#it works out fine! makes sense!!!! there's just something in the movie that is hard for my brain to hold. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bloompompom · 2 months

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˗ˏˋ guilty pleasures ˎˊ˗

☆ content: eren jaeger x female reader, modern au, reader cheats on her loser boyfriend, dirty talk, praise, pet names, masturbation, pussy job, just filth, written very fast my apologies, mentions of alcohol, explicit language, explicit sexual content, reader discretion advised 18+ ☆ word count: ~4.2k ☆ a/n: just a warm-up that got out of hand

Your boyfriend sucks. That isn’t an opinion, either. It’s a fact. The sky is blue; what goes up will always come back down; your boyfriend is and will forever be a jackass.

At least, according to your friends, Eren in particular. Sometimes according to you, too—let’s not leave that part out, it’s important.

Countless times, your boyfriend had driven you to wit’s end and back because yes, you always took him back. You aren’t the type to leave a kicked puppy out in the rain or a groveling man lying on your doorstep. He’d come crawling back, looking all lovesick and apologetic, and you’re ashamed to admit it hasn’t failed him yet.

Listen, Eren is just your friend. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of your relationship any more than the next guy. What he knows for sure is that your boyfriend generally sucks as a human being, and he knows you know it, too.

And it’s about time he does something about it.

Tonight’s as good a night as ever to make a move. Eren’s roommate, Armin, insists on hosting a game night every other week-ish to ‘get the gang together,’ as he likes to say. But game nights are hard. No one likes to learn rules. So game nights soon devolved into movie nights, which turned into drinking nights after no one could agree on a movie.

That’s the plan for this evening: drinking the beer Jean brought along with a few leftover seltzers from the last time they got together, and spending some time with you. Alone.

You walked into the apartment huffing and puffing, pissed over whatever your boyfriend did or didn’t do. You’ve spent most of the night wallowing in the displeasure, trying to hide it, but it’s not working; Eren can tell you’re furiously texting Sasha every little detail despite sitting across from one another.

If you were to ask any of your friends, they’d say they previously believed you and Eren would date. You had that energy about you—still do, frankly. But then you met your boyfriend and you’ve been seeing each other ever since. On and off, of course.

Eren dated other people, too. And sure, he liked them, but that’s all. Finding happiness with something (or someone) is difficult when he constantly sees the greener grass on the other side.

He used to believe it was a timing thing, the reason you never hooked up. It made sense back then. But now, Eren knows it’s not a timing thing because he’s single and you can dump your boyfriend any time you want—if that’s what you want.

Eren can pry. He can be forthright and ask what you’re texting Sasha about. But that’d get him nowhere; you’d undoubtedly reply, ‘Girl stuff,’ and let the subject die there.

He noticed you don’t talk about your boyfriend problems when he’s around. Not that he expects you to. He would have written it off by now if he hadn’t heard you confiding in Armin about it. Jean and Connie, too. How frustrating it is that you never tell the one genuinely curious person. The one who wants to know and wants to show you how much better things could be, with him.

So Eren does just that. He catches you at the right moment, once it’s just the two of you. Armin was in bed and Sasha already left, taking Jean and Connie with her. The only guests remaining are you and Mikasa—she’s been sitting heavy-eyed on the couch for the last twenty minutes and would probably be out cold in the next ten.

Then there’s you, all squirmy beside him.

“Are you cold?” Eren asks. He knows you’re not, but he also knows you’d never answer the more direct ‘Are you okay?’

“I’m fine,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m just—”

“Having a long night?” Eren guesses.

You merely sigh, but it’s weighty enough that it sounds like you’ve been holding it in for a while, like you must’ve needed it.

“That’s one way of putting it.”

It’s vague, but you still feel you said too much.

You fiddle with your fingers, hands resting in your lap. You focus on that rather than the fact that you can no longer bring yourself to meet Eren’s eyes; it’s too much, it makes your insides burn uncomfortably hot.

You can’t deny how Eren makes you feel. Even more, you can’t deny that you came over tonight with him on your mind—the sort of thoughts you shouldn’t have while tangled up with another guy.

“Is there anything I can do,” Eren slides closer to you, “to make your night better?”

Yes, you think. Yes, yes, yes.

You shake your head, gaze fixed on his leg pressing against yours.

“It’s not your problem to fix,” you try to assure, but it lacks any sureness. Instead, it’s demure and… inviting? You almost made it sound like a dare.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t try,” Eren says, always up for a challenge, especially if you’re the prize at the end.

You’re better than this, you tell yourself. You’re above this.

At the same time, you can’t help but think: what would your boyfriend do if the roles were reversed? You’ve argued about his fidelity before—hell, you argued about it hours ago—and you have no more clarity than you did from the start.

Maybe you haven’t been perfect, either. Maybe there were times you should’ve told Eren to cut out the flirting and even times you shouldn’t have reciprocated it. You thought it was harmless then, that you’d never end up exactly where you are now. You also never imagined how invigorating, how right, it would feel.

Eren places his large hand on your thigh, tentatively at first, light despite the guilt weighing down on you. When you don’t stop him, he becomes confident. He slides his hand higher, squeezes you gently. It’s chaste, something that could still pass as friendly if not for the way it made you weak.

I am absolutely not above this.

That’s how you ended up in his bedroom. Eren whispered for Mikasa and when she didn’t respond, he took it as the all-clear—that no one would know if you decided to head somewhere more private. Eren snuck you down the hall, shut the door behind you, and had you to himself, for the first time.

Your heart thrums in your ears. It’s adrenaline, anticipation, a rush you never want to end. You hardly hear him when he asks, “How can I make your night better?” He nears you in a step. “What would you like me to do?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” you murmur. He wants to hear you say it: that you want him. You want his mouth on yours, maybe on your neck, his hands on your chest, smoothing down your hips and between your legs. You don’t give him the satisfaction of it.

You lean into Eren without a word. He moves with you, meeting you halfway. You lead, he follows. You’re the one in the relationship, not him.

You tilt your chin high to meet him. He catches it between his fingers, gently guiding you to him. Your noses brush; your lips don’t, but you’re so, so close. Close enough for your lashes to flutter softly against his cheek, for you to feel every one of his hot breaths as they break over your lips. It’s intoxicating. It’s not enough. But you can’t make yourself seal the fateful gap between you.

“I can’t,” you regretfully stammer. It physically hurts to say the words. You wound the devil sitting atop your shoulder.

Eren doesn’t say anything, only pulls away from you. You don’t feel in control of your hand when it snatches a fistful of his shirt. You keep him there, still as close as before, eyes flitting between his pupils, big and blown, and his lips. He remains frozen, silent. He lets you decide where this would or wouldn’t go.

“I don’t—fuck, I don’t know what do to,” you bemoan. Your head is a spinny, screwed-up mess. Screwed up from forbidden fantasies and raging hormones and the pool of warmth spreading in the depths of your stomach—all from him.

“What do you want to do?” Eren asks in a low voice.

It’s coaxing, cloying, but it’s needful at the same time. It’s a voice you’ve never heard from him, yet it’s familiar. It’s reminiscent of the same need burning inside you, so hot you think it might create a hole, one perhaps only he can fill.

You lick your bottom lip only to find your mouth has gone dry.

Eren nudges the tip of his nose against yours. “I can tell you what I want to do, if that would help.”

He nuzzles lower, beneath your jawline. He doesn’t kiss you there—no, he wouldn’t do that. What he does is worse. It’s teasing. His breath fans over your ear and sends a shudder down your spine. He needs you not only to hear but to feel every word, every dirty thing he has imagined doing with you.

“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he breathes against the side of your face, warming you from the inside out. He clasps his hand over yours, then slips it between your legs. “And I want to watch.”

Eren touches your hand, encouraging you to rub. You feel the heat of your cunt through your clothes, like there’s a fire in your belly. You finally let its flames engulf you and god, burning never felt so damn good.

You’re dizzy, you’re flustered—how could he possibly say that with such calmness? More than anything, you’re dumb to everything except the boy in front of you.

“Can you do that for me?” he asks, smooth and soothing. “I’ll only look. I won’t touch, I promise.”

It’s a lousy excuse for a loophole. Actually, it doesn’t even qualify as a loophole.

Eren leans back, holding your shoulders in his hands. He looks you in the eyes and again, he insists, “No touching.”

Loophole or not, you can’t find it within you to care. You trust him, you think. Either that or your brain short-circuits because you can only repeat back, “No touching,” as you bob your pretty little head.

Eren smiles down at you, runs his knuckles down the side of your face. It’s gentle, it’s praising, it brings—no, it yanks you back to him.

“Lay on the bed,” he says.

You do as you’re told, laying back on your forearms. He tugs your bottoms off with ease and reveals a pair of pale blue panties—a telling color. When you spread your legs for him, he can see how you’ve stained them with your arousal, soaked and ruined after some innocent teasing.

You touch yourself without him having to ask. You trace over the damp patch and play with your clit through the fabric. He sees how easily your panties slip between your folds, how fucking wet you are, and has to stifle a curse.

Eren drops to his knees, nestled between your legs at the foot of the bed. He has a hand on either of your thighs, almost white-knuckling the plush skin.

“Look at that.” You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or your pussy. “You like it when I talk to you, huh? When I tell you what to do?”

You whine at the words, rub your clit faster. You want to come.

“So needy. What’s the rush?” Eren tuts. He climbs onto the bed, propping his back against the headboard. “Make yourself comfortable.”

As he says it, his hand travels lower. Dangerously low. It draws your attention to how hard he is, his insistent cock tenting in his sweatpants. He palms over it once, then twice, then grips himself through the fabric. Fuck.

You stare with too much interest. The corner of Eren’s lip curls into a smirk when you have to close your hungry mouth. He’s just as greedy, though, just as riled up as you. Even the touch of his own hand has his arm muscles tightening and twitching.

You crawl over to his side and try to relax into the pillows as best as you can. Your shoulders droop, your knees fall to either side, but there’s a tremble to your hand as it returns between your legs. Your touch remains feather-light, almost a tickle, as you dance a finger along the hem of your underwear. You watch lecherously, with your head lolled to one side as Eren mirrors you—you’re still leading. His thumb dips below his waistband.

This still counts as ‘no touching,’ right?

Eren shoves his hand down his sweatpants. You can’t see it when he takes his cock in his hand, only the outline of him slowly working over his length underneath the fabric.

Your eyes ask the question your lips wouldn’t dare to ask. Eren responds, “You first.” His eyes flicker to your crotch—your panties, more specifically.

Your fingers stutter and pause. You’ve already dipped your toes into the corrupt waters, so you might as well take the full plunge.

You tuck your underwear to the side, pinching them in the crease of your thigh. Your fingers are almost cold against your wet, hot skin and you shiver in response, letting the feeling wreck down your spine. You clench around nothing, whimpering just as helplessly.

“Fuck,” Eren breathes, an incidental hiss.

He pushes his sweatpants and boxers down in one go, and his cock slaps his front. He aches for anything more than his hand, but it’s all he has right now. It’s agonizing how what he needs is so damn close, but out of reach.

He pumps himself faster, tightening his grip around the sensitive tip to mimic your cunt.

He can only catch glimpses of it. Your panties persistently get in his way, and when they aren’t, you’re having to tug them back to the side. Your gasps and moans turn to little grunts, your frustration staving off your orgasm even further.

Eren goes to grab your underwear but stops himself short.

“Take them off,” he tells you, somewhere between a request and a demand. If this is his one chance to be with you, to see you, then he’s going to see all of you.

You listen. Your hand slips from between your legs and a sticky string connecting your fingers to your cunt snaps. You hope Eren didn’t see it, but you’re sure he did based on the impatient sound that comes from the back of his throat. You lift your hips from the bed and shimmy your underwear down your legs. Then you kick them to the floor.

You don’t settle back into the bed before Eren says, “I want to see more of you,” because this still isn’t enough. “C’mere.”

He adjusts you to his liking until you’re in front of him, lying back on your elbows, spread, with your feet caging his hips. It’s a vulnerable position, you admit. One where you’re completely bare and completely on display and there’s no shying away. You may have even found it embarrassing if not for how turned on you are. The urge to come is nagging, simmering for so long that you fear you may boil over and do something you’ll regret later.

“Shit.” Eren’s in awe of the sight before him: your glistening cunt, swollen and practically begging to come, and the dreamy expression on your face. It’s the sexiest you’ve ever looked, and he’s not even sure it’s intentional. Your eyes are as alert as they are moony, as confident as they are flustered; a doe locked in his headlights, willing to eat out of his palm despite her better judgment.

“Spread yourself for me,” he murmurs. You do it with two fingers. “God, look at you.”

So pretty. What a shame it was that such a pretty pussy would go unfucked tonight.

Eren leans back again, this time with a complacent hand tucked behind his head. He spits into his other, then slathers it over his length, unblushing to how your eyes follow every fluid movement.

“Go ahead,” he says, still calmly fisting his cock. “For real this time. Make yourself come for me.”

The encouragement travels straight to your core. You sink your middle finger inside first, then you add another. Your walls pulse, sucking the digits in further. You curve them, drag them in and out, in and out, until you find a pace that has your thighs threatening to snap shut. You pull out of yourself one last time and, with properly wetted fingers, you return to your neglected clit. It only takes a few slick circles before your breath quickens.

“Yeah, just like that—fuck.” Eren feels his cock throb against his palm. He slows, pulling and tightening his grip, still pretending his hand is anywhere near as soft as your pussy. “You’ve listened so well. You deserve to come, don’t you think?”

You moan something incoherent.

“Tell me,” he says, smug and urgent, somehow at once. “Tell me what a good girl you’ve been. That you deserve to come.”

Slippery, unforgiving sounds fill the room, from the both of you, but you’ve already shed any shred of decency you had left. You dipped your toes first, and then you took a fateful dive. But now, the current has stripped away any semblance of control you had—or thought you had.

You’ve become a passenger inside your own body. Every motion feels wild and unpredictable, yet intimately inevitable. It’s a kaleidoscope of feelings and sensations. It’s strange and exhilarating. It’s this raw and primal surrender to only what’s physical and nothing more.

Flowery language aside, you know one thing for sure: as much as you enjoy hearing him talk filth to you; he enjoys hearing you just as much.

“I’m a—ah, I’m your good girl,” you moan shakily. Your skin becomes unbelievably hot, your fingers stuttering, struggling to keep up with your neediness. “I d-deserve to come.”

His good girl.

Eren’s stomach lurches, abdominals tightening. He nearly comes.

What a fucking gift you are. How lucky Eren feels to witness how you get yourself off when no one’s around, how you like to tease yourself—maybe even pretend he’s the one teasing you.

You bring a hand to your chest, gingerly caressing the tips of your fingers along your nipple that pokes through your shirt. You slide the hand over your breast before groping it fully.

“Can I see your tits?” Eren blurts. Once again, there’s no use for dancing around the truth of the matter anymore: you both wanted to get off.

“You first.” You giggle a little, all breathy, then restate, “Take off your shirt.”

Eren smiles at you before stripping, revealing a cute flush creeping up his chest. You stick to your promise, peeling your shirt off and tossing it aside. You skipped putting on a bra this evening because it was supposed to be a quiet night-in with friends, but it worked out pretty well for this, too.

You graze your fingers over the peaks of your breasts, bouncing just so with every rub, rub, rub of your opposite hand. You bite back a harsh gasp, but little hums escape past your teeth, anyway.

Eren’s thighs twitch. He fights the urge to buck his hips, to fuck up into nothing. His pants turn strained, exasperated. He thinks he might be numb to his hand at this point. He could use his spit again, but why should he have to when you’re right there, as desperate as he is?

Your name’s a raspy plea on his tongue. His hands smooth up your legs as he coos, “I need to feel you, baby.” His thumbs stroke your inner thighs, growing extremely close to the apex between them. “Need you to help me come. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

Eren’s hands wrap around your ankles, pulling a yelp from you as he drags you toward him.

“I won’t put it in,” he promises. You’re so close he can feel the heat of your cunt against the underside of his cock. His hand somehow looks small in comparison as he holds himself at his base. He angles his cock until it’s about as close as it can be without touching you. “Please.”

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, but even more frantically, it pulses between your legs, loud and demanding. It’s as impossible to ignore as the man before you. Hot and horny, with messy hair and pretty pink cheeks and an even prettier cock that leaks at the mere thought of touching you, staring at you like he wishes to devour you whole.

You nod, and Eren doesn’t hesitate to push his cock between your slit. You watch him do it, sitting higher on your elbows. Even with the faintest amount of pressure, your jaw goes slack.

He rocks his hips, gliding his cock through you, up and down, with the ridge of his head nudging your clit. Your skin prickles despite the thin layer of sweat you’ve accumulated.

You raise your hips, dragging your pussy over him, and bring yourself back down to the bed. His cock jolts. You feel it. You repeat the undulating motion again and again, effortlessly, because you can’t recall a time you’ve been wetter. So wet he slips out a time or two. He takes advantage of it once, tapping the tip of his cock against your clit.

Eren gives a low chuckle when your head falls back between your shoulder blades. “What a pretty little mess you are.”

You tilt your hips so he’s back in place, hitting your clit just right, over and over. It doesn’t take long for your legs to shake, swaying like they may give out. He steadies you, resting his hand on the divot of your hip.

“Oh, god—Eren.” Your voice pitches on a broken moan. “I think I’m gonna come.”

His hand curves around your side, his fingers digging into the fat of your ass. He uses the grip to keep you moving, to guide you through it. He barrels you down the hill toward your release, and you can’t stifle a single cry as they spill from you.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let it all out, baby,” Eren encourages, saccharine as always but airless. Though his own release is imminent, he refuses to allow it to happen before yours.

He flattens his fingers against his cock, pressing and adding delicious pressure. He proves how heavy, how hard, he is for you—how much better he’d feel inside you. The mere thought of it makes you groan. You push back on him instinctively, arching your back as you teeter on the edge of your undoing.

“So fucking hot,” Eren grunts, thrusting as if he were truly fucking you. He meets you each time you bear down on him, his pelvis slapping against you as his hips rise from the bed. “So fucking hot.”

That familiar feeling fizzes in your stomach, swarmy and radiating through you. It sparks in the tips of your fingers, even in your toes, and then your orgasm rips through you. Your entire being tenses, fists knotting themselves into the sheets and eyes screwing shut. The pleasure is white-hot and leaves you with stars behind your eyelids.

Eren urges you to open your eyes. “Keep ‘em on me while you come.”

You try your best; you don’t let your eyes roll back. What’s hidden behind your fluttering lashes is pornographic. Your soaked thighs—his soaked thighs. You don’t even want to think about the blankets below you.

You curse and cry his name. You look ruined, with eyebrows pinched and pulled together, your mouth hanging open like you want to scream out your orgasm. Eren crudely imagines how wrecked you’d look, how much better you’d feel, if you were coming with him inside you.

Your knees snap together, thighs sealing shut around his cock. He continues to fuck between them, against your pulsing, oversensitive pussy. Your body is spent and shaking, and he is right there with you. The sinewy muscles of his chest flex as he builds toward his climax.

“God, fuck,” Eren pants. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna come all over this pussy.”

When he does, it’s with his head thrown back and a beautiful groan. His body is flush with yours, his cock spilling across your legs. Come drips down the creases of your thighs, smearing with the last few pumps as he draws out every drop. He can’t believe he could feel so good from something as pathetic as grinding.

Your body lies limp, sprawling across the bed with your legs still draped over him. You wait for some post-horny clarity to smack you across the face, but the only slap you feel is the truth: you deserve better. You aren’t going back.

You stay there, waiting for the rise and fall of your chest to settle. One moment, you’re staring at the ceiling, then blink, Eren’s above you, taking your cheek in his hand. His fingers curl around the side of your face before he places his mouth on yours. He’s soft, both how he feels and how he kisses you, with lips slotted perfectly against yours, coaxing them open with his tongue.

You finally let him touch you this way; you kiss him back. You wrap your arms around his neck, and you wish for the moment to stay, just for a little longer.

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren one shot #eren smut #aot x reader

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eddywoww · 4 months

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I’m such a sucker for ill timed kink discovery

I’m talking about Steve Has A Hair Pulling kink but doesn’t really know it. He’s always really liked when people play with his hair but

He gets close to Eddie. Because Eddie gets close to Robin and they have a bond that doesn’t make sense to Steve and he’s a little jealous over it but whatever, fine. It takes a few months for Steve to really warm up to Eddie.

And then it’s over.

They start cuddling. Only, it’s not cuddling? It isn’t. Steve just gets high with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan and Eddie and everyone is so nice and so chill and things aren’t weird like they used to be. So Steve relaxes, splays his feet out in Robin’s lap as he lays his head in Eddie’s lap. It’s a first and Eddie definitely freezes for a good few seconds when Steve does it but he lets it happen

He doesn’t touch Steve the first time.

He touches him the second time. When they’re all hanging out and the lights are low and Steve does it again and Robin only halfway gives him a weird look. It doesn’t stop Steve form blinking tired eyes up at Eddie, watching the way he gulps and hovers a hand over Steve’s face.

“I like when people pet my hair,” He says unhelpfully, so high he can barely concentrate. Eddie makes a soft noise and blinks down at him. “You should- you should do that.”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate for long, his fingers carding through. Touching the scalp, nails catching.

It’s the first time Steve has ever broken out into goosebumps over something so simple.

And then it becomes a habit. Steve falls asleep in Eddie’s lap and it becomes a habit because Eddie can’t seem to stop and Steve can’t seem to stop him. So he sits in front of Eddie whenever he can. Lays all over him, high or not.

One day, it all goes to shit. He’s high again, head placed in Eddie’s lap. Ignoring whatever movie they’re watching in the dark. Eyes closed and mind drifting as Eddie pets him. Steve isn’t sure how his hands never get tired but he isn’t complaining.

Robin screams at an ill timed jump scare and of course, of course. The universe loves to mock Steve. Eddie’s hand clenched reflexively and he pulls, PULLS at Steve’s hair. Sudden and hard. Just yanks from the root and-

Steve feels it like a shock collar. Like a bolt of lightning. Right into his scalp, a shiver that works its way down his body. He’s half hard before he can really do anything about it. And of course he had to panic. What else can he do but bolt upright and off the couch? Stumbling toward the nearest bathroom before anyone can think much of it? Mumbles off an excuse about being dizzy.

Eddie is at the door once Steve gets out. Once he splashes his face with cold water and tries to wills away his sudden boner and WHY the FUCK he would get one in the first place. Past the whole “maybe I like guys” thing that he’s been ruminating on since freshmen year.

Eddie is so sweet to him, worried that Steve really got too high. He’s even ready with a bottle of water. It’s painful and it makes Steve feel even worse.

It isn’t supposed to happen again but it does. Yes, it does. The next time Steve gets high, he tries not to sit next to Eddie. They’re at the trailer this time. But Steve is Steve and high Steve loves attention. So he ends up laying all over Eddie again, eyes drifting shut.

It’s Eddie’s fault this time.

His fingers drift far into chestnut locks. Sinking deep, deeper than usual. Just to clench up and pull. It’s light, almost unnoticeable. But it’s enough for Steve’s eyes to pop open again. To look up at Eddie in wonder, mouth open on a silent noise. And Eddie is looking back, watching Steve with a deer in headlights expression. He goes “Huh.” Like he just figured something out, like he just solved a problem.

Steve should have seen it as a warning.

He also should have stopped using Eddie as a jungle gym.

The third time is even worse. Because they both know now, don’t they? But neither of them will talk about it. No, that would be too much.

Eddie pats his lap like an invitation and no one even thinks it’s weird. Steve doesn’t care if they do. He looks forward to these weekly movie nights more than ever now.

Robin isn’t on their couch tonight. She hasn’t given any inkling that she knows what’s going on but she probably suspects Steve has a crush. She won’t mention it, not yet. He loves that about her.

And Eddie. Eddie doesn’t even watch the movie, he watches Steve. As he plays with his hair, lips quirking when he finally wraps a strand around one finger and tugs at it and Steve’s back arches the tiniest bit and his blood drains south and he’s got his nails in the soft fabric of Jonathan’s couch.

“There you go,” Eddie whispers, just the tail end of some sort of praise and- and Steve can’t really take that, can he? He bites his bottom lip to try and hide the whine that wants to escape. Rubs his face against Eddie’s thigh. Feels the hard outline of his cock, so close to Steve’s face. Fuck. “I knew it.”

He knew it, he knew it. Fuck.

Nothing happens. Steve goes home with wide eyes and flushed cheeks and a stupid amount of horniness. Eddie smiles like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

The final time is the straw that breaks the camels back.

Steve sits at Eddie’s feet on the floor of his trailer. The rest of them are smoking but Steve isn’t this time. Doesn’t want to, doesn’t need it. Not when Eddie already has a hand in his hair and Steve feels boneless and wow, this is just normal now, isn’t it?

There’s little to no pretense once the lights go down. And the night is terrible and great in equal measure. Steve is so hard it hurts, head leaned back and eyes closed. Waiting for Eddie to give in and pull his hair again. He won’t do it. He won’t just-

Not until everyone leaves. Not until Robin rolls her eyes and huffs something like ‘finally’ on her way out.

Eddie pulls Steve into his lap and their lips meet and- and he grabs two fistfuls of hair and pulls hard. Hard enough for Steve to let out a groan that is embarrassingly loud. Loud enough that he hopes everyone is really gone.

Steve discovers a stupid little kink and Eddie gets a preppy little boyfriend.

#blurbs #kinky stuff #my fic

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familyvideostevie · 6 months

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steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

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letstrip13 · 2 months

Text

🍋 - teach me

reader x matt

based on this request

summary: you're inexperienced, so you turn to your best friend, matt, to teach you a thing or two.

warnings: smut, oral m!receiving

word count: 1,791

author's note: sorry that this took so long to put out. my idea of writing a lot and scheduling posts didn't work out the way i wanted to. also, thank you to the person who sent this (my very first) request in!! i hope you like it :) keep sending more requests, i love getting them!!

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matt wraps his arm around your shoulders as you two settle down to watch a movie in your bedroom. you had invited him over for a sleepover, but it wasn't just to hang out. you had something to ask him that you had been thinking about for a while.

as he gets under the blankets with you, he senses your nervousness and glances over at you, a soft look in his eyes. “are you okay? you've been way quieter than usual,” he asks in a gentle tone. “yeah, i'm fine.” you pause before deciding to ask him the question that's been on your mind, thinking there may not be a better time. “there's just something i've been wanting to ask you.. sort of like a favour. you can say no if you're uncomfortable with it.. it's kind of a lot to ask. i just don't want things to get weird,” you nervously ramble on.

matt gives you a look of curiosity, clearly intrigued by what you're so nervous about. he takes your hand, his thumb softly tracing circles on the back of it. “it's okay, you can ask me anything.” “if you don't want to do this, just forget i asked, okay?” he nods and you take a deep breath before starting.

“you know how i've never really been with a guy, right?” he slowly nods, wondering where you could be going with this. you decide to just be upfront and say exactly what you want. “i want you to teach me how to give a guy head.” his eyes widen in surprise but he quickly recovers the soft smile that was on his face before. “oh yeah, i can definitely teach you. it's not a big deal. so, you just want me to explain it to you right?”

you hesitate for a moment. “no, matt.. i mean i want to practice on you. tell me what I'm supposed to do and i'll do it.” the slow circles matt was tracing on the back of your hand stop suddenly and he leans against the headboard, carefully considering what you said. he glances down at your lips, almost as if he's imagining how they would feel wrapped around his cock.

after what seems like forever, he finally speaks, “are you sure? i don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with.” you nod. “i'm sure. i always wanted my first time doing something like this to be with someone i care about and trust. it almost makes sense that it's you, i trust you more than anyone.” he smiles softly at your words, his heart warming at the fact that you're trusting him to be your first with an experience like this. he leans in close and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “alright, we'll take it slow and make sure you're comfortable. we can stop at any point if you need to.” “okay. thanks for agreeing to this. honestly, i didn't think you would.”

you move a little bit closer to matt. “what do i do first?” he clears his throat slightly. “first, you need to get me hard. we can do that by making out.” his hands hover over your hips. “can i?” you nod and he grabs your hips, moving you so you're straddling his lap. your breath hitches in your throat as you look down at him from this new position.

you slowly lean in, capturing his lips in a sweet, slow, gentle kiss to start off. matt's hands move up your back and into your hair, tangling in the strands as he deepens the kiss. he takes the lead and expertly slips his tongue into your mouth. you follow what he's doing, slipping your tongue into his mouth. when he pulls on your hair, it causes you to squirm a little and you accidentally grind down into his lap. a small groan escapes his lips. you repeat the action, knowing it feels good for him. his hips jerk up, pressing his hardening cock against you through your clothes. he groans into the kiss again, his hands sliding down, giving your ass a firm squeeze. “fuck,” he mumbles.

you stifle a gasp against his lips. you pull away from each other breathlessly and look into each other's eyes, almost as if you're realizing what you're really doing. without a moment's hesitation, you kiss him again, more passionately this time. you slowly roll your hips against his, getting him even harder. matt pushes you down while simultaneously bucking his hips up. he deepens the kiss while you grind against each other. you gain a little confidence and start kissing his jawline and neck, your hip movements not slowing down in the slightest. you eventually pull away, looking into his eyes as you move to grind against him one last time. “now what?” you whisper.

matt's breathing is ragged as he looks into your eyes. he swallows hard, trying to regain any composure and figure out what to say. “uhhh.. you can take off my pants if you're ready.” you nod and get off his lap, sitting on your knees next to him. you unbutton and unzip his jeans. he lifts your hips to help you out as you tug them down just enough so you have access to his boxers. you're still a little nervous so you don't pull them down quite yet, instead, gently touching the fabric covered bulge. his breath hitches as his hard cock throbs against the fabric at your touch. he watches as your hand explores him and he gives you an encouraging nod, signaling to you to continue whenever you're ready.

you slowly pull his boxers down until his cock springs free against his stomach. you part your lips as if you're about to say something but no words come out. it's bigger than you had expected. matt notices the look on your face and gives you a reassuring smile. “take your time, sweetheart. when you're ready, just spit on the tip. then wrap your hand around it and move it up and dow-”

you immediately do what he says, spitting on the tip and watching it trickle down the shaft for a second while his hips jerk at the warm sensation, a soft groan escaping his lips. you wrap your hand around him where the spit fell and you start slowly pumping it up and down, spreading your saliva around. he moans as he unintentionally thrusts up into your hand. “that's it, baby.. you're doing great.” you look into his eyes as you keep going. “what do i do now?”

matt bites his bottom lip, trying to focus on your question through the pleasure you're giving him. “now, you can try taking the tip in your mouth,” he pants out softly. you keep your hand wrapped around the base of his shaft while giving the tip a shy, little lick while looking into his eyes. he gives you a small nod of approval, so you continue teasing him with licks as you get used to the taste of him. once you gain some confidence, you swirl your tongue around the tip and start sucking on it a little as well. his breath catches in his throat and his hips jerk up involuntarily. “fuck yes, just like that,” he groans, “you're doing so good.”

you stop sucking on his tip after about a minute. you pause and look up at him. “do i just keep doing the same thing but further down?” matt nods, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “yeah.. just keep going like that. but when you can't take any more in your mouth, start stroking it with your hand like you were doing before.” you nod as you listen to him speak before doing exactly what he says. you take a few inches into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down his length slowly while working the rest of him with your hand.

he groans out in pleasure while his fingers tangle in your hair, holding it back in a makeshift ponytail. “fuck- you're so good at this already,” he mumbles as his hips jerk up again, forcing you to take him deeper in your mouth. you gag on his cock a bit as he unintentionally pushes your head down, pulling back a little. “sorry, didn't mean to do that,” he whispers while stroking your hair softly. you keep going, his moans encouraging you and telling you that you're making him feel good.

you soon realize that the more of matt's cock you have in your mouth, the better it feels for him so you try to take him as deep as you can every time you move your head down. you can feel the tip hitting the back of your throat and the sensation makes your eyes water. the tears mix with the mascara on your bottom lashes as they spill down your cheeks.

matt pants heavily, his eyes closing tightly as he feels his impending orgasm. “shit.. baby, i'm close,” he murmurs, tugging on your hair. when he tells you this, you take his cock as deep down your throat as you can. you feel it twitch in your mouth and you know he's going to cum any second now. his hips jerk up almost violently, pushing his cock deep into your throat as he cums. his hands tighten in your hair, holding you in place while he fills your mouth, shooting his load down your throat with a loud moan. you pull back, keeping your lips wrapped around the tip as you swallow the cum filling your mouth.

you pull away once you've swallowed every last drop that he can give you, his cock leaving your mouth with a soft, wet pop. you wipe the side of your mouth while looking up at him. “did i do good?” matt tries to catch his breath, his eyes remaining locked on yours. “fuck.. yeah, you did amazing,” he whispers, still a bit dazed from the experience.

you sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you wipe away any remaining tears on your cheeks. “thank you for teaching me. that was even better than i thought it would be.” matt tucks his now flaccid dick into his boxers and zips his jeans back up. he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “no problem. you can practice on me any time you want.” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. you pull the blanket up over your legs and you start the movie you were going to watch earlier. you cuddle up next to him while you watch the movie and you eventually fall asleep in each other's arms.

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part 2

#matt x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo oneshot

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emmyrosee · 7 days

Text

Can we talk about how rintaro probably swallows your engagement ring by accident?

Honestly? Okay listen… Do you think he swallows it? I think he swallows it.

Because like okay. Rintaro puts a ton of planning behind everything he does, he wants to make your engagement this massive scene out of a movie because you’re out of a movie; you swooped into his life and showed him the path he wants to be on, the one that always leads back to you.

But like. Why would everything not crumble around him each and every time he tries to work up the courage to finally pop that four word phrase?

It was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be easy.

An engagement ring, propped on some frosting on the center of the cake, ready for you to scoop up and slip on and give him an excited yes and the world would clap and he’d get a Nobel prize or something for such an extravagant proposal.

Except. That doesn’t happen.

The first bite Rintaro takes, he shovels in his mouth nervously, and there’s a massive shock to his teeth when they clank down hard on the ring on his cake.

How he didn’t notice? How the waiter messed them up? He blames it on the waiter.

Him swallowing the ring..? Yeah no. That’s got him written all over it.

His nerves just got the best of him and sends the large diamond down his throat, eyes bulging out as he realizes. He chokes briefly, grabbing his wine and gulping it down to wash the jewelry down.

Uh oh.

“Baby?” You ask. “Something wrong?”

“…nope.”

The rest of dinner is silent, you trying desperately to make conversation and his mind going insane trying to process what to do next.

Your engagement ring, the object that completely envelops your love in a physical sense is floating in the acids of his stomach, and who knows what the next step in the plan is.

He dreads it.

The car ride is complete silence, you occasionally clearing your throat or sighing to try and strike a conversation, but Rin’s mind is on a complete other planet, trying to make a map of his next move and how to get the ring 1.) out of his body and 2.) to you.

Is he really going to give you a ring he ate? He can’t. That’s vile. But he can’t spend the money on another one, even if it is more than worth it to spend it on you, and-

“Rin,” you whisper, touching his thigh. “You just blew a red light.”

“Damn- I’m sorry,” he apologizes.

“Don’t be sorry… is everything alright?”

“Just fine.”

“Are you mad at me?”

His foot slams hard, hard on the breaks, causing commotion behind him as the wailing of car horns fills the air. “God, baby, no, of course not!”

“Then why have you been so quiet?” You ask sadly.

“I can’t tell you.” Out of embarrassment and stupidity, he thinks to himself.

You leave it at that. You go quiet again, and when he makes a move to rest his hand on your thigh, you turn away, and his whole heart sinks.

The rest of the ride home drags on. There’s no more attempts of noise, no more sighs or clearing of throats, only the roar of the engine for a few more miles until you get home. He barely gets the chance to park the car before you’re out and storming up the driveway, clearly upset with the situation. He sighs and follows you in, and you’ve hiked up the stairs to the bathroom. He winces at the slam of the door, and he’s quick to call osamu for advice.

Advice that the twin gives him around countless gawfs of unhelpful, judgmental laughter.

He tells Rintaro to calm down and stop being weird towards you- take a spoonful of laxatives mixed in with water and let the body “process” for as long as it needs to. Get you a new ring, trash the old one and mourn the loss of money after you two get engaged.

He sighs and ends the call, making his way to the upstairs bathroom where he keeps the medicine. You brush past him in a towel, refusing to acknowledge him or his presence with so much as a “hmph.”

The shower he takes alone is cold, his mind is loud and his heart is pounding and his stomach queases for more than a few reasons. How could he have messed this up so badly? It was supposed to be cute! Just flashy enough for him to flaunt you, but simple enough to not be messed up.

Yet he messed it up.

Rintaro dries himself and makes his way into the bedroom, where you’re already burrowed under the covers on your side of the bed. He throws on some form of pajama before making his way downstairs to make his laxative drink.

One tablespoon of laxative mixed with water, allow body to process for one day before repeating, let all powder dissolve before drinking- he follows every single one of the thorough instructions completely, and he starts to drink the concoction with a scowl of disgust.

The hell is this made out of?

“What’re you still doing up?” You ask, and he swallows the last of the laxative with a wince.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he confesses. Then, he sighs and turns to face you, and your face tells him everything he needs to know.

You’re still upset.

“Listen,” he begins, carding a massive hand through his hair. “About tonight. It was absolutely nothing you did. It was my fault, and my annoyance and attitude had nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” you sigh, but there’s an unconvinced lilt in your voice.

“I wanted this to be a perfect night, I wanted it to go so well-“

“Rinnie?”

“And I’m sorry, about my silence in the restaurant,” he sniffles, big hands pressing against his face and rubbing roughly. “The chef was supposed to put it on our cakes and his little rat waiter messed it up, and-“

“Put what on our cakes?”

“YOUR ENGAGEMENT RING!” He groans in complete agony. “Your ring! Fuck! I tried so hard to make the perfect proposal, and I just wanted it to be beautiful-“

“My… my ring?”

“Uh…. Yeah?”

“My engagement ring?”

Your bottom lip wobbles, and he feels like he’s going to upchuck every bit of food he’s ever eaten.

Though that may not be the worst thing at this point.

“You wanna marry me?” You wail, collapsing to your knees in excitement. He perks up slightly, slipping of his seat to join you on the floor.

“Of course I want to marry you,” he confesses. “God, I’ve… I’ve wanted to marry you for the past three years, I got the ring perfect four months ago.” He blinks out a line of tears to mimic yours, and you cup his cheeks in your trembling palms. “But every time I tried to propose, something went wrong, and I… I didn’t know how to do it anymore. I’m sorry baby…”

“Rintaro,” you say softly, chuckling around the your quivering voice. “I never needed a big proposal. Ever. All I ever want is for you to promise me we’ll be together. And that’s more than enough.”

His face softens before he lets a hand smack his face in obliviousness, disappointed in himself that he got so lost in trying to impress you that he almost didn’t.

“Put it on me!” You squeal, holding out your hand. He turns a scarlet red and looks away.

“I uh… I can’t.”

You deflate slightly, and he gives you an embarrassed smile. “Why not?” You whimper, emotionally fried from the rollercoaster he just put you on.

“I don’t have it.”

“What!”

“I mean, technically i do,” he says, gnawing his lip. “But I… uhm… I can’t give it to you yet. I uh… I need a few days. And… a few cleaners to look at it.” He gives you a shy chuckle and his toothy grin is mixed with frightened eyes, and your own widen. “The uhm… the ring was on the cake…”

Your hands clasp over your mouth, tears immediately drying and replacing with small, choked and stifled laughter.

“You didn’t,” you manage. He nods, uncomfortable. “Did… did you eat my ring, Rintaro?”

“It wasn’t my fault! Damn waiter gave us the wrong cakes!”

“AND YOU SWALLOWED IT?”

“I WAS NERVOUS, OKAY?”

“RINTARO!”

You two clutch each other on the cold kitchen floor as you laugh, heads knocking against each other as you steal kisses from between cackles.

“I’ve got an idea,” he says once you’ve both seemed to calm down, and he quickly pops on his feet to grab the bread on the counter. With the twist tie, he takes it off the bread and makes his way back to you. “Give me your hands.”

The tie only fits around the top part of your ring finger, and you sniffle softly at how silly and sweet this whole thing is.

“We’re gonna get married,” he says between an emotional wheeze. “And we’re going to grow old together, have our nine dogs and four cats.”

“No kids?”

“Ew gross.”

“Yeah, sure, as if you don’t bend to my every whim bro.” You shift slightly to rest your back against his chest, curling against his still sitting frame. “And our kids are going to love the Miyas-“

“Because you love the Miya’s. I have nothing to do with that.”

“As if Osamu’s not going to be your best man,” you scoff. He smirks and buries his face in your hair, listening to your words weave through his brain and calming him down from the disaster of a night.

Then, he hums, “you want to take my last name?” He asks, and you give him a small swat on the leg. “What! Im just asking!”

“Of course I’m going to take your last name,” you say, turning your head up to face him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Yeah?” He asks breathlessly, tearing up again when you nod.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

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hotvintagepoll · 9 days

Text

Propaganda

Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?

Audrey Hepburn (My Fair Lady, Sabrina, Roman Holiday)—I know people nowadays are probably sick of seeing her with all the beauty and fashion merch around that depicts her and/or Marilyn Monroe but she is considered a classic Hollywood beauty for a reason. Ironically in her day she was more of the alternative beauty when compared to many of her contemporaries. She always came off with such elegance and grace, and she was so charming. Apparently she was a delight to work with considering how many of her co-stars had wonderful things to say about her. Outside of her beauty and acting ability she was immensely kind. She helped raise funds for the Dutch resistance during WWII by putting on underground dance performances as well as volunteering at hospitals and other small things to help the resistance. During her Hollywood career and later years she worked with UNICEF a lot. Just an all around beautiful person both inside and out.

We are in the quarterfinals of the Hot & Vintage Movie Women Tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Propaganda is not my own and is on a submission basis. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Eartha Kitt:

"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."

"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."

"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”

"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."

"Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist."

Audrey Hepburn:

"She may be a wispy, thin little thing, but when you see that girl, you know you're really in the presence of something. In that league there's only ever been Garbo, and the other Hepburn, and maybe Bergman. It's a rare quality, but boy, do you know when you've found it." - Billy Wilder

Raised money for the resistance in nazi occupied Hungary. Became a humanitarian after retiring. Two very sexy things to do! [editor's note: not Hungary; Audrey was involved with the Dutch resistance. Source.]

"It’s as if she dropped out of the sky into the ’50s, half wood-nymph, half princess, and then disappeared in her golden coach, wearing her glass slippers and leaving no footprints." - Molly Haskell

"All I want for Christmas is to make another movie with Audrey Hepburn." - Cary Grant

where to begin......... i wont her so bad. i literally dont know what to say.

My dude. The big doe eyes, the cheekbones, the voice. The flawless way she carried herself. She was never in a movie where she wasn't drop dead gorgeous. Oh, also the fact she raised funds against the Nazis doing BALLET and she won the Presidential Medal of Freedom for her humanitarian work.

Growing up, Audrey Hepburn desperately wanting to be a professional ballerina, but she was starved during WWII and couldn't pursue her dream due to the effects of malnourishment. After she was cast in Roman Holiday, she skyrocketed to fame, and appeared in classics like My Fair Lady and Breakfast at Tiffany's. She's gorgeous, and mixes humor and class in all of her performances. After the majority of her acting career came to close, she became a UNICEF ambassador.

youtube

No one could wear clothes in this era like she could. She was every major designer's favorite star and as such her films are time capsules of high fashion at the time. But beyond that, she had such an elegance in her screen presence that belied a broad range of ability. From a naive princess, to a confused widow, to a loving and mischievous daughter, she could play it all.

Look at that woman's neck. Don't you want to bite it?

#audrey hepburn #eartha kitt #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies quarterfinals

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ghosts-bandwagon · 1 year

Note

can you do one where the reader has *terrible* periods (im talkin cramps, headaches, while nine yeards) but does their best to push through them and how 141 + ale, rudy, and konig react to them <3 (also i really do like the way you did your masterlist its v neat and put together)

Literally me every month 😭 this one’s for the nightmare period squad, I love y’all and I’m right there with you (thank you love!) (I’m sorry for leaving Rudy and Ale out, it’s a little much for me I’m so sorry 😭)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He’s pretty attuned to you, he has a sense when something’s up, so he decides to keep an eye on you throughout the day

You’re sweating a little more than usual and looking a little clammy when you’re on the treadmill (hoping beyond hope that working out will help) (… it doesn’t)

He’s watching you during the briefing, your hands are clenching your abdomen, your breathing is a little irregular, and your left eye twitches occasionally. You’re masking your discomfort and you’re doing it well enough to fool everyone else but him. He sees you make a detour to the clinic on base and walk out with a small heated water bottle pressed against your stomach

He stops by your room to see that your usual coffee is replaced with peppermint tea, the lights are dim, and you’re sitting at your desk, curled over the table with paperwork scattered under your head. He announced himself with a knock and you bolted upright, you winced almost immediately

“Easy love, it’s just me.” He chuckled, “Doin’ alright?” He eyed the tea and turned the bottle of pills in his hand,

“Of course, always.” You we’re out of breath, “Why?”

“Don’t make me ask.”

“Ugh fine. It’s my period, I’m sorry.” He tossed the bottle in his hands at you and you caught it not very gracefully.

“Don’t be. You’ve done more in your state than most of them do normally. Just… take a rest. Take your meds. You’ve done enough.”

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

He doesn’t really notice, you’re unfortunately good at hiding your symptoms (save for the obvious bleeding and the wrappers in the trash)

Honestly he’s amazed you can go about your day so effortlessly with all that going on

He’s watching you catch up on some chores when he starts to notice the wince in your eyes when you move a certain way, you’re putting away laundry fresh from the dryer and pressing the warm clothes tightly against your lower abdomen

You’re in the kitchen and you’re massaging your temples, breathing heavily, leaning against the counter, shaking your head and continuing with your task

“Alright, bonnie, that’s enough. Let get you set up.”

“Johnny, baby, I’m fine.”

“Sure ya are, I’m just taking care of that fine arse for you since you won’t.” He winked at you, he walked you back to bed, grabbing your heating pad and menstrual relief pills from the bathroom.

“Take it easy, hen, let’s get some movies going, yeah?”

John Price:

He knows your tells. Not only because he lives with you and sees the wrappers in the trash, but because he can feel the shift

You start to take on tasks that you’d normally pass on, whether it’s to prove to him or yourself that you can muscle through it

You don’t need to prove anything to him sweetheart, he knows how strong you are, just let him take care of you

He tells you as much but you wave him away and continue with what you were doing

He gets a little frustrated because he knows you’re suffering, he knows how hard your periods hit you, just let him help you damn it

So he sets up a little trap, he asks you to help him in the bedroom, and being the big strong girl you are, you go in ready to help but he wrap you in a big blanket and swings you over his shoulder, he set you down on the bed, tucked under the blankets, half-heartedly glaring at him.

“Rest, darling, please.”

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

He knows how bad your periods are and he doesn’t let you move an inch out of bed, he’s super doting, and he spoils you absolutely rotten

Even if you insist you can muscle through it, he won’t let you

Dishes need to be done? He’s got it. Groceries? Instacart that mf. Laundry? Say no more queen. Gotta make dinner? No you don’t.

He’s got your heating pad cranked up as high as you need it to be, your comfort show or movie is playing and he’s got your meds and some water ready for you when you need

Period care king tbh.

König:

Schatz please, you only make it worse, he knows that and you know that, but he’ll always remind you

He lets you press on about your day, doing whatever you can to distract yourself from the pain, but as soon as he sees you clutch your stomach and double over when you think he can’t see you, he steps

“Liebling, please you’re hurting me.”

“König, don’t start.” You sighed exasperated, he’s willing to deal with a lot but when it comes to your well-being, he doesn’t fuck around,

“Beg your pardon, schatz?”

Oops.

“Fine. Do your worst.” You relented, he smiled mockingly at you (not in a malicious way),

“That’s what I thought.”

You’re buried under blankets, your electric heating pad spread over your abdomen, water and medicine is on your nightstand, and you’re so grateful König knows you as well as he does.

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fxrmuladaydreams · 5 months

Text

choices and livestreams (sv5) (dr3)

pornstar!seb x pornstar/camgirl!reader , pornstar!daniel x pornstar/camgirl!reader

summary: seb wants you back in his life, but have you already put him in the past?

notes: i know i said no more posts until after the holidays but i got this done early so here it is, also i felt bad leaving you with the carlos angst then saying peace out

warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !! masturbation (m & f), sex toys (dildos)

prev part next part

Sebastian sat at his computer and watched as Daniel played with you. He brought you over the edge again and again and again, and Sebastian couldn’t even get hard. He tried to tease himself, to slowly stroke his cock up and down, when that didn’t work he tried just wrapping his hand around himself and just jerking himself off, but still nothing.

The only parts where he would feel himself twitch with interest was when you had the vibrator taped to your leg. His cock would stiffen as he watched you come undone, then immediately soften when Daniel walked back into the shot.

He groans as he rests his head on his desk. He glances back up at the screen when you scream out during your last orgasm. He feels himself stiffen as the camera moves to show all of your release leaking out of you. He could get off if he just replays this four second clip over and over.

His jaw clenches when he hears Daniel’s voice.

“You were so good for me, my good little bunny.”

His words make Sebastian want to throw his computer against a wall.

He rolls his eyes as he sees all of the likes the video has, but feels a sense of pride wash over him at some of the comments.

where is sebastian?

daniel fucks her fine, but sebastian really knew how to wreck her

this will be fine to jerk off to until we get more videos with bunny and sebastian

Sebastian glances at his phone next to him. For what must be about the twentieth time today, he thinks about texting you. You’ve gone radio silent since leaving his house last week, and he’s started to really miss having you around.

He types out a quick text, just something saying hello, and that he enjoyed your video with Daniel. He stares at it for a moment, then huffs and deletes the message. He very much did not enjoy your video with Daniel. And what kind of masochist would he be if he told you he enjoyed watching someone else fuck you?

His phone buzzing pulls his thoughts away from you. There’s a notification from the girl he had recently filmed with. It’s got a link to their mew video, and a few flirty emoji’s.

He feels his stomach churn, remembering their filming day. It didn’t come as easy as filming with you did. She was trying way too hard to please him, and he seemed out of it almost the entire time, but with some skillful editing it made a half decent video.

He swipes the notification away, and opens your messages again.

Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a bit, how is everything?

He presses send before he can overthink it, deciding that even a sliver of attention from you is enough to make up for any consequences that could come from trying to get closer to you again.

You’re with Daniel when you see the text from Seb. He’s leaning back on his couch, with you sitting between his legs, your back resting against his chest. He’s got an arm thrown over your shoulder, while his other hand draws patterns along your arm. He put on a movie for the two of you to watch, something that you really hadn’t been paying much attention to.

Daniel doesn’t want to seem nosy, but the scowl on your face is worrying, especially because you’ve been staring at your phone for the past few minutes.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, shifting slightly.

You shake your head and sigh. “Nothing.” You toss your phone to the other end of the couch and bury yourself further into Daniel’s chest.

“C’mon sweetheart, I can tell something’s bothering you.” He says.

“It’s nothing. Seb just texted me.” You tell him quietly, your eyes locked onto his tv.

“And it was a bad text?” He strokes your cheek softly.

You turn so that you’re now laying on him, chest to chest.

“He said he hasn’t heard from me in a while and wants to know how everything is.”

Daniel hums. “And how is everything? If one were to want to know.” He feins disinterest in your answer, but holds his breath waiting for a response.

You slowly start to smile. “Everything is going well, I think.”

He lets out a breath and flashes you his own grin. “Good, I’m glad.”

You spend the evening with Daniel, cuddled up on his couch. You try to focus on him, but you just keep thinking about Seb. He’s made himself within reach again, but it could end up the same way it did last time. Is risking your blossoming relationship with Daniel really worth taking that chance?

A part of you feels guilty when he asks if you want to stay the night and you turn him down. You can see the disappointment flash across his face, but he quickly hides it.

You bid him goodnight with a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving him alone as you drive back to your own home. You throw your things down on your couch and pull your phone out of your pocket as you make your way to your room.

You type out a reply to Sebastian, then set your phone face down on your desk.

I’m good, how are you? I can’t really talk right now, I’m about to film a livestream.

It’s meant to be a harmless text, but a part of you knows that you want his attention.

You change into a pretty baby pink lacy lingerie set. You set up your camera and laptop and check to make sure you’re camera ready. You start your stream and watch as your usual viewers start to join. You make a few flirty comments, telling them how much you missed them.

Sebastian doesn’t seem to join, or maybe just hasn’t read your text, so you start with your stream without him. You tease yourself through your underwear, letting out breathy moans when your fingers brush against your clit.

You pull your panties to the side and push a finger inside of yourself. It does almost nothing for you, so you push a second in as well. It’s not at all comparable to Seb or Daniel, but your viewers seem to be enjoying it from the tips they send you.

After a few minutes you pull your hand away from your cunt and reach next to you for a dildo. You’re drawn to your purple one, the length reminding you of how deep Sebastian was able to push inside you. But you spot your blue one too, the girth would stretch you out and really give your viewers a show.

You hold the blue toy in front of your camera, showing it to your audience.

i can’t wait to watch her fall apart on that dick

there’s no way she’ll be able to take that

You set the dildo up on your floor and raise yourself above it. Your eye catches a comment before you lower yourself down.

be a good bunny schatz - sebv

You flush at the comment. A new wave of arousal rushes through you as you lower yourself onto the silicone toy. It’s a struggle to take it, the head stretching you out more than you have before. The pain quickly turns into pleasure as you ease yourself lower and lower on the toy, until it’s fully sheathed inside you.

You pause as you look back up at your camera. You look wrecked already, your eyes half lidded as your mouth hangs open.

“‘S so big.” You moan.

You read another comment from your computer that makes you clench around the toy.

such a good bunny, taking that dick all the way inside you. now bounce on it sweetheart - dannyric

You bounce up and down on the dildo, moaning out as it stabs at your soft spongey spot over and over again. Tears fall from your eyes, the pleasure is too much.

“Please, please, may I cum? I want to cum so bad!” You beg.

You don’t know who you’re asking, you mind far too cloudy to be thinking straight, but your eyes search for the two usernames that send you over the edge.

cum for me bunny - sebv

you’re so pretty when you beg, you can cum now bunny - dannyric

You cry out as you reach your peak, your body losing control, and all sense of pace as you ride the toy through your orgasm.

You clench around it as tips come flooding in. You slowly lift yourself off it, whimpering at the empty feeling between your legs. The dildo is coated in your milky white release. You lift it up and lick a long stripe up the side, moaning at the taste of yourself.

You flirt a little more with your viewers, then say goodbye and end your stream.

The clean up process is lonely, you try to keep your balance as you lean against your bathroom counter, wiping up the mess between your legs. You change out of your lingerie and throw it in your laundry pile. You reach for a sweater in your closet, but pause when you see what’s before you.

Folded on one of the shelves is Seb’s sweatshirt, the one he let you use the first time you filmed with him. The grey fabric is soft between your fingers, begging to wrap you up and keep you warm.

Hanging up on the rack is Daniel’s hoodie. He insisted that you hold onto it for a while after your night at the diner. It still smells like his cologne, well his cologne and a slight smell of the diner food you shared with him.

Your heart aches as you look back and forth between the pieces of clothing. You reach out and grab a sweater of your own, refusing to make any decisions tonight.

You grab your phone from your desk to see two text notifications.

From Seb

That was a fun livestream schatz, you really know how to put on a show

From Daniel

You could’ve done your livestream at my house sweetheart, I would’ve enjoyed a live show

You leave both boys on read, and climb into your bed. You hope that tomorrow you’ll have a clearer mindset about what to do next.

#sebastian vettel x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #sv5 x reader #dr3 x reader #formula one x reader

766 notes · View notes

glassartpeasants · 3 months

Text

How to Love

Eustass Kid/Trafalgar Law x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, semi-slow burn?, beginnings to chapters are hard </3

A/N: yeah here we are. just wanted to set a light on what the base plan is. Also, this takes place RIGHT after the prologue ends. hopefully, it's good for a first chapter.

~~~

Your heart beats harshly against your ribs as the events of only moments ago replay in your mind like a broken record. The images of the two most significant people in your world, your boyfriend and your best friend, betraying you, makes your head spin. It almost feels unreal, like a nightmare instead of reality.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was a harsh reality, a stark contrast to the life you thought you were living.

Instead of waking up next to your boyfriend, you find yourself in a disorienting place: your ex-best friend's ex-boyfriend's car. Random items you managed to grab scattered across the passenger side and on your lap. The smell of Eustass’s cologne, a scent that used to bring comfort, now only added to your heartbreak, still plaguing your nose.

“Thank you, Law. You really didn’t have to.” Despite being almost inaudible, Law still heard you like you were screaming. The tremble in your voice notifies him of his own inability to speak without breaking down.

“It’s fine. Thank you for telling me about (.....)-ya’s infidelity.” The fact you even told him in the first place shocked him. You had known (.....) for years, and she was your best friend, while you only had a class project with him. Given that it was a whole semester-long, you were willing to throw away a friendship just like that.

“You're a good guy, Law. You don’t deserve to be cheated on. Whether we’re friends or strangers. I would have told you regardless. No one deserves such heartbreak.” Law can see tears slipping down your cheeks out of the corner of his eyes. The fact that you're trying to stay strong after being the one to discover the affair is admirable in a sense. It could also be that you didn’t want him to see you cry. The latter sounds more plausible.

“I'm glad I didn’t delete your number. It would have been awkward if I had tried to catch you at work.” A small, sad chuckle left your lips. The tension in the car was too much, and you needed something to keep your mind distracted so you didn’t start wailing in front of Law.

“That would have been a scene I’m grateful we avoided. I like to keep my private life and work life separate.”

“I’m the same in a sense. I don’t tell my co-workers much except to recommend shows or movies. I know you're more of a book guy, but have you seen any shows or movies recently?”

“(.....)-ya made me watch a movie the other day. It was a horror movie.”

“Oh. Was it good?”

“No, it was terrible.” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at Law's cold tone.

“Bad effects, or was it a storyline issue?”

“I could’ve made a better movie with a budget of two dollars.” Even though tears still fall from your eyes against your wishes, Law manages to make you laugh to ease the pain.

“Well, have you read any good books recently?”

“Haven’t had the time.” Law’s admission made your eyes furrow together. You know the medical field could be rough, but there wasn't enough time for him to read?

"The bookworm hasn't read recently? Are you sure you're the real Law?" A small smile tugs at the corner of Law’s lips as he listens to you talk, but even he can only hide the effects of heartbreak for so long.

Whether Law knew it or not, you could see tiny droplets of water gather in his eyes. Seeing him trying to hold it together made it just a bit harder to prevent yourself from breaking down. You grip the seat of his car and try to regulate your breathing. Clenching your teeth together, you lay your head on the window and look outside. The sudden tap of water hitting the glass makes you jump. You look around and watch as more water droplets start hitting the car.

“It’s raining. I thought it was supposed to be sunny all day?”

“I thought so, too.” The thick, tense silence rose once again, making it hard to breathe. If there had been enough room, you would have curled yourself up in a ball and cried. But you could do that when you get to...

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment. Just for now.”

“Ah, okay. Do you have any alcohol at your place?”

“Maybe some (.....)-ya left. Why?”

“So we can drink away our sadness.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.” A second silence covers the car.

“So I can drink away our sadness.”

“We’ll see when we get there.”

~~~

Your feet feel heavy as you walk into Law’s apartment. It’s been a while since you’ve been inside it. After the project was finished, you stopped coming over. Law’s busy schedule and your own just didn’t mix. Sometimes, you’d text him to check up on him and ask him how he was doing. He’d take hours or a day to respond, but you never held it against him. He always answered before it had been 48 hours, so it was okay with you.

Looking around his apartment, you see things that hadn’t been there before: some plants, many pictures on the wall, a TV, and some knickknacks you recognize that belong to (.....). The atmosphere was more welcoming than when you first visited Law’s apartment. If an apartment could feel like a hospital waiting room, then that’d be Law’s place before (.....) put her touch on it.

Placing your things near the couch, you take a deep breath as you rub your sternum to try and soothe the pain in your chest. All the pictures of Law and (.....) smiling happily nailed to the walls made your throat go dry. The images of your own apartment clouded your vision as you remembered your own photos with Eustass. Pictures of times when you did matching Halloween costumes, went to concerts together, relaxed at a beach together, or the two of you would just stay home. Every picture held a memory.

A once cherished memory is now tainted by the image of betrayal. No amount of effort can make that image disappear. Even your happiest memories become blurry when you hear (.....) calling out Eustass's name. It ignites a fiery rage inside you, and seeing (.....)'s face everywhere makes you clench your teeth. You feel like tearing apart every picture of Law and (.....) just to remove her face from your sight. Every bone in your body screams at you to lose control. To destroy everything that reminds you of Eustass and (.....) until it is nothing but microscopic pieces.

But you weren’t home. The home you once had was now lost to time. For now, your ‘home’ depends on whether Law will allow you to stay the night for tonight.

“You can stay the night on the couch for tonight if you want. I have blankets in the closet over there.” You let out an internal breath of relief from Law, answering your question without being asked.

“Thank you, Law. Can I make you dinner or something? Just so I can repay your kindness?” You watch Law lean against the kitchen counter before crossing his arms. His eyes staring out into space.

“I haven’t gone shopping yet this week, so I don’t have much.”

“I’m sure I can craft up something.”

“If you want, then go ahead.” The sound of a ringtone brings a silence to the both of you. You check your phone and see the screen’s black.

“I think it’s yours.” Pulling out his phone from his pocket, you watch Law look at the screen. A frown crosses his face immediately, letting you know the caller. Letting out a heavy sigh, you watch him answer the phone.

“What do you want (.....)-ya?” While you couldn’t understand what she was saying, the tone of her voice was frantic. You could hear sobs coming from the other line. Hearing them pissed you off to hell and back. Didn’t (.....) have a shred of decency? How dare she plead and beg after she committed such an act?

You had to sit on the couch to calm yourself down just so you wouldn’t start screaming at (.....) through the phone. As soon as your body relaxed on the couch, a wave of soreness came over you. It feels as if you’ve been working out for hours on end and only now stopped. Even your eyelids felt heavy as you feel tears starting to form and blur your vision. Trying to breathe normally falls short as you begin to hyperventilate. Your lungs burn as you can feel your throat constricting. It feels like you're swallowing your heart just to keep yourself quiet.

“I meant what I said (.....)-ya. I’m breaking up with you, and that’s final. You can come get your things tomorrow afternoon.” Hearing Law’s voice helped soothe a part of your aching soul. Hearing something other than your own ragged breathing helped calm down the streams of tears that were flowing down your face.

“I’m done talking with you (.....)-ya. Goodbye.” The sound of Law’s calls ending made you rub your face, trying to hide the tears that plagued you seconds ago.

“Your more civil than I would have been. I probably wouldn’t have even picked up her call.” Your voice cracked as you tried to let out a small laugh.

“She was asking me for a ride. Apparently, her and Eustass got in a fight, and he threw her out in the rain.” Scoffing in disbelief, you turn your head to look at Law, hoping he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes.

“She asked you for a ride after cheating on you? Serves her right, getting thrown in the rain. Hope she gets a cold.” You can see Law’s body tremble and how he bites his lip. His eyes get glassy as he looks at the ceiling.

“Fucking a man.” Even from across the room, you can hear Law whispering to himself. You hated seeing him like this. Watching someone you care about hurt only adds to the pain you feel.

“Hey…do you wanna watch something to get our minds off them?”

“I should go back to work. They probably need me.” You let out a hum, hearing his words. A slight feeling of rejection crosses your mind, but you're quick to shake it off. The last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable. And if he was the type to work away his feelings, who were you to stop him?

“Well, drive safe. It sounds like the rain is hitting harder.” The sound of rain beating against the windows of Law’s apartment was finally acknowledged. Its beat almost matched Law’s own heartbeat as he thought about the phone call only minutes ago.

Hearing (.....)’s voice felt like nails on a chalkboard as she tried to explain what happened. The voice that once calmed his aching heart was now the reason it hurt. It was astonishing how fast his whole world flipped upside down. Earlier today, he couldn’t wait to come home and see (.....) and have her talk to him about her day. But now, instead of (.....) smiling at him, you were sitting on his couch with puffy eyes.

The way he could hear the tremble in your voice and how the light shined against the path of tears left on your face made his own wave of emotions try to surface. Even if he could tell you were trying hard to hold them back, he could see tears collect against your eyelashes. The sight had tears accumulating in his own eyes, making him look up at the ceiling to try and stop them. He didn’t need to show how bad (.....)’s betrayal has affected him. At least not in front of you.

Sure, you guys were going through the same thing together, but it wouldn’t help him or you if he let his own emotions out. It’d just be easier to shove them down, ignore them, and work until the pain left. He’s done it before, so he can do it again.

“Um, Law?” Looking back down, he sees you standing in front of him. You refuse to meet his eyes as you fiddle with the bottom of your shirt.

“Yeah?”

“Can I hug you?” Law felt his heart skip a beat hearing your request. A part of him told himself no that he’d break down the moment you wrapped your arms around him. Yet, the voice of someone he used to know told him something different.

“Okay.” As soon as the words left his lips, he felt your body smushed up against his. Your arms held him in a tight embrace as the sound of your hushed sniffles made Law finally cave. Wrapping his own arms around you, a sense of comfort filled him. The feeling of being cared for once again was nice yet terrifying. As soon as the feeling would come, it’d leave just as fast.

But for now, he’ll indulge in your hold.

~~~

The blanket that wrapped around you did little to replicate Law’s hug. Sure, you were warm, but it wasn’t the same. It reminded you of how alone you were. You had no family in this city, and your only friends were (.....) and Law, but you wouldn’t count him as an option due to the current predicament. It felt like you were running in circles with every idea that popped into your head. Always leading to a dead end and making you start all over again.

You couldn’t go back home. It’d take you around three to four hours to drive there! Plus, you didn’t leave on a good note with your parents when you left for college. And if their last words to you were anything to go by, they didn’t want you back. You shake your head at the thought of your parents.

“No. No need to drag myself down even more thinking about them.” Slithering your hand out of your blanket cocoon, you grab your phone that was on your right. The black screen stared at you as it showed your reflection. Eyes red from tears earlier and a cut lip from biting on it so hard earlier.

A ding echoes across the empty apartment as the phone's black screen soon turns on. The quick flash makes your eyes burn before squinting to try and get used to the brightness. Once adjusted, you see a message from Law hiding in your notification bar.

-“I need a favor from you.”

-“Sure, what ya need?”

-“(.....)-ya is supposed to be getting her things this morning. I want you to make sure she takes everything and leaves her key in the dish by the door.”

A frown skims across your face as the thought of seeing (.....)’s face makes your stomach churn. It’s only been a day, and you're already forced to see her face? At the same time, Law did allow you to stay the night last night. So, despite your distaste for seeing (.....), you agreed.

-“Will do. Can count on me :)”

-“Thanks.”

-“How’s working going so far?”

-“Fine.”

-“That's good”

The urge to ask him what his plans were with you after you did him this favor ate at your conscience as soon as you sent that last text. Law was really the only one whose place you felt safe enough to sleep at. And he’s the only person you have in the entire city. You didn’t have a license since a lot of things were always within walking distance, so you never had a reason to.

But now, you were on the complete other side of the city. What used to be a five-minute walk to your job now would take at least thirty minutes. You had no idea where anything was on this side of the city. Sure, you and Law would go grab an energy drink from the gas station when the two of you worked the night away on that old project, but that was two years ago. Who knows? Maybe that gas station doesn’t even exist anymore!

“Do you go here a lot?”

“To buy an energy drink and coffee every now and then.” The sound of small pebbles crunching under your and Law’s shoes goes unnoticed as you walk next to him.

“Okay, so every day then?” A laugh escapes your lips as Law rolls his eyes, yet a small smile plays against his lips.

“This gas station is the only place that sells my favorite one.”

“Which is?”

“Can’t tell you. What if you take it?” A smirk appears on his lips as he puts his hands in his pockets. Scoffing, you place your hand on your chest in fake offense.

“I can’t believe you’d think so lowly of me. Stealing your beloved drink? Only a monster could be so heartless!” Hearing Law let out a chuckle from your words made a heavy feeling of confidence run through your veins. He was always relatively quiet when in class, so it was nice to see him show emotion other than ‘bored.’

“How much farther? I’m dying to know the favorite drink of the future best doctor in the world.” A faint pink tints Law’s skin as he tries to look away from you, hoping you don’t see what your comment did to him.

“You really think so?” Despite trying to copy your playful tone, you can hear his self-doubt and hopefulness that your words were true.

“I know so! No one works harder than you! If anyone says otherwise, tell me and I’ll kick their ass.” Law could feel his palms grow sweaty, and his heart beat a little faster.

Sure, he’s gotten praise from his teacher, but hearing it come from someone he had just met and barely knew felt a little more sincere? Why, he didn’t know, but he won’t complain.

“Will do.”

KNOCK KNOCK

The sound of light knowing pulls you from your memories. Looking up at the clock, you see it’s nearly three pm. You sigh as you shed the multiple layers of blankets you were snuggled in. The rage and anger from yesterday are still strong in your system, making you clench your fists. You walk towards the door when you hear your fingers popping from the sheer force. Unlocking it, you take a deep breath before fully opening it.

In front of you stood a very unkempt (.....). Her hair was in a messy ponytail, accompanied by red eyes and a red face. Makeup from the night before was still applied to her skin as mascara streaked down her face. Your eyes even caught the barely covered hickeys and bite marks that shined through her concealer.

“(Y-Y/N)?...Why are you…Where’s Law?” Her pitiful voice made you squeeze the doorknob tighter to try and calm yourself.

“He’s at work. Not that it’s any of your business, but he was kind enough to let me spend the night.” Your eyes narrowed at her as you couldn’t help but glare daggers at the marks on her neck. Noticing your stare, (.....) moved her shoulder to cover her neck.

“I see…” You move to let her in and shut the door behind her. She lets out a shaky breath before beginning to take down the multiple pictures hanging along the wall. The sound of sniffles hits your ears as you watch her grab the frames with shaky hands. Listening to her hold back tears made you struggle to hold your own.

How could she have done this? Years of friendship only to throw it away for some dick? Did you mean so little to her? You’ve been with her for everything! Breakups, grandparents passing, getting in trouble together, anything and everything you’ve done for her! If she needed a kidney transplant, you would’ve volunteered right away!

Now, seeing how a friendship can easily be thrown away like trash after years made bitterness fill your heart. If your best friend and boyfriend could betray you without so much of a second thought, what does that say about the strangers all around you?

What does that say about you? Did you do something to deserve this? Was (.....) mad at you and thought fucking your lover would get back at you? There had to be a reason. To be an explanation for the horror you saw yesterday. Maybe after a drink or two after (.....) leaves will calm you down.

~~~

“You got everything?”

“Yeah.” Just as she was about to walk out the door, you remembered that she still hadn't given you the key.

“I need the apartment key.” Putting your hand out, you move your eyes to your hand and back at her.

“I-I don’t have it.” Furrowing your brows, you sigh.

“Don’t bullshit me. I’ve known you for years, and I know when you lie. Now give me the goddamn keys (.....).” You watch (.....) bite her lip before digging into her jacket pocket. The light shined off the key as she gently put it in your hands.

“Can you say goodbye to Bepo for me?” Confusion hit you like a train at her request.

“What the hell are-you know what? Fine. I’ll say bye.”

“Thanks.” Closing the door, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. After locking the door behind her, you placed her old key in the dish Law has near the door for his keys. (.....) request puzzled you as you tried to think of what she was talking about.

“What the hell is a Bepo?”

Just then, a light pitter-patter echos in the apartment. Your heart stops as the sound gets closer. There shouldn’t be anyone else in the apartment but you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you try to move quietly towards the kitchen to grab something to defend yourself.

“Meow!” You stop in your tracks upon hearing that noise. Embarrassment floods your body as you move even closer to the noise. Upon turning the corner, you see a white cat walking in your direction. A big white cat.

“Can’t believe I got spooked by a damn cat. Didn’t even know Law had a cat…a fatass one nonetheless.” Bending down, you move your hand to let the cat smell you. A smile appears on your face when it rubs against you.

“Hmm? What’s this?” Moving the fluff from his neck, you see a collar with a tag. Squinting your eyes, you finally see the name engraved on the tag.

“Ohhh…your Bepo! Well, aren’t you a cutie-pie?” With (.....) 's request finally making sense, you fight to actually fulfill it. With a sigh, you pick up Bepo and hold him gently.

“Let’s send your dad a selfie. I think he’ll appreciate it.” You go to the couch, pick up your phone, and find the right angle for the picture. When you find the right spot, you smile as Bepo rubs his head against your face.

“Say cheese!”

~~~

It’d been a long day at the hospital. It felt like nothing went right. Sure, he put in his all, but he had to tell people how they were diagnosed with a terminal illness or dealing with dumb co-workers. The only good thing today did for him was keep (.....) out of his head. But now that work was over, the nagging thoughts could finally bother him once more.

Sighing as he unlocked his apartment door, he was immediately hit with the smell of something cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled good, and he was happy that he didn’t have to make anything tonight. When he went to put his keys in the dish designated for them, he saw (.....)’s key lying in the middle. A wave of relief washed over him as he finished taking off his shoes and coat.

“Oh, Law, are you home?” Your voice rings in his ears as he walks further into his apartment. He spots you setting up the table while humming to yourself.

“Yeah, I’m back. Did you make something?”

“Well, you’ve been at work for sixteen hours, so obviously, you should be hungry! Not to mention that you deserved a home-cooked meal after working so hard.” Moving closer to the dinner table, he sees a plate of grilled fish along with a can of what looks to be sparkling water. The smell of his favorite food drew him closer, and he felt a sense of calm filled him. It’d be the second night in a row you made him dinner.

“Where did you get the fish? I don’t remember having any?”

“Oh, after (.....) took her stuff and left, I used GPS to find a store nearby, and there was an organic type of food store only two blocks away! So I went shopping and got things! Except for beverages, so I stopped by the gas station we used to go to and got sparkling water 'cause you don’t drink and no way you’d drink an energy boost at eight pm.” You continued talking, but it was lost on Law’s ears as he stared at the set-up table. The fact you put yourself to go grocery shopping and making him dinner made his sour mood from only moments ago lighten.

“Thank you.” As he moves to wash his hands in the sink, he sees his beloved cat following you and purring.

“I see you’ve met Bepo.” Upon speaking, the cat changed his attention to Law. Bepo begins to meow as he prances towards Law’s feet before rubbing against them. Leaning down, Law gives him a few pets before washing his hands.

“I didn’t even know you had a cat. Did you just get him?”

“No. I’ve had him for almost a year and a half. Why?” He watches you lift your eyebrows and look at Bepo before looking back at Law.

“What?”

“Law. Do you see how big that cat is?” Despite just washing his hands, Law picks up Bepo and holds him in his arms.

“What about it? He’s growing.”

“That cat is obese. He needs a diet.”

“Bepo is perfect the way he is.” You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched him hold Bepo protectively and away from you.

“You can be delusional all you want, but come eat before the food gets cold.” Turning your back, you begin to dish up after washing your hands. You can hear Law rewashing his own before sitting on the opposite side of the table.

As awkward as it may be, the presence of one another brings a slight calm to your new chaotic world.

~~~

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#one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader

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ghosttotheparty · 10 months

Text

also on ao3 cw: child neglect; mentions of underage drinking; brief weed presence; mentions of bullying

He doesn’t know what he was expecting.

He should have anticipated this, really. The slow drag. The tie knotted around his neck too tightly. The clatter of dishes and ruckus of pretentious, pompous laughter that makes him want to shove his fork through his eye.

He really doesn’t know what he was expecting.

A gift maybe. A birthday cake. Maybe with frosting and sprinkles. Candles. A wish. A clap on the back and an approving statement about his manhood from his father. Childhood dreams, in hindsight. Silly. Immature.

But he still longs for it all. To feel the rip of wrapping paper under his fingertips. To feel the warmth of lit candles on his face as he leans close to them. To blow them out with a silly wish and watch the smoke curl toward the ceiling before it fades. To hear his mother’s voice sing to him.

Something like in the movies. Something he’s never gotten before. Something he’s always wanted.

He’s eighteen today. He should be celebrating somehow. Getting drunk with Tommy H and the other guys. Laughing as they all slap his back and tell him he’s a man. Flirting with some girl by the punchbowl. Humbly accepting her happy birthday.

But he’s sitting next to his father at the head of their dining table, fingers drumming the dark wood as he stares down at the uneaten food on his plate. Steak and potatoes. An undrunk glass of wine. He’s listening to his father’s coworkers laugh about something, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is that’s so funny. Their voices don’t really make sense to him today. Usually he can talk with them just fine, ask about work and business deals and future plans and everything that they seem to care about. But today they sound almost discordant, like they’re all out of tune, a melody that he doesn’t recognize. He can’t follow along as they all talk, their voices blending and bleeding together, mixing with the sound of their forks and knives scraping the porcelain plates they’re using, the sound of their cups hitting the table harder than they should, the sound of their chairs scraping back over the floor.

Steve stares at his plate. Counts the pieces of potato. Six. Counts the prongs of his fork. Five. Counts the flowers on the edge of his plate. Seventeen. He drums his fingers on the table, taps his feet on the floor, takes measured breaths. Waiting until he can be dismissed, until he can leave. He doesn’t know where he wants to go, really. He thinks he’d like to go to bed, but the idea of sitting in silence after all this seems suffocating. Maybe he’ll go for a drive. He’ll have to insist to his father that he’s eighteen now, that he should be allowed to go for a drive if he wants to. It probably won’t work. But by the end of dinner, his father will probably be so drunk Steve will be able to leave without him knowing. He probably won’t remember it in the morning.

And even if he gets in trouble, Steve thinks, it’ll be worth it. To drive in the night with the windows down, the wind in his hair. A CD in, playing on the highest volume possible as he leaves town, even if just for an hour. He’ll take his tie off. Want to toss it out the window and then leave it behind along with Hawkins and this house, but he’ll just put it in the backseat and forget it there for a while.

He’s distracted from the daydream when his father claps him on the back roughly, startling as he jolts forward with the force of it. He’s always hit Steve too hard when he does this, fatherly slaps on the back when Steve’s done well in something he actually cares about. The most recent one was after a swimming competition; Steve hadn’t put his shirt on when he’d done it, and it stung like a bitch in a way that made Steve feel like a little boy again, but it was worth it.

“To Steve,” his father is saying, raising his fifth glass of wine to the ceiling, smiling. He has an eerie smile. Steve’s always thought so. His teeth are too white, too straight. Like he’s wearing a mask.

Steve smiles bashfully as a chorus of his name goes around the room, ducking his head and nodding when the men raise their glasses to him. A few of them wish him a happy birthday. One says something about him being a man. His father drains his wineglass, tilting his head back as his hand rests on the back of Steve’s neck, holding him too tightly, like he’s using him to hold his balance.

As far as birthday parties go, it was shitty.

Not that Steve would really have a good party to compare it to. All his birthday parties have been like this, ending with a bunch of wasted men in business suits crashing in his living room or recklessly driving home to their bored wives. Or, in recent years, ending very similarly but with teenage boys instead. Though Steve doesn’t allow them to drive home; usually a few stay in the guest room (often on the floor) or in his room for the night. He doesn’t sleep.

It’s dark in the living room as he steps around one of his father’s coworkers. It’s the one with the red tie that Steve had admired when he arrived. It’s looser now, draped over his neck as he lays on the floor. He’s snoring.

The floor creaks as Steve makes his way toward the door. His father is in bed already, probably passed out and reeking of wine. It’s a small comfort to know that Steve’s mom doesn’t have to deal with him tonight. She’s at a bachelorette party or something. She’s probably just as drunk as he husband.

Steve finds his car keys in the dark, and they jungle in his hand as he opens the door, but he doesn’t bother looking back to check if he’s awoken anyone; he doesn’t particularly care.

His vision is blurring before he’s even to his car, and before he can think anything else, he’s dragging the end of his key across the door of one of the cars he’s passing. He doesn’t look back, but as he gets into his own car, he realizes it was his father’s car. Maybe in the morning, he can convince him that one of his coworkers did it in a drunken stupor as a joke.

He rolls the windows down as he drives, blinking tears out of his eyes.

Eighteen was always supposed to be a big thing, wasn’t it? Adulthood. Manhood. He can vote now. Isn’t that a big deal?

All his friends couldn’t wait to turn eighteen. Steve isn’t the first of them to reach it, but he isn’t the youngest. The other day at school a few of them complained that they have to wait a few more months, and Tommy H joked about celebrating by going into Indy and hitting up a strip club.

They all laughed at that. And told Tommy it was a great idea, that Jared could drive them all. (He’d gotten his license before anyone else and it was decided that he would always be the designated driver.) They’d all wanted to do it, go out together, have a good time. Et cetera.

But looking at the sky, the wind drying the tears that are streaking down his cheeks, Steve’s never felt more alone. And he fucking hates wine, hates being drunk in general, but he would do anything for some weed right now. So he takes a left turn toward Forest Hills instead of toward the Leaving Hawkins sign.

Eddie knows he should have gone to bed hours ago. He doesn’t even know what time it is, but he’s so comfortable here, curled up on the sofa in his sweatpants, shirt off because it’s warm enough that he doesn’t need it. There’s a book in his lap, and his head rests on the back of the sofa as he reads it, thumbing over the page as he silently mouths the words to himself. The glow of the lamp behind him makes the pages gold.

He’s startled when there’s a knock on the door, and he looks up, wide-eyed. He’d vaguely heard a car pull in in front of the trailer, but he hadn’t paid it any attention, too engrossed in his book, which he sets aside after folding the corner of the page he’s on. It’s just a small fold, but he knows Wayne would smack him upside the head for it.

He stops short when he opens the door, eye to eye with the King.

It’s quiet as they stare at each other for a moment. Steve’s eyes wander down to the tattoos on Eddie’s chest, and Eddie is suddenly embarrassed that he’s shirtless and in sweatpants, especially when he realizes Steve is literally wearing a suit, a black tie tied around his neck. The only comfort is that his hair is a mess, which is oddly more satisfying than it should be.

“Hey,” Eddie says hesitantly. It’s odd that Steve is here. It’s not like Eddie’s never sold to him before, but he definitely isn’t a frequent customer. And it’s Sunday night. “What’s up?”

“I, uhm. Can I have some weed?”

Eddie realizes he’s holding his wallet in his hands, looking at Eddie like he’s pleading, and Eddie’s chest feels a little tight, like he’s looking at a dog abandoned on the side of the road.

“Yeah,” he says, swinging the door open wider and stepping aside. “‘Course.”

Steve steps in, ducking his head like he’s going to hit it on the doorframe, and Eddie shuts the door behind him, awkwardly glancing at him. He looks nice in the suit. Unfairly nice. Criminally nice. It should be illegal for him to be in public like this.

“What kinda party you headed to?” Eddie asks, going to the kitchen and grabbing the tin lunchbox from where he left it on the counter.

“Uh, I left one, actually,” Steve says, pushing a hand through his hair, and Jesus, that should be illegal too.

“What kinda party you ditch?” Eddie fixes, going to sit on the sofa and opening the lunch box, half-smiling when he sees Steve’s expression lighten.

“A shitty one.”

“How so?”

Steve sighs, looking around the room.

“Just… A bunch of my dad’s coworkers came over for dinner. They got wasted. I don’t know. It sucks.”

Eddie glances up at him, pulling a baggie of weed out of the box and preparing to hold it out to him, but Steve hasn’t made a move to open his wallet, and his face is tight again as he looks at Wayne’s hats, like he’s thinking too hard.

“Tell me,” Eddie says, opening the baggie instead and instinctively lifting it to his nose to smell it.

“It’s…” Steve pauses, blinking and glancing at him. “It’s nothing, you don’t— You don’t wanna hear it.”

“Yes, I do,” Eddie says lightly, pulling the grinder out of the box. “Go ‘head,” he adds with a jerk of his chin. “You need to talk about it, I can tell. Tell me.”

Steve blinks at him and sighs again.

“I don’t know,” he says again, turning away to look around again. It’s like he’s fascinated by the living room, like the hats and mugs are from an art gallery or something. “I guess I thought maybe my dad might actually wanna do something nice for my birthday, like— like he might invite over my favorite aunt and her kids, and we’d have, like, a nice dinner. Even though her kids are only in, like, fifth grade, it— it could have been nice. But he just wanted to convince his coworker of something or whatever, so he bought a bunch of wine, and…”

He trails off, grimacing at the wall, and Eddie’s hands slow to a stop, looking up at him.

“And Mom went to some party,” Steve continues, his voice shaking for a moment. “Some bachelorette or something. Which, I mean… She couldn’t change the date on that, but it still, like, I don’t know. Kind of hurts that I haven’t seen her all day. But also, I mean, I’m kind of glad she wasn’t there with my dad’s coworkers, I mean they… They’re so gross. Especially when they drink.”

“It’s your birthday?” Eddie interrupts, and Steve blinks and looks at him. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes searching Eddie’s like he’s lost.

“...It’s my birthday,” he says, and it’s like he’s just realized it, like it’s just set in. Eddie’s chest hurts.

“Why… Why didn’t you throw yourself a party?” he asks after a moment, still holding the grinder even though he isn’t doing anything with it. Steve looks away, blinking his eyes hard, tossing a hand with a huff.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think— I think maybe I just hoped they’d do something for me. Stupid fucking hope, though,” he scoffs. “Like they’d do shit for me after eighteen fuckin’ years.”

“Didn’t you do something last year?” Eddie asks, finally setting the grinder down.

“Yeah.”

He says it so softly. Like he’s remembering. Like he’s sad.

“Fucking sucked,” he says. “I’m so…”

He trails off, exhaling, but Eddie is curious.

“You’re so…”

Steve shrugs.

“I don’t know.” His voice shakes again, and he shrugs, blinking his eyes hard as he pinches his nose briefly. “Tired of it all.”

“What all?”

Eddie knows he’s pushing it. Steve is going to snap at him. Tell him he came for weed, not therapy. But Steve just exhales again.

“Everything,” he says. “I’m fucking sick of— of my dad and I'm sick of the house and I'm sick of Tommy fucking Hagan and Carol Perkins and I'm sick of parties and booze and those stupid fucking plastic cups—”

He cuts himself off, turning away, and Eddie blinks, furrowing his brows.

“...Steve?”

Steve turns a little bit, looking at him, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears, and he looks so small. Like a cornered rabbit. Scared.

“You can stay,” Eddie says quietly. “If you want to. As long as you need.”

Steve looks like he crumbles, face falling as he looks at the ground, and he sits heavily on the armchair next to the sofa. Eddie kind of (really) wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t.

“I keyed my dad’s car,” Steve says after a moment. “When I left.”

“Bastard probably deserves it.”

Steve finally gives a soft laugh, half-smiling, and he nods.

“I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” he says. “Or that it was his car. I just… I was already doing it before I even noticed there was a car next to me, it…”

“I think that’s God making you do what’s meant to be.”

Steve scoffs.

“Doesn’t that interfere with free will?”

Eddie shrugs, grinning, leaning back on the sofa.

“He’s gonna be so pissed tomorrow,” Steve says, sighing heavily and leaning back in the armchair. His jacket falls open, and Eddie forces himself to look away. “I might convince him his friend did it while drunk, but…”

“Worst case scenario, you can just blame me,” Eddie says. Steve looks at him, blinking in confusion.

“Why would I do that?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Believable. I can say I was on a nice midnight walk and heard some rich fucks havin’ a grand ol’ time. Pissed me off. Keyed a car.”

Steve listens, looking at him in a way that Eddie can tell he isn’t going to take him up on his offer, but he looks amused, which is nice.

“Plus it would make more sense if it was me,” Eddie says lightly. “You know. The Freak keying a car compared to the King keying a car. Seems more my speed. Also with all the shit I get into, keying a car is barely a blip on my record,” he adds dismissively. Steve raises an eyebrow (hot), and scoffs.

“Yeah?”

“The law can’t touch me, baby,” Eddie jokes, and his chest lights up like the sun when Steve rolls his eyes and looks away, his cheeks flushing with color.

Of course he knows how pretty Steve is. And of course, because why the fuck wouldn’t he, he’s had a crush on him for years. It’s bullshit, in Eddie’s opinion. That Eddie, the Town Queer, falls for the fucking King, the epitome of the Straight Man, the Ladies’ Man. But he fell so easily. And it doesn’t help that Steve is hanging out in his living room, looking around, hair shining in the light of the lamp like it’s threaded with gold.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Steve asks softly.

“You’re not really that bad,” Eddie says lightly.

“...I’m an asshole.”

Eddie blinks at him, tilting his head.

“Steve,” he says firmly, prompting him to look up at him with those fucking sad puppy dog eyes again. “I told Tommy Hagan his money should pay for a better wardrobe and he called me a fag and told me to kill myself. I told you I could smell your hairspray across the cafeteria and you just laughed. I stand up on the tables and harass you guys in the hallways in you're the only one that doesn't try to shove me into a locker or call me a slur. You're not like them.”

Steve looks away. He looks sad.

“Why do you do it?” he asks after a moment, looking up at Eddie, and he’s changing the subject, deflecting. “Draw so much attention to yourself when everyone is so shitty to you?”

Eddie relaxes into the sofa again, sighing, pausing.

“I kind of… I don’t know. Try to keep the target on me. The kids that hang out with me already put a target on themselves by being near me, but they… I don’t know, they’re, like… Fragile, I guess. A lot of their families are shitty, and they’ve been dealing with bullies since they were little, so… I try to keep the assholes’ attention on me as much as I can.”

He pauses, looking up at Steve to find him looking back already, chin resting on his palm, elbow on the armrest. Eddie looks away again, shifting.

“That’s kinda why I answered the door so fast,” he says. “Sometimes it’s one of my little sheep. Sometimes they need, like… Ice and painkillers. Or a place to spend the night. Sometimes just… someone to listen to them. Or take their mind off something.” He looks back at him. “Imagine my surprise at finding the Hair at my front door.”

Steve doesn’t laugh, but he’s almost smiling still, eyes shining, lips curved just a little bit. And he’s quiet for a few moments before—

“I really like you, Eddie.”

Eddie blinks in surprise.

They haven’t even smoked anything. (Eddie was planning on just lighting a joint up without charging Steve. Because it’s his birthday. Duh.) But Steve fucking Harrington just told him he really likes him.

Eddie forces a light laugh.

“Careful who you say that around,” he says weakly. “People might get the wrong idea.”

Steve looks back at him.

“There’s no one else here,” he says quietly.

And then it’s quiet as they just look at each other, and Eddie really shouldn’t be reading into this. (Again: Steve Harrington. The King. Straight Man. Ladies’ Man.) But it’s hard not to in this silence, which Steve looking at him like that in the warm glow of the lamp.

“Do you wanna spend the night?” Eddie asks without thinking. “I… I have some, like, sweats you can borrow, and we have spare toothbrushes and everything.”

Steve finally looks away, toward the door, like he’s expecting someone to come in.

“I don’t know, it’s… I don’t wanna be a bother—”

“You’re not,” Eddie interrupts. Steve stares back at him again.

“We have school tomorrow.”

“Fuck school,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “...You deserve to rest.”

Steve is quiet again.

“...Okay.”

Eddie smiles and beckons with a tilt of his head.

“C’mon.”

Steve follows him to his room after he toes his shoes off and leaves them by the door, and his mismatched socks are oddly endearing. He pushes his hands into his pockets while Eddie gets some clothes from his closet (a pair of black sweatpants and a black sweatshirt that’s stained with bleach, reddish-orange spots near the hem and on one of the sleeves), and Eddie leaves the clothes on his bed before he leaves to the bathroom to find the extra toothbrush.

When he comes back, Steve has taken off his jacket. It’s resting on Eddie’s desk chair, almost blending into the mess, and Steve is struggling with the knot of his tie, brows furrowed with frustration, lips pursed in a pout, and Eddie wants to squeeze him. He steps forward and swats his hands out of the way, taking over gently. They’re close as Eddie works on the tie, hands shaking a little bit because Steve is right there, and also because Eddie still hasn’t put a shirt on. (He forgets he isn’t wearing one. Wayne scolds him often for it, but Eddie’s been like this since he was thirteen.)

He can feel Steve’s eyes on him as he undoes the tie, and when it finally comes loose, he carefully slides it out of Steve’s collar.

“There you go,” he says quietly, almost whispering, and Steve takes the tie from him, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“Thanks.”

Eddie tries to clean up while Steve uses the bathroom to change and brush his teeth, and he tugs on a t-shirt as he does so, pushing his hair out of the way as he clears off his bed and shoves his laundry into his closet. It’s not as awkward as Eddie expected when Steve comes back into his room, his eyes glancing Eddie up and down like he’s analyzing his shirt before Eddie nods at the bed. It’s big enough that they’ll both have space without crowding each other, and a part of Eddie mourns not having a smaller bed.

Steve falls asleep quickly, facing Eddie, curled up into a little ball with his arms wrapped around one of Eddie’s pillows. His face is buried in it, his hair falling across his eyes, and Eddie holds back from pushing it out of the way. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, steadily, and the sound of his breathing almost lulls Eddie to sleep too, but he stays up with his book and the dim lamp until three.

He’s careful as he goes back to the living room, stepping over the floorboards he knows are creaky, shutting the door as quietly as he can so he doesn’t wake Steve. And he calls Wayne’s work. One of his coworkers picks up.

“Hey, it’s— it’s Eddie.”

“Oh, Eddie, hey, kid. How’ve ya been?”

“I’ve been good, I just, uh, I had to talk to Wayne, is he available?”

“Yeah, he just started his break. He’s eatin’ those damn boiled eggs. Wayne! ‘S your boy.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Wayne’s gruff voice speaks into the phone.

“Eds? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just… Okay, so—”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t— Excuse me. I didn’t do anything. I was wondering if you could do a favor for me.”

Wayne sighs heavily.

“What?”

“Okay, uhm. A friend of mine is over right now, and he… It’s his birthday, right? But his parents are dicks and his dad just had, like, a business meeting for his birthday dinner, and his mom is at some party or something for her friend, and my friend is kinda… I don’t know. It sucks. His friends suck.” He knows he’s speaking choppily, awkwardly, and that the word friend sounds foreign in his mouth, like it doesn’t really fit between his lips. And he knows Wayne is picking up on that too, and that Wayne definitely can already tell that Eddie has a crush, but Wayne, bless his heart, doesn’t say anything.

“So what’s this favor?”

“I don’t know, do you think… Do you think you can get, like, a cake or something on your way home? He’s spending the night.”

Wayne is quiet for another moment, and Eddie hears a clatter behind him, followed by some laughter.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says finally.

“Thanks, Wayne.”

“What’s his name?”

“Uh. Steve.”

“Steve,” Wayne repeats slowly. “Steve. Of the Harrington sort?”

“That’s the one.”

“I didn’t know you were friends.”

“Well. Our relationship is mostly professional—”

“Right,” Wayne says with a light laugh. “Go to bed, Eds. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Thanks, old man. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The phone clicks when Eddie hangs it up, and he avoids the creaky floorboards again as he makes his way back to his room. Steve is still laying the same way, hugging Eddie’s pillow to himself, and he looks so…

Small.

Not at all like a king. He looks so young here, so little and helpless, and Eddie wants to wrap his arms around him and kiss his forehead. Which would definitely cross some lines.

He gets into bed slowly, lifting the blanket carefully so it doesn’t move where it’s draped over Steve’s body, and he clicks off the lamp.

It’s different in the complete darkness. It looks just like it does on any other night, dark and empty and easy for him to close his eyes and forget about the world, but he can hear Steve’s slow breaths. He can almost hear his fucking heartbeat.

At some point in the night, they move closer, and Eddie, half-asleep, blearily opens his eyes to try to find him in the dark. He can’t see anything, but he doesn’t need to when Steve shifts closer under the blanket. Eddie’s arm wraps around Steve’s waist, and Steve’s head finds its way to Eddie’s chest as he curls up into an even small bundle. The movement feels instinctive, his arm wrapping around him before he’s even fully realized how close they are, and as they settle against each other, Eddie wonders if that’s how it felt for Steve when he keyed his dad’s car. Natural. Right.

Wayne knows the Harringtons.

Richard was called Dick in high school, and Wayne always felt that the nickname was fitting. He was a rich, pompous asshole, who no doubt treats his son the same way he treated anyone he went to school with. He pulled girls’ hair and left ugly notes in their lockers and in their textbooks. He tripped younger kids in the hallways and smacked their notebooks out of their hands, and he and his friends would walk all over their worksheets and loose papers that fell across the hallway floor. He thought of himself as above everyone else, flaunted his big house and fat wallet, and Wayne always kind of hoped he would grow out of it, even when he went after Al relentlessly. It was like he had a personal vendetta against Al, and Wayne would be lying if he said he doesn’t think Richard Harrington is part of the reason Al is gone now.

And Wayne remembers Catherine. Future trophy wife, queen of Hawkins High, with her pretty brown curls that were always done up so perfectly Wayne sometimes wondered if she had a professional hair stylist. She was similar to Richard, maybe a little nicer. Though, maybe Wayne just thought she was nicer because she was so passive. Everyone knew she was the one that started most of the rumors about the other students. Cruel, cruel rumors.

They’re perfect for each other.

Wayne had heard when they had a child, but he never thought much of it. It seemed right to him. Richard and Catherine, with their bright smiles and pretty hair, with their big house and shiny wedding rings. Of course they’d have a son.

Wayne remembers seeing Catherine with Steve when he was a toddler. They were with one of Catherine’s friends, walking down the sidewalk in town, and Wayne saw them as they passed by the grocery store. Steve had been holding a bare dead dandelion, the seeds already blown off into the wind, but his tiny fist was clutching the stem like he was scared to lose it. Catherine hadn’t seemed to notice, too busy engrossed in the conversation she was having with her friend as Steve stumbled behind them, his legs too short to keep up properly.

He supposes it makes sense for Steve to buy from Eddie. The rich kids always do. Wayne remembers the local dealer when he was in high school. He was a dick, too.

But it doesn’t make sense for Steve to be spending the night at Eddie’s. Wayne doesn’t mind, of course. Anyone’s welcome at home. He’s come home from work countless times to find some kid passed out in Eddie’s bed or on the sofa (and once on the floor), and Eddie is always quick to explain. His dad was scaring him. He got jumped on his way home. She thought she was being followed. I’ll drive her home when she gets up. And Wayne, of course, always prepares an extra plate of breakfast before he crashes.

But Steve Harrington.

He can’t be treated well by Dick.

It’s all Wayne can think about as he leaves work, waves bye to his coworkers, drives into town. Everything is starting to open, and Wayne loves this part of the day. The sky is pale and bright, and the world is starting to wake up. Doors opening, sleepy eyes finding one another and greeting each other with waves and calls of “Morning!”

He’s the first customer of the day in the bakery that’s in town center. (He watched the owner flip the sign to open from his car.) He makes conversation politely as he looks around, ignoring the way the shop owner’s eyes linger on his oil-stained hands. And he points to one of the cakes in the display.

And he thinks some more about Steve on his way home. He hasn’t seen him in ages. He wonders if he would recognize him, if he resembles Catherine or Richard more.

The trailer is quiet when he comes inside, and he takes off his heavy boots before moving into the kitchen. There are a pair of nice shoes by the door, shiny and new-looking, and very clearly Steve’s. Wayne puts the cake on the counter before he goes to scrub his hands, and then he searches through the cabinets and drawers for candles. He finds a few, and they’re all uneven and different colors, but they’ll work. One is orange and striped, and Wayne knows it’s from Eddie’s thirteenth birthday.

He arranges them on the cake carefully, leaning down to make sure they’re straight, and he finds his cigarette lighter in his jacket pocket.

He makes coffee and waits at the table with a newspaper until he hears them wake up. They emerge from Eddie’s room sleepily, and Wayne sets aside the paper as he reaches for the lighter, suppressing a smile as he lights the candles carefully.

Steve is wearing Eddie’s clothes, and his hair is so messy he barely looks like a Harrington at all. But when Wayne looks at him, he can see his parents. Catherine’s eyes and nose. Richard’s mouth. Catherine’s hair. But then Steve freezes, eyes finding the cake as Wayne finishes with the candles, and they widen, shining as he stares at the flickering flames and white frosting and colorful sprinkles, and his parents are nowhere to be found.

The candles are mismatched. Orange and striped and blue and purple and green and white, short and used and loved. They’re all flickering with tiny flames that look warmer than Steve’s ever felt, and Steve just watches.

It’s a small cake. Round and white, dollops of swirly frosting decorating the top with rainbow sprinkles that are brighter than the wax of the candles, and it’s beautiful. Steve’s never had a birthday cake before. Not even at the bigger parties with his friends. They brought beer instead of cake.

But Eddie’s uncle is looking at Steve happily, eyes crinkling under his smile, and Steve thinks he’s beautiful too. His voice is gruff when it says, “Happy birthday,” and then Steve can’t see because his eyes are welling with tears and spilling over his cheeks before he can stop them or turn away to hide his face.

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, and he pulls Steve into a hug. No one’s ever called Steve that. He thinks he likes it. Maybe he only likes it in Eddie’s voice.

Eddie’s hands are gentle as he runs them over Steve’s back and over the top of his head. They sway a little bit, and even though Steve is still crying he opens his eyes enough to see the cake over Eddie’s shoulder. The flames glow brighter with his tears in the way, blurred together with the frosting that looks like it’s glowing too in the morning light.

“You’re supposed to blow them out,” Eddie says softly when Steve’s crying slows, and Steve lets out a wet laugh, wiping his face with the end of his sleeve.

“C’mon now,” Eddie’s uncle says, nodding toward the cake. “You’re gonna let them get wax all over the frosting.”

“Sorry,” Steve chokes, moving closer to the cake and looking at it from above. The candles are arranged in an uneven circle, the flames flickering as his breath hits them, and he pauses.

He knows birthday wishes are silly and childish, but he really, really wishes every birthday would be like this.

He blows the candles out.

They sit at the table as Wayne gets a knife to cut the cake. Steve can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it, eyeing the frosting and sprinkles and candles like they’re something made of magic, and Eddie can’t seem to tear his eyes away from him.

He’s got this sort of absent smile on his face, and Eddie wants to reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t. He still has the light traces of tears on his cheeks, and his eyelashes are wet, and his eyes are glistening, and in the morning sunlight, he looks like a painting, like he’s too good to be true.

They’re all quiet as Wayne cuts the cake carefully, three little plates stacked next to the cardboard platter. Eddie looks at Steve again. He’s watching intently, unblinking.

Eddie nudges him under the table with his foot, and Steve’s eyes jump up to him, his expression softening. Eddie raises his eyebrows at him, nodding a little, asking, checking.

Steve blinks at him, his eyes flickering across Eddie’s face, and then he’s leaning over, moving closer, and he’s kissing him.

It’s a brief kiss. Soft and chaste and tentative, and accidental, instinctive, it seems based on how Steve’s eyes widen as he pulls away. His cheeks flush red, and his lips part, stammering silently.

“I—”

Eddie leans in and closes the distance between them, hands finding Steve’s face and holding it between them tenderly. Their eyes flutter shut, and Steve exhales, shoulders falling as he melts into the kiss, and Eddie feels like he might burst. They part slowly, and it takes a moment for Eddie to be able to open his eyes. When he does, he finds Steve gazing back at him, eyes wide and shining and almost fucking hopeful. Eddie’s thumbs brush over his cheeks softly, and his lips curve into a smile. Steve blinks, his eyelashes fluttering at Eddie like a butterfly, before he smiles back, tentative and shy.

“So I guess I should know your name.”

They both jump, having forgotten Wayne was there, but Wayne isn’t looking at them, smiling as he focuses on cutting and serving the cake. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him (he told him Steve’s name), and his hands fall from Steve’s face as Steve blushes again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m— I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Wayne repeats, setting down the knife, looking up at him. Steve is still red.

“Uh, Harr—”

“I don’t need your last name,” Wayne says lightly, lifting a hand up, and Steve hesitantly reaches for it to shake. “Steve’s enough.”

They shake gently, and Steve is starting to smile again, like he knows Wayne is cool. The handshake lingers, and Wayne squeezes his hand a little.

“Happy birthday, Steve.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve says softly when their hands fall, and the face Wayne makes at sir is enough to make him giggle.

They eat the cake. It’s sweet, and Eddie can’t help but wonder if Steve will taste sweet afterwards. He kicks at Steve’s shins under the table, and Steve glares at him, suppressing a smile, rolling his eyes as he sips the coffee that Wayne gave him when they started eating. He and Wayne chat about sports and work and school, and Eddie is content here with them.

Wayne pats both their backs when he finishes eating, ruffling Steve’s hair with another happy birthday wish before he goes to take a shower and go to bed, and Steve’s cheeks flush pink as he watches him go, glancing at Eddie.

“What?” Eddie asks lightly, licking his fork. Steve shrugs.

“He’s really nice.”

“I know,” Eddie says, glancing down the hall.

“What’s his name?”

“Wayne.”

“Wayne.” Steve repeats it like a prayer. “He’s nice.”

Eddie looks at him. He’s fidgeting with his fork, dragging it through the remaining frosting on his plate, and Eddie is about to say something before Steve speaks again.

“Sorry for kissing you in front of your uncle.”

Eddie snorts, and Steve looks up at him, eyes sparkling with amusement, suppressing a smile.

“I don’t mind,” Eddie says, flirting, leaning over the table. “Wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do it again.”

Steve’s eyes flick across his face, and Eddie realizes that’s how he was looking at him last night, glancing at his tattoos. Eddie’s smile grows.

“I’ve never kissed a boy before.”

“Third time for everything.”

Steve laughs softly, leaning closer, and their noses nudge together.

“You really don’t mind that it’s me?” he asks softly, whispering. Eddie blinks his eyes open, looking at him and tilting his head.

“Ain’t nothin’ to mind.”

“Really?” Steve breathes.

Eddie smiles fondly, lifting a hand and touching his face gently, running his thumb over his cheek lightly. And he kisses him as softly as humanly possible, so light he almost can’t feel it. Steve sighs, his hand reaching to find Eddie’s neck, and his fingers are warm on his skin, especially in the morning air. Eddie rests their foreheads together when they part, his eyes closed.

“Really.”

He opens his eyes to find Steve smiling brightly, eyes squeezed shut.

“Okay,” Steve breathes. Eddie kisses him lightly once more.

“Happy birthday, Stevie.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

Steve pulls him into a hug, and then he kisses him again, and it tastes like birthday cake and fresh coffee and eighteen years’ worth of shitty birthdays turned upside down.

#ok i rly just needed this out of my system before i worked on something else but i rly liked writing this #theyre so #i love writing wayne #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #wayne munson #wayne munson fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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icyg4l · 3 months

Text

PAC: Uncovering the Lies

Which area of your life have you been lying to yourself about? In this pick-a-pile, truths that you have been scared to face will be revealed to you. If you’ve been having any doubts about a situation, have been in denial about something or do not know about deceit, then it will all be confirmed/shown here. Without further ado, pick your pile.

Left-to-Right (1-4):

Pile One: If you chose the photo of the word ‘she’, then you’ve been lying to yourself about that situationship, or should i say ‘shituationship.’ You have the tendency to put a lot of energy into relationships in comparison to the other person. You hope for that person to come around and they simply don’t show up for you the way you want to. It’s time to stop trying with this person. This could honestly go for other relationships too like with a friend or a distant family member. You’re looking for some stability, Pile One. You’re not looking for a fair weather friend or a part-time lover. You’re looking for the full package & it’s time to stop denying yourself of that love you are seeking. You’re pure-hearted but need to start acting accordingly. Get a little more strict so that you can attract the relationship(s) that you are looking for. You deserve better. And I’m not going to lie, Pile One, people are saying that you deserve better behind your back. So, put yourself in a better position, love. I pulled some oracle cards for you for some advice that you can follow and here is what was said:

“A new romantic cycle begins”

“Communication is key”

“Nothing is yet set in stone”

Cards Used: 7 of Swords, Ace of Cups, Queen of Swords, 8 of Wands, Ace of Discs, The Chariot, Knight of Discs.

Signs: PISCES, Sag, Libra, Leo.

extras: let it go by elsa. flowers by iyla. red hair. glowing skin. honey. abandonment issues. gapped teeth. upbeat song listener. open heart chakra. peace sign. bridgit mendler. ivy league. political internship. yoga.

Pile Two: If you chose the pile of the headless woman, I would say that you definitely need a break, Pile Two. You deserve to come out and play with everyone else. When was the last time you went out for a drink with some friends, huh? You’re all work and no play. You’ve been saying that you’re fine when you’re not. I sense that you’ve been a little hotheaded lately because you have no outlet for your frustrations. Please, let loose. I’m channeling the movie Daddy’s Little Girls, specifically the scene where Monty and Julia go to the local bar after she has a long day at work and they end up bonding with one another over drinks. I think that’s what you need, babe. You’re such a hard worker but you’re also an overachiever. Those go hand-in-hand just like work and play. I feel like this pile is just so serious like your tolerance for things that you once could handle has probably decreased, so you’re more irritable nowadays. With that being said, you should probably book that flight or call up that friend. You need to just wind down. I pulled some oracle cards for you and here is what was said:

“Be bold and make the first move”

“What do you need to release?”

“Hold your vision”

Cards Used: Temperance, King of Discs, King of Swords, Death, King of Wands, Page of Wands.

Signs: Virgo, Capricorn, Scorpio, Aquarius.

extras: refill by elle varner. work hard, play hard by wiz khalifa. smoke break. 22. paying close attention to the news. puffy eyes. headaches. going to bed early. miami for spring break. mean girls. stress eating. fight night.

Pile Three: If you chose the closeup of Megan Thee Stallion, then you’ve definitely gotten yourself into a sticky situation. There is some sort of pattern that you have not recognized yet and you’re wondering why this thing keeps happening to you. You feel like you cannot escape this toxic situation. One minute things are fine, the next minute, you feel like nothing can go right. Pile Three, you’ve grown accustomed to toxicity. It was taught to you as you grew up and you never really unlearned it. But I’m here to tell you that the relationship you’ve got yourself in is acting as a mirror for you to do better. Some call it a karmic relationship or a twin flame relationship. But either way, this is not meant to last for a long time. Everything will be okay as long as you choose to see things for what they are. This means attending therapy, doing the shadow work, crying, transmuting the pain into something beautiful and purging. Your situation is dysfunctional, Pile Three. But only you can get yourself out of it. I pulled some oracle cards for you and here is what was said:

“A fiery climax approaches”

“A personal issue reaches resolution”

“A time to give rather than take”

Cards Used: Page of Wands, Ace of Cups, The Tower (RX), Queen of Cups, Three of Swords, 5 of Wands, 7 of Cups, 4 of Wands (RX).

Signs: Taurus, Leo, Virgo, Aries, Cancer.

extras: chipped tooth. salt and vinegar chips. chocolate. breath of fresh air. greedy by ariana grande. twins. we belong together by mariah carey. fish and chips. wakanda forever. peppa pig. y8 games. tilapia.

Pile Four: If you chose the leopard’s paws/lady’s hands photo, then you need to stick to your word! You’ve been playing games. I feel like this pile doesn’t really believe in themselves. You’re your own biggest critic. You can be very nitpicky and judgmental or fall victim to the words of others and end up sulking because of it. You haven’t been putting in as much work to accomplish your dreams. The intuitive feeling that you get when you think of that idea — use this energy to create! Maybe you don’t have a lot of supporters around you and this is what’s preventing you from going hard. But that’s the thing, you can use the haters as your motivators. Very cliche what I just said, but it’s true. I feel that you think too much about what could be done instead of actually doing it. Don’t just talk about what you’re going to do. Be about it! You don’t even have to tell people what you plan to do. You can always keep it to yourself. That’s the best option for you anyway. Worry about the results later. You can do it, Pile Three! You got this! I pulled some oracle cards for you and here is what was said:

“Believe in the impossible”

“Nothing is yet set in stone”

“Expect powerful change”

Cards Used: The High Priestess, Seven of Swords, Justice, Prince of Swords, Princess of Cups, Strength, The Sun, Judgment, 4 of Cups.

Signs: Taurus, Virgo, Gemini, Pisces.

extras: close friends. the challengers. lorde fan. skin-to-skin contact. silver rings. LA. dynasty. pick me. time tables. clock in. red lipstick. side bangs. the game (2006). twiggy eye makeup. how high (2001).

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notintattooine · 6 months

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sleepovers | anakin skywalker

warnings: 18+ established relationship, nipple play, oral (f receiving). not proofread.

a/n: i love dilf! anakin, he lives in my head rent free <3 also if you’re a minor, go read something else! also first post!!! hi!!!

the twins’ toys were scattered across the living room floor, crayons and coloring pages sprawled out along the kitchen table. remnants of children you had just dropped off for a sleepover at the kenobi’s. the sound of anakin’s car roared into the garage, followed by his jogging up the steps.

“ah hi gorgeous.” he smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“hi ani, how was work?” you ask, inhaling the scent of oil mixed with his cologne.

“alright, missed you.” he mumbled, pressing open mouthed kisses to your throat.

anakin flooded your senses, everything was just so perfect and him. pawing at him you pushed him away. “I thought we were going to have a date night.”

“actually, i bought us something.” anakin said, rummaging through the fridge. “ah ha!”

pulling out a bottle of wine, he held it up triumphantly before grabbing two glasses out of the cupboard. he fished around in the drawers for a corkscrew before finding one, opening the bottle and pouring some in each glass.

“i was thinking we could spend the night in?” anakin smiled, raising his eyebrows. “drink some wine, watch a movie.”

“oh cause we always get so far into the movie.” you chuckled, taking the glass he offered you. “fine. i'm picking though.”

“yes ma’am.” raising his hand in defense, he smiled.

you flipped through netflix before deciding on a horror film. laying against anakin, you occasionally took a sip of wine or pressed a kiss to his cheek.

you made it around fifteen minutes in before anakin placed his hand on your thigh. definitely a new record, you thought to yourself before turning to him.

“watch the movie.” he scolded. he was focused on the screen, but his hand said otherwise.

if he wanted to play that game you could too, pressing your lips to his most sensitive spot behind his ear, you lightly nibbled. his body immediately tensed and you could feel him resisting the urge to moan.

before you could register, he had you pinned to the couch. hovering above you, he ran his gaze along your body like an animal. smiling he leant down, capturing your lips in his. he kissed you hard and fast, tongue slipping in and out of your mouth. his hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head.

“ah there’s my girls.” he chuckled as your bare breasts were exposed.

kissing from your lips down your chin he smiled against your skin. finally he reached your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth he lightly bit it, causing a jolt to shoot through your core.

“oh fuck.” you whimpered, clutching at his shoulders.

“aw is my baby sensitive?” he mocked, biting harder, earning a yelp.

he continued his assault on your breasts till your eyes were brimming with tears and the flesh was purple.

“take these off.” he said, motioning to your jeans. “now.”

nodding furiously, you fumbled with the buttons before pulling them down. kicking them off in any direction you gazed up at him.

“those too.” he said, nodding toward your underwear.

making quick work of them, you were completely bare in front of him. the blue is his eyes was blown into lust, but there was an underlying softness as he gazed at you.

beginning at your nose, he pressed kisses all the way down to your tummy before smiling up at you.

“god been thinking about this pussy all day.” spreading your thighs, as he smiled up at you.

like a man starved he dove in, latching his lips to your clit. startled moans leaving your lips as he lapped at your core. every flick of his tongue was more and more intense, your wetness coating his face and chin.

“ani, want you-“ you whined, but if he heard you he ignored it.

making out with your core, he was rock hard occasionally rutting into the mattress for relief. his moans vibrated up and you swore you could feel them in your chest.

“ani- fuck. so close.” you warned, trying to pull him back but it only seemed to encourage him.

then it hit you, pure white bliss while you involuntarily squeezed his face with your thighs. closing your eyes, you fell against the pillows, chest heaving.

“oh sweet girl, i’m just getting started.” anakin smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his lips.

the kids should go to more sleepovers.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut

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bliss-in-the-void · 8 months

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Gege Akutami, You Do Not Understand Gojo Satoru, and Here is Why

I was reading this article to help me cope with the traumatic events of Chapter 236 when a certain portion didn’t sit right with me.

Long post, click to read the full analysis:

(this is probably the most important post I've made so far)

Now, we all know that Gege doesn’t like Gojo. They don’t make it a secret in the slightest. Which is fine in itself, as an author you are 100% within your right to hate a character you created, and I respect that—it gives dimension to the dynamic of a story.

What I don’t care for is the reasons Akutami lists for their dislike of Gojo.

Reason #1 as stated in the above blurb of the article: Gojo doesn’t have depth.

To me, this is a wild statement to make as an author, but especially as the one who wrote Gojo. Where does he lack depth? Genuine question.

I believe he is an incredibly complex character.

He is the first sorcerer in centuries to be born with the Six Eyes and Limitless techniques, which automatically sets up so many nuances. Coupled with the fact that Akutami has stated that he grew up spoiled, that right there should tell you some things about why he is the way he is. He has a bit of an inflated ego when it comes to his powers. And why wouldn’t he? From the time he was born, the people around him treated him like some sort of God. How else was he supposed to grow up? He’s told his whole life he possesses unparalleled power, and he’s going to believe that.

Even still, it really isn’t as unchecked as Akutami seems to believe it is. Despite his distaste for authority, Gojo still reports to the higher ups, goes on missions, exorcizes curses, and works collaboratively with his fellow sorcerers. If he was really the giant egomaniac Akutami argues that he is, he’d say ‘to hell with authority’ and run off to do whatever he wants like Yuki. I mean, COME ON, this guy is the most powerful modern sorcerer and he still attended all four years of high school. He could have easily never attended—who was going to stop him?

He has a peculiar sense of humor that can get inappropriately timed in certain moments, but it’s obvious that it’s a deflection and a coping mechanism for the horrors of a sorcerer’s reality. He doesn’t just joke about death and dying because he doesn’t care. He cares too much and he doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he suppresses and laughs it off. Moments like this are seen after Suguru dies in JJK 0 when he was clearly crying afterward, but had to put on a cheerful facade for Yuuta and the other students.

He is a very good teacher. It’s hard for a naturally gifted prodigy to effectively teach things which come automatically to them, and somehow he finds creative ways to do it. Teaching Yuuji to control cursed energy by using one of Yaga’s dolls and giving him a movie marathon? One of Yuuji’s favorite hobbies? Genius and so considerate for Yuuji. He’d just been thrown into the sorcerer world, learning all these new things, and Gojo decided to introduce a foreign concept to him through something familiar and comfortable to him. That is amazing, and the mark of a very kind, understanding teacher. He’s also really patient with his students. Yes, he gives them tough love sometimes by throwing them into missions, but it really is to make them strong. How else will they grow if they aren’t put under pressure?

His motivation for being a teacher is very selfless. He himself has stated that he isn’t suited to be a teacher, but that he has a dream to raise a generation of strong allies to prevent isolation from occurring like what had happened to Suguru. He felt guilty about growing apart from him, didn’t see the warning signs before he snapped, and regrets not being there for him more. His entire purpose now is dedicated to making sure the new wave of sorcerers have a tightly-knit network so that no one ends up alone and on a dark path like Suguru.

He constantly sticks his neck out for the helpless even when it’s far from his benefit. He paid off the Zenin clan to save Megumi, the child of the man who ruined his high school years and nearly killed him. He then raised him. He threatened the higher ups to keep Yuuta alive, and then did it again for Yuuji. He does this to preserve their youth, because his own was taken away from him. His whole life he’d been controlled by the higher ups and people around him because of who he is in the sorcerer world, so by waving his own status in front of authority to hold them back from his students, he acts as a sort of shield to take as many burdens off of their shoulders as he can so that they can remain carefree. As much as he can within his power.

With all of that being said, I really don’t understand where Akutami is coming from with lack of depth, but another argument I say to that statement is: well, you’re the author, give him the depth you think he’s missing. (Personally, I believe he’s one of the best-written characters in any anime I’ve seen).

Reason #2 is that according to Akutami, he doesn’t have a likable personality.

What about his personality is unlikable?

He is cocky, but not to the point where he stops caring about others, not to the point where he never considers how other people feel or how his actions affect other people, and not to the point where he never feels guilt and remorse about his shortcomings. Like I said, he lives his life trying to prevent his past from repeating itself, to save the fates of others.

I really don’t get it. In JJK 0, after Nitta gives her report on the shopping mall, Gojo thanks her and praises her. Would a cocky asshole do that? No. If you wanted to characterize him as unlikable, you could have made him dismiss her, or ignore her.

He makes pop culture references, he has endearing flaws like not being good at drawing, being a lightweight drinker, and overdoing it on the sweets. He’s funny, he’s kind, he’s considerate…he is a very likable character.

Honestly, the self-absorption he displays when he’s fighting is probably a result of his upbringing. Being told you have so much power you have so much power you have so much power over and over again instills this belief that yes, he’s needed by Jujutsu Society to fight curses as a weapon. As. A. Weapon. The Six Eyes & Limitless user is a formidable weapon, but what about Satoru Gojo, the person? The only time he feels useful is when he’s fighting curses. That’s where he gets his self-worth. We can see that expressed in this panel, from Chapter 236:

In the second half of Gojo’s second text bubble, he says, “でもどこかで人としてというより生き物としての線引きがあったのかな”.

This translates to: “But I wonder if somewhere there was a line drawn between being a creature rather than a person.”

Rather than having drew the line himself, being constantly treated like the strongest, being handed over the difficult missions, being relied on so heavily pushed him away from other people. It distorted the perception everyone had of him, and it distorted the perception he had of himself. He also believed he could never lose because he let his human side fade into the background. The world didn't need human Satoru Gojo, they needed sorcerer Satoru Gojo, the one who could bend rules to his will with his might, the one who could exorcise any curse and save the day no matter how bad things got. Why would he remain human when that part of him was treated as non-existent? The only person who did treat him as a person with weaknesses and flaws has been dead for eleven years. Of course that voice of reason is going to fizzle out.

How can you possibly vilify him for that? It would be a disservice to everything he has had to endure his entire life.

Reason #3 and the last point I want to touch on is when the article says, "Akutami believes that much of this adoration is based solely on his striking appearance, overshadowing his more abrasive personality traits."

Okay. Where to start?

Honestly, and I know this is probably not Akutami's intention, but that comes off as so condescending. It's so presumptuous. It's as if to say we're all going "ooh look at pretty man, pretty man do no wrong because too pretty" mindlessly with dilated pupils and drool coming out of our mouths. Uh. No.

Yes, Satoru is a good-looking character, but no, that is very far from why we like him so much as a character, and it's also very far from why he's so popular. Aside from all of the points I've made above explaining why he's so universally loved, I'll make another one that isn't superficial and tired.

He's so relatable.

This is a man so incredibly traumatized by his high school years that he is mentally and emotionally unable to move on. Suguru Geto was his very best friend, and for reasons he took too long to understand, chose to abandon their friendship for his own goals. For anyone who has grown apart from a best friend, this hits so hard.

Because of his upbringing it was hard to become close to anyone. But somehow, Suguru was able to break past his walls, and for that, he became entirely too dependent on him. This is common for anyone who finds it hard to make friends and get close to others. Once someone is allowed in, you cling so hard to them and imagine them being there for your entire life. So, when they leave, you take it entirely too personally.

Everyone has a right to live their own lives, and as we see with the divergence of Suguru and Satoru, sometimes our paths aren't leading to the same place. It's not personal. But Satoru took it personal, and that's so beautifully human. When you lose a best friend who was important to you, you think "I like being around this person, they put me at ease in a way no one else does", and you assume they feel the same way about you. So when they leave and show you that no, they didn't feel the same, it hurts. It's almost as if they're saying "I actually do think you're unlovable like everyone else, that's why no one likes you, you are too much."

Someone you thought was safe, isn't anymore.

That is such a relatable thing to watch a character go through! Especially someone as awe-inspiring and charismatic as Gojo! As an audience, we think, "he's just like me!" and we like him for it.

So, as I stated in the title, Gege Akutami, you don't understand Satoru Gojo at all. I commend you for writing such an amazing, iconic, universally loved character, but I will never understand nor respect the superficial way in which you perceive him.

#i know this is very extra #so don't attack me #but i do make some good points and i really just needed to get it out there #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jujukai #jjk spoilers #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo analysis #gojo #gege akutami #jjk analysis

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morallyinept · 5 months

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YIPPEE KI-YAY! - A Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller Christmas One Shot

Summary: You, Sarah and Joel settle in to watch a Christmas film together, bickering gently over if Die Hard is classed as a Christmas movie or not. When Sarah goes to bed, you try and sway Joel to your opinion.

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller x GN!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 3.3K

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Oral M receiving - lucky Joel!

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Die Hard is absolutely a Christmas film. Come at me. 😎

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

“Got the marshmallows?” You query, as Sarah steps forward holding a mug out for you.

“Please.” She throws you a coy look and you smirk.

You regard her with a smile, standing in the kitchen that’s still so new to you.

Joel’s kitchen, despite the occasional chaos of a single dad and his teenage daughter navigating the same space, emanates a sense of warmth and homeliness and the scents of burnt toast. And is surprisingly clean and well organised. Although, you suspect Sarah is probably responsible for that.

A handwritten 'to-do' list is on the fridge in writing that looks like Sarah’s, with items like 'take out the trash' and 'unload the dishwasher,' reflecting a gentle reminder for both father and daughter to share the responsibilities of maintaining their space.

During the very short time that you’ve gotten to know Sarah, it's evident she takes care of her dad, more than he’d like to admit, but Joel would agree that she’s wiser and mature for her tender years.

Something that you know he wrestles with, pertaining to some slight regret that he has to work so much and leave her to bring herself up on occasion.

She gathers the bag of marshmallows into her mouth, the plastic creaking between her teeth as it dangles and picks up two mugs.

“Gimme that,” you chuckle, pulling it from her lips as she giggles, and you follow her through into the lounge, elbowing the kitchen light off.

Joel is on his knees in the lounge, pushing the disc into the DVD player, and sits back on his heels as you both come through.

A black t-shirt runs tight over his broad shoulders, and his hair is still a little unkempt from you running your fingers through it whilst he was between your legs, only hours before.

He takes the mug from Sarah with big hands, with a crooked smile and a thank ya, baby.

The Christmas tree is up, although a little askew, and with lots of colourful string lights knotted around the branches. A handmade, paper angel sits atop the tree; a six year-old Sarah’s creation, that Joel has taken care of and insisted would adorn the tree for the rest of its delicate existence, despite one of the sequined eyes missing now.

You settle onto the couch with Sarah, a gap left in the middle for Joel, whilst he brings out a bottle of the stronger stuff and proceeds to pour some into yours and his mug.

“Can I have some of that?” Sarah asks.

“Absolutely not.” Joel gruffs and doesn’t even look up.

“Come on, man. It’s Christmas.” She says.

Joel glances up at you bemused, and you shrug. “I’m not being the bad guy.” You say, smirking.

“Please?” Sarah continues.

He sighs, caving. “If ya get sick, ya cleaning it up yourself.” He warns and proceeds to pour a little glug of the whiskey into Sarah’s mug.

She smiles accomplished, settling back into the couch, sniffing the infusion of dark, heady notes mixing with the cocoa.

You plop a couple of marshmallows into your mug from the bag, and Joel finally sits in between you both and clicks the menu button on the remote.

“Die hard?” You ask, scoffing as the opening credits roll across the screen. “You had one task, Joel.”

“Ultimate Christmas movie, darlin’.” Joel announces proudly. He waggles his eyebrows at you, but you’re not buying it.

“Just be grateful it isn’t Curtis and The Viper, that’s Dad’s favourite.” Sarah says. “I’ve seen it far too much.”

“I got that for after,” Joel chuckles, evilly.

“This is not a Christmas film.” You pout.

“Is too.” Joel says.

“Home Alone? Christmas movie. It's a Wonderful Life? Christmas movie. Die Hard? It's an action classic with a festive backdrop at best.” You say.

Sarah, with a mock serious expression, points at the TV. "You know, the only thing missing from this Christmas masterpiece is a cameo from Santa himself."

Joel smirks. "Ya mean the gritty, action-hero version of Santa who delivers presents via rooftop jumps n’ takes out Hans Gruber?"

Sarah laughs. "Exactly! Badass Santa."

Joel leans into her shoulder, his eyes gleaming. "Santa in a red camo suit, armed with candy cane nun-chucks, fightin' off the Grinch n’ his gang of holiday heisters."

Sarah shakes her head, trying not to let a smile break through. "You're turning Christmas into a comic book. Die Hard is not the graphic novel we need for the holiday season."

“Please don’t encourage him.” You whine.

"It’s the one we deserve," Joel declares with a theatrical flair.

You sigh dramatically. "You're impossible. I bet you think fruitcake is a gourmet holiday treat too."

Joel and Sarah both gasp in mock horror. "Fruitcake slander!” Sarah says.

“Now that's a crime worse than anything in Die Hard. Ya've crossed a line, darlin’."

Sarah can’t help but giggle. “Dad loves fruitcake.”

“Your dad is a fruitcake.” You clarify with a grin.

“Ya hearin’ this?” Joel says incredulously to Sarah, shaking his head as he sups from his mug.

"I'm just saying, there are certain standards for Christmas entertainment. Die Hard doesn't quite fit the mustard." You say, slurping from your own mug too.

Joel leans back, a mischievous glint in his chocolate eyes. "Standards? S’all about breakin’ traditions. Die Hard is the rebel of Christmas movies n’ shit."

“Nope. Not a Christmas film.” You declare.

“S’a good job ya pretty.” Joel says, leaning in to place a kiss on you, then pecks you ferociously.

“Gross.” Sarah winces, as you push Joel off of you, mindful of spilling your hot chocolate.

“Yippee Ki-Yay, baby!” Joel teases her.

“Gross? Sounds like jealousy to me!” Joel leans across her and pelts her face with kisses as she wails, almost spilling her own mug over the carpet too.

"Dad!”

You grin. "You're turning into a Die Hard evangelist. If I had known this before, I might not have given you my number that night in the bar.”

Joel turns to you. “Too late now. Ya stuck with me.”

You smile at him, feeling warm as he looks at you, smiling back with dilating pupils. Perhaps it’s the whiskey or perhaps it's something else.

Perhaps it’s the continued insatiable appetite you have for him, and have had since you both met.

Joel and your serendipitous meeting at a dimly lit bar a few weeks back set the stage for a blossoming, hot romance that neither of you saw coming. It was a Friday night, and the air was filled with the lively hum of laughter and the clinking of glasses in a festive atmosphere.

Joel, nursing a whiskey at the bar after a long, tiring day on the site, couldn't help but notice you sitting alone at a corner table, engrossed in a book, but slowly peeping at him over the top of the pages and smiling.

Joel decided to take a chance, spurred on by past conversations with Sarah about how he should date and put himself out there more. With a bewitching smile, he approached your table and struck up a conversation about the book you were immersed in.

As it turned out, Joel wasn’t much of a reader, but you could forgive him with his soft, brown eyes and broad shoulders that hunched up when he laughed genuinely at your jokes.

What started as a casual, flirty chat quickly evolved into a deeper connection as you discovered attractions and common interests, when you came up for air from under the sheets.

Although, not about Christmas movies, evidently.

“I'm waiting for you to start handing out pamphlets door to door that say, 'have you accepted our Lord and Saviour, John McClane into your life?'" You titter.

Joel laughs. "If John McClane knocked on my door, I'd invite him in for Christmas dinner n’ put you two out.”

Sarah points at the screen. "See, explosions and chaos.”

“That's not exactly what I call a festive holiday atmosphere." You say.

“Ya two are crazy. Come on, it's action-packed holiday fun! What more could ya want?"

Sarah leans back, crossing her arms. "I don't know, maybe a heartwarming message about the true meaning of Christmas? Where's the cheese factor?"

Joel smirks. "Who needs cheese when ya have 'Yippee-ki-yay?' Classic Christmas catchphrase right there."

“I like cheese.” You pout.

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Classic action movie catchphrase, maybe. I don't see Hallmark putting that on a Christmas card."

Joel raises an eyebrow. "Hallmark wishes they had a fuckin’ hero like John McClane in their lineup. Now, that's a Christmas card I’d buy."

“You’ve never brought a Christmas card in your life, dad.” Sarah smirks.

“Damn waste of money. Ya gonna throw it in the bin anyhow.” He shrugs.

You smile, reaching for the whiskey and Joel holds his mug out towards you for a top up. "You're missing the point. Christmas movies are about love, family, and maybe a little bit of magic. Die Hard has, what, explosions and a bald guy in a dirty tank top?"

Joel puts his finger on the neck of the bottle so you pour more into his mug. At this point it’s neat whiskey flavoured with cocoa.

“He’s kind of hot though. Bruce Willis.” You say.

“See, ya do like it.” Joel grins. “I win.”

“He is hot.” Sarah agrees.

“Ya too young to notice that he’s hot.” Joel retorts.

“I’m fourteen, dad. I have periods now.”

“Mhm. Less I know ‘bout that the better, thank ya.”

“Yikes.” You chime in, grinning.

"Don't forget the Santa hat. That's festive." Joel says, pointing at the screen a little while later.

Sarah scoffs. "A Santa hat doesn't magically transform a movie into a Christmas classic. It's like putting tinsel on a cactus and calling it a Christmas tree."

Joel laughs. "Hey, a cactus with tinsel sounds pretty festive to me.”

“Why can I imagine you doing this?” You query to Joel.

“He did. Last year.�� Sarah confirms and you snort.

“I might've forgotten to get a Christmas tree.” Joel holds his hands up, grunting.

“How do you forget to get a Christmas tree?”

“I was working.” “He was working.” Joel and Sarah both say at the same time.

“Die Hard is the cactus of Christmas movies - prickly on the outside, but there's a nice holiday surprise waitin'." Joel says.

“You have an answer for everything.” You snicker.

“Well, that's why ya like me…” Joel says, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“Maybe,” you smile back at him, meeting his lips. He kisses you a little deeper, tasting the warmth of the whiskey on his tongue.

“Stop it.” Sarah says, and you both chuckle.

You feel Joel’s fingers interlock with yours and give them a gentle squeeze.

Later, you turn to see Sarah with her head back, eyes closed and mouth open.

You nudge Joel, rousing him from the film, and he smirks, shaking his head.

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arm out, and you nestle inside it, head pressed against his chest as you watch the movie.

“Lightweight.” He snorts and you smile.

He takes Sarah’s mug from her lap and places it on the coffee table. As he sits back, he turns to you.

You feel him kiss the top of your head, and your fingers skim the hem of his t-shirt and stroke softly at the skin under there. You can feel the galaxy of soft hairs around his belly button and he hums out contentedly and you scritch softly there.

"Y’know, watching Die Hard with ya… maybe we should make it a yearly tradition?" He murmurs.

“Oh really?” You tease looking up at him.

Joel leans in a bit closer, lowering his voice. "Who needs mistletoe when ya have John McClane savin’ Christmas? Though, I wouldn't mind a little mistletoe action right now..."

“Mm,” you crane up, pressing your lips to his as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

"Smooth, McClane. Very smooth." Sarah chuckles, a grin spreading across her cheeks.

Joel stops kissing you and smirks. “Get ya drunk ass to bed.”

“I’m not drunk, but I'd rather be throwing up in the toilet than watching you two suck face.”

Sarah stands as you giggle.

“Hey, gimme some sugar.” Joel calls back to her.

She turns and leans down to give Joel a kiss as he pats her on the back. “Night, baby.”

She then comes over to you and gives you a cuddle and a peck on the side of the cheek.

“Night, sweetie.” You say with a bright smile.

As Sarah hugs you goodnight, the scent of her coconut shampoo filling your nose, you can't help but be taken aback by the authenticity of the gesture.

It’s as if that bridge of trepidation and angst of Sarah accepting you has been cemented with shared laughter, keen interest, and now, a simple, yet genuine hug.

Joel catches you smiling as Sarah leaves the room, her footsteps echoing up the stairs.

“Ya wanna stay again tonight?” Joel asks.

“If you’re sure?” You ask.

He nods. “She likes ya. S’fine.”

“I really like her too.” You say. “She’s a good kid. You’ve done great with her.”

“She’s a smartass.” He retorts.

“Just like her dad, then.” You cluck.

“Easy,” Joel holds his arm out and you nestle back into it, putting your feet up.

A little while later and the film comes to an end. And you can’t help but smile when Joel asks you your thoughts.

"Fine, maybe Die Hard has its own twisted Christmas charm. But don't expect me to wrap it up and put it under the tree." You titter.

Joel chuckles. "Who needs gift wrap when ya've got a Nakatomi Plaza-sized bow on top?”

“Mm, it's the gift that keeps on giving." You mirth.

Joel shakes his head, as he leans in for a kiss. “No. You are.”

“Mr Miller, are you getting soft on me?” You giggle as he smooches at you.

“Quite the opposite, darlin’…” He takes your hand resting on his chest and slides it down to the hardening bulge in his jeans.

“Mmm,” you remark, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Now, how has this occurred? You got a thing for me or John McClane?”

“Both.” Joel smirks and you chuckle.

“You and John want the room?”

“I’ve had too much whiskey. I can’t be held responsible for what I say or do right now.”

He leans in and kisses you again. His lips are full and plumpy and they devour you greedily as his tongue searches his way around your mouth; caressing and creating sparks down your spine.

“I think I know what I wanna do right now,” you whisper to him.

You can taste the tang of the whiskey, the sweetness of the cocoa; feel the warmth emanating from him into your bloodstream.

Hear the small clicking sounds as you both osculate intensely. Savouring the taste of him, the smell of him this close and the sheer bliss of his tongue working up that dark voodoo magic.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Joel asks, with hooded eyes.

You wiggle out of his giant hands and drop to your knees in between his. You tug his jeans down, clumsily, but fast as he pops open the button, eager for what’s to come.

“Well, alright then!” He gasps.

He cups his cock on the outside of his boxers adjusting it, and you run your hands up his legs towards the goods.

Slipping your fingers inside the waistband, you pull them down too as he lifts his ass off the couch for a second so you can fully yank them down those long legs smattered with dark hairs.

Joel’s presented to you again in all his hard, thick glory. Glistening in the light as you watch him thumb over the head, collecting the glossy precum, before he holds it out to you.

He bites his lip as you suck his thumb into your mouth, tasting him.

Eyeing him, you insert him slowly inside of your mouth; him watching with widening and drooping lips as you go further and further to the base; swallowing him whole, the tip of his rounded head on the back of your gag reflex, but not heaving at all.

You sit up on your knees and take the base of him inside your hand, excitable and hard.

You pull him back out and do it again, over and over, taking him deep and slow.

“Fuck…” Joel groans delightfully, his hand stroking through your hair gently. “Ya so fuckin’ good at that. Oh, Jesus..."

You let his cock slide out of you one last time before you lower your head and take one of his balls inside your mouth. Pushing his legs wider open so you can shove your face right up in there.

You look up as he reacts instantly; almost pulling away with the mildly discomforting, yet pleasurable feeling that overtakes, as you suck gently on those puffy, pink sacks.

“Aww, shit, that’s good,” Joel whines, throwing his head back.

Whilst you suck, you massage his cock up and down with your hand; still sticky and wet from your saliva. Running your palm over the bulbous head making his hips judder and buck.

Joel sits up a little, watching you suck; the graze of his voice doing a punch out with his larynx as he struggles to speak.

“Suck it again. Show me what that pretty mouth can do, hmm?” Joel prompts.

He watches you tease the tip with your tongue before sucking him back in between your lips.

“Fuck, darlin’.” He drones, his head lolling back and closing his eyes as you suck hard on the head of him, stripping him of his breath.

You take him down deeper, something that surprises you both at the depth; sucking him like a pro and it pleases him immensely. He presses down on the back of your head testing your gag reflex and he feels you heave which makes his balls spasm.

“Tap out if ya wanna stop, okay?” He says, and you stroke his thigh in agreement.

You swallow him deeper, sliding all the way down his wet, sticky length and pushing your nose into the soft paunch of his tummy.

“Yeah, choke on my cock.” Joel encourages as you drool over it.

You heave momentarily, but still as you swallow around him. You do it again, and another heave makes you lurch a little.

You relax the back of your throat, letting him slide in all the way again. He’s impressed, not many can take him so deep down their throats, his girth is intimidating to say the least.

The husk of his grunts, like whispers pelted in wet gravel, echo inside your ears. Joel has no words; instead, the noises that are puffing out of him make you tingle all over.

His huge hands massage inside of your hair and soon you feel him fucking up into your face, pushing you deeper onto him as he thrusts his hips, forcing himself further down your throat.

"Tap out if ya want me to stop... Oh, fuck," he reminds you gently.

More heaves roll up from your stomach, inhaling deeper through your nose that it whistles somewhat, and he pants, bucking into your face as he fucks harder now.

Gug-gug-gug... an unrelenting rhythm of sticky, suction, and satisfied grunts flow from his mouth around the lounge.

“Fuck, yeah!” He growls as you open wider as he hits the back of your throat, punching the wet flesh there as you dig into his thigh skin with your nails.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He hisses. “Shit, I’m gonna come!” Joel hisses, filling your throat momentarily, some of it spilling out of your mouth and down your chin.

You scoop it up and suck it back into your mouth, swallowing it all down.

“Now, where did ya learn to suck cock like that, hmm?” Joel pants, beside himself.

“We’re all full of surprises,” you remark, smirking.

He chuckles, a wheeze in the back of his throat that's now dry and raw.

“C’mere,” he pulls you up gently to him, with a soft chuckle.

You nestle into his lap as he grips you tightly and close to him, kissing you.

“Fuck, I’m still shakin’,” he groans as you smirk at him. “Ya kill me, darlin’. What’d I do to deserve that?”

“Early Christmas present.” You shrug with a wink.

“M’a lucky son of a bitch.” He groans.

“Yes, you are,” you giggle as you kiss him.

“Gimme a few minutes n’ I’ll give ya yours.” Joel says, with twinkly eyes, his hands grabbing your ass as he pulls you closer still.

“Yippee Ki-Yay, motherfucker,” you say, as Joel grins wildly at you.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller the last of us #the last of us fic #christmas stories #jett's writing

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