#when i am on my bed or on the couch I just stick it between pillows and sometims i can't even find it

[loverickyys]

What would Pepero challenge with zb1 be like?

🩷Zb1 Pepero Challenge!🩷 (Ot8)

Warning - suggestive for few members, mostly fluff!

𐙚 Jiwoong

Jiwoong smiles at you as your small hands struggle to balance a pepero stick between his lips. "Woongie you need to stop smiling for this to work" you giggle. "Sorry love you just look so cute trying to concentrate like this." He says before obeying you and maintaining a poker face. You finally are able to put a stick between his lips, his teeth softly biting into one end. You give him a quick smile and place your hands on his shoulders, keeping your balance as you bend over, starting to chew on the other end of the pocky. You keep taking small bites, your face inching closer and closer to his face, savouring the chocolate flavour on your tongue. Jiwoong's eyes never leave you, focusing so intently at your features, his stares driving you a little crazy. You feel your cheeks heat up with the way he is looking at you. The pepero still in between both of you, completely forgotten as you sit there distracted by Jiwoong's gaze. He lets go off his bite on the chocolate letting it fall on the mattress below you guys. "You know you are supposed to bite down on it, not keep it between your teeth." He laughs. "I know I just- god you are so handsome" you say absent mindedly, still staring into his eyes. He smiles once again, pulling you into his arms before attaching your lips together.

𐙚 Hao

"This is kind of stupid you know?" Hao deadpans at you, currently lazing in your bed when you show him the pepero box. "No it's not, it's romantic. Now get up you big princess. Do it for your girlfriend." you say trying to get him to sit straight. Hao whines like he always does, not wanting to be disturbed from his "zombie" position on the bed. "Come on just do it while I am lying here. Put it in my mouth. You can bite down or whatever." He huffs out, opening his mouth. You push the pepero between his lips, before climbing on top of him, legs on either side of his waist as his hands wrap around yours. "You are such a big baby Zhang Hao" you chuckle before opening your mouth to bite down on the pepero. When you reach the most end of it, your lips almost touching Hao's, he grabs you by your arms and pulls you towards him, kissing you teasingly. His hands trap you in a tight embrace not letting you sit up. "Are you going to let me go Babe?" you ask him, caged against his chest. "Nope you are rotting in bed like this with me for the rest of the day."

𐙚 Hanbin

"Stop laughing Binnie!" you mumble, trying to keep the pepero between your teeth while screaming at your boyfriend. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just can't, your face it's too close" he nervously giggles. Hanbin's cheeks are dusted with a rosy colour as he attempts to bite down the pepero for the tenth time today, all the efforts before this futile because he just can't handle looking into your eyes and having your face so close to him without giggling like a teenager. You hold your breath as he bites down on the stick, face nearing closer to you but the moment there is only a few inches left between you two, he starts giggling again, the pepero breaking and falling on the table. You groan loudly, "you know what I am tired". He stares at you wide eyed as you stand up from your chair, take a pepero in your hand, grab his face and put the stick in his mouth before chewing down on it in no time, placing a peck on his lips when you are done. "And that's how you do the pepero challenge."

𐙚 Matthew

"Babee I am home!" you hear Matthew say in a sing-song voice walking in with a plastic bag full of snacks. "What did you get?" you ask before turning your head to return to the videogame you were playing. "See it for yourself " he says. Too lazy to get up from the comfort of your couch, you push your head back the backrest, letting it hang. An upside down Matthew stares at you, visibly grinning so big as he shoves the pocky packet in your face. "I want to do that pepero challenge with you." He takes out a stick pumping with excitement. "You know to do the pepero challenge you need pepero for that, and I am pretty sure that's pocky" you giggle at him. He pouts, placing the stick between your teeth. "Don't spoil the mood, they only had these left at the store" he bickers before holding your jaw delicately with one hand and supporting your hanging head with the other. Biting down softly on the stick he comes closer and closer, closing the gap and giving you the famous spiderman kiss, leaving you in a blushing state.

𐙚 Taerae

"Ha I can beat you so easily, like this the best you got?" Taerae mocks at you, holding the small piece of pepero between his fingers that has broken off while you tried the challenge on him. He smiles cunningly, taking another stick from the box that lies on your bed, and places it in your mouth. "Watch and learn princess, this is how you do it" he says annoyingly as always whenever he gets way too competitive. You sigh as he holds your face and starts biting down. When his face is merely a centimetre away he stops, the pepero still in between you both and taunts you once again. "See I am so much better than you" he blabbers, dimple peeking on his right cheek. You roll your eyes, tired by how stupid your boyfriend is to realise that this is not really a challenge but just a way to get him to kiss you. Grabbing by his collar you pull him closer, attaching your lips together as he yelps in your mouth taken by surprise before melting in your embrace, wrapping his hands around your waist pulling you closer. When you let go, he sighs and whines with his eyebrows furrowed. "You did that on purpose, you knew I was going to win the chall-" you shut him up by pulling him in again.

𐙚 Ricky

"Rickyyyy I was thinki-"

"No"

"But you didn't ev-".

"No".

"Come on now, listen to me" you give him the best puppy eyes you could muster, sitting in front of him on the kitchen slab. Ricky stands in front of you with his arms crossed across his chest knowing that you are up to no good. "Let me guess you want to do another challenge with me that you saw on tiktok" he chuckles lightly, well versed with your playfulness. "Yes! Look what I got" you beam at him showing him the pepero box, shaking it like a child. "The whole tying a ribbon around my bicep wasn't enough for you I presume?" he asks you, moving closer, hands resting at each side of your thighs. "Nope, I have a pretty boyfriend and I like doing romantic things with him no harm in that, now come on you know how this goes" you answer propping the stick between your front teeth. "At least tell me it's strawberry flavoured" he asks defeatedly as you nod your head and he starts biting on it. He bites the chocolate slowly and lets it go before even nearing your face. You whine loudly, smacking his shoulder. He bends at your eye level and smirks. "What, you said you wanted to do the challenge, you didn't specify how far you wanted to take it."

𐙚 Gyuvin

"Gyu can we please just watch the movie?" you groan as Gyuvin hits the pause button at the screen. "Yes we will after we do this" he jumps from the couch like an excited puppy and runs to the kitchen to fetch a small box in his hands. "Ta-da! I got this earlier for you, I know how much you love them." He shows you the pepero box, taking out a stick and putting it in his mouth. Turning to you, he places his hands on your shoulder and tugs at your dress to bite down at the pepero. "Do the challenge with me pleaseee" he tries to speak, mouth full of chocolate. "Ahh Kim Gyuvin you will be the death of me" you smile at him adoring how cute he is and start biting down at the pepero with your eyes closed. What you don't notice is that Gyuvin is biting down on it as well, leading to your lips meeting midway as you open your eyes in surprise to see him smiling through the kiss. You can't help but smile too, cupping his face and deepening the kiss; the movie now forgotten behind you two. He lets go to catch his breath staring at you with eyes filled with nothing but pure love. "Can we just skip the movie and make out on the couch for the night?" he asks letting your foreheads touch. "Sounds like a great date plan to me" you smile connecting your lips.

𐙚 Gunwook

"And if I do this challenge with you, will you let me continue with my game?" Gunwook asks holding you tightly in his arms. "Yes, I promise wookie!" you squeak in excitement; currently sprawled in his lap in his gaming chair after having attacked him midway through his game with a pepero. "Well then let's do it" he says grabbing the stick from your hand and placing it in your mouth. You look at him expectedly as he starts to bite down at the other end. Just inches from your face he stops and before you pull away thinking he is done, he grabs your face and attaches your lips together. You sigh against his pillowy lips as he gently aligns your head to the side to give him even more access to the kiss. Leaving you breathless he pulls away with your lips trying to catch his to keep him close. "And we are done" he laughs, picking you up and putting you down on the bed. "But I-" you hesitate trying to pull him closer again for a kiss. "No buts doll, you promised you will let me play after I do the challenge" he teases. "I hate you" you whine at him, wanting to do nothing but have him kiss you again. "I love you too" he winks at you and returns to his gaming chair.

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader) ♫Flip Flopped Edition♫

♫ Summary: What if Eddie and Heiress met well before the events of Living After Midnight? Or, seven-year-old Eddie accompanies Wayne on a trip to New York, where he encounters a special little girl. (1.6k words)

♫ CW: mentions of parental neglect, drinking, poverty

♫ A/N: Part of the Flip Flopped event! Be sure to participate and/or support those participating!

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult ♫ Young Eddie credit to @/fefemunson on Twitter

March 1973

Frantic knocking at 2 AM could only mean one thing: trouble. 

Wayne Munson wiped sleep from his eyes, stretching his legs with a groan. The knocking became louder, accompanied by an all-too familiar bark. 

“Wayne, I know you’re home! Open the damn door!”

Al’s words slurred together, the pounding continuing over it.

“Christ Almighty.” Wayne shoved his feet into worn slippers, the soles scuffed down to nearly nothing. He yanked the door open, unable to mask his anger at this early hour. “What the hell do you–” 

He stopped short, gaze dropping down to the little boy at his brother’s side. Seven-year-old Eddie was just as tired as Wayne; his eyelids drooped and he swayed back-and-forth on the trailer’s steps as his body fought sleep. His pajamas were two sizes too small, and Wayne could only guess that no one had bought Eddie new ones since Elizabeth died. Nor did he miss the child’s bare feet, certainly freezing in the chilly night.

Wayne tried to keep his voice even as he spoke again. “What’re you two doing here?”

Al’s chuckle held more venom than a snake bite, and Wayne grimaced as his brother said, “I got a few errands to take care of. Need you to watch the kid.” Translation: we got evicted again, none of my friends will take me in with Eddie in tow because he’s a liability, and I’d rather get high with them than spend time with my son.

“How long’re these errands gonna take? They’ve got me driving out to New York in a coupla hours.” Wayne only had a few years left until he was too old for trucking and the plant would stick him with factory work, and though he wouldn’t miss the long days and nights on the road, he’d certainly miss the higher salary.

When Al shrugged, Wayne knew any further questioning would be useless. He looked between his brother and his nephew, then at the clock on the wall. He’d need an extra cup of coffee or three if he was going to survive this ordeal. “Yeah, I’ve got him.” He scooped Eddie into his arms, the boy’s gangly limbs going limp as he finally gave into exhaustion. “I’m gonna be gone for three days at least.”

Al said nothing in response, tossing a black garbage bag into the trailer. “That’s all his clothes. Gotta be washed. I’ll be back.”

Then he was gone, leaving Wayne with Eddie in his arms.

“All right, kid,” Wayne murmured, though Eddie slept too deeply to hear him, “we’re gonna get a little bit of shuteye and then we’ll hit the road.” 

He carried Eddie into the bedroom and laid him down on the mattress, resting his curly-mopped head on the pillow. Wayne’s fingers snagged on a knot as he combed them through the boy’s hair, and Eddie woke up with a start. Worry flashed across his pallid face as he failed to recognize his surroundings. 

“You’re okay,” Wayne reassured him. “You’re with me now, alright? Uncle Wayne’s got ya.”

Eddie nodded and fell back to sleep, tucking his legs to his chest protectively. 

Wayne watched him, listening for the tiny nose-whistle that came with each sleepy breath. He stood up, careful not to let the creaking mattress wake his nephew, and padded out to the living room. The couch would serve as his bed until Al returned—if that ever happened. 

Eddie didn’t say much of anything for the first three hours of their twelve-hour ride. An hour in, he said he was hungry, so Wayne pulled into the nearest twenty-four hour rest stop and ordered a burger and fries. The paper bag was transparent with grease, but Eddie gobbled down the fast food like it was a delicacy. 

Wayne didn’t ask how long it had been since he’d eaten. He didn’t think he could handle the answer. 

“Uncle Wayne?”

The sound of Eddie’s voice caught the older man off-guard. 

“Yeah?”

“How come my dad doesn’t work with you anymore?”

Because he showed up plastered no less than five times and got canned, Wayne thought bitterly. After Al showed up in Hawkins without a penny to his name, Wayne set him up with a job at the plant. He knew his brother would let him down, but part of him had hoped that he’d changed. 

He fought to keep a neutral face now as he answered Eddie’s question. 

“Wasn’t a good fit.”

Eddie nodded, smart enough to know that it wasn’t the full truth and wise enough to not pursue it further. 

Wayne cleared his throat. “‘S gonna be a long ride,” he said, “so you let me know if you needa pee or somethin’. Don’t be waitin’ till the last second.”

The sun rose higher and higher, but the conversation stilled. At a few points during the ride, Wayne forgot that Eddie was seated next to him. 

Around hour five, Eddie spoke again. 

“Can we listen to music?”

Wayne nodded, leaning over to flick on the radio. Static poured in, both Munsons wincing at the irritating noise. Finally, a crisp song trilled from the speakers. 

Be so, they'll be so lonely, baby  They get so lonely  They're so lonely, they could die

“This good?” Wayne grinned when Eddie nodded. He sat back in his seat, adjusting the brim of his cap. “Your mama liked Elvis, too.”

One corner of Eddie’s mouth turned up in a sad smile at the mention of his mom, but he didn’t say anything. Didn’t even mention whether he’d heard the song before. 

There were few times in his life that Wayne felt obligated to fill a silence, but this was one of them. “Music’s a powerful thing, y’know. Heals the broken parts of us.”

Eddie scrunched up his nose. “How?”

“Beats me. But all I know is that when I need a pick-me-up, nothin’ works better than my favorite song.” Wayne took his eyes off of the road for a second to look at his nephew. “You got a favorite song?”

“Mmm…this one.” Eddie gestured to the speakers. He was so tired that he may have given the same response to a commercial jingle, but there was no denying the subtle tap-tap-tap of his forefinger against his window, keeping time with the beat. 

“Yeah?” Wayne grinned. “Well, let’s turn it up, then.”

Both Eddie and Wayne were thoroughly exhausted when they finally arrived in New York. Traffic was inevitable, especially once they crossed into New Jersey. Despite a multitude of stops to stretch, Wayne still felt soreness panging in his back and neck after unloading the machinery at a factory in Queens.

Sighing, he glanced at his watch: just after seven P.M. If he was traveling solo, he’d rest for a few minutes in a truckstop parking lot, but Eddie needed a bed. The poor kid had been schlepped around enough with his deadbeat father; he deserved a comfortable place to lay his head.

Wayne remembered seeing a small motel just down the road, the vacancy light burning bright. He looked at his nephew and shifted the truck into ‘drive.’ Spending a couple of bucks that he didn’t have would be worth it if it meant Eddie got a good night’s rest.

Eddie stood beside Wayne as he shelled out the crumpled dollar bills to the man behind the desk. 

“Just the one night?”

“Yup,” Wayne said. “Got anything with two beds?”

The man nodded, plucking a key from the top row. “It’ll be room four. Straight down the hall and on the–oof.” He winced and glanced down. “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for bed, young lady?”

“I did!” A tiny voice chirped. “Just wanted to say good night.” A young girl, right around Eddie’s age, peeked around the corner. Her eyes widened when she saw another child standing before her. “Hi! What’s your name?”

Eddie blinked a few times, registering that she was talking to him. “Um, I’m Eddie.”

The girl beamed and twirled around, the edges of her yellow nightgown billowing outwards. “Do you wanna be my friend?” She didn’t wait for him to answer before plunging ahead. “My mommy’s gonna read me a story. You should listen to it with me!” 

She laced her fingers with Eddie’s, tugging him along to her room. “It’s about a boy who doesn’t wanna go to sleep, so he imagines a world full of monsters. But not really scary ones. Fun ones. They’re called ‘wild things…’” The sound of her voice tapered off as they turned the corner.

The man behind the desk looked at Wayne and laughed kindly. “Looks like our kids hit it off.”

Our kids. Wayne didn’t want to correct him, and not only because he couldn’t think of an easy explanation for his nephew accompanying him on this trip. “Eddie could use a friend,” he said instead, offering the man a smile in return.

 “Maybe they could be pen pals or something.”

“Yeah.” Wayne nodded, clutching the key in his hand. “Maybe.”

He walked down the hall, passing his room, until he heard the little girl talking again.

“See? I told you the monsters were fun!”

And then, beautifully, a laugh. Eddie’s laugh. Genuine and filled with all of the joy that a young boy should have.

Wayne made a mental note to ask the girl’s mom for the title of the book, vowing to check it out of the Hawkins Public Library as soon as he and Eddie returned home.

In a world where people like the little girl existed, people who had some premonition of those in need of friendship and then doused them in love, Eddie might just be okay after all.

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98

@squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia

@kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock

@ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975

@yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts

@mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank

@sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles

@the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl

@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[the---hermit]

I don't know if it's my dragon instinct or what, but when I am home no matter what I am doing, if I'm at my desk or sitting around on the couch or on my bed I hyde my phone under stuff as if it were the most precious object in my hoard.

[tohokuu]

boobs, boobs, boobs - tengen, kyojuro, akaza, aizetsu

tumblr is based off a system of reblogs. reblog my work.

word count : 1.5k

warnings : tiddy sucking, somnophilia in akaza's

a/n : first time writing for kny...

TENGEN

tengen’s mouth watered when he saw your perky nipples sticking past the thin white fabric of your shirt. it was colder during this time of the year, so he knew that your nipples poking through was inevitable. his main concern was how he could help in fixing that. 

he didn’t want you embarrassed, ya know? imagine sanemi or kyo drop by and get a chance to see your perky tits. he couldn’t have that. your tits belonged to him. they were cute and squishy and all he wanted to do in this moment was sit you down on his lap and suck your nipples until you pulled at his hair. 

wouldn’t that be flashy?.. he thought. 

you sighed as you wrapped tengens thin blanket around you. it didn’t make much of a difference, though. you were still shivering cold. he knew the only way to keep you warm was if you were laying flat against him (tit in his mouth). 

“baby, is it cold in here or just me?” tengen spurred on. you looked up eagerly, staring at him in shock. “are you not cold?” you asked him. he shook his head. 

“i’m not but i can tell that you are.” you saw tengen’s eyes dart directly down to your chest, raising a brow as he stared shamelessly. “hmm, have they always been this perky?” he asked you slapped his arm in embarrassment.. or at least tried to slap his arm. instead, he grabbed you by the bicep. pulling you down onto his lap. 

it was in mere seconds, he had the blanket draped around your shoulders and your chest exposed for him. he could see goosebumps rising on your skin, standing up to the sky as he undressed you in the bitter cold. “fuck.” tengen sighed as he stared at your chest. 

“the piercings are so flashy, honey.” he crooned. you blushed, looking away from his face. 

“can i warm you up?” 

-

KYOJURO

kyo was pretty uncaring when it came to how you dressed around the house. you usually lounged around in some loose pants and a short, cropped shirt of his. today was no different. you were cooking when he walked in the next morning, shirtless with only a pair of trousers on. he didn’t pay much attention to your chest until you turned around, handing him a cup of tea. 

“good morning, kyo!” you chirped, smile fresh on your face in the early morning glow. kyo smiled tenderly. “thank you, my angel.” you kissed his pec after, walking away. kyo didn’t know what it was, that got him thinking that morning, looking at your ass and raising a thick eyebrow. 

“mm tasty!” he said as he sipped on the honey and lemon flavored tea. joining you on the couch, he leaned over, laying his head on your chest. he snuggled his face into your chest, groaning and grunting softly as some of the sleep was still settled in his mind. his eyes fluttered open and closed softly as you ran your fingers through his hair. 

“mmm.” he whimpered, enjoying the scratch of your nails against his scalp. kyo got up, getting on top of you and surprising you with his sudden outburst. his eyes darted down to your nipples poking through the thin cropped shirt. “fuck.” he groaned. your eyes widened as he help himself balance on his forearms, caging you in between. 

suddenly his head was under the fabric of your shirt, his lips attached to your nipples. they were cold and hard, and in need of his mouth. his tongue swirled around your buds that were getting harder as he teased them. you gasped, moving up to discard of your shirt. 

“kyo!” you cried, wailing as he bit and sucked at the skin. “you think you can just walk around like this with your nipples pokin’ out and not expect me to say anything?” he growled. kyo sounded eager, not in his usual gentle and soft nature. 

“gonna make you cum from sucking your tits alone.” 

-

AKAZA

akaza walked into your bedroom at around 2 am. your window was open and you slept soundly in bed. he raised his eyebrow and sighed. 

how many times had he reminded you to lock your window at night… 

you never listened to him, always arguing with him and teasing him. he was never angered, though. he’d smile thinking about you as he worked throughout the day, following orders. you were his comfort space, the one he’d visit at night when he had nothing particular left to do. 

he walked into your bathroom like he owned the place, washing his face sighing while he ran a wet hand through his pink hair. 

things were calm and quiet. a part of him wished that in another life where things were easier, he could just do simple house chores with you. it wasn’t that simple, though. life was hard right now and he couldn’t take care of you the way he wished. he had to settle for this. 

coming in to your bedroom unannounced at night and snuggling with you while you slept. he listened to your soft snores and soft whimpers when you had a impactful dream. today was one of those nights. 

he knew you were having a wet dream when he began to smell the wetness from you. a scent of pheromones bursting into the air and clouding his judgement. he watched as your nipples got visibly harder through the thin camisole you wore. his mouth watered. 

you turned towards him in your sleep, whining and pulling him closer, grinding your cunt on his thigh. “fuck..” he whispered. 

“a-akaza..” you whined, half asleep. he felt his dick get hard, making his pants uncomfortable. he suddenly didn’t care anymore. you had given him permission to touch you in your sleep before but he never went through with it, feeling a tiny sense of shame to do that to you without your knowledge. 

but his judgement was clouded today. his day was rough and he couldn’t care less about morals right now. 

he lifted your shirt up, his chest rising faster and faster seeing you whine for him even in your sleep. a primal urge overtook him as he dove into your chest, mouth wrapped around your buds completely. 

he sucked and whined, two fingers dipping down the waistband of your sleep shorts and feeling the slick gathered in your panties. “you dirty, dirty girl..” he groaned. 

he couldn’t wait for you to wake up to the hickey’s on your chest tomorrow morning. 

- 

AIZETSU

aizetsu was always sad. his eyebrows furrowed in sadness and worry. his zipped up the black nike tech in the mirror, unable to waiver the solemn expression on his face. 

he figured coming to see you would maybe fix his mood just a bit. 

the knock on your door at 2 am was a surprise. you didn’t get a call or a confirmation that someone would be showing up to your door this late. you took extra caution checking the peephole. 

the rush in your throat went down when you saw that it was just your solemn boyfriend, dressed in his usual tech. you opened the door, head tilted to one side as you invited him in. 

“zetsu, what happened?” you questioned. your boyfriend was often sad. he was quiet and didn’t speak much to others unless he had something significant to say. 

“nothing. i just missed you.” he softly spoke, staring down at the ground. your own eyebrows furrowed as you pushed him deeper into your apartment. 

“do you wanna cuddle with me?” you asked. 

he looked around nervously before nodding. you laid in bed, urging him to remove the hoodie he wore and just lay in his t-shirt. 

his strong arms wrapped around your body, pulling you in. aizetsu pushed his face into your chest, hoping he’d feel better. 

your fingers went straight to his dark locks, tugging at the strands softly. “what happened today, angel?” you asked. 

“sekido was making fun of me today.” he whined. his lips pouted, eyelashes fluttering to keep away a glimmering sheen of tears. “ ‘m sorry, zetsu. don’t listen to anything he says. he’s a dickhead.” you told your boyfriend. 

“can i suck your tiddies?” 

your mind felt like it broke. 

“w-what?” you asked. your boyfriend looked up at you, his eyes widened and brows furrowed as if he was ready to beg. 

“y-you heard me.” he whispered. you were right. you had heard his random and bizarre request. he had never asked before. in fact, you two hadn’t even done anything significant yet. 

“sure.” 

and suddenly your shirt was torn off of you, flung into a separate corner of the room. your boyfriends personality always made you forget how brawny and muscular he was. his body didn’t match his soft facial expressions and you could hardly recover from the whiplash you had received. 

aizetsu’s arms were wrapped around your waist and upper back, pushing your body into his face. he sucked your nipples harshly, no care in the world that it might have been hurting you or not. 

he licked and tenderly bit the skin, looking up at you with his brows this time pushed together to focus on the task. 

he planned on sucking your tits into making himself happy. 

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©️ tohokuu. do not steal or plagiarize.

leave a comment and/or reblog pls !

[mystellenia]

first kiss with abby ୨ৎ

summary: after the romantic tension between you and abby reaches a peak, you two finally share a sweet kiss.

content: answer to this req and part two to this!! fluffyfluffyfluffy! ehehehehehe. i love fluff i love writing fluff. nothing nsfw. just lowk domesticity with abby and then super cutesy pie origami stuff and then a kiss 💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋 ok toodles enjoy

notes: three weeks of no post i’m sorry my children. i am back!!! classes just finished and now i have summer break so i just had to soak in my freedom from my fuckass med teacher. he can choke fr 💯

(wc 1.6k)

a series of vibrations from your phone rudely pulls you out of your sleep and you swipe your hand across the bed to silence the notifications. you find your phone connected to abby's charger on her vacant side of the bed, the sheets cold without the warmth from her skin to heat them up. she always ran hot—especially during the night—which usually resulted in her yelping at your cold feet pressed to her thighs and trying to absorb her warmth in the hours of the night. 

you raise your phone to your face and are met with four notifications from abby on your home screen. 

abby :p otw back with our loot  

abby :p two berry pastries for the missus and one cream cheese puff pastry for me 

abby :p and nadia gave us two chocolate croissants bc we're super cool 

swiping to unlock your phone, you head to messages and reply to her. 

you YAY thanks you're the best 

you we gotta get nadia a gift card or somethin

you or a bottle of liquor 

you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth with your toothbrush abby got for you for her apartment since you slept over so often. while you load your brush with toothpaste, your phone lights up with a notice from messages: "abby :p loved 'or a bottle of liquor.' " sticking the toothbrush in your mouth, you smile around the minty foam and continue freshening up before abby returns. 

around ten minutes later, you hear the jingle of her keys at the front door and practically skip to the living room to retrieve your pastries. 

abby unlocks the door and pushes it open, a brown bag with a cafe logo printed on it in one hand and a drink carrier with two coffee cups hanging from her ring and pinky fingers in her other. with her few remaining fingers grasping onto her car keys to not drop them, she nudges the door back shut with her hip and locks it. 

her blonde head donns a blue and white trucker hat, the brim of it blocking her from seeing you standing and sheepishly smiling a few strides away. she calls out to you to signal her return. 

"hey, i'm back! and i come bearing gifts. i got-" it's then that abby takes her hat off and notices you inching ever closer. "oh, hi. i got you herbal tea. there weirdly was a lot of traffic today, even though it's, like, seven." 

she continues on as she unpacks everything that she got for you. "then again, i guess kids have school. man, i hated that about high school—waking up early and getting to class on tim- you know what? you're not listening anyway with your food right in front of you," she chuckles. "go on. release! free!" she pokes, using command words for a dog. 

you kiss your teeth and scowl at her, mumbling a "whatever" before tearing into the paper bag. you're met with your two fruit pastries first, then you spot the chocolate croissants abby mentioned under them. 

the two of you stand and eat in comfortable silence in the kitchen, you sipping on your tea and abby picking at her puff pastry. when you finish, you clean both of your spots and abby throws away the paper bag and pastry wrappers, washing her hands after.

after breakfast, you guys ping pong around her apartment, moving from her bed to the couch to the floor and then back to her bed again, all just to talk or scroll on your phones.

hours pass, and after a brief joint nap in her bedroom, you guys now sat on the floor of her living room, light filtering in from her large windows and warming your skin. the floor was littered in origami squares of all different sizes and colors, the origami book abby had gotten for you split open between you two. 

there was a village of origami figures surrounding you, from hearts to frogs to ladybugs to cranes. the book was flipped to a particularly challenging page of an elephant, and you looked over at abby in confusion. 

she was just as confused as you, if not more. her hair was tied in a messy golden knot at the nape of her neck, loose strands crazy and framing her face. her brows were pulled tight on her face, her eyes bewildered and looking at the same piece of paper in her hands as if she'd never seen it before. 

"what step are you on?" she asks, looking at the square in front of you that you were working on. 

"twelve. out of..." you flip the page twice. "god. thirty." you sit up straight to stretch your back out. "i get it, though. kinda." 

"what? show me. i’m on, like, seven. i swear they skipped a step. or forgot to add a picture. just something is wrong." 

you scoot over to sit next to her, pulling your leg to your body and propping your cheek on it. abby places her piece in front of you puts her hands in her crossed lap, her eyes wide and waiting for you to make sense of her issue. 

"okay, let's see." you pull the book closer to you to confirm the step she's on. "step seven is... rotating and folding the back of the elephant." 

"which i did," abby verifies. 

you rotate the piece and immediately find her mistake. "which you did not." 

"what?! where?" 

"here." you trace your finger along the missing crease. "you see how on mine, this part is creased and pointed? like a peak?" 

"uh-huh..." 

"and yours doesn't do that." 

she simply hums, so you look over at her to confirm that she's listening. her eyes are unfocused and locked on your face. they flit between your own and then drop to your lips for a second. the single second feels quite long, though, when she looks so deeply at you in the way that she does, or when her baby hairs draw attention to her blonde lashes, long and very slightly curled around her sapphire eyes. 

she seems to snap out it—whatever it was—and she deeply inhales, licking her lips and refocusing on the task at hand. 

"can you repeat that?" she asks. "sorry, i... i zoned out." 

it was your turn, now, to lose focus and examine her. you stare at her lips, rosy and still glossy from her just licking them. you stare at the corners of them and the ever so slight frown her mouth always pulls into when she's focused. you stare at the little creases in them, the dozens of lines that- 

"are you looking at my lips?" she questions, interrogative and almost paranoid. 

"oh, um, sorry. i was-" 

"why were you looking at them?" she interrupts again, her eyes wild and demanding an answer from you. 

"because, i- well, you just licked them, so- i don't know. because." you swallow, mumbling, "what, can i not look at them or something?" 

her stone stare softens after noticing your flustered state, and the two of you exchange a long and quiet look. 

abby held her breath nearly the entire time. she didn't want to assume anything or read the situation wrong, but your eyes were dilated. they were dilated from looking at her, and just from that. 

as if it were out of your control—like you were magnets—you started moving closer to her. abby could not seem to remember how to control a single muscle in her body, so she just sat and watched you move closer as her cheeks grew pinker and pinker. 

you stop right in front of her face, the tips of your noses kissing and your breaths shared. after a few seconds, you realized abby wouldn't initiate anything, so you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers, short and sweet. when you pulled away, abby's eyes remained closed for a few seconds before they slowly fluttered open. 

"you just kissed me," abby whispers in disbelief, pointing out the obvious. 

"i just kissed you," you echo back. 

it's abby who leans in for the second kiss, thick and intense with emotion, her hand sliding up your arm. her hand reaches the back of your neck, and she pulls you closer and deepens the kiss. 

you press your forehead to hers and stop kissing her, an infectious smile taking up your features instead. 

"are you.. are you seriously smiling right now?" abby gasps theatrically with mock offense. 

your smile breaks out into giggles and you press your face into her cheek to hide. 

"wow, i cannot believe this. you are laughing at our kiss!" she teases. 

"stop, no i’m not!" you plead, still laughing. 

"whatever you say." she grabs your chin between her fingers and pulls your face back to look at you. peppering kisses on your cheeks, she relents on her taunting.  

"are you gonna show me what i did wrong, or what?" she says, referring to the initial topic of her paper elephant. 

you smile back at her. "yeah, i will." 

"okay." she presses one last kiss to your temple and then waits for your instruction. 

"i was saying, there's supposed to be a crease here, on what'll be the back of the elephant." 

abby nods and hums like she's listening, but really, she smiles at your profile as you continue to speak. 

@abbysbug @abbyonmars @abigails-gf @picklesarenice69

heheheh all done!!!! this was so cute to write especially the end like i was talking to @abbyonmars while i wrote the end and we were fangirling over typed words and pixels. but what else is tumblr dot com for if not to fangirl!!!!

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

(cw: age gap 25/41, nsfw, mdni 18+, sloppy blow/handjob, one (or two) d-slaps, praise, könig is big (i think, that is canon by now), swallowing)

part before: breaking the bed

I ring the doorbell. My cat’s carrier in the one hand, Mimi meowing softly. A backpack in the other.

König opens the door and I look up at him and…

He’s wearing glasses.

Right there on his nose. Black framed glasses. My jaw drops as he smiles down at me, completely unaware.

“Hey.”, he greets me, leaning down and pressing a kiss to my cheek, while his hand shoots out to take the pet carrier from me.

“You have glasses?”, I ask incredulously, letting go of the handle.

The smile falls off his face. “Ah scheiße, I forgot to take them off.”, he mutters, turning away.

“Did you fucking hide them from me?”, I say, still trying to wrap my head around it.

"No, I just need them to read.”, he grumbles as I close the door behind me and follow him into the living room.

He sets Mimi's carrier down and opens the door to let her out, the little kitty traipsing out carefully, getting to explore the new surroundings while we get the rest of the stuff from my car. I didn’t pack that much because it’s only temporary, staying with him until we get the bed situation fixed. There's actually more for the little minx than for me. Her toilet, her cat food, the basket. And then the second box with my stuff that König carries up to the bedroom while I set her basket down next to the couch, and then go to sit down and watch her zoomies.

I laugh, when I see him coming down the stairs again, the glasses still on his nose. The giant with the tattooed arms, all dressed in black, a Death shirt on, the five o’clock shadow, the long hair that he pushed out of his face… and then those black rimmed square glasses. I laugh even more as he shoots me a glare, a deathly one.

He drops onto the couch right beside me, pulling me into him as he grumbles something grumpily in German. I kiss him, telling him that he looks even more attractive with the glasses on. "They are totally fine. So fine even.", I say, pressing another kiss to his cheek, his stubble scratching against the sensitive skin of my lips.

"Really?" He looks at me skeptically. With the glasses that just makes me want to give him another kiss. It's criminal how good he looks with them on.

"Yeah.", I answer truthfully, and I can’t help the little smile coming through. Has he really hidden them from me? Is that… a little hint of insecurity I am seeing behind the serious expression, the cocked eyebrow arching over the glasses?

"No ‘old man’-talk then, huh?", he comments, pointedly.

I laugh. "Maybe a little bit... They are giving you major dilf-vibes.", I say, biting back a giggle.

He furrows his brows, looking at me with a confused stare. "Dilf-vibes?", he echoes, and I explain it to him, of course, a bright mischievous grin plastered onto my face. The only part of the acronym that sticks is that I'd like to fuck him.

"Hm, really? Like right now?", he smirks at me, mischief sparking in his eyes, his large hand stroking up my back. The cocky expression on his face dissipates as I drop onto my knees on the floor, right in front of him, my hands quickly reaching for the waistband of his jeans.

I look up at him, a sultry smile stalking onto my lips, when I pop the button of his pants and lower the zipper. He groans when I take out his dick, his length hardening quickly, as my fingers wrap around him. He slides forward, shimmying his jeans down a bit and spreading his thighs, making room for me between them. I scoot closer, leaning over, and take his tip into my mouth. Sucking on it. Feeling him grow, while my eyes search his.

His head falls back, as I work him, breaking the eye contact, soft moans dropping from his lips. His hand moves up to take his glasses off, but I stop him.

I release him with a pop. “No, leave them on.”, I ask. “Please.”

“You really like them that much, hm?”, he asks, pulling up one eyebrow, but a smirky grin stalks onto his lips, and his hands drop down again, the right one digging into the cushions of the armrest.

“I do.”, I say, my expression mirroring his, as I move my hand up and down his length lazily, which makes him groan again, his hips rutting forward.

I’m getting cocky (no pun intended), just grab him at the base and slap his hard dick against my cheek. It even makes a little noise, so I do it again, this time a bit harder. His jaw drops a little, his eyes widening in surprise, before mischief sparks in them.

“I wanted to do that for quite some while.”, I whisper, still grinning up at him.

He laughs a little bit, the smile on his face smirky and lustful, while his gaze gets heated. “You're not even half as innocent as you look."

"What's that supposed to mean?", I ask him, gripping him tighter, moving my hand quicker now as I jerk him off.

"Oh, you know, Fräulein.", he just says, the last word turning into a moan when I squeeze the tip with my fingers.

Instead of an answer I lean forward again, my eyes not leaving his while I teasingly lick it before I close my lips around him. Slowly moving down his length. His breath hitches, a quiet treacherous sound, his eyes intently watching what I’m doing.

I try to take him deeper, letting the tip hit the back of my throat, and I can feel tears well in the corner of my eyes. I'm not stopping until they're running down my face, the wet drops slowly rolling down my cheeks. His hips jerk up, pushing his dick a little further still as I bop my head up and down his length, at least as far as I can take him. Not even fitting half of him, but that doesn’t deter him.

"Mmh, look at you, swallowing me down like a good girl.", he drawls, his words breathy, his gaze fixed on my lips that are fitted around his girth. The praise washes over me, and I can feel a tingle down my spine.

It spurs me on, I can feel how wetness seeps into my panties, kneeling before him like this. Taking him deeper until I gag around him, strings of my spit covering him, some of it dropping down further.

But there is no use trying to make him fit down my throat, he is just too thick. I pull back, letting myself breathe again, licking the underside of his shaft which makes him shiver. I move to the top, not stopping the nibbles and sloppy kisses, until my tongue is dragging over the sensitive spot, his foreskin sliding back and forth while I jerk him off at the same time. I can taste the salty hints of precum and feel the metal of his piercing as I toy with the tip.

The sounds that drop from his lips are divine. Soft grunts, deep and gravelly, low breaths. Gripping the cushions with his hand, his fingers of the other one running through his hair. His head is tilting back, every so often, but his eyes don't want to leave me. Seeing how I play with his pierced tip. How my hands run up and down his dick. I spit, letting a dollop of saliva drip down onto him before I spread it down his length to lube him up even more.

"Ah, scheiße.", he grumbles, rolling his eyes back.

I work him with both my hands, my fingers sliding over his soft hot skin easily, his dick slick with my spit. They still barely fit around his girth as I move them a bit faster, finding a steady rhythm, until he's moving restlessly, fucking up into my hands.

I bend forward, taking the tip in my mouth. I fit my lips around him, my cheeks hollow. My eyes are meeting his while I look up at him, and his hips buck up, pushing him a bit deeper which has me gag around him.

"Fuck, just like that." The low gravelly whisper is the only thing he says before I feel him pulsing in my mouth, warm sticky cum shooting down my throat. I hum around him, licking everything up as he comes, and I keep sucking him until I can feel him softening in my mouth.

I pull back, letting him slip out, and drop my jaw to show him his cum in my mouth, the white liquid sitting on my tongue. The sight lets him groan again and I swallow it down, the taste lingering.

I get up from the floor and crawl onto the couch again, wiping over my chin in a quick motion. His dick is still out, resting against his stomach, and he pulls the pants up, to let me take a seat on his thighs.

“Do you believe me now, that I really like your glasses?”, I ask him, pressing my lips to his in a quick kiss, then I steal them from his nose to set it onto mine.

He laughs. “I do.” His hand shoots up, his thumb softly grazing over my cheek, his fingers pushing some of my hair back, his eyes trailing my face, every single bit of it.

“How do I look?”, I ask him, trying to pull a serious grimace, like he always does when he tries to mask his jokes.

“Looking good.” He grins at me while I drop the expression and pose, placing my chin on the back of my hands, batting my eyelashes at him. “And way cuter than me.”, he adds, giving my nose a little peck.

“Well, that’s not difficult.”, I shoot back, sticking my tongue out at him.

We laugh a little, and I cannot fight the smile that adorns my face. It’s so simple and casual, the way we’re sitting here, me on his lap after just blowing him. His arm wrapped around me, his other hand softly stroking over my thigh. The warmth of his body against mine, his scent in my nose, my hands tangled in his hair. His presence alone is stirring something in me, the feelings still new and yet familiar at the same time.

Today at work, my thoughts came back to his offer of staying at his place and I had some doubts. Feeling like I was intruding again, even though he was adamant about not letting me sleep on just a mattress in my own apartment, after he broke my bed, and inviting me to stay with him. At least until we got it fixed. And sitting here with him like this, I don’t know anymore why I even thought twice about it.

There’s just something that has been roaming my mind all day. And now I'm thinking about it again, I can't push it away, though it might be a bit of a weird timing. I just...

I hand him back the glasses, he takes them and I sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about something.", I start then.

He puts the glasses on the end table next to the couch, but his head whips in my direction when I speak. "What is it, Kleine?", he wants to know, his arm around my waist pulling me closer.

"Uh, sorry, I'm bad at this but – and we don't have to put any labels on it or anything – but now that I'm also staying at your place and everything..." I pause and he just looks at me, his brows pulled up. Patiently waiting for me to finish my sentence. "We're dating, right? Like, exclusively?"

He nods slowly, his mouth tilting up into a little lop-sided smile, while he's still looking at me all serious. "I don't plan on seeing anyone else, so yeah, I think, you can call it dating or being exclusive, how the youngsters call it.", he says which pulls a little chuckle from me. "Whatever you wanna call it.", he concludes, squeezing my thigh once, a quick reassuring gesture.

"Okay.", I say, snuggling into him, my head resting on his shoulder, content with that answer.

"If you want to see other people though, that's fine too.", he adds after a second of hesitation, and I’m unsure how to interpret the tone in his voice.

The expression on my face drops when I realise what he means. I break away to look at him. "No! No, I mean, I wasn't asking for that reason. I just wanted to make sure, we were on the same page.", I explain. "I don't want to see anybody else either."

I don't have the nerves to tell him, that this had nothing – well, almost nothing – to do with him, but certain people in my past where expectations were built and not met. I just wanted to know to spare myself any unforeseen surprises in that department.

"Don't worry, Liebes.", he says, pulling me into him again. "As long as I'm on leave, you got me all to yourself." Pressing a kiss to my forehead.

"How long will that be?", I ask, ignoring the little flutter in my stomach. Excitement and dread mixing, hearing him say that I got him all to myself, while at the same time knowing that he will need to go back to his job sometime soon.

"Gonna know next week, when they send the details.", he answers, simply.

“Okay.”, I nod, not knowing what else to say to that, instead stretching up to kiss him again. Starting off slow, my lips pressing softly against his. My hand strokes over his face, feeling the scruff on his jaw beneath my fingertips, as we deepen the kiss.

His tongue strokes against mine, a touch that sends a pang of need between my legs and makes me squirm. I snuggle into his broad chest, and with how I’m draped over his lap, that makes his big burly thigh press against my clothed pussy, and I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my lips. A treacherous, obscene sound that he swallows up.

“What was that?”, he asks, mumbling against my lips, before he pulls back.

“Nothing.”, I say, feigning ignorance. Desperately trying not to subconsciously roll my hips over his muscly thighs, searching for more friction.

He just pulls an eyebrow up, not taking my shit.

“Well, you know. Somebody broke my bed instead of making me come this morning.”, I quip, a challenge in my voice and eyes, which has him look at me from under his eyebrows. The gaze alone is sending a shiver down my spine as it’s boring into me, heated and heavy.

“Oh really.”, he states, his voice deepening.

“Yes really.”, I say. “And…” I halt, trying to find the words. “Sucking your dick didn't help either.”

“Look at you, talking all dirty now, huh?”, he drawls, a mischievous grin cutting through his stern expression, seeming satisfied with my little comment.

“Well, you know, we’re getting there.”, I say, grinning at him. “Getting there, even if I’m not getting off.”, I poke at him again, teasingly rubbing myself over his thigh.

"And we can’t have that.", he states darkly, scooping me up in a quick motion.

He throws me over his shoulder which has me yelp: “König!” before he hurries up the stairs to the bedroom.

Continue right on in the next part: breaking me (not literally) or check out the full story in the Masterlist ~

a/n: this is cut short, cause the part right after is not finished yet, and although my wrist (got tendonitis :c) is already feeling a little better, i still need to rest it and this scene i only needed to proofread, i hope you understand <3 also check out @idontknowreallyidontcare who also has a very nice post about König wearing glasses!

[withleeknow]

the nut graph.

pairing: hyunjin x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, college au, fluff <3; oc is a journalism student (there's just a couple references in here, and the title lol) bc i am once again being hella self-indulgent 🤪 word count: 0.8k note: how ironic that as i was writing this, there was a thunderstorm outside but i didn't have a hyunjin to cuddle up with. tragic :/ anywhomst onigiri 🍙 this is for you and our shared hyune brainrot. i hope u'll tolerate like this one 🥹 <3

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

"it's raining."

the voice comes from beside you, where hyunjin has been sitting for the past couple of hours while you work on your respective assignments, sharing headphones and feeding each other gummy worms and almond pepero's every once in a while, your head softly nodding along to the music from his lo-fi playlist.

when you glance out the window, it's too dark to watch the sky, but you do catch a glimpse of the downpour thanks to the light from the streetlamp below.

you hum in agreement without much enthusiasm, turning to peck his cheek quickly before diverting your attention back to your laptop.

hyunjin huffs out a griping noise, shrugs off his earpod and scooches closer on his chair to rest his head on you. "hey, let's call it a night," he says, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and your shoulder, pressing his full lips against you, over the material of his hoodie that you've stolen borrowed.

"are you done with your paper?" you ask.

"no, but it's raining."

your boyfriend loves the rain; there's something so charmingly idyllic about the rain and he's nothing if not a romantic. he loves it even more when he gets to spend the moment with you, with the two of you nicely tucked together in bed or on the couch as you listen to the sound of the shower outside pattering against your window.

you only chuckle, kissing his forehead to appease him for now. "i'm not done with my article," you say. "you go to bed first. i'll be there in a second."

"let's go to bed now," hyunjin whines, drawing out the last word like an overgrown child. two bargaining hands slide around your body until they're clasped together on the other side of your waist. "it's the perfect time to cuddle."

"fifteen minutes and i'll be done. i just need to finish the nut graph and i'll be right there, okay?"

"nut graph," he echoes, giggling to himself as if it's the first time he's ever heard of the term. then he clears his throat, like he suddenly remembers that there's something much larger at stake here. "that's not a second. what if it stops raining?"

"then it stops raining." you shrug, reaching for a pepero stick to munch on while you keep your gaze on the laptop screen again. "it won't kill you, y'know."

"you don't know that." another pathetic mewl escapes his mouth. "come onnn, i need my cuddles."

"well, we're kind of cuddling right now."

though if you're being honest, your train of thought kind of kicked you off and left the station the second hyunjin started slotting himself against your side. you're just doing this for kicks, because sometimes it's entertaining to tease your boyfriend and watch him be dramatic for a minute. it's endearing, how he whines about not being able to snuggle with you like it's the worst thing that could ever happen to him. it's a bit of an ego boost as well, to know that this godlike man would turn into a puddle every time he's needy for your attention.

"this is not cuddling," he says, his arms tightening around you and for a second there, you wonder if he would actually carry you over his shoulder like a potato sack and take you to the bedroom himself. "come on, let's go to bed. this is your tax."

"this is my what?"

"your tax," he repeats, pinching the material of your (his) hoodie between two fingers. "for wearing my clothes. pay up."

rolling your eyes in playful disbelief, you open your mouth to shoot back a retort but you're promptly cut off after the first syllable makes it out when hyunjin does exactly what you were picturing a minute ago - he fucking picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, in true potato sack fashion, while you squeal in shock.

"hyunjin! the nut graph!"

he only pats your butt in response to your helpless wiggling. "it'll still be there tomorrow."

his long strides carry you to the adjoining room in no time. before you know it, you're already gently laid on the bed while hyunjin settles on top of you, his arms encircling your frame as he throws one of his legs over both of yours. he sighs, clearly content with himself, the soft puff of air escaping his lips to tickle the skin of your neck.

you have no choice but to concede; you're already here anyway. you turn in his hold until you're hugging him back comfortably, carding your fingers through his soft hair to keep his head close to you.

"needy little monster," you complain, no bite.

hyunjin doesn't care about witty comebacks. he won, he got what he wanted. so he just pushes himself up the bed, crossing the few inches it takes to reach your lips. "love you," he giggles, showcasing a grin that makes his eyes turn into adorable crescent moons before he's kissing you tenderly. oh, so delicately.

outside your window, the rain only falls harder.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 03.06.2024]

[cas-kingdom]

The Night Shift

A/N: First NCIS fic! Decided to keep my OC's name instead of reader as I'm pretty attached to her.

If you're alone on V Day, here's some Gibbs. &lt;3

Title: The Night Shift

Summary: What's worse than a sick Gibbs? A sick mini Gibbs.

Words: 2568

It was two am, and Emmie Gibbs was tired.

She wrinkled her nose as something tickled at it and sat up to reach for the packet of tissues sitting dutifully by the pillow.

It was two am, and Emmie Gibbs was sick and tired.

Tony, the shit-stirrer that he was, leaned precariously back in his swivel chair to stare at her. If it weren’t for the squeak of the chair itself, she still would have noticed his sudden attention by the feeling of his eyes boring into her for perhaps the tenth time since they’d set up camp in the NCIS building about five hours ago. He was relentless.

Emmie paused. Tissue wedged in her nose, sinuses burning, she looked up and stared at him. Tony rose an eyebrow. Emmie hardened her stare. Tony, because he was Tony, purposefully leaned further back so she could see the exact moment he dramatically cupped a hand to his stupid little mouth and—

“Giiibbs!”

Emmie’s jaw tensed. Tony grinned in superfluous victory.

Another squeak, a more familiar one this time, and Gibbs’s swivel chair glided along the carpeted floor around the divider between the cubicles until he could see Emmie. She was still sitting up, looking quite the sight with a tissue halfway up her right nostril and her hair sticking at all angles. On any other day she would have responded to Tony’s pure gall by glaring him straight into the ground. But today was not that day. Today was a bad day. Today, her week-long, just-about-bearable cold had decided to manifest into sinusitis, and she’d woken with a face that felt as though tiny little men were mining for gold in her skull. Ducky had liked that metaphor.

Partly because she was absolutely awful at caring for herself when she was ill, and partly—mostly—because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on work if she was left to fend for herself at home, Gibbs had dragged Emmie into the office with him. She’d made her rounds all day—curled up on Abby’s little couch at first, then bundled off to an empty room when Abby found working in silence too impossible. At lunchtime, a meeting had been scheduled in the room, and she’d been forced to accompany Gibbs and Tony in the car to a naval base connected to the case they were working on, sniffling and groaning in the back seat like a Victorian child on her death bed.

And here she was now, at two a bloody m, lying on an ungodly amount of blankets, wrapped in Gibbs’s jacket and Tony’s hoodie, on the floor, feeling like her body was readying to explode. Life couldn’t get worse.

Unless you were acquainted with Tony DiNozzo. In which case, life could, and most certainly would, get worse.

Gibbs dipped his head and rose an eyebrow at Emmie. Emmie couldn’t do much in her defence but sniff. Hard. A slight protest only she had the guts to attempt. It was when he pointed a finger at her and motioned with it for her to lie down again that Emmie tossed her arms up.

“Do you know—” Another sniff—“Do you even know how hard it is to lie down and feel your sinuses drain into your throat?” Her voice was so nasally she couldn’t sound stern, even if she put every ounce of effort into it.

Tony, naturally, did not try hard to cover his amusement at that. He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, spinning from side to side absently in his chair with the tip of his tongue held between his smirking lips when Emmie turned narrowed eyes on him.

“I was getting a tissue, FYI,” she said to him and only him. “So, you can stop being a kiss ass, Anthony.”

“Emmie.” Gibbs disappeared behind the divider again. “Back to sleep.”

Tony, meanwhile, gaped. “Kiss ass who?”

Emmie ignored him and shuffled back down again. She shut her eyes and swallowed. Already the disgusting stuff had decided the place it wanted to be right now was her stomach, and was meandering slowly down her throat towards it.

“You were being a bit of a kiss ass,” she heard Gibbs agree.

“Oh, come on. You said you wanted her to sleep!”

“Yeah, and I do.”

“But you’re gonna call me a kiss ass when I tell you she’s not sleeping? Kiss my ass.”

“What was that?”

“Sorry, Boss.”

In all honesty, there was nothing more that Emmie wanted least right now than to sleep. True, she was exhausted, but the part of her brain not currently still enshrouded in said exhaustion wanted to be up and active again, helping Gibbs with the case like her internship allowed.

And yet, the man still believed she needed her head on a pillow.

The team had been working on a case all day, one she didn’t know the specifics of. It wasn’t exactly often that they stayed in the office well into the night to continue their current case, but it appeared Gibbs had a weird feeling about this one. From the snippets of conversation that she’d picked up and actually retained in her decrepit brain, a potential witness was lying unconscious in a hospital bed somewhere, and Gibbs wanted to speak to him the moment he woke up, which, according to the doctors, could be at any time. That apparently required the entire team to stay behind which, considering the fact Emmie was currently holed up on the floor of Ziva’s empty cubicle, not everyone had complied with.

The moment Tony got out of his chair to help Gibbs with something and disappeared from her line of sight, Emmie eased herself into a sitting position once more. She reached for the tissues again, rubbing at her leaking nose with the sleeve of Gibbs’s jacket and not possessing the brain power to regret that decision. She blew into a tissue, paused to catch her breath, then—

“Gibbs.”

Emmie deflated completely. Wow. The world truly hated her today.

She looked up to see McGee walking in with a bag of takeout. He barely glanced at her as he passed, choosing to instead spend that energy alerting Gibbs to the fact she was, again, not lying down.

Before either Tony or Gibbs could come into view once more, Emmie sighed, stuck two bits of tissue in both nostrils, and scooted backwards to sit against the wall.

“Can’t breathe lying down,” she said before anyone could say a single word. “And I’m tired of being tired. I don’t want to sleep anymore. Leave me alone. Don’t talk to me. Shush.”

Tony’s head appeared around the corner, and he snorted again. Then the squeak of Gibbs’s chair as he got up. A rustling. A moment later he appeared with a takeout box in his hand, walking towards her. He lifted it so she could see, and she groaned, shaking her head. A corner of Gibbs’s mouth lifted but he wasn’t about to back down on this fight. He never did.

He knelt in front of her, close enough to see the pallidness of her face and the slight sickly tremble of her small frame. Emmie visibly relaxed when he reached out a hand to press against her forehead, the coolness of his skin momentarily dowsing the heat of hers.

Gibbs checked the watch at his wrist. “Another couple hours and you can dose up again.”

“Thanks.”

“Yep. ‘Till then…” He went to withdraw his hand, but Emmie’s own hand shot up and pinned his to her forehead.

“No,” she said simply.

“No to my hand leaving, or food?”

“No.”

“You gotta eat. You know the drill. Eat or sleep.” She grumbled something and Gibbs reached with his free hand to lift the lid on the box. The smell of warm chicken soup filled the space between them, and Emmie wrinkled her nose. “Come on, kiddo. It’s only soup.”

“I feel too sick to eat.”

“Sleep it is, then.”

“Dad—”

“Hey. The cure for alll Emmie-related illness is sleep. Always has been, always will be.” It was true. Gibbs knew his daughter better than she knew herself, after all. Everyone was different, but Emmie’s medicine was sleep until she could look him in the eye and confidently tell him she felt a bit better. If years of being a single parent had taught him anything, it was that.

With a bit of reluctance, he pulled his hand from her head and leant forward on his toes. “You don’t have to lie down to sleep,” he told her. “Here—” Emmie wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with the pillows and blankets behind her, but when he sat back and she turned as much as her aching neck would allow, there was a nice little DIY upright-bed against the wall. Gibbs, seemingly proud of his work, was met with a look of absolute discontent on his daughter’s face.

He puffed his cheeks out and glanced at the soup. “Aeroplane?”

“Seriously?” Emmie deadpanned.

He reached for the spoon, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Worked when you were a kid.”

“There’re a few keywords in that sentence, Dad. Are you trying to give Tony more fuel to embarrass me?”

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder. Tony had returned to his desk, leaning dangerously back in his chair to gain the best vantage point. The man had absolutely zero shame.

Gibbs jerked his head. “Check with the hospital about Lupin, would you, DiNozzo?”

Tony visibly deflated. Emmie sent him a smug look and he stuck his tongue out. Reluctantly, he wheeled back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Do this, DiNozzo, do that, DiNozzo,” he grumbled to himself. “Oh, while you’re at it, why don’t you polish my boots and write a thesis on my intellectual prowess, DiNozzo? Sure, I’ll get right on it, Boss!” He dialled the number and put the phone to his ear. “Should I get your laundry and your coffee too, Boss? Should I do—hi, there! Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, calling for an update on a patient? Ryan Lupin. Yeah, I’ll hold. Thanks.”

“Dad.” Such an exasperated voice could only belong to the resident invalid, and after only a second’s hesitation, Tony—slowly—wheeled himself back, as far as the cord to the phone still held against his ear would allow. Emmie and Gibbs were still on the floor, the former looking most disgruntled at the spoon in the latter’s hand.

“I’m being serious,” she said then.

“So am I,” Gibbs said, “very serious. I’m being very serious right now. Soup?”

Emmie rolled her eyes, but a smile was pulling at her lips all the same. She shook her head. “Go back to your desk, old man.”

Tony’s brows shot up and he grinned. “Oohoohoo!” He was close to rubbing his hands together in sheer glee. “You gonna let her get away with that, Boss?”

“Lupin, DiNozzo.”

“I’m on hold!” The fact that Gibbs made no sign that he was going to pick his daughter up on her insult, when Tony knew that if he’d been the one to call his boss elderly he’d be getting a bit more than a slap to the back of the head, hit a sore spot. “Wait,” he said, looking hilariously appalled, “you’re actually gonna let her get away with it?”

Gibbs, defeated in this part only, dropped the spoon back in the box and put it on the desk. “I’ve been called worse,” he called back, “believe me.”

“Grandpa,” Emmie said.

“Thank you, Em, that’s very helpful.”

“Ninnyhammer, pillock, douche canoe, old man—”

“You already said that one.” Gibbs chuckled. “Douche canoe?”

Emmie shrugged. “Dunderhead.”

“Alright.”

“Ugly…nut.”

“Jemima.”

McGee, who’d since been silently working and eating at his desk, paused. Mouth open, forkful of noodles on its way, he turned confused eyes to the ground.

“Her name’s Jemima?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “How long you been here McGee?”

As soon as Emmie looked the slightest bit like she was about to resume her name-calling, Gibbs put his palm over her mouth. He rose a brow in warning. She blinked. Blinked again. Then—

“Aw, come on!” Gibbs’s face contorted into one of absolute disgust as a rush of air and wet stuff flew at his hand. He withdrew it immediately, holding it away from him, while Emmie sniffed and nonchalantly used the jacket sleeve again.

“You little crapbag.” It was the best he could come up with.

“What? You think I plan my sneezes?”

Tony, up until now quite enjoying the performance, rolled quickly back to the desk with the phone at his ear. “Hi, yeah, I’m still here.”

Gibbs stood and walked briskly to his desk so he could grab the stack of napkins the takeout had come with. “I don’t doubt anything when it comes to you.”

“Thank you.” Emmie rubbed at her red eyes with her hand and slumped against the back of the wall. Gibbs, coating his hands with sanitizer, watched with a knowing eye. He shook his hands and walked back around to Ziva’s cubicle, perching on the desk to look down at her.

“You’re sick,” he said.

“I know. And?”

“And, sick people eat soup, and they sleep. Okay? They don’t stay up at all hours of the night—nooo, no, no. I’m talking now, kiddo. I know you’ve been sleeping all day, I know you wanna get up and back to work, but that’s not happening until your fever’s gone. No point in fighting that, and you know full well. Clear?”

Any other day. Any. Other. Day. The protests were practically clawing at her throat. But a sudden wave of nausea rushed over her and she backed down immediately. Still, the thought of lying down again was awful, and the tired eyes she turned on her dad somehow translated that.

Gibbs sighed. “What’s it gonna take, huh?” Emmie didn’t need to think about her answer to that. She wasn’t even sure her expression had changed at all when Gibbs shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he said, “come on, now. I gotta work.”

This time, she did change her expression, putting it on in the way she knew worked best. Gibbs, naturally, relented.

“Fine,” he said, motioning with his hands for her to move over. She did, though admittedly it was a bit of a pitiful move with her aching body. He breathed a short laugh but came to sit in the miniscule space she’d made beside her anyway.

“Thanks, douche canoe,” Emmie whispered.

Tony put the phone down. “Still knocked out, Boss,” he said, pushing his chair backwards. When he saw Gibbs on the floor, arm wrapped around his daughter, who had her head on his shoulder, he crossed his arms over his chest and positively pouted.

“Hey, why do you get to sleep?”

Gibbs chuckled and shut his eyes. “When you’ve got a sick kid, I’ll let you sleep on the office floor with her. Wake me before Lupin does, would you?”

“How am I—Boss? Boss?” Tony threw his arms up in the air and shook his head, grabbing a notebook from his desk to doodle in. “Kiss my ass.”

“Heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

Well, one thing was for certain. Gibbs may have won this fight, but so had Emmie.

NCIS Masterpost

[skywalker1dream]

Title: The Champion's Prize

note: hope you like it. hope you are having a good day or night, drink water and eat healthy...byee <3

Warnings: Alcohol use, mild language, fluff

Summary: When Charles comes home drunk and adorable, he turns into a playful WWE champion. You find yourself caught in his antics, realizing just how deeply he loves you.

----------------------

You were sitting on the couch, lazily flipping through the channels on TV, when you heard the unmistakable sound of keys jingling at the front door. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight. You smiled to yourself, knowing Charles must be back from his night out with the boys.

The door swung open and in stumbled Charles, a goofy grin plastered across his face. "Ma chérie!" he exclaimed, a bit too loudly, causing you to giggle.

"Hey, you," you said, standing up and walking over to him. "Have a good time?"

"The best!" he declared, throwing his arms around you in an exaggerated hug. You could smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath, but it was mixed with the familiar cologne that you loved. He pulled back and looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Guess what?"

"What?" you asked, playing along.

"I…am the WWE champion!" he announced, striking a dramatic pose. Before you could react, he scooped you up and carried you over to the bed, gently tossing you onto it. You couldn't help but burst into laughter as he climbed up beside you.

"Oh no, not the WWE champion!" you teased, pretending to be frightened.

"Yes, the WWE champion!" he repeated, flexing his muscles and puffing out his chest. "And now, for my finishing move…" He gently grabbed a pillow and lightly bopped you on the head with it.

You laughed even harder, clutching your sides. "You're ridiculous," you said between giggles.

He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. "Ridiculously in love with you," he said with a sweet, sincere tone that made your heart melt.

You reached up and cupped his cheek, smiling at him. "I love you too, my WWE champion."

Charles grinned and flopped down beside you, pulling you into his arms. "You know what else?" he asked, his voice already starting to get sleepy.

"What?"

"I won an award tonight," he said, closing his eyes and nuzzling into your neck.

"Oh really? And what award is that?" you asked, playing along again.

He opened one eye and looked at you, his expression completely serious. "The award for having the best girlfriend in the world."

Your heart swelled with love and you kissed his forehead. "Well, you definitely deserve that award."

He sighed contentedly and tightened his grip around you. "I'm so lucky to have you," he murmured, his voice fading as he drifted off to sleep.

You lay there for a moment, listening to his steady breathing and feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. "I'm lucky to have you too," you whispered, knowing he was already fast asleep.

As you closed your eyes, you couldn't help but smile, thinking about how even in his drunken state, Charles always knew how to make you feel loved and cherished.

The next morning, you woke up to the soft rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains. Charles was still sound asleep, his arm draped protectively over you. You smiled, remembering his antics from the night before. Gently, you disentangled yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him, and tiptoed to the kitchen to make some coffee.

As you were brewing the coffee, you heard a faint groan from the bedroom, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps. Charles appeared in the doorway, looking adorably disheveled with his hair sticking up in all directions.

"Good morning, WWE champion," you teased, handing him a cup of coffee.

He groaned again, this time in embarrassment, rubbing his temples. "Oh no, what did I do last night?"

You laughed and leaned against the counter, watching him take a sip of his coffee. "You were very cute. You pretended to be a WWE champion and even won an award for having the best girlfriend in the world."

A blush crept up Charles' cheeks as he looked at you with a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry if I was too much."

"Don't be," you said, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around his waist. "It was adorable, and it made me realize just how much you love me, even when you're drunk."

He placed his coffee cup on the counter and hugged you tightly. "I do love you, more than anything, Ma chérie" he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. "I love you too, Charles. Now, how about we spend the day relaxing and maybe watch some actual WWE?"

Charles chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. "That sounds like a perfect plan."

The two of you spent the morning lounging on the couch, binge-watching WWE matches and laughing together. Charles kept making silly comments, mimicking the wrestlers' moves and expressions, making you laugh so hard your sides hurt.

At one point, he got up and struck another dramatic pose. "And now, the reigning champion, Charles Leclerc, will perform his signature move!" He gently tackled you onto the couch, both of you dissolving into fits of laughter.

After a while, you both settled down, with Charles lying on the couch and your head resting on his chest. His fingers traced soothing patterns on your arm as you both watched the TV in comfortable silence.

"Thank you for always being there for me," he said softly, breaking the silence.

You looked up at him and smiled. "Always, Charles. You're my champion, after all."

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his eyes full of love and adoration. "And you're my prize, the best one I could ever win, Ma chérie."

You snuggled closer, feeling completely content and loved. No matter what antics he got up to, you knew that Charles would always be your champion, both in the ring of life and in your heart.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Lover Be Good to Me

This is the first thing I've finished in forever. I hope you guys enjoy it.

Contains: Mild violence, protective Graves, fluff, smut (fingering, P in V)

Song inspo

1.6K words

Be as you've always been (lover, be good to me) - Hozier

Phillip was all Southern gentleman, all Ma'am and Sweetheart and Darlin' and pulled out chairs and opened doors and hats and shoes off inside, all please and thank you kindly. But you were under no illusions, he was still man, and a violent one at that, he's soft like a guard dog or a thumb on a pulsing jugular, gentle only for you.

You wondered as you stood there, hands clenched by your side as you watched his fist make with the face of the man who was dumb enough to follow you to your car after you turned him down if he saw this as the declaration of possession that it was. He must have because, with each punch, he was scolding the man for bothering his woman. 

"Phillip, Honey, that's enough." 

He dropped the man's collar the moment the words left your mouth, and a second later, he was pulling him up by his face to admonish him one final time. "If I ever see you around again, I'll finish the job, understand?" 

The man hurried away with a terrified nod, and Phillip walked over to collect the grocery bags and placed them into the truck bed like his hand wasn't bloody and bruised before opening your door with a smile. "Sorry about that Darlin', I should have gone in with you."

You shook your head and climbed in, hoping this wouldn't turn into him drowning himself in guilt. "I think the phone call about Mattews and his broken leg took precedence over everything," he went to correct you, and you raised your finger to stop him. "I'm a grown woman, Phillip, and I can look after myself so I don't want to hear it." 

He sighed and reached over to place his hand on your knee as he drove towards home. "You're right, I just want to keep you safe." 

You nodded and took his hand in yours. "I know and that's why I'm going to be gentle when I clean those cuts on your knuckles." 

He chuckled, his smile warm and bright as the mood lifted. "You are an angel sent from heaven Darlin'."

****

Phillip didn't flinch as you cleaned the cuts on his knuckles; rather, he took in the look of concentration on your face with a dreamy smile and adoration filled eyes. "How did I get so lucky?"

You sighed. "I don't think it was luck, my love, or are you telling me all that wooing you did was just you throwing shit at the wall hoping it would stick?"

He pressed his lips together to suppress a smile and plucked the cotton round out from between your fingers before taking your hand in his hand and lifting it up to his lips. "Oh no, Sweetheart, I agonised over every flower."

His lips moved from your fingertips to the back of your hand, then to your wrist, slowly making their way up your arm until they met the edge of your sleeve. "Phill, your hand, I need to finish cleaning it."

He chuckled against your skin as his eyes flicked to yours. "It was clean five cotton balls ago." The hand that wasn't holding yours curled into the hem of your T-shirt as he moved to pull it upwards. "Now, are you going to let me appreciate you, or am I going to have to work for it?"

His lips were at your neck now, soft and sweet as he worried a spot into your skin. "I need to put dinner on."

He kissed a path to your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he spoke. "I'll order in while you soak in the tub after we're done, whatever you want and dessert."

There was no point in arguing, not that you wanted to. You took his head in your hands as he grinned and pressed your lips to his as he wrapped his arms around your body. He pulled back, pecking your nose as he pulled you further into his lap. "I'll take that as a yes?"

You nodded. "How could I say no to that?"

You let out a yelp as the world shifted, and you found yourself lying on your back on the couch while he hovered over you. His body rippled as he sat back on his heels and pulled his shirt over his head, and he flashed you a movie star smile as he watched you drink in the sight of his firm torso. "Like what you see Darlin'?"

"You know I do." You reached up to run your hand up his body, and he took your seeking hand off his pec to press it to his lips again. He settled between your legs, smiling as you pushed yourself up so you could pull off your shirt.

He took a breath to just look, his eyes heavy with lust as a bludge grew in the jeans. He watched with a clenched jaw as you took off your bra and chewed the side of his cheek out of habit as he reached down to remove your jeans. "God, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes on."

You pulled your top half up using his belt loops, and he met you halfway, the kiss messy and forceful this time as you rushed to free him of his pants. He groaned as the pressure let off his cock, and his eyes fluttered closed as you ran a single finger from base to tip. "Are you planning on making beg Darlin'?"

He would if you wanted him too, he would cut his own heart out and hand it to you bleeding if you asked, but you shook your head. "No, I don't want you to beg."

His face crinkled with a smile, and he yanked your panties down your legs before running a hand from your knee to your inner thigh. "Can I?"

"I would like that very much." He groaned as his fingers made contact with your flesh, his eyes set on your face as he shifted downwards to be closer to you. He was slow and careful, seemly more focused on the pleasure slowly building in your face than actually progressing the rising heat in your core. "Are you going to make me beg my love?"

There was a hint of villainy in his smile, but he shook his head. "No, even though I fucking love the sound of you begging." His fingers became more insistent as he buried his face in your neck to nuzzle your flesh, growing like an animal as you bared your jugular to him. He let out an appreciative grunt at your moan when he slid two of his dextrous fingers inside you, and his eyes were back on your face, taking in each twitch and shift as this thumb found your clit, and his fingertips pressed your G-spot.

He was close enough that you could feel the ghost of his breath on your face, but any attempt to kiss him was met with a quick peck before he returned to focusing on your expression. There was something about the way he was looking at you that made you feel like you were going to catch fire, and before you could utter another word, your back was aching off the couch as the rush of pleasure took you by surprise.

You threw your legs over his waist and sunk your teeth into his lower lips, and he chuckled. "I hear you loud and clear gorgeous." The side home was slow and pressed as much of himself to you as he could as his hips began to rock.

His voice was all gravel and lust when he finally spoke. "We're getting a fucking mirror for our bedroom tomorrow and you're going to sit on the bed naked while I hang it so I can fuck you the second I'm done."

He cut off your reply with a kiss, sealing his lips to yours, and he slicked up his cock with your wetness before shifting before your legs and notching himself at your entrance. "You want me Sweetheart?"

His forehead fell on yours as your eyes met, and he smiled softly. "I love you so much y/n."

You moved your hand from his back to his cheek, and he nuzzled into your palm. "I love you too Phillip." The kiss was softer than his quickening hips, and he didn't seem to care that you were still sensitive as he worked you towards the second orgasm of the night. His hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit and he took full advantage of your gasps, swallowing them down like a starving man as he slammed into you.

You dug your nails into his back, but the spark of pain only served to spur him on, and you knew he'd be wearing the red crescents tomorrow at training with pride, in fact, it seemed that he'd take any excuse to show off the marks when you left them on his flesh. He proved your point when he all but roared as you sunk your teeth into his shoulder as you came.

His hips stuttered, and he reciprocated your bite, his teeth your skin as he pulsed inside you. "Fuck I love you."

You giggled and pressed your cheek to his. "You said that already."

He smiled, it was all boyish and sweet. "And I'll say it again. I love you."

You rubbed his nose with yours and pecked him. "I love you too."

You sighed as he slowly moved off you, and the air suddenly felt chilly without his heat. He extended his hand and gestured up the stairs. "I believe I promised you a bath and takeout?"

You nodded. "You did. I want French."

You took his hand, and he pulled you to your feet and into his arms. "Whatever you want."

Fin

@chaos-4baby @candy616

[morningberriesao3]

Dirty Words

Steve Harrington X Eddie Munson

Summary: Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.

Word Count: 10.2K

Chapters: 1 of 1

Content Warning: Explicit m/m sexual content including dirty talk, masturbation, hand jobs, spit and cum as lube, allusions to anal sex, scent kink, spit kink, multiple orgasms, and oral sex. Excessive swearing. Recreational drug use and drinking. This post includes explicit sexual content, foul language, and sensitive themes. It is intended for those 18 and older ONLY. I am not responsible for the media you consume.

Disclaimer: All characters in my fics engaging in sexual acts are—and always will be—18 or older, even if not explicitly stated.

DIRTY WORDS

Eddie is feeling all floaty and shit. The weed Argyle gave him really is better than the skunkweed he’s been peddling in alleyways since he was sixteen years old. Not that he’ll ever admit to it. Definitely a fact he’ll take to his grave.

But for now, Eddie has the weekend off from his new, lousy day job that Steve and (mostly) Robin managed to bag him at Family Video. To be honest, it had been a last resort. But turns out, business is shit after he fucking finally graduated high school. And now—cherry on top!—he’ll have to figure out how to file taxes and shit. Welcome to the corporate world.

With a sigh, Eddie takes another drag from the perfectly rolled joint that he made himself. Argyle can’t top him on that, at least.

Eddie giggles to himself. Top him. Shit, Argyle could top him if he really wanted to, considering how fucking pent up—

The phone rings, making Eddie jump a good six inches from the sunken couch cushion he’s lounging on. He scrambles to a sitting position, and then lifts himself onto his legs that only slightly wobble like a newborn giraffe underneath him. He runs to the yellowing, plastic phone that’s hung up on his uncle’s trailer’s wall, hoping that maybe it’s the guy Eddie’s been fooling around with on the other end of the line. Maybe he could try the whole phone sex thing. Again. And not fuck it up this time.

“Hello?”

“Eddie?” Steve asks, voice all staticky through the speakers. “Why does it sound like you just ran a marathon, dude?”

Eddie realises he’s panting. He’s not sure if it’s from the short dash to the telephone, or if it’s because his blood was rushing to his cock for a minute there instead of his lungs.

Either way, he should probably consider going for a jog once in a while or something. It’s kind of sad that he’s winded.

“Shut up, man,” he says. “Maybe I was running a marathon. You’d never know.”

“I do know. It’ll be a cold day in Hell when you decide to exercise willingly. The sun will be rising in the West. The sky will be green and the grass will be blue when Eddie Munson runs a marathon.”

“You forgot when pigs fly.” Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He nearly drops the phone that’s wedged between his ear and his shoulder. “Did you call to talk about my general lack of fitness, or is there another reason you called, Harrington?”

“I’m bored,” Steve whines. The phone line crackles. Eddie can only assume Steve is, like, laying in bed or something.

Laying in bed, in those navy blue sheets. Shirtless. Maybe fresh out of the shower. A little wet still, his hair sticking up around his head—

No. Nope.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will away the next image (a towel slipping away from Steve’s hips), because three months ago he made a rule for himself. No more fantasising about Steve goddamn Harrington.

It had been becoming nearly impossible to look the other man in the eye after some of the things Eddie imagined doing with him.

Steve continues on, completely unaware of Eddie’s wandering mind. “Robin is working tonight and tomorrow so she can’t hang.”

“Glad to know I’m your second choice,” Eddie teases.

“No! No, I would have called you either way.”

“Sure you would have.”

Eddie smiles to himself. He’s not actually miffed. He and Steve have become way closer than he would have ever imagined possible. It started when Robin would ask him to hang out, and then she’d invite him along with her and Steve, and then somehow he and Steve just started hanging out alone. And it wasn’t even all that awkward.

Turns out Eddie is cooler than Steve thought, and Steve is more of a loser than Eddie thought.

“Eddie,” Steve groans. And Eddie tries not to be perverted about how good it sounds. “Come on, dude. Let’s hang out.”

“Can’t, man,” Eddie says. “I’m busy.”

“What? No you’re not. It’s nine at night and you’re at home. I also know Wayne works a double, so he won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“It’s weird that you know my uncle’s schedule.”

“No it’s not; he works the same shifts every week. Point is, I know you’re alone. Unless you have other friends that I don’t know about?”

“I do have other friends!” (Not really. Just a guy Eddie’s made out with a couple times in the city, and the members of Corroded Coffin who’re away for the summer.)

“Oh.” Steve goes quiet for a moment, and Eddie feels like he won. But then, “Well, are they over right now?”

“No, but—”

“Then you’re not busy! I can bring movies. I have Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and Wildcats—”

“What makes you think I want to watch a sports movie?”

“And Labyrinth.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. Shit, he loves David Bowie, and he hasn’t been able to get his hands on a copy yet. But he also knows Steve won’t just return the movie before Eddie has the chance to see it, because Steve isn’t mean like that. Not like Eddie is.

“I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Getting high and being alone!” And jerking off for the next hour and a half to see how many times he can make himself come before it becomes unbearable.

Eddie doesn’t add that last point, for obvious reasons.

“I like getting high. Please, Eddie? I’m so bored. And my house is empty and quiet, and you know how I get nightmares when—”

“Okay! Okay, oh my god, fine. You’re so whiny.” Eddie had no idea Steve was such a beggar. He kind of likes it. “But you have to bring beer as payment. Afterhours fee.”

“Yes,” Steve says, sounding like he’s doing something dorky like punching the air. “Beer it is. See you soon.”

“Hey, Harrington, can you give me, like—” half an hour, Eddie wants to say. But the line goes dead.

He wonders if he can manage to pump one out before Steve gets to the trailer. And the thing is, his dick is harder than he’d like to admit after hearing Steve’s voice. So he’s going to try.

Eddie runs to his room, pulls down his flannel pants so the elastic sits taut under his balls. He doesn’t bother laying in his bed; he just sits on the edge of it, facing his mirror, watching as he fists his own cock and gives it a few tugs. It’s not a narcissism thing, Eddie just likes the visual. Likes to imagine it’s someone else’s hand, or someone else’s cock. Likes to see the tip of it, shiny and red, as his foreskin pulls down his shaft to expose it.

He wonders if Steve is cut or not.

Fuck—no. No, no, no.

Eddie shouldn’t be thinking about Steve, he should be thinking about the guy from the bar. About how hard his dick had been, pressing into Eddie’s hip as they made out against the wall in the alleyway.

Yeah. Yeah, okay, that’s doing something…

Eddie watches as his hand pumps over his cock, watches as it starts to strain, the veins popping from the skin as he builds himself up. He squeezes hard around the crown. It only gives a little under the pressure, considering how hard he is, but it makes his dick offer up a pearl of precum that he gathers and spreads around the slit. When he lifts his thumb away, a sticky string connects his hand between his legs.

He likes the way that looks. He likes when things start to get messy. He wonders if he’ll ever get to see the guy from the bar’s cock like this, if he also likes to play with cum and spit.

If Steve ever plays with cum and spit when he’s on his own, like Eddie does. He wonders how Steve touches himself, what he likes, what he doesn’t like, what sounds he makes, what face he makes…

Oh fuck, oh fuck. Yeah, that’s fucking good.

Okay. Okay it’s fine, Eddie will just think about Steve one more time, and then he’ll for sure stop doing it. Just this one more time…

A jolt travels from Eddie’s cock into the tight muscles of his stomach as he imagines Steve’s face all twisted up in pleasure. Those strong thighs bracketing Eddie’s head as he sucks back little dribbles of salty white that leak out of Steve. His nose brushing against a mound of dark hair that Eddie just knows would grow thick around the base of Steve’s cock; little curls that smell like honey and almond soap, because Steve uses the expensive shit.

Jesus Christ. What he wouldn’t give to go down on Steve, just once. Just one time.

Eddie’s mouth waters as his hand flies harder, faster. He’s so fucking close. Just a quick, dirty orgasm before Steve comes over. Steve. Fuck, yes, Steve—

There’s a loud knock on Eddie’s front door.

No! Shitshitshit. He just needs two more minutes. Maybe not even that, just one—

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is muffled beyond the walls of the trailer. Eddie almost considers letting him wait outside while he finishes up, but he can hear Steve’s footsteps getting closer to his bedroom window.

A rock hits the glass and shocks Eddie enough that it sets him back. Now it would definitely take the full two minutes.

“Shit! Goddamn fucking Harrington—” Eddie stands from the mattress and releases his cock from the death grip he had on it. It bobs between his legs, so fucking stiff that there’s no way it’s going away on its own anytime soon. “One sec!”

Eddie has no choice but to tuck his cock into the waistband of his pants. The tip pokes up under his navel, like it’s staring angrily at him for not finishing the job he started. It’s throbbing, and leaking, and getting the fabric it’s tucked into all damp.

“Same,” he mumbles to his dick as he grabs a longer t-shirt and pulls it over his head.

Another rock smacks against his window.

“Coming!” Well, he was about to anyway.

He doesn’t jog to greet Steve, because he doesn’t want to risk his dick slipping from its hiding spot. That is a conversation Eddie wants to avoid.

When he opens the front door, Steve has another rock in his hand, aimed towards Eddie’s window.

“You better not throw that, Harrington.”

Steve’s head whips around. His eyes are full of mischief, a small smile on his lips. His hair is freshly washed and styled, just like Eddie suspected. And his outfit is positively sinful (if you’re horny like Eddie is). Grey sweatpants and a plain white tee, which Eddie thinks is the guy version of lingerie.

Totally unfair, especially when Eddie would just like if his dick would go soft again.

“Why did you take so long, dude? Your trailer park is scary in the dark.”

Eddie gawks at Steve. “You’ve literally fought monsters and a dark wizard in an alternate dimension, and you think my trailer park is scary?”

“Yeah.” Steve points over his shoulder to a mobile home down the lane. “There was an old dude watching me from his window.”

“Mr. Jackson?” Eddie tilts his head, sees the curtains ruffling as his neighbour draws them back. “He’s… mostly harmless. I think.”

“You think?” Steve flings up Eddie’s steps and quickly locks the door behind him.

“Totally. I mean, besides the shotgun he keeps next to his couch. But that’s reserved exclusively for handsome young men that come around the trailer park after nine PM.” Eddie checks his watch, gasps in mock fear, widens his eyes, and peers out of the window behind Steve’s head.  “That means you’re not safe! I think—I think I hear him loading the gun!”

Steve grabs Eddie’s arm, just for a second, as he cranes his head to look out the window. When Eddie’s sarcasm finally sinks in, he lets go and punches him (a little too hard) where his hand had been. “You’re such a dick.”

“I think that was kind of a compliment,” Eddie says, rubbing at the place where he would surely bruise. “I did say you were handsome.”

Steve flops down on Eddie’s couch and tosses a bag full of VHS tapes and a six pack onto the ground by his feet. He leans back, like he’s making a point, flourishing his hand over the length of his body with the most disgustingly sexy lazy smile on his face. “Yeah, well, that’s common knowledge.”

Jesus.

Eddie looks down to make sure his cock is still out of sight. He can feel it pulse between his legs as he hears Steve’s voice, sees how he stretches on the sofa. But thank God, he’s still tucked away and Steve should be none the wiser.

He takes his place next to Steve—makes sure his shirt drapes loose enough around him that it hides how hard he is.

He wonders if blue balls are a real thing. Will Eddie have severe health defects if he doesn’t come? Will his boner go away on its own?

Questions that he’ll find out sooner or later, he supposes.

“Little full of yourself, are you, Harrington?”

Steve sighs. “Not at all. It’s actually hard work being this gorgeous. You would know.”

Eddie feels his cocky expression fall from his face.

Did Steve just call him gorgeous? Or did Eddie totally misinterpret his words? He blushes and figures it’s better to be safe than be sorry. “Sure,” is all he replies with.

“So,” Steve says casually, “where’s this weed I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Eddie smiles, big and sweet, and points towards his bedroom where he left the joint to fizzle out in an ashtray before he molested himself. “Be a dear and go grab it from my nightstand?”

The truth is, Eddie’s pretty sure the tip of his dick slipped from under the elastic of his pants when he sat down. Miraculously, he thinks it’s starting to deflate by the teensiest fraction, but it would still basically slap Harrington in the face if he tried to stand.

Which—good thing or bad thing? Eddie isn’t sure. That would all have to do with Steve’s reaction. But he’s not willing to find out.

Steve rolls his eyes but gets up like a good little boy to fetch the ashtray. He brings it and the lighter to the coffee table where Eddie had been smoking before.

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie is back in his floaty state with a beer between his legs instead of a hard on. Turns out, stiffies don’t actually last forever if you don’t let yourself come. It’s just very, very frustrating.

“You up for another beer?” Steve asks slowly, reaching into the bag to grab two bottles. His eyes are glazed and blown, and Eddie thinks he looks totally fucked up already. It’s hilarious.

“Yeah, I’m down.”

Steve hands Eddie a new PBR, and his eyes do this little flare thing that makes him look adorable. “Woah.”

“Woah what?” Eddie asks, popping the cap and replacing his empty bottle with the new one.

“Being up for something and being down for something mean the same thing, even though they’re the opposites. I just realised that.”

Eddie smiles against the lip of the bottle, feeling the glass clink against his teeth. “Shit, man, you’re so high.”

“Am not.” Steve honest to God giggles as he makes eye contact with Eddie. “Okay. Maybe a little.”              

“I’m glad you came over, Harrington,” says Eddie after a beat. “Better than another night alone.”

Steve opens his mouth, like he’s about to say something, but he’s cut off by the sound of the telephone ringing.

Both men turn their heads to stare at the wall phone, but Eddie doesn’t make a move to stand up to actually answer.

Because, for some reason, his mind is suddenly going a million miles a minute.

He knows it’s not his uncle calling in the middle of work, and he knows it’s obviously not Steve. The chances that it’s Robin are slim to none because her shift doesn’t end for another half hour. Gareth and Jeff are away with their respective families.

So the most logical answer to who’s calling after dark, would be the guy from the bar.

And the thing is, Eddie doesn’t want to raise questions. Isn’t sure if he’s capable of thinking of a good enough excuse as to who it was or why he’s calling. Yeah, he could probably have at least answered and told Bar-Guy to call back tomorrow, that he has company, but his brain isn’t thinking fast enough. So he just kind of… stares at the phone as it rings.

“I’ll get it,” Steve says after a few seconds, and suddenly he’s standing from the couch and reaching for the telephone—

“No!” Eddie pounces, because that’s even worse than if Eddie just answers the damn phone himself. He flounders towards Steve, grabbing the outstretched hand, stopping it from curling around the phone. “Stop! Stop—just let it ring!”

Steve gawks at him, but holds his hands in surrender in front of his chest.

The phone rings one more time, and then the kitchenette goes quiet.

Eddie heaves a sigh of relief, even though he probably just made more questions arise than he avoided by not picking up.

“What—what was that about?”

“Nothing,” Eddie huffs, dragging his feet back to the couch.

Steve follows closely behind. Just as Eddie flops onto the cushions, Steve is on top of him, tickling the shit out of Eddie’s arms, his sides, his stomach.

Eddie was not expecting anything like this—Steve’s hands all over him, his leg slung over Eddie’s to hold him down, the smell of Steve’s breath hitting his face. It’s not a bad smell, like freshly brushed teeth and beer and weed, and it’s warm, because their faces are so close together.

All Eddie can to is half-shriek-half-laugh, even as his mind muddles with confusion (and lust. Obviously).

“Tell me!” Steve commands, digging his fingers into Eddie’s neck, down his back, dangerously close to his thighs…

The boner that he just got rid of starts to fill out once more.

“Stop, dude!” Any sense of authority is lost under Eddie’s laughter that he can’t control. “No! Stop!”

“Come on, Munson. Spill the beans.”

Eddie tries flipping onto his stomach, but Steve follows him, blanketing over his back. The panes of his chest press behind Eddie, hard and warm, crowding him against the pillows. And there’s also friction.

Friction that could easily become a problem if Steve keeps goddamn moving against Eddie, making his hips rub against the couch—

“Okay! Uncle. Uncle!”

Eddie keeps panting face-down as Steve lifts himself away from his back.

“So?” Steve asks with a smile in his voice, triumphant from his win. An unhonourable win, as far as Eddie is concerned. Tickle torture is a serious offense. “What’s up your ass?”

Eddie snorts as he sits up, casually grabbing one of the throw cushions to hold against his lap.

Nothing, he wants to say. That’s the problem.

Instead, he just kind of adverts his gaze and goes for the truth.

“I’ve—kind of—been talking to…” this guy.

It’s not like Eddie has been hiding his sexuality from Steve, per se, but other dudes are way less accepting than girls about it. His first official ‘coming out’ had been to Robin (an obvious choice after she told him she’s a lesbian), and then to Nancy.

Apparently, Steve had been really cool when Robin told him she likes girls. But this is a different situation. Steve might be afraid that Eddie will, like, come on to him or something. Which… fair enough. Eddie probably would.

So, instead of finishing with the whole truth, he dampens it down a bit, and says, “Someone.”

“Oh. Shit.” Steve’s eyes do this thing where they drop to the floor, and then shoot sideways to Eddie, his eyebrows crumpled like a cartoon above his nose. He grabs the blunt, takes a deep drag. “That’s good though, right?”

Eddie shrugs. “Sure.”

“Sweet. So what’s the issue?”

All of it. Everything.

Because said guy lives all the way in Indianapolis—two hours away—and the only chance they have to communicate is through phone. Which, by proxy, means that the only times they can actually meet up is after a phone conversation.

Not to mention the fact that they aren’t, like, official—that they just made out a few times. Once outside of the bar, and a couple times in the back of Eddie’s van, which left him achingly hard when they parted ways.

This circles back to point number one about the phone conversations. They’re awkward. They don’t know each other well, don’t know what to talk about. Things don’t just flow naturally. Not like they do with—oh, say—Steve.

Maybe the worst part is that Eddie is a twenty-one-year-old man with raging hormones that—as much as he wishes otherwise—he cannot control. His self-discipline is basically nil. Nada. Zero. He’s fucking horny all the time.

So how is he supposed to deal with long-distance plus rare phone calls?!

Bingo. Yep. Phone sex. It’s the obvious answer, is it not?

So Eddie, like, tried.

And he thought it started well!

What are you wearing? Is that not fucking obvious where Eddie was headed? Is that not the exact line that they use in movies and shit? That’s what he said—What are you wearing?—and then he shoved his hand down his pants and waited for Bar-Guy to get into it, start saying something filthy into the speaker that would get Eddie going.

Maybe like… ‘Nothing at all,’ or, ‘tight boxers that show off my cock,’ or—fuck—'a towel slung low on my hips’. Something like that!

But all Eddie got was, “Uh—sweatshirt. Jeans. Why are you breathing hard?”

And then Eddie had said, “Just thinking about you,” with his low and gravelly voice, to help keep the conversation moving (again, he thinks this is pretty obvious and, like, at least a bit sexy).

Here’s the real kicker. The dude then said, “Are you… touching yourself?”

And it was not a sexy question. He sounded completely weirded out! Horrified! Disgusted!

So Eddie pulled his hand out of his pants and basically yelled, “No!”

Deny deny deny. Eddie is good at that shit.

The conversation had gone on to other things. Dinner plans, or something. Eddie didn’t really care. All he could think about was that this guy probably didn’t want to fuck him. They’d had the opportunity before, and it never progressed. And the thought of Eddie even fisting his own cock all but repulsed him.

Such a damn shame. Because Eddie is so desperate, so pent up, so sick of fucking his own hand, that he’s literally about to drill a hole in one of Uncle Wayne’s oranges and go to town until there’s nothing left but pulp.

Eddie doesn’t tell Steve any of this. He just groans really loud and buries his face in his hands, and says, “I don’t know!”

“C’mon, man. Something’s up. Out with it.” Steve waves his hand in encouragement, vaguely gesturing to the empty trailer and himself. “Safe space.”

Eddie peeks through his fingers at Steve, and he just looks so… genuinely curious. Like he actually wants to help, or at least hear, Eddie’s problems.

“Okay, fine.” Eddie snatches the joint from between Steve’s fingers and sucks it back like it’s water, keeping his gaze from Steve’s (beautiful) hazel eyes. “It’s just that I… I kind of made it awkward. Last time we talked on the phone. I tried to initiate… uh”—he clears his throat—“phone sex.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, his forehead crinkling with surprise. His lips are shiny and pink. But that second part doesn’t have anything to do with Steve’s expression—Eddie just happened to notice them.

“Fuck,” Steve says, leaning forward to set his bottle on the table in front of them. “Yeah. I’ve been there before, man. What happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“I don’t know. What did you say? I assume it didn’t go well considering how you’re all… tense and shit.”

“Tense and shit.” Eddie laughs once, then mumbles, “You have no idea.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Steve encourages.

“It’s not! I started with the classic, what are you wearing?” Eddie drops an octave, making fun of his attempt to sound hot. “And then I got an actual play by play of what they were wearing.”

Steve sits back and thinks about it for a minute—his legs splayed, and his arms crossed over his chest. “I think the issue with that is… it’s obvious, but it’s not sexy.”

“How is it not sexy, dude?” Eddie asks, exasperated. “It’s literally a steppingstone into, like, a form of sex!”

“Yeah, sure, but it doesn’t get you hot. You know?”

“No, Steve, I don’t know. Because I’m always hot. Someone could bend to tie their shoes and I’d fucking cream my pants.”

Steve hiccups a startled laugh. “Fuck. Me too. It’s been forever.”

“I don’t think it’s natural for a guy to go this long, man.” Eddie swigs back the rest of his beer and cracks a third. Lights up a new joint, too. And honestly, regardless of his tolerance, he’s pretty fucked up.

“Do you know how many chicks I’ve gone out with? None of my dates have even led to hands stuff. It at least sounds like you’re close to sealing he deal.” Steve lolls his head towards Eddie with a cheeky little smile on his lips. “I mean, if you didn’t suck at talking dirty.”

“I do not suck!” Eddie cries, grabbing the throw cushion from his lap to smack it against Steve’s smug face.

Steve catches the pillow and rips it playfully away from Eddie’s grip. “Then show me.”

Eddie stares at Steve for way too long. He narrows his eyes after a few seconds. “You’re kidding me.”

“Not kidding. I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re doing wrong.” Steve leans forward, plucks the joint right out of Eddie’s slack lips. “Just pretend I’m on the other end of the line.”

“No way, dude.”

Steve curls his hand up to look like a telephone, pretends to dial in a number. Brings it up to his ear. “Riiiinngg. Riiiinngg. C’mon, Eds, you’re getting a sexy phone call. Pick up. Riiinngg.”

Eddie feels his face flush red. He’s not sure if it’s from where this conversation is headed, or out of sheer embarrassment for Steve’s sake. “Holy fuck. You’re such a loser, Harrington.”

“I’ll just pretend you already answered and said hello. Hey, Eds. It’s… wait, what’s this guy’s name?”

Eddie opens his mouth. Then closes it again, because Steve just said guy. Not girl. Guy. Is this a slip of the tongue? Or did Buckley out Eddie to Steve? Or Nancy?

No, neither of them would do that. Maybe Steve just figured it out from context clues.

But still, to be sure, Eddie just says, “What?”

“What’s his name?” Steve askes again.

So—shit—it definitely wasn’t a slip of the tongue. But Steve isn’t freaking out. Hasn’t freaked out in the past. And he’s looking at Eddie expectantly, but not judgy or anything.

Eddie clears his throat. “Nick.”

“Nick! Strong name. Not as strong as Steve, but not everyone can be a Steve—”

“Come on, man!” Eddie groans. Again. Hides his face. Again.

“Okay, Okay!” Steve clears his throat. “Hey, Eds, it’s Nick. What’re you up to?”

Eddie sucks in a breath and lets it forcefully out of pursed lips. “Uhh—hey, Nick… I’m…”—his eyes flick sideways to catch Steve staring at him with a half-smile on his face—“no. Nope! I can’t do this.”

Eddie goes to stand from his perch on the couch, but Steve’s arm shoots out to grab him. “Alright. Let’s just do it, you and me. No phone roleplaying required. Just start with saying a compliment you’d tell Nick or something.”

“Alright… Okay… Uh, you’re—I mean Nick—is really funny?” Eddie says. Nick isn’t all that funny but, fuck, it’s all Eddie can think of. Steve is funny, though, so it’s easy enough to say.

“Yeah, good. That’s good. What else?”

“And you’re really hot. Really fucking hot.”

“Good.” Steve shifts around on the couch, maybe trying to get more comfortable. “And then Nick would say something like, You’re really hot, too.”

Eddie stifles a giggle. “I really don’t think he would.”

“Well, just pretend he does. And then it’s your turn to keep the conversation heading in the direction you want it to.”

“By saying what, Harrington?”

“Try saying how I—Nick—makes you feel.”

“Okay. You make me feel… like I’m vibrating. Like I’m pressurized, or something.”

“Yeah?” Steve breathes, his voice dropping an octave. Probably just getting more into character. “What does that make you do, when you feel like that?”

“It makes me… makes me hard.” Eddie feels his hips pitching forward. His cock twitches under his flannel pants.

A dangerous game they’re playing. Maybe Steve doesn’t know just how serious Eddie was when he said he’s pent up.

“Fuck,” Steve says lowly.

“Too much?”

“No! Nah, it’s good. It’s hot. I mean, sometimes it’ll take longer to build into that kind of stuff, but keep going.”

Eddie nods nervously. “Okay. Uh, what do I say now?”

Steve sits up a bit to adjust the band of his sweats. “Sorry. So, you said it makes you hard. And then I’d say… me too. That it makes me hard just talking about it. Just thinking about it.”

Eddie’s dick is starting to properly fill out again. It makes sense since he never got to come after taking himself right to the edge before Steve came over.

He takes a steadying breath to try to will it away. “Shit. Okay.”

“Do you like that?” Steve asks. “Do you like thinking about how hard my cock gets when I think about you?”

“Fuck, Steve.” Eddie pulls at the hem of his shirt, desperately trying to stretch it beyond his crotch where he is most definitely about to tent his pants. Maybe if he wore boxers it would have been easier to conceal. “I don’t think we should do this.”

“It’s okay. It just means we’re doing good, right?” Steve slides his hips forward, making his sweats tighten against the bulge between his own legs.

Eddie lets his eyes linger there for longer than he should. There’s no way that Steve is getting turned on by all of this, but shit, he is. The proof is in the pudding—if the pudding is his dick that is suspiciously growing under the heather grey fabric.

He can’t help but blurt out, “I want to suck your cock.”

Because it’s true. Eddie’s mouth is watering just from the thought of it. But as soon as the words push past his lips, he realises that it’s not exactly fitting in the theme of phone sex. So he quickly adds, “If we were together right now. Instead of—uh—just on the phone.”

“Fuck, yeah. You’d suck my cock so good.” Steve licks his lips, and Eddie swears his eyes trail over his body, landing between his legs and then back up to his mouth. “I’d fuck your throat so deeply you’d gag and drool all over yourself.”

Eddie can’t help himself from groaning at that image. And as if his body is proving to Steve just how right he is, a trickle of saliva escapes the corner of his lips before he’s able to swallow it back.

He lifts his hand to wipe the back of it against his mouth. “Jesus, Steve.”

Steve shifts closer to Eddie. His voice is low and soft and seductive, and Eddie is having a very hard time remembering that this is a game as he says, “And then I’d ask if you’re touching yourself.”

The words echo those of Nick’s. But when Steve says them, he doesn’t sound horrified at the thought. He sounds like he wants Eddie to be fucking his hand while they talk. Like the thought turns him on almost as much as it does Eddie.

“I would be, by now,” Eddie confesses, wiping his sweaty palms against his knees. He desperately wants to trail them higher, wants to rub between his legs where he’s throbbing and hot. His pants feel like a sauna. They’re humid and sticky, and he knows it’s partly because he’s radiating heat, but also because his cock is already starting to dribble.

“I would be, too,” Steve says. “I mean, Nick would be, too. If I was Nick. And I’d—I’d ask how you were touching yourself. What it felt like.”

Eddie glances between Steve’s legs again. And—holy shit—Steve is hard. As hard as Eddie.

His cock is fucking massive, as far as Eddie can tell. Thick, and long, sitting sideways inside his pants against his hip. Eddie knows it would stand proud by Steve’s belly button if it wasn’t trapped.

And he’s also pretty sure Steve is circumcised by the obvious ridge he can see under the fabric.

Maybe it’s dumb, or false hope, or just how ridiculously horny he is (again), but Eddie is feeling encouraged. Because he’s not the only one who’s getting hot. He’s not the only one who’s participating, or the only one who’s bricked up.

So… why not get into it a bit more?

“I’d say that I have my hand wrapped around my cock. That it feels heavy in my hand. And wet. That I’m leaking all over myself.” Eddie’s hips pitch forward on their own accord, the sensitive tip of his dick deliciously grazing against the flannel of his pants. “And I’d tell you that it feels good. Really fucking good. But it would feel better if it was your hand instead.”

Steve is the first one to break.

Eddie can tell it’s an automatic reaction when he reaches for his cock and squeezes where it’s straining under his sweats. Awareness shimmers in Steve’s eyes, and he quickly pulls his hand away again. “Shit. Sorry.”

“It’s all good,” Eddie says fast as a whip, repeating Steve’s words from earlier. “Just means we’re doing good, right?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s laugh is small and breathy. “Really good.”

Eddie swallows his nerves, decides to see if he can keep whatever this is going. “What would you say after that?”

It seems it’s Steve’s turn to be flustered. Eddie can see red creeping up his neck, like his chest is flushed. It reaches his cheeks and makes him look all bright and pink. “I’d tell you what I’d be doing.”

“Which would be?”

“I’d be reaching under my pants, and I’d circle my fingers around my dick. Gently at first, because—because I’m sensitive down there. And I want to make it last.” Eddie watches as Steve’s hands lift back to his lap. And then pinch the hem of his shirt. A strip of his sun-kissed stomach flashes as his fingers tease against the drawstring of his pants. “Like this.”

Steve’s hand disappears as it pushes down into his sweats. It moves along the length of his cock. He adjusts so it’s no longer sitting sideways; it’s now straight up, as big as Eddie assumed, dangerously close from peeking past the waistband.

Eddie would not be upset if it did.

The best part is when Steve’s hand starts moving under the fabric. Long, soft strokes that Eddie can tell are featherlight, mostly just fingertips teasing against his skin. Just enough to make Steve bite down on his lip and his breath hitch in his throat.

“Steve—fuck.” Eddie’s mouth goes dry as he watches Steve touch himself. And he has a few fleeting thoughts.

First is the classic, Am I dreaming? Because surely Steve Harrington is not jerking himself off in Eddie’s living room on a Friday night while they say filthy things to each other under the guise of another dude.

Impossible.

The second comes after Eddie subtly pinches himself and doesn’t wake up. Which is, Is this a joke? Because now that he knows he’s (probably) not asleep, there must be some other horrible explanation for what’s happening. He racks his brain, plays back the events that led him here.

Eddie doesn’t think he could misinterpret everything. But he’s probably done dumber things in his life.

Plausible.

And the third—which is the thought that’s taking up the majority of his consciousness—is, Am I allowed to touch myself, too?

He doesn’t let himself consider this one too long. Because there’s no way in Hell that Eddie would be able to stop himself. Not if a gun was pointed to his head.

So he shoves his hand down the front of his pants and squeezes his cock way more aggressively than Steve.

It’s both not enough and instant satisfaction. Like when you start scratching an itch and it seems to get itchier as your nails dig into your skin, but at the same time it’s doing exactly what you need to soothe the discomfort.

Eddie’s lips part as he grabs his balls and gives them a taut squeeze. His dick basically weeps against his skin. So much precum is pushing from his slit that it’ll be a miracle if there’s any left when he actually comes. Fuck, he hopes this time he can actually come.

His heart is beating so goddamn fast in his chest that there’s a good chance if he stops for a second time this evening, it will give out. He really, really will die.

“Does it feel good?” Steve practically purrs the question.

Eddie nods fervently, but he’s not able to form words. He doesn’t know where to look; Steve’s blown eyes that seem more black than hazel, his hand that’s speeding up under his sweats, the damp patch that’s forming where his cock must be leaking nearly as much as Eddie’s if it has already soaked through the fabric, or the growing expanse of abs on show—flexing in tandem with Steve’s strokes—as his free hand continues to lift the hem of his shirt.

Fuck, Eddie wants to come. Right now. He wants to come right fucking now.

He squeezes the base of his cock, bordering on the verge of pain, to stop his orgasm in its tracks. “So good, Stevie.”

Steve’s head falls back against the couch cushion, his eyes flicking between Eddie’s legs, his mouth, back down again… back up. He’s pumping himself with more intent now, his wrist twisting with each upwards stroke. “I wish it was your lips on me. I just know how good they’d feel. You have perfect dick-sucking lips.”

Eddie attempts stroking his cock again. It zaps into the coil in the pit of his stomach, but if he goes slow he’s sure he can go at least thirty second before he’s on the edge again.

“You have no idea, Steve,” he says, his tongue wetting his lips like he just might fall to his knees and start sucking Steve off for real. “I’d keep them nice and soft like you said you like. The inside of my mouth would be so wet—fuck, I’m salivating just thinking about it. And then I’d seal them around your big cock and hallow my cheeks when you least expect it, and you’d fucking thrust into my throat in surprise—”

Eddie moans, dropping his grip on himself yet again. That time it was really close; he can feel his dick pulsing under his pants. If he were alone, he’d push them down and watch as his cock twitched against his abdomen, angry at the loss of his fingers at the last possible moment.

Across from him, Steve speeds up; his hand moving in quick, short bursts against his tip. He makes his own noise, his eyes rolling back into his skull and then closing altogether.

It takes everything inside Eddie not to grab himself and come inside his pants right then and there. Shit, Steve looks so fucking good. Eddie desperately wants to see more. The colour of Steve’s dick, the way it strains, if it’s curved or straight, if it’s shiny. He wants to see it leak, wants to see Steve’s fingers catch the pearls of precum that are soaking through his pants and rub them into his skin. Wants to see it web between his fingertips—sticky and white. Wants to suck it off of them.

Shit. Fuck. It’s a miracle Eddie isn’t coming untouched. He’s still right there, on the verge of his orgasm. One single, insignificant, breath of a touch would one hundred percent set him off.

Steve’s eyes open. He drops his own dick, wipes his palm against his t-shirt. And he scootches closer to Eddie.

Just the brush of Steve’s thigh against Eddie’s makes him tremble, makes Eddie feel like he’s going to lose any semblance of control that remains.

They’re pressed right against each other. The length of Steve’s leg is warm and strong against Eddie’s, bigger than his. Thicker. Just like the rest of him.

Steve spits in his hand. Eddie watches as it pools in his cupped palm, watches as Steve brings that hand back down to the front of his pants. He stretches the waistband away from his body, and for a split second, Eddie catches a glimpse of his cock. Just the crown, broad and pink like Steve’s lips, right before the elastic snaps back and covers him again.

Don’t come. Don’t come. Don’t you dare fucking come, Eddie Munson.

“And then,” Steve says, adding fuel to the fire, “I’m gonna bend you over the arm of this couch. You’ll look so hot, with your back arched and your ass on full display.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Fuck it. Eddie sticks his hand back down his pants, but barely touches himself. Just draws a line up the fat vein on the underside of his cock. He can feel his heartbeat under the pad of his finger.

“I’ll push into you so slowly. You’ll feel so full with my dick in your tight little asshole. And you’ll make those sexy little noises the whole time.”

Eddie makes one of them right as Steve says that—a low, quiet rumble from the back of his throat.

“Yeah, just like that. And then… then I’ll start fucking you. It’ll feel so good, Eddie.” Steve fucks his fist harder, his hips lifting from the couch like he’s chasing his own touch. His hand sounds wet on his cock, slapping and squelching each time it smacks against the base. “I’m gonna fuck you so good that you start crying. That you start screaming. Your scary neighbours will know how good I’m fucking you from the noises they hear coming out of your trailer.”

Eddie wonders if he lets himself come if it’ll be the end of whatever is happening. He knows for a stone-cold fact that he’ll be able to stay hard after the first time. But Steve doesn’t know that. Not yet. Maybe he should tell him.

But for now, Eddie tries to regain some control, some semblance of his quippy, cocky personality, just so he doesn’t come off entirely as a whimpering fool (if it’s not already too late). He tries to smirk. “Bold of you to assume I’m a bottom, Harrington.”

“A bottom?” Steve asks, and Eddie realises that maybe it’s a term that he’s never heard before. Because he’s straight… (question mark?). Again, Steve uses context clues. Smart guy. He presses impossibly closer into Eddie’s side, and asks, “Are you telling me you don’t want to feel my cock inside of you? Don’t want my cum dripping from your asshole for hours after we fuck?”

Eddie’s whole body vibrates. That’s it. The end. He fists his cock and pumps it hard, pulling his foreskin forward enough to cover the head, back to expose it, all underneath the checkered fabric of his pants. “I’m gonna come, Steve. I’m coming.”

His teeth bite painfully into his lower lip as he lets himself tumble from the ledge. Cum surges from his cock hard enough that he knows it would have painted his entire chest if it wasn’t contained inside of his pants. Each wave of his climax makes him whine aloud. It sounds crude, mixed with the slick slap of his hand against his skin.

“Shit,” Steve mumbles, staring as Eddie’s working fist, eyes blown wide like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

And maybe it shouldn’t, but Eddie’s left hand reaches out with a mind of its own, gripping high on Steve’s thigh. Squeezing it hard enough to leave a bruise, while his right is covered with hot, slick cum.

“Don’t stop,” Eddie babbles, riding out his orgasm for everything it’s worth. “Keep going. Keep talking. Don’t stop. I’m not finished yet, I wanna come again. Please. Please.”

“Oh, fuck, Eddie.” Steve brings his own hand down atop where Eddie’s is still sunk into the flesh of his upper leg. For a moment, he thinks Steve is going to pry his fingers away, but instead he laces them with his own.

It’s such a simple thing, holding hands, but it feels intimate. Intentional. Like this isn’t just some game.

Eddie shouldn’t be thinking that. But he is. He is. And it’s the moment he consciously knows he’ll be ruined for anyone else. End game for Eddie Munson. Steve held his hand while they jerked off. He’s in love.

Steve yanks him from his internal monologue. “You can come twice in a row?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his hand still squeezing between his legs. Each stroke sends a bolt of lightening through his entire body, but his dick barely softens in his hand before it stiffens back up to steel once more. “Usually more than that. Four times if I want, but—but not as much cum comes out as the first.”

“Oh my God,” Steve breathes. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Can I… Can I see?”

His eyes flicker down to Eddie’s crotch.

“Sure.” Eddie pretends he’s confident as he tugs down his pants, lifting his hips enough to push the fabric under them.

His cock springs free from where it was trapped.

He doesn’t want to be self-conscious of his body, but he can’t help but wonder what Steve sees. If he’s at all disappointed that Eddie’s dick isn’t as big as his. It he thinks it’s weird that he’s uncut or that his dick curves upwards. If he let his pubes grow too long.

But Steve’s eyes go heavy with desire, taking in every inch of Eddie. The way his entire dick is shiny and sticky with his own cum, how it gets stuck in the hair that grows below it. His fingers squeeze around Eddie’s, involuntarily or in encouragement, he doesn’t know. But it makes him feel better.

Eddie is about to ask if Steve would show him more, too.

Steve beats him to it. “Do you want me to—?”

“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”

Steve brings the hem of his shirt to his chin, catching it between his teeth. His whole chest is on display, his olive abs flexing as he pulls down the front of his sweats, tucking the elastic waist under his balls. His hand circles his cock, so thick his fingers barely meet.

And now they’re both just… bare. Basically naked as they jerk off next to each other, hands still intertwined like they’re some sort of couple. Things go quiet for a few moments as they just watch each other. How their hands work against themselves, speeding up, slowing, twitching.

Eddie’s cum gets sticky on his hand, against his cock. When he pulls his fingers away from his body it feels a bit like glue, tacking his hand up so much that it’s hard to slide it over his length.

“Spit on it,” Steve whispers, like he knows exactly what Eddie is thinking.

Eddie nods, bringing his hand up to his mouth—

“Wait.” Steve unlaces his fingers from Eddie’s, grabs his wrist. “Can I?”

“Shit.” Eddie huffs a breath through his nose. “Sure, Harrington.”

Steve lets a long string of saliva fall from his pretty, pink lips. It wets Eddie’s palm, mixing with the cum that covers it, making it slippery instead of sticky. Instead of letting go, though, Steve brings Eddie’s hand down to his own lap.

“Wanna switch?”

And—holy fucking fuck. Eddie trembles with ill-contained delight. He doesn’t even reply, just wraps his fingers around Steve’s cock before he can even think about what’s happening. What it means. That it’s changing the dynamic—they’re getting involved with each other instead of just themselves.

It doesn’t even matter. Not right now.

Steve’s head falls back against the cushions. “Oh God, that’s amazing.”

Eddie slides his fingers up Steve’s shaft—so heavy and hot in his hand—just as Steve described he liked. Soft and gentle. He twists his wrist in the same way Steve touched himself, watches as his lips part and his brows crinkle together, marvels at the vision of Steve’s cockhead surging from his grip, so flushed against the paleness of his hand and the silver of his rings.

He squeezes a bit harder and watches Steve’s hips rut towards him.

“You look so good,” he tells Steve, voice getting lost behind the moans that Steve keeps loosing from his lungs.

“Eddie?” Steve pants, thighs twitching as Eddie dares to circle his thumb around Steve’s slit, gathering more wetness to join the rest.

“Hmm?”

“Were you serious earlier?” Steve asks, barely a whisper. “About wanting to suck me off?”

Eddie’s hand stills on Steve, his eyes shining wide with shock and want. “Yeah? I mean—yeah. Very serious.”

“…Would you?”

Steve doesn’t have to say anything else. Eddie is already sliding onto the floor, already grabbing Steve’s knees and spreading them apart so he can slot himself between them. As soon as he’s bracketed by those strong thighs, they clamp down against his waist. A powerhouse of muscle, locking him to where he kneels.

Eddie is slightly intimidated by Steve’s cock. Will he have to unhinge his jaw like some sort of python to fit it in his mouth?

He leans down and kitten licks the tip, testing how it might feel on his tongue. Steve’s body jolts from that alone, makes a little whimpering noise that makes Eddie’s dick dribble onto the carpet.

“That’s it,” Steve encourages as Eddie’s lips close around the crown of his cock. “That’s perfect. Fuck, I can’t believe this is happening. It’s all I think about.”

Eddie moans, opens his jaw wider, and then sinks forward. Steve’s cock glides against Eddie’s tongue. It tastes like hot, sweaty skin. And cum—whether it’s Eddie’s from his hand, or Steve’s pre, it’s salty and heady and makes Eddie’s mouth even more wet as he salivates.

“Fuuuuck.” Steve’s fingers bury themselves in Eddie’s curls, tugging him closer.

It’s different than his fantasies. Steve doesn’t smell like honey and almond soap, and Eddie’s nose most definitely cannot reach Steve’s pubes, even as the tip of his dick brushes against the back of his throat. But the dark curls at the base are exactly as Eddie pictured. Perfectly trimmed and up-kept, as nicely as the hair on Steve’s head.

Eddie can’t help but pull off Steve to trail his tongue all the way down his shaft. He noses along Steve’s inner thigh, shamelessly burying his face in that thick thatch of chestnut hair. And then he deeply inhales the musky scent of Steve.

Steve groans, shallowly thrusting against Eddie’s cheek, the tip of his cock grazing Eddie’s ear, getting lost in his mane of hair.

A rope of drool connects Steve to Eddie, his tongue lolling from his mouth to rub against the side of Steve’s balls as he drinks in his smell. He dips his chin lower, until Steve’s dick is standing straight up, resting against his forehead.

The noise Steve makes is fucking sinful—completely wanton—as Eddie shoves his nose into Steve’s balls and breathes him in, committing everything to memory. His scent, his taste, his sounds, his face—everything.

Eddie isn’t sure if this will happen ever again. Isn’t sure if it’ll even be acknowledged. So he’s going to enjoy every goddamn minute while he’s so up close and personal with Steve’s cock.

“Ah—Jesus Christ. You are a freak, Munson.” Normally, those words might hurt. But Steve says them with such lust that it can’t possible be construed as anything but a compliment. Eddie wraps his hand back around Steve’s cock and starts pumping him with purpose, sucking his balls into his mouth and rolling them around his tongue. The wet, slurping sounds are totally lewd in the quiet air of the trailer. “Shit. Ohhh—shit. I’m close. I’m about to come.”

Eddie hums in encouragement, keeps his lips sealed around Steve’s balls. His hand flies above his face until he can feel how tight Steve’s balls get, can feel his cock pulsing in his hand.

He pops off, rests Steve’s cockhead onto his tongue, and jerks him off fast and dirty.

“Eddie—Eddie!” Steve’s thighs tense around Eddie’s middle. Cum surges from his slit into the back of Eddie’s throat in thick rivers, coating his tongue and teeth in sticky white release that he happily swallows down.

Fuck, Steve tastes good. Feels good. Sounds even better as he comes with Eddie’s name falling from his lips. Eddie closes his eyes and revels in the moment, lets himself savour the twitch of Steve’s dick as it empties into his mouth, the intrusion as he thrusts into Eddie’s throat, and the threat of himself gagging against it. He keeps swirling his tongue, even as Steve’s cum stops spurting. Even as his noises become high, and his body starts seizing with each flick against his sensitive tip.

Eddie desperately wants to make the moment last forever, doesn’t want to acknowledge that Steve is basically crying from overstimulation above him.

Finally, the fingers in Eddie’s hair tug him away. He whines at the sudden emptiness, wants to lean back in and feel Steve’s cock soften completely inside of his mouth.

Steve’s eyes are still blown and lustful, and strangely soft, as he says, “That was so fucking good.”

He smiles and gives Steve’s knees a squeeze as he leans back, his own shaking under his weight as he hauls himself back up onto the couch. He feels a little weird now that Steve came, because Eddie is still hard. Still wanting. But he also came once himself. Not from Steve’s hands but from his words, and it was enough. Maybe he should just tuck himself away and let this thing end naturally—

Before he can make a decision, Steve is reaching towards Eddie’s lap. “Is this okay?” he asks as he wraps his fingers around Eddie’s cock.

Eddie lets his gaze fall between his legs. His dick gets swallowed up by Steve’s big hands. He likes the way it looks so red as it peeks out from his fist.

“Is that a real question?” Eddie’s hands flounder in the air before they land on the couch cushions and bury themselves there, his nails digging into the upholstery as Steve starts fucking him with his hand.

“I knew you’d be good,” Steve says lowly. “Knew your hands and your lips would feel incredible. I can’t believe how hard you made me come. I wanna make you come like that.”

Eddie’s jaw swings open and his eyebrows knit together, and he thinks to himself that it’s not going to take long at all for Steve to get what he wants.

Steve leans forward, and for a second Eddie thinks he’s going to put his mouth on him, but he just lets a string of spit fall onto the tip of Eddie’s cock and gathers it with his hand, spreading it along his skin that moves in tandem with his strokes. It’s almost as good.

“Oh, Jesus—Steve.” Eddie sucks in a breath as Steve’s fingers tighten, forcing a bead of precum from his slit. “I’m gonna come again. Keep doing that. Keep—keep doing that!”

Steve nods, watching as he works Eddie back to the edge. Watching as he expertly rubs his thumb against the spot that makes Eddie see stars.

His second orgasm is stronger than his first. Eddie’s vision blurs out of focus—probably because his eyes are crossing—and the noise he makes sounds like an animal getting fucking murdered. The muscles in his torso tighten and tense and shudder as Steve enthusiastically jerks his dick, cum gathering in his fist, eyes watching with rapt attention.

Eddie’s body goes limp as Steve slowly lets go of him. When he’s able to focus his eyes, he notices that Steve is looking at his hand in fascination, watching Eddie’s cum stretch between his fingers as he scissors them.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever done that,” he says, bringing his wet hand up to his face. Steve smells his fingers, and then decides to bring them to his spit-slicked lips. One of his fingers pop into his mouth, and he hums around it, as if he’s actually enjoying the taste of Eddie’s release.

Yep. Eddie could definitely, without a doubt, go a third round.

But before his dick does something stupid like get stiff again, he tucks himself away. “And? What did you think?”

Steve pulls his finger from his mouth, grabbing an old napkin from the coffee table to wipe the rest of Eddie’s spend from them. “I think I was wrong.”

Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest, waiting for Steve to start berating him or something for making him do something gay. Even though he’s pretty sure he wasn’t the one who initiated it.

But Steve just smiles and cocks his head to one side. “You definitely aren’t bad at dirty talk.”

A sigh of relief heaves from Eddie’s chest. He smacks Steve’s shoulder, but he smiles right along. “You’re a prick.”

As he stands to grab a towel from the bathroom, Steve calls behind him, “You seemed to like my prick.”

Eddie blushes ferociously. He catches his expression in the mirror and tries to wipe it away, but it’s impossible. He’s just bound to look like a totally fucked-out dipshit for the rest of his life, he guesses. As soon as the water runs warm, Eddie washes his hands and wets two towels. He cleans off his dick and his sticky thighs, and brings the second one to the gorgeous man who’s back to lounging on his living room couch.

“Did you?” Steve asks, taking the towel to better clean his fingers. When he shoves it down the front of his pants, Eddie adverts his eyes.

“Did I what?”

“Enjoy it?”

“Jesus,” Eddie laughs. “Yes, Steve, I enjoyed it. Fuck.”

“Good.”

Eddie sits next to Steve and tries not to let himself feel awkward. “Yeah. Good.”

“Want to watch Labyrinth now?” Steve casually digs into the bag he brought, grabs the VHS and wiggles it in front of Eddie’s face.

“Absolutely,” says Eddie.

They pop in the tape, and the TV screen glows blue before it starts playing through the ads. Steve sits next to Eddie, their thighs pressed up against each other, just like they had been before.

Steve reaches over and laces his fingers with Eddie’s. They stay like that for the whole movie.

_____

It’s been three days since Steve left. Since Eddie has even heard from him. Keith makes sure they don’t have many shifts together at Family Video (because they never got any work done), so it’s not uncommon that they go this long. But Eddie’s anxiety makes it feel like it’s the end of the fucking world.

God forbid he reach out to Steve himself.

But by the end of the third night, he gets a phone call.

“Hello?” he answers.

“Hey, man.” Steve is on the other line, sounding chipper and unphased.

Maybe Eddie was overthinking it.

“Oh, hey!” he says, a little bit too enthusiastically. He dials it back a bit, clears his throat. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Just got off work. I have the afternoon off.”

“Sweet.” Eddie nervously twirls the chords between his fingers. Time to be brave. “Do you—maybe—want to hang out then?”

“Yeah. That’s why I called, actually. I stole Psycho III from Family Video. Want me to bring it over?”

Eddie’s shoulders sag in relief. Things aren’t changing. Steve won’t estrange himself after what happened, because he’s a good person. Eddie doesn’t even know why he was worried in the first place.

“Sounds perfect.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool.”

A few ticks go by, and then Steve quietly asks, “Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m just wondering…”

Eddie waits, the suspense nearly killing him. “Wondering what, Steve?”

“…What are you wearing?”

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

[cuubism]

PLEAAE write dreamling pregnancy crackfic you MUST and PLEASE include Sad Crying I Forgor cat dream

Behold, lovely anons, some nonsense.

---

“Um, Dream,” says Hob, staring at the tiny plastic stick sitting on his bathroom countertop, “what is that.”

Dream comes to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder. “It is a pregnancy test.”

“Yeah, why?” Hob picks it up, squinting down at it. “And why is it negative?”

He realizes a second later that the first question out of his mouth should, in fact, have been why the fuck do you have a pregnancy test? Unless it’s not Dream’s and someone just broke into his flat and left it there, which might actually be less weird.

“Presumably because I am not human,” says Dream.

Hob puts the test down. Turns around, takes Dream by the shoulders, and steers him out of the bathroom. Once they’re back in the living room, he means to say a number of things, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “What.”

“The test does not work because I am not human,” Dream repeats. He’s definitely being deliberately obtuse now, if he wasn’t before.

A million questions swirl in Hob’s mind, and a rising swell of panic. He mentally shakes himself. Forces himself to get it together. He’s not a seventeen-year-old kid who got a girl pregnant. He can handle his shit.

He holds Dream still by the arms. Tilts his head until Dream meets his eyes. “Dream, do you have something that you want to tell me? In words, maybe?”

Unless he doesn’t know. But he’s like, a concept, how could he not know?

Wait, is this why Hob was having random dreams about babies last week? He is going to kill this man.

Well, he’s going to give him a hug first. Then he’s going to kill him.

Dream looks into his eyes. Oh God, he’s serious now. So this wasn’t all just for kicks, not that Dream really does things for kicks, anyway. “Hob, I am—”

Hob hauls him into an embrace before he can finish the sentence. Perhaps he should let Dream say it. But he can’t not hug him.

Dream relaxes into his hold. Hob hadn’t realized how tense he was until he did. Oh, poor thing. Just because they’re not young people floundering about on the precipice of adulthood doesn’t mean it’s not stressful. Especially that in between moment, when he knows, and Hob doesn’t.

“I have known for a few weeks now,” Dream says, face pressed to Hob’s shoulder. “Are you upset?”

“No, of course not.” Upset? He’s having their child and Hob’s upset? He supposes they didn’t exactly plan it, but, when has he ever planned anything when it comes to Dream?

He pulls back at last, kisses Dream’s temple, and steers him over to sit down on the couch. He sits beside him, their knees touching. Takes Dream’s hand and squeezes it. “If you already knew, then why did you bother to use the test?”

“I was curious if it would work,” says Dream.

Somehow, Hob doesn’t think that’s the whole truth. “Please tell me you weren’t just going to leave it somewhere and let me guess?”

“I would have crafted some more dreams as well,” Dream says. Blasted idiot. Why is Hob in love with him? Oh yeah, because he’s even more of an idiot.

“Wasn’t picking up on it,” Hob says. “I didn’t think this was possible, to be honest. We’ve just been recklessly having unprotected sex for how long? And you never thought to mention this was a possibility?”

“I forgot,” Dream says morosely, the most pitiable frown on his face. “It is not as straightforward as it is for humans. But yes, it is possible. Evidently. I suppose I have been caught up in the… joy of our moments together. I have not had a lover in a long time.”

“Oh, love.” Hob holds him close, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “It’s alright. It’s my fault, really. I should have asked. Wrap it before you tap it, Hob.”

Dream wrinkles his nose at the phrasing. Hob kisses him on the tip of his nose.

“Maybe I was thinking about it a little bit,” Hob admits. The thought has definitely… crossed his mind, before. And it’s easy to get drawn in, when Dream is in his bed, when he looks so gorgeous, when Hob makes love to him and fills him and—

Oh, this is his fault. This is absolutely his fault. He’d thought it was a safe fantasy to indulge in, impossible in reality. Meanwhile he was fucking one of the few beings made of both fantasy and reality at once. Hob’s really the king idiot.

“A little bit?” echoes Dream, raising an eyebrow.

Hob cringes. “A lot a bit?”

Unexpectedly, Dream smiles. “You are happy, then.”

Hob goes still, staring at him. “Did I not say?”

“You expressed that you were not upset,” says Dream. “Which is not the same thing as being happy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” Hob holds him closer, kisses his cheek, his brow, the corner of his lips. “I love you so much. I’m so happy.”

“Truly?”

Hob kisses him on the lips this time, long and deep. Takes Dream’s face in his hands and caresses his cheeks. “Truly. Obviously.”

Dream hums, sounding pleased.

“Are you happy?” Hob asks. Though he suspects Dream would have been rather obvious in his displeasure if he wasn’t, he usually is.

“I believe so,” says Dream carefully. “I… would like to be. Only, I have failed before, when I had a child.” Hob pulls far enough away to look at him. Dream’s expression has twisted now. “I do not wish to repeat that.”

“You won’t.” Dream looks unconvinced, so Hob repeats it. “You won’t. You’ve learned from that. So have I.” Hob certainly made many of his own mistakes with Robyn. But he still wants to try again.

“There are many terrible endings to this story,” Dream says. Of course, Hob’s just looking at the beginning of the thing, and Dream’s looking at the whole arc, especially the end.

“And good ones,” Hob says. “I promise. I’ll do everything I can to make it good.”

“I do believe that,” says Dream, finally offering him a small smile. “You have been able to make many things good for me when I thought it impossible.”

That might just be the greatest success of Hob’s life. To make Dream see that things can be good.

“It will be good,” he vows. “You’ll see, darling.” And Dream smiles again.

Hob lays his hand over Dream’s lower belly. He doesn’t know if this pregnancy even has a physical component at all—Dream himself barely has a physical component sometimes—but it’s instinct to hold him there.

Hob can already feel himself wanting to coddle him. He’s going to have to stop himself from doing that, he highly doubts Dream will appreciate it. He has to remind himself that what happened with Eleanor won’t happen again this time, that modern medicine is so much better, and that Dream isn’t even human in the first place. For all he knows, the baby will just be born out of the clouds.

“Hob,” says Dream. “You are drifting.”

Hob shakes himself. “Sorry, love.”

“What were you thinking of?” Dream presses, brow pinching. “I felt the nature of the daydreams turn… darker.”

Hob grimaces. “It’s really nothing. Just me in my head, you know.”

Dream keeps looking at him expectantly.

Hob sighs. “It’s just, it didn’t go so well last time, with Eleanor, you know? And I know this is different, you’re different, so just be patient with me if start being a mother hen, yeah?”

“Hob…” Dream takes his hand, interlacing their fingers. “I’m sorry, I had not considered. Do you not want…?”

“No! I do want this. I just worry, is all.” He kisses Dream’s cheek. “It’s because I love you. Couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

“I must do what I can to make it good, then,” Dream says, and Hob smiles at the turnabout of his words. “You need not worry. There is no danger to me. And the baby is not human, besides.”

"It's not?" Hob supposes it's not that much of a surprise. "What is it, then?"

“I am not quite sure. I expect it will become evident soon.” He rests his hand over Hob’s, which is still on his stomach, and he looks fond now. “Perhaps once I can see its dreams.”

“You can see its dreams?”

Dream casts him an amused look. “I am made up of those dreams. And all others. Why should our baby be different?”

Our baby. It’s so affecting to hear him say it like that.

“Our baby,” Hob repeats, just for the sound of it.

“Yes,” says Dream. He sounds properly happy now, which is so lovely to hear. “Ours.”

“Well, now I’m glad we forgot to talk about magical birth control,” Hob says. “Irresponsible sex for the win! Now I get to meet our magical baby.”

“I have never known you to be a man particularly driven by responsible decision-making,” Dream says solemnly.

Hob gapes at him. “Hey!” It’s true, though. It’s all true. “I’ll be the most responsible parent you ever saw. I’ll only let them have the iPad for twenty-three hours a day instead of twenty-four.”

“I can create fantastic spectacles to which the likes of ‘Cocomelon’ cannot hope to compare,” Dream says indignantly, as if this was really an open question in Hob’s mind.

“You can be in charge of screen time, then,” Hob tells him, and Dream’s scowl shifts into a smile.

“When do I need to be ready for this?” Hob asks. “Is it like a nine months thing, or…?”

“Unclear,” says Dream. Fantastic. Typical. For all Hob knows, Dream will show up with a whole baby in his arms tomorrow. Either that or it’ll be a hundred years from now. “I suspect there will be an element of surprise.”

Of course. Dream’s sense of time passing is pretty bad at the best of times, why would the baby be any different?

“I’ll have to get to the shops, then, seeing as I don’t currently own an iPad,” Hob says.

Dream hands him one that definitely was not in existence a moment ago.

“Did you get that—”

“From a dream, yes.”

Hob stares at it in wonder for a moment, wondering if it even has normal apps, or strange ones only dreamt of, then sets it on the coffee table. “Well, Christmas shopping with you will be a cinch.”

Dream is quiet for a moment. “I would not wish to burden you with these things,” he finally says. “To upend your life when you are already well-occupied.”

“Nope, none of that.” Hob takes Dream’s hands and pulls them close. “First of all, I’m very old and can afford to buy a lot of iPads, so don’t worry about it. But more than that, I love you.” He taps Dream’s belly, though he still doesn’t know exactly how or where this not-human baby is meant to grow. “And you. So don’t think like that. I know I can’t expect a nine-to-five, normal daily schedule from you. I’ve never expected that from you.” As of now, Dream just visits whenever he can, often at odd hours. Hob doesn’t expect he’ll be able to change that much, even now. He is still Dream above all else.

Dream doesn’t deny it, either. He looks down at their joined hands. “Would that it were otherwise.”

Hob rubs his thumb back and forth over his knuckles. “It’s okay. I needed some new excitement in my life anyway. Besides—” he gestures to the dream-iPad—DreamPad? Dream will hate that name, so Hob will definitely have to use it—“even if we can’t always have you, we’ll have your stories, hm?”

Dream smiles, then, a fragile smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Course it is.” Hob kisses his cheek. “We’ll figure it out, love. Don’t worry.”

“That is one skill you certainly do possess,” says Dream—in contrast, Hob supposes, to his lack of rational decision-making. “‘Figuring it out.’”

“My PhD is in Winging It,” Hob agrees. “Speaking of, though, we are going to have to have an actual talk about how not to have another ‘surprise’.”

“Yes,” Dream agrees ruefully. He seems quite embarrassed about it, actually, and Hob can’t help but hug him again, squeezing him tight, kissing his cheek and temple. Despite the shock and confusion, Hob really is happy, powerfully so. A baby, his and Dream’s baby. He can’t even imagine the possibility of it.

Dream squirms under the attention, but hums, seeming pleased deep down.

“A little baby Dream,” Hob sighs. “They will be a terror.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “And you think your influence has no effect on that?”

“I was a delightful child,” Hob protests.

“Do not tempt me to draw proof to the contrary from your dream records,” Dream warns.

“You’ll be a terror,” Hob says. “‘No, Da, I definitely didn’t cheat on that exam,’ ‘Mm, that’s not what your dream at 2:34 am indicates.’”

“Precisely,” says Dream. He sounds quite proud of himself, really. Little nightmare.

Hob kisses him again, on the lips this time. Yes, they will definitely be absolute terrors, the both of them.

But it would be boring otherwise.

[hqbaby]

two — still winning

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.7k content. fwb, swearing

He doesn’t care. Why would he? He’s not your boyfriend or anything. You’re just two close friends who happen to fuck sometimes. You’re a grown woman. You’re allowed to go on dates with guys… who aren’t him.

“What is wrong with yer face,” Aran says. He reaches out to touch the corners of Suna’s lips. “Smile!”

The boy just scowls at him. “What are you doing?” he says, yanking his friend’s hands away from his face. “Don’t touch me.”

Aran bursts into laughter. “Yer so serious!”

“What’s goin’ on with ya?” Osamu prods, launching himself onto the couch between the other two boys. He pokes a finger to Suna’s cheek. “Ya break up with yer girlfriend or somethin’?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“If she’s not yer girlfriend, then why don’t ya tell us her name? Doesn’t matter if we know now, does it?”

Suna sinks deeper into the cushions and groans. “Will you guys just be quiet for once?”

“Such a grump.” Osamu sighs, slumping against the couch’s arm. “Anyway, what’re we doin’ over the break?”

“Kita and I are headin’ home before trainin’ starts,” Aran says. “I miss my bed.”

The gray-haired twin hums. “I’d go home too but I got that internship comin’ up.”

A pillow lands on his face.

“Quit braggin’ ‘bout yer internship.”

“I’m not!”

As the two of them bicker, Suna takes his phone out of his pocket. He pulls up your chat and reads your last message to him.

y/n the love of my life: nah i have a date

His eyes linger on your contact name. You set it up, obviously. The two of you (read: just you) were baking a cake in his kitchen (and failing miserably because his only contribution to the effort was distracting you with memes). You had asked him to send you a video he found of a bird freaking out when its owner “disappeared” behind a blanket because you wanted to show it to Oikawa and tell him that’s what he sounded like when Iwaizumi left him alone.

“Y/N L/N?” you gasped, reading the name he had you saved as. “Is that all I am to you?”

He burst out laughing when he saw how offended you looked. “Are you seriously upset?”

“Duh!” you said. “You’ve literally been inside me. And I’m just ‘Y/N L/N’ to you?”

“That’s your name isn’t it?”

You glared at him. “I’m not letting you have any of the cake.”

“Good. I’m pretty sure I’d get food poisoning anyway.”

“Rin!”

He laughed again, holding his phone out for you to take. “Fine,” he said. “Change it to whatever you want.”

A devilish smile appeared on your face as you took the phone away and started typing. He tried to see what you were doing, but you just pulled the screen closer to you so he couldn’t look. “It’s a surprise,” you told him. “Can’t ruin it.”

“You type really slow.”

“Your dick is microscopic.”

“Hey!”

With one last look at your handiwork, you gave him back the phone. “There,” you said. “Now, it’s accurate.”

He glanced at his screen and smirked. “Gee, you got a big ego.”

“Yeah. Bigger than your dick.”

“Stop talking about my dick!”

He tries rationalizing your “date” in his head. It’s not like you’ve mentioned liking anyone, he doubts it’s anything serious. He figures that you just decided to make plans because he was supposed to have plans. That’s probably all there is to it. You’ve done this before. It’s not any different from the other times. It’s not like he cares anyway, he has no reason to.

“Where’s Atsumu?” Aran asks, pushing Osamu’s feet away as the boy tries to stick them in his face. “Thought he’d be here after his test.”

“He came home earlier to get dressed, said he was goin’ out tonight,” Osamu says, trying to get his feet in Suna’s face this time. “Dunno where he thinks he’s goin’ without us.”

“Probably has a girl.”

“Doubt it.”

“Ya never know. Some girls like an airhead.” Aran pretends to swoon, forcing himself on top of Osamu. “‘Oh, ‘Tsumu! Yer so dreamy! Have my babies!’”

The twin’s hand lands in his face, pushing him away. “Gross,” he says. “Well, if Suna can get a girlfriend, I guess ‘Tsumu can too.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend then.”

Osamu is rewarded with a firm kick to the groin.

“I’m tellin’ ya! It tastes great!” Atsumu insists. “Ya just haven’t tried it yet.”

Your face is a mix of both disbelief and amusement. “Uh-uh,” you say slowly, laughter threatening to spill from your lips. “I guess I’ll have to find out the next time I crave cereal with orange juice.”

“I’m serious! Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it!”

You laugh. “But why would I want to try it?”

He shakes his head and makes a faux serious face. “It’s in the pulp,” he explains, gesturing wildly as he tries to convince you that no, this is not a crazy person thing he’s saying right now. “Ya mix it in with the fiber and it just makes the flavor pop, y’know?”

The two of you burst into laughter.

The date’s been going well so far. You’d be lying if you said Atsumu’s the perfect gentleman because he isn’t. He talks while he eats and bulldozes through his meal without an effort to look proper in any way. He didn’t bring you to any of the nicer places on campus where the guys usually take girls that they want to impress, but the restaurant has its own charm. It’s cozy and warm and Atsumu talks to the owner of the place like she’s his own grandmother. He’s clearly a regular. And the food’s great too.

He’s fun to be around, you think. He’s, well, a regular boy with the usual quirks, but there’s a sweetness to him. Like you know he means well. What you see is what you get, and you don’t mind what you see at all.

“You’re on the volleyball team, right?” you ask when the conversation lulls as the two of you eat.

“Yup,” he tells you eagerly. “I plan on going to the Olympics.”

“Wow. That’s big.”

“It is. But it’s also what I’ve always wanted to do.”

You nod in understanding. “I have friends on the team. Your schedules get crazy sometimes, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do, but we love it,” he says with a smile. “Who’re yer friends? I probably know ‘em.”

“Oikawa and Suna—I mean, I’m not really friends with Suna,” you correct yourself. “We’ve spoken a few times.”

“No kiddin’!” he exclaims. “They’re both great—just don’t tell ‘em I said that. Suna’s actually one of my best friends, went to highschool together and everythin’.”

Your eyes widen. “Seriously? What a coincidence.”

He chuckles. “Can’t believe we haven’t met before.”

You nod and smile, but you can believe it. You and Suna live in separate worlds most of the time. The only way you’re technically supposed to “know” each other is through Oikawa and you barely get involved with that part of your friend’s life anyway. It makes you wonder, though. What kind of person is Suna with his friends? Is he any different from the Suna that you know? Maybe you wouldn’t even recognize him.

The rest of the dinner goes on without a hitch and Atsumu drives you back to the dorms after.

“I had fun,” you tell him, digging into your purse for your key. “You shouldn’t have paid though. I’m the one who owes you.”

He waves it off. “Ya can always pay next time.”

The corners of your lips curl upward at the bold remark. “Next time?”

“Well, if that’s… y’know, somethin' ya wanna do,” he says sheepishly. “Would ya? Wanna do this again, I mean. Soon maybe.”

He looks at you like a little boy with hopeful eyes, an image that doesn't entirely match his rather large physique. It’s endearing. It’s sweet. And you decide that you might actually grow to like this boyish side of him a little.

“I have practice tomorrow,” you tell him. “And we have a team dinner after.”

His face falls slightly, trying to hide his disappointment. “Oh, sure. No, I get it.”

“How does coffee sound to you then?”

He lights up at that, face bursting with joy. “Sounds great,” he says. “Meet ya at the quad?”

You nod. “I’ll text you when I’m free.”

“Cool,” he says, still beaming. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow,” you say, reaching up to plant a kiss on his jaw. “Night, ‘Tsumu.”

“Night, Y/N.”

You unlock your door and step inside, waving at him one last time before closing the door behind you. You lean against the wall, a kaleidoscope of tiny butterflies already gathering in your stomach as you sink to the floor. It’s a new feeling. Interesting, but nice.

Buzz. Buzz.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your phone to find a text from Suna.

rin: how was the date?

you: pretty good actually

you: i’m seeing him again tmrw

rin: nice

Suna feels the urge to chuck his phone across the room. “Nice.” That was his great response. He groans, feeling like a bumbling fourteen-year-old again. He didn’t like being fourteen at all. -3/10, not an experience he’d ever recommend.

He looks down and reads your message again. You’re seeing the guy tomorrow. That’s soon. You just had your first date and you’re seeing him again. It must’ve been something special, Suna thinks, and it makes him feel sick.

His phone pings. Another text from you.

y/n the love of my life: can i come over?

He stares at your words for a while. For a moment, he’s convinced that his mind is playing tricks on him, that he’s just seeing what he wants to see. Then, he smirks, knowing that of course it’s real.

Somehow, he’s decided that, though the guy might be special, it means something that you’re going to end up in Suna’s bed anyway. He doesn’t know exactly what it means, but it means something. It means: Mystery Guy 0, Suna 1. He still comes first, he wins this time. And that’s all that matters.

It makes him feel better than it probably should, but he tries not to think about that. Not now at least.

notes. i'm gonna let u know rn that all the characters in this series are dumb college kids w big feelings and no idea what to do w any them. today is suna's day to be oblivious to his emotions but everyone's gonna get their turn eventually 😩 (also the spice starts next chapter hihihi)

[depressedhouseplant]

🔞 Just Fucking Write 2k24 - Day 26 🔞

Prompt: Felix x Fem!Reader

Tags: Oral sex (f receiving), squirting, established relationship

A/N: For all my thirsty Felix stans

It had been one of those days. Everything that could go wrong at work had and I was looking forward to lazing on the couch with a glass of wine and watching whatever stupid dating show Netflix pulled up.

“Hey babe!” Felix called when he heard me open the door to our shared apartment.

“Hey,” I grunted in return, kicking off my shoes and dropping my bag by the door. “I thought you had plans?”

“Jinnie forgot he had practice because he forgot it’s Friday,” he replied. “You look exhausted.”

“That would be because I am,” I sighed. I wasn’t going to tell him that I’d been slightly looking forward to being home alone for a few hours. Slightly.

“Come on,” he gave me a quick peck on the lips and led me to the bedroom.

“Babe, I’m really not in the mood…” I started.

“You need to change out of your work clothes, don’t you?” he asked.

“Well yeah,” I agreed.

“Let me help,” he said. He unbuttoned my top, slowly running his hands up my sides before pushing it off. He unhooked my bra and pulled it off, careful to avoid my chest. I felt my panties start to get wet. As much as I liked to think of myself as a modern woman who was fully capable of taking care of herself, having Felix help me was a turn on. A big one.

“On or off?” he asked.

“Huh?” I asked. I was too stuck in my own head to realize he’d gotten on his knees, taken off my skirt, and had his hands on my hips over the top seam of my panties. He was looking up at me expectantly.

“What happens if you take them off?” I asked.

“That’s up to you, but if you were open to it, I’d like to eat you out and from this angle it does appear you’re amenable to it,” he grinned.

“Only you would say ‘amenable’ before you stick your tongue in my pussy,” I grinned back at him and ruffled his hair.

“So is that a yes?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” I replied.

“Get comfortable then,” he gestured to the bed. An embarrassing amount of slick came out when he took my panties off. “I didn’t know just undressing you was enough to get you that wet.”

“Now you do,” I lied down and let my legs fall open.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he kissed his way up my inner thigh until he reached my pussy. He traced up one of my folds with his tongue.

“Fuck,” I groaned. I felt him smile against the already sensitive skin.

“As always, I expect you to let me know I’m doing a good job,” his lips moved against my thigh. I nodded right as he began sucking my clit. My hips bucked on their own. He carefully wrapped his hands around them and pinned me down.

“You’ve got to hold still,” he admonished, but we both knew I liked it when he forced me to hold still. I let out the most pathetic whines and whimpers as he licked and sucked. I’d given up on any kind of pride when his mouth was between my legs a long time ago. Then he plunged his tongue into my pussy and began to suck.

“Holy fuck Felix,” I gasped. If I didn’t know any better, I heard a giggle from between my legs. I felt my pussy begin to twitch and that unmistakable feeling like I was going to pee. He was trying to get me to squirt in his face. He was going to succeed, too.

“Come on, baby. I know you’ve got it in you,” he said, briefly pulling back and massaging my clit with his thumb. The bottom half of his face was shiny with slick. He was grinning at me like some kind of demon.

“You…” I began, not even sure what I was even trying to say.

“Should I let you come? I know you’re gonna make a mess on my face, but maybe I like to brag about it later,” he kept massaging my clit. I was teetering on the edge and he knew it. “I guess I’ll let you come.”

He stuck his tongue back in my pussy, sucked all of about 3 times, and I was coming. I’d panicked the first time I squirted thinking that I’d peed in my boyfriend’s face, but he’d assured me that it wasn’t enough to be actual pee. Also if he enjoyed it, who was I to argue? Now I just let the dizzying pleasure course through me and went limp when I finished. He reached for a towel I’d left by the bed this morning to clean his face before he kissed me.

“Strangely enough, you look less exhausted now,” he teased.

“Strangely enough, you relaxed me better than a glass of wine and Netflix,” I replied.

“Thank you for the ego boost,” he said before getting up and handing me my house clothes.

“Thank you for being my boyfriend,” I smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he laughed.

[ramblers-lets-get-ramblin]

It's Leading Me On, Every Time We Touch

Main Masterlist | Star Wars Masterlist | Poe Dameron Masterlist

Pairing: Poe Dameron x f!reader

Summary: Poe returns from a spice run and just has to see you.

Rating: E for EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Word Count: 1380

Warnings: Infidelity, Unprotected PIV, Creampie, Light Pining, Light Angst

Immersability: Reader is able bodied but otherwise undescribed.

Author's Notes: This is my first time writing for Poe. I was thinking about what Young Spice Runner Poe would be like and this flew out of me. In my mind, he has a little bit of a beard/scruff and he's also a little slutty.

Huge shoutout to @pedgito and @beskarandblasters for beta reading and encouraging the brain rot!

A loud thump, thump, thump infiltrates your dream. You roll over and pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, hoping that whatever the sound was, it won’t bother you anymore. Thump, thump, thump, even louder this time. Someone is knocking on your door. The digital readout on your clock is blurry and unfocused at first. Three knocks come again, in more rapid succession. Who could it be at this time?

You roll out of bed and pad towards the door, not bothering to put on anything more than the t-shirt you sleep in. His t-shirt. When you open the door, there he is. His arm is resting on the frame, above his head.

“Poe? It’s late. Is everything okay?” 

“I don’t have much time. Can I come in?”

You open the door all the way and step aside. Poe looks around quickly before he steps through the door. You never can be quite sure whose eyes are on you. The Thieves’ Quarter is littered with the kind of people who would do or say anything for a handful of credits. The second your apartment door closes, Poe pushes you up against it. His hands fight with his thick jacket and his mouth covers yours. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” 

“I know.” his lips crash against yours, even more urgently.

“If Zorii finds out, she’ll kill us both.” you pant into his ear as his lips make their way down your chin and across your jaw. His beard 

“Well let’s make sure she never finds out, baby.” 

He releases his hold on you and walks down the hallway, further into your apartment. You trail behind, still trying to shake off the grogginess of sleep. He finally gets his jacket unzipped and tosses it to the floor. He unzips his flight suit next and, one at a time, pulls his arms out. He lets the arms of his suit hang loose near his waist and the thick muscles of his neck and arms are exposed by the sleeveless shirt he wears under. He leans up against the back of your couch and holds his hand out to you. 

“Come here, baby. I told you, I don’t have long. She’ll be wondering where I am soon.” 

You slide your hand into his and he pulls you between his spread legs. He drops your hand and pulls you close, until your chest is pressed right up against his. You can feel it heaving as he resumes kissing you, mouth touching every inch of skin it can reach. His hands slide under your shirt, his shirt, and grabs your ass. You tangle your hands in his hair and he moans against your throat when you give it a gentle tug. You can feel the cotton of your panties growing damp and sticking to your skin. 

“Fuck, baby .” He groans when you nibble on his ear lobe. You soothe the bite with a lick and you can feel his cock twitch against your thigh. He moves his hands to your hips and stands up straight, pushing you back slightly. He drops his hands and walks around behind you. “I can’t wait one more second. I need to be inside you right now.” 

He grabs your wrists and places your hands on the back of the couch. “Hold on tight.” He instructs before reaching under your shirt. He grabs the elastic of your underwear and shoves them down your legs. When he stands he places his palm flat on the space between your shoulder blades and pushes you forward. Your shirt rides up and your ass sticks out, granting him full view of both your holes. He sticks his boot between your feet and kicks it, first to the left, then the right, spreading your legs open for him. 

He runs his fingers through your slick folds, reaching into his flight suit with the other hand and pulls his cock from his flight suit. He gives it a few strokes and steps closer, until it rests against your ass. He leans down and whispers in your ear. “Are you ready for me?” 

A whimper escapes your lips and all you can do is nod in return. Your body is trembling with anticipation, knowing that you won’t be able to have him again anytime soon. You want to savor the moment but you also can’t wait to feel him inside of you, to be full of him.

He brings his hand to his mouth and licks his fingers. He rubs the digits against your cunt and then the tip of him pressing inside you. With one swift thrust, he buries himself inside you. “Maker, you feel so good.” he murmurs as he sets a steady pace, hands gripping your hips tightly. 

The apartment is still and quiet except for the sound of Poe’s quiet grunts and your needy whimpers and the sound of his hips slapping against your ass. You both try to keep the noise down, the walls in this apartment are paper thin. You miss going on runs with him. To places where you don’t have to hide your affection, rooms where you can be as loud as you want. 

Your legs begin to shake as your orgasm draws closer. Poe’s thrusts slow in speed but he goes deeper with each snap of his hips. You're both right on the edge, just waiting to tumble over. 

“Come on, baby. I feel you right there. Give it to me.” 

You push back against him, in time with his thrusts. Your knuckles will be sore from holding onto the back of  the couch so tightly, but right at this moment you couldn’t care less. All you can think about is the steady drag of his cock along your walls, the quiet words of praise whispered into the dark room. You don’t want it to be over, not yet, but here it comes. Your cunt clenches around him as your orgasm overcomes you. You moan loudly, unable to hold back the sounds of your pleasure. Poe curses quietly under his breath and thrusts twice more, before his cock pulses inside of you painting your walls with his warm spend. 

He collapses against your back, his fingers trail up your side, tickling you. He wraps an arm around your middle when you begin to squirm and giggle. He presses a kiss to your spine and slowly pulls out of you. He takes a step back and grabs your ass cheeks, spreading them wide so that he can see the mess he made of you. 

“You look good like this, with me dripping out of you.” he rasps. With two fingers, he pushes his come back inside you, eliciting a sharp gasp. “Wish I could have you like this all the time.” he says more quietly. He kisses both of your ass cheeks before standing. He grabs your shoulders and hauls you upright, turning you around to face him. 

He grabs your jaw between his thumb and forefinger, angling your face until your eyes meet. There’s a sadness there that you know is reflected in yours. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off before he gets a word out. 

“I know. You gotta go.” 

“She’s waiting for me.” he says, kissing you softly on your forehead. “You know I’d stay if I could.” he tucks himself back into his flight suit and starts to redress himself. 

You bend down to pick up your panties, balling them in your fist. You don’t meet his eyes again, just walk in the direction of your bedroom. “Yeah. I know.” you reply without looking back. “Goodbye, Poe.” you walk into your room and close the door, standing with your back up against it. You can’t watch him walk out the door, not tonight. 

“Goodnight.” you hear, but it’s quiet and muffled through the door. 

You remain there until you hear the automatic lock click shut behind him. You shower quickly, trying to scrub all traces of him from your body. When you return to your bed, you are still dressed in his shirt. You hug your pillow tightly, drifting off to sleep with the scent of him all around you and the ghost of his lips, his touch on your body.  

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[darkwolf989]

Outside the office Part Two

Hi All! It seems my first post has garnered some interest- I am so excited! Here is part two- I hope y'all enjoy!

After that second night, I began to settle into their routine. Breakfast in the morning-  usually cooked by either Valentino or Vox. A morning workout using the gym in Velvette’s studio. Lunch was always chosen by Velvette- options were varied, but made and served by their housekeeping crew both in their work spaces and in our kitchen.  

I spent my afternoons either reading every book I could find, trying to answer my own questions about hell. When I wasn’t reading, I bounced between Velvette and Vox’s studios- performing any tasks they happened to have available. I wanted to learn about hell and its inner workings- what better way to do so than spending time in several of the most important offices?

More often than not, I went from lunch to floor number five. Velvette would spend hours talking about her designs and was happy to have a sounding board to bounce ideas off of. Most of the time she would stick me on the stage and try on different outfits. She claimed blonde hair and blue eyes were a money maker- and then quickly changed the subject when she saw how uncomfortable I was. 

Every night we had dinner out in public, followed by a night out at any one of Valentino’s clubs. It was more typical that all three of us went out, but occasional Velvette or Vox needed to bow out for a work event. I, however, was obligated to be out. It was safest, Vox told me, for me to be in close proximity to one of them at all times. So no, staying home was not an option. 

Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights were the exceptions to the routine. Valentino and Vox took turns cooking breakfast and dinner, though on occasion they agreed to order out. I offered to help only once and they both shooed me away. 

My first Wednesday in hell I found out that the movie night Vox mentioned was not, in fact, optional. 

I was settled in bed, propped up as I turned the page to start a new book when the blare of the surround sound stereo system shattered the silence of my bedroom. I jolted from my book, annoyance and frustration washing over me. What in all of hell's creation was going on? 

I ventured down the hall and found myself staring at a giant television screen that most certainly was not there when we had dinner two hours ago. 

“Hey! Come join us, it's movie night.” Vox waved me over. “Sit next to Val. Best seat in the house.”

“Glad you crawled out of your bedroom babe. Wine?” Valentino offered me a glass. 

Although it had unsettled me at first, I had come to realize over the past few days that nicknames from Valentino were simply par for the course. I accepted the cup and sat down next to him. On the couch across from me, Vox had Velvette nestled in his arms, half under a blanket. She looked more comfortable and relaxed than I had seen her since my arrival. 

“Blanket?” Valentino asked.

“Sure.”

He tugged one off the back of the couch and tossed it over us. I propped a pillow between the two of us and settled in as best I could as the screen turned a bright blue. 

“What exactly are we watching?” I asked. 

“A Night in the Woods with Angels.” Vox replied, giving Velvette a squeeze. “The scariest of all the horror movies.”

“Angels are not scary!’ I protested. 

Valentino reached across the pillows and gently swatted my arm, “Shush. It’s starting. Popcorn?” 

I took a handful from the bowl and watched as the scene unfolded. Horror was an understatement-the idea of depicting angels as evil creatures was laughable at best. That being said, more than once, I found myself jumping back until the pillow was on the floor and I was practically sitting on Valentino. 

“It’s just a movie princessa.” he said softly, his voice almost comforting. “It isn’t real.”

“I know it's not real.” I said defensively. “Angel’s don’t act like that.”

The screen roared and I jumped again. He gave me a sympathetic look and wrapped his arms around me. The sense of security that I felt my first two nights in hell washed over me. Against my better judgment, and without alcohol as an excuse, I settled against him and pulled the blanket over the two of us. The rest of the movie was spent pressed against him as I watched the teenage demons make poor decisions that eventually led to their demise. 

The lights around us grew brighter as soon as the movie ended. Vox stood up, Velvette passed out asleep in his arms. Wordlessly, he carried her off towards her room. 

I pushed the blankets off, grateful for there to be light. My heart still pounded in my chest from the final scene, and as soon as I stepped away from Valentino, the sense of unsettledness washed over me again. 

“That was fun princessa. We should do that again.” Valentino said lightly as he stood up and stretched. 

“Are there horror movies every week?” I asked, trying to shake myself back into reality. I pulled the blanket around my shoulders.

“No no, that was Velevtte’s choice. She wanted something to fall asleep to.” 

I stared at him. Fall asleep to? Did demons actually find this carnage…relaxing? 

 He burst out in laughter. “I’m joking, Princessa. She falls asleep during every movie.”  He turned away, amusement on his face. “Goodnight mi amor.”

“Goodnight Valentino.” I watched him make his way down the hallway, and heard his bedroom door close in the distance. 

Vox hadn’t remerged from Velvette’s room- at least not that I saw. I got up from the couch a few moments later and turned off the lights before heading to bed myself. Curled up in my bed with the nightstand lamp on, I wondered if angels were to demons what demons were to angels- evil, chaotic and merciless.