru loves when you get bossy like this, wrangling him so that you can take what you want. It’s so fucking hot.
“That’s what good pussy sounds like,” he groans, muffled by your skin, even though he can barely hear the lewd squelches of your responsive body himself, the wet clicks of his suckling. Your trembling thighs are firmly locked around his head— it wouldn’t be so bad to suffocate here. You squeeze harder, squishing his ears further against his head, as if telling him to shut up and stop quoting Vines of all things while buried in his favorite deep-dish.
He doesn’t stop running his mouth, though. “Tastes so good, f-fuck, bet you feel good too with how soaked you are. Keep moving your hips just like that, mommy, use me— just like that, yeaaah,” is breathed nose-deep into your folds that soaks every word up like a sponge. “Drag that pretty cunt all over me.”
His lips are lovely and warm, diligent in his ministrations. Choppy exhales ghost across your skin and make you flinch. He pulls back a little to lave over your clit, tasting the sweet, salty wetness that coats it, and he sinks into the bliss and into you. He gorges himself on the sweetness of your juices, swallowing it down and letting it trickle down his throat.
Satoru looks up at you, eyes frantic with adoration like he’s pleased to be doing this, just eating you out without any sort of gain for himself. There’s been countless times where Satoru’s pinned you down and munched for hours, languorous in his effort to coax noises and reactions from you. He’s done it in a changing room, during their movie marathons, on his private jet to one of their vacation homes, fresh from beating people black and blue, when you were sleeping in their cozy king-sized bed back at the Gojo estate… the list goes on. Earning gratification via your pleasure is enough for him.
Each stroke through your weeping slit elicits an approving moan or whimper from the beauty perched atop his desk, growing higher in pitch the closer you get to the edge. Your husband sounds just as wrecked, mewling babbled nonsense into you, ferally plunging his tongue in and out of your silken depths that he’d kill to stay swaddled in forever.
You screw yourself down onto him with equal fervor, your body heaving with the force of your pleasure, twisting and writhing and making the desk creak. Perhaps you’re being a bit too punishing with your pace and not letting him up for air, but Satoru takes it all with grace, not a single whimper of protest slipping past your hips that slap against his face.
"Cum for me, angel," he pathetically begs, his thumb seeking out your clit to trace circles against it. His tongue continues its relentless assault, determined to push you over the edge and into blissful oblivion. "Let me feel you. Want my baby to make a mess of me, c’mon.”
When it becomes too much, the fervent sparks licking down the sparkler too fast, you lightly bat his head away. Satoru goes quickly and obediently. Your hips itch to chase him. “Open, puppy,” you bite out.
His mouth falls open, whiny pants drooling down his pretty pink tongue. That’s all it takes to do you in. With his thumb rolling over your swollen rosebud and his eagerness on full display, you let the intensity of your orgasm sweep you away and you keen as you squirt all over his face.
Viscous fluid splashes on his tongue and he moans, looking utterly out of it as he watches you find your release. Slick coats his cheeks, chin, and lips in a glistening sheen and he licks up what he can. Satoru scrambles forward for more of it even as you try to physically hold him at bay with the weak hand fixed in his wavy strands.
“Please!” He basically cries. You’re a sucker for good manners. You’d try harder to keep him away if you actually didn’t want him all over you, so he takes your unspoken permission that comes in the form of a furrowed brow, as if you’re scolding yourself for giving in, and he runs with it.
He practically collapses into you. He seals his mouth back over your gushing pussy, fingers abandoning your clit in favor of clawing at the nylon smoothed over your thighs. Groaning, your shaking legs relax around his head and slip off his shoulders, splayed open for him to lick his plate clean. Satoru does just that, a little clumsy in his haste but no less passionate.
He keeps going until your erratic twitches turn into steady shudders, your nonstop moans quieting down, until his jaw aches from how hungrily he threw himself into the task. He doesn’t even realize that he’s palming himself through his slacks until his hips sway forward and he pulsates in his grip.
Satoru reluctantly draws back as if it physically pains him to not be buried beneath your skin when your high heel lightly kicks at his flank, too overstimulated to allow him to keep going. His gaze drags over you, recommitting every fine detail to memory; trembling lips punctured by teeth marks, your expression dreamy, body curled halfway over him and ripe for the taking. He wants to remember you like this, wants to burn this image into his brain so that he can call it up when the long nights stretch before him and the weight of his duties threaten to crush him.
“You’re so pretty, mommy. My pretty baby,” he whispers.
He meets your eyes that burn into him. He can only imagine what he looks like. Pink from the tips of his ears down to his neck, face messily painted over with your slick, white hair fluffed up and a little frizzy from the sweat at his hairline. A pussydrunk mess.
You almost want to press your high heel to his chest, kick him to the floor, and then ride him until he cries. The lazier half of you wants to sit back and take the reins from below.
“Let’s get those pants of yours off, baby,” you gently coo.
Satoru exhales sharply and fumbles with his belt. The leather strap slips through the buckle with a sharp clink and he tosses it to the floor. His boxers drag along his erection almost painfully as he shoves them and his slacks down to bunch around his shapely thighs.
Flushed and dripping, his cock draws up now that it’s free of the confines and slaps against his abdomen, staining his pristine white button up with the copious amounts of precum that slicks it. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve been convinced that he already blew his load in his pants. You sit up straighter to get a better look, looking as drunk as he feels.
“Please let me fuck you, mommy... I need it so bad. Need to make you feel good,” he pleads, blue eyes nearly rolling up to the light fixtures on the office ceiling as he finally fists his weepy cock. It feels so good that it hurts.
He was never apologetic about his spoiled golden child tendencies when it comes to you, even borderline proud of acting so shameless about it at times.
Still, Satoru needs a certain level of coaxing in order to be truly vulnerable. His obedience has always been fickle— difficult to coax out of him when his head is on straight, his thoughts moving too fast for him to melt like putty beneath you that easy. Pride is a wretched, untamable thing. An unstoppable force and an immovable object.
Yet he’s on his knees begging to get inside of you.
“Get up,” you breathe.
“Huh?” He mumbles stupidly, still fixed on you.
Your laugh is devastatingly fond. “Are we fucking or what?” You shove your pencil skirt up to your midsection.
Satoru gets a little distracted by the sight of your mussed up thigh highs, the tops of them soaked through, the splotchy hickeys dotting both of your legs, and your messy folds. His thumb stutters over his swollen cockhead.
“You don’t wanna leave mommy waiting, do you? Come get your dick wet.”
The second you finish speaking, he’s on you, flying up onto his feet and ignoring the smarting pain in his knees. He reaches past you and wildly sweeps at his desk, sending papers and pens to the floor. In the next instant, his hands are on the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs up and out to get a good look at your bare ass and glistening cunt.
While admiring the view, he risks his precious left hand by letting it come down to deliver a sharp smack to your ass. When you don’t bite his head off, he does it again, because damn, that’s a lot of movement back there. Your asscheek flares red like a warning. He’s of the opinion that you should get ‘Ms. Nasty’ tatted there, but you always shoot down the idea.
Fingers wrench at your hips to haul you forward, making you choke on air. Sweaty palms scramble for purchase on the smooth oak, stretching back behind you and hooking onto the edge of the desk at the last minute before he can send both of you falling to the floor in a heap.
“Gentle,” you scold. The flare of his nostrils gives away his uncharacteristic disappointment with himself, which you think is a little unfair to himself. He really has been so well behaved; one mishap is nothing. Humming soothingly, you pet at his cheek and his tension releases like a deflated balloon.
You shimmy a little, rubbing your velvety warmth all over his cock that he notches at your entrance. "Good boy," you purr, hooking your legs around his waist and crossing your ankles at the small of his back, tying them together with a cute little bow. "Such an obedient little puppy, following mommy's every command.”
Satoru groans, guttural and wet, and surges forward to connect their lips. The tangy taste of your own slick greets you, but you don’t mind, drinking down every pornographic whimper that drips from his mouth.
“Put it in,” you mumble between drawn out kisses. You rub your thumb just behind one of his ears and a pleased hum rumbles through his chest, which rises and falls rapidly as anticipation coils tightly in his gut. You shove his suit jacket off of his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, then loosen Satoru’s tie enough that you can get your fingers on the first button at his collar and work your way down. You leave his shirt hanging from his shoulders but you roll his sleeves up.
Arms that have snapped countless necks flex as Satoru plants his hands on the desk on either side of your hips, caging you in. You drag your hands up and down them, squeezing at the muscle of his biceps beneath his skin, shamelessly feeling up your husband. His cocky smirk is like a brand against your lips.
One, two, three more kisses are exchanged before he pulls back with a wet pop and you can finally peel your eyes open.
Lean muscle and pale scarred skin greets you, peeking from behind the curtain of his undone shirt. Not that you can see it from here, but you can practically picture the massive tattoo of a six-eyed, six-winged angel that he has etched into his back. There’s that jagged scar of his that always makes you wince in sympathy, the line of it running from one shoulder to his opposite hip that an assassin gave him when he was in high school. A smattering of fine white hairs races down his navel to the denser patch of hair curling around his cock. God, you wanna rub yourself all over him like a cat in heat— especially on those washboard abs of his.
With a deep breath, he begins pushing in, working just the tip in past the ring of your cunt. Instantly, Satoru stutters over a moan as if near tears.
Your velvety hole drenches Satoru’s cock with your syrupy slick and clamps down mercilessly as if trying to trap him inside. He shudders, a full-body tremor that starts at the top of his head and travels down the length of his body. Satoru has to grit his teeth to keep from emptying his balls right then and there like a teenager getting his first taste of pussy.
He’s genuinely delirious. His head is dizzy, stupid, because his wife is obscenely fucking tight despite everything and so damn warm. “My toes are throwing up gang signs,” Satoru coughs out as they curl in his Italian leather shoes and you bust out laughing. As responsive as ever, your cunt tries to wring his dick like a towel and he chokes.
You’re actually gonna be the death of him. Here he lies, Gojo Satoru, the deadly oyabun of the Gojo-gumi and the pride of the Gojo clan, dead via sex. May he forever rest in peace.
You’re not faring much better, though. Your previous orgasm left you raw and sensitive, so you’re fighting against the urge to run from his cock and the pleasure that crashes over you each time he throbs inside of you. “And I’m sending off Morse code signals,” you breathlessly joke. It’s a miracle that you’re able to manage a coherent sentence.
“Uh huh, I can tell.” Satoru licks his lips, staring down at where he guides another inch into you, then another, making you slap the desk to try and cope with the way he’s spreading you open. You feel full to the brim and he’s not even halfway there. “Your tight little cunt’s telling me that she can’t handle my cock.”
He needs his mouth washed out with soap. You have to hold back another peal of laughter.
Satoru brokenly whimpers, a sound that’s equal parts pleasure and pain, when you yank at his designer silk tie like a leash without warning. The expensive fabric pulls taut against his throat. Your next tug sends him stumbling forward, hips slapping against the plumpness of your ass with a heavy smack that echoes through his spacious office, forcing him to sink into your welcoming heat up to the hilt. The desk creaks, the wood protesting the rough treatment. Both of you moan when his cockhead smushes against your g-spot and your brain momentarily goes blank.
“You sure it’s not the other way around?” You try for a smirk and it wobbles around the edges.
“Hmph.” Satoru manages to pout at you, pursing his lips. He even rolls his eyes. This diva.
Attempting to dig up the dregs of your sanity and cling to it is hard. You’re one wrong step away from losing your cool, the sheer pressure and pleasure of being practically split in two overwhelming you. It's too much, too intense, and yet you can't stop from leaning into it nor stop the excessive amounts of slick pooling around him and dribbling onto the desk in a steady rhythm, spelling out your arousal. All you know is that you want more— more of Satoru and this perfect, mind-numbing ecstasy.
The man of the hour goes willingly as you wrap more of his tie around your fingers and reel him impossibly closer. He drops his weak head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck as he grinds his hips in tight circles that stir up your insides, practically humping your ass like a rutting canine. He only stops when you let loose an unsteady peep.
His breath shakes out of him in short, sharp gusts, lost in the sensation of being buried inside of you. "You feel so fucking good, sugar," Satoru slurs his words a little, nipping at the tendons in your neck that flex when you swallow before soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. He inhales the lip-smacking scent of your natural scent and your perfume. "So wet and perfect. Can't get enough of this sweet cunt."
He kisses his way down your neck and to your collarbone as you both adjust to being so intimately joined, reveling in how you loll your head back to give him more skin to work with. He spies down your shirt that gapes open a little, showing where your necklace is trapped between your heaving breasts, and gets an idea.
The muscles in his arms bunch up right before Satoru rips at the front of your blouse, figuring he’ll buy you a prettier and more expensive one later. He doesn't care. All he cares about is getting his hands on your tits, plain and simple.
You can only watch in mild horror as buttons pop off and fly everywhere (one nearly takes out his eye), ping ping pinging off the walls and the floor, a shower of scattered stars. One goes skittering beneath his office door. Another bounces so hard off of a tiny lamp across the room that it goes careening off of the side table and the lightbulb smashes into bits on the floor.
Since everything’s already going to shit, he doesn’t bother with finesse when it comes to the front of your now decimated, but blessedly open, shirt. He simply yanks the fabric down your arms until it pools around your elbows.
“What the hell, Satoru!” You scold him. The subtle hitch of your hips and your dilated pupils betray you. “I swear to god, if you don’t learn the art of subtlety and figure out how to stay quiet, I’ll—“
“Relax, my men’ll probably think it was hail or something,” he says flippantly.
Your glare is withering. Shit, he needs to score brownie points all over again.
He nips at the soft upper curves of your breasts, burying his face between them as far as he can with the restriction of your bra holding him back, and innocently blinks up at you, trying to look as sweet as pie. “Wait, I’m sorry for interrupting you. Go on, wrap it up. Tell me how you’d shut me up, yeah? Would it hurt? I wanna know all the dirty deets,” Satoru simpers.
“Hit dogs holler.”
Ooooooh.
“Fuck, fuck, stop right there, I nearly came,” Satoru moans dramatically.
Your low, aggrieved noise turns into a wobbly inhale when he leans down to mouth at the swell of your cleavage, tongue tracing the edge of a cup before he pulls that down too.
Out pops your titty. His dick nearly busts inside of you as if saying hi. He quickly yanks down the other cup to let both of your breasts fully spill free, both of them begging to be worshipped. “There’s my girls,” he croons.
Your nipples quickly harden now that they’re exposed to the cool air chugging through the vents. There’s very few things better than anointing every inch of your pretty tits with kisses and licks and nips, which he does happily. He squishes them together to enthusiastically motorboat them (he misses the way your eye twitches), slaps your left tit to watch it jiggle and spits on the right one, watching the strand of saliva slip down the curve of your body. Satoru chases it down and sucks your nipple into his mouth. Being winded by all this stimulation does nothing to stop you from eagerly arching into him.
“Having fun?” You ask dryly. Teeth roll your nipple around, gently biting into it and eliciting a weak spasm from you. Your vision threatens to cross when that makes your body swallow his cock in further.
He pulls back, breaking the seal of his lips on your breast with a lewd pop. Just to ensure he’s covered all his bases, he openly sniffs your chest. You grimace at him. “Mmmmm. Yup. Can I move now, mommy?”
You nod.
“Good.”
You’re promptly fully laid down atop the desk. Before you can even blink, he’s screwing his shoes into the foothold of the carpet beneath him, gripping at your hips, and he plasters half of the weight of his upper half on you without crushing you.
Hips draw back with the tautness of a bowstring, a deadly instrument of war. The tension is suspended when he slides the thickness of him almost fully out, your folds just barely clinging to the underside of his throbbing cockhead.
He releases it. Driving forward, he hits his mark with military precision and you swear you can feel him up in your throat.
“Satoru,” you gasp, your voice nearly drowned out by the sticky squelch of his body reconnecting with yours. You’re leaking so much that your ass and thighs and his pelvis are finely glazed with slick, a concoction as thickly sweet as the one pasted over pastries.
“Shit.” The curse punches its way up his throat and out of the drooling seam of his mouth. Starting up a filthy grind drags more from his worn lungs. He rocks with the sensual finesse and purpose of someone seasoned in the realm of the red light district, dragging along each crevice of your heavenly warmth.
(Your stern, nonchalant facade nearly crumbled when you asked him if he’d ever been to the red light district back when you first started dating years ago, long before wedding bells rang. At the time, you kind of wanted to throw up even though it would’ve made sense and you would’ve understood. Why get jealous of what came before you? However, Satoru looked at you like you hit your head. “For Gojo-gumi business? Yeah, of course I have. I literally own a few clubs in those parts.”)
Every silky inch of you threatens to be his ruin. You’re pillow soft. Satoru has to screw his eyes shut in a futile attempt to handle it. “God, fuuuuck, baby. M’so drunk on this pretty body of yours, so addicted to you that it’s driving me crazy,” he warbles.
His fingertips dig into the soft pouch of your hips, keeping you in place so that you can release your death grip on the edge of his desk. “There you go, that’s— that’s perfect, right there. That’s a good boy. Mommy’s perfect boy,” you babble right back.
The way you praise him all sweet with your voice tuned to a higher pitch, your blessed hands finally petting over every inch of him that you can touch, slipping under his shirt to dance along the knobs of his spine, nails biting into the inked angel on his back, drawing your fingers back out to brush them along his face— it’s like a switch flips in his brain, reducing him to a needy mess incapable of doing nothing but pleasing you. You have him under lock and key.
The poor desk beneath you feebly creaks and wobbles, openly protesting their coupling. Drawers rattle in their slots from the force of Satoru's increasingly powerful thrusts, banging open in a chaotic cacophony and spilling papers and office supplies onto the floor. With a whine, Satoru changes the pace so that he’s battering his way in and out of your cunt to the rhythm of your pulsations around his cock, like a bass being plucked. Your joint moans grow borderline frantic.
“Open your eyes.” Satoru peels his eyelids apart to look at you as requested. He blinks back the spots lining his vision.
Your beauty is the kind that he’s sure artists would kill to put on paper. Sweat glistens enticingly on your trembling body, making it seem like you’ve been buffed in stardust, your abs fluttering every time his cockhead kisses that spongy spot deep inside you that drives you insane. The commanding pools of your eyes reel him in and it makes him melt.
“My gorgeous fucking wife,” he rasps. “Mine.”
The flat of Satoru’s palm smooths down to your stomach. He presses down right where there’s visible distension from the thickness of his cock embedding itself in you. Your lips fall apart in a lewd ‘o’ as the pressure adds to the hot sparks of pleasure flooding your body. “That’s how deep I am, huh, princess? It's allll in your tummy,” he crows breathlessly, trying to sound cocky but failing. Miserably.
Your nod is borderline frantic. “Keep fucking me just like this,” you insist, eyes rolling back, body jolting. And he obliges.
His face is dusted in a dark pink shade that L’Oréal would kill to make a lipstick out of and Satoru’s sporting a fucked-out, hopelessly giddy grin. Sweat marches down his temples, his snow-white hair falling damp and disheveled over his brow from his exertions. His once crisp button-up hangs off his broad shoulders, the tie swinging from around his pale neck.
Blue eyes hazy and wrecked, lust swims in the yawning voids of his irises as he stares down at where he’s joined with his wife. He watches, enraptured, as your stretched cunt greedily sucks him in, tight walls adhering to him and pumping out slick.
With the way Satoru’s sinking into you with heavy deep strokes, you matching him with frenzied ruts of your own hips, it’s like he’s trying to crawl inside of you and never come out. This intimate closeness is what he craves, needs. Satoru’s long white eyelashes, clumpy and wet, veil his vision with how low lidded his eyes are. He blinks at you between the slits with raw, open affection.
Using his hold on your hips, he yanks you onto his cock over and over and over again. His chin drops to bump against his sternum, groans hissing through the barrier of his teeth as you cry out and squeeze around him. “Sosososo fucking good, swear on everything that you’re perfect. Use me for your pleasure. Juuust like that, pretty, I got you,” Satoru spews like a two-bit whore on the street.
He’s too loud. Any illusion that you may have been quiet enough to have gone undetected to the rest of the building has been long shattered, but schematics, schematics.
Your thumb draws at the plump swell of Satoru’s bottom lip, pushing into the slight natural divot of them. His eyes follow the movement, transfixed, and he opens up without hesitation when you replace your thumb with two fingers.
Satisfied, you sink them into Satoru’s mouth. “Stay quiet and occupy yourself with mommy’s fingers.” He lets out a muffled moan in response as you push them deeper, tongue instinctively curling to try and force them right back out, but he forces himself to relax. He draws his tongue lazily over your fingers, tasting his own saliva mingling with the faint flavor of your lotion.
Creeping over his soft palate, you press at the back of his throat, coolly watching him gag around the invading force for a moment before sliding them back out, back in with a wet noise. Drool escapes the corners of his stretched lips in rivulets and dribbles down his chin and onto your sternum, making him look more like a sloppy, over-excited puppy than the feared yakuza boss he is.
The points of his canines shrieeeek over the gloss of your nails when you stretch your fingers apart in a ‘v’ and nestle them between his teeth. Yet he doesn’t bite down. He holds your fingers there like a soft mouthed retriever, docile and tender.
“My baby likes having any part of mommy in his mouth, yeah?” You manage.
He dutifully nods. You indulge him until your fingers prune, letting him suckle and gag himself on you to his heart’s content. There’s a constant stream of gargled moans and whimpers flowing from him, all of his words running together until it’s just meaningless sound. Only then do you pull them out, allowing more of his saliva to splatter on your sternum and ooze down between your bobbing breasts.
It’s a little hard to secure a hold with your wet fingers, but you manage to snag the edge of his tie and once again use it to dictate the pace of his thrusts, pushing and pulling him around the same way one does with a toy.
By now, any semblance of coherency has all but been forgotten and he’s just rutting into you, mindless, puppy-like; the relief of fixating on you and your pleasure a thrilling change of pace from the constant demands and expectations that come with his position. He may be looming over you as he fucks you like his life depends on it, but he’s under no illusion that he’s the one in control here.
They’re moving in sync, two waves cresting and crashing and ensuring each other’s ruin every time they come together. Teeth chafe against skin, promising, before sinking in. Fingers grapple for proper leverage, smoothly trimmed nails sinking into warm thighs and scalps and sweaty backs. Your ass claps against his thighs so hard that it burns, sopping pussy ravenous in its efforts to envelop him.
“Shit, m’not gonna last long,” you heave. Your legs tighten around his slutty ass waist and cling there for dear life when one of his flexing hands drops away from your hip, hurriedly dipping down between you and frantically rubbing his thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves.
“You’re so close, I can feel it, f-fuck, squeezing me so tight. C’mon. Make a mess of my cock, please cum for me again, mommy. I’m all yours, I’m all yours, I’m all yours,” Satoru deliriously whines.
You see red.
It’s not the kind of red that comes from anger. No, it’s the kind that comes from having your brain cells fry from the sheer mind-numbing euphoria that bursts through your body like a supernova. You’re pretty sure you wail as your slick rushes wetly from your plugged up cunt, but it’s drowned out by the roaring blood swelling in your ears.
You babble a litany of nonsense, half of it praise and half of it mindless chants for more, for less, you don’t know. Satoru more than happily fucks you through your orgasm, thumbing your clit, driving wildly into you and making you mercilessly convulse.
"That's it, angel," he groans, feeling his own release fast approaching. A gooey feeling curls in his stomach, hotly insistent, and his balls draw up. It’s riding him hard.
Bowing further over you, he bodily pries your shaking legs away from his waist and tosses them over his shoulders, folding you in half like a lawn chair and making one sleeve of his shirt slide further down his arm. The new angle allows him to push impossibly deeper and your moan scratches it’s way out of the column of your throat.
"I'm gonna... fuck, I'm gonna cum, sweets," he grits out through clenched teeth, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. But it's a losing battle, his body trembling and tensing as he teeters on the precipice of ecstasy. Only you, his anchor, ties him down to earth. "Tell me I can... tell me I can cum inside this perfect cunt."
You don’t respond, either too busy drowning in the remnants of your climax or just blatantly ignoring him, and he releases a big shuddery whimper when he realizes his misstep. “Please,” he tries.
Big blue eyes watery and wide, he looks like a ruined angel above you. “I’ll buy you that new phone you wanted, or take you on a trip anywhere in the world. I’ll do anything, say the word and I will. Just— just lemme cum. Please, mommy.” His saliva-slick lips drag down your chest and seal around one of your pearly nipples, suckling gently and trying to appeal further to you.
He sounds so broken, so desperate, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. It almost makes you wonder if you could cum again just from hearing him like this. You know you could make him beg for hours if you wanted to, even demand that he halt completely, but he hasn’t done anything to warrant being on the receiving end of your borderline sadistic streak.
(Though, knowing this 6’3 eager to please masochist on top of you, he’d rock with it.)
“Go ahead, baby,” you tell him. Nails claw at his back, likely shredding along the feathery lines of the tatted angel’s wings, further spurring him on.
“Ffffuck, thank you, thank you, I love you so much,” he chants around your swollen nipple, voice breaking on each word. He pulls his mouth away, spit clinging to his lower lip and connecting him to your tits that sway every time he rocks his twitching hips against yours.
Satoru greedily paws at you, squeezing your pillowy breasts, tracing your curves, pressing into your navel, anything he can get his hands on. He's like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet, determined to sample everything until he’s no longer allowed to.
Your neck strains as you thrash your head and he visibly wavers like a house about to fall. “What, can’t take it anymore?” Satoru pokes fun, but his question is really a ‘you good?’
“Shut up.” ‘I’m fine, I love you, go ahead.’
The perks of a married couple… telepathy.
Satoru drops his head, slams into you a little faster. The drawers continue rattling like teeth in a jar. Despite the euphoria clogging your pores and melting your brain down, you lift your hands, cupping his face, thumbs fanning outwards from the bridge of his nose and gently digging into the warming apples of his cheeks.
He leans into your touch, nuzzling into your palms as your thumbs brush away tears that he didn’t realize were escaping him. In his electric blue eyes that make your nerves sing with just a glance, you can see the depth of his devotion and trust in you, the way he's utterly handing himself over to you in this moment.
“You’re so good to me, baby,” you whisper. “Mommy’s perfect puppy.”
His vision goes black and his mouth opens. Then, suddenly, a searing and blinding white explodes across his retinas like a droplet of paint in a cup of water as he lets go.
His cock jerks, painting you over and over again with spurts of his spend. He pulses inside you with each aftershock that rumbles through his very bones, your pussy eagerly wringing around him in turn, milking him and siphoning his soul out via his cock, and forcing him to plug his load in deep.
The whole while, Satoru lets out watery whimpers, peppering your scrunched up face in sloppy uncoordinated puppy kisses and grinding into you. If you squint, you swear you can see a fluffy white tail wagging faster than the beat of a hummingbird’s wings behind him.
As he comes down and his movements peter off, stopping to mould his pelvis to the curve of your ass and leave himself buried in you, he nuzzles his way between your tits. Your perfectly soft, plush, pillowy tits. This is heaven. Needily, he rubs his cheek on the gentle swell of your right boob, drinking you and the smell of sex and sweat in.
Your hand sinks into his white hair, stroking the sweaty strands and trying to comb them into place between gentle scratches at his scalp to pacify him further. He practically purrs. In his wife’s presence, Satoru isn’t the almighty oyabun of the Gojo-gumi. Nuh uh, no sir. He’s completely and utterly your annoying husband that scrambles for your affection as if he’s a broke person on the street chasing pennies— and you always give it to him.
Together, the two of you slowly breathe and bask in the afterglow. Satoru, humming out sweet nothings, you, petting over him and probably tracking the fan above them that spins round and round. Minds blissfully blank.
(‘I need to buy this man a collar,’ you think to yourself. ‘And then peg the absolute dogshit out of him.’)
God, he’s so fortunate to be able to come home to you every damn day. He’s been counting his lucky stars since the day they met. A sudden burst of emotion swells in his chest, warm and golden like the summer sun.
“Love you, pretty,” he sighs dreamily. He catches your hand in his, planting a kiss to the back of it, then to your engagement ring and wedding band.
Your hands refix themselves on his cheeks with a gentle squeeze. “I love you too, baby,” you murmur, drawing him into a hopelessly sappy kiss. He pecks you one, two, three more times, chasing your lips, and you laugh softly.
Satoru jolts when skin cracks against skin in a sudden spank, a vicious throb skyrocketing beneath the skin of his ass. “Hey! Way to ruin the moment!” He complains with the most offended look he can muster. You smile with false serenity.
He’s sure it’ll bruise into a small reminder, one that will surely haunt him for days to come whenever he sits in his uncomfortably firm office chair and feels the bruise pulse beneath the pressure, drawing him back to this moment— Satoru breaking your back on his desk, waiting for you to give him permission to go ahead while he writhes, needy and wanting and begging with his body.
You pull back a little to scrutinize him. “That was for my shirt that you—“ he winces when you jab a finger at him, “destroyed.”
You yelp when he abruptly slots his arms beneath you and hoists you up off of the desk. Satoru drops down into his chair, sending them skidding back a few steps when it gets the wheels rolling, and cordons you off in his lap by squeezing you close, his stupid dick still buried in your guts. You widen your legs to properly straddle him then frown at the sensation of tacky drying cum, slick, and sweat between your bodies.
Behind Satoru, the sun peeks over his head and sets his white hair aglow. Towering buildings go on and on, stretching out before the empire of the Gojo-gumi.
He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and lets his touch linger a little before he snuggles you closer. In his arms, you’re utterly at ease. He’s equally at peace— always is, actually, in your presence. You quiet the incessant din of his life and fill it with you; your snark, your gentleness that you only ever show him, your authority that he leans on, your love and your dreams for you and him.
You’re intrinsically part of him now. Nothing can ever change that.
“I’ll buy you a new one, relaaaax. You can wear my shirt on your way out and I’ll just grab one of my spare suits for myself,” Satoru cajoles, puckering his lips and theatrically fluttering his lashes. You grumble something highly censorable. Trying to find a way to hush you up before you can let loose on him, he glances around the room, drinking in the pens, papers, the shattered lamp, random buttons, and half of their clothing littering the ground. A mess that he most definitely will not be cleaning up himself.
Then, once he finds it, he scoots them along a fraction in the chair and taps his foot against a certain paper. You look behind you. “Oh, good, I needed your signature on this. Now I can go forward with my plan,” Satoru says cheerily.
You blink, confused. You don’t hold any executive power in this building, not enough to warrant your signature. Nor have you signed anything of note in the last week, here at headquarters, at home, or otherwise.
Satoru taps his foot against it again. Dotted along the paper are dried splotches of what is most likely your wetness. Your supposed ‘signature.’ Heat rises to your face. “I got us a seventh vacation home!”
“Fucker.”
After he has a giggle fest over it and you quiet him down with more kisses and unserious scoldings, which leads to an overly heated make out session that has you evaluating the pros and cons of another round, a fist pounds on the door. You pause in the middle of mauling your husband’s neck, painting the smooth expanse in hickeys in revenge for the two fat ones throbbing on your thighs, and pinch his side to push him into action.
Satoru rolls his eyes so hard that it’s a wonder they don’t get lodged back in his skull. “Does it look like I’m available? The door’s locked for a reason,” he hollers.
A beat. You hear Kento’s familiar, utterly exhausted sigh. “If you two are done in there.” It’s clear what he’s referring to. Your eyes flare again and Satoru tries for a smile. “Gojo is needed elsewhere. I’ve been made aware that Geto has been blowing up his phone for quite some time now. It’s urgent.”
Then, when neither of you answer, Kento adds, “There’s been an incident in Shibuya.”
Oh hell no.
Satoru’s about to show Shibuya a real incident for interrupting his moment with his wife.
author’s note: he will be collared in a drabble GOD WILLING
thank you all for reading this freaky ass shit, hoping to post more of my 1748282 wips soon :3 reblog and/or comment to let me know ur thoughts because i eat replies UP, they’re all greatly appreciated muuuah 🫶🏽
tags: @stuboo2053 @pvmpkingod @spirit-kat @skz8stay @loyalguma @amane1271 @irishiruuu @m1nrrva @onixsky @q2uq2u @enchantinghonymoon @exc3llentshot @libr4sonsa @kaitospo @n1vi @ieathairs
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#aisha's fics#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo smut#satoru gojo smut#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru gojo#gojou satoru x reader#gojou x reader#gojo satoru#jjk smut#jjk headcanons#gojo fic#yakuza jjk au#satoru gojo headcanons#gojo headcanons#jjk fanfic#jjk au#gojo drabble#jjk drabble#gojo au
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can you write a fic of hamzah, martin, and mandy going on a cruise to mexico for reader’s 21st birthday and they blog the whole trip for readers youtube channel. ( and can you add in some smut🤪)
birthday cruise | Hamzahthefantastic
fem reader + nsfw, wrd count: 1.9k

`It was a couple weeks before Hamzah and Martin would come back from they're break. You and Hamzah have been able to spend more time together and it was the best for you two. Him being the clingy person he is he loved every second he'd spend with you.
Mandy and Martin loved traveling together, but they also loved when all four of you guys would go. You all decided to go on a cruise just to enjoy your last days of break together AND celebrate your 21'st Birthday before they spend another 10+ hours in the office.
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You looked outside of the window of the plane as you saw the most bluest water ever. You looked back at your boyfriend who was also looking outside the window knowing he was gonna spend the best time with you.
The plane finally landed in the bright sunny Mexico. Bright colored birds flew over your head as you were getting off the plane and a not so cool but warm breeze hit your face. You all were quick to get off the plane and currently waiting in the arrivals of the airport waiting for your uber.
"Oh my god, I love this weather!" You smiled putting your hand up feeling the warmness of the breeze. "I'm already getting hot! Is it just me?" Hamzah said unzipping his hoodie as you laughed. After a couple more 20 minutes of waiting you were all picked up by a van on your way to the cruise ship. You looked outside the seat of your window noticing things you would never see in Canada.
"I'm so excited!" you squealed as Hamzah kissed your head as his arm was wrapped around your shoulders.
You all four had agreed on getting separate rooms so it would be Mandy and Martin next to you both.
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You all were finally boarding the ship as you couldn't believe you were on a single floating ship that carried more than 500 people. You began to feel a small anxiousness creep over you as you looked for your rooms, Obviously Hamzah noticed and decided to hold your hand.
"Are you okay babe?" He questioned as you nodded your head. "Yeah, I'm just kind of scared that I'll get sea sick or something." you sighed as he pulled you closer to him, "Lets just try to have the best night okay? And If you don't feel good we can always get off and go somewhere else." He said lowly as you nodded and kissed him.
After making it to your shared room you suddenly felt so much better. You looked at the Bright clear blue sky and the pattern of the waves the ever so blue ocean would make. You leaned against the balcony as you felt Hamzah's hands wrap around your waist. "So pretty" you smiled as he nipped your cheek - "Just like you" he added as you cupped the side of his face. You all decided to get ready and go eat since you haven't had anything since the morning of your flight. You wore a black bikini and threw over a matching black crochet dress that laid all the way down to at least your ankles. You freshened your self up and you both we're out of the door waiting for Martin and Mandy at a Buffet.
"Wow that looks so good on you babe" He said feeling the crochet dress, "Thank you baby" you said pecking him in the lips as he got closer to your ear - "I'm so glad we got a room to ourselves" he whispered as you pushed him off you "Hamzah!" you laughed as "What!? I'm serious!" he giggled as you saw Mandy and Martin finally arrive.
"Dude I kind of wish Rudolph was here man" Martin laid his head on Hamzah's shoulder and Hamzah rubbed Martin back, "I know, I know, me too".
You all four had sat down on a table in front of a beautiful view of the sunset, The waiter had suddenly came to take everyone's order.
"I'll do two steaks please for us and all of your special drinks!" Hamzah said handing the waiter the menu as your eyes widened in shock. "It's her special day! 21'st by the way, Thanks!" He added as the waiter smiled and left. "What was that!" Mandy bursted out laughing as you were re-thinking coming here in the first place. You all were joking the whole night until all 15 drinks finally arrived. You looked at Hamzah who had a devilish smirk on his face, "Why would you do this!" you planted your face on your palm "It's okay! Mandy and Martin will help! See!" He said giving two drinks to Mandy and Martin "Woahhh I don't know about that!" Mandy laughed as Martin shrugged his shoulders picking up a glass and downing it as Mandy took the glass away from him.
You all spent the rest of the dinner trying to finish the drinks as you all watched the night come together as bright lights hung from the top of the cruise.
After finishing dinner, you all made your way to the giant pool of the Cruise.
You slid your dress off as you slowly stepped into the pool with Hamzah. The warm air and cool pool was the perfect relaxing mix. You dunked your head in as he laughed. You got up from under the water as he dove splashing next to you. He charged picking you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist. He shook his head as you ran your fingers through his blonde grown out buzz.
"I'm so glad we were able to do this" he hummed "I know, These next 6 days are gonna be the best ever" you smiled as his lips crashed into yours. Your hands ran through his arms, biceps and around his neck. You felt splashing onto you as Mandy and Martin had joined the both of you. You all four decided to grab a few more drinks since it was a very special day for you. You obviously all agreed those were gonna be your last drinks of the night.
you all talked and vlogged for a bit for Mandy's channel. Meanwhile playing around a splashing in the water you couldn't help but notice Hamzah always getting behind you or not taking his hands off you.
"You look so gorgeous right now my love" he hummed into your ear as you looked at hamzah's red flushed face as his hands were glued to your waist, "please can we go to the room" he said needy for you. You never knew Hamzah was this crazy clingy when he was a little tispy.
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Your legs were wrapped around Hamzah’s waist as he carried you to your room. It was just you two who remained in the pool until you both got kicked out eventually. He swung the door open as he kicked his sandals off as he sat at the edge of the bed as your lips met his. He rested his hands on your waist as he fidgeted with the strings of your bikini. Your hands wrapped around his necks tugging him closer to you as he leaned back on to the bed as you followed his move.
“I was waiting for this moment this whole day so far” he bit his bottom lip as you crawled on top of him as you fell on top of him. His hands traveling all over your back as your lips were sealed to his. His tongue slipped into your mouth as he grabbed the side of your face as you lowly moaned into his mouth. His lips parting off of yours as his eyes glistened, he loved hearing that noise come out of your mouth. He kissed your lips once again as you melted under him. He rolled around as you shifted under him as his knee was pinned between your heat. You whined as you couldn’t handle the friction between him and your sensitive cunt. His lips traced down your neck as your skin grew into goosebumps.
“Fuck Hamzah” you whined as his hands gripped onto your boobs as his mouth found your perky nipples. His free hand having a preview of your wet core. Your whimpers hitched under him. As his hand traveled down to your covered heat. Your hips twitched as you bit your lips.
"So excited huh? Can't wait till I get my fingers in you?" he huffed as his mouth sucked on your breasts. "Fuck yes please Hamzah.." you were able to breath out as his lips crashed into yours once again. Your nails traveled through his short hair as your legs wrapped around his waist already needing all of him. "Try not to be so loud mama" he grunted as his hard erection stood out through his swimming trunks. He lowered them down to his thighs as his erect cock flung upwards only making you desperate for him.
"So fucking desperate huh? Wanna be all over my cock princess?" He whispered as he slipped your panties to the side of your pussy as his thumb circled your sensitive clit. His lips messily kissing your neck as his pace grew rubbing against your clit. Before you were able to compose yourself he rubbed his hard cock against your heated core as your hands grasped onto his shoulders. The friction between his throbbing cock and your clit did wonders on you.
"Please Hamzah!" You whimpered as his member stretched out your aching pussy. Your hands gripped on to his swole forearms (���) as his body slammed into yours as you yelled in satisfaction.
“Fuck your so good baby-“ he huffed as his lips met your neck once again kissing your chest as your legs wrapped around his waist. His pace grew as your hands traveled through out his hair once again.
“Fuck baby- you gonna come for me baby?” He whispered as you nodded your head in response as your back arched rolling your eyes till the back of your skull. His body slowed down as his lips began moving all over your exposed areas. He couldn’t help but leave a giant hickey close to the back of your neck as you whined in satisfaction. His couple more thrusts sent you into a state of satisfaction as you felt that huge knot release as he groaned into your ear.
“Mhhh- so fucking good. Yes-“ he moaned in between the sloppy thrusts as your stomach was filled with his cum.
“Fuck baby. Open wide.” He groaned as he slipped his twitching hard cock out of your pumping all his left over cum on your breasts and stomach as it left patterns he can stare at all day.
“Your so good for me y/n, happy birthday my love” he panted as he rested next to you as your lips met with his.
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You both were sat in a warm bath as water slowly dripped from the fancy faucet. He ran the body scrub all over your neck and chest as you leaned on his chest. He loved after care just because he liked making you feel relaxed.
"What are you guys going to do when you both get to the office?" you questioned as your finger circled around a bubble in the water as he scoffed, "That's not important right now baby. What's Important is that you have the best birthday week ever." he hummed as he kissed the top of your head.
"I love you, Hamzah"
"I love you more angel"
_
(a/n: you guys have all the right to throw tomatoes at me for uploading this SO LATE, i just have been busy with so many things and I have so many more things coming but it was this fic holding some sort of grudge!! Without further ado I hope you guys enjoy >-<)
#hamzahthefantastic#slushy noobz#hamzah x reader#hamzah x y/n#hamzah imagines#hamzahsmut#hamzah#smut#blurb#2006wr#cruise#sirthday bex
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Heat wave with Eddie and he's watching you on the other side of the couch and he wants you so bad but it's so hotttt
thanks for your request lovey!! — the one where you and eddie try to make the most of the heatwave (established relationship, implications of smut, 1.3k)
bug's summer fic fest ♡
Metal heads hate summer. It’s an unspoken fact. Wild hair, leather jackets, and denim jeans don’t fare well in the heat.
And while there were many bonuses to the warmer season — the music, the ice cream, and you in a bikini to name a few — it didn’t quell Eddie’s personal vendetta with summer. Or rather, summer’s personal vendetta with him.
The month of August was hardly more than an incessant heatwave. One hundred-degree heat, statewide. Without a cool breeze to fill the seasonal silence, there was nothing but a low sizzling sound — like burgers cooking on a grill. The two of you got into his van for a Slurpee run one simmering afternoon and suffered second-degree burns from the pleather cushions and metal seatbelts in the process.
It was miserable. Eddie was far too pale and he liked the color black far too much to find any enjoyment in the summer months. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the power goes out.
And the only thing worse than a power outage during a heatwave is being horny during a power outage during a heatwave.
“The neighbor said there’s outages all over town—” Your voice comes muffled from where you pad around in the kitchen. “—So, we’ll probably be out for a while.”
You return to the living room wearing an old, white-ribbed tank top and a pair of Eddie’s plaid boxers, rolled at the hem to fit you better. You carry two glasses of lemonade in your hands, fogged with the cubes of ice you’d dropped into them before they could melt in the freezer.
You’re too pretty for your own good. Eddie’s suffocated by the sweltering heat as much as he is by the overwhelming urge to touch you.
“Fuuuck,” he groans in response, sprawled out on the couch across the room. He’s barely moved from that spot all day. He only got up once to tie his hair back and then anxiously pace back and forth for several minutes. A few ornery curls stick to his forehead, damp with sweat. “Should we just, like, get a hotel or something?”
“With what money?” you scoff in place of a laugh.
His scrunched brows go lax. “Oh, yeah…”
“We’ll be okay. It’ll only be out for a couple more hours— at least.”
“Hours?” Eddie whines, all pinched-browed, as you hand him his lemonade.
You scrunch your nose down at the boy with a sympathetic gaze. “Think we can survive that long?”
“I’m withering away as we speak,” he deadpans.
“You’re so dramatic…” you giggle. The unkind words come out coated in a layer of sweet honey. You love him too much for anything else.
You pluck your book from the coffee table and plop down on the other side of the couch. You curl your knees to your chest, not having much room left over from Eddie’s longer legs.
He’d tried to do the same an hour or more ago. He’d been too bored to read then. All the words melted together because his brain was swimming with heat. He doesn’t know how you’re doing it, honestly. All he knows is he can’t stop looking at you.
You’re a pretty little thing sitting across from him. So much of your skin is on display — arms, collarbones, ankles, and thighs. He wants to kiss every inch of you. He could if it wasn’t so damn hot. Now, all he can do is admire you from a distance and pray the power comes back soon so he can love you all over.
Eddie shifts on the couch for a few moments. He jostles the cushions beneath you as he twists on them, maneuvering so his legs are propped up on the coffee table and he’s slouching against the back of the sofa.
His underwear rides up his pale thigh. The white undershirt he refuses to take off is damp at the collar with sweat.
You pay little attention to his fidgeting. He’s often restless, but especially when he’s got nothing to do. You feel his sticky fingers curl around your stickier calf a second later. His touch is soft and slow, sweet like syrup, as he smooths his hand up and down the back of your leg.
You shoot the boy a look from over the top of your book. “You okay, Eds?”
“Other than melting?” he retorts with his head tilted to his shoulder. He shoots you a wide, fatigued grin through his reddened cheeks. “I’m peachy, sweetheart.”
“It’s a little too hot to be touching each other right now, babe,” you advise with your gaze turned back to the book in your lap. He keeps on caressing you, though, and you keep on letting him.
“I know…” he murmurs with a faint pout scrunching his features. His palm squeezes the top of your ankle before rising again. “I just miss you…”
“I’m right here,” you counter with a soft giggle.
“You know what I mean…”
“Yeah,” you concede with a sigh. “I know what you mean.”
If you had it your way, Eddie Munson would be touching you all the time. He usually is, anyway — but every second he’s not, it feels like you’re grieving. You’re made restless because of how underwhelmed you are, all grumpy because you’re so sticky with heat. You want so desperately to curl up in Eddie’s arms and hide there forever, but it’s already getting hard to breathe without the AC on. And the sweat’s making your clothes cling to your skin. The thought of physical affection right now makes you feel a bit sick.
He squeezes your calf again, this time to get your attention.
Your eyes peek at him from over your book. You find his flushed face curled into a tired, yet still mischievous smirk.
“And, you know, just for the record or whatever,” he lilts quietly with a twinkle in his chocolate syrup eyes. “If it wasn’t a billion degrees in here, I’d totally plow the shit outta you, sweetheart.”
Your eyes go wide at his words.
You might’ve laughed if you weren’t so immediately turned on.
You squeeze your knees together, clenching your thighs in hopes of soothing the ache that begins to pulsate between them. “Wow. That is… very forward of you, Eds.”
“I think the heat’s making me delirious,” he admits with his head tilted back against the couch. His pale, sticky neck is on display for you. You feel the sudden urge to sink your teeth into the milky white tendon there.
“Well, good thing about power outages in the summer — the cold water in the shower feels like heaven,” you tell him, feigning absentmindedness as you flip a page of your novel.
Eddie’s brows raise beneath his damp, curly bangs. He grins with a newfound light in his eyes. “Ooh,” he singsongs. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”
“I have… three more pages left in this chapter,” you tell the boy after flicking through the book. You shoot him a glance beneath your lashes — less obvious in your mischievous disposition but still sparkling with it anyway. You knock his thigh with your foot. “Go get undressed, loverboy.”
Your words bring him back to life.
He surges with an energy he lost sometime between the late spring and early summer as he leaps off the couch. He nearly trips over the coffee table on his journey to the bathroom. His hurried footsteps stomp, stomp, stomp down the hallway.
You hear the shower faucet hiss on from a distance. It’s music to your ears. You know you’ll be in there all day — or, at least, until the power comes back on. You’re left suddenly hoping it won’t come on for another good while yet.
Not until Eddie makes you forget your name against the shower wall.
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things imagine#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble#bug's summer fic fest!
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Masterlist ;)
*= smut
The Hunger Games
Imagines
Finnick Odair
Wasting All These Tears On You
Don’t Be Late
Love and War
Peeta Mellark
They Don't Know About Us
Katniss Everdeen
Johanna Mason
Haymitch Abernathy
Worse Things
Cato Hadley
Marvel Sanford
Clove Kent
Coriolanus Snow
Sejanus Plinth
Series
none yet :(
Teen Wolf
Imagines
Scott McCall
Stiles Stilinski
Derek Hale
Jealousy, Jealousy
Peter Hale
Chris Argent
Lydia Martin
Issac Lahey
Allison Argent
Malia Hale/Tate
Liam Dunbar
Kira Yukimara
Series
Lupus Nox- S1 Cast, Prologue, S1 E1, S1 E2, S1 E3, S1 E4, S1 E5, S1 E6, S1 E7, S1 E8, S1 E9, S1 E10, S1 E11, S1 E12
S2 Cast, S2 E1, S2 E2
The Maze Runner
Imagines
Thomas
Newt
Minho
Gally
Aris
Brenda
Sonya
Harriet
Series
none yet :(
Marvel
Imagines
Steve Rogers
Sparks Fly
Tony Stark
Snowflake
Bucky Barnes
Loki Laufeyson
Natasha Romanoff
Clint Barton
Logan Howlett
Peter Quill
Misery Loves Company
Gamora Ben Titan
Peter Parker
Peter Parker (TASM)
Thor Odinson
Michelle Jones-Watson
Wanda Maximoff
Pietro Maximoff
Series
none yet :(
Once Upon A Time
Imagines
Regina Mills
Emma Swan
Killian Jones
David Nolan/Prince Charming
Peter Pan
Rumplestiltskin
Neal Cassidy/Baelfire
Series
none yet :(
Bridgerton
Imagines
Anthony Bridgerton
How To Be A Heartbreaker
Colin Bridgerton
Benedict Bridgerton
King George
Simon Bassett
Eloise Bridgerton
Series
none yet :(
Harry Potter
Imagines
Harry Potter
About Time
Ron Weasley
Hermoine Granger
Fred Weasley
George Weasley
Remus Lupin
Sirius Black
James Potter
Like I Can
Draco Malfoy
Lucius Malfoy
Tom Riddle
Luna Lovegood
Bellatrix Lestrange
Series
none yet :(
Glee
Imagines
Finn Hudson
Sam Evans
Jesse St. James
Quinn Fabray
Santana Lopez
Brittany S. Pierce
Rachel Berry
Mercedes Jones
Mike Chang
Noah Puckerman
Series
none yet :(
Criminal Minds
Imagines
Aaron Hotchner
Undercover Heat
Spencer Reid
Derek Morgan
No Place Like Home
Emily Prentiss
Jennifer Jareau
Matthew Simmons
Luke Alves
Kate Callahan
Series
none yet :(
9-1-1
Imagines
Evan 'Buck" Buckley
Eddie Diaz
I Knew You Were Trouble
Bobby Nash
Athena Grant
Howard 'Chimney' Han
Maddie Buckley
Series
none yet :(
Gossip Girl
Imagines
Chuck Bass
Nate Archibald
Dan Humphrey
Serena Van Der Woodsen
Blair Waldorf
Carter Baizen
Series
none yet :(
Pitch Perfect
Imagines
Jesse Swanson
The Flirting Game
Beca Mitchell
Chloe Beale
Bumper Allen
Cynthia Rose
Benji Applebaum
Donald Walsh
Fat Amy/Patricia Hobart
Series
none yet :(
WWE
Imagines
Roman Reigns
Relinquish Control
Cody Rhodes
Fight Me
Fight Me Pt. 2
Shake It For Me
Jey Uso
Just Friends?
Jimmy Uso
Solo Sikoa
CM Punk
A Gift for the Victor
My Hero
Seth Rollins
Rhea Ripley
AJ Styles
Damian Priest
LA Knight
Sami Zayn
Bron Breakker
Dominik Mysterio
Drew McIntyre
Series
None yet :(
Miscellaneous
Chandler Bing
New Years Eve
We Can’t Be Friends
#finnick odair imagines#the hunger games imagines#josh hutcherson imagines#peeta mellark x reader#masterlist#harry potter#bridgerton#9 1 1#criminal minds#glee#once upon a time#marvel#teen wolf#the maze runner#dylan o'brien#stiles stilinski#finn hudson#santana lopez#katniss everdeen#hermoine granger#ron weasley#spencer reid#aaron hotchner#newt tmr#sam evans#anthony bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#colin bridgerton#wwe#world wrestling entertainment
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Hey, Boss
A prequel to Hello, Stranger
Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jim Hopper, Raymond ‘Red’ Reddington, Mr Kaplan, Dembe Zuma
Pairing: None until the next part (where it becomes Eddie Munson x gn!reader)
AU: Stranger Things AU with elements of The Blacklist
Summary: Eddie falls into a new line of work…
WC: ~3.9k
CW: 18+ MDNI. This miniseries is SFW, depending on your tolerance for dark/violent themes, but most of my blog is 18+ so minors please be aware of this and DNI. Dark humour, black comedy. Allusions to drug use, alcohol consumption, violence, crime and murder. Weapons, bodies and death are discussed. No smut, no reader in this part. This is a Stranger Things AU, the upside down is very briefly alluded to but Eddie doesn’t know about it. No time period mentioned, so if events or technology don’t track that’s why that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. The characters don’t know each other like they do in ST.
A/N: This is the prequel to ‘Hello, Stranger’. The two parts can be read in either order. As in the original part, there are some Easter eggs in here, this time from The Blacklist (obvs), Stargate, and a deliciously niche one from John Wick. Let me know if you spot any!
A/N additional: I would never have believed that I’d be revisiting this story a year after publishing it to add a fun little prologue, but here we are! 😃 The original part was written for a Halloween prompt event last year and was the first lengthy thing I’d shared; I was SO ridiculously nervous about posting it, you have no idea 🫣 Reading it again now, would I change things in the original? Yes. But mainly things like punctuation and formatting, because I think over the last year my writing has become clearer, so I’m kinda pleased that I’d leave the story exactly how it is. For anyone discovering this for the first time, I hope you enjoy!! Please let me know with a comment/reblog/feral spewings in my inbox, I’d love it, srsly 😉🖤
I have an Easter egg reveal post planned for this miniseries, if you’d like to hear about it just ask to be added to my general taglist where you can get notified about all my writing posts ☺️🖤
My masterlist
It’s a chilly October night, close to Halloween, and Eddie’s blasted out of his mind. Gareth got hold of some super strong skunk from a cousin who was visiting from out of state, and that combined with a few cool beers has left him even more buzzed than usual.
Forgoing his van on the insistence of his friends, and wanting to get home to the relative warmth of the trailer sooner rather than later, he’s decided to take a shortcut across Merrill Wright’s fields.
High as all hell, he's staggering as he navigates the pumpkins, managing to avoid most of the obvious orange orbs but forgetting that their tendrils need looking out for too.
He’s already tripped a couple of times, and curses out the vines for both being invisible at night and clearly conspiring with each other to sabotage his journey home. He swears that at least twice he’s seen them move...
Pushing through a thin layer of trees separating one field from the next, he stumbles forwards as an impeding branch snaps and gives way. Moving too quickly to stop himself, he totters forwards, hoping to regain his balance once he’s free of the spindly foliage.
But surprisingly, his feet fail to connect with anything at all, the ground disappears, and Eddie falls face first into… nothing.
Though it doesn’t remain nothing for long, swiftly becoming the harsh smack of hard, and very cold, dirt against his knees, torso and face.
Shocked, confused and more than a little winded, Eddie grunts and rolls onto his side, groaning.
“Oooooohhhhhh fuuuuuuuckk…. What the hell—?”
He spits out a few clods of mud, and possibly part of a worm (sorry, dude), and tries to work out what just happened.
His hair has fallen over his face, and he pushes the waves, now bedecked with a sprinkling of leaves and soil, out of his eyes and looks upwards.
Instead of the expected expanse of the clear night sky, perhaps even a few constellations if he cared to look carefully, his vision seems to have tunnelled, a significant proportion of it now a deep black.
Sitting upright, he briefly wonders whether he’s concussed, or worse, but then the sound of someone speaking garners his undivided attention.
A light, high voice cuts through the night.
“Hey, do you hear something?”
Eddie freezes, eyes wide. He’s not sure whether he’s comforted or more freaked out to discover he’s not the only one in this field at this time of night. This dark, isolated, middle-of-nowhere, nobody-within-screaming-distance field.
Another voice, deeper than the first, replies,
“Like what?”
“I dunno, a grunt maybe?”
“A grunt? Uhh, no.”
“Why am I asking you anyway? Your ears are shot after one too many sportsball encounters…”
“Hey, shut up.”
Eddie hears some shuffling and a chortle, like two people jostling each other, before the deeper voice speaks again, but it’s in no way comforting.
“Uh, this guy’s definitely dead, right?”
There’s a noise that sounds like thick plastic being prodded with something.
“Yeah, yeah, this guy definitely. But I’m sure I heard something from over there.”
“Are you trying to spook me? You know how much I hate Halloween.”
Eddie hears an overly dramatic brrr and the rustling of clothing, and he imagines the guy shivering, like he’s shaking off a covering of non-existent snow.
Eddie, terrified but with a new sense of urgency, and eyes adjusting to the new level of darkness, glances more fully around his environment, figuring out that he’s definitely below ground level and in some kind of a hole. He spreads his arms wide, moving them around, and notices he can feel the edges on two sides, but not all four, meaning it’s a long hole. Long enough for him to lay down in. A hole, long enough to fit a human being in, but not much else. Okay, so…
Wait, this is a fucking grave! Fuck, he’s in a goddamn motherfucking grave!!
Eddie stands, wobbling a little, and notices his eyeline is still below ground level. He reaches up, grabbing at the soil at the edge of the hole, but it’s dry and loose and crumbles in his hands. He tries to jump, grabbing at anything he can find on the ground, but to no avail. It’s tilled earth and there are no branches or roots, not even grass, that he can grab to pull himself out. He mentally takes back everything he said about pumpkin vines…
Suddenly he hears a dull thud, the sound of dragging, muttering, and two people grunting.
Shit, they’re getting closer. And now there’s a large package wrapped in blue plastic at the edge of the hole, and they’ve just dropped two shovels, and—
Feigning nonchalance, Eddie leans a muddy shoulder against the raw earth, one hand on his hip and the other swiping through his hair as two faces, backlit by moonlight, hove into view. His voice cracks with,
“Hee-eeey guys, how’s it goin’?”
What the hell?? He’s literally standing in an open grave, that these two have probably just dug, and that’s the best he can come up with?
The figures regard Eddie, then turn to each other, then look back at Eddie. They both frown and in unison cock their heads sideways in the same direction, and Eddie, stoned and in shock as he is, has to suppress a giggle.
Fuck, that weed really was strong… Damn you, Gareth’s cousin!
One of the figures, the slighter of the two, gestures into the hole with a muddy, gloved hand, asking,
“Is he one of yours?”
The other guy looks both startled and mildly offended.
“What? No! Of course not!”
“Well, there was that one time where you, y’know, missed the mark, and we had to spend an hour chasing the guy before we put him down.”
The taller of the two flaps his arms exasperatedly, trying to point an index finger in the air but failing, the heavy duty gloves he’s wearing making him look more like he’s holding up a fist.
“One time! The one time I miss a goddamn artery and you’ve never let me live it down. Jeez man, gimme a goddamn break!”
“Okay, okay, I’m just sayin’”
“Well don’t! I don’t appreciate it when you criticise my abilities and undermine my self esteem.”
The slimmer figure speaks again, resting the knuckles of one gloved hand against their waist.
“Did your therapist tell you to say that?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. She’s helping me process my intergenerational trauma and internalised lack of self-worth.”
The tall figure says the words like he’s reciting from a book, but he says them with conviction. Eddie briefly wonders whether he should ask the guy for the title. He finishes with,
“Anyway, I don’t know who the fuck this asshole is.”
Hands now on his hips, he turns his attention back to Eddie, who, whilst they’d been talking, had been surreptitiously clawing at the back edge of the hole, trying desperately to lever himself out.
The figure with the higher voice turns to their compatriot, and with a somewhat sardonic tone to their voice remarks,
“Well, I suppose we’d better try and find out who this asshole is, and where he came from, huh?”
They lean forwards into the hole and brace themselves with their hands against their knees.
The skinnier figure begins the interrogation with,
“Did Andrea send you? Was it Annie?”
The taller guy continues,
“Wait, was it Red? Cuz if it was Red you can tell him it’s not fuckin’ funny…”
Eddie stammers,
“N-n-o, man, no. I don’t know who any of those people are. I’m, uh, I’m nobody, literally! I was just stoned, and walkin’ home and I, uh, just kinda, fell into this… whatever this delightful arrangement is.”
He gestures around him, attempting to convey that he neither knows, nor cares, exactly what this is.
Tall guy regards him down his nose.
“So, if nobody sent you, then nobody knows you’re here. But now you know we’re here. And I’m guessing that you’re guessing what we’re about to do here. So, I’m guessing the best thing all the way around is if you, y’know, stay here…”
Eddie, in his inebriated state, didn’t completely follow what this guy just said, but when the guy reaches behind him into his belt, and Eddie hears the unmistakable metallic clink of a gun being retrieved, he gets the message pretty damn quickly.
The shovels, the ‘package’, the gun… oh god!
“Nonononono! Waitwaitwait!!”
He extends his arms and frantically waves his filthy hands in front of him in supplication.
Think, Eddie, think!! What would you encourage the sheep to do in such an impossible campaign situation? Thiiiiiiink!
The guy levels the gun at Eddie’s head. He still can’t see their faces clearly, but he can most certainly make out the end of the barrel as it glints in the moonlight.
Eddie scrunches his eyes up tight, grimacing, every muscle in his body tensing in expectation of the horror to come.
Abruptly, his mind fills with the most bizarre and inspired creative idea that he thinks he’s ever had.
Fuck, that weed really was strong… Thank you, Gareth’s cousin!
“What if I told you I could help make your job easier? Maybe more enjoyable? Or, at the very least, more interesting?”
He sees the barrel of the gun lower ever so slightly.
Oh good, now it’s not aimed at his head. Just at his chest. Progress?
He presses on.
“Your bosses want you to make people disappear, right? Boring, efficient, sure. But not that interesting. Probably doesn’t pay all that well either, huh?”
The two figures look at each other again, frowning, and Eddie’s pretty sure they're deciding whether they should let the guy in the hole keep talking, or just shut him up for good, drop the other package in and cover them both over.
“How about we give ‘em a little something extra first? Like a show? A demonstration. An exhibition, if you will.”
Eddie’s got into his stride now, and is walking up and down the length of the six foot hole waving his arms in wide arcs, as if he’s delivering one of his lunchtime diatribes on a canteen table.
“Say there’s some guy who’s been messin’ with your patch. Goods are goin’ missing, or his funds are coming up short. Sure, you could just pop a cap in him and stick him in the ground,”
He glances nervously at the tarp-wrapped bundle,
“But wouldn’t it be more satisfying to really teach him a lesson. Bury him at the four corners of the state? Spray him all over this field? Dissolve him ‘til there’s nothing left? Now that really sends a message, don’tcha think? Plus, it’d sure be entertaining for your bosses to watch. Must get pretty boring for them. Y’know, pop a guy, wrap a guy, pop a guy, wrap a guy…”
He regards the two heavies carefully, trying to judge whether he’s made any impression on them whatsoever. They’re looking at each other and then back at Eddie.
Eventually the bigger figure speaks.
“Whaddaya think, Rob? Shall we take him back to talk to—“
“Fuckssake Steve, don’t tell him my name! Ah, fuck, Jeez…”
Sighing, the figure turns back towards Eddie.
“Yeah, okay, if this is as revelatory as you say it is, then fine. But it better be. Don’t make us come back out here for a second time tonight.”
Eddie takes this threat very, very seriously.
“Okay, okay, whatever you say. I’ll do whatever you need me to do, I swear.”
The figure pauses for a moment, contemplative, before puffing out a long breath from between their lips.
“Well, for a start you can help us finish up with this guy. Steve, get him out of that hole and pass him my shovel...”
Eddie’s only thought is, great, I’m not gonna die! At least, not right now…
———
An hour later, freezing, muddy, exhausted, still terrified and, incongruously, still a little stoned, Eddie walks between Rob and Steve back to their vehicle, an SUV that he notices has “Buckley & Harrington, Landscaping Services & Specialised Waste Disposal” emblazoned on the side.
‘Specialised waste disposal’ indeed…
They bundle Eddie into the back, Rob grousing the whole way, and make him lie under yet another blue tarp so he can’t see where they’re going. He doesn’t much like being on this side of the plastic, and dearly hopes it’s the only time he has to experience it.
After some time, and a number of bruises acquired from sliding around the truck bed, the truck stops and the two figures start to bundle Eddie out of the back.
Still partially under the tarp, Eddie sees the lower half of a large, heavy set man in military fatigues and combat boots join them outside. Still shaken from the evening’s events and disoriented from the uncomfortable journey, Eddie can’t quite make out their entire conversation. He does hear what the hell and let me explain, plus a lot of grumbling in what could be a West African accent.
Finally freed from the tarp, Eddie is grabbed by the shoulders from behind by a pair of very strong hands, dragged off the truck bed and shoved, stumbling, forwards.
The three figures walk him into an old warehouse, the huge shutters open to the night and the entire place brightly lit and remarkably active given the hour. It’s crammed with pallets, shelves, crates, people and machinery. There are forklifts lifting things in and out of trucks and people carrying paperwork and speaking on phones. Many seem to have ominous-looking bulges in their waistbands and jackets that Eddie really doesn’t want to become any more closely acquainted with.
A large man is barking orders and holding a mug that says coffee and contemplation on the side, but judging by the subtle wince that happens each time he takes a swig, Eddie suspects it contains something stronger than his favourite Java. His voice is gruff, and to his great surprise, Eddie recognises it.
“Uh, Hopper, is that you?”
The man turns, frowning at first, but as he clocks Eddie his free hand flaps dejectedly at his side and his eyes roll up into his skull.
“Oh Jeez. What the hell is he doing here? What have you two idiots done now?”
Eddie's new acquaintances look sheepishly at each other. The one named Rob ventures,
“Uh, he has a proposal for Red, something about a novel business idea?”
“Goddamnit, I know this guy! And now, thanks to you two bozos, he knows me too!”
Steve interjects this time,
“Just give him five minutes with Mr Kaplan, boss! Honestly, I think Red’s gonna love this.”
Hopper doesn’t look convinced, but he grabs a guy with a clipboard as he scurries past and asks him to find whoever Mr Kaplan is. Eddie doesn’t like the sound of this. The dude sounds pretty scary.
After no more than a minute, a small, tweed-clad lady appears. She’s older than everyone here, and her face is pinched, but somehow also looks kind. Eddie imagines she’d look far more at home in a library than… whateverthisis. He wonders if she’s Mr Kaplan’s secretary, or something.
“Come on then you two, spit it out. I don’t have all day.”
The two stammer and splutter their way through an explanation, trying to justify why they not only spared this guy, but also brought him back to their base of operations. Eddie finally comprehends that this is Mr Kaplan. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved, or even more terrified.
At various points Mr Kaplan sucks in her cheeks, tilts her head and folds her arms, reminding Eddie of every disapproving teacher he ever had, and more than once he considers how far he might get if he hightailed it through those large doors and made off into the night. But then he remembers how he got here, who he’s with, the amount of hardware everyone appears to be carrying, how often he skipped PT at school, how much he’s smoked this evening (not to mention over the last however many years), and, not least, the fact that he has less than no clue about where he actually is.
Finally, the two cronies stop talking, and Mr Kaplan’s focus turns entirely to Eddie. Despite being significantly taller than she is, he feels about two feet high under her gaze, and that this moment could be about to define his future, his fate.
“Well, dearie, it’s certainly a unique proposition. And one I’m intrigued to see if you can pull off. But ultimately, it’s not my decision. All I can do is get you a meeting with Red, and then you’re on your own.”
Steve seems thrilled by this outcome, his eyes wide and a grin on his lips. He shifts in place excitedly and jovially taps his elbow against Eddie’s upper arm. Eddie side-eyes him, guessing the guy is pleased that he isn’t going to suffer any repercussions for going ‘off script’ by bringing Eddie here like this, but he does wonder what on earth makes him think they’re ever going to be friends.
Mr Kaplan nods to Hopper, who takes this as his cue and disappears out of sight. Mr Kaplan doesn’t see it, but Eddie notices his weary-looking eye roll.
Eddie finally gets a good look at the guy who ‘helped’ him off the truck and brought him inside. He’s tall, huge, shaven-headed and intimidating. Eddie doesn’t look for long.
After a few minutes, the shaven-headed heavy motions for Eddie to step into a somewhat more private area of the warehouse, sectioned off by some disturbing-looking medical curtains on rusting rails that offer visual, if not much auditory, privacy. Eddie figures the noise of vehicles and machinery elsewhere likely drown out any talking that goes on in here anyway.
There’s a screen set up that’s displaying a fuzzy, low quality image of a man sitting in what appears to be a lavish sitting room. There’s a picture of a landscape, or maybe sky, hanging to his left, and the audio quality is marred by a low rumble. Eventually, Eddie’s brain catches up and he realises it’s not a picture at all but a window, and what Eddie can see is clouds and what he can hear is the roar of an engine - the guy’s on a plane. All he can think is, Jeezus, this guy must be loaded.
As the image comes into better focus the figure looks oddly familiar. Eddie’s vaguely reminded of a sci-fi film he saw that had Kirt Russell in it and something about pyramids, but he brushes it aside, more important things on his mind.
The man is clad in a fedora and an exquisitely tailored suit, and as Eddie is positioned in front of what he presumes is a camera the figure removes his hat and lifts a crystal tumbler containing a deep brown liquid to his lips.
Hopper fills Eddie in.
“This is Mr Reddington. You can speak when he says you can.”
The well-dressed man speaks first, in a voice that’s even more imposing than that of the tall heavy who brought Eddie in here.
“I understand you have a business proposition for me, young man. I’d like to hear it directly from you, if I may?”
Eddie thinks quickly, describing possible scenarios that he’s come up with. He reiterates the ideas he had earlier, and adds a few more, getting inspiration from horror movies, comics, and even some of his D&D campaigns.
“That does all sound very interesting. And heaven knows we need some levity in this business. But I do need to confer with my colleagues. Chief, what do you think? Does this kid’s idea have legs?”
Hopper and Red have a moment of eye contact, before Hopper sighs loudly and admits, reluctantly,
“It is kinda novel. And he’s basically a good kid, don’t kill him yet, huh? He can be annoying as fuck, but goddamnit if he goes missing we’d have to do at least some kind of an investigation. The amount of people I’d have to interview, the press… The paperwork alone would be hell…”
He pinches the top of his nose, and Red purses his lips, apparently conceding that Hopper’s time would be much better spent doing whatever it is that he does for him rather than wasting it on unimportant matters such as police work. His expression suddenly brightens, and the formerly imposing figure on the screen turns disconcertingly jovial.
“Well, I think it sounds like fun. I’ll tell you what, we’ll try him out for a couple of months and see how he does.”
Hopper turns to look at Eddie.
“Okay, Munson, we’re gonna give you a try. You’d better keep it interesting though, or so help me…”
He makes a small but unsubtle slicing motion across his neck with his thumb. Eddie takes it at face value, knowing he means it.
Red addresses the whole group now.
“You know, this reminds me of the time I was playing miniature golf in Andalucia with the Sultan of Brunei and Jimmy Hoffer. Richard Pryor walked up and asked if any of us knew anything about llama farming. We all looked at him askance, I mean, do any of us look like we did? But then, to my great surprise and delight, the Sultan said…”
The burly dude holds Eddie around the shoulders again, but more gently than before. At least, Eddie assumes it’s gentle. The guy’s stature suggests significantly more physical ‘prowess’, which Eddie’s grateful he's not been on the receiving end of. He’s steered away from the screen and back towards the main area of the warehouse.
Nervously, just before they leave the curtained off area and afraid this might be seen as an offense, Eddie stammers,
“Where’re we- Shouldn’t I…?”
The man’s deep, caramel voice carries easily to Eddie’s ears, as he remarks,
“Trust me, you don’t want to be on the receiving end of any more of Raymond’s epic tales than you absolutely have to be. You can thank me later.”
Eddie looks back over his shoulder, just in time to see Chief Hopper’s brow crinkle and raise in what looks to be a poor facsimile of engagement, and he takes another, deep, swig from his coffee mug. He, apparently, knew he was in it for the duration.
They reach the area where Steve and Rob are still standing, apparently playing some kind of thumb war game. The big guy extends a powerful-looking hand towards Eddie, clasping his own in an iron grip. There’s a soft smile on his face as he looks down and says,
“Welcome to the team. I’m Dembe, by the way.”
Mr Kaplan finishes up a conversation she’s having nearby with another pair of guys with clipboards and conspicuous gun holsters, and as she’s making her way out, she remarks to Eddie,
“You’re in luck, you can start tonight. We’re expecting another package, so you can help these two clowns. God knows they need it.”
Steve frowns, and Rob emits a quiet,
“Hey—”
Mr Kaplan continues,
“No need for anything elaborate right now dearie, save that for next time. But we do need some supplies. Dembe, get him some cash from the office.”
Eddie’s conflicted. He’s confused, excited, relieved, and, yep, still a little wasted.
He does have his typical nervousness about how well he’s actually gonna be able to “perform”, and how long he can keep up the interest in what he’s suggested. Following a brief discussion with Steve and Rob, a few crumpled bills are shoved into his overly-sweaty palm.
Of course, his main thought is, great, I’m not gonna die! At least, not tonight…
But his overriding concern soon becomes:
Where the hell is he going to find rope, duct tape and a shovel at this time of night??
Next part, ‘Hello, Stranger’
My masterlist
I really hope you enjoyed this little prologue! Please reblog and leave comments, your support means everything to writers 🖤🙏
Tagging my ‘everything’ list, ILY @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @sassidykassidy @richter-raccoon @1deverland
Also tagging those who commented on/reblogged the first one, just lemme know if you’d rather not be! @bakusquadobsessed @mewchiili @bettyfrommars @pedroschka @transparent-enemy @ali-r3n @fracturedarkness @tinytyphooncloud @alverdekote @elegantkoalapaper @ddaydreamdelusionss @ramona-thorns @vitzi9 @lurkingprincess @cherrysabbath @pullingattheroots
#eddie munson#stranger things#Eddie munson fanfic#hey boss#dark fic#dark humour#black comedy#the blacklist#stranger things fanfic#the blacklist fanfic#steve harrington#robin buckley#jim hopper#raymond reddington#Raymond ‘red’ Reddington#mr kaplan#dembe zuma#stranger things x the Blacklist#hello stranger#dark fanfic#joseph quinn#joe keery#maya hawke#james spader#dark!eddie munson#dark!eddie munson fic#stranger things AU#red reddington#eddie munson x reader#Eddie munson x gn!reader
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Are your requests still open? I’d love a fic where the (AFAB) reader is in a situation where she’s forced to share a bed with Vessel (maybe she’s a musician who’s touring with ST and the hotel is short on rooms? lol I know it’s super cliche) and in the middle of the night he wakes her up by initiating sex? 🥰
This was so fun to write, thank you!! And thank you for being my first request/ask, I'll never forget it! Sorry it took me a hot second to finish. To be honest, I feel I got a tad carried away but I hope I did our lean bean of a man justice! <3
vessel x f!band!reader
warnings: smut MDNI +18
You were waiting in the lobby of the hotel your tour agent had booked, spinning your luggage case lazily by its extended handle. The staff had been frantic as your large group entered the building.
IV was at the counter talking to the man who was clicking desperately at his computer. Something clearly was wrong with the reservation, but you were so tired that you really didn't care, you just wanted to slide into a cozy bed and sleep like the dead. It had been a long day, not including the show tonight and piling into a van afterwards.
Two of your best friends and bandmates, Alexis and Maggie were sitting on one of the lobby couches quietly showing memes to II. Vessel, III, and Liv, your bassist, were sitting on the bench right next to them. You all had gotten to know each other fairly well considering you inhabited a bus for numerous hours, watched each other practice, and went out to eat together.
You had noticed Vessel staring at times the past few weeks. You didn’t particularly mind the man was checking you out, it felt good to be wanted in a genuine way. You were not opposed to something new. You had become aware of him giving you glances that were a few seconds too long, a hand grazing just a little slower, him waiting for you so he could walk with you to wherever you were going.
And the teasing and bickering, god, it never ended. You didn't expect any different, being in close quarters with four boys and your three raunchy best friends, it was a constant war. You didn't quite know how to navigate these waters with Vessel though, it had been quite a while since your last boyfriend.
Your attention was brought back by IV walking back over to where you stood, a grimace on his face.
“Something happened to their booking system, they’re overbooked and we're going to have to share rooms until tomorrow.”
Some sort of seniority took over his voice, “Maggie, Alexis, Liv you can share the two-queen room, II, III, and I will share the other. That leaves you and Ves with the last king room”, he said pointing between you and Vessel.
Your eyes could’ve popped out of your head at that moment, but you schooled your expression hopefully before anyone noticed. You looked over to your bandmates and saw how Liv wanted to protest, but closed her mouth before she could say anything, knowing it was futile and everyone was too exhausted to care. It was nearing 3am and you were only spending two nights here before traveling again.
Vessel's eyes instantly shot towards yours, a small smirk forming on his lips, his arms crossed over his chest. Those lips.
“I guess it's you and me, then, love.” He gets up, standing to his full height before grabbing his duffel bag from beside him. The rest of the group rises and gathers their things, IV giving out key cards in silence.
You look at your girls, bidding them goodnight with a small wave and suddenly your hands are empty. Vessel had taken it upon himself to steal your suitcase and start walking towards the elevators.
Startled, Maggie giggles behind you at your expression. Breath leaves your mouth in a sort of sigh and laugh, and your tired legs begin to move in his direction. He is already in the elevator, keeping the door open for you.
“Damn your long legs.”
He turns to you once the doors shut, “I hope you have a little bit of energy left in you,”
You look at him confused, “What do you mean?” You know what kind of tone he has, a playful, flirtatious one that makes you blush.
“I guess you'll just have to find out, won't you?” the doors open to the new floor and he darts out, immediately walking in long strides and searching for the correct door. You try to keep up, watching him try the key card on the fifth door down the hall and entering. You walk into the blackness of the room knowing he's just in front of you. He nearly giggles as he turns on the bedside lamp and watches your face scrunch up at the sudden light.
“You could at least warn a girl,” you yawn. Just as described, there is one large plushy looking king bed in the center of the room, a tv mounted to the wall, a little breakfast counter, and a door ajar on the other side, the bathroom.
Vessel drops both of your bags at the end of the bed, “Okay, me first, I need a shower.” he announces. You scoff and nod anyway, both of you taking out your pajamas and toiletries you'll need to set them aside.
Vessel puts his hand on your hip from behind you, the boldest move he’s made yet, “I’ll be quick” is all he whispers near your ear. The warmth of his hand lingers on you even though you hear the door shut. You finally breathe again, you had stood frozen for too long. Is this really happening?
You finally search out the TV remote, finding some mind-numbing home renovation show. You watch a few minutes, zoning out entirely, before the knob of the door twists and you turn your head. Your eyebrows raise at the sight before you.
He is a little damp, clothes in hand, the last few water droplets running down his lean torso, hair scruffy from the towel dry he did before wrapping it lowly around his waist. You almost drool before looking back up to his eyes.
“My eyes are up here, darlin,” he smirks. You feel your entire being light up red hot before you want to implode for getting caught staring at the very… enticing area that he is putting on display. It's not like he wears those pants for no reason at shows, it leaves little to your imagination and he knows it.
You jump up with your head down, grabbing your things and dipping into the bathroom without another word. You shower hot, needing an excuse to be as pink as you were with that fine man that you had been roomed with. Your pajamas were just an oversized Sleep Token shirt and a short pair of plaid shorts.
After scrubbing the day off of you, you change into your pajamas before your hand hesitates at the knob. You breathe out. We are just sleeping. We aren’t even anything yet. Why am I being so dramatic about this?
You summon all of your courage to open the door and look out to see Vessel in bed, scrolling his phone, the room only illuminated by the TV. You put your leftover toiletries and laundry on top of your bag before plugging in your phone and pulling back the covers on the other side.
Vessel looks over to you, “Come here, love”, opening his arms to you. You snuggle into his side and onto his chest, as his hand rubs up and down your back. You involuntarily let out a little sigh of relief, finally you can rest. You fall asleep like that, him holding you close and warm.
You wake up a few hours later, having turned to your side in your sleep, one of his still around your middle and the other under your neck.
You move slightly and become aware of something pressed against your ass. You immediately hold your breath.
You slowly breathe out, and try to inch yourself away. His arm tightens around you. Oh shit, he’s awake.
Like he reads your nervousness, he starts to kiss along the back of your neck to the side, underneath your ear. You shiver at his warm breath.
“Hmm, I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it with your ass backed up to me darling.” You smile and blush at his words, knowing the effect you have on him. He grinds a bit into you as his hand slowly moves towards the waistband of your shorts.
You realize your shirt had bunched up just below your tits just as his other hand reaches up and runs through your hair, long fingers pulling just enough for your head to move back. You turn to your back when he easily grazes over your clit and you clench your thighs together. Vessel gives you a little growl in your ear and your thighs cave open as quick as your resolve.
“I've wanted you for so long, sweet thing, and I've got you all to myself now.” His fingers move in slow, small circles over your clit and your hands go to his bicep, grabbing at him for more. You let out a small moan as you lose yourself in the feeling of warmth of both of his hands touching your body and the building starry sensation in your belly.
You reach down towards his stomach, caressing down, trying to burn the feeling of his skin into your mind before coming into contact with the curls of his hair. You hesitate slightly and he quickly attacks your lips, like he's reading your mind again.
You continue on to wrap your hands around his long, hard dick and begin tugging on it. He smiles against your neck and brings his other hand up under your shirt to massage your tit before pulling your nipple taut and thumbing over the hard bud forming. He does the same with the other while his fingers work their way into your wet cunt, one slender finger at a time.
You are getting impatient now, kissing his lips and neck, sucking his soft skin into your mouth to leave your mark. He lets out a whimper before seemingly regaining control of himself. Noted for future reference.
He slides down your body in a quick moment before licking up your slick cunt, making you nearly cry out. He tongues your entrance before making his way up to your clit and practically latches on. You claw at the bed sheets beneath you eventually finding his grown out hair to pull. You don't know if you want him to stop or if you want more, this is so much better than your own fingers. You buck up into his mouth and he locks his arm around your thighs to keep you from squirming away. That feeling in your stomach is burning.
He makes a few deliberate swipes of his tongue in succession over your clit and he watches that you come undone beneath him. Your eyes roll back, your hips tighten, and you gasp out his name. He keeps his tongue flat against you, tasting your cum before coming up to kiss you.
The moment you taste yourself on him is the moment you feel him press against your swollen pussy. You moan into the kiss, wanting more of him. He grabs himself to properly press his dick into you. He does it slowly, making sure you savor every inch.
“Please, please, Vessel, please”, you beg him.
“Please what, kitten?”, that slow devilish smirk comes back with a vengeance on his wet lips.
“Please fuck me, I need you to fuck me.” You mumble out, embarrassed but full of anticipation.
He thrusts into you fully, making both of you moan out curses. Ves sets a pretty quick pace but makes sure to hit the one spot inside you that makes your pussy tighten around him on every pass. He bottoms out, touching the beginning of your cervix and you see his eyes roll back.
“God, you are better than I ever imagined.'' He reaches his hand down between the both of you to play with your clit again. This time though, your orgasm is quick to approach with him inside of you. His fingers move swiftly as you grind yourself down onto his cock to meet his every thrust.
You are scratching down his back trying to find purchase with how full he makes you feel. Soon enough, the pool of white hot in your belly is overflowing again and he changes the angle just slightly, fucking you through your orgasm. You moan out knowing your pussy is clenching around his dick in a vice grip. Just as you cum around him, he settles deep within you and his fingers dig into your hips. His thick ropes of cum spill into you and he pulls out to leave your cunt messy.
You open your eyes half-lidded after a moment, trying to catch your breath, “Jesus, did you… did you plan that all along?!”
He smiles wide at you, “Which part, the room sharing or the me-getting-you-to-myself?”
“Either?”
“The rooms being short just happened to play into my favor, but I was plotting to get you alone this weekend, my sweet kitten.” He pecks your lips before moving to the bathroom to get a warm towel for you both.
You sigh out as you watch him, “I didn’t know what I was missing out on, really.”
You hear his sweet laugh as he comes back in, gently running the towel over your pussy, cleaning you up. You squirm a bit but are easily distracted by the kisses he leaves on your inner thigh. You let out a small yelp when you feel teeth graze and a quick nip before he pulls away.
He slides in next to you again, pulling you close, “If I have it my way, you’ll be mine forever.”
“I’d really like that,” you murmured against his chest. You feel him press his lips to the top of your head before you fall back into a satisfied dreamless sleep.
#dangerkittenclaws#sleep token#sleep token fanfic#vessel sleep token#sleep token fanfiction#vessel x reader
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Booty 🌿
Steve has a plan, and Eddie falls for it. || read on ao3
Here it finally is, folks! My first smut for the ST fandom. I hope you like it!! Inspired by this post.
WC: ~4.8k || E || CW: Unsafe sex
“Please, Eddie?”
“Are you insane, Steve? It’s hotter than Satan’s taint out there, you cannot expect me to peel myself off this couch.”
Eddie heard a frustrated sigh and a small thud, imagining that Steve had let his head drop on the wall by his phone. “Yeah, I’m aware, I’m sweating buckets right now. But I gotta have the car fixed before tomorrow, I promised Claudia I’d pick up Dustin from the bus station and I can’t do that if it won’t start.”
Thing was, Eddie did kinda want to go and help him, heatwave be damned. They’d grown close in the months since spring break and despite his previous misgivings Eddie had gotten to like Steve. More than he should, really. He can’t help it if his queer little heart does a jig every time he manages to make Steve laugh in that eye-crinkling, head-tipped-back kind of way. Got good at it too, which made Eddie feel a great deal of selfish pride. And if he can’t take his eyes off the long lines of Steve’s mole-dotted neck, that’s his own business.
But this was something else. As soon as Steve called to ask if Eddie would help fix the Bimmer he couldn’t get the thought of him–sweaty and greasy and bent over the open hood of the car, his hair falling just so and lip bitten between his teeth in concentration–out of his dirty little mind. The things he’d want to do. It did as much to convince Eddie to go as it did to make him want to keep his distance.
He was a weak man, however.
“Fine. Alright. But you’d better make it worth my time, I’m risking my pale, un-sunburnt ass for this.”
Steve snorted. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said blandly.
They hung up after Eddie promised to be there in a few minutes, and he rolled off of the couch with a melodramatic groan. Moving in the muggy heat trapped inside the trailer sucked, but he wasn’t going to back out. Steve had sounded so relieved when he’d said goodbye that it gave Eddie enough pep to lurch his way to the kitchen to grab a few cold beers before scrambling into his van. He appreciated his own forethought when he burned his hand on the door handle and could hold a cold bottle against the spot. Fucking summer.
Parking in the Harringtons’ driveway, he spotted the Bimmer pulled halfway into the garage, the front shaded by the overhang in what must be an attempt to avoid the worst of the sunlight. The hood was popped open, but Eddie couldn’t see Steve.
“Ohh Stevie!” he sang, “your knight in shining armour has arrived!” He heard something thunk from the garage but got no response, so he wandered inside, trying to peer around the hood. “I come bearing gifts but they’re gonna get–”
Wheels squeaked from below and Eddie looked down, only to be treated to the sight of Steve’s legs, long and hairy and sprawled open, flexing as he dragged himself out from under the car on the creeper and revealing more inches of mouth-watering thighs. He was–oh fuck, Steve was wearing the tiniest cut-off jean shorts Eddie had ever seen, the fabric of the pockets poking out from under the frayed hems. They were tight, too, hugging his hips and, god, his bulge. The white tank top Steve wore had ridden up, too, exposing the trail of hair that dipped below the fucking shorts, but Eddie followed it up, along the grease stains and the swell of his pecs to Steve’s grinning face.
“...Hot.” Eddie’s voice cracked around the word.
“What was that?” Steve asked.
Clearing his throat, Eddie said, “The beer, it’s uh, gonna get hot.” Somehow he managed to not sound like he was choking on his own drool while Steve still stared up at him from the ground, a few strands of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. There was a slight smear of dirt across his cheek and Eddie wanted to lick it off.
“You know where the fridge is, Eddie, if you’re that worried.”
“Nah, you look like you need a break. Get up here,” he said, waggling the bottle over Steve’s face. Steve chuckled but finally stood and relieved Eddie of the misery of seeing Steve on his back and not having been the one to put him there.
He popped the caps off with the bottle opener on his keychain, and Steve took his with a ‘thank you,’ downing half in a few gulps. Eddie distracted himself from the sight of Steve’s throat bobbing by peering over at the engine.
“So what’s the issue, doc?”
Steve pulled away from the bottle with a soft popping sound from his pink lips and a gasp. “Dunno yet. That’s why I called you,” he said, leaning on the car beside Eddie. “Oil and battery are fine, spark plugs look good too.”
“She been making a sputtering kind of sound recently? Could be the throttle.”
“Nah, no weird noises.”
Eddie hummed, then set his bottle aside. “Alright, let’s get underneath her then.” Lowering himself onto the creeper and sliding under the car, he said, “Could be a belt has finally busted. Got a flashlight?”
“Really need to ask that?” Steve’s voice got fainter as he walked a little ways away. “The kids insisted on a disaster preparedness kit after round two with the Upside Down.”
There was a tap on the wood under Eddie’s hip, and blindly he reached down to grab the flashlight Steve found. He tinkered around under the Bimmer, unable to wipe away the sweat that started to drip and stick his bangs to his forehead. But eventually he began to roll back out into open, but no less stupidly hot, air.
“Looks like everything’s shipshape, captain–” Eddie choked on his own words when he looked up and was met with a sight straight out of his wet dreams.
Steve stood over Eddie, his legs spread wide enough that Eddie had rolled right between them. If he sat down, Steve would be straddling Eddie’s hips, but that would deprive him of this new angle at which to admire all of Steve’s assets wrapped so tightly in frayed, lightwash denim. Mouth falling open, Eddie let out an eloquent, “Uhhh,” and Steve laughed, holding out his hand.
“Thought you’d like a hand,” Steve explained, smirking.
He took it without thinking and let Steve haul him off the creeper board and up to his feet. A kick, and Steve sent the board skittering away underneath the car, but Eddie barely winced at the noise. He was too busy standing so close to Steve that they breathed the same humid air. If he so much as swayed, their noses would bump together. Christ, Steve had pretty eyes, a bright, warm brown flecked with amber even in the shade of the garage and he swore he could see Steve’s pupils dilate the longer their gazes locked together.
“So, what were you saying?” Steve asked in a low tone. He tilted his head ever so slightly and those eyes held some kind of dare within them, one eyebrow ticked upward. Eddie couldn’t help swallowing, licking his lips, and Steve went from staring into Eddie’s eyes to down at his lips.
“Just saying that, that everything looked fine. Might, uh, might be the crankshaft or the–” Steve stepped forward just enough to bring their chests together, the back of Eddie’s knees hitting the bumper, and Eddie’s breath hitched, his voice cracking, “–the sensor.”
“Eddie.” The way Steve said his name sent a frisson of heat through Eddie, right to his dick, which was becoming a very obvious guest between them.
“Yeah, Stevie?” he whispered.
Broad, warm hands wrapped around Eddie’s slim hips. Steve worked a finger through a belt loop on each side and tugged, and Eddie realised he wasn’t the only one with a hard on when Steve’s pressed up against his own, pulling a hiss of pleasure from them both. Oh, shit. Leaning impossibly closer, Steve’s lips brushed against Eddie’s when he spoke. “I don’t care about the car right now.”
That snapped whatever faint, lingering reservations Eddie had. “Fuck, Stevie, please kiss m–” He didn’t even finish before Steve’s lips crashed into his, plush and hungry. It wasn’t long before Eddie began to nip and lick, his teeth drawing short, pleased noises from Steve’s mouth before he pulled back a scant inch.
“Fucking finally,” Steve said, and dove back in, biting back, making Eddie groan. His hands found their way to Steve’s sides, then, spurred on by Steve’s enthusiasm, he reached down and grabbed at his ass. His fingers wrapped under the hem and he yanked Steve’s hips in and up, rising to meet them.
Steve’s cock grinding against Eddie’s was a fucking revelation. From the way Steve’s mouth parted with a hot gasp, Eddie guessed he felt the same. “Hold on, baby,” he rasped, and using what leverage he had, Eddie hoisted Steve onto his lap, Steve’s knees spread and braced on the car. There was no way he could keep them there for long, but fuck it was hot, rutting their hips together while they kissed, wet and messy.
Eddie tasted the salt of his own sweat when Steve licked into his mouth and moaned, hands fisted into the denim in his grip, feeling more sweat beginning to drip down his back. The heat was stifling, but nothing compared to what started to grow in Eddie’s gut. One of Steve’s hands buried in his curls and pulled, had Eddie bucking up and whimpering around Steve’s tongue. He could come like this, dry humping on top of the Bimmer, lap full of Steve in those shorts, hands on his perfect ass, would’ve if the idea weren’t more embarrassing than hot.
“St-Steve, wait,” Eddie panted, whining again when Steve’s hand clenched in his hair again.
“Why’d you stop? Don’t wanna stop, Eddie,” Steve groaned, before a little more clarity seeped into him and he leaned back into his arms, concerned. “Or, shit, wait, is this okay?”
“God, fuck yes this is okay. Been thinking about this forever, man.” Steve smiled widely, verging on a little goofy, before ducking in and pressing open-mouthed kisses to Eddie’s throat. Eddie’s arms began to shake. His legs had long since begun to tremble. “But, hang on, ah, I’m gonna either drop you or come in my shorts in like two minutes if we don’t rethink this.”
All that did was make Steve start rocking into him again. “Hot,” he mumbled as he licked up a trail of sweat under Eddie’s jaw, making Eddie swear and tip his head back.
Eddie’s knees decided to buckle right then. They shouted, Eddie scrambled, locking Steve in his arms and getting his feet under himself before standing, his hands still hooked around Steve’s ass while Steve’s legs clung to his waist. Steve’s shocked expression likely matched Eddie’s, before he rested his forehead against Eddie’s and laughed so hard his body shook. Helpless, Eddie joined in, holding Steve close while their giggling faded out. But his arms were aching so, gently, he put Steve down.
“Do you wanna stop?” Steve asked. Eddie shook his head.
“You?” Steve shook his. “Thank fuck,” Eddie said. He ran his hands over Steve’s ass, over the crease of his thigh, the tips of his fingers tickling the hair on the back of his thighs before guiding him close again. “Didn’t wanna let you go now that I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Steve dove into Eddie’s mouth with a hungry groan. The slick sounds of their lips echoed in the garage. With a tug, Steve turned them around and backed up into the car, his hands wandering underneath Eddie’s cut up Iron Maiden tee and clutching at his sides, over the fresh demobat scars, nails digging in bluntly.
Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off Steve either. He pawed at whatever he could, finding the places that made Steve pant and hum into his mouth. But he wanted more, because Eddie has always been a bit greedy. One hand snaked its way around to cup Steve through the shorts that barely contained him, pressing his fingers around the hard outline of Steve’s cock and squeezing, rubbing. The low, raspy moan he got for his efforts made Eddie grin wolfishly.
Head lolling back, Steve breathed hard and rose to meet each stroke of Eddie’s palm. Eddie began to bite and suck his way down the strong line of Steve’s neck, biting every mole he could find. “E-Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”
The words made Eddie bite down just shy of too hard. Steve whined, and Eddie lapped at the spot in apology. “I wanna, I wanna so bad, Steve, but we’re fucking filthy, sweetheart,” he mumbled into Steve’s neck.
“Don’t need to do anything. I, mmh, prepared for this.”
Eddie pulled back to blink at him in disbelief. “You what?”
“I’ve been wanting this for months and nothing was working! So I just, made this as obvious as I fucking could.”
“Months?” Eddie’s jaw dropped when Steve gave him a look that managed to be both fond, flirty, and frustrated. “I could’ve been fucking you for months!?”
“Or I could’ve been fucking you.”
That idea, as sexy as it was, had to be pushed aside before it managed to make Eddie’s horny little brain leak out of his ears. “Putting a pin in that, that’s absolutely gonna happen, but I wanna revisit something. You prepared?”
Steve smirked. “Yeah,” he said, simple and cocky and so hot Eddie could combust. Eddie tried to capture Steve’s lips again but Steve stopped him with a firm hand against his chest, pushing Eddie back a few steps. Turning, he closed the hood of his car and instead of twisting back around to face Eddie, Steve leaned on his arms and arched his back.
Now that was a sight. Steve’s long, tan legs spread just so, one knee cocked to give a slight tilt to his hips. The firm, round swell of his ass peeking out under the denim that struggled to hold together. And right on the apex of those pretty, biteable, jean-clad cheeks: two dark, dirty handprints. There’s even the blackened imprint of fingers on Steve’s skin. Eddie’s fingers, Eddie’s hands. His cock twitched against his zipper and he moaned out, “Ohhh my god…”
Looking over his shoulder, Steve’s smug smirk grew, and he tilted his hips up a little further. “I know I look good, Munson, but are you gonna do something about it or what?”
Eddie stepped forward and draped himself along the expanse of Steve’s back, rutting his hips into Steve’s and making him hum sweetly. “Don’t have to get bratty about it, baby,” he said. He dragged his fingers along Steve’s sides, letting his nails catch on the soft texture of Steve’s scars before dipping down and popping his button open in one swift motion. “Tell me how you prepared.”
He felt the shiver his words evoked run down Steve’s spine. As he slid the zipper down and slid his hand in to find Steve had gone commando–both of them groaning when Eddie’s hand wrapped around Steve’s leaking, twitching cock–Eddie nuzzled into the dip between Steve’s ear and neck, inhaling the scent of his sweat and musk and the faint traces of a clean, fresh cologne valiantly hanging on.
“I, I got this toy. In Indy,” Steve gasped as Eddie pumped him, pulling his cock out as his hand sped up the more Steve spoke. “Worked myself open on it.”
“What’dya think of?” Eddie squeezed.
“You,” Steve keened, jerking into Eddie’s grip.
“Fuck. God. Alright, enough of this.” Standing, Eddie took his hand away and ignored the needy noise Steve made to instead yank the shorts down. Steve only bothered to step out of one leg, having to kick his foot when they got stuck on his shoe. It made his cheeks jiggle. Eddie couldn’t resist giving him a few taps just to watch it again before spreading those cheeks with his thumbs. More dirt smeared over Steve’s dewy skin, but that was only the opening act. The true star of the show glistened with lube and twitched under Eddie’s hungry stare, already loose and used and ready for him. He held himself back from burying his tongue in Steve’s hole, but just barely, letting out a low, hungry rumble instead.
Eddie couldn't move fast enough after that. He grappled with his belt, popped the button of his shorts and shoved them and his boxers out of the way enough for his cock to spring out without help. Then he stepped forward. Eddie let out a shuddering gasp when his aching cock met the searing heat of Steve’s taint and smeared precome along it, echoed when Steve sighed unsteadily as his head slipped up, up, up. Brushed over Steve’s hole once, twice, before catching on the rim.
“Please, Eddie,” Steve whined as he pushed back, and who was Eddie to deny such a pretty request?
He thrust forward and sank into Steve with a slick sound and such little resistance that Eddie’s jaw dropped open in a soundless moan, eyelids fluttering at the hot, wet clench of muscle around him. Another thrust and Steve groaned thickly, his head tilting back so Eddie could see how his bitten-red lips parted deliciously.
“Steve, you good? Please tell me you’re good. Fuck. I wanna fuck you so bad, you feel so good, hot, please Steve,” Eddie begged and rambled, his hands shaking with the need to grab and pull and take.
“If you don’t fucking start right now I’m leaving–”
That was all the permission Eddie needed.
He sank slowly past that ring of muscle and Eddie didn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed about the high-pitched, breathy whine that escaped him. Steve really had prepped, just loose enough and slick enough, but he still took his time. He wanted to savour this, the way he slid into Steve’s tight heat, how the feeling made his legs tremble and his stomach clench. Steve deserved the caution. At first, at least.
“Tell me,” Eddie demanded, needing to talk to distract from the sheer feeling of bliss of being enveloped by Steve. “Tell me about what you were thinking when you fucked yourself on that dildo.”
Steve’s head tilted back with a moan, his brows drawn together, and Eddie longed to bite and lick the strong column of his throat, but he didn’t want to get distracted. He wanted to know.
“I thought about your fingers, first. Those rings, fuck, they drive me nuts. Wish you’d worn them today.” Eddie gave his hips a firm squeeze, fingers spread wide to catch as much soft skin as he could, and grinned when he felt Steve clench around him and heard a stuttering breath.
“I’ll wear them next time, big boy. Wanna see how good they look when I’m jerking you off.” The appreciative groan caused by Eddie’s words was divine.
“God yes. Next time.”
Of course it was then that the phrase sunk in. Next time. Eddie hadn’t even noticed he’d said it but Steve repeating it had something other than raging hormones rising in his gut. He didn’t even have time to process the implication because Steve kept going, and started meeting Eddie’s thrusts with small movements of his own.
“Then I thought about your dick. Y’know, it’s so hard not to stare when you get out of the pool.”
“Did you?”
“Duh.” Steve shot a bitchy look over his shoulder. The usual power behind the look was lost in the bright red flush on his face. It completely fell apart when Eddie shifted and hit somewhere new, Steve’s mouth dropping open with a guttural noise that made Eddie’s cock twitch. “S-shit, it’s so perfect,” he said.
Steve’s head hung loose from his shoulders, forehead resting on the hood of the car, needy, lingering moans bouncing off the metal, breath and sweat condensing on it while Eddie inched further into him every time he slid out and pressed back in. With his palms on the Bimmer, Steve used the leverage to rock into Eddie, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under the white cotton tank starting to go translucent with sweat.
Watching his cock steadily disappear into Steve’s hole was addicting. He leaned back to get a better view of how he split Steve open between the grimy handprints he’d left on the globes of his ass, placed his hands there again and dug his nails in, making Steve’s hips jerk so that Eddie sank the rest of the way with a groan.
“God, Eddie,” Steve mumbled, “fuck, you feel so. So, uh, so good.”
“Y-you too, baby.” Eddie could barely form words. The tight pressure around his cock threatened to end things there and then, but Eddie closed his eyes and breathed, letting the fire and the urge and the want die down to a less immediate threat. But then he opened his eyes, saw how good they looked locked together, the way his darker thatch caught against the lighter brown hairs decorating Steve’s ass, both of them wet from the lube he’d pushed out of his hole, and jesus fucking christ he didn’t want, he needed.
Pulling out slowly and bracing Steve’s hips with a punishing grip was the only warning he gave before snapping forward with a loud grunt, the slap of damp skin a filthy echo in the garage. Steve cried out at the second hard thrust, choked off when Eddie kept going, his hips picking up speed.
“Good?” Eddie gasped. Nodding, Steve uttered a desperate, pleading ‘yes’ that made him fuck into Steve faster.
“Look so fucking hot, Steve,” he started babbling, his voice reedy with pleasure. “God, my handprints on you. Want ‘em to stain, be there forever.” Steve moaned and Eddie felt him tighten around his cock. “Like that, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, fuck, I do, I do!”
Eddie leaned forward, draped himself across Steve’s back, and the angle was so fucking good, so much better, and he knew he’d started pounding into Steve’s prostate by the way his gasps had turned into a delicious mix of thin moans and choked out grunts. Fucking him into the car, Eddie let his hands roam. He rucked up the tank top, watched as the last of the dirt on his hands smeared over Steve’s perfect, scarred skin like loving and greedy claw marks. Finding a nipple, he pinched and squeezed until Steve writhed and squirmed.
Then Steve reached up. Buried a hand into Eddie’s hair, grabbed a handful and pulled.
“Oh fuck!” Eddie whined, his hips stuttering, the pain mixing with pleasure and zinging down his spine.
Steve chuckled, unsteady and breathy but so self-satisfied. “Thought about this… for so long, Eddie.”
“Thinkin’ about me so much, sweetheart. I’m honoured. What, hah, what did you think about?” he asked into Steve’s neck, lips catching on his skin, tempting him to lick, to bite. He did, groaning at the taste of salt.
“This. On your couch, by the pool, my bed, anywhere. Been desperate for it.” Steve pulled Eddie closer by his hair while he bounced back on Eddie’s cock as if to prove it. “Or, shit, bending you over that throne of yours and fucking you into it.” Eddie let out a pitchy whimper and Steve cooed in a way that could’ve been condescending but instead made Eddie melt. “But now, now that I know the kinds of fucking sounds you make–t-there, yes–I wanna take you apart. Slow a-and gentle until you’re a mess–”
He cut himself off with a broken moan. Eddie’s hips kept up their brutal pace with short, sharp, hard thrusts, the sound of their sweat-slicked fucking and and the jingle of Eddie’s belt buckle filling the room. His brain was nothing but static. The image was stuck in a loop like the end of a record left to spin. Eddie heard a desperate, animalistic whine and realised it came from himself.
“Close, baby?” Steve asked. Eddie nodded frantically, his lips dragging through beads of sweat dripping down his neck. He’d been holding it off, the fraying coil threatening to snap, his balls aching as they slapped into Steve’s asscheeks.
“You?” Eddie wanted to beg for Steve to be ready.
“Getting there, just, don’t stop,” Steve gasped.
Twisting, Steve pulled Eddie down to catch his lips in an open-mouthed kiss, fingers tangled in his damp curls. Their tongues met sloppily. Shared panting breaths like trying to inhale each other. Eddie’s thrusts were starting to falter. He was going to shake apart at this rate. Might just shatter when he comes, the pressure and heat and need too much and so fucking perfect.
“Steve,” Eddie whined, and Steve’s eyes met his. “So good to me, Stevie, sweetheart. Feel so wet, fuckin’ beautiful. Nee–mmh–need you, need you to come, please baby, please.”
“Touch me,” Steve said, practically commanded, and Eddie wasted no time.
Spitting in his hand and hoping it was enough, Eddie wrapped his fingers around Steve’s dick, mixing his spit with the shocking amount of precome leaking from the head and spreading it over his length. Christ he was hung. Steve let out a relieved sigh, which Eddie swallowed, smashing their lips together again while fucking hard enough that he rocked Steve into his fist. Steve started making little ah, ah, ah noises. Next time–please let there actually be a next time–he’d worship this cock in the ways he wanted to, the ways Steve deserved, but for now he pumped him mercilessly. Then, then.
Steve seized, a full-body tremble ripping through him as he came, pulsing in Eddie’s hand as he tightened around Eddie’s cock and he was so fucking gorgeous, plush kissed-red lips open in a silent scream, so hot and tight and, and, and–
With a hoarse shout, Eddie came too, rutting helplessly into Steve as he rode out the sparking shockwaves that also had him shaking, the wet sounds between them even more obscene with Eddie’s come slicking the way. He finally stopped when Steve’s whimpers sounded a little too sharp. Breathing heavily, Eddie braced himself on the hood of the car on weak arms to keep himself from collapsing on top of Steve, only letting his head rest in the crook of Steve’s neck where he left one final, achingly gentle love bite.
“Okay?” he whispered.
“Mhmm,” Steve hummed contentedly, leaning his head against Eddie’s, their damp hair sticking together.
“Gonna pull out now, Stevie, okay?” When Steve just nodded lazily, Eddie slowly pulled out, both of them groaning at the feeling. And he couldn’t keep himself from parting Steve’s cheeks to see his come dribble out a little, feeling a great deal of pride and greedy satisfaction at the sight.
“Bit late to ask, but you’re still clean, right? After all those tests for the bat bites?” Steve asked, grimacing when he stood up. He was the perfect picture of debauchery, only wearing his rumpled, practically see-through tank top, socks, and shoes, with his hair a wild mess and sweat still dripping from his forehead. The dirty fingerprints and red marks starting to bloom on his neck and hips were Eddie’s favourite part.
“Yep, only time I’ll ever thank those shady government fuckers for poking me with all those needles.” Eddie grinned at Steve’s tired, but fond, chuckle.
Steve looked at the car with heavy-lidded eyes, then did a double-take. “Shit, I gotta wash that off.” There, on the shiny burgundy hood of the Bimmer, was the white splash of Steve’s come, stark against the dark colour. Eddie started cackling and Steve complained, “Dude, shut up, it’ll ruin the paint!”
“Gonna wash your car without these, Winnie the Pooh?” Eddie bent down to scoop up Steve’s shorts, dangling them from a finger. He laughed when Steve snatched them back with a glare that barely hid his begrudging smile. While he stepped back into them with a wince, Eddie said, “Interesting choice of clothing to work on your car, by the way.”
“Worked, though, didn’t it?”
“What?” Eddie’s eyes narrowed when Steve smiled innocently and shrugged before he wandered off to get a chamois towel and soap. And it clicked. “You planned this? You lured me in with slutty shorts?”
Tossing the towel up and catching it, Steve’s smile widened into something smug. “Yep.”
“Wait. Is the car even broken?”
Steve just offered Eddie another sly shrug and started wiping his come off the hood.
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Fic Rec Masterlist
*This list is constantly being edited as I read more that’s so good I feel the need to share
Fluff 💞| Smut 🔥| Angst 🧊 | ST’s Favorite 🌟
Bucky Barnes
Series
🌟An Offer by @wntrs0ldier
I Thought You’d Never Happen to Me by @nickfowlerrr
Van Helsing Retold 🧊by @gaysindistress
New Tricks by @sebstanwhore
The List by @srgntjamesbuckybarnes
Catch Me if You Can by @buckyalpine
Treat You Better by @notafunkiller
Wedded Bliss by @gutsby
I Think He Knows by @delicatebarness
One-Shots
Wrapped Around Him by @angrythingstarlight
Back Again by @delaber
Are You Bored Yet? By @pellucid-constellations
Curiosity Killed the Cat by @queers-gambit
My Everyday by @pellucid-constellations
Traitor (technically a 2-shot) 🧊🔥 by @insomniumstella
Details by @soulgazingwithbucky
When we are Older by @buckys-wintersoldier
Hell Hath no Fury Like a Farmer Scorned by @eat-limes-bitches
You Know Just What I Need by @sinner-as-saint
Right Here by @ellemj
I Hate You by @ellemj
My First and Only by @buckyalpine
Bake Nights by @jobean12-blog
Steve Rogers
Series
Reckless 💞🔥🧊 by @kinanabinks
The Gemini by @rogersideup
One-shots
With You by @buckets-and-trees
I’m So, So… Sorry by @ronearoundblindly
Stucky
Series
The Brooklyn Boys by @buckets-and-trees
Backstage Pass by @luxeavenger
Mafia!Stucky by @myfictionaldreams
The Fuckboy Committee by @kinanabinks
Ari Levinson
Series
Highways & Heatstrokes (trucker AU) 🔥 by @oh-my-damn
🌟Bedrock and Blueprints by @ronearoundblindly
Sweet Renegade by @cevansbrat0007
Being in Love (ex Bucky) by @imtryingbuck
Pearls & Sunflowers by @chase-your-dreams-away
Flamingo King by @onsunnyside
One-Shots
Stoner sex 🔥 by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork
I’ll Wait, Angel by @buckyscombatboots
Jake Jensen
Series
One-Shots
A Helping Hand by @buckymorelikefuckme
Curtis Everett
Series
Live Is Short So Make It Sweet by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork
I Know I Should Know Better by @krirebr
Dream Come True by @thezombieprostitute
One-Shots
Andy Barber
Series
Like I’m Gonna Lose You (with Ransom Drysdale) by @paperweight91
One-shots
Ransom Drysdale
Series
Precarious Agreements by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork
The Root of All Ransom by @ronearoundblindly
More Than This by @krirebr
One-Shots
Afterglow by @stargazingfangirl18
Johnny Storm
Colin Shea
Sprawling Multi-character AUs
Lucky Charms by @yenzys-lucky-charm
We’re All Monsters by @krirebr @paperweight91
Come Hell or High Water by @imaginedreamwrite
#Bucky Barnes#Steve rogers#Ari Levinson#Jake Jensen#Curtis Everett#fic rec Masterlist#Bucky Barnes fanfiction#Steve rogers fanfiction#Ari Levinson fanfiction#Jake Jensen fanfiction#ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale fanfiction#Curtis Everett fanfiction#stucky#stucky fanfiction#chris evans#sebastian stan
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fuck about it



a/n: a lil something inspired by fuck about it by waterparks. this will be a two parter so stay tuned for part 2!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
word count: 2.9k
warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, dom!steve vibes, exes to friends with benefits, unresolved feelings, steve is a lil bit of an asshole 🤭
taglist: @dukesmebby @inkluvs @sweetbabygirlsworld

I like you but I need some space
Three days. All you wanted was three days. Three days alone. Three days without running into him.
Your situation was sticky. Messy. You almost wished you would have listened to your head before getting in a relationship with one of your friends, who was in turn friends with all of your other friends.
He was impossible to escape, not like you would ever want to. His face and everything about him was addicting, relationship or not. Sure, everything would certainly be easier if you didn’t decide to stay friends with a certain set of benefits but what could you say? He just knew how to push your buttons.
You found your thoughts drifting to him as you sat in the passenger seat of Eddie’s van, en route to some lame party you were sure.
“Anyone we know gonna be at this party, Eds?” You pondered out loud, gaze focused at the street zooming by outside the window.
“Well, uh–” he mumbled in response, hand coming to scratch as the back of his neck. He didn’t need to answer as he pulled into the driveway of some rich kids house, side by side with a familiar burgundy BMW.
“Oh,” you groaned, head rolling to the side to get a look at Eddie sporting a sheepish grin, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” his eyes not quite meeting your gaze, “knew you wouldn’t come if I told you he was gonna be here.”
He was right, you wouldn’t have. But you were here now and the cherry vodka inside was calling your name. So you bounded out of the van, pulling Eddie along with you inside the house, making a beeline for the kitchen.
Two drinks later and you were buzzed, cheeks a little rosy and head a little fuzzy. You’d somehow managed to avoid Steve all night which you didn’t know how to feel about. Usually, he’d sniff you out in an instant, hands snaking up your waist, lips on your ear, whispering something filthy. Something brazen before dragging you upstairs.
But not tonight.
You saw him out of the corner of your eye, whilst some other guy’s hands were on your hips, swaying to the beat of the loud pop music. He was leant up against the wall, beer in hand, some pretty girl by his side. Her hand was on his chest, their bodies dangerously close together. Her head was thrown back in a fit of laughter but Steve was only inching in closer to the girl, his lips millimeters away from her own.
By the time you blinked they were kissing, his large hands smoothing over the curve of her ass, her fingers tangled in his hair. You felt a pang to your chest, and you had no right to feel jealous, you knew that, but it still hurt seeing him with other people.
You caught his eye when he finally pulled away from the girl, a sly look on his face as he wiggled his fingers at you in a wave. You rolled your eyes as you left the poor guy on the dancefloor, marching into the kitchen with Steve trailing behind you.
Cause you don’t seem to like it when we talk
Pouring yourself another drink, Steve leant beside you on the counter as you did, “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.” He said with a shrug.
“Came with Munson.” You replied, taking a sip, eyes boring into Steve’s big brown ones over the rim of the plastic cup.
Steve scoffed at that, taking the cup from your hand and taking a sip of his own, “What, you fucking Eddie now?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Steve.” You snarked at him, snatching your drink back from his hand.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to that girl anyway? The pretty one?” You said, shooting him a coy look. Your finger poking at his firm chest.
“Nah,” he shrugged, “wasn’t really that into her.” Steve let his fingers wander up your bare arm, brushing against your goose pimpled skin, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“No?” You questioned, “Or you just didn’t wanna tell her that you still fuck your ex? Hm, Harrington?”
Steve chuckled, the kind of laugh that kept you on your toes, the kind that had you eager to find out what else he had in store for you.
“Wasn’t as pretty as you.” Was all he said, leaning in closer to you, his breath fanning across your cheeks. His hands now sitting pretty on your waist.
“Yeah? Then why’d you break up with me, Steve?” He pulled away from you, hands still clutching your waist, a subtle frown tugging at his lips. “That’s right, I remember,” you rolled your eyes, a playful, yet hurt tone lacing your voice, “we don’t talk when something’s wrong.”
Steve rolled his eyes, a smirk painting his face as he shook his head, eyes lowering to the floor, “Talking’s boring, much prefer seeing you on your knees with your mouth open,” Steve spoke quietly, lips against your ear, “I’ll see you later, yeah?” He breathed against your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as the close proximity, his lips finally pressing to yours in a soft kiss.
We can fuck about it later, if you want
I’ll see you later. The words rang in your ears yet they were always true. You would always end up here. Back pressed up against Steve’s bedroom wall, legs wrapped around his waist, his lips hot on your neck.
Your shirt hanging off a lamp somewhere in his room, your skirt pushed high up your hips. Your fingers were in Steve’s unruly hair, tugging on the soft strands. He groaned into your neck at the gesture, teeth nipping at your skin.
“Why do we— fuck,” you moaned, “why do we always end up here, Steve?” Your head rolled back against the wall, mouth hanging agape as Steve began to move his lips south, mouthing at the skin spilling out of the cups of your bra.
“Don’t act like you don’t love it, sweetheart,” he cooed, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, “you don’t wanna get fucked, huh? Got someone else, is that it, baby?”
You laughed cynically, the sound pulling the boy out of the trance your tits induced him in, “You know I haven’t, Steve.”
“That’s the right answer,” Steve let his lips ghost over yours, exhaling into your mouth, “good girl.”
A whimper squeaked from your throat, skin hot and arousal pooling at your core. You gnawed on your bottom lip as Steve began to grind his crotch into you, his bulge pressing into where you needed him.
“Why? Would you be jealous if there was, Harrington?” You breathed with a smirk, eyes rolling to the back of your head as Steve sucked harshly on your nipple through the lace of your bra.
“No,” he grunted, face buried in your chest, “just hope you know who this pussy belongs to.”
He moved you to the bed now, setting you down on the sheets as he bowed to his knees on the floor. Flipping the pleats of your skirt up your stomach, Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the little damp patch on your pink cotton panties. He swallowed thickly as he leaned in closer, pressing a small kiss followed by a lick of his tongue to your covered cunt.
“Fuck.” You whined.
Steve loved to tease. Thrived for it, rather. Lived for the way you would ramble on, strung out moans trembling from your lips, begging for him to do something, anything. He loved the way your eyes would go all hazy, a little glassy, lips red from how hard you had to bite down on them.
You whimpered and whined and Steve continued to lick and suck at you over your panties, the material now surely soaked. It was all so hot and dirty, your legs shaking either side of Steve’s head, his large palms holding your soft thighs in place.
He groaned into your cunt, slender fingers finally pulling the cotton to the side, Steve’s skilled tongue finally making contact with your dripping pussy. You moaned loudly at the gesture, your fingers flying to his hair, tugging on the soft strands.
Steve chuckled as he pulled away, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he plunged two digits into your hole, pumping them in and out.
“Oh, you like that, huh?” Steve cooed mockingly, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking harshly on the bud. His fingers picked up the pace, curling and hitting that spot with every stroke. The sound of Steve’s fingers fucking in and out of your wetness mixed in with your strangled moans the only sound bouncing off the walls of Steve’s bedroom.
“Oh, fuckfuckfuck,” you cried, hips bucking off the mattress, trying to meet the thrusts of Steve’s fingers, “don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
“Hmm,” Steve pondered, eyebrows pinched together as his thumb rubbed at your clit, “I think only good girls get to cum, no?” His fingers never relented as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your hands now fisting the sheets.
“Steve, please,” you breathed, eyes glassy and pleading as you looked down at the boy happily situated between your legs, a cruel smirk donning his lips.
“Y’gonna be good? Tell me who this pussy belongs to?” Steve quipped, eyes fixated on where his fingers were disappearing in and out of you.
“Yes– fuck! I’ll be good,” you moaned, back arching off the bed, on the cusp of your orgasm, one more stroke of Steve’s fingers, one more filthy word and you’d be a goner.
“What else?” Steve asked, matter of factly, desperately trying to ignore how his cock was straining against his jeans, fingers beginning to slow.
“Please,” you whined, eyes screwing together tightly, “yours! It’s yours, Steve.”
“Atta girl,” he cooed, Steve’s fingers picking up their pace once more. His lips wrapping around your clit, one hand clasping the sheets, the other hand found its way into Steve’s hair, tugging on the locks.
“Y’wanna cum, pretty?” He asked, fingers curling, tongue lapping at your throbbing nub.
Steve always found it so easy to switch, cruel and teasing in the build up but always found himself spilling pet names and praise when you were on the verge.
“Come on, I know you wanna cum. Think you can do that for me, sweet girl?”
“Oh,” you moaned, back arching, hips bucking up off the mattress, essentially grinding your pussy against Steve’s mouth, “right there, Steve, Jesus, ‘m gonna—“
Stars. Bright white stars circling your vision. Skin hot and clammy, every muscle in your body tense and trembling. You cried out the boy’s name as you came, chest panting and gasping for air.
“Fuck,” Steve groaned, totally in awe of your spent form before him. pussy and thighs soaked, dripping onto the sheets beneath you.
He pressed a sweet kiss to your thigh as you came down from your high, leaning back on his heels as he worked to unbuckle his belt. Steve rid himself of his jeans and boxers as quick as he could, hands smoothing their way up your body.
“Roll over for me, doll,” Steve whispered against your chest, “need to get my cock inside that pretty pussy, that okay?”
Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, scrambling to your elbows as you rolled over and propped yourself up on the bed. You heard Steve rip open a foil wrapper before spitting into his palm from behind you, a quiet groan tumbling from his soft lips as he lubed himself up.
You felt his large hand grip your hip, the other wrapped around his cock, the tip swiping through your folds. You whimpered at the motion, desperate to have him buried inside you to the hilt. Steve chuckled at your reaction, a smirk donning his features as he pressed his cock into your entrance.
You cried out in pleasure at the feeling, Steve halting his movements, “Oh, what’s wrong baby?” He teased, hand stroking over the curve of your ass, “My cock too big for this little pussy, hm?”
You buried your face in the sheets, hands clawing at the material as Steve’s cock stretched you out. You mumbled something that resembled a ‘no’ into the sheets in response to the boy, eyes squeezed tightly as he thrust into you inch by inch.
“That’s my girl,” he cooed, “cause you’re gonna take it anyway, right?”
You tried to ignore the feeling in your stomach, the butterflies that flew from your gut to your heart as those words left Steve’s mouth, or rather your ex-boyfriend’s mouth. It was bitter sweet, those words sent a shiver down your spine and a flutter to your pussy. But all but reminded you that you weren’t his girl and it was strictly his cock talking.
Steve’s palm came down against your ass as he picked up the pace, his thrusts slow and deep, his hips slapping against you with every move. You wished you could see him right now, you knew he’d look so blissful. Head thrown back in pleasure, hair a tousled mess, lips parted and cheeks flushed pink.
You moaned loudly as Steve’s thrusts grew harsher, thick fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, tips pressing in hard, surely leaving pretty bruises for the morning. Next you knew he was towering over you, lips on your shoulder blades, his arms finding their way around your front, his hand cupping your cheek.
Steve’s mouth found your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe before he spoke, “Pussy feels so good, and it’s all for me, yeah?” Steve whispered as his kisses found your neck, “Aren’t I the luckiest guy in the whole world.”
“Steve,” you moaned, craning your neck in a desperate attempt to catch his lips with your own. Failing miserably as Steve began to thrust faster, the frame of his bed shaking with every movement, his hips snapping against your ass.
“Fuck,” you whined instead, a strangled moan that was hiding at the back of your throat. Much smaller fingers curling around his own beside your head, your eyes fluttering closed as you tried to ignore the pressure building in your lower stomach.
Steve’s thrusts never relented, not for one second, cock fucking in and out of your sopping hole, the sounds of your wetness filling the room. His voice was gruff and raspy every time he spoke and it just turned you on more, you were sure the sheets were drenched.
“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” He asked, Steve’s skin clammy against your back, his chest hair prickling your skin, “Does it feel too good? You like when I fuck you like it’s gonna be the last time?”
Ex-boyfriend Steve Harrington was always a little bit of an asshole during your hookup encounters. Always a little too cocky, a tad too confident. That was clear when your brain regained full clarity. It would never be the last time though, you both knew that, always trying your hardest to stay single so you could fall into each other’s beds as soon as the clock hit midnight.
“Yes,” you whined, “yes, God—, I love it when you fuck me like this, Stevie.”
The boy moaned in response, low and rough. One hand slithered down the side of your body, inching closer to your clit. “Can’t get enough of you,” he started, fingers stroking over the nub as you hiked up your hips to allow him better access, “can’t get enough of this pussy.”
You could only moan out his name, all coherent thoughts out the window as he began to rub at your clit. That combined with his hard and deep thrusts were bringing you closer to the edge. You knew Steve was close too, his thrusts growing sloppy, his moans getting longer and louder were all tell tale signs.
“Wanna cum, Steve,” you breathed, “please?” You were never shy to beg when it came to Steve. You knew he loved it, and you always liked to please.
“Yeah? Wanna cum all over my cock?” He asked, fingers picking up their pace, “wanna make a mess together?”
Steve knew he couldn’t last much longer, your pussy felt too good, your moans too sweet to his ears. As soon as you moaned out a pleading ‘please’ from beneath, he was relentless.
Fingers rubbing at your clit, cock fucking in and out of you at lightning pace, the boy working fast to get you both to orgasm. You soon felt the metaphorical tether snap, your body became hot and clammy as you saw stars. Vision white hot as you cried out Steve’s name, fingernails leaving sweet crescent shapes in his hands.
Steve wasn’t far behind you, all the muscles in his body tensing as his toes curled in the carpet. Hot cum releasing from his cock as he came undone, “Oh,” he groaned, “fuckfuckfuck,” he chanted. He chest heaving against your back as you both collapsed on the bed.
The boy huffed a laugh as he came down from his high, pulling himself from you with a hiss. He rid himself of the condom as he disappeared to the bathroom.
He’d put you both to bed, in a t-shirt that wasn’t your own, where you’d try your best to fall asleep, trying not to think about the unresolved feelings you still had for one another.
And then you’d wake the next morning, and torture each other all over again like nothing would ever change.
#steve harrington#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington y/n#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things smut#k.fic#Spotify
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hello everyone ˚ʚ♡ɞ this is a multifandom tumblr where i will write for the following characters, and rules for requesting will be below as well.
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THE OFFICE
jim halpert. pam beesly. andrew bernard. dwight schrute. michael scott
THE WALKING DEAD
rick grimes. daryl dixon. carl grimes. maggie greene. glenn rhee. michonee hawthrone. negan. rosita espinosa.
BREAKING BAD
jesse pinkman. jane margolis. walter jr.
SHAMELESS
fiona gallagher. lip gallagher. carl gallagher. kevin ball. veronica fisher. sventlana yevgenivna. mandy milkovich.
STRANGER THINGS
mike wheeler. lucas sinclair. dustin henderson. will byers. johnathan byers. eleven byers. max mayfield. steve harrington. billy hargrove. nancy wheeler. robin buckley. jim hopper.
THE HUNGER GAMES
katniss everdeen. peeta mellark. finnick odair. haymitch abernathy.
THE VAMPIRE DIARIES
damon salvatore. stefan salvatore. elena gilbert. caroline forbes. bonnie bennet. jeremy gilbert. tyler lockwood. matt donovan. enzo st john.
MARVEL
peter parker [tom, andrew]. wade wilson. logan howlett. steve rogers. tony stark. natasha romanoff. thor odinson. peter quill. scott lang. bruce banner. wanda maximoff. bucky barnes. gamora. cable. marc spector.
RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2
arthur morgan. sadie adler. john marston. dutch van der linde.
THE LAST OF US [GAME]
ellie williams. joel miller.
TMNT [BAYVERSE]
leonardo. michelangelo. donatello. raphael. apriel o'neil. casey jones.
CELEBS
billie eilish. tom holland.
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woah, that was alot. now if you want to request, here are some rules: most of my girl images will be xfem! reader, but i may do some xmale readers if wanted! i will definately be writting smut if the concept is something that i am comfortable with. smut posts will always have warnings and will be 18+. i will not write anythng relating to incest, r*pe, or domestic violence. I hope to be able to write some things for you folks to enjoy, happy requesting! ʚ♡ɞ
#jim halpert x reader#rick grimes x reader#daryl dixon x reader#carl grimes x reader#negan x reader#breaking bad#jesse pinkman x reader#fiona gallagher x reader#lip gallagher x reader#carl gallagher x reader#steve harrington x reader#finnick odair x reader#damon salvatore x reader#peter parker x reader#wade wilson x reader#raphael x reader#billie eilish x reader
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DRIVER'S ERA // CHAPTER 1
➸ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: (18+) Slow burn/ mentions of traumatic experiences and depression : Eventual smut* Mutual masturbation and mentions sexual as*ult //Fem!reader // Bad driving! Swearing: Toxic relationship dynamics: Phone s*x! Descriptions of alcohol abuse. Fluff! Mentions and descriptive scenes of blowjobs/handjobs at some point in the story idk. Set in the last year of high school (All characters are 18) : Art credits!!: Niharikajetty twitter
➸ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: Splitting up this fic into parts because there’s so many ideas gong on in my head and i just wanted to put something out there in the meantime. All Tags seen above will be in upcoming chapters of the story! Thanks for reading!
To put things into perspective you never passed your driver's test. In this current moment, as you sat in a bland white waiting room adorned with blue chairs and the occasional ring from a cellphone, you had a refurbished memory. Throughout the last three years of high school, you had made friends and one by one everyone in the group had either got a car, a license, a learner's permit or something equivalent to a drivers license. Skipping classes every other day to go get ice cream or go on a target run, with the occasional mid-day movie during your chemistry class. which for all your parents knew, you were in.
Up until last week, you and your friend Sasha had been the only ones in the group without any sort of completed driver's education. That is until Sasha and the near-death experience she had with her instructor on the road,had somehow got a cool passing grade on her first road test. The group was elated and this in turn made you finally step up to do the thing that was long overdue.
As you scroll on your phone, you hear the ding and the woosh of the sliding automatic doors, as footsteps enter the building. You glance up and almost feel yourself wanting to blink two times more than you normally would at the sight in front of you. And you did just that, probably looking half-blind and a little bit crazy.
Standing at the receptionist desk in the room was a tall 5’8 man with dark brown hair touching his shoulders,a slender build and dressed with a dark green t-shirt that hugged his lean chiseled muscles and black jeans. He scanned the room and locked eyes with you. Finally giving you a clear view of his dark green eyes.
Where do I know you from? You thought as you quickly broke eye contact and looked back down at your phone.
You heard a deep voice say something that sounded like a “Thank you” to the receptionist and heard footsteps coming toward you. Not looking up from your phone you watched the soles of his black vans move down the aisle you were sitting and sat at the end of the opposite aisle of yourself. You don't know why, but you noticed how your breathing became a little shallow as he was walking towards you. You brushed it off as being irritable, as you were still frustrated from the post-driving lesson that went worse than you expected.
Taking a breath, you got up from your seat and walked down the aisle towards the receptionist's desk. You are being sought on scrolling on through your phone trying to avoid awkward eye contact with anyone. Even if you were the one who felt someone boring their eyes into your back as you greeted the receptionist.
Having set up a date for your next driving lesson with the receptionist she had told you to wait a moment as she got up and moved to the printer beside her to print a confirmation of your next appointment. As the whirring of the printer filled the silence of the room you glanced over your shoulder to see the man with brown hair getting up and following a woman into a room. As he walked into the room first the women reached up to put a red slot down on the wall of the side of the door to indicate the room was occupied. Your eyes drifted to a sign on the side of the door labeled “Driving therapy”.
Staring at your ceiling,the fairy lights that adorned your room still cast a yellowish mellow tone as it was only 6 in the morning and you wanted some alone time before the stress of the day came—today marked the second week of the beginning of your senior year. Track season was here and you had in no fucking way looked forward to weekly 4 am practices on the field. Getting up and making your bed, showering, and picking out clothes from your closet. A fresh face of makeup and you were ready.
As a frank ocean song played from your speaker, you Looked in the mirror as you touched up your hair one last time. Appreciating the way you had physically evolved from freshmen year as you looked in the mirror at yourself. Maybe it was all the stress that uplifted from your shoulders knowing that in 6 months time, your life would start/.. The life YOU wanted. your phone buzzed on the bathroom counter next to you. Grabbing it and sliding up to unlock it, you saw the group chat come to life with you and your friends from track.
Everyone talking about how you were all telepathically connected because it seemed like every one of you woke up early, with the track flashbacks in mind. Sasha had texted something about how she genuinely thinks seeing her dirty-ass new balances in the corner of her room looming like a ghost gives her PTSD.
A good 10 minutes later, you were downstairs raiding the refrigerator, Just in time for you to hear a loud honk outside your home. You ran to your parents and gave them a kiss on each of their cheeks wishing them a good day. Their voices wishing you a good day at school, are cut off as you close your front door and rush to the passenger side of Sasha’s car.
Before a word could come out of your mouth, Sasha leaned over to the passenger's side and wrapped her arms around your neck giving you a hug that seemed like it was meant for goodbyes.
“What’s this about?” You said laughing nervously, patting her on the back.
“I can’t miss my best friend?.” She said letting you go, pulling out of your driveway. She rolled down the windows a bit to let the wind consume the car. Her auburn hair waving around her face.
“How did your driving lesson go yesterday? With your slow ass.” She glanced at you with a smirk on her face.
You scoffed and sighed. Leaning back into the passenger seat and looking out the window as the car passed the tower of pine trees on the side of the road. “ It was……good?. Let’s just say the instructors probably have never had to replace so many cones.”
“Oh no that was definitely on the agenda after i took my test.” She says.
A moment of silence passed in the car before your eyes found each other and you both burst out laughing. Before long you and Sasha were pulling up into the high school parking lot, finding a spot next to Annie and Historia. As Sasha pulled up you rolled down the window on the passenger side and waited for them to notice you. Annie was on the driver's side of her black jeep reapplying her lipgloss in the mirror. Historia was in the passenger side with her headphones in, scrolling on her phone.
“These bitches.” Sasha said, pulling out her phone.
You watched Historia roll her eyes as she looked at her phone and pulled down her headphones to rest on her shoulders, answering her phone.
“Hello?” She said on the other side.
“ Look to your left please and thank you .” Sasha said, while gathering her backpack out of the backseat. “And let me catch you rolling your eyes at my notification again bitch!”
You watched Historia look over to see you, a snide smirk enveloping her face. Sasha hung up the phone before the both of you could hear her witty comeback. Annie turned to you smiling and waving. You playfully looked around as if you were searching for the person she was waving at, as Sasha stuck her middle finger up to them from behind you. Annie smirked and mouthed “Let’s go”.
The first couple of periods of the day went by smoothly. The four of you had the majority of your classes together except electives. Historia had taken music appreciation, Annie took art and Sasha was taking culinary Arts.
Walking into the classroom designated for Plant science you scanned the room for familiar faces and smiled recognizing a familiar blond head in the back.
Armin waved you over and greeted you as you sat down and exchanged stories about your summer. Of course, the stories of your friend group going to the lake and bumming around the mall didn't match up to Armin’s extravagant trips to Europe, but nevertheless, it had its meaning.
You looked him over and noticed Armin’s features had gotten more sharp and he seemed to have more….body mass. You didn’t know how to put it but besides the trips, Armin had definitely spent some time in the gym.
You noticed the slight blush come across his face as he noticed you staring. “I-I’m thinking about joining the football team this year…”
You turned to him mouth agape. “What made you want to join in so late?”
He sheepishly smiled and started to play with the hem of his dark red long-sleeved shirt. “I just made it a goal for myself to get out and do something memorable when it comes to getting involved with the school. I-i mean we are about to graduate and all and I just feel like I haven't really done enough-”
You turn to him and dramatically place both of your hands on both sides of his shoulders and look him dead in the eye. Your face inches from his. “But you have Armin. You have done enough,” you said smiling.
Besides Armin running for class president freshman year and being secretary of two of the most well-rounded clubs of the school. Placing second in the mathematics UIL competition and won a $50,000 scholarship for writing an essay about why Spider-Man was his role model. If anyone in this school was an inspiration to you it was Armin. Even if it wasn't conventional, if he wanted to do something then he would do it diligently.
As you two continued to talk you watched the slew of students rush into the classroom as class was about to start, and that's when your heart did an unfamiliar flutter. Walking into the classroom was the man you had seen at your driver's lesson last night. Same tall and lean build, with black tattoos peeking out of his dark gray long-sleeved shirt that had rolled up to his elbows. Bundles of brown leather bracelets adorned both of his wrists. His hair was tucked into a bun, with strands of hair framing his face. Something you hadn't noticed when you had seen him last was the silver stud piercings that were placed on both sides of his nostrils. As he walked toward a seat on the opposite side of class from you he looked over the room and locked eyes with you. Again.
“Do you know him?” Armin said next to you, as he watched you break eye contact with the boy.
“No, I don't, he doesn't look familiar.” You said smiling sheepishly, looking down at your crossed arms on the desk.
Armin looked at you with a puzzled look on his face as he looked over at the boy with dark green eyes that never took his eyes off you. The boy’s Jaw became tense as he slowly diverted his gaze from you over to the front of the classroom. Even from a distance, Armin could see the boy visibly become rigid as if he had just remembered something from looking at you.
“I heard something about him moving here a couple of months ago from Jean,” Armin said reaching into his backpack and pulling out his laptop. “Apparently he played football at his old school, I don't know why he moved though.”
The teacher had turned off the lights and turned on the projector to show the class a film about germination to which you were barely able to pay attention too. Throughout the entirety of class, you caught yourself stealing glances at the boy. The light bounced off from the projector in the back of the classroom illuminating his side profile. Your rational mind telling you that he looked like every other alt boy in the school, but in all honesty, knowing if he turned to you and mouthed “Come with me, you would get out of your seat and be whenever he wanted you to be in a matter of seconds. The chorus of chairs scrapped across the floor as students got up and scurried out of class as it came to an end. You say your goodbye to Armin, pack up your things, and make your way out of the classroom looking everywhere but at who you wanted to.
#aot x black reader#eren x y/n#eren x reader#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titan x reader#aot x reader#aot drabbles#aot smut#aot#eren yeager#eren aot#high school#y/n#black reader#fanfic#fandom
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Love Songs and Shit (Extended Masterpost)
Pairing: Jake Kiszka x YN
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Fluff, Smut (honestly it varies depending on the chapter)
Wordcount: if only I knew...
Plot: YN is a popular American singer-songwriter who, on a rainy evening in 2018, crossed path with the members of Greta Van Fleet. It didn't take long for the usually detached and fiercely independent girl to experience an unfamiliar itch. As she put pen to paper, it seemed a certain long-haired guitarist had her thinking about writing love songs and shit.
Concept: Each Album is a period of YN's journey, each track is a song she wrote after a specific chapter, so basically her discography is a chronological story of her life (with Jake, mostly). I'm currently not posting chapters in chronological order, but everything is organized in chronological order on this Masterpost.
Disclaimer: All the album covers are paintings by Norwegian painter Henrik Aarrestad Uldalen I edited. So, credit to that guy.
Also some chapters may involve triggering themes, I'll add the specific trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter. Stay safe, besties.
(PREQUEL)Debut Album: "Remain Nameless" => NOT YET STARTED

Old Money
Seven
Blue Velvet
Lost at Sea
Bel Air
South London Forever
This is what makes us girls
Dollhouse
All-American Bitch
Hope There’s Someone
Grace
idontwannabeyouanymore
Remain Nameless
Brutal
Rabbit Heart
National Anthem
2nd Album: "Sweet Nothings" => NOT YET STARTED

The Night We Met
Ride
Lover to Lover
Body Electric
Moves
Hiding
Hope is a Dangerous thing for me to have
Love Song
Sweet nothings
3rd Album: "Let the Light In" => NOT YET STARTED

Wildest dreams
All the girls you've loved before
Cornelia street
How Big, How blue, How beautiful
Dress
Love
Always Remember Us This Way
Let the Light In
Lover
4th Album: "How to Disappear" => NOT YET STARTED

The Next Best American Record
King
Brooklyn Baby
How to Disappear
Mariners Apartment Complex
Norman Fucking Rockwell
Watercolor Eyes
Sky Full of Song
One step forward, three steps back
Out of the woods
5th Album: "The Greatest" => NOT YET STARTED

Happiness is a Butterfly
Swan song
Too Good at Goodbyes
Favorite Crime
You're Losing Me
Without You
The Greatest
6th album: "Long & Lost" => IN PROGRESS

Hits Different (coming soon..)
Now that we don’t talk
Beautiful People with Beautiful Problems
Long & Lost (coming next)
Is it over Now? (coming soon..)
All This and Heaven Too
7th Album: "St Jude" => DONE

California
Secrets from a Girl
Style
The Way I loved You
St Jude
All You Had to do Was Stay
Honeymoon
Happier than ever
8th Album: "The End of Love" => ON HIATUS

The Bomb
Prayer Factory
River
All too well
Caught
Stargirl Interlude
Getaway car
Angels like you
Various Storms and Saints
Leave my Body
Cassandra
The End of Love
9th Album: "Dream Girl Evil" => NOT YET STARTED

Carmen
A&W
Hometown Glory
Dream Girl Evil
Swimming
Restraint
Sober
Sober II
Heaven Is Here
June
God knows I tried
Never Let Me Go
(SEQUEL) 10th Album: "Margaret" => NOT YET STARTED
Morning Elvis
Girls against God
Mama who bore me
Patricia
Did you know that there's a tunnel under ocean boulevard?
Kitsungi
Back in Town
I Drink Wine
Back to December
Margaret
#gretavanfleet#greta van fleet#greta van fleet fic#greta van fleet fanfic#greta van fleet fanfiction#greta van fleet imagine#greta van fleet imagines#greta van fleet x reader#jake kiszka x reader#jake kiszka fic#jake kiszka fanfic#jake kiszka fanfiction#jake kiszka imagine#jake kiszka imagines#greta van fic#jake gvf#jake kiszka#danny gvf#gvf#josh gvf#sam gvf#sam kiszka#josh kiszka#danny wagner#greta van smut#greta van fleet fan fiction#jacob thomas kiszka#jtk x reader#gvf fic#gvf fanfiction
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Hello all! I was inspired by the amazing @391780 and her fat reader stories to start this blog (so give her a follow!) anyways introduction post!
My name is Bo/Maul, and this blog will be dedicated to ONLY fat readers with canon characters with multiple fandoms. There will be smut, so this blog will be 18+, so any younger I will block! I will primarily write a fem reader, but will try my hardest to try male or gn readers!
Here are the fandoms and characters I’ll write for! I try to get all my smaller interest in here for those who also like it and get zero content for it!
Horror-
House of Wax (Bo, Vincent, and Lester)
Firefly trilogy (Baby, Otis, Foxy, I will write Spaulding, but fluff and anything but smut since he reminds me a lot of my grandpa lol)
31 (Doomhead)
Micheal Myers from any version of the series
Texas Chainsaw Massacre (any version of Leatherface Thomas, Bubba etc, Choptop)
Near Dark (Severen, Jesse, Diamondback)
Saw (Peter Strahm, Mark Hoffman, Amanda Young, Adam Stanheight)
Video Games-
Red Dead Redemption (Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Dutch Van Der Linde, Charles Smith, Javier Escuella, Sadie Adler, Karen Jones, Abigail Roberts-Marston, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Tilly Jackson, Susan Grimshaw)
Call of Duty Modern Warfare Remake Games (John Price, Simon Riley, Soap, Gaz, Alex Keller, Farrah (I’ll write romance but no smut for Farrah!), Kate Lazwell, Phillip Graves, Vladimir Makarov.)
Last of Us (Joel Miller, Ellie Williams (I will ONLY write adult Ellie and only ever with a Fem reader) Abby Anderson, Tommy Miller)
Days Gone (Deacon St John, Boozer)
Mortal Kombat (Johnny Cage, Kenchi,Sub Zero, Scorpion, Shang Tsung, Shao Khan, Mileena, Kitana, Sindel, Kabal, Kano, Erron Black. NOTE please specify which timeline these characters are from or which movie so I know the correct characterization!)
Resident Evil series (Lady Dimitrescu, Heisenberg, Carlos Olivera, Chris Redfield.)
Movies/TV-
Star Wars (Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Maul)
Stranger Things (Hopper, Eddie Munson)
Blacklist (Raymond Reddington)
With that being said, while I will write smut, there are things I will not write, such as fat fetish and weight gain fetish bullshit, and I will continue to expand this list, also I can just simply say no I’m not gonna write it if I don’t like it lol.
This list is bound to change with my interest and I’ll add and take off things as needed! Please send in any request and I’ll start working on it shortly!
#horror movies#house of wax#slashers#x reader#saw#star wars#Darth Maul#anakin skywalker#obi wan kenobi#bo sinclair#vincent sinclair#doomhead#red dead redemption 2#dutch van der linde#arthur morgan#call of duty#captain price#ghost#simon ghost riley#the last of us#joel miller
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Some of my fav fics for Eddie Munson for July 🔥smut 🗡angst ☁️fluff 🕷️dark
SERIES Stop the world and melt with you(inter-dimensional soulmates, twilight zone au) by @bettyfrommars Summary: One second, you're crying in your car in 2023, and the next, you're trapped in a town that feels stuck in the 80's, and a guy named Eddie comes to your rescue. Lots of things are explored in this fic including time travel, parallel lives, interdimensional travel, sci-fi, fantasy, soulmates, etc. Lots of 80's nostalgia, and other ST characters will be introduced along the way. This fic is for those who want something a lil different---definitely not for everyone. Eddie's wish by @harrywavycurly Summary: On a Friday the 13th in October Eddie Munson made a wish, he just wanted someone who understands him. Little did he know that someone would be you, and you’d appear in his bedroom a few weeks later. Now Eddie still has tons of questions and he’s not even sure if he wants to keep you but that’s what the trial run is for, he has a week to figure out if you’re the someone he wants around all the time or if he wants to exchange you for someone else. This is a series all about how Eddie has to deal with getting exactly what he wished for. Not Wholly Evil (pirate!Eddie x Governers daughter!reader) by @uglypastels Summary: 'Do not worry; we shall release you straight back into your father's arms– for a reasonable price, that is,' he looked around at his men, who all once again erupted in a jolly sea of laughter, matching his much softer depiction of humour. 'But for now….' He dramatically removed his hat as his unbrushed locks grazed the floor. When he rose back up, his grin had spread to the widest corners of his mouth, and his dark eyes were filled with menacing mischief, freezing your core at the thought of what he could possibly be holding back in his mind. 'Welcome aboard the Hellfire.'
ONE SHOTS Hooked ☁️🗡 by @hellfire--cult Summary: After your Grandmother's passing, you were left with her immense wealth and her big mansion, yet your loneliness didn't let you enjoy this new life, but before you could even begin living in it, you were snatched away, into the second star to the right, by a Captain who has a hook as a right hand. Safe with you ☁️ by @munsons-maiden Summary: Based on this request: could i request maybe eddie brings reader to a deal but wants her to stay in the van so she’s safe but the people he’s dealing to see her because she walked out to tell eddie something and it doesn’t go so well. and after the situation eddie and her argue but eddie’s upset and just what’s to protect her 🥺 but ofc it ends well
BLURBS The bigger, the better(loving on Eddie's huge fivehead) ☁️ by @queenimmadolla Wolfman!Eddie 🔥 by @bettyfrommars
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Uhm I saw a need for kappa requests. Bro. I need the most mond bottling toe curling smut for male reader
oh hell yeah, i can finally use an idea i’ve been thinking about for the past 3 hours😎
incorporating my hometown into a fic. sadly don’t live there anymore.
𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓒𝓵𝔂𝓭𝓮
kappa x male!reader
mdni, nsfw below the cut
warnings; reader is a literal psychopath which is fair because kappa is too, masochism/sadism, dom/sub undertones, degradation + praise, dom!reader because why not.
tag list; @iiheartsai
It was sunny that day, June 12th 1969. Warm as can be. It was unusually muggy than what you were used to, as Kappa insisted to drive down to good old Louisiana to find more of his ‘special ones,’ his followers called themselves that at least. It’s just kind of catchy to say, Kappa would say whenever you’d ask.
Driving down an interstate known as I-10, heading away from New Orleans and towards Baton Rouge, you had to drive over the Bonnet-Carre Spillway. Kappa seemed to know where he was going, you thought to yourself. Which was weird, you never would have guessed he knew the small town you were in this well.
“What town’re we in again? ‘Lay-pause’?” You asked, feet on the dash. Kappa burst out laughing as you pronounced the town’s name.
“Doll, it’s pronounced ‘Luh-Plass’. I own a small place down here.” The raven-haired man explained, turning on to the off-ramp to actually enter this small town.
LaPlace was in a parish known as St. John the Baptist, a population of only 18,439 people throughout the 229 square mile providence.
Driving down the off-ramp, the pair made a right, proceeding to drive until they hit an old gravel road. There were sudden sounds of cicadas, Kappa quickly started to roll up his window on the van. You, not noticing, kept the window down. Too busy admiring the view of the swamps to notice why your partner rolled his window up.
Suddenly, giant cricket-like creatures tried jumping in through the window. Freaking out, you quickly rolled it up as Kappa laughed his ass off. “Why the fuck didn’t you warn me?”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t roll up the window when you heard the chirping.”
“Yeah, well you knew!” You huffed, folding your arms. Then it caught your eye.
There was a small cabin overviewing the lake that you had just driven over, Kappa said it was Lake Ponchatrain. You looked at the sign under the stop sign, “Peavine Road”
“Weird ass fuckin’ name for a road,” you muttered with a snicker. The both of you quickly pulled into the driveway, Kappa seemingly happy. He usually was, or at least, had a facade of happiness. But this seemed genuine. Snapping out of your thoughts, Kappa had exited the van and was opening the door for you to get out. “Thanks,”
“No problem, Doll. I unlocked the door while you were in La-La land.” He smiled softly, lifting your hand to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. You exited the vehicle and grabbed your backpack out of the back, turning to walk inside of this seemingly nice lake house.
You stepped in, setting your bag on the floor. It seemed you had entered through the kitchen door. It was a nice little house, but looked like it hadn’t been touched in nearly 30 years, as photographs dating back to 1940 hung on the walls. Walking into the living room, there was a baby picture on the wall. It hit you like a brick, this was the home that you’d been born in.
You were only able to recognize this as the house because of the living room layout. It struck you as odd, you remember when the house caught fire when you were five. You looked at Kappa, who was standing behind you, furrowing your brows.
“After you told me about it I did some research,” Kappa began. “I wanted you to feel at home. With me.” The blue-eyed man smiled softly, tears welling up in your eyes.
“Kap, I’d always feel at home when I’m with you, wherever we are.” You muttered, your lover placing his hands on your waist as he approached.
“I know, Sugar. Just thought you’d feel more at home here.” He hummed, pressing his lips to yours.
It was a soft, sweet kiss that quickly turned heated; teeth clashing against teeth. Kappa pushed you back on to the couch, straddling your lap. He could still taste the stale whiskey on your breath from the night before, it drove him wild.
Within moments, you had Kappa pinned under you as he rutted his hips against your own, the friction driving you both wild. You unbuttoned his pants, his hard cock now free and throbbing. With a smirk, you sat up. “Why don’t you help me out here, huh, Kap?”
Kappa sat up as far as he could, his eyes glossed over as he fiddled with the button on your jeans. After a minute or two, he manages to get your own cock free from the confines of pants.
You sat back, pulling the cult leader to your lap and spit on your hand to lube yourself and Kappa up, making sure it wouldn’t hurt too bad at first.
Guiding him by his hips, he rode you slowly; grunts and whines escaping his throat like a symphony. “Good boy, takin’ me so well.” You praised.
Kappa reached a hand down to take himself in his fist, nearing an orgasm already. You yourself were feeling the coil tighten in your stomach. “Damn, Kap, since when are you this quiet? Not talkin’ back for once?” You teased.
“Shut up and let me cum, asshole.”
“Hm, I guess I could. Then again, you’re being a dick.”
“You’re the one who wanted me to!” Smack. You got him with enough force to not actually bring any harm to him, but it shut him up.
“If you’re gonna be a smartass, I can just finish myself off and make you sit there with a hard on for the rest of the night.” You grunted. Kappa replied with a quiet ‘yes, Sir’ at some point, his eyes rolling back as you hit his prostate.
“Fuck, Kap- Can’t hold it, cum with me.” You panted. With a cry, Kappa painted both of your stomachs with his seed, you filling him up at almost the same time with a moan.
He collapsed against your chest as you both sought to catch your breath. “There better be a round 2.”
“Catch your breath, Babe. We’ll be here all night.”
#kappa rory culkin#kappa x reader#kappa x male!reader#kappa black mirror#black mirror 6#i ❤️ rory culkin#rory culkin smut#mary mary quite dumbassary
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