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whorelaud · 7 months ago

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OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (01)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch warnings none !

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 01 ¡ 02

“Wake up, we’re here.” Ryan nudged your side, observing as your parents unloaded the trunk, arguing over the amount of luggage each one of you brought. “Get up, Bug, mom is gettin’ mad.”

Ryan gave you a harsh push, disturbing your slumber as you jolted up from your seat. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes, eyeing your surroundings with haze, a mere attempt to make sense of the new setting that encircled the Airbnb your parents ranted.

It was a beautiful view, the sight of the beach not too far away, ocean breeze heading in your direction. Ryan’s figure instantly filled your vision, earning a low grumble out of you. You tucked your hair out of your face, stretching out your arms over your head.

“You slept through the whole ride.” Your brother scoffed, gathering the crumbled candy wrappers from the cup holder. “Help mom! She’s really mad, why’d you bring so many luggages?”

“Don’t piss me off,” you mumbled, kicking his knee, the gesture causing the latter to stumble back. “Move.”

You shuffled out of your seat, hopping out of the car. The place was surprisingly big– not for a family of four, that’s for sure. An unfamiliar car was parked in the driveway, the sight earning a puzzled expression out of you.

“Is someone else here?” You questioned, attention shifting to Ryan, who was busy tidying your side of the vehicle. “Who’s that car for?”

“Oh, you didn’t know?” Ryan shot back, furrowing his eyebrows with confusion. “What, you thought we’d be here on our own?”

“Wasn’t that what we had in plans?” You mumbled, strolling towards the creaked door. You peaked your head inside, an audible gasp escaping your throat when you spotted your parents chatting with a middle aged couple, whom you would assume were the guests staying with you. Their identities remain a mystery as they were faced away, unable to recognize them with only the back of their heads. You turned to face Ryan, whispering your next sentence. “There’s people inside.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He rolled his eyes, shutting the door to the car. He approached you, squeezing by as he let himself inside. “You think I’m spending the next two months stuck with only you? Hell no.”

“God, we should’ve let you rot on campus.” You groaned, following behind him. You remained as quiet as physically possible, not wanting to capture the elders’ attention, aware of the conversation they planned on dragging you to.

While walking up the stairs, you winced, as the suitcase you carried collided into the wood on your way up, creating a thud. Your gaze shifted to where your parents stood, a sigh of relief escaping your throat when you noticed they were still accompanied by the couple to their side.

You carefully settled your suitcase down, dragging it along as you observed each room, deciding which one would suit you best. You came to a halt once one caught your eye, growing intrigued as you opened the door all the way through, revealing the layout of the furnitured space.

“Pretty.” You whispered to yourself, tracing the designed light switch with your fingers.

“Not bad,” Ryan replied, his presence startling you. “Good choice, this room is actually mine.”

“I was here first!” Your face twisted with annoyance, watching as your brother leaned against the wall, now facing you. “It’s my room, not yours.”

“Oh, we’re going there?” He warned, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll tell dad about the time you sneaked out every day for an entire month, and made me cover for you whenever you got in trouble.”

“That was four years ago,” you reasoned, huffing at his ridiculous threat. “Besides, you’ve done worse. Remember all the marijuana you hid in my room? Or did we forget about that?”

“Okay– that was–” Ryan stammered, slumping his shoulders as he rolled his eyes. “I’ll kill you if you tell anyone about that.”

“Whatever, get out of my room.” You shoved his arm, the contact earning a dramatic gasp out of him. “Go complain somewhere else, I’m not giving you this room.”

“C’mon, Bug!” He whined, resisting the hands pressing to his back, forcing him out of the room. “There’s better rooms, why do you want this one specifically?!”

“Probably for the same reason you do.” You exclaimed, sighing once you gave Ryan one last push, the action causing him to stumble out into the narrow hallway. “And stop calling me that, I’ll kill you if you refer to me as Bug in front of everybody.”

“Everyone calls you Bug.” He clicked his teeth, fixing the collar of his shirt. “I forget that your name isn’t Bug sometimes, you know, jus’ used to it.”

“Are you trying to distract me right now? ‘Cause it’s not working.” You forced a tight-lipped smile across your face, earning a groan out of Ryan. “Busy yourself with something else, I don’t have time to pamper you.”

“‘Kay, fuck you then.” He spat out, flipping you off as he walked away.

You shut the door with a chuckle, taunted by your brother’s lash out. You placed your luggage on the bed, growing confused when you noticed the bed was slightly undone, indicating someone clearly had been there. You brushed it off, thinking it was Ryan’s doing, as you were too exhausted to further process it.

You searched through your suitcase, acquiring your everything-shower bag. You set it to the side, retrieving a clothing set, one suitable to be seen in, and comfortable enough to get you through the night.

Once you had everything you needed, you grabbed your belongings, freezing when footsteps echoed through your ears. You were painfully aware that this was not Ryan, as you would’ve heard him come in with the click of the door.

You aimed for your bag, equipping yourself for the hit you planned to swing, now that you sensed your life being at risk. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you had coming as you swiftly turned around, a ragged breath escaping your parted lips at the sight of a certain someone.

Mere inches away from you stood Rafe, the Rafe Cameron whom you have messaged a few hours from now. You couldn’t believe your eyes, instantly brushing this off as a dream, because there’s no way in hell he was there, half naked, with only a towel hanging low around his hips. A blank expression remained plastered across his face, not too astonished by your presence.

A nervous gulp dried your throat, gaze following the water drop trailing down his exposed chest, on full display, revealing his muscular figure. God, his arms, the photos weren’t doing him justice, because besides his toned body, the man was gorgeous.

His eyes were a radiant shade of blue, nose slightly pointy, as well as his pink lips, that you wouldn’t describe as big, but just the right size, as you wanted nothing but to lean forward and kiss him, ceasing the unnecessary distance between you.

You shook the thoughts off, clutching into stuff that you had in hand, instantly growing nervous by the latter as he took a step forward, now towering over you, making you feel small under under his gaze. You glanced up at him, shifting your vision back to his chest when you caught him already staring at you.

Rafe broke into a grin, amused by how flustered you were, nothing compared to how brave you were over text. He remained in front of you for a moment, awaiting a response out of you, a question perhaps.

“I…” ah, there it was. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“That’s okay,” he reassured, voice dripping with sweetness, that the moment he spoke, you found yourself melting in the spot. “Look at me.”

Your face flushed with heat at the statement, shifting your gaze back to his face, breath knocking out of your chest when his eyes locked with yours, creating a mess out of you. He leveled himself with your body, adjusting his position where he stood now that he caught your attention.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he hushed out, grogginess visible through his tone. “Bug, was it?”

Yeah, had you known Rafe Cameron was spending the next two months with you, you would not have shown up, aware of the consequences that came with your feelings.

How were you supposed to set a limit for yourself when he’s there, existing and looking so attractive while doing it?

a/n prepapre to be sick of me theyre my new obsession!! also i PROMISE i have something planned for the whole bug nickname pls give it a chance ehebhe ei hope you enjoyed wheww im so nervous to publish this

TAGLIST @greyswaren @slut-4-gojo @depthsofdespairr @littlelamy @lilithblackkk @starkeydolly @mattyskies @percysley @aariahnaa @jaklvbub @inlovewithdob @ilovefiction4lmen @theeternaloptimistt @maybejj @icaqttt @idgasb

lmk if u wanna be added >__< !!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x brat!reader #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron social media au #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe obx #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey

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doctormead · 10 months ago

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DP x DC prompt: Beekeeper Danny

Ooookay, Danny has moved to Gotham for <insert reason here> and is faced with a problem. Yes, Gotham has higher levels of ambient ectoplasm than your average city, but it's nowhere near those of Amity Park who has a goddamn artificial hell mouth smack in the center of it. Also, the ectoplasm which IS there is contaminated with some nasty shit that makes Danny feel ill when he takes too much of it in. Having his friends back in Amity Park ship him flasks of pure ecto on the sly is difficult to say the least, so he starts thinking about ways to both concentrate and purify Gotham's ecto so he's not one shipment interruption from being in really bad shape.

He get's his solution from Sam. On his bi-weekly video call with her and Tucker, she gets to ranting about bee conservation. Tucker makes a joking comment about honey being basically bee vomit, and Sam tears into him saying "That is a gross oversimplification at best and outright bee-slander at worst!" This perks Danny's curiosity, so he looks up the biological process by which bees turn nectar into honey...and he's found his answer. Blob ghosts are basically the filter feeders of the Ghost Zone/Infinite Realms. If he can get a bunch of them to behave kinda like honey bees, his ecto supply should be assured.

It works...a bit too well...

Now Danny has a swarm of glowing green honey bees that are roughly the size of carpenter bees buzzing happily about him. Their queen is roughly the size of a large hummingbird. He heaves a weary sigh and starts looking up how to ACTUALLY keep bees and making skips out of ghost-friendly material for them to build their hive in on top of his apartment building.

But, won't Danny get complaints from his neighbors? Here's the kicker. Unless you are a 1) ghost, 2) halfa, 3) wearing specialized Fenton Ecto-Visual Goggles or 4) a mage, you cannot see, hear or feel the bees! They're buzzing around Gotham happily, slurping up the ecto to take back to the hive for processing. And they slurp it up from EVERYWHERE...including certain people.

Jason Todd is slightly confused but not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Over the last few months, the Pit Rage has been decreasing gradually. He doesn't think much about it until he shows up at the BatCave for an all hands meeting that has been called because John Constantine needed to brief them on something...only for Con-job to take one look at Red Hood and shout that he's "COVERED IN FUCKING BEES!!!"

#danny phantom #batman #dp x dc crossover #john constantine #danny fenton #jason todd #bees

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sillyswriting · 5 months ago

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: ̗̀➛ bouncer simon 'ghost' riley - 01

cw : sexual theme, small sexual assault scene, violence

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ collection - prev ⋆ next

the new bouncer had all the girls intrigued. you'd been working here for almost a year, and you'd never seen anyone like him. and god, you'd seen some weirdos in a strip club.

on his first day, the girls had been mostly intrigued by his physique-big, strong, face covered by a surgical mask and the hood of his hoodie, with 'security' written in bold across his back. but now, all the girls, you included, had one goal… hearing his voice.

that was the thing with ghost-how he had been introduced to the staff-he didn't talk. when drunk men started bothering the dancers, he didn't need to say a word. he just approached, and the fuckers got the message. if they didn't, he grabbed them and threw them outside. not a single word spoken.

word was that he was ex-military, and it would make sense. his sheer physical strength alone was proof-you had seen him throw a man to the floor like he weighed nothing, and that guy had to be at least 130 kilos. his posture was another giveaway, rigid and disciplined, always on his feet, eyes scanning the room like a hawk. then there was his silence-no one ever heard him coming. sure, the music was loud, but even without it, he moved like a ghost, blending so seamlessly into his environment that predicting his next move was nearly impossible. guess he earned that nickname.

but why would an ex-military man end up in a strip club in manchester? he either fucked up bad, or he was just done.

truth was, simon had been injured-his knee was shot, pain was constant, and command had benched him for good. no more deployments, no more battlefield. just a desk and a slow death in an office. so he walked.

he hated the way he would softly limp. to untrained eyes, it was barely noticeable, but to him? he felt like he was half of himself . this job was the only thing he'd found outside the military that still required some of his skills. he had no interest in working around soldiers-too petty for that. they didn't want him anymore, so he sure as hell wasn't going to help them train new recruits.

so he ended up here, at the magic stick. what a stupid fucking name. but the job? same as always-observe, analyze, attack.

it wasn't so bad. the job was easy, the place mostly clean, and the pay was good. he didn't need to socialize. sure, the girls had tried to sweet-talk him, but he'd just deadpanned them until they gave up. the only one who never really tried was the one he always had his eyes on. his gaze lingered on you when you were on the pole, when you walked past him to head to the back, when you led a man by the hand to the private rooms.

you were on your break, smoking by the staff door when he stepped out. normally, you were never shy-especially not around men, given your line of work-but there was something about ghost that made your hands sweat. you meekly offered him a fag, your voice quieter than usual. he said nothing. just looked at you, unreadable as ever. yet, somehow, the silence wasn't awkward. you were.

maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the way he carried himself, all stillness and power, but something had you spiraling. before you could stop yourself, you started ranting about customers, the same way you did with the girls inside. anything to fill the space, anything to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. call it a defense mechanism, call it whatever you wanted-but right now, you just needed to stop feeling so damn flustered.

once you were finished with both the rant and the fag, you made your way inside, quickly. "thanks for the therapy, ghost." you'd said. he still had his eyes on you, his expression unreadable, but you guessed you had annoyed him. just as you turned your back on him, passing through the door, you heard him.

"name's simon," he grunted, voice thick with that unmistakable manchester accent.

back inside, your cheeks were burning. his voice was so deep it should be illegal. it suited him, no doubt, and you'd be lying if you said just hearing his name didn't send a shiver down your spine. how could a man you had no shot with be that damn attractive? as you made up your little scenarios at night, you imagined his groans in your ears. you'd known he'd groan.

but life went on. you danced, he watched. until one night…

it was a busy night, even with only an hour until closing. many men were still sitting, watching all the girls on stage. you were out looking for the biggest fish-the man with the most drinks on his table, the one whose clothes looked the most expensive. it hadn't been a slow night, but you liked the money. little did you know, you were being observed too.

when you had chosen your target, you took him to the back. men here were always so eager for private dances. you explained everything meekly- how long, how expensive. and most importantly, you told him: no touching, not from him. "i do all the work, honey," you said, sitting down on his lap.

as you started your show, you knew he was going to be a difficult one. he kept trying to reach for your hips, your thighs. at first, you stayed calm, pushing his hands down gently with a soft smile on your lips. but as he insisted on moving his hands, you decided you were done. you quickly put your top back on, told him it was on the house, and that he could just leave now.

he didn't really seem happy with the idea. you knew what was coming, so you reached for the hidden button, pressing it to call security.

the man had approached you, trying to grab you again, pulling at your top, yelling for you to go back to dancing, calling you a whore. he even went as far as grabbing a handful of your arse. but before he could do more, he was on the floor, ghost on him, fists landing on his face.

once he decided the fucker had had enough, he dragged him outside. he glanced back at you before leaving, like he was waiting for something. "'m 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦," you said, nodding at him. to be honest, you were more than fine-you were hot and bothered. he had been protecting you. you.

you had worked in far worse strip clubs; you were no stranger to that type of behavior. that's why you liked this place so much: the security was efficient. even the guys before ghost didn't make you wait 10 minutes here. and ghost-he arrived in a matter of seconds. you didn't really care how he had gotten there so quickly.

after closing, you decided to take a shower at the club. even though you were sadly used to vile men, it was never a pleasant experience. you told the girls not to wait up for you; you knew the manager wouldn't be leaving for another hour, so you took your time.

what you didn't know was that simon always waited for you in the shadows. he liked to watch you reach your car, making sure nothing happened to you on the short walk from the door to the parking lot. so when he saw all the girls making their way out, but not you, he got concerned. he decided to investigate. he never thought he'd stumble upon this.

you were in the showers, and he heard the water running. reassured that you were okay, he was about to make his way out, ready to wait in the dark like a good guard dog. but just as he put his hand on the handle, the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard reached his ears.

"simon," you moaned.

you had no idea he was here, he knew that. he smirked, wondering how long you had been touching yourself to the thought of him. probably as long as he had with you. he had seen the look on your face in the private room, your eyes screaming '𝘧uck m𝘦.' he hadn't thought anything of it then, chalking it up to the adrenaline. but now? you were going to get what you asked for.

silently taking his clothes off, he made sure to lock the bathroom door. no one was here but you and the manager, but he was still thorough. old habits died hard. he took his mask off too. after all, he had no intention of this being a one-time thing. his sweet girl could see his face; he didn't care.

pulling the shower curtain open, you didn't even notice that. tsk. oh, that wouldn't do. he'd have to teach you to be more aware of your surroundings. the world was a very bad place.

you jumped when you felt a warm body behind you, hands on your hips. you were about to move your own hand from between your legs, but it was stopped. "don't stop on my account, lovie," simon murmured in your ear, his voice low and rough. "wanna hear all those sweet sounds you're makin'"

when you didn't do anything, you felt his teeth nip at your throat. "what? gettin' shy on me?" he laughed darkly, and you just whimpered in response. "ah, i see. need me to do all the work, yeah?" he asked, the smirk clear in his voice. and so, he did all the work.

you had been right, he did groan.

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uhhhj13iguess · 1 month ago

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isn't that crazy?

peter parker x fem!reader

summary: reader storms into peter's apartment, upset over her last tinder date being a complete tool and refusing to eat her out. peter gets a little... distracted.

wc: ~2.1k

cw: ! MDNI ! not full smut, but descriptions of peter being hard, talking about oral (fem!receiving), dry humping, hints of peter being an absoulte munch, swearing, peter getting so embarassed he makes half-jokes to himself about suicide, friends to lovers sexual tension babyyyyyyyyyy

masterlist and taglist!

he didn't mean it. honestly.

in fact, there's nothing peter wanted more in this moment than not to be painfully hard. but here he was, and he didn't know what the fuck to do.

you had let yourself into his apartment with your spare, angrily marching down his hallway already yelling, up in arms about your latest shitty tinder hook up. his bedroom door slammed open, causing him to jump from where he was working at his desk. he looked to you with wide eyes as you continued the rant you'd started upon entering the threshold of his apartment.

"i mean, seriously? i give you the best head of your life, and you return with saying how 'disgusting' going down on me would be? and then you have the audacity to get mad at me when i don't want to fuck you? what the fuck is wrong with the men of new york?!"

you threw yourself down on his bed, frustrated sighs wracking through your chest as you attempted to calm yourself down, hands rough in your hair. peter stared back with bewilderment, and unfortunately, upon the thought of eating you out, an insane hard-on.

it's not like you hadn't talked about sex in the past five years of knowing peter, the two of you told each other everything. peter had just never seen you so... vulgar about it. so frustrated. he knew he needed to come up with a response — hell, he should've a solid thirty seconds ago — but he was currently willing his blood to stay in the upper half of his body, failing miserably as he couldn't fight off images of you spread for him out of his mind.

"what do you think, pete?" your voice snapped him back to earth.

"w-what?"

you gave a shrug, staring down at your lap and thankfully not seeing peter adjust himself and bring a sweatshirt into his own lap.

"i dunno, maybe i'm being the crazy one here. is it so bad to want head in return?" you stared at him expectantly, like you hadn't just asked him the most insane question he'd ever heard.

he shook his head a little too quickly, mentally cringing at how awkward he was being. parker, pull your shit together!

"no," he responded honestly. "i don't think you're being crazy." i think he's crazy for not wanting to.

you gave another heavy sigh, this time your turn to shake your head. "this is the third guy in a row who was appalled i even dare to bring it up. isn't that fucking crazy?"

peter nodded as though he was in a trance, eyes glossy as he stared at you. his reply fell to a whisper, not trusting the pitch of his own voice right now. "fucking crazy."

he held your gaze for a while as you sat in a comfortable silence. maybe for you, peter, however, was looking for any possible exit strategy that could come his way. his mind was going a million miles per hour, rushing thoughts of having you under him keeping him twitching against his sweatpants. he shifted in his seat, a lapse of judgment on peter's end as the sweatshirt in his lap moved against his groin, a sharp exhale falling from his gaped lips as he did everything in his power to hold back a moan.

if you noticed, you didn't let him know, giving him a soft smile as you stood from his bed to walk closer, gaze now heavy on the physics notes sprawled on the desk. you leaned over his shoulder, a hand on the back of his chair to stabilize yourself as you peered down.

"i'm sorry for complaining about my trashy sex life, this looks a thousand times more important. jesus, what even is all this?"

you leaned down further, your chest now brushing against his shoulder blade as you skimmed the papers, breath hot against his ear. normally, your proximity was no issue for peter — you've been best friends for years, touch wasn't foreign. but with his current circumstances, your touch against him was sending his senses into overdrive, and he was going to combust.

"j-just... physics... i-i guess." he stuttered, not daring to move his head a millimeter as your cheek nearly grazed his own.

you gave a gentle chuckle, the sound earning a groan deep in peter's throat before he knew to stop it. "yeah, i could figure out that much, parker. what's up with you? you're being weird."

you pull back slightly to adjust, immediately turning around to sit on peter's knee. again, it was something you'd done hundreds of times before with no other thoughts or implications, but with the sinful chains around his thoughts right now, it only threw him off more. you went to grab the sweatshirt in his lap, hoping to shift onto him more comfortably. he immediately grabbed your hand to stop you.

"no! i-i mean, i'm fine. i'm not being weird." he let go of your hand, crossing his arms and giving you a shrug, his best attempt at coming off nonchalant. his best wasn't good enough.

"yeah right, peter. what's your prob-" while speaking, you had grabbed for the sweatshirt quicker this time, using the momentum to immediately swing your leg over both his thighs to sit in his lap properly. you sat down fully, cheeks instantly flushing pink, "oh."

there were many times in his life when peter thought about ending it all, but none as much as now. he was going to have to either move countries, or jump from the empire state without his web shooters. those were the only two options circling his head as his wide eyes met yours, a red tint taking over his entire upper body.

"i'm so sorry, h-holy shit," he breathed out, grabbing at your hips to lift you off of him so he could get out of here as quickly as possible. you resisted him, though, doing what you could to fight against him and stay firmly planted on his lap. that made him panic even more. because, of course. he wasn't going to have time to kill himself. you were going to kill him first.

"i-i tried to, i don't... i'm so sorry."

you put your hands on his chest, a genuine look of bewilderment splayed across your features. "is that... is this because of me? what i was talking about?"

not only were you going to kill him, you were going to torment him about it first. and he knew he deserved it.

"pete—"

"i'm so sorry, please let me go, i didn't, i—"

"pete, listen to me."

"this is so embarrassing, i really didn't mean to—"

"peter," you let out his name in a voice he hadn't heard before, something torn between a growl and a moan — all while dragging your hips up against him. he gave a shaky exhale at the pressure, the feeling of you rutting against his cock stopping his guilty rambling.

you found his gaze, his pupils blown and irises dark, a direct correlation to the twitching of his cock as you gave him another soft roll of your hips. his hands found your hips again, holding you firmly in place to stop the teasing movement. his brows knit together, geunine confusion plastered across his face.

"what... what are you doing?" he was breathless, chest heaving as he stared back at you. you hesitantly reached a hand to his hair, palm splaying out on his scalp as your thumb traced circles on his temple. even in his worst possible moments, you were there to calm him down. he had absolutely no idea why you weren't yelling at him, or what you were even still doing here, but he wasn't going to fight it. he melted into your touch, and his breathing hitched as you leaned in closer.

"have you always felt this way?" you whispered, breath against his cheeks sending goosebumps across his body.

"felt... what?" he tried to play dumb, despite the fact that you could also feel how excruciatingly hard he was against you. when he daydreamed about confessing he was in love with you, this was never a scenario in his head.

you let your hand graze slowly down the side of his face, fingers coming to trace his sculpted jawline. his breath didn't just hitch at this point, he was pretty sure his lungs stopped working entirely.

"why haven't you ever said anything?" it wasn't angry, it was a genuine question.

he let out a scoff, a hand leaving your hip to scratch the back of his neck, embarrassment covering his features for the hundredth time this evening. "yeah, well. this isn't exactly how you want to tell your best friend you love her."

your eyes widened, and peter's followed, realization of his words hitting him.

"you love me?"

"holy shit, that's, i didn't, oh my god that's—"

peter's panic was cut off and replaced with awe as he felt your lips crash against his, a feeling he'd been dreaming of since the day he'd met you back in high school. he immediately reciprocated, tilting his head to deepen the kiss and letting a long overdue moan escape from his lips. you smiled against it, both hands interlocking with those brown curls you'd been dying to run your hands through, just like this.

peter nipped at your bottom lip, earning a sharp gasp from you that allowed his tongue much-needed entry into your mouth. the kiss was nothing short of hungry, years of pent-up feelings being released hot and noisily as peter bruised his lips against yours.

he pulled back sharply, out of breath and looking at you as though you weren't real. "wait, i dont... you...?"

you laughed at the lack of his question, though instantly understanding him. you gave a soft nod, a blush creeping over your cheeks as you brought your hands to cup his face. while the kiss was downright sinful, the way you looked at him filled him with nothing but reverence.

"every shitty tinder date happened after i chickened out of telling you how i felt. i just couldn't stand to lose you, peter." you added sadly.

he gave you a knowing look, nodding in agreement. "i know what you mean," he squeezed your hips, a contagious smirk controlling his lips. "wait, you've been going on shitty tinder dates since we moved out for college three years ago."

you returned the smirk, fingers trailing down to ghost the tendons in his neck. "i know."

peter pulled you in again, no longer embarrassed at the desperate noises escaping his throat as he attacked your lips, this kiss somehow hungrier than the last. you grinded down against him again, a raspy "fuck" leaving his swollen lips as he held a firm grip on your hips to keep you moving.

you chuckled at his desperation.

"you're telling me i could've been doing this the whole time instead of shitty jocks thinking its gross to make a woman feel good?" you sighed out as he trailed down your neck, teeth nipping and bruising your soft flesh as he continued to move against your hips, leaving you to soak up the feeling out how hard he was underneath you.

peter groaned in frustration, standing quickly with you still wrapped around his hips. he held you with one arm as though you weighed nothing, lips still attached to the pulse point in your neck. he used the other to catch himself as he threw you down onto his bed. you gasped, your back hitting the soft mattress as you took in peter's frame over you, hands on either side of your head.

he pulled back from his artwork on your neck, his jaw clenched. "i can't believe anyone could ever tell you such nonsense,"

he leaned down again to peck at your lips, hands making their way down to explore your sides. "i can't tell you what an honor it is to even think about how good you taste," he growled in your ear.

you gave a gasp, his words alone enough to have your cunt aching, as if you hadn't been since the second you sat down on his lap. "you... you think about that?"

he let out a chuckle as he sat back, his hands teasingly making their way to the button of your jeans. he ran his fingers under your waistline as his other hand tugged at your zipper, the feeling of your muscles tensing under his touch driving him absolutely crazy.

"more times than you could torture out of me," he pulled your jeans down, nearly finishing in his sweats at the sight of the delicate lace underwear against your burning skin.

"can i show you what i think about, sweetheart?"

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wonderlandwalker · 2 months ago

Text

Hell Hath no Fury like a Buckley

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 / 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 / 𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x buckley!reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.2k 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: there's exactly two thoughts left in Steve's brain: you, and the fact that he's about to majorly violate the bro code 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the usual I guess, hopeless pining, smut, mostly those, seems the only writing style I have is 'falls desperately deeply in love at first sight' and I'm not in the mood to psychoanalyse it so here's more of that

𝐚/𝐧: was gonna work on this more but I had to commemorate Pope Francis' morbidly entertaining demise somehow x

Steve Harrington was many things—

Former King of Hawkins High (retired, thank you very much). Babysitter extraordinaire (unofficial title, of course, but the kids would back him up). And, according to Robin Buckley—his best friend, partner-in-crime, and personal tormentor—a ‘walking disaster with good hair’.

But right now?

Right now, he was fucking mortified.

Okay.

Wait—

Let’s rewind.

Five minutes ago, life had been simple: Steve had been doing his best impression of a responsible lifeguard, which mostly meant leaning against the chair with his sunglasses perched low, pretending he wasn’t counting the minutes until his shift ended and he could stop caring about pH levels. The Hawkins community pool was the same as ever— the sharp tang of sunscreen and chlorine in the air, kids cannonballing into the deep end, and Debbie — the one lifeguard who actually gave a shit about the rules— blowing her whistle at some poor kid for running. Steve?

Steve was here for two reasons. One: free access to the pool after hours — unofficial, of course—courtesy of Keith’s lack of managerial oversight. And two: A pay cheque that barely covers gas money but is still better than listening to his dad rant on to him about ‘loafing around all summer like a goddamn bum.’

And then—

Then he saw you.

Which, okay, is not that unusual— people come to the pool all the time. And it wasn’t that you stood out, not really. No, you were just— there. In a swimsuit like half the other girls, a loose cover-up tied around your hips, but fuck— As you stepped into the sunlight, it was like the universe had hit pause. You moved like a struck match in a room full of shadows—vivid, flickering, impossible to look away from. Everybody else blurred at the edges, cardboard cut-outs in your wake, but you? You burnt.

And Steve—God, Steve was already half in love with the way the light would destroy him. He knew the story. Knew how it ended. Orpheus wasn’t supposed to turn around. But you smiled at him, and suddenly he understood: some temptations aren’t meant to be resisted. They’re meant to unravel you, thread by thread, until you’re grateful for the ruin.

Oh, shit.

You were walking straight toward him.

Fuck.

Think, Harrington, think.

You looked familiar. Hawkins isn’t exactly a metropolis—if you’d gone to school here, he’d know you. Had you been at the summer fun fair? Sat behind him in chem sophomore year? Christ, this was bad. Steve—King Steve, who used to have the entire school catalogued in his peripheral vision—couldn’t even scrape together a fucking name. Maybe you were—

Your eyes met his—sharp enough to flay him open—and your smirk said you knew exactly how hard his brain was liquidating.

Double fuck.

You were smiling at him—Christ—that stagnant, astute curve of lips that already felt branded behind his eyelids, and he was staring. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Some distant, rational part of his intellect screamed at him: say something cool. Say something cool.

Instead, all he could track was the way you tilted your head—that loose strand of hair escaping, catching sunlight like spun gold as it tumbled free. His fingers spasmed at his side with the sudden, visceral urge to reach out—to brush it back behind your ear with a touch too tender for whatever this was. The realisation made him feel violently stupid, like some second-rate rom-com hero about to monologue his feelings in the rain.

"Hey," you said, and your voice wrapped around him like smoke. Steve's pulse stuttered. "Have you seen Robin by any chance?"

The whiplash of it—the casual destruction of that moment—left his cerebrum sputtering like a dying engine.

Robin?

Why the hell were you asking about Robin?

Robin doesn’t have friends he didn’t know about. He is her best friend, which means he knows all her people—the band geeks, the weirdos from the record store, and even that one girl who could recite The Hobbit in Elvish. He’d met them all.

And yet, here you were, asking for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you had the right to know her schedule. Like you—

His mouth moved faster than his brain. "She left to grab beers, like...five minutes ago."

"Figures," you hummed, rolling your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched—that tell-tale sign of years weathering Robin's particular brand of chaos. "She swore she'd meet me here, but I guess we're operating on Buckley Standard Time again."

Steve's thoughts screeched to a halt.

Buckley Standard Time.

That was—

No. That couldn't be right. Because that was his bit. Well, technically it was their bit — his and Robin’s— the joke he'd made after she'd shown up forty minutes late to their shift because she'd "gotten into a debate about whether hot dogs were sandwiches with some guy at the record store."

He'd thought that was theirs. Just theirs.

But you knew it.

Which meant—

Oh shit.

Oh, no.

His stomach dropped like he’d just crested the first hill of a rollercoaster—that awful, weightless second before the plunge. Because there were only two kinds of people who knew Buckley Standard Time: him, and someone who’d known Robin longer than he had. And unless you were some kind of psychic super-stalker (which, given the way his heart was currently trying to break through his ribs, he might’ve honestly preferred), that left only one earth-shattering possibility.

His eyes flicked over your face again, searching for it—the resemblance. The same sharp wit tucked into the corner of your smile. The identical nose scrunch when you laughed. Christ, how had he missed it? He’d been too busy being dazzled, too busy cataloguing the way sunlight caught in your eyes, to notice the nuclear bomb of a truth staring him in the face.

“Y-you’re—” Steve cleared his throat, trying to wrestle his voice into something resembling casual indifference. It came out closer to a pubescent seagull. “You’re Robin’s…?”

��Twin.Yeah.” Your grin widened, head tilting in a way that should’ve had a government warning: Caution: May cause permanent heart palpitations.

Holy.

Shit.

He’d heard about you, of course—the mythical other half of Robin’s childhood stories, the shadow in the Polaroids stuffed in her wallet. He’d even known you were coming to town for the summer. But in his mind, he’d just pictured… Robin 2.0. Same chaos, different zip code. But meeting you in person was a different kind of disaster.

Not only were you Robin’s sister—fully, irrevocably off-limits by the Bro Code in every conceivable universe—but he’d just spent the past two minutes mentally drafting embarrassingly bad poetry about how your eyes reminded him of...something poetic (he hadn't gotten that far).

And Robin?

Robin was going to murder him.

Slowly. Painfully. With that special look of disappointment she reserved exclusively for when he was being “particularly Harrington-ish”.

"Oh," he said, brilliantly. "Cool. That's—cool." The words hung in the air like particularly unimpressive confetti. You raised one eyebrow, clearly savouring the spectacle of smooth talking. Steve Harrington reduced to a floundering mess. "You okay there?"

"Yep. Great. Never better." His grip on the lifeguard chair tightened until the plastic creaked ominously. "Just, uh—didn't know Robin had a sister." Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid—

The moment the words left his mouth, your face twitched—part amusement, part genuine bewilderment. “Really?” For a second he wondered if he should just fucking bolt, but then your smile returned, and he forgot how his lungs worked. "I've been away at college," you explained, shifting your weight just enough to make the hem of your cover-up ride up, and Steve suddenly developed an intense fascination with the chlorine dispenser behind you, his ears burning crimson. "But I'm back for the summer, and Robin promised me pool privileges." You leaned in, dropping your voice to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "Apparently, you're the guy to sweet-talk for after-hours access."

Sweet-talk.

You wanted to sweet-talk him.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His mouth opened, ready to blurt something catastrophically eager like, "You don't even need to sweet-talk me; I'd drain the pool and refill it with champagne if you asked," when—

"There you are!"

Robin materialised like some kind of vengeful angel, arms loaded with a six-pack and a half-eaten bag of chips. "I see you two already met." Her expression cycled from relief at spotting you to instant suspicion as her gaze darted between your amused smile and Steve's deer-in-headlights-meets-fish-out-of-water-meets-man-who-just-remembered-he-left-the-stove-on panic. "Why does Steve look like he's about to pass out?" She asked flatly, already exhausted. "Earth to Harrington. You good?" Robin waved a hand in front of his glazed-over eyes, then shot you a look. "This guy's supposed to save lives? Yeah, right."

Which brings us back to fucking mortified.

Robin doesn’t even wait for you to reach the car, having commandeered you on an urgent towel retrieval mission she absolutely (and suspiciously) couldn’t handle herself. One second Steve's watching you go, the next he's being manhandled behind the snack bar like a misbehaving golden retriever, Robin's fingers digging into his bicep like she’s trying to jump-start his malfunctioning brain through sheer force. "What the fuck is up with you?" She hisses, voice low enough that it bypasses his eardrums and vibrates directly in his panic centre. Her free hand gestures wildly toward the parking lot. "Why are you acting so weird?”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. His throat makes a noise like a dial-up modem trying to connect. "I wasn't—" Robin's eyes narrow into lethal slits. "You were." She releases his arm only to jab a finger against his sternum hard enough to leave a bruise. "The moment she walked in, you short-circuited so hard I could smell burning wiring. You called the pool ladder ‘ma’am’. Twice."

Steve’s pulse kicks into overdrive. “What? I was just—being nice.” He gestures vaguely at the pool, as if that explains anything. “I’m a nice guy, Robin. It’s a thing I do.” She scoffs, nostrils flaring. “Harrington, I’ve seen your ‘nice’. This wasn’t ‘nice’. This was—” She makes a frantic explosion motion with her hands, complete with a “pshooo!” sound effect. “—full-system meltdown ‘nice’. You were sweating.”

“It’s July,” he protests weakly.

“You never sweat.”

“I always sweat!”

“You once fought a demodog in a leather jacket and came out dewy at most.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “That’s— that’s not—” But before he can dig his grave any deeper, you reappear, sauntering over with a smirk that spells nothing but trouble. “Everything alright over here?” Robin’s grip on his arm tightens like a warning. “Great!” she chirps, voice suddenly three octaves too high. “Steve was just telling me how thrilled he is to have another Buckley around.”

Steve’s smile is less charming Harrington grin and more man awaiting execution. “Thrilled”, he croaks. “Yep. So. So thrilled.” Your grin widens at his words—slow, studious, dangerous. "Yeah?" You step closer, and Steve's heart launches into an Olympic-grade gymnastics routine—triple backflip, perfect landing, gold medal in catastrophic panic. "Because I was just thinking..." Your finger taps a thoughtful rhythm against your chin. "...about all that quality time we'll be sharing. Robin says you throw legendary parties."

Steve’s brain flatlines. Parties. Together. You. Him. Oh God.

Across from him, Robin’s gaze darts between the two of you, her expression morphing from suspicion to outright dread.

Steve's Adam's apple bobs like it's trying to flee his throat. She knows. Christ, she definitely knows. He has just enough coherent thought left to realise:

He is so spectacularly, catastrophically, irrevocably fucked.

He spends the rest of the week trying to avoid you. Trying being the key word here. The universe, it seems, has other plans.

Because you're everywhere—a constant, maddening presence burning at the edges of his vision like the ghost of a flashlight in the dark. He swears you're doing it on purpose, catching his eye just to watch him fumble, that sly smile playing at the corners of your lips every time his pulse stutters under your gaze. And God, does it stutter.

You’re at the impromptu movie night Nancy throws, wedged between Robin and Eddie on the couch, laughing as you recall some childhood disaster involving a stolen bike, a jar of peanut butter, and—if Robin’s dramatic interruptions are to be believed—a "very pissed-off raccoon with a personal vendetta."

"Way more traumatic than this," you declare, gesturing at the slasher flick on the screen where some poor extra is meeting their gory demise. Steve—who’s stranded in the armchair like some sombre, forgotten puppy—can’t manage to join in. Not when your laughter does things to his pulse that’s sure to send him into cardiac arrest any day now.

But then your knee brushes against Eddie’s as you lean forward to grab a handful of popcorn, and something hot and irrational coils in Steve’s gut. It’s stupid—Eddie’s just a friend, and it’s not like he has any claim over you—but the way your fingers linger near Eddie’s wrist for half a second too long makes Steve’s jaw clench.

Then there's the Hawkins High tailgate, where the lukewarm beer and golden-hour sunlight are the real stars of the show – not the Tigers' tragic losing streak. Steve leans against his BMW, nursing a drink and trying to convince himself that he’s here for school spirit— he’s lying. He’s so fucking obvious about it that Robin’s been giving him that look all afternoon—the one that says, ”I will skin you alive if you make this weird.”

And like his personal reckoning—you appear. One second, he’s staring blankly ahead, and the next, you’re sliding onto the hood of his car like you own it, all long legs and lazy smiles. The dying sun paints your skin in hues of amber and gold, catching on the delicate bend of your collarbone and the smooth plane of your thighs where your cut-off shorts ride up.

Christ.

He wants to map every inch of you with his mouth, starting at the delicate dip of your ankle—that vulnerable hollow where his lips could linger—then leisurely, torturously working his way up. Up the taut line of your calf, tracing the sensitive bend of your knee with his tongue. Higher still, along the trembling skin of your inner thigh, where his teeth might graze just to feel you shiver. An unhurried pilgrimage of worship, every gasp and hitch of your breath another sacred waypoint in his journey.

”Dude, you’re, like, actually drooling.” Dustin’s voice cuts through his increasingly inappropriate thoughts. Steve chokes on his drink, beer burning his sinuses as he wheezes, ”What? No, I’m not—!” But Dustin just raises his eyebrows, impervious. ”Uh-huh. Sure.” And then Robin’s there. ”So!” she chirps, stealing Steve’s beer right out of his hand. ”Who’s ready to watch our team get slaughtered?” You hum softly in your throat – a vibration Steve feels more than hears – as you tilt your head toward him. The calculated brush of your knee against his thigh burns through the denim between you, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. His breath catches when you don't pull away, your leg warm and insistent against his.

He’s so screwed.

Even as the midday sun is brutal at the Hawkins pool, he barely feels it—not when you’re walking toward his lifeguard chair with that look in your eyes —the mischievous Buckley spark.

You hold up the sunscreen bottle , tilting your head with a smile of practiced innocence. "Can you help me?" Before he can answer, you're already turning—presenting your back to him where the strings of your bikini top form a delicate, infuriating knot. "I can't reach," you add, voice dripping with false helplessness.

Steve's soul nearly leaves him: "I— You—Robin can—" "Robin's allergic to coconut oil," you lie effortlessly, glancing over your shoulder. The sunlight catches the curve of your shoulder blade, the flutter of your lashes. His mouth goes desert-dry. "And you are the lifeguard." You let the implication hang between you like the summer heat. "Isn't it your job to protect me?"

Fuck.

His hands tremble as he squeezes sunscreen onto his palms, the lotion warm from the sun. When his fingers finally make contact with your skin, you hum—soft, satisfied—and he swears you lean into his touch, just slightly. The sound goes straight to his gut, hot and insistent. His thumbs press into the dip of your spine, dragging sluggish circles that have no business being that deliberate. “You missed a spot,” you murmur, shifting just enough that his fingers brush the edge of your bikini tie. Steve’s breath comes ragged. This is torture.

And now? Now the bass from Tina’s stereo thrums through the floor, rattling Steve’s bones like a second heartbeat. The air is thick with sweat and cheap beer, the kind of chaos he usually lives for—except tonight, his entire world has narrowed down to you.

All evening, he’s been trapped in a loop of stolen glances and half-formed hopes, wondering if the way your eyes linger on him means something or if he’s just another fool drunk on wishful thinking. Is this real? Is this worth it? The questions gnaw at him, unanswered, even as he drains the last of his beer and sets the bottle down with a clink. And then, as if summoned by his desperation, you’re there. Emerging beside him like smoke, you lean into the wall, your shoulder pressing against his, and suddenly—the music, the crowd, the entire fucking room might as well not exist.

"Trying to hide from me, Harrington?" You taunt, tipping your drink to your lips. The bottle’s rim glistens under the dim light, and your mouth—pink, slow, meticulous—lingers there for a beat too long. It’s a calculated assault on what little composure he has left. His throat goes dry.

“Would it work if I were?” He shoots back, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. His voice is rougher than he intended, betraying the way his pulse jumps under his skin. You laugh, low and keen, before stepping into his space. Your palm lands on his chest, searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Probably not.” You admit, fingers crooking slightly—testing, teasing—and he knows you can feel the frantic hammering of his heart beneath your touch.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning in until your breath ghosts his jaw, “Robin talks about you all the time.”

His breath hitches.

This is dangerous.

Your knee brushes his thigh, prudent and—holy shit—his thoughts dissolve into static. “But she never mentioned how cute you are when you’re flustered.” The words curl into his ear, sweet and lethal. He should say something clever, something smooth, but all he can manage is a shaky exhale as your fingers trail up to his collarbone, tracing the edge of his shirt. You’re close enough now that he can smell the jasmine of your perfume and the faint tang of gin on your tongue. Your hips tilting, just a fraction, and— “I wonder”, you whisper, lips grazing the shell of his ear, “what else I don’t know yet.”

Before he can respond—before he can even breathe—you’re leaning in, your nose almost brushing his. His hand lifts—to pull you closer? To push you away? —when—

"Oh my God."

Robin’s voice shatters the moment as she stands there, arms crossed, looking done. “I leave you two alone for five minutes—”

Steve jerks back like he’s been burnt. "Robin! Hey! We were just—"

"—about to make my life a living hell?"

Steve’s mouth snaps shut, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s still debating whether to reach for you again, and his gaze flickers to your lips — just for a moment— before he forces a laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. The gesture does nothing to hide the flush creeping up his throat. “Come on,” he deflects, “We were just talking.”

Robin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. And 'talking' now involves you two looking like you’re about to re-enact Dirty Dancing in the middle of the living room?" Steve can feel your pulse kick where your thigh brushes against his, but you don’t back down. You’re clearly used to these sparring matches with Robin, a rhythm he doesn’t yet know the steps to, and he’s equal parts terrified and intrigued.

"Maybe you should’ve knocked," you shoot back, grinning wider when Robin’s jaw drops and Steve’s composure nosedives like a bird that just noticed the window isn’t open.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not." Robin jabs a finger between the two of you like she’s warding off evil. "I refuse to be the third wheel in whatever… this is." She spins toward the kitchen with enough dramatic flair to create wind resistance. "I'm getting another drink," she announces over her shoulder. "Or seven. Alone. Like the abandoned best friend in every fucking rom-com."

Steve takes a half-step forward. "Rob—"

"Save it, Dingus." She pauses, levelling you both with a glare that’s equal parts warning and surrender. "Ground rules," she announces, holding up a finger. "You—" The finger jabs at Steve's chest. “If you hurt my sister, I’ll give you a live demonstration of why The Texas Chainsaw Massacre wasn’t rated PG. Spoiler: It’s the bone saws.” Her finger swings to you, and Steve can practically hear your heartbeat kick into overdrive against his side. "And you—if you give him another existential crisis, I'm telling Mom you're the one who broke Grandma's urn and that you're the reason we had to get the couch steam-cleaned in '82."

Then she’s gone, swallowed by the noise of the party.

The silence between you is thick, charged. Steve exhales, slow and shaky, before turning back to you. The air crackles—Robin’s interruption only fanned the flames, and now it licks at his skin, relentless. His voice comes out rough, just this side of breaking: "She’s never gonna let me live this down." You bite your lip, stepping closer. The scent of your perfume coils around him, dizzying. "Then we might as well give her something real to complain about," you murmur, lips grazing the shell of his ear. His breath stutters when your fingers skate up his throat, nails scraping just barely over his stubble. A whimper claws its way out of him, raw and unbidden. "Christ. You’re killin’ me here." You grin, all teeth. "Good." Your thumb brushes the frantic pulse under his jaw. "We’ve got about twelve minutes until she storms back. Better make ‘em count."

This time, when you lean in, there’s no one to stop you, just the muffled clink of Robin angrily rearranging liquor bottles in the kitchen. Steve finally—fucking finally—learns what you taste like (gin and mint and something addicting), how your lips feel against his (softer than he imagined, but demanding, hungry), and how the dip of your waist fits under his palms like it was made for him. And Christ—the sound you make when he pulls you flush against him, a moan clawing its way up your throat, is enough to unravel him completely.

His brain, stuck on a loading screen for days, finally processes one coherent thought:

Fuck it.

Steve's hand fists in your hair, dragging you closer—Christ, not close enough—until your shared breath turns jagged. Just as he tilts his head to finally taste you properly, you pull back. His stomach plummets like a failed carnival ride. For one gut-twisting second, he's certain he's ruined it—misread the way your body arched against his, all heat and hunger, like you wanted to melt into his skin. Then your fingers lock around his wrist, nails biting just shy of pain, and the look you give him isn't hesitation—it's wildfire. "C'mere," you murmur, already walking down the hallway, tugging him along. Steve doesn't think; his body moves before his mind catches up, pulled by the magnetism of your touch.

The party dissolves into white noise—drowned out by the hammering rhythm of his pulse. Every passive draw of your thumb against his skin is a brand-new dare, burning straight through to his sternum. The hallway diminishes around you, lit only by a sputtering bulb that throws strobe-light shadows across your face. He doesn't miss the way your teeth sink into your lower lip as you glance at the bathroom door—or how your grip tightens like you're fighting the urge to sprint the last few steps.

Then you're shoving him inside, all impatient hands and shared momentum. The door clicks shut behind you with finality, sealing you both in the dark. Somewhere outside, a cheer goes up—maybe for the keg stand, maybe for the universe laughing at how thoroughly Steve Harrington is about to lose his goddamn mind.

The space is cramped, the air thick with the odour of soap and the lingering sweetness of someone’s perfume. The sink digs into his lower back, cold enough to make him hiss—but then your hands are on him, warm and demanding, and he forgets everything else. Forgets the way your thighs had tensed when he licked the salt off his hand before taking a shot. Forgets the way you’d watched his throat bob as he laughed at one of Robin’s jokes. Forgets the way you’d nearly choked on your own tongue when he’d rolled up his sleeves in the kitchen, forearms flexing as he scooped ice into a cup. The party’s bass thrums through the walls, a distant echo beneath the serrated sound of his own breathing and the slick noise of your mouth on his skin. Christ, he hopes the music’s loud enough to drown out the way you whimper when he sucks at your pulse point.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” you admit, voice low, and the crude honesty in it makes his throat go dry. Your fingers dig into his hips, pulling him closer. “All week”, you correct, and suddenly he’s replaying every glance, every brush of contact: the way you’d “tripped” into his side at the pool, how you’d lingered in his space after movie night, your knee pressed to his thigh for a full thirty minutes before Robin kicked you both off her couch. The memory of your breath on his neck when you’d leaned over his shoulder to steal a fry at the diner—had you always smelt this good?

Steve’s hands trail up your waist, thumbs carving possessive lines into that sliver of exposed skin where your shirt’s ridden up. “Yeah?” he rasps, voice wrecked—drunk on the way your breath hitches, on the way your ribs expand under his palms like you’re already starving for it. “Funny. I thought I was the one losing my damn mind.” You hum—a quiet, perceptive sound—before inching your lips along the column of his throat. He feels the vibration of it like a live wire down his spine, sparking at every vertebra. “Show me,” you murmur against his pulse, and the challenge in it sends his blood south so fast he gets lightheaded. It’s all the permission he needs.

One hand fists in your hair, wrenching your head back as he crashes into you. This kiss isn’t like before—no teasing, no hesitation—just heat and teeth and the slick, filthy slide of your tongue against his. He swallows your whimper when his other hand slips under your shirt, palm skimming the bare dip of your waist. Christ. The whimper you let out when his fingers dig into your hip isn’t just sound. It’s a bloody revelation.

Steve knows he’s on borrowed time. Robin’s sharp and observant—she’ll come looking sooner rather than later, and when she does, she’ll take one look at his flushed face and your swollen lips and know. The thought should sober him up, but right now? He doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your nails bite into his shoulders, the way you gasp when he nips your lower lip, and the way your body fits against his like you were carved from the same damn stone. And when you roll your hips against his—slow, deliberate, maddening—his grip tightens, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. His voice is rough, wrecked, barely recognisable when he growls against your mouth: "This isn't exactly how I pictured our first time."

The words tear from Steve's throat, rough and wrecked—a confession to his sinful thoughts. The second they hit air, he freezes. Shit.

But you—Christ, you—just beam like you've won the lottery, dragging your teeth over his swollen bottom lip in a way that makes his knees threaten to buckle. "You pictured our first time?" Your voice drips with delight, thumb brushing the frantic pulse in his neck. Heat floods his cheeks, but you don't let him recover. You crash into him, kissing him so hard his back slams against the tiled wall. His hands move on pure instinct—lifting you onto the sink with a grunt, fingers skating up the soft underside of your thighs like he's memorising the map of you. When they dig in, kneading with a hunger that surprises even him, you moan directly into his mouth, and the sound goes straight to his dick.

You moan, and the sound tears something primal from his chest—a growl that rumbles against your lips, vibrating through you. "How about we save your ideal first time for later?" You murmur against him, biting his lip just hard enough to make him jerk against you. Your voice drops to a whisper, all heat and promise: "And focus on fucking my brains out in the next ten minutes?"

Steve's resolve doesn't just shatter—it disintegrates. Any pretence of patience evaporates as his hands find your waist, fingers pressing bruises into your hips that you'll savour tomorrow. His mouth crashes into yours again, but this time he's a man on a mission. He charts your skin like territory to be conquered—the sharp line of your jaw, the salt-slick column of your throat, the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his tongue. When he reaches the swell of your cleavage, you arch into him with a gasp that turns into a whine as his teeth scrape delicate skin. Your fingers are already working at his belt, tugging with impatient urgency.

"Steve—"

"Fuck," he rasps, pulling back just enough to watch your face. "You sound even better than I imagined." And Christ, he has imagined this—in the shower, trying to relieve the ache with his hand, in his bed with the sheets tangled around his thighs, in the fucking Family Video break room when you'd leaned too close to reach a tape. Every fantasy pales in comparison to the reality of your nails digging into his hips as he shoves his jeans down just enough to free himself. Your hand wraps around him in one smooth motion, and for one blinding second, the world narrows to the slick heat of your fingers, the way your thumb swipes over the head just to watch his abs clench.

If this is heaven, he'll sign his own damn death warrant.

But then—then—you spin him around with surprising strength, dropping to your knees on the bath mat. The cool tile bites into his palms as he braces against the sink, but all he can focus on is the way your breath ghosts over him, the way your eyes lock onto his as your tongue—

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

His vision fractures at the edges, tunnelling until the universe condenses to three points: the wicked curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes against your skin, and the sinful press of your tongue where he needs it most. For one suspended, blasphemous moment, Steve's convinced Robin actually killed him—because there's no earthly way this is real: your mouth sinking onto him like you've been starving for it, hot and wet and perfect, swallowing him down to the hilt with a vibration that travels straight to his fucking spine. The sound you make—a muffled, content hum around him as he hits the back of your throat—sends a full-body shudder through him.

Holy mother of God.

He knows better than to look. He knows he shouldn’t—but he does anyway, helpless as a marionette with its strings cut—

Big mistake.

Because now he's watching, really watching, as your lips stretch obscenely around him, as your throat works to take him deeper. Your eyes lock onto his, crinkled at the corners with vicious amusement as you take him deeper, and shit, suddenly he’s sixteen again, stumbling across his first Playboy, heart racing and palms sweating. Except now it’s your mouth, your knowing gaze scalding him hotter than July asphalt as you savour every choked noise he can’t suppress. He should say something, should at least try to form words, but all his head does is thud back again. That look alone—like you’re cataloguing his every twitch and heave—threatens to spill him into your throat right fucking now. If he doesn’t—

A burst of laughter ricochets down the hall, sudden and too close. Your fingers tighten reflexively around the base of him, nails grazing the sensitive skin there, and Steve’s entire body tenses like a bowstring drawn too tight, but his hips jerk forward before he can stop them, dragging a ragged groan from him.

“Fuck—we have to be quiet,” he rasps, but you just smirk around him, all devilish intent, dragging your tongue along his underside in a measured, filthy stripe that makes his vision blur at the edges. His legs actually cave in; he has to brace a forearm against the wall to stay upright.

It’s agony.

It’s ecstasy.

Then your eyes flutter shut, and the soft, satisfied hum you let out vibrates through him straight to his spine. His fingers fist in your hair—gentle, got to be gentle—but his hips jerk of their own accord, chasing the sinful heat of your mouth like it’s his only chance at salvation. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he chokes, voice shredded. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.” And he means it. Because if this is what you do to him in some shitty bathroom, with Robin and half the party just beyond the door—Then what happens when he gets you alone? His mind whites out, fever-bright with the images: Pinning you against the first available surface—his bed, his car, the fucking kitchen counter—anything to finally take what you’ve been tormenting him with. Peeling you out of your clothes with agonising slowness, just to hear you whine and beg for his name. His mouth on every patch of skin he’s watched you expose all summer—the dip of your collarbone, the inside of your thighs, that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp when he accidentally brushes it. The way you’d clench around him when he finally sinks in, tight and desperate after an eternity of stolen glances. The filth he’d whisper in your ear: “Knew you’d take me so fucking good.”

“Christ,” he grits out, hips stuttering as you swallow him deeper. His knuckles tensing against the sink. “You’re so fucking—”

A sharp knock at the door interrupts him.

“Hey, dipshits!” Robin’s voice slices through the haze, sharp with accusation. "You better not be doing what I think you’re doing in there."

Steve’s head thunks back against the wall. Goddamn it.

His entire body locks up, every muscle pulled taut between the mind-numbing pleasure of your mouth and the very real possibility of Robin kicking the door in. His fingers twist tighter in your hair—not to stop you, never to stop you, but because if he doesn’t anchor to something, he might genuinely combust. The bathroom light flickers overhead, casting shadows against your cheeks as you glance up at him, and—fuck—he’s never seen anything more obscene.

"Shit," he hisses, voice shredded. "Fuck, fuck—" The litany spills from him like a prayer, like a curse, like heresy. You pull off just enough to smirk up at him, lips slick and swollen, and the sight alone nearly undoes him. "We should stop," you murmur—liar, fucking liar—your breath scorching his skin. Your tongue grazes his tip as you speak, and Steve sees actual stars. He groans, low and wounded, but his thumb trails over your bottom lip anyway, smearing spit as he claims the wetness there. "Yeah. Yeah, we—" Another knock, louder this time, rattling the doorframe.

"I swear to God, Harrington," Robin’s voice cuts through the wood, "if you’re defiling my sister in there, I’m replacing your hairspray with Nair."

You pull back just enough to make him ache, and Steve’s breath hisses through his teeth—sharp, frustrated, barely holding back something far filthier. His hands twitch at your waist like he’s debating dragging you right back, but all he does is adjust himself with a rough groan, his jeans straining. When his gaze locks onto yours, it’s wildfire in the dark, pupils swallowing every last bit of reason. "This isn’t over." The words scrape out of him like a match strike, sulfur-sharp and spark-ready.

A smirk curls your lips as you stand, lips grazing the stubble along his jaw. The shudder it pulls from him is downright criminal.

"Better not be," you murmur against his skin, your tongue swiping the sting from his skin, sweet as poisoned candy. "Or I’ll finish what you started on my own—and trust me, you’ll lie awake trying and failing to picture it half as vividly as it’ll sound."

Steve’s breath catches. "Christ," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He’s half-hard, wholly ruined, and absolutely fucked when you step back, looking far too innocent for someone who just had their mouth on—

The door flies open under Robin’s impatient fist. Steve barely has time to yank it wider before she’s glaring up at him, arms crossed. But Steve only has one thought consuming him:

Later.

[pt. II]

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hyunebunx · 11 months ago

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⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ' late night moments with skz !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: this is just sleepy fluff <3 some of the boys get kind of emotional.

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: happy binnie day!! <3 to this day, these are some of my favorite hcs i've ever written so i hope you enjoy! (early morning moments with them right here <3)

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - 2:34 am

“Do you think Berry misses me sometimes?” He mumbles into your lap, voice full of sleep as you gently massage his scalp. Looking down at him, your eyes soften when he hugs your middle and hides his face in your stomach which prompts your other hand to begin tracing his features softly.

“Of course, she does, baby.” Chan almost purrs in response and your heart melts at the sight, managing to contain the sudden urge to squish his cheeks together. “Remember how excited she was the last time you visited? She was jumping, running around you and never left your side the whole time you were there.”

A moment passes and then two with no response from your boyfriend and that’s when you realize, by his even breathing, that he finally fell asleep.

You smile and lean down to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead, whispering a sincere I love you in his ear, not stopping your massage.

Sleeps like this, in your lap, until you’re sure he’s asleep for good before you slowly move him into a more comfortable position and wrap his whole body in a blanket burrito.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - 11:59 pm

“Hug me, I’m cold!”

You hear him groan before he turns over to face you, grumbling under his breath as he envelopes your body in a big hug and begins to squeeze the life out of you. All out of love, of course.

“Better now?” “Minho, I can’t breathe!”

Doesn’t let go but does tilt your head up to look into your eyes and the love you see as you stare back almost has you in tears. A sleepy smile makes its way onto his lips and that’s when you manage to loosen his grip by wiggling into his arms, wasting no time as you begin to plant open-mouthed kisses all over his face.

His smile widens until giggles escape him, loving the way your lips feel on his skin as he lets you do whatever you want until you’re satisfied. When you finally reach his lips but don’t linger for as long as he’d like, instead kissing them repeatedly while also giggling, he takes matters into his own hands and kisses you deeply while still keeping the initial softness of your previous ones.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - 3:47 am

You toss and turn in the sheets for what feels like the millionth time before finally giving up with a frustrated sigh. “Binnie, I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” The response comes instantly and you sit up on your elbows to find him staring at the ceiling, visibly exhausted. You frown, scooting closer to hug him by the middle and rest your chin on his chest.

“Everything okay?”

Your soft voice prompts him to let it all out, to rant about work and his daily struggles at a fast pace that you can barely keep up with. When his voice quivers, you look up and plant comforting kisses on his neck and jaw, one hand gently massaging his chest through his nightshirt.

When he’s done and his speech slows down, Changbin moves to hide his face in your hair, muscular arms wrapping around your body to bring you closer, almost like he wanted to morph your bodies together. Being one with the love of your life sounded great right now – to be able to take all of his pain and discomfort so that he’ll always be happy and healthy was something you dreamt about often. Unfortunately, until that was possible, you hoped from the bottom of your heart that what you’re able to do right now is enough.

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - 1:08 am

“Forget worms, would you still love me if I was a deadly shark?”

Hyunjin looks up from his phone, flabbergasted, just to find you already looking at him. He’s silent, waiting for you to elaborate but when you don’t, he sighs and gives in. “Darling, what the hell are you talking about?”

You roll your eyes, cuddling closer as you place your head in the crock of his neck to inhale his comforting scent. His arms pull you closer instantly, phone long forgotten. “This hypothetical situation, Jinnie, is critical for our relationship. Please take it seriously.”

Is confused the whole time as you ramble on and on about your ‘hypothetical situation’ that at some point, having had enough, he just turns his back to you and gets comfortable on his other side.

When you follow him and throw a leg over his body, continuing on while drawing patterns onto his back, he swiftly turns around to hover over you, pinning you to the mattress. Your eyes meet and for a second, you think he’s going to kiss you until your dream is shattered as he begins tickling you mercilessly instead. A tickle war starts that leaves you both breathless and laughing well into the night.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - 1:56 am

“When you’re away and I miss you, I spray this pillow with your cologne and cuddle it as I would cuddle you.”

Jisung’s eyes widen slightly as you speak against his lips, the lingering sadness in your tone pulling at his heartstrings in an unpleasant way. You’re face to face, staring lovingly at each other while talking in hushed voices about everything that comes to mind.

He knows that at this time during the night, he gets all soft and mushy but he wasn’t expecting to cry this soon. You were so good to him, his own angel on earth that would wait for him for as long as it was needed. You deserved so much better.

Gently cupping your cheek, you lean into his touch and close your eyes in contentment, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from crying. “I’m sorry, baby.”

His voice is shaky so without a word, you cuddle closer, burying your head in his chest and holding him tighter while also kissing his covered chest. “Sorry? Sorry for what? Don’t be silly, Ji. Your love makes all this waiting around worth it every single time.”

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - 4:02 am

“Wait, what? She said that to you?” Felix asks, voice loud in disbelief as the hand that was combing through your hair stops momentarily.

You nod, looking up at him from where you’re resting your head, on his abs, the bare skin warm and soft under your touch. “Yes! I have receipts, hold on.”

As you scramble out of bed to get your phone from where it's charging, Felix can’t help but smile as his eyes are completely focused on you and nothing else. He always thought you were the most beautiful like this – bare-faced, with your hair slightly messy and missing that furrow between your brows that appeared during the day.

Vulnerable and oh-so cuddly during the late hours of the night, and early hours of the morning you sometimes spent with him, talking, kissing and laughing until the sun rose again to announce another new day.

When you came back to bed, Felix was resting with his back against the headboard and the position allowed him to pull you flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you showed him your phone. It was the domesticity he always craved for which he hoped would never end. That you and him like this never ended.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - 12:32 am

Taking another peek at the bedside clock, you can’t help but sigh as the red digits glare at you, almost mockingly. You’ve been in bed for hours now and you’re still as awake as you were back then too. It was infuriating, and you were this close to actually crying in frustration.

Almost as if sensing your low mood, Seungmin turns on his side to face you. “Everything okay?”

You shake your head and bury your head in the warm pillow. “I can’t sleep, Minnie. Will you sing to me, please?”

His arms come around you to bring your back to his chest, successfully luring you into being the little spoon, which to be honest, you didn’t mind one bit right now. He places a kiss on your cheek, and with one hand softly massaging your hip, he starts humming. Not a lullaby, but one of the group’s title tracks.

When you glare at him over your shoulder, he grins and stifles a chuckle before starting to sing a proper lullaby. Just as suspected – his dreamy voice does have magical powers and you’re asleep in less than five minutes. Or maybe it's the way he holds you so closely and the occasional kiss on the top of your head that does the trick. Either way, you have to let Felix know asap. He owes you 20$.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - 11:45 pm

“Blanket thief.” He complains, however, there’s no real malice in his tone as you roll around into a blanket burrito and leave him completely exposed to all the monsters that come out at night, laughing loudly.

You don’t see him, but he rolls his eyes, trying to appear annoyed as he hides his growing smile. “Come here, baby, let’s share.”

When you shake your head no, still giggling in your pillow, Jeongin takes matters into his own hands, literally, and lifts you up by the waist to trap you into his tight embrace, which causes you to shriek and laugh again. He soon joins in and your laughter fills the tiny room as you begin wrestling for the blanket.

“Come on, be reasonable, there’s enough blanket for the both of us.” “No.” “Y/n.” “But Jeongin, the monsters – “ ,“I’ll beat them up! Now, come here!”

Somehow, he manages to convince you to share and you fall asleep cuddling while watching youtube videos, with his soft voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear. But during the night, he still ends up uncovered and because he’s petty, he pretends to fall out of bed and says that the monsters got to him because of you and your selfish nature he can’t help but still love so much!

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz headcanons #stray kids headcanons #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

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digitald0rk · 3 months ago

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ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* NERD ALERT ! [ 2 ]

pairing — mark grayson x gn!reader.

synopsis — nerding out with your beloved bf :3

warnings — slightly suggestive and uh the usual pet names? he calls you his angel too <3 NOT PROOFREAD!! also mentions of dante sparda because the dmc anime is coming out 'm so excited!!!

w.c — 1.5 k.

a/n — THANK U SM FOR 200+ FOLLOWERS WHAT THE HELL SJSHJEHSLSKD. love you all <3

taglist — @vm4879bb-blog @hihowyoudoin00 @fairii-majii [ lemme know if you wanna be added too ]

READ PART [ 1 ] HERE.

if you're into video games, he's going out of his way to learn all about your faves.

when it comes to fighter games, thinks he's soooo slick looking up combos and learning them, he's all like “heh :3 gonna sweep them off their feet” and then gets absolutely BODIED LMAO.

if you show him no mercy he'll eventually start to get frustrated, not at you obviously you're his precious angel <3

“i’m not sulking.” he says, while clearly sulking. he was supposed to impress you! why are you so good at this :(

if he doesn't get a single win he's gonna suffocate one of your plushies when you're out of sight, it keeps staring at him, is that little fella mocking him? oh it'll pay for that.

you look at him amusedly when you come back to see the very obvious dent on your plushie, caused by a certain someone's fist.

“mark.” your eyes dart between the deformed head of your plushie and your boyfriend, biting back a smile.

“yeah baby?” he's all :3 bats his eyelashes all pretty at you, acting like he didn't just beat the shit out of your plushie like BOY YOU'RE NOT SLY.

but he is pretty, so you'll spare him, for now, not in the game though :p

on the topic of video games, he's actually decent at competitive games :] he loves playing them with you but if you die in the middle of a match he gets unmotivated to finish it (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

unless someone was trying to rizz you up or something during the game then yeah, HE'S GOING TO WIN.

do not play dress to impress in front of this man, he gets awfully competitive about it.

“pretty sure even cecil can dress better than that.”

“baby i think that's an eight year old.”

“still, cecil has more drip.”

gets all smug when he wins, god forbid he's not in top three he's gonna go on a rant about how unfair the world is.

he'll always vote for your fits positively though! even though they might be…. questionable at times but he loves his baby :D

minecraft with your boyfriend is actually really fun! except he accidentally set the palace that you built on fire once and literally REFUSED to touch the game for weeks after that (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

will get sad if an animal dies :(

has names for all your dogs and cats, calls them your children.

“don't forget, we gotta feed our children babe.” he tells you, sipping on his milkshake.

and normally you'd smile and say something equally silly except for the fact that you two were currently hanging out with a couple of friends and that sentence certainly earned some looks.

“you two-”

“in minecraft!” you'd clarify, and cue the feigned annoyance filled groans and mutters of how you two are insufferable.

also one time he got so invested in building that he literally stayed up for ten hours, building the perfect wedding venue for you two!

asked [ forced ] everyone to make minecraft accounts and invited them all to your wedding in minecraft.

he kisses you in real life too when your characters “smooch” in the pixelated game.

he's gonna marry you for real one day, just you wait.

his irises turn into literal hearts when you pull up in a cosplay.

he would also love to cosplay with you!

bonus points if it's one of his favorite characters, his ass is NOT TAKING HIS HANDS OFF OF YOU LMAOOOOOO.

and if you two do end up getting freaky, like roleplaying as the characters then yeah rip bed.

matching literally anything! matching kirby socks? sure why the hell not. matching seance dog mugs? hell yeah! he's all for it!

and yes, you two have some nerdy matching pj set.

and matching underwear too :3 you jokingly bought them but he isn't playing around when he wears them seance dog boxers!

you both keep trying to recruit oliver in one of your favorite fandoms, although the little thraxan has other plans.

“guys no im not watching [ insert media name here ] !” “but oliverrr :(”

you're bother super annoying <3

sometimes mark will send you photos of oliver enjoying some piece of media you're into and act like a proud dad.

you two go to comic con together and get carried away, ending up with wayyy too much merch.

“mark, baby i love you but i don't think we need another signed poster.” you try reasoning with him, only to eat those words back the second he flashes you his sad puppy dog eyes.

you sigh, he really has you wrapped around his finger, doesn't he?

but you have him wrapped around your finger too, because when you look at him like that, asking him to take you to this signing event of your favorite foreign author, he wastes no time in picking you up and flying you wherever you want <3

no matter the time, he just wants to see his sweetheart happy :]

you two are insufferable with your references, sometimes people think you two are talking in some alien language.

rex hears mark on the phone, just who the hell is dante sparda? and why has mark mentioned this name like thirty thousand times in the past half an hour he's been on the phone with you?

as rex said, “you two match each other's freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public.”

“hey babe i got us these matching swords!” he smiles, all happy at four in the morning at your window like it's the most normal thing ever.

you squint a little before making out the sword's design, oh it's from your favorite game.

he doesn't protest in the slightest when you attack him with kisses, this is where he belongs.

he adores movie nights, you two cuddled up on his bed, watching something he loves? he's never been happier.

you two once had to stop making out because the plot got thicker, so you two locked in! even though your lips are swollen and shiny just like his from the shared passion a few minutes ago. he could care less about the next plot hole when you're right here, pressed up against him.

he can't stop staring at your lips, god you're addicting.

he snaps out of it when his favorite character dies though ⁠(⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠∧⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠) aw man.

building legos together! he gets all bashful when you praise him when he finishes a part of the main piece.

reward him with kisses and he'll melt.

he once tried making you pancakes, except he tried to draw one of your favorite characters with the pancake batter. and he's no artist, but he tried his best.

he's now on his 48458th attempt and it's looking like your favorite character….a little….. not really.

he'll just douse them in maple syrup, that makes everything better.

when you question the odd shaped pancakes in your sleepy dazed state, he ends up telling you the truth, embarrassed.

but when you kiss him oh so softly, your kiss far sweeter than any maple syrup, his nervousness melts off until all there's left is you.

you and only you.

you two take those extremely specific uquiz quizes together like "which xyz character would hate you the most" or "who do you kin from xyz"

if he doesn't get his fav when he takes a "which character are you from seance dog" quiz he'll be all :[

"this is rigged." he says, taking another one in hopes of getting his favorite character this time.

going to the sea and painting on the pebbles and rocks with him, he loves watching the sunlight reflect off of your hair, you look like an angel, his angel. and god your eyes-

“hey does this look like eric cartman?” you show him the paintwork on your rock, snapping him out of his lovesick trance.

“babe, why is he on ozempic?” that comment makes you two giggle.

he continues, “should've picked a bigger rock, my love.”

“i saved that one for you….. you know, if we were penguins i would you the shiniest, prettiest rock i could find, which is this one so….” you shift closer to him, placing the pretty rock onto his palm.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, fiddling with the rock in his hand. “you're adorable.”

he presses a kiss to that same rock when he's away from you on a mission, it grounds him, knowing you're there, waiting for him.

when you two end up moving in together, unpacking things takes less time than decorating your shared room.

hanging posters with him, asking him if they're centred. putting your favorite figurines on the shelves along with your favorite comics, building your own safe haven. the whole room embodies you both so well, anyone who sets foot in this room would instantly be met with a bunch of your and his interests.

his dumbass <3 accidentally ends up leaving one of his figurines on the bed, so when you two are needily making out and grinding, excited that you two wouldn't have to be quiet or keep your voices down — straddling him and pushing him down on the bed, he lets out a small squeal of surprise.

you two stop, looking at each other all 0_0

“sorry, i think-” he starts, reaching behind his back to pull out the culprit of poking him in the back, and surely it was none other than his favorite seance dog figurine, the absurdity of it all is enough to make you chuckle, he laughs sheepishly with you. a little embarrassed that seance dog ruined the sexy atmosphere.

but when you put the figurine on the nightstand, turning it to face the wall, he realizes he's gonna have the best night of his life.

and oh boy was he right :3

#ㅤㅤ✶ㅤ digitald0rk's library !#WHY DOES TUMBLR ALLOW ONLY TEN PHOTOS :((((#invincible #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #invincible fanfic #invincible fluff #mark grayson fanfic

1K notes · View notes

rafesangelita · 3 months ago

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♡ teasing stepbro!rafe until he snaps

warnings: stepcest, mean!rafe, bimbo!reader, rafe being super jealous, slut shaming, rough handling, groping, choking, hair pulling, slapping, unprotected sex, rough sex, dumbification, squirting, degradation

a/n: i have a private community now! please send me an ask or comment if you’d like an invitation <3

wc: 1.5k

making rafe’s life a living hell came easy to you. not only had you managed to quickly climb your way up to the ‘socialite’ status of your fairly new kook lifestyle, but you also became quite popular.. especially amongst the guys. rafe’s buddies included. “bro, is that your sister over there?” rafe’s head was already shooting in your direction as soon as the word ‘sister’ left kelce’s lips. looking past the crowded living room, rafe spotted you straddling topper’s lap, your skirt riding so high up your thighs anyone and everyone could see the color of your underwear.

you were giggling, tossing your head back as the topper basically buried his face in your chest, his hands creeping up to grope the globes of your ass. rafe was livid at the sight. “she’s not my fuckin’ sister.” his fist clenched at his side as he downed the rest of his drink, his skin flushing as he continued watching you. nothing frustrated him more than seeing you all over someone else. it just wasn’t fair. everyone on this island except him could have you however they wanted and he despised you for it.

rafe was gonna leave you be and get after you once you two were back home, but then he saw you palm his best friend through his shorts, your eyes finding his own. you smiled innocently at him as if you weren’t moments away from making topper cum in his boxers. “fuck this..” he whispered under his breath, slamming his glass down before pushing his way through the sea of people separating you two. you yelped when you felt a fist wrap tightly in your hair, your heels clacking against the floor as you were yanked up by none other than rafe himself.

“what the fuck is your problem?!” topper shot up to his feet, immediately backing down once he saw the scowl on rafe’s face. “hey, man, we were just having a good time—” eyes flickering down to topper’s lap, rafe pulled your hair even tighter once he saw the bulge straining against his pants. “you stupid fucking bitch,” rafe said through gritted teeth, dragging you away outside, “you just can’t help yourself, huh? you wanna whore yourself out, ‘get me all heated and shit? is this what you fucking want?” you gasped when you felt him pin you against his truck.

“you don’t think i know what you’re doing?” rafe’s voice dropped as he leaned in, his lips right next to your ear. “you don’t think i see what games you’re playing?” he laughed, “all this acting out you do? the bratty behavior because you don’t get what you want, hm? you’re so easy, you run around here just letting everyone know they can get in your panties if they wanted to.” he shook his head, recalling all the times he’s had to endure hearing all the guys rave about you. “yeah, everyone except you.” you shot back, a shiver running down your spine as rafe pulled away to look at you.

you saw the exact moment his eyes grew dark, his hand moving from your hair to your neck before he moved you around and shoved you inside the passenger’s seat. unluckily for you, tanneyhill was only a few minutes away but it still gave rafe enough time to finally snap and tell you everything he’s been holding back. “since the day you moved in with your mom you’ve been a fucking headache,” he cursed, his knuckled turning white with how tight his grip on the steering wheel was, “you whine until you get what you want, and everyone just gives in to you every single time. it’s pathetic.”

you rubbed the sore spot on your head, your eyes watery as rafe went on with his rant. “my dad thinks you’re some kind of princess, sarah and wheezie just love you.. if only they knew what you really were.. if only they saw what i see all the time.” he laughed bitterly, the speedometer picking up as he rushed to get both of you home. “sitting in all of my friends laps, disappearing somewhere with some asshole and coming back with your top and your hair all fucked up. walking around with no care in the world because everything is spoon fed to you, you’d be nothing without me, without my dad, without my family. remember that next time when you wanna be a slut and give topper a fuckin’ handjob in a room full of people.”

you could feel your chin begin to tremble, your hands moving on their own accord to pull down the hem of your skirt, your arms crossing over your chest as you started to feel exposed. “why do you care what i do? it’s not like you have some kind of squeaky clean reputation. i’ve heard all about you, you’re just as bad if not worse.” just then, rafe pulled into the driveway, wasting no time in walking around to your side and yanking you out. “you don’t know shit about me.” he spat, covering your mouth once you two were inside. “make a sound and i’ll tell ward and your precious mommy all about your fucked up little escapades, yeah?”

you huffed, tippy toeing up the stairs as rafe guided both of you to your room. as soon as the door shut, rafe locked the small latch on the knob before pushing you down on the frilly lace of your pillows. “wanna wear practically nothing when i’m around? talking back when my friends are over, doing everything that you do in hopes that i give you just the slightest amount of attention? is that it?” your eyes widened when rafe pulled his shirt over his head, his arms caging you in as he leaned down and slotted himself between your thighs. “tell me. you just need your step brother’s cock to make you behave?”

all it took was a single nod from you before rafe had you out of your clothes, his lips enveloping your own as a large hand moved aside the drenched, pink lace material of your panties, his middle finger alone encircling your clit with ease. a muffled moan sounded from you as rafe cursed under his breath. “you’re this wet from getting dragged out of a party by your hair and being called a whore?” he tsked, roughly cupping one of your tits with his free hand. “please.. ‘just want you to fuck me!” you whispered, your tone laced with desperation. rafe knew there was no coming back from this, but with the way you were looking at him right now, he didn’t care.

with your ankles now on top of his shoulders and his palm clamped over your mouth, you whimpered as he filled you up with every inch of his length, his forehead resting on yours as he kissed your cervix with each thrust. you were so slick with your arousal, rafe had no problem meeting your clit with his pubic bone as he slammed in and out of your glossy folds. he whispered filthy obscenities in your ears, every single word bringing you closer and closer to that sweet, sweet high. “just laying here and taking my cock like the pretty, stupid thing you are..”

rafe forced you to keep your eyes on him, a harsh smack to your cheek ringing out in the space of your room if you dared to look away. “you’re good for nothing but getting your brains fucked out,” he groaned, still holding your teary gaze, “i’m gonna fill up this pussy with so much cum, no one else is allowed to be in this but me. can you understand that, or are you too fucking dumb?” you shook your head, hiccuping once he removed his hand from your mouth. “no i understand,” you pathetically replied, your legs beginning to shake as the tension deep in your tummy threatened to burst, “i only want you to fuck me..” you mewled, your words making rafe shudder.

he pressed a searing kiss to your lips before halting his movements, taking the liberty to rub your clit until you screamed into one of your pillows. your legs fell from his shoulders, a stream of wetness soaking his lower half as he filled you to the brim with his seed. at this point rafe had to cover your mouth so you didn’t wake everyone up with your hysterics, his muscles constricting as his own orgasm hit him with an unforgiving force. you clenched around him, taking him for everything he had as he collapsed on top of you, his weight only making you feel more full than you already did.

rafe stayed nestled inside of you until he was dripping out, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you held him flushed against your chest. kissing each other sloppily, you felt yourself grow needy once again as rafe’s tongue slipped past your lips, his hips grinding into yours as he adjusted you two further up your bed. you were indeed a fucked out mess underneath him, your lashes dusting the tops of your cheeks as your eyes fluttered closed. “are you still mad at me?” your voice came out small, a pout gracing your features once rafe pulled out of you.

“not anymore, but don’t piss me off from here on out.”

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