welikeimagines-andfandoms

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

✨Prompt requests are open!✨

Send me a prompt from my new prompt list and a character from my character list and I’ll write you a fic!

Please don’t give me any details as I prefer to get creative, just the prompt and the character x

Be aware that I have the right to deny a request if I feel it doesn’t match the character, although that’s never happened so probably won’t happen but just fyi

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

100 random dialogue prompts part 4

1. “Who did this to you?”

2. “When I gave you my spare keys, I didn’t want you to break in and steal my food”

3. "I can't stop thinking about you."

4. “Take my hand”

5. “I’m gonna wait for a nice slow song, then you can dance with me”

6. “Do not mistake my ignorance for stupidity”

7. "Look at me while you cum”

8. “I love you, you fucking idiot!”

9. “If I move I’ll cum”

10. "I can see you staring at my tits/thigh/ass"

11. “Oooohh, you were handsome. What happened?”

12. “I’ll always come back to you”

13. “Did you look up my skirt while I did that?” “No! I’m a gentleman”

14. “Do-dont leave me… pl-please, you can’t leave me”

15. “I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve this”

16. “Look at me”

17. “I think (character) has a crush.” “What am I, a thirteen year old girl?”

18. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s all over”

19. “No let him stay, let him watch”

20. “I’m not going to kiss you, not because I don’t have feelings for you, but because when I kiss you for the first time, you won’t be drunk at some party”

21. "I thought you might never wake up."

22. “You’re in love with the human girl aren’t you? How pathetic.”

23. “Was that almost a compliment?”

24. “Touch me and she’ll kill you”

25. “I won’t let you die, everything’s going to be okay”

26. “Look at me while he fucks you, sweetheart”

27. “You kissed me” “I did, and now I’m gonna do it again”

28. “Please stay. I don’t want to be alone.”

29. “I hate you” “I know”

30. “Fuck, maybe I’ll just let you get off like this. Humping my hand like a bitch in heat.”

31. “Fuck, you feel even better then I imagined” “You thought about having sex with me?” “Baby you have no fucking idea!”

32. “Y’think I’m pretty?”

33. “How are human men so stupid as to not be able to please you?”

34. “You think about me when you touch yourself?”

35. “This wasn’t just a one off thing, princess. Hell, if it was up to me, I’d never stop touching you”

36. “Are you mad at me?”

37. “I’m very happy” “I’m sure you are”

38. “Come on, baby. I bet I can make you feel better.”

39. “I wouldn’t be very charming if I didn’t come rescue my princess when she needed me.”

40. “There’s my sweet boy”

41. “I’ll let you cum when you learn to be a good boy”

42. “You’re an idiot. You’re a cute idiot though, so it’s okay”

43. "I need your fingers"

44. "Stop it. You're in pain. Let me help you."

45. “It’s way past your bedtime”

46. “I can’t lose you!” “Why?!” “Because I love you!”

47. “Tell me I’m a good girl”

48. “God, you’re beautiful”

49. “You never have to thank me for loving you”

50. "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention."

51. “I was so scared”

52. “I can fuck you harder, faster and for longer then any pathetic human man you’ve been with.”

53. “You get shy around her, and you don’t get shy around any girl”

54. "Pull my hair"

55. “She’s not normally like that, she’s just anxious” “so she’s a bitch when she’s anxious?” “Pretty much”

56. “Why do you feel as though you don’t deserve my kindness?”

57. “You are such a pathetic little fucking perv”

58. “Hey, I was gonna buy that record/tape/CD” “We could always listen to it together”

59. “Thank you, mommy”

60. “Fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful”

61. “You’re really pretty” “And you’re really drunk”

62. “I thought you were dead”

63. “Will you marry me?”

64. “You beg so pretty for me, baby”

65. “You just want her because you know you can’t have her”

66. “Because you can’t accept that maybe, just maybe, I like you?��

67. “See how easy things are if you just behave like a good boy?”

68. "You're the only one who gets to call me that, you know.”

69. “We shouldn’t be doing this” “Yeah, but the sneaking around makes you all horny”

70. “You can guard your heart as much as you want, I know you love me”

71. “Tell me you love me”

72. “Why did you come back?!”

73. “She likes you, you idiot! And you like her, but you’re both idiots!”

74. “Come on, let me take you out to dinner. I’d hate for you to waste such a nice outfit”

75. “I love you, you dick!”

76. “I don’t mean to boost your ego by saying this, but I don’t think you’ll fit”

77. “You okay, sweetie?”

78. “I haven’t had an easy life! But I don’t make that everyone else’s problem!”

79. “Sound so pretty, my love”

80. “Y/n calls us all pet names, but I think they save the most of them for you”

81. “If I ever see you near her again, I’ll kill you”

82. “Papas here, little one”

83. “I need you”

84. “Touch her and I’ll kill you”

85. “It’s okay, baby girl, I’ve got you”

86. “Aawww how sweet, protecting your little human”

87. “Why are you sneaking out?” “Party. Wanna come?”

88. “You don’t deserve someone as sweet as her”

89. “Of course pretty boy has a pretty cock”

90. “Thank you, daddy”

91. “Stop being so nice to me! Just stop it! Why?! Why do you do it?!”

92. “How’s your head?” “Well I haven’t had any complaints yet”

93. “We get out of this alive, I’ll do more then just kiss you”

94. “Fuck, you’re sexy”

95. “You broke the bed, you can make the new one”

96. “Keep being a condescending bitch, and I will slap you in the face”

97. “Look at me. I love you.”

98. “I told you I’d come back to you”

99. “Let us look after you, baby”

100. “Wow! You are blind!” “Yes I am! Now give me back my glasses!”

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

I want you all the time

synopsis: Clark Kent makes the best of when you're ovulating because you get so needy.

cw: smut (18+) unprotected p in v, creampie!, sex in public, oral (f! receiving) porn and no plot

He has to admit, he's an absolute slut for you. And knowing that once a month all you want is his cock in you? God, he can't miss the opportunity.

He fucks you constantly. Lazy morning sex, the slow drag of his cock in and out of your warm cunt while you lay on your side with him behind you. “God, baby, you feel so good. Waking up next to you is the best thing...” he groans into your ear. You make the prettiest sounds as you push your hips back against his, still a little hazy from sleep, but now also dizzy with pleasure.

Then, after breakfast, he always joins you in the shower. Knowing you need the release more than he does, he'll get on his knees and eat you out. He pulls orgasm after orgasm from you, holding you upright, one of your legs up on his shoulder to give him more access. “Clark, please—” you gasp in broken moans. “I need you in me. Please, please...” So he relents and he fucks you, but it's always quick because he's already all worked up from the taste of your pussy.

By then, you're both rushing to get to work, quick kisses goodbye as you each go your own way.

You might meet for lunch. Which means you'll end up in the bathroom of some restaurant, sat on the sink as he fucks you. He keeps a hand over your mouth, making sure you don't get too loud. “Been thinking about you all morning, baby,” he groans. “Got me hard at work, honey, just thinking about getting back to you, about being in you again.” No one does quickies like he does, being efficient and precise, a hot and sweaty affair that ends up with you on weak legs even once you're back at work.

And the nights. Those are the best. He takes his sweet time with you. He likes to lay you on the bed, all naked and exposed to his hungry gaze, and he opens you up like a present.

Thick fingers part your folds, allowing his thumb to rub from your clit, down to your entrance, and then back up. He'll do it until you're breathing heavy, toes curling, pussy dribbling onto the bed.

He slowly fucks his fingers into you, grunting when he feels how tight you clench around him. His cock twitches in his pants, ready to be in you, but he holds back because this is about you.

“You're so beautiful,” he tells you, thrusting his fingers slowly, scissoring them. He stretches you out and works you up, getting off on your little whines. He curls his digits, pressing against that spongy spot in you that makes your hips jerk, and his thumb comes down on your clit.

When you're this needy, it never takes long for you to come. So he pulls as many orgasms from you as he can, each one stronger than the last, until you're exhausted and blissed out.

“Please,” you whine, but you don't have to say it because he already knows what you need. “Clark, please.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. I'm gonna give it to you,” he promises, standing from the bed to undress. Once naked, he returns to you. He slips a pillow under your ass, angling your hips just right.

You're shaking in anticipation, breathing heavy, those pretty eyes of yours open wide. He smirks at you, that cocky, knowing smirk, right before he rubs his cock against your folds.

You gasp, back arching, as the thick head brushes against your clit. You spread your legs further, a silent plea for him, and Clark can't say no.

He nudges his cock against your entrance, his eyes on your face as he slowly inches his way into your cunt. He groans at how tight you squeeze him, and he twitches in you as he watches the ecstasy on your face.

“Fuck, baby. You're too tight. Oh, God,” he murmurs.

Your pretty eyes shut tight, mouth falling open as a broken whimper leaves you.

He moves closer to you, trapping your body under his, and kisses your temple. The moment is sweet and loving...until he starts moving.

He fucks you like an animal starved, his cock plunging deep into you each time. It knocks the breath from your lungs, leaving you to squeak and whine under him.

You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you drag your hands down his back.

He growls, pushing into you harder, his eyes dark with lust. “Jesus, baby. You trying to make me come early?” he groans, hips thrusting faster. The sound of his hips slamming into yours is loud, dirty, and it seems to spur him on.

He grabs one of your legs, pushes it up to your chest so he can go deeper as he fucks you harder.

You're clenching him hard and squirming under him as he brings you closer to your orgasm. He knows just how to work your body to give you everything you want, everything you need.

“I know, I know. Gonna get you there, hon. I'm gonna take care of you, don't you worry,” he promises, voice thick and rough.

His hand moves from your hip to your lower belly, and he presses down there. You squeal, delighted at the increased pressure, and Clark has to control himself so he doesn't come yet.

His thumb presses to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, and it's over for you.

You come hard, moaning his name as your orgasm takes over your body. He can feel your slick all over his cock, and it's soaked your inner thighs as well as his hips.

“That's my girl. Fuck,” he grunts, gasping, his own release imminent. He buries his cock as deep in you as possible and stays there as he spills thick ropes of sticky cum into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

When he comes down from his high, he's quick to take care of you. He cleans you up, murmuring praise and love to you as he gets you ready for bed. “You did so well for me, baby. So good. You're always so perfect, I love you so much.”

He lies down next to you, spooning you. And despite the quiet, tender intimacy of the moment, he's already looking forward to doing all this again tomorrow.

♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing

---

taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛

@booboobear-12 @savvysavsblog13 @donnadiddadog @akkahelenaa @tysukier @animegamerfox @absolutelybloodyhopeless @teenytinylilcrawdaddies @simpingreader @tezooks @justheretoreadmydear @lovexbunny @lahniii @dolleciita @tinawantstobeadoll @preciselyshifts @markiplex @kissmxcheek @buckyisveryhot @rayamaya @fae-dreamer-99 @heynanasposts @lahniu @paddockspookie42 @lilychristine01 @chronic-fangirl-222 @sunnyteume @take-it-on-the-run @ninikrumbs @smzyyx @shamlesslipzz @spn-reader @gettingprettyfvckintired @cherryresidence @mollymal

---

Clark Kent masterlist

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

ted logan who gets hard just from making out

ted logan who whimpers and moans into your mouth whenever your tongue slides against his

ted logan who can't keep his hands to himself whenever you kiss him

ted logan who always ends up desperately grinding up against you whenever you sit on his lap to make out

ted logan who cums in his pants just from dry humping

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

troubled cure, for a troubled mind

pairing: eddie munson x reader

summary: “It’s called E.” He tilts the tin toward you. “MDMA, if you wanna get technical.”

He pauses, raising his brows.

“This is what you were asking about, right?”

warnings: first time drug use, underage substance use, slow burn, intense pining, first kiss, light angst, fluff

word count: 4.7k

A/N: spent the last week doing nothing but thinking and writing abt eddie munson b/c i finally got around to watching s4 of stranger things. so late to the party, i know.

The pizza bagels were burning.

Eddie swears under his breath, yanking the tray from the rickety oven and dropping it onto the stovetop with a loud clank. 

From across the kitchen island, you flinch.

He winces, then apologizes, both sounds muffled as he crouches to shut the oven door. Peeks his head back up to see you perched on one edge of his couch, legs bouncing, hands fidgeting in your lap—the same restless energy you had earlier that day, at the forest bench behind the field.

That version of you who had toed the dirt with your shoe: I just… Chrissy said you could… Looked around all paranoid and jittery, like you were nervous to even be near him, let alone ask for something stronger than weed. 

And still—you’d shown up.

Though now, in his trailer, you look like you might change your mind again.

He fills a glass at the sink and sets it on the coffee table in front of you. Your knee is nearly vibrating.

He wipes his hand on his jeans and stands back up, divot between his brows.  

“You, uh… you sure you’re ok?”

Your fingers are clenched tight over your knees, knuckles pale like you’re bracing for impact—or escape.

But then, a breath. Slow.

And when you look up, something steadier settles behind your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Well,” he blinks, nudging the glass toward you with two fingers, “First step is this. Hydrate. Golden rule of every good night.”

You pick it up with both hands, barely casting him a glance, and take a careful sip.

“Thanks.”

Eddie nods, flopping into the armchair across from you, letting the cushions swallow him whole.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. Just… taut.

Like a wire pulled tight between two fence posts. 

And maybe he should’ve said no the first time you asked. Maybe he should’ve said something different earlier, back at the bench, when you kicked at the dirt and couldn’t quite look at him.

His leg bounces once. Then stills. 

That guilt—it never shouts. Just sits low in his gut, chewing at the lining.

Nope. Just can’t let it go. 

“Listen, can I uh…” He frowns, rubbing at the bridge of his nose like it might knock loose the right words. “Can I ask why you wanna do this?”

Your fingers tighten around the glass, knuckles going pale again.

“I mean,” He’s leaned forward now, elbows to knees. “You don’t exactly seem like a…”

He trails off, the rest catching in his throat.

Junkie. Loser. 

Freak. 

The words hover—ugly, too easy—and he forces them back down, eyes locking on your mouth instead. It opens, then closes, like the answer’s caught somewhere between your teeth.

You glance up, eyes unreadable but not cold. Just distant in a way that makes him desperate to know what’s underneath. Beneath the gloss of mascara and lingering scent of floral hairspray.

Still, you don’t give it up.

“I just… wanna see what it’s like.” You shrug. 

And he might’ve failed algebra twice before Ms. O’Donnell finally let him slide by with a mercy D, but—this? 

This he’s good at. 

This he’s been doing long before he ever started selling anything. Rich jocks. Burnouts. Townies.

Different stories. Same hollow-eyed ache.

He could read through them like water spots on a page. 

But with you?

He’s got nothing.

Aside from Chrissy, you’re the first girl he couldn’t pin down at a glance.

You’re quieter, even more elusive than her.

Because Chrissy had that sparkle—that first-row cheerleader, homecoming queen kind of shine. Queen of Hawkins High. Everyone knows Chrissy Cunningham.

But you—you aren’t like the schoolyard royalty and laundry-basket-shooters you hang around.

Careful. Smart. Untouchable in a whole different way.

And that’s worse. That’s harder.

He nods, slowly. Stirs in his chair and tries to convince himself that he’s convinced. 

Then: 

Churn. 

Nope. 

“Yeah, see—” He lets out a sharp sigh, twisting in his seat. Rubs hard on that scar above his brow, left over from when he’d tried to give himself a piercing: “—I just can’t in good conscience give you this stuff without like… knowing? You know, like what it’s for?”

You’re silent for a while, and then: 

“Do you ask everyone else why they want what they’re buying?” 

There's something sharp in your voice, there. In your gaze. 

And yeah. That hits. That cuts through the fog.

Eddie lets out a short breath. Finally—something. You’ve given him something.

“Well, no,” he quirks a smile, scratching the back of his neck—because, yeah, you might’ve gotten him a little with that. “But with other people, I usually don’t have to ask, so…”

You blink at him. Once. Then again.

Then you sigh—a slow, low rush of air that softens your whole posture. The mask slips a little with the sag of your shoulders.

“I just… I get in my head sometimes.” You twist the glass in your lap. “I thought it could help.”

It’s less than he hoped for. But enough.

“Okay.”

He turns, finally dipping into the space between the armrest and the cushion, where loose change and guitar picks go to die. Comes back with a small silver Altoids tin, scuffed at the corners, hinge a little crooked.

“I keep the good stuff close,” he grins, jiggling it, but you don’t smile.

He pops the lid with his thumb. Inside, a few round pills rest against the scratched metal—tiny, pale, each stamped with a heart.

“It’s called E.” He tilts the tin toward you. “MDMA, if you wanna get technical.”

He pauses, raising his brows.

“This is what you were asking about, right?”

Barely more than a rumor out here in hicktown Hawkins, but enough to make ears perk up in locker rooms and parking lots. The all-new party drug that makes you want to feel everything and touch everyone. 

Your eyes land on the pills and they flicker—not quite fear, but something adjacent.

“Yeah… I think so.”

He knows that look. It’s the same one he wears in the mirror when he’d hold something in his palm and wonder if it’d make him feel better or worse.

“Got this fresh from an old buddy up in Chicago,” he sighs, flicking a pill gently with his nail.

You nod, slow. “And it’s… safe?”

He gasps—sudden, dramatic—snapping the tin closed and clutching it tight to his chest.

“Wow. You think I’d sell you something dangerous?” He flails backward, tongue out, flopped against the back of the armchair like he’s been mortally struck. “You wound me.”

“No, I just…” You blink, startled, then almost smile. “Sorry?”

He grins, easing upright again. Looks back down at the tin and sniffles quietly. 

“Nah, it’s safe.” He murmurs, quieter. He’s only tried it twice, sure, but both times came up clean—no spiraling trips, no laced crap. Just warmth. Connection. The kind of high that softens edges instead of cutting them open.

“They call it the love drug,” he adds, picking one up to roll it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’s not like acid. Doesn’t mess with your head like that. Just… makes things feel good. Music sounds better. People, too.”

You grow still, but his level gaze finds your fingers twitching in your lap. Just once.  

And that ache in his gut returns. Low. Uncomfortable.

A long pause, then:

“There’s a party, right?” His voice dropping, because he knows he’s toeing a thin line, “…that’s why you wanted to buy tonight?”

You look up, fast. And for a second, he thinks he’s screwed it, gone too far. That flicker in your eyes, like a match trying not to catch. 

But then you nod. Press your lips together.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” He dips his gaze, cracks the tin again with a little grin and pretends to count. “Well, I’ve only got enough for like… four, five people?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s, it’s just for me.”

Figured.

The tin is strangely loud when he snaps it closed.

He slides one pill across the table between you. Halfway. 

“If you wanna try it,” he gestures, “I’d start with a half dose.”

A beat.

Then: “When’s the last time you ate?”

You blink cutely, then shake your head. 

“I don’t know—lunch, maybe?”

Eddie grins, bouncing off the armchair with a dramatic exhale. 

“Then you, my friend, have arrived just in time for the gourmet portion of the evening.”

Another twitch of a smile from you—small, but real. 

He jogs to the kitchen and comes back with a plateful of burnt pizza bagels. 

“I was nine, okay?”

Your laughter spills over the rim of the Shasta can, teeth clicking softly against the metal. You wave your hand like it’s nothing, like the story isn’t objectively ridiculous—but your eyes are bright now, and you’re actually laughing, so he’s calling it a win.

“And you faked rabies.”

You nod, completely serious. “Chewed up an Alka-Seltzer. Full commitment.”

He barks a laugh.

“You’re a menace,” he grins, biting down on the skull on his ring finger. “How’d I not know you back then?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, sly smile on your tongue. “Maybe you were too busy lighting things on fire behind the gym.”

He blinks, surprised. So you do remember him.

“Hey. Only twice.” He grins, pointing.

You roll your eyes, still smiling, and settle deeper into the couch. Shoulders dropped, legs tucked. 

He’s busy observing the way the streetlamp light flickers across your hair through the slatted blinds, when your gaze slides to the broken clock on the VCR.

Your smile falters.

“Shoot, what time is it?”

He squints at his wristwatch. “Uh, 9:30.”

Only a half hour ’til your little party. Your boyfriend, Andy Reynold’s party, to be exact. 

Well, you never actually use the word ‘boyfriend,’ but you also can’t hold eye contact when you talk about him, either.

Not like it matters, anyway. He’s pretty sure that whole group—Carver, Reynolds, the rest of Hawkins High’s Letterman mafia—are just dating each other in one endless ego-loop.

He looks over to find that you’ve gone still again. Back to perching, hands in your lap.

“Okay, so I should…” Your eyes flit to the white dot on the table. “I should take it now, right? Just so it’s… y’know. Working by then?” 

He straightens a little, blinking slow. Wonders what he should say. His head tilts just off-center, hair slipping into his face.

“I just…” you add, voice a little smaller. “I want you here when—if anything feels weird.”

That look. Wide-eyed. Bare.  

He swallows.

“Yeah, if you…” Nods once. Then again. “Sure, okay.”

A pause.

“How long?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“How long ‘til it… works?”

He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging. 

“Half an hour. Hour tops, depending on your stomach.”

You nod, steady now. Inhale. Exhale. 

Then you reach for the whole tablet.

“Whoa, hey—” He stops you gently, a smile ghosting his lips. 

Presses his nail into the heart and snaps it clean in two.

“Start with this,�� Drops one into your palm, the other half still balanced in his hand. “See how it sits.”

You blink up at him one last time, then slip the pill past your lips.  

He watches, brows arched—at the way your face scrunches at the chemical taste, the way you desperately chase it with soda.

“Yeah,” he mutters, lips twitching, “they don’t exactly make ‘em in cherry.”

Then he leans back, drumming idly against the armrest. 

Thinks about the joint in his vest pocket, burning a hole through the denim.

His fingers twitch. 

“Hey,” He looks up with a loud grin, “You know how to play UNO?”

Eddie notices it long before you do.

He clocks it between turns, glancing sideways from where he’s migrated—no longer in the armchair but slouched on the other end of the couch, more than a cushion’s width and a sprawl of half-played cards between you.

You’re still in the same spot, but something’s changed.

One arm hooked loosely around a throw pillow. Sweater sleeve slipping down your shoulder. Your head tilted just so, resting against the back cushion.

Not fully surrendered, but close.

He tosses a yellow 4 onto the pile, watching the way your eyes drift around his living room, catching on the clutter—the mugs, the hats, the crooked posters, the tiny army of miniatures marching across every shelf.

“Do you live here alone?”

“With my uncle,” he mutters, scratching the side of his neck, rings glinting dull under the light. “He’s working nights lately, though, so it’s just me.”

A pause, then:

“Uno.”

“What? Aw, c’mon—again?”

You giggle, pupils dark and stretched like spilled ink. You drop a green 4 on the pile, fingers a little slower than before.

“Gotta keep up, Munson.”

He watches you—openly now. A little shameless.

Thinks about how many people must look at you all the time.

But no one watches.

“Hey, uh,” he murmurs after a beat, “If that stuff starts kicking in soon, you might feel warm. Floaty. Or, like… hyperaware of everything?” 

He crinkles the flimsy card edges in his palm. 

“That’s normal. But if anything feels bad, you tell me. Kay?”

You blink, pursing your lips, then nod. 

“Okay.”

He nods back. Pulls a new card from the deck. Doesn’t even look at it.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

He freezes, feeling something shift behind his ribs.

He blinks at the stack of cards in front of him, then glances up at you. 

“Alright,” he grins defeatedly. “Your turn. Finish me off, Ms. Rabies.”

You haven’t said anything in a while. 

But when he looks over, he notices warmth rising up your neck, blooming across your cheeks. And the sheen in your eyes—bright, glassy. 

Yep. The E had you riding high now. Soft, euphoric, buzzing gently beneath the skin.

You sigh quietly. 

“It’s kinda warm in here.”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff kicking in,” he murmurs, getting up. “One sec.”

Flicks on the small fan next to the TV and cracks the window behind the couch, letting in the early sounds of night—crickets, the whispers of dry grass, distant music from a trailer window. A dog barks. 

An easy draft slithers in, and the curtains flutter like breath.

When he turns back around, you’re watching him, pupils blown so big they almost swallow the pool of your eyes.

That open, wide-eyed look. 

“You’re really nice.”

He huffs out a smile, caught off guard. “I—uh. Thanks?”

“No, like…” You purse your lips, “You didn’t judge. Didn’t try to convince me or make it a thing. Just… let me be.”

He exhales, scratching at the back of his neck as he eases back down beside you. “Well, I think I’m like, the last person in Hawkins who gets to judge anyone else, so…”

Your head tilts—curious, genuine. 

“Why?”

He blinks slow, leaning back a touch.  

“Uhh,” Brows knit as he studies your earnest expression—not a hint of sarcasm in sight. 

A cursory glance at your surroundings would more than suffice as an answer, yet your eyes are only fixed on him.  

“I mean,” he shrugs, smiling, “I live in a glorified tin can with like, 200 mugs and a broken microwave? Been held back from graduating twice, so—” 

He laughs. 

“Not exactly in a position to judge.”

Your jaw shifts, tongue tracing the edge of your bottom lip in a slow drag.

Then you mutter, voice low and sticky:

"That’s the thing, though. You don’t pretend. Everyone else does."

You let out a soft breath, shaking your head and looking out through the half-open window. 

“You don’t… put on a show. Not like me. I’m like, ninety percent fake smiles at this point.”

A soft pause. The dog barks again somewhere outside. A voice shouts faintly in the distance.

This time, when you look back at him, your smile is different.

“Plus, I like your mugs.” You shrug, eyes flitting over to the collection on the far side of the wall. 

You lick your lips again. 

“Here.” He clears his throat, and reaches for the glass of water on the table, still nearly full.  

He swallows thickly as he watches you drink, like he’s the one with dry mouth. 

After that, you go quiet again for a while. 

The couch had you now—your spine curved, head tipped against the cushion as it swallows you whole. Eyes studying the ceiling, like the stucco texture is some kind of holy map only you can read.

And your fingers.

The way they drag along the edge of your jeans, catching and skating over seams. Trailing along the hem of your sweater, pluck at a little loose thread. 

You twirl it between your fingers like it’s a secret, like it’s talking back.

And your face—fuck. That slow-bloom softness, lips parted just slightly, a tiny crease between your brows that comes and goes like a tide.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Just watches.

Then you let out a soft hum, the faintest sound in the back of your throat. 

He smiles, soft and unseen.

“Hey,” He whispers, cheeks pressed to his fist, blinking through the curtain of his hair. “You still with me?”

You hum again—low, distracted. Head still tipped upward. 

Then:

“Your ceiling’s moving.”

He grins, relieved.

“Yeah? What’s it saying?”

You tilt your head toward him, pupils blown wide, smile lazy and dream-slanted.

“Dunno yet. But I think it likes me.”

He laughs, leaning back, and you giggle—so easy, effortless, like you weren’t fighting it anymore. And god, he liked hearing that. Could’ve kept feeding you lines just to keep it going.

He watches you breathe in, slow and even.

“I keep thinking about the sky,” you murmur suddenly. “Is that weird?”

He blinks. “Nah. The sky’s a solid topic.”

“No, but like… I feel like I’m inside the sky.” Your head rolls back against the cushion. “Like it’s in here now.” Your finger slides over to a spot on your chest, right above your heart.

His throat tightens a little. Watches your finger for a second longer than he should. 

Then he shifts, folding his own hands over his lap, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling like he might be able to see through it too.

Then, after a long pause:

“I don’t want to go to the party tonight.”

Eddie blinks.

“Don’t think I’m ready to, you know… go there, with him.”

Him?

He doesn’t ask. Just tilts his head toward you, cheek pressing into scratchy fabric. 

You're rubbing over that spot on your chest, frowning. 

“I keep telling myself I should. Like it’s… the thing I’m supposed to do. Like it’d make me feel normal. Or good. Or something.”

You lower lip twitches.

“But I just keep feeling sick.”

You blink. Eyes glossy but steady.

“I dunno, I thought this stuff would make all that easier. Heard it was s’posed to make you… want, or whatever.”

It hits him, then, like a slow punch to the chest.

And he wants to say, That’s not what this is for. Or, You don’t need to be brave for something that isn’t right.

But you already know. 

So when your eyes meet his again—searching, unsure—he just smiles.

“Then fuck him,” he shrugs, “And I mean that in the anti-literal sense.”

And it anchors something deep in him, the way you laugh in response—sharp through your nose, soft at the edges. A real smile creeping in as you look back up at the ceiling.

A long pause. Heavy in a good way.  

Then, just barely audible:

“K.”

“C’mon, gorgeous, where are you…”

Eddie croons into a dusty stack of cassettes, shoved into a sagging cardboard box next to the TV. He’s crouched on his knees, elbows planted, brows furrowed—a man on a mission. The kind of mission that only makes sense when your skin’s still buzzing and you’ve got just enough time to chase the perfect song before the comedown sets in.

He flips through the collection, cracked plastic cases clicking under his touch, until his index finger lands on the one he’s been looking for—old, label half-peeled, probably dubbed over a dozen times.

“Yes. Found it,” he calls over his shoulder, triumphant, and jams it into his uncle’s battered boombox, pressing play. 

The soft whir of the tape rewinding. A second of static crackle.

Then it begins, the first few notes drifting out slow, warm, and low. Deep guitar, hushed vocals—something from his secret stash of ‘not metal but still fucking magical.’    

When he turns around, you’ve already slid off the couch and onto the floor, limbs flopped out, eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

He smiles, dropping down right beside you, body parallel to yours. Joins your gaze on the ceiling and lets himself drift in the same space. 

The song starts to weave around you like fog. Soft, sticky-sweet, old tape hiss woven between each note. Your arm feels close. Closer than before. The backs of your hands just shy of brushing where they lay side by side on the floor.

He lies like that for a while. 

Listening to the hush and haze of the tape—warped edges, gentle warble, every note stitched with the soft static of time—and wonders what it sounds like to you. 

If the music brushes your ribs like it does his,

If it stirs the same ache in your blood,

If it's drawing maps he’ll never get to see.

Then—he feels it.

The slightest twitch in your fingers. Just once. Barely anything. But his senses are lit up, stretched thin in that dreamy in-between state despite the fact that he’s completely sober, and somehow he knows. 

Doesn’t see it, just feels.

Like a pulse. Then still again.

He keeps his hand exactly where it is. Palm to the ceiling, not reaching. Just open.

And then—

You move again.

Slow, like you’re thinking through every inch, crawling closer and closer. 

The side of your hand brushes his, barely there, and then your pinky moves—climbing onto his thumb, curling over it tentatively, like a cat settling into a warm lap. Testing weight. Seeking stillness.

And then the rest of your fingers follow, one by one, slow as breath, until your hand settles against his—

Palm to palm, not laced together. Just touching.

His throat goes dry. Not in the holy-shit-she’s-touching-me kind of way. No, this isn’t a move.

This is you anchoring.

He shifts, just enough to clasp his fingers between yours. Fills in the gaps and settles.

You exhale.

And it sounds like relief.

He’s pretty sure he blacks out for a good minute or two.

Silence so thick it swallows the music and the steady hammer of his heart.

Then, a whisper—something like his name—floats up from beneath him.

Your fingers squeeze his, curling around the back of his hand.

“Is this okay?”

He turns his head—slow, drawn—to find you watching him. He barely nods, the rough carpet scratching his right ear, your hair tickling warmly against his cheek. 

You roll a little closer, breaths mingling—shoulders press, knees graze.

The scent of floral hairspray, cherry lip gloss—all pretty and done up for the party you missed. 

Then he realizes you’re staring at his lips.  

Not subtly. Not accidentally.

Intense enough to burn a hole through him. 

And before he can make a sound, you lean in.

And he—

He just lets you.

Doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. 

Just closes his eyes the second he feels your breath against his lips. 

The kiss is almost chaste—barely there, a whisper of a thing—yet it sears behind his eyes like the afterimage of the sun. Bright. Burning. Eternal.

And he thinks it has to be you. The way you glow. 

With your flushed cheeks and trembling hands and the ridiculous way your soul still shines through all your careful armor.

You pull back a second later, though it feels like hours, and exhale a small, stunned laugh against his lips, a happy little sigh that makes him want to die.

Or melt.

Or explode.

Or sink straight through the floor and burn alive in eternal damnation, because that’s where he’s falling—straight down.

Down through the cheap floorboards, through the cracked linoleum and worn carpet of his piece-of-shit trailer, straight to the molten core. Down, down, all the way to Nessus—the ninth layer— where the fire burns clean and nothing escapes the pull of its lord. 

Fuck—he’s so far gone and he’s not even high on anything. 

That thing writhes low in his stomach again, curling in on itself, and twists.

Inviting a pretty girl over to his place, late at night, for drugs she’s never even seen before. Kissing her on the dirty floor of his trailer, like he’s some cliché with bad intentions.

But then—

You open your eyes.

Long after he’s opened his.

And your smile—that quiet, blissed-out curve of it—sends something crashing through him.

Your head tips back against the carpet, your hair spilling like light around your shoulders.

You mumble something about how much you love this song, letting your eyes slip shut as you turn your head toward the ceiling.

He stares up at the rusty-white overhead of his trailer, and thinks about the sky. 

It hits in small shifts.

Still soft, still close—but quieter. Only the low whir of the tape spinning in silence, long after the B-side’s ended.

He swallows. Scratches at his jaw.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, voice low, trying not to spook it.

You give him a delayed nod. 

“Yeah. Just…” You trail off. Sigh through your nose. “Feels weird now.”

He nods.

“Yeah. That’s normal. It fades out kinda slow.”

He shifts onto his side, props himself up on one elbow.

Glances at his wrist—past midnight. 

“It’s late, I could, uh…” He stands slowly, bones cracking like he’s twice his age. Offers you a hand. “If you want, I could drive you home. Or… wherever you’re going.”

“Home’s fine,” you say eventually, slipping your hand in his. “If that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got gum if you want it,” he calls out, moving to the clutter near the sink while you stretch out your limbs. “Helps with the jaw thing.”

The clock on the microwave’s still frozen—3:17.

You blink. “Jaw thing?”

“Some people clench while coming down. Not always, but… y’know. Just in case.”

You take the gum—spearmint, probably stale. He shrugs his jacket off the hook, and tosses you your bag.  

Neither of you talk much on the drive.

He keeps glancing over, just to make sure you’re still breathing easy.

You stare out the window as streetlights flicker past, gold stripes cutting through the dark.

When he pulls up at your curb—headlights painting lazy arcs across your front walk—neither of you move to open the door. 

Something crinkles beside him and he turns to watch you fish out a handful of bills from your sweater pocket, pushing them awkwardly across the console. 

“For the…” You trail off, unable to meet his eyes. 

He gives you a look. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, folding the bills gently back in your fist. “Consider it a… friend discount.”

A protest starts, then dies. You close your hand around the money and hold it until your knuckles grow white.

With one hand on the doorframe, you look back:

“Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?” He glances over, rings cutting into his fingers where he clutches the wheel. 

“Thanks for…” You step back, hand sliding down the chipped paint and returning to your side. “Y’know.”

He grins, shooting you a wink. 

“Anytime, Rabies.”

Back outside his trailer, Eddie stands in the patchy yard, head tipped back, the air thick with cut grass and trailer-park gasoline.

Above him, the sky drapes over him like velvet—deep indigo, a thousand pinhole stars clinging in wild clusters. 

He stays like that for a while, jaw tight, hands in his pockets.

He stares up at the endless stretch of night, and thinks about you.

A/N: I had fun writing eddie for the first time! also went down a rabbit hole researching ecstasy + the 80s lol. lmk ur thoughts! comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)

update: read pt. 2 here! / series masterlist

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Room 407

JQ Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader

(NOT PROOFREAD SO IF IT IS REPETITIVE OR DOESN’T MAKE SENSE ITS BECAUSE IM WATCHING THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY)

New York had been sweltering for days, the kind of heat that made glass skyscrapers shimmer and subway tunnels feel like oven doors left open. Even in the Baxter Building, with Reed’s ridiculous temperature-control systems, the air felt heavy.

Which was why the sudden announcement in the common room that morning hit like a left hook.

“Everyone out,” Reed said, like he was asking people to pass the salt. He stood in the center of the room with a clipboard, utterly unbothered by the collective groan that followed. “The building’s being fumigated. Whole week. You’ll thank me later.”

You sat curled into the corner of the couch, coffee in hand, staring at him over the rim of your mug. “Excuse me, did you just say a week?”

“Yes,” Reed replied. “Seven days. Maybe eight if they need extra time.”

Johnny was sprawled across the other end of the couch, arm draped over the back, wearing the smuggest grin imaginable. “What, you can’t handle a little vacation, princess?”

You rolled your eyes. “Vacation implies relaxation. This sounds like sleeping in an overpriced box somewhere in Midtown.”

“Ohhh, so you have stayed at my place before,” Johnny said, smirk curling as he took a lazy sip from his water bottle.

“Johnny,” Sue warned from the kitchen, not even looking up from her tablet. “Behave.”

⸻

By that afternoon, you found yourself standing in the sleek marble lobby of the Hudson Grand Hotel, the kind of place that smelled like expensive cologne and fresh-cut flowers. The chandelier overhead was obscene — crystals like rain frozen mid-fall, refracting gold light across the walls.

The Fantastic Four weren’t exactly subtle as a group. Reed was still muttering calculations under his breath about airflow systems. Ben was grumbling about whether the gym here “had real weights or those fake little rubber-coated ones.” Sue was multitasking between checking in and fielding two separate phone calls. Johnny? Johnny was leaning against the polished front desk, chatting up the receptionist with the kind of casual charm that made you want to throw a hotel brochure at his head.

“Reservation for Storm,” Sue said crisply, sliding her credit card across the counter. “We should have five rooms.”

The receptionist’s polite smile faltered just enough to be noticeable. She typed something, frowned, typed again. “I… do have five bookings, but… one of them appears to be… a double occupancy.”

Sue blinked. “A what?”

“It’s one suite. King bed.”

You felt your stomach drop. Across the counter, Johnny’s grin lit up like someone had handed him the Infinity Gauntlet.

“No,” you said immediately, already shaking your head. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“Hey, don’t be so quick to judge,” Johnny said, turning toward you with faux innocence. “I’m a delightful roommate. Great conversationalist. I fold my towels.”

Sue pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s just for a week. We’ll sort it out when the hotel has cancellations—”

“I’ll sort it out right now,” you cut in, leaning forward toward the receptionist. “Do you have any other rooms?”

She gave you that hotel smile — the one that said, I’m so sorry but also I’m not sorry at all because there’s nothing I can do. “Unfortunately, we’re fully booked for a wedding party. I can put you on the waitlist?”

“Perfect,” Johnny said, snatching the keycard she slid across the counter. “Guess it’s just you and me, sunshine.”

⸻

Room 407 was at the end of a quiet hall, thick carpet muffling your footsteps. Johnny opened the door with a flourish, and you stepped into a space that looked straight out of a luxury travel magazine — floor-to-ceiling windows spilling sunlight across a king-sized bed so plush it looked like a cloud, a sitting area with velvet chairs, a minibar stocked to the brim.

You stared at the bed. Johnny stared at you staring at the bed.

“I call the left side,” he said.

You shot him a glare. “We are not sharing that bed.”

“Then I guess you’re sleeping on the balcony,” he replied, already tossing his bag onto the mattress and flopping down like he owned the place.

“Johnny.”

“Y/N.”

⸻

You spent the next hour claiming territory — you got the closet, he got the dresser; you took the bathroom counter for your skincare, he got a single drawer for whatever male essentials he had (which, based on the contents, seemed to be deodorant and an unnecessarily large bottle of cologne).

But the tension didn’t really ease. It was there in the way you avoided looking at him when he peeled his t-shirt off without warning, claiming the AC was “set too low.” It was there in the way he sprawled on your side of the bed while scrolling through his phone, glancing up every so often to smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time night fell, the city lights glittering outside your window, you’d built a makeshift pillow wall down the center of the bed. Johnny eyed it like it was a personal insult.

“Really?”

“Really,” you said firmly, sliding under your covers.

“Alright, but when you’re freezing in the middle of the night, don’t come crying to me for warmth.”

You snorted, closing your eyes. “Trust me, Johnny, that will neverhappen.”

From the other side of the pillow wall, you heard his low chuckle, warm and dangerous in the dark.

Something told you this week was going to be a lot.

——— 

The first thing you registered was warmth. Not the comfortable, tucked-under-blankets kind, but the someone is radiating actual heat next to mekind.

Your eyes cracked open to soft morning light spilling through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. The pillow wall you’d so carefully constructed the night before? Gone. Completely vanished. In its place was Johnny Storm, stretched out like he owned the mattress, one arm slung over your waist, his face buried in the pillow next to yours.

He was shirtless — no surprise there — and far too comfortable for someone who’d spent half the night promising he wouldn’t “steal your warmth.”

You tried to wiggle free. The arm around your waist tightened.

“Stop squirming,” Johnny mumbled, voice rough with sleep, sending an unhelpful shiver down your spine. “It’s too early.”

You twisted to glare at him. “It’s past eight.”

His eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded and annoyingly gorgeous. “Exactly. Too early.”

“You’re literally a superhero. Get up.”

“I’m a superhero, not a morning person.” He smirked, finally letting you go, and rolled onto his back with a groan. The sheets pooled low on his hips, revealing a stretch of golden skin and muscle that you absolutely, definitely, totally didn’t stare at for a moment too long.

⸻

By the time you’d managed to claim the bathroom, he was already leaning against the doorway when you came out, hair still damp from your shower.

“You used all the hot water,” you said flatly, brushing past him toward your suitcase.

He shrugged. “I run hotter than most people. Perks of the job.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how plumbing works.”

He grinned like he’d won an argument you weren’t even having and disappeared into the bathroom, reemerging ten minutes later smelling like his cologne — crisp, warm, and irritatingly addictive.

⸻

Breakfast was served downstairs in a glass-walled dining room overlooking the Hudson. You’d been hoping for a quiet start to the day, maybe some coffee without commentary, but Johnny trailed after you like a shadow.

The hostess, a young woman with a perfectly polished smile, lit up when she saw him. “Mr. Storm, good morning.”

“Morning, Dani,” Johnny said smoothly, leaning just enough on the host stand to make her blush. “Table for two. By the window, if you’ve got it.”

You raised a brow. “Dani? Already on a first-name basis?”

He shot you a look over his shoulder as you followed him to the table. “What can I say? People like me.”

“Mm, I’ll alert the press.”

“Already did.” He winked as you sat, like he enjoyed every second of getting under your skin.

⸻

Halfway through breakfast, with the sun warming the glass and the smell of fresh coffee curling through the air, Johnny leaned back in his chair, eyeing you over the rim of his mug.

“So,” he said, “how long do you think you can last before you admit you like having me as a roommate?”

You almost choked on your toast. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “It’s inevitable. You’ll realize I’m charming, fun, great company—”

“—a complete pain in the ass—”

“—and then you’ll never want me to leave.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth said he’d already decided the bet was in his favor.

Somehow, you had the distinct feeling this week was going to test more than just your patience.

———

The city had a pulse at night — a low, constant hum that pressed against the glass of Room 407’s windows. From up here, you could see everything: yellow cabs threading through traffic like fireflies, the river gleaming dark and glassy, the sky painted with the faintest trace of summer haze.

Johnny was on the balcony when you stepped out, leaning against the railing like he was posing for a photo shoot, hair ruffled from the wind, a faint glow from the lights below catching the curve of his jaw.

“You’re up late,” you said, crossing your arms against the faint breeze.

He glanced back at you, one eyebrow lifted. “So are you.”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Too quiet?”

“Too hot.”

That earned you a faint smirk. “I can help with that.”

“Don’t start,” you warned, but there was no heat behind it.

⸻

You ended up standing beside him, both leaning against the railing, the night air carrying the faint scent of the street food carts down below. The conversation started aimlessly — random mission gossip, the absurdity of Reed’s “light packing” that had required two hotel luggage carts, a story about how Ben had nearly gotten stuck in the revolving door.

And then, without really noticing, you realized Johnny was actually… easy to talk to. Not in the loud, look-at-me way he usually performed in front of crowds, but in this low, quiet way — voice softer, jokes just for you, laughter that didn’t feel like it was meant to be overheard.

You told him something you didn’t even realize you’d been holding onto — a half-funny, half-frustrating detail about a recent mission — and instead of brushing it off, he listened. Really listened. Eyes on you, leaning just slightly closer, his expression open in a way you didn’t see often.

And for the tiniest, blink-and-you-miss-it moment, you felt something. Not much — just a little flip in your stomach, the kind you could easily blame on the cool wind or the view or maybe the fact you hadn’t eaten since dinner.

You didn’t think about it. You weren’t thinking about it.

⸻

“Y/N,” Johnny said after a comfortable silence.

“Mm?”

He smiled — not the smirk, not the grin he used to sell headlines, but something smaller, softer. “Glad you’re stuck with me this week.”

You gave him a look. “Don’t push your luck.”

But you didn’t move away.

And you didn’t notice — or pretended not to — the way your arm brushed his and you didn’t bother shifting back.

———

The first thing you noticed was the smell of coffee.

Not hotel coffee — actual, rich, freshly ground coffee. You blinked awake, sunlight spilling across the bed in buttery streaks, and sat up to find Johnny sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, balancing two mugs on the room service tray like he’d been up for hours.

“You’re awake,” he said, tone casual, like this wasn’t deeply suspicious behavior for someone who claimed mornings were “a personal attack.”

You eyed him. “You… got coffee?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to hear you complain before caffeine.”

You took the mug he held out, the steam curling into your face, warm and grounding. “Wow. That almost sounded like concern.”

He grinned. “Don’t get used to it.”

⸻

You drank in silence for a few minutes, the city noise muted by thick glass, the sheets still warm from sleep. It wasn’t until Johnny reached over to snag one of the pastries from the tray that you realized he’d taken the side of the bed closest to you instead of sprawling across the whole thing like usual.

It wasn’t a big deal. Definitely not. Just… unusual.

⸻

Breakfast drifted into easy conversation — nothing big, nothing mission-related, just little things. A ridiculous commercial he’d seen at three a.m. last week. A memory of Sue catching him mid-prank when they were teenagers. The kind of small, human details you didn’t usually get from him unless you were paying attention.

And, maybe without meaning to, you were.

⸻

When you both finally made it downstairs, the lobby was buzzing — wedding guests in formalwear, staff rushing with trays of champagne flutes. You stepped to the side to let a flower arrangement go past, and Johnny’s hand landed lightly on the small of your back to guide you away from the crowd.

It was nothing. Just a habit, maybe.

But you noticed the warmth.

And the fact that he didn’t move his hand until you were clear of the chaos.

⸻

“Alright, sunshine,” he said, pulling open the hotel doors for you with an exaggerated bow. “Ready to survive another day of roommate bliss?”

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you didn’t miss the way his grin lingered just a second too long — like he was starting to wonder if you were enjoying this more than you’d admit.

———

The day started normal enough — a quick breakfast, a stroll through the streets because Johnny insisted he needed “fresh air and a distraction from your constant nagging.”

You’d been walking for maybe twenty minutes when you ended up outside a row of little shops tucked between glass office buildings. One in particular caught your eye — all warm wood, strings of fairy lights across the windows, a display of antique books spilling out onto a table.

“You’re seriously stopping for old paper?” Johnny asked, standing behind you with his arms crossed.

“Yes,” you said without looking at him. “Some of us enjoy things that aren’t selfies and leather jackets.”

“That’s not true,” he said. “I also enjoy motorcycles.”

You gave him a deadpan look and stepped inside.

⸻

The shop smelled like paper and dust, the faint scent of coffee drifting from somewhere behind the counter. You were halfway through flipping open a leather-bound novel when a man sidled up a little too close — tall, maybe mid-30s, and wearing a grin that was just a shade too confident.

“Nice choice,” he said, gesturing to the book in your hands. “Though I think you’d like this one better.”

You blinked at him. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

He didn’t move. “You here alone?”

Before you could open your mouth, another voice cut in — warm, easy, but with an edge you recognized immediately.

“She’s not,” Johnny said from behind you.

You turned to find him leaning casually against the nearest shelf, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on the guy like he was daring him to take another step closer.

“Boyfriend?” the man asked, smirk curling like he thought this was a game.

“Something like that,” Johnny said smoothly, straightening to his full height. He slid in beside you, hand resting on your shoulder in a way that felt both casual and immovable. “We were just leaving.”

⸻

Outside, the noise of the street swallowed the tension, but Johnny still had that look — the one he got before a fight, all quiet calculation.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, though your voice came out softer than you meant.

He glanced at you. “Yeah, I did.”

You looked away, pretending to focus on the traffic light ahead, but the warmth from his hand on your shoulder lingered, an echo you couldn’t quite shake.

It was nothing. Just him being… Johnny.

Except your heart had done that weird little stutter again, and this time you couldn’t completely pretend you didn’t notice.

———

The hotel room was dim except for the city glow leaking in through the curtains, washing everything in gold and shadow. You were curled up on your side of the bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, when Johnny came in from the balcony and shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said, dropping into the armchair by the window, “you gonna thank me for earlier, or should I just wait for the apology?”

You didn’t look up. “For what? Scaring off a guy I could’ve handled?”

Johnny scoffed. “Handled? He was hovering, Y/N. Guy practically had your blood type by the time I got over there.”

You bit back a smile. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, I’m observant,” he countered, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “And I know when someone’s not taking no for an answer.”

You set your phone down and met his gaze. “Okay. Fine. You stepped in. Thank you.”

He smirked, leaning back like he’d won. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

You hesitated, your voice quieter when you added, “And… I didn’t hate it.”

His brow furrowed just slightly. “Didn’t hate what?”

You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking at him. “You… being my boyfriend for five minutes.”

The silence stretched, heavier than you expected. When you finally glanced over, Johnny was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read — a mix of surprise, curiosity, and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Careful, sunshine,” he said, voice low, almost playful but not quite. “You keep talking like that, I might start thinking you mean it.”

Your laugh came out softer than you intended. “Don’t push it.”

But your cheeks were warm, and you weren’t sure it was from embarrassment.

———

It started with music.

You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, laptop open, trying to focus on a movie, when Johnny started flipping through hotel channels and stumbled onto some late-night jazz station. The warm hum of a saxophone filled the room, blending with the city noise outside.

“This is good,” he said, setting the remote down. “Classy. Makes me feel like we should be drinking something expensive.”

“You mean like that ten-dollar minibar soda you had earlier?” you teased.

“Exactly.”

⸻

A few minutes passed like that — you pretending to watch your screen, him leaning back against the headboard with his eyes half-closed, one hand drumming absently against his knee to the beat. Then he looked over.

“C’mon,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed.

You frowned. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

You stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous.”

He grinned, holding out his hand. “Yeah. That’s the point.”

⸻

Against your better judgment, you let him pull you up. His hand was warm around yours, his other finding your waist with an ease that made you suspicious of how many times he’d done this before.

At first it was awkward — you stepping on his foot, him intentionally spinning you too fast just to make you laugh. But somewhere between the teasing and the shuffling in place, it softened.

The space between you closed. His touch shifted from playful to steady. The city lights turned his eyes molten, and you caught yourself looking at his mouth more than you should have.

You didn’t even realize the song had ended until the quiet wrapped around you.

⸻

Johnny’s thumb brushed just under your jaw, a subtle shift that made your breath hitch.

“You’re looking at me like you’re thinking about something,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “Maybe I am.”

His gaze flicked to your lips, then back to your eyes. “Yeah?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because a moment later, his mouth was on yours — warm, sure, unhurried. The kind of kiss that felt less like a decision and more like something inevitable.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was in your throat.

“Guess we’re not just roommates anymore,” he murmured.

You didn’t argue.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Guilty pleasure

Clark Kent jerks off while thinking of you (his friend and coworker), then feels guilty about it.

cw: dirty thoughts, m!masturbation, oral (m!receiving), cumshot, cum eating.

word count: 1.1k

He gets to his apartment, cock half-hard in his pants, and he's doing his best to not think about it.

You. You in that outfit. That pencil skirt, tight around your thighs and hips, but too short for his liking—it gave him a good look at your bare legs, your smooth skin. Had you no idea what you were doing to him? And then you'd sat on the edge of his desk, talking about a lead, but all he could focus on was how much your skirt had ridden up, how your thighs splayed out over the top of the desk, how, if you leaned back even an inch, you'd give him a peek at your panties and it would kill him.

But he's fucked because now he's thinking of your panties. He's walking to his bedroom, tugging his tie off, knowing what he's gonna do but still trying to convince himself not to.

Where was he? Oh, yeah. Your panties. God. Did you wear lace or cotton? What color were they? How would your ass look in them? He imagines sliding his hand up your skirt, between your thighs, pushing his fingers against your pussy through the material of your underwear. He'd touch you until you were dripping. He'd tease your entrance, the fabric of your panties not allowing his fingers inside, and he can imagine the sounds you'd make—

“Jesus. Fucking stop,” he murmurs at himself, his eyes fluttering shut as his cock twitches in his pants. They're awfully tight, he decides, and thinks, I'm just taking them off to be more comfortable. His hand makes quick work of his belt, pulling it out of the loops with a single tug, and quickly opening the button. He all but jerks the zipper down and groans when the pressure eases.

He kicks his pants off and sits on the edge of the bed, fingers tingling with the idea of going over to that searing ache at his groin and relieving it.

But he can't. He'd think about you, he knows, and that's wrong. You're a coworker, you're a friend. He's better than that.

The image of you flashes in his mind, and his focus is pulled to that shirt you'd worn.

It was a pretty blouse; white, classy and casual. It had buttons up the front, buttons that were straining against your breasts. He'd caught a glimpse of your bra through one of the gaps between the buttons, and he'd immediately looked away, cheeks flaming.

The neckline hadn't helped, either. It was a v-neck, dipping all the way to where your cleavage began. Every time you leaned forward, the tops of your breasts were visible, and Clark had to adjust the sudden stirring in his pants before anyone noticed how much of a pathetic pervert he was being.

He glances down at his cock. It's fully hard, the tip an angry red as precum leaks from the slit. It hurts; he's been like this almost all day and it hurts. He tried everything to get rid of it, willing his mind to focus on anything and everything but you. None of it worked.

His hand inches towards his aching erection, and the quiet dark of his bedroom feels like a place where he can store secrets that never have to come out.

“I won't think about her,” he says quietly, the words supposed to be an order to his mind but sounding more like a plead. “I won't think of her.”

He grabs himself in hand, squeezing the shaft softly, and he groans. Sweet contact, the only ounce of relief he's had all fucking day.

He starts stroking himself slowly, keeping his mind blank, watching his pre spill out of him. He runs his thumb over the head, spreading the sticky liquid there, a shudder running through his body.

He wills himself not to, begs his mind to stop, but you invade his thoughts despite his best attempts to keep you out of them.

Oh, you are so beautiful. He can picture your face, those gorgeous eyes looking up at him, mouth open as his cock slips between your lips.

He gasps, the idea of you sucking him off sending a spark of excitement through him. His cock twitches, more pre dribbling out.

He can almost see you, the image so vivid in his mind's eye. You, on your knees, those beautiful eyes on his face. Your blouse would be unbuttoned at the top, pushed under your tits so he could see them.

He jerks himself faster, the coil of pleasure in his lower abdomen wound tight. He's going to hell, but, God, it feels so good.

He'd run the mushroom head of his cock against your lips, leaving behind a trail of precum, and he'd hold your hair off your face.

He knows you'd struggle to fit him, so it would be slow. He'd inch into the wet warmth of your mouth, watching the tears form in the corners of your pretty eyes as you gag softly.

He jerks faster, squeezing harder. His thighs are shaking, his hips bucking into his fist. He pulls away for a second, spits on his palm, and goes right back to it.

You'd do so well for him, he knows. Everything you do, you do carefully, wholly, fully. You pay attention to the details, you do your best in everything. You'd find the pace he likes best, you'd suck him just right.

He can imagine the feel of your tongue on his underside, your spit dribbling down your chin. It would coat his cock, all the way down to his balls.

And because you always go all out, you'd let him push in until his cock hit the back of your throat. Your breathing would be heavy, eyelashes wet from the tears that fall down your soft cheeks.

“Fuck. Fuck!” he grunts, gasping as his orgasm draws near. Sweat beads on his brow and his eyes are shut tight.

He'd pull out of your mouth at the very last second, spilling thick ropes of cum onto your gorgeous face. It would look so pretty on your skin, warm and glistening, and it would drip down onto your tits.

He imagines you gathering his cum on your fingers, licking it clean, holding his gaze as you do—

“Oh, fuck!” he moans, clenching his jaw hard as his climax crashes over him. His hips buck up into his fist, his cum spurting onto his hand and his thighs.

He's left shaking, breathing heavily, his heart thrumming in his ears.

He lies back on his bed, chest heaving, and covers his eyes with his arm.

Oh, God. What did I just do? How am I going to look her in the eyes tomorrow?

Even so, a little part of him is wondering what outfit you'll be wearing, how you'll look, and he feels his cock stirring in need of more.

♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing

---

taglist - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk 💛

@booboobear-12 @savvysavsblog13 @donnadiddadog @akkahelenaa @tysukier @animegamerfox @absolutelybloodyhopeless @teenytinylilcrawdaddies @simpingreader @tezooks @justheretoreadmydear @lovexbunny @lahniii @dolleciita @tinawantstobeadoll @preciselyshifts @markiplex @kissmxcheek @buckyisveryhot @rayamaya @fae-dreamer-99 @heynanasposts @lahniu @paddockspookie42 @lilychristine01 @chronic-fangirl-222 @sunnyteume @take-it-on-the-run @ninikrumbs @smzyyx @shamlesslipzz @spn-reader @gettingprettyfvckintired @cherryresidence @mollymal @liebgotts-lovergirl @lowrisemiller @mingyuziiiii @opalesquegirl @hrtsforstrkysblog @inside--her--fantasy @kodzuminx @evie2435 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diseasedclitoris @for-smut

---

Clark Kent masterlist

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

bed chem // nsfw headcanons

character. adam warlock | wc. 843 | 18+

a/n. honestly could be for either mcu or rivals/comic him 🤷🏼‍♀️ i just love him, your honor. this is like pure filth btw so minors... shoo 🫸

short n' sweet collection. | masterlist. | request info.

♡ as is known, he is the himbo ever. literally the definition of the word may as well be "adam warlock". he is so sexy and he doesn't even know it. you'll get women coming up to him on random planets whilst walking through various civilisations, or at afterparties thrown in the guardians' honour. he's always respectful (obviously!) but so so oblivious to their flirting. you'll have to go up to them and pull him away with the dirtiest death glare on your face aimed towards her. (you ride the life outta him after so he knows who he belongs to.)

♡ adam loves worshipping you. in his eyes, you're a goddess. his goddess. and several times a week will he take you to someplace private— whether that be his bedroom, a bathroom, some abandoned place on a mission— and shove his face between your thighs. he'd lay you down, or set you on a table or counter, and spread your legs to worship you in his most favourite way.

♡ loves marking you. you're his queen— his mate, his goddess— and he needs everyone to know. you're his, and he's yours. bruises; shaped like his hands from where his fingers dug into your hips with every thrust. bites; all along your collarbone and chest, with the most prominent mark on the side of your neck.

♡ his cum is glittery. this is definitely canon, marvel told me. its glittery and slightly gold tinted... and also really warm. he loves coming all over your body, especially your chest, to see how you look painted with gold.

♡ as said before, he loves to see you draped in his colour. like that one time you wore a silky gold dress to a gala the guardians were invited to, he had to drag you off to the closest bathroom to get rid of his sudden erection. he'd bent you over the counter and took you from behind— dress still on and bunched at the waist— while whispering in you ear how good you look.

♡ adam is such a soft dom. he'll essentially fold you in half— dick prodding deep into your walls— and still make sure you're comfortable, that he's not hurting you. he'll mutter dirty talk into your ear (which sounds incredibly endearingly silly in his way of talking) and slip so much praise into it that it becomes less sexual and more worshipful.

♡ a fiend for creampies. there is nothing he loves more than seeing you filled up with his seed— watching with keen eyes as it slowly drips out of you. sometimes he'll even shove his fingers into your hole to keep it in there and make sure it sticks.

♡ oh yeah he has a massive breeding kink as well. you're his mate, why wouldn't he wanna breed you properly? the mere suggestion of using a condom has him scoffing and rolling his eyes. he can be so sassy sometimes.

♡ he's a cosmic being so his stamina is definitely higher than the average human man. he can last at least 4 rounds without even beginning to feel tired. there has definitely been multiple times that you've passed out mid-sex, and oh my god does he panic. the first time you did he genuinely thought you'd died, that he'd killed you. he had hurriedly gotten dressed and covered you up with a blanket before rushing to gamora for help. she teased you both relentlessly for months, but luckily didn't tell the rest of the team.

♡ so so strong. will manhandle you into all sorts of positions. he's gently, obviously, but still enough to leave bruises on your hips and hand prints on your ass.

♡ you once had sex whilst flying (it was your suggestion) and he came so hard his powers malfunctioned briefly and you two started falling. safe to say, that will likely never happen again.

♡ he's pretty loud in bed. mainly grunts and groans but sometimes— if hes in a subby mood or you've reduced him to tears— he'll whimper and moan your name. adam's voice is pretty deep and when he moans all raspy and broken it's so beautiful. his head will tilt back, exposing the curve of his jaw and neck, and his mouth drops open.

♡ as much as adam loves giving you oral (and it is a lot), he much prefers to be on the receiving end. there's nothing better to him than coming home from a stressful mission and seeing you sink to your knees and undo his belt. just the feeling of your mouth encompassing his cock, the warm wet of your saliva coating him, is enough to brighten his day.

♡ he is the king of aftercare. "you deserve nothing but the best," is what he recites almost every time. he'll gently wipe you down with a wet rag, place kisses on the marks he left on your skin. sometimes he'll run you a bath with your favourite bubble scent, carefully scrubbing off the aftermath when you've calmed down. he'll then carry you back to bed and wrap himself around you.

taglist. @articel1967

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

HEY! thought something like unboxing some shopping with roommate Bucky, but then you open one of the boxes and it turns out to be a vibrator (you had forgotten you ordered it), and he's like, 'What's a vibrator?' so you have to explain it to him... and then things start to get hot.........

Unboxing ✨

roommate!bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. crumbs of humor, smut, curse words, dirty talk, praise kink, sex toys; use of vibrator, fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.

A/N: This was in my inbox for way too long but I finally laid my hands on it! had so much fun with it too hehe, wrote this in one sitting.

Okay… maybe you went a little overboard with your recent online shopping.

Your latest spree had arrived in a ridiculous pile by the front door—six medium boxes and one absolutely massive one you didn’t even remember ordering.

You were cross-legged on the rug, scissors in hand, while Bucky leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms folded, sipping from a mug and watching you like he was supervising a dangerous operation.

Or like a kid who was watching some unboxing video on YouTube.

“Y’know,” he said, smirking, “most people just buy one thing at a time. Normal people.”

You snipped the tape on the first box and shot him a look over your shoulder. “Yeah, well, normal people don’t have to justify their retail therapy to their annoying roommates.”

“Annoyin’?” he repeated, feigning offense. “I’m helpin’ you unbox this junk, doll. At least lemme judge your purchases and have some fun.”

“You’re not helping, you’re spectating,” you muttered, digging past a nest of crumpled paper to pull out a pink sweater you didn’t really need but thought it’s cute so you ordered it anyways.

The second box revealed a candle set, the third, some kitchen gadget he immediately stole to inspect, flipping it over in his hand like it was a weapon.

It was box number four that made your stomach dip. You slid the scissors through the tape and opened the carton package.

Oh oh.

That late-night purchase.

Oh, fuck.

Yeah.. You’d been horny. Like, really horny, okay? You were scrolling through websites you had no business browsing at two in the morning. Add couple glasses of wine and some free shipping, and… well.

You hadn’t actually expected to be unboxing it in the middle of the living room. In broad daylight. In front of your roommate.

Your heart did this weird, sharp kick, and you immediately glanced over your shoulder like maybe you could close the box before—

“What’s that?”

Sigh. Too late.

Bucky had tilted his head. His eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. He pushed away from the counter and wandered closer, like a cat sniffing out something new.

“It’s… uh…” You shoved at the packing paper, trying to bury the offending item under the layers. “Nothing. Just… kitchen stuff.”

He arched a brow, the disbelief practically radiating off him. “Kitchen stuff?” He stopped just beside you, peering down into the box.

You froze, your hands hovering over the cardboard like you could physically block his line of sight.

“Bucky—”

He was already reaching in, long fingers brushing past yours. He pulled the packing paper aside with maddening casualness… and then his brows lifted.

“Bucky!” You tried to take it back, but he dodged away.

He held it up by the base, the sleek silicone catching the light.

Your entire body went hot. You wanted to disappear. To melt into the carpet, the floor.

“That’s… definitely not a spatula,” he said slowly, eyes flicking from the object to your face like he was connecting a very interesting set of dots.

You swallowed hard. “Put it back.”

He didn’t. Instead, he turned it over in his hand, examining it. “What is it?”

You stared at him. “…Are you serious?”

He frowned. „Yeah…?”

You blinked at him, half-expecting a smirk to give him away, but he just stood there, waiting.

“It’s… uh…” You shifted, suddenly hyperaware of how close he was, how his shadow fell across you. “It’s called a… vibrator.”

His brows knit together. “Vibrator.” He said it slowly, like testing the word on his tongue. “Okay. And… what does it do?”

You swallowed. “It’s… for… um… stimulation.”

“Stimulation.”

„Please don’t make me exp-”

„Explain.”

God, this was painful. You waved your hands vaguely. “You know. For— for pleasure. Like… sexual pleasure.”

His frown eased, but only into a curious tilt of his head. “And you just… buy these online?”

“Yes, Bucky, you can just—” You stopped, groaning into your hands. “Oh my god, why are we having this conversation?”

There was a pause. He looked down at the vibrator in his hands.

“So… how does it work?” he asked, voice maddeningly curious.

You dropped your hands and stared at him as if he’d just asked you to give a TED Talk on your own sex life. You swallowed, your brain scrambling for words that didn’t make you sound like a total pervert.

“It… um…” You gestured vaguely toward it, heat crawling up your neck. “It… vibrates.”

He blinked. “Hence the name?”

“Yes, genius,” you muttered, wishing the floor would swallow you whole. “You… hold it… or put it against yourself, and it… you know… feels…good.”

Bucky’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “Feels good where, exactly?”

Your face burned so hot you were sure he could feel it from a foot away. “You know where.”

He studied you for a moment. You saw his eyes darken and then his thumb brushed over the button.

He turned it on.

“Bucky—”

Then he smirked and crouched down in front of you, bringing the toy with him.

„What are you—”

Bucky looked at your face, then back down at the vibrator, buzzing in his hand. He hesitated tor a moment then pressed it against you, right over the seam of your jeans.

„Oh fuck!” you gasped.

The vibration was muted by the denim, but it still shot up your spine like a spark, and your breath hitched audibly.

“Here?” he asked softly, almost innocently, though the corner of his mouth twitched and he knew exactly what he was doing.

You shifted, trying to pull back, but his free metal hand came up to rest on your thigh, holding you in place.

“Bucky, we can’t—”

“Shh,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “I just wanna understand how it works.”

Your breath came faster, shallow and uneven, every nerve in your body locking on to that insistent hum against you.

Fuck, you knew you shouldn’t be doing that. Not with him. He was your roommate. Your friend. This was so fucking wrong.

But your thighs tightened anyway, instinctively trying to trap the vibration where you needed it most.

Bucky’s gaze flicked down, catching the movement, and his vibranium fingers on your thigh tightened just slightly. The toy shifted, angling right over your clit even through the thick denim, and a soft, humiliating sound slipped from your throat.

“Like that?” His voice was low and curious and so fucking heated.

You nodded before you could stop yourself, biting down on your lip and whimpering from the pleasure.

He smirked faintly, leaning in until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. “Thought so.”

The pressure changed, subtle, slow circles, then a firmer press and your hips twitched up without your permission. You hated how fast your body was giving in, how much you wanted him to keep going.

Your hands had fisted in the fabric of your sweater without you realizing, knuckles white as you fought to keep from grinding against him outright.

Every scrap of rational thought was gone. All you could hear was the low buzz of the toy and all you could feel was the heat building low in your belly.

“Bucky…” you breathed, your voice wrecked.

His eyes lifted to yours. “Yeah, doll?”

“More… Please—” you moaned out.

Bucky set the toy aside for a moment, his hands moved to the waistband of your jeans and dragged down the zipper.

You lifted your hips for him, letting him peel the denim down your legs.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on the thin scrap of fabric covering you, the faint, damp mark already formed there. His tongue swept over his lower lip as he reached for the toy again.

„You’re so wet, baby… so needy.” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Let’s see what this thing can really do,” he murmured, settling back between your thighs.

He couldn’t be bothered to take your panties off. Just hooked one finger in the waistband and dragged the damp cotton aside, exposing you to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

You squirmed under the intensity of it, your thighs instinctively trying to close, but his free hand held you open.

“Fuck…” he breathed, before flicking the toy back on. The hum seemed louder now, sharper, as he brought it down between your legs.

The first touch made your whole body jolt. There was nothing between you and that deep, insistent vibration anymore. It felt fucking overwhelming.

Your head tipped back, a gasp tearing from your throat.

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching every twitch, every shiver. “That’s it, doll. Just let it happen.”

He pressed it in a little harder, slow circles that had your hips chasing the movement before you realized you were doing it.

It was so fucking wrong.

So so so fucking wrong.

His hand holding you there, his voice low and steady in your ear, your pulse hammering so hard you could barely think but god, it felt too good to stop.

Bucky leaned in. You felt the heat of his body first, then the brush of his lips against the side of your neck.

“Buck—”

“Shh,” he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear. “You’re doin’ so good for me, doll… so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

His breath was warm against your skin, the rumble of his voice sinking right into your bones. Another kiss, lower this time, his stubble scraping lightly against your throat.

“Bet you’ve been thinkin’ about this,” he whispered, his words felt hot in your ear. “Me touchin’ you… makin’ you feel good…”

Your hips twitched up against the vibrator, chasing the friction, and his hand on your thigh tightened again.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his mouth brushing over your jaw now. “Don’t hold back for me, sweetheart. I wanna hear every little sound you make.”

The pressure was perfect now—his hand steady, the toy circling right where you needed it, his mouth still tracing soft kisses along your neck.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders without thinking, clutching at him like you might float away if you let go.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing over the frantic beat of your pulse. “Let go for me. C’mon, I know you’re right there.”

The coil in your stomach pulled tighter and tighter, each vibration shoving you closer to the edge.

“I’m close, don’t stop—” you whimpered. „Fuck, Bucky.—” His name broke on your lips, your hips pressing up into his hand.

“Come on, sweetheart. Show me.”

Your whole body went taut, a shudder ripping through you as the climax slammed into you hard and fast. The pleasure flooded every nerve, your back arching, a helpless cry tearing from your throat.

Bucky’s hand stayed firm on your thigh, holding you open, the toy still humming against you until the aftershocks had you whimpering and trying to twist away.

“Easy,” he soothed, finally clicking it off and tossing it aside. His hand came up to cup your cheek, tilting your face toward his. “There she is. God, you’re beautiful like this.”

Your chest rose and fell in quick, shaky breaths, heat flooding your cheeks. His eyes lingered on you, drinking in every twitch, every shiver like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to ruin you again or just keep looking at you.

Then his thumb brushed over your cheekbone—slow and gentle—and he leaned in.

The kiss was warm at first, careful, his lips moving against yours like he wanted to savor it. His fingers slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head, and the way he held you made your stomach twist in a whole new way.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his thumb still stroking through your hair.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low.

Your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering shut at the praise. His fingers tangled a little deeper in your hair, the pads of them scratching lightly against your scalp.

“You liked that, huh?” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours again.

You nodded, almost frantically.

„Yeah, me too…” he cooed. „Fuckin’ love 21st century.”

⋆⁺₊✧ MASTERLIST

divider @cursed-carmine

💌 tag list: @iamthatonefangirl @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @buckybarneswife125 @peanutbutt3rcup @avengemepercy @gottareadthosefics2

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Marvel Preference- Their Favourite Body Part of Yours

Hair- Adam

Adam is fascinated by everything human about you, not just your actions but the way you look too. Your differences to his ‘perfection’ honestly make him blush, and your hair is definitely his favourite. He could watch you style, brush, wash and tame your hair all day

Eyes- Loki

Loki loves your eyes. They truly are the window to the soul, and Loki could get lost in yours forever. The way they can seduce him or make him bend to your every will. Your heated gaze tracking across his body pinning him to his place. The way they fill with softness and manage to manipulate him. Your eyes truly fascinate and enchant him

Lips- Pietro

Pietro has such a dirty mind and can’t help but love your lips. Sometimes he won’t hear what you’re saying because he’s too busy staring at them. Loves when you leave lipstick stains on him. Is a total creep and will watch you adamantly while you apply lip products. Will even beg for you to kiss him

Breasts- Sif

Being a warrior, Sif is usually around roughness and ridged forms all day, so being able to suck, touch and see your breasts, never fails to get her excited. The way they feel under touch and look in your dresses, brings her more joy then anything. She is no better then a man, and will stare all day

Stomach- Fandral

Fandral is a horny guy and likes all parts of you, but your stomach is his favourite. He isn’t 100% sure why; maybe it’s because it can be sexual, or it can be innocent. So close to your hips and waist that he loves to grab, but also his favourite place to lay while you play with his hair after a long day. Will stare when you reach up and your top rises up

Legs- Bob

Bob loves your legs. Loves when you put them on his lap while you watch tv. He loves kissing up them in the bedroom. He loves them in both a wholesome and naughty way. If you ever wear high heels and a dress, he may just cum in his pants

Hands- Eddie

Eddie craves your touch so much that his favourite part of you is your hands. Your hands bring both him and Venom so much comfort and peace. The way you stroke him hair, or even just the feel of his hand in yours. They also drive him wild because of how good your skilled hands and fingers can make him feel

Ass- Yelena

Yelena knows what she likes, and what she likes, is your ass. She is honestly shameless about it. There is rarely a moment when she isn’t touching, slapping or staring at it. She thanks god on days when you train together and you wear your tight workout pants

Thighs- Bucky

Bucky finds your thighs both comforting and sexy. He loves laying on them when you cuddle, but he also loves having them wrap around his head. Prefers cowgirl because it means he can grab onto them easier. Will beg you to train with him, but you know it’s just so you can wrap your thighs around him. Finds himself reaching for them when he’s anxious

Neck- Logan

Logan has an almost animalistic obsession with your neck. He’ll stare at it when you’re sweating and his mouth with go straight for it every time. He doesn’t necessarily light choking you, but his hand does always seem to find a way around your neck when you kiss. He will cover it in hickies because he’s a possessive bastard. Will also bury his face in your neck when you wake up together, feeling comforted by your warm skin and lovely smell

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

You cooked something you wanted them to try it by hand feeding them on a spoon so “hey will you try this for me please?” moves spoon closer to their lips and says “open”

Headcanons: Gil Galad, Celebrimbor, Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Haldir, Lindir.

This first post I hope anyone whom ever reads this enjoys, I been inspired by @earthlybeam random chaos love your writing so much makes my day ♡

Gil~Galad

You stood before Gil-galad, a small plate of steaming food in hand, the aroma of roasted vegetables and spiced honey filling the air. You had spent a good portion of the afternoon preparing it, perfecting every detail—just the right balance of sweetness and warmth. Now, you felt a spark of excitement, the hope that he’d enjoy it dancing in your chest.

“Gil-galad,” you said, your voice light with anticipation. “I made something special. Will you try it for me?”

He turned to face you, those sharp, piercing eyes of his studying you with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Always the composed king. “What is it?”

“Just a little something,” you replied with a grin, teasing him. “Go ahead, trust me. Open.”

You held out a spoon toward him, the delicate blend of roasted carrots, parsnips, and a drizzle of honey gleaming in the soft light of the room. You could see the slight hesitation in his gaze, though it was only for the briefest of moments.

He raised a brow, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You ask much of me, my friend,” he said in his usual, controlled tone, though there was no real reluctance in his voice.

“Open,” you repeated, your gaze steady but playful as you moved the spoon closer to his lips.

Gil-galad hesitated for a mere heartbeat before finally complying, his lips parting slightly as you guided the spoon to his mouth. He didn’t rush, but took the bite with calm elegance, the High King in him even in the simplest of moments.

His eyes closed for a moment as he chewed, clearly savoring the taste. When he opened them again, they met yours, warm and thoughtful, with a quiet appreciation.

“Well,” he began, a slight smile now forming on his face, “it seems your cooking skills match your ability to challenge me. This is… quite good.”

You grinned, feeling a small triumph surge through you. “I’m glad you think so.”

Gil-galad didn’t speak again, but there was something in his expression—something akin to soft amusement—that made your heart flutter. He had been the ever-dignified ruler, but in this moment, you could see a different side of him, a side that only you would know: the quiet joy of something simple, something shared.

“More?” you offered, your tone teasing.

His smile deepened ever so slightly. “Only if you insist.”

You could hardly keep the grin off your face as you moved to feed him another bite, this time feeling the weight of his gaze on you more than ever.

Celebrimbor

You stood in the kitchen, carefully placing the last spoonful of a delicate dish you’d spent hours perfecting—honey-glazed figs stuffed with creamy goat cheese and roasted almonds. The aroma was tantalizing, rich and sweet with a hint of warmth from the oven. You were excited, eager to share the fruits of your labor with Celebrimbor, who was lingering nearby, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he inspected one of his many crafted items.

“Celebrimbor,” you called, your voice light with anticipation. His head tilted up at the sound of your voice, those amber eyes momentarily shifting from the mithril work in his hands to you. He smiled, though the slight furrow between his brows suggested he was still thinking through something—likely a design flaw or a new idea for his next project.

“Yes?” he replied, his tone soft but curious.

“I made something,” you said with a mischievous grin, stepping forward with a small plate in hand, carefully holding the figs on a silver dish. “I know how much you appreciate fine craftsmanship, so I thought I’d offer you a taste of mine.”

You took a step closer, the plate balanced gently in your hands as you met his gaze. “Will you try this for me, please?”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking in a way that suggested his interest was piqued, though his expression remained mostly neutral. “For you?” he asked, his voice low with a hint of amusement. “I suppose I could be persuaded.”

Grinning wider, you leaned in slightly, taking one of the figs on the spoon and moving it towards his lips with exaggerated care. “Open,” you said, a playful note in your voice as you held the spoon just inches away from his mouth.

Celebrimbor blinked, a moment of hesitation flickering across his face. He’d spent a lifetime surrounded by the finest artisans and craftsmen, but this—this was different. There was a tenderness in your gesture that made him pause, just for a second, before his lips parted and he allowed you to feed him.

The bite was small, delicate, and as he tasted it, his expression shifted from mild curiosity to something warmer, something softer. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring the flavor.

“It is…” He opened his eyes, fixing you with an expression that was part surprise, part admiration. “Delightful,” he said, his voice thoughtful, the corners of his lips twitching with a restrained smile. “You’ve a talent for this, as well.”

You couldn’t help but grin, pleased with the reaction. “You don’t have to be so formal, Celebrimbor. You can say it’s fantastic if you want.”

He chuckled quietly, the sound rich and warm. “Perhaps you’ll hear that from me when I’ve had more. One is hardly enough to judge.”

You nodded, offering him another bite, this time bringing the spoon closer and meeting his gaze with a teasing gleam. “I suppose I’ll have to make more then. Wouldn’t want to leave you hanging with just one taste.”

He didn’t fight you this time, and though he maintained his usual air of dignity, there was an undeniable warmth in the way he accepted the next spoonful.

“You’re quite the temptation,” he murmured, a quiet but genuine note of affection in his words. “I must confess, I’ve rarely been so distracted from my work.”

A satisfied smile curled on your lips as you watched him, both pleased with the food and the response it garnered. It was rare for him to show such vulnerability, and it made every moment you shared feel all the more precious.

Thranduil

You watched Thranduil with quiet anticipation as you held out the spoon in front of him, a small, delicate spoonful of honeyed pears glistening in the soft light of the evening. The sweet fragrance of the fruit and spices seemed to hang in the air, almost teasing his senses. You had spent hours preparing this dish, carefully infusing the pears with a blend of forest herbs that you’d hoped would appeal to his refined tastes.

“Your Majesty,” you began, voice a touch playful. “Would you do me the honor of trying something I made?”

Thranduil’s gaze shifted from the fire, sharp and calculating, as though he were weighing your words against the silence of the forest that surrounded his kingdom. His eyes, as cold and green as the ancient woods he ruled, bore into you, but for a moment, you swore you saw a glint of curiosity in them.

You took a step closer, the spoon moving ever so slightly toward his lips. His posture didn’t change—proud, composed, and regal as always—but there was something in the air now, a shift, as if he was waiting for something from you. A challenge, perhaps.

“Try it,” you urged again, smiling mischievously, “I promise it won’t bite.”

A low, almost imperceptible hum vibrated in his chest, his fingers tightening slightly around the armrest of his chair, but he didn’t speak for a moment. Thranduil’s lips parted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing in that regal, almost imperious way of his. Still, his gaze lingered on the spoon.

“Open,” you said again, voice quiet but confident.

He hesitated, just for a second, as if considering whether to indulge you, but then, ever so slowly, he leaned forward. His lips parted just enough to accept the bite, and you watched him as you fed him the honeyed pears.

The moment the fruit touched his tongue, a soft sigh escaped his lips—one that was nearly inaudible, but you heard it all the same. Thranduil’s eyes fluttered closed for just a second, as though savoring the taste. When they opened again, you saw something akin to surprise flicker in their depths.

“…This is…unexpected,” he murmured, and for a fleeting moment, his usual arrogance seemed to soften.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “Unexpected in a good way, I hope?”

A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he replied, his voice lowering just slightly. “It would be rude to say otherwise, wouldn’t it?”

You leaned in a little closer, offering him another spoonful, your gaze locked with his. Thranduil’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now, something that made you think you had won a small victory in his unyielding kingdom.

“Well,” you said, raising an eyebrow, “I’m glad to hear that.”

For a brief moment, Thranduil seemed to be lost in thought, a rare thing for him, before he met your gaze again, his lips twitching slightly. “Do not mistake me,” he said, his voice regaining its usual, regal tone. “I am still not accustomed to being fed like some pet.”

You chuckled lightly. “Oh, I’m certain the great Elven King can tolerate a little bit of indulgence.”

He only raised an eyebrow in response, as though silently challenging your audacity, but you noticed that he didn’t pull away. In fact, his fingers brushed the edge of your hand for a fraction of a second, the faintest hint of contact—brief, but deliberate.

It was enough for you to know that, despite his aloof demeanor, something about your small act of defiance, your playful challenge, had softened the armor around him—if only for a moment.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “you may do this again. But only if I deem it worthy.”

You grinned, knowing that this, at least, was a victory you’d savor. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Elrond

You stood in front of Elrond, a small plate of carefully prepared elvish honey cakes in your hands, the soft aroma filling the air. You were quite proud of the delicate treat you had made, the perfect balance of sweetness and texture that you hoped would please his refined tastes.

“Lord Elrond,” you said, a playful gleam in your eye, “will you try this for me, please?”

He looked up from his work, his piercing grey eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. His composed, noble demeanor never faltered, but there was a faint lift at the corner of his lips, a sign that he was accustomed to your antics.

His brow arched ever so slightly, but he said nothing as you held up the spoon, the golden cake perched delicately upon it.

You moved the spoon closer to his lips and smiled, “Open.”

Elrond’s eyes flickered to the spoon, then back to you, his gaze sharp and steady. There was an almost imperceptible pause before he slowly parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. As he tasted the cake, you watched closely for any hint of approval.

The sweetness lingered on his tongue, and for a moment, you wondered if he would give you the satisfaction of a compliment. His eyes softened ever so slightly, though he remained quiet, his usual reticent self.

Finally, after a thoughtful moment, Elrond spoke, his voice low and measured. “It is… pleasing,” he said, the words carefully chosen, his gaze still locked on you. “But I believe the true sweetness lies in your company.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his tone unexpectedly warm. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Well,” you teased, “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment, Lord Elrond.”

He gave you one of his rare, fleeting smiles—enigmatic and almost imperceptible—but the sincerity behind it was unmistakable. “A rare one, for you,” he added, his voice carrying a hint of affection, though it was wrapped in his usual quiet poise.

You couldn’t resist. “I may need to feed you more often if I’m to hear more of these compliments, my lord.”

Elrond, as always, remained composed, but there was a soft glint in his eyes that made it clear he had appreciated your light-heartedness—if only for a moment.

Glorfindel

You watched as Glorfindel took a seat, the soft glow of the fire casting a warm light on his features. There was something about his presence that made everything seem brighter—his golden hair catching the light, his easy smile, and that warm energy that radiated from him like the sun itself.

“Glorfindel,” you called softly, the dish in front of you nearly ready. “Hey, will you try this for me, please?”

He looked up, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “What is it this time? Something I can’t resist?”

You smiled, holding up a spoon of steaming porridge. It wasn’t just any porridge, though—it was a special recipe you’d made, infused with berries, a touch of honey, and a dash of cinnamon. It was rich, comforting, and warm, much like the way Glorfindel made you feel whenever he was near.

“Open,” you said playfully, moving the spoon closer to his lips.

Glorfindel chuckled softly, glancing at the spoon, and then back to you. “Is this some sort of test, my friend? You’ve been known to challenge me before.”

You didn’t answer, just grinned and held the spoon steady.

“Very well,” he sighed dramatically, a mock pout pulling at his lips. “If I must…” And with that, he opened his mouth, letting you feed him the bite.

The moment the flavor hit his tongue, his eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked completely taken aback. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” he murmured, reaching for the spoon with an exaggerated air of seriousness, though his lips were still curved in amusement. “This… this is good. Too good, perhaps. Are you sure you didn’t sneak in a little magic?”

You shrugged, feigning innocence. “A little bit of magic, maybe. But mostly just love… and a lot of honey.”

Glorfindel laughed heartily, his golden laughter ringing through the room like music. “A dish made with affection,” he teased. “How can I refuse?”

“Will you eat the rest?” you asked, handing him the bowl.

“Of course,” he replied, taking the bowl from you. “But I may require a second helping to ensure I am not mistaken about its excellence.” He winked, taking another bite and making an exaggerated hum of appreciation.

Your heart fluttered at the playful moment, the light teasing between you two feeling like something more. “I’m glad you liked it,” you said softly, watching as he polished off the rest of the food with a satisfied sigh.

Glorfindel set the bowl aside and leaned back, his gaze softening. “You are truly a marvel, my friend. Not just with your words, but with your cooking as well. You have my loyalty forever, if only for the meals you provide.”

You grinned. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep feeding you, won’t I?”

“Oh, if you insist,” he replied with another laugh, the warmth between you both settling in like a familiar, comforting embrace.

And in that moment, as he smiled at you, you couldn’t help but feel that, yes, this was a kind of magic all its own.

Haldir

You stood in front of Haldir, your excitement bubbling over as you presented the dish you had spent hours perfecting. The warm, sweet scent of roasted root vegetables and spiced honey filled the air, mingling with the slight tang of fresh herbs. You could barely contain your grin as you stirred the concoction one final time in the pot.

“Haldir,” you said, practically bouncing on your toes, “Will you try this for me, please?”

His brows furrowed in suspicion as he looked down at the spoon you were holding out, but he didn’t refuse. The glint in your eyes told him this was a request he could not decline.

You slowly moved the spoon closer to his lips, your voice soft but commanding. “Open.”

He hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before parting his lips, the look in his eyes one of mild curiosity mixed with uncertainty. As the spoon hovered just inches from his mouth, he studied you with a raised brow, a quiet challenge in his gaze.

“Do not make me regret this,” he murmured, though there was a trace of amusement in his tone.

With a grin, you fed him the bite, watching intently as he tasted it. Haldir’s expression remained neutral for a long, agonizing second, and you held your breath. Then, he swallowed, his lips pursing slightly as he considered the flavor.

“It’s… interesting,” he said at last, voice measured but with a hint of something faintly approving. “What is it?”

You were already beaming, pleased that he hadn’t immediately recoiled. “Roasted root vegetables with a honey and herb glaze. It’s a recipe I wanted to try.”

Haldir gave a small, approving nod, his face softening for just a moment as he dipped his head. “Not bad, for a mortal dish.”

“You know, you can say you like it,” you teased, taking the spoon back. “It won’t kill you.”

He gave you a side glance, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. But I am still uncertain of this… ‘mortal’ food.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” you laughed, offering him another bite. “Come on, just one more for the sake of science.”

Haldir raised an eyebrow, then sighed. “You will be the death of me,” he muttered, but he allowed you to feed him another bite. His reaction this time was slightly more positive, his lips quirking in a rare, reluctant smile.

“Fine,” he said, leaning back. “I suppose it’s not entirely terrible.”

Lindir

You had spent the afternoon in the kitchen, experimenting with a new recipe that you were sure would impress Lindir. You had crafted a delicate blend of spices and herbs, preparing a savory dish with a hint of sweetness—a roasted root vegetable puree with a dash of honey and rosemary, topped with toasted nuts for a little crunch. It was simple, but you were certain it was perfect.

Lindir was lounging by the fire, absorbed in his lute, the soft hum of the strings filling the room. You watched him for a moment, smiling to yourself, before moving toward him with the spoon, the dish balanced carefully in your hand.

“Hey, will you try this for me, please?” you asked sweetly, already moving the spoon closer to his lips. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the faintest glint of curiosity in his gaze.

“Try what?” he asked, brow furrowed, though he didn’t pull away. You could see the wariness on his face—he knew you well enough to recognize that this was no ordinary request.

“It’s something I made,” you said, teasing him with a grin. “I promise it’s not poisonous.” You hovered the spoon a little closer, maintaining that playful glint in your eyes.

Lindir shifted his weight, sighing dramatically as if he were about to indulge you, though you saw the tiny twitch of a smile on his lips. “Very well,” he said with an exaggerated sigh, leaning slightly forward. “But I expect a full report on what I am about to ingest.”

You smirked. “I’ll consider it an honor. Now, open.”

There was the briefest hesitation before his lips parted, just a fraction, enough for you to slide the spoon inside. As soon as he tasted the puree, his eyebrows shot up, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Well?” you prompted, unable to hide the eager anticipation from your voice.

He chewed thoughtfully, the taste seeming to settle on his tongue as he processed the flavors. For a brief moment, he seemed lost in it, his usual composure slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of surprise.

“Hmm,” he finally said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “it’s unexpected. But… not unpleasant.” His voice was laced with amusement, though there was still a note of genuine intrigue beneath his words. “I must admit, you have caught me off guard.”

You leaned in, grinning widely. “Caught you off guard? I’m glad I’m not entirely predictable.”

He rolled his eyes, though the smile that tugged at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You are nothing if not persistent. And insufferable.”

“Oh, come now,” you said, pretending to be wounded. “I just wanted to share something delightful with you.”

Lindir’s eyes narrowed playfully as he tilted his head. “Delightful, indeed. If a little… adventurous.”

“You like it,” you teased, eyes twinkling.

“I did not say that.” He raised an eyebrow, though you could see the faint glint of affection in his gaze, despite his usually cool demeanor. “But I will give you credit. You do have a talent for surprises.”

“Not just a talent,” you shot back. “I have a gift.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, clearly humoring you, though there was no denying the fondness in his voice as he continued to watch you with a mixture of bemusement and quiet admiration.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

The lost boys x reader

★Giving them nicknames★

♡authors note♡ These scenarios aren't remotely interesting but they help me sleep at night. They are also fairly short as some people are easier to write than others (cough cough Dwayne). For the sake of this reader works in a shop, what shop you ask that would be open late hours? idk you tell me. It's fanfiction, don't think about it too hard. (all of this was written in a day so if you see any mistakes, no you don't)

If this is out of character, please do not tell me, I enjoy making shit up 😌

Paul ☆

Your first day off all week and you find yourself aimlessly wandering the boardwalk; the neon sign outside a record store beckons you in, you could do with adding to your collection. Not even five minutes after entering the store you feel an arm cheerfully swing over your shoulder;

"Hey Babe, how's it going?" it's Paul, he must've followed you in.

You give an absentminded 'hey' as your fingers comb through the rows of vinyls looking for nothing in particular. There you see it, hidden away amongst the brightly coloured new wave albums is a record you've been looking for for a while. Jackpot. Before you can inspect it any closer, however, it's suddenly snatched from your hands.

"Oh no, sorry babe but I cannot let you waste your money on that," a different record is promptly shoved into your hands "All of their stuff after 83' is trash, trust me, you'll like this more."

"Oh, so pretty boy's a music snob is he? That's good to know." you playfully shove against his arm. Paul chuckles next to you;

"No, you got it wrong! I'm just sayin' that-" He stops. You can almost see the gears turning in his head in the brief silence. "Pretty boy?" He tilts his head like a confused puppy.

"Yeah, pretty boy." You repeat a bit sheepish. You weren't expecting it to stop him dead in his tracks, it was kinda funny.

"Why?" he laughs;

"I thought that'd be obvious." you're holding back a giggle as the blonde seemingly struggles to grasp the nickname. You roll your eyes at him;

"All that hairspray's gone to your brain, huh pretty boy?"

"You think I'm pretty?"

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Dwayne ♢

It's been a slow evening.

You hadn't even been at work very long but it was taking forever to pick up. You were ready to go home.

Lazily leaning against the counter you pass the time by fiddling with a bracelet you're wearing; when, out of the corner of your eye you see the door open and someone walk in. You're about to unenthusiastically repeat the whole spiel your work requires of you when you recognise the dark hair and leather jacket. Oh! It's Dwayne.

You immediately perk up at seeing someone you recognise. Thank God, this'll definitely help kill some time. He notices you staring and gives you a nod.

"Bored huh?" you tease;

"Yup." One word answer. You didn't expect much more from him.

All you want is someone to talk to and the universe decides to send you Dwayne. Oh well, the least you can do is try and have some fun with it.

"Well...What can I do for you then, handsome?" Dwayne was never one for pet names, the best he does for you is 'sweetheart' so this was testing the waters. Why were you so nervous?

He just stands there staring at the shelves, you're not sure he heard you. Then, you hear an amused hum, oh no, he definitely heard you.

He slowly makes his way over to the counter you're perched at, without breaking eye contact he rests his elbows on the cold surface and leans in; he's so close you can't help but blush. inquisitively, he tilts his head to the side;

"Handsome? You can do better than that sweetheart."

He studies your reaction waiting for you to respond, and a small smirk creeps onto his face as you sit there completely flustered.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Marko ☾

Leaning against the railing of the boardwalk you breathe in the sea air. It's a nice night to watch the ocean. The familiar sounds of the waves put you at ease.

This peace does not last long however.

"What's happening angel?"

You jump at the sound of someone speaking right by your ear.

"Marko! Jeez...wear a bell or something next time." The blonde grins at you as you regain your composure. Despite all the different materials on his jacket he still has a knack for sneaking up on people.

"What're you doing tonight?" he purrs, you go to answer but he quickly cuts you off, "Nothing? Great! Me and the guys are gonna ride up to the cliffs, you've gotta come with."

"Woah woah woah," repositioning yourself against the railing you look at him; "Slow down loverboy, who says I want to go anywhere tonight?" He blinks at you a moment before letting out a laugh in disbelief.

"Loverboy?" He exclaims, feigning offence, putting a hand over his heart in pain. "Who're you calling loverboy? That's not me angel, no way."

Now it's your turn to laugh;

"Don't kid yourself loverboy." You scoff, leaning in to plant a small kiss on his cheek, "I think it suits you just fine." The nice moment is interrupted when a thought pops into your head;

"Anyways, I'm never getting on that bike again after what happened last time."

He sighs in annoyance, "Oh come on it wasn't that bad! You didn't actually fall off so its ok, right?"

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

David ⛭

The boardwalk is suspiciously quiet this evening, aside from the noise of the carnival the walkway is a complete ghost town. Then again, the summer's over and it's late at night; there's a chill in the air as you begin your journey home. The sound of an engine snaps you out of your thoughts as a bike pulls up next to you. You already know who it is, you stop expectantly.

"Hey doll, need a ride?"

You ponder the question for a moment, it'd save you the walk but you'd prefer tonight to yourself; you ultimately decide the fresh air will do you good.

"Thanks but no thanks cowboy, I wanna take it slow tonight. I feel like walking." you shrug at him.

You turn to keep walking but a gloved hand grabs your wrist. Oh boy, here comes David and his persuasion.

"Hold on a sec-" He pauses. "Cowboy? The fuck do you mean cowboy? What is this?"

Oh. Not what you were expecting him to say.

"...What?"

He shakes his head at you;

"Don't call me that. I hate that." You didn't expect it to get to him this much, you stifle back a laugh.

"No? Really? I thought it suited you! Y'know with the boots and everything."

He gives you a look of annoyance but you can see he's trying not to smile. You raise your hands in mock surrender;

"Right, ok. Noted, I'll keep working on it." you can't help but chuckle to yourself. This seems like a good place to end it, you're too tired to argue, even if neither of you are being serious.

"Goodnight David, I'll see you around."

Thanks for reading, love ya! ♡

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Reaction to a Insecure Reader

Requested-yes/no

characters included- Aragorn, Kili, Fili, Thorin, Boromir, Faramir, and Legolas

y'all, I went overboard, I had wayyy to much time on my hands after work so here's 7 characters (my fingers are cramped now, worth it though :) )

Aragorn-

Aragorn is deeply perceptive — quiet, but emotionally intelligent. He notices things long before you voice them.

One evening, you’re sitting together by the fire in the quiet of Rivendell, and your silence stretches just a little too long. Your gaze flicks to his tall frame, the way he moves with natural grace, even with the weight of destiny on his shoulders and then to your own hands, small and fidgeting. You feel it surge: the ache that you're not enough, not fitting, not worthy.

He shifts closer.

“You think I do not see you,” he says gently, dragging out his next words. “But I do. More than you know.”

You try to brush it off with a laugh, but he takes your hand and presses it to his heart.

“There is strength in you that no sword could match. If you have learned to believe you are lesser because the world has not learned to see you clearly, then let my eyes be enough - for now.”

He doesn’t offer empty reassurance. Aragorn offers loyalty, steadiness. He loves you for the depth of your mind, your differences, the resilience in your smallest gestures. And he reminds you with his actions, again and again.

Kili-

Kíli notices something’s off when you flinch away from his teasing.

He’s sprawled on the ground after a sparring match, laughing, trying to tug you down beside him yet you hesitate. He sees your eyes dart to your body with a scrutinizing glare, hears the sharp edge to your voice when you mutter, “Maybe you’d be better off with someone more like you.”

Silence.

Kíli's expression drops. He gets up, brushes off his knees, and stands very, very still.

“Is that what you think?” he asks softly.

When you nod, he wraps his arms around you, lifting you slightly off the ground until you can’t ignore the closeness, the affection.

“I don’t want someone like me,” he murmurs into your hair. “I want you. I love how your mind works, even if it runs a thousand miles a minute. I love how you stand beside me even when you’re scared. And I love this”—he touches your nose to his— “shortness. It means I can protect you and kiss the top of your head.”

He makes you laugh even when you’re crying. That’s Kíli’s magic. He loves deeply, earnestly, and without a single condition.

Fili-

Fíli is more reserved than Kili. Thoughtful, a bit more poised, but when you start withdrawing, he notices.

You’re quieter lately, dodging his compliments, brushing off his touch. One evening the tension draws to an edge and he corners you, gently-firmly, when you're both tending your weapons.

“You think you’re not good enough for me,” he says bluntly. “Why?”

You shrug, eyes lowered. “I just… I don’t always understand people right. I forget things. I talk too much, or not enough. I’m not a warrior, or royal—”

Fíli crouches before you, his golden braids brushing your knees. He takes your hands in his calloused ones.

“Royalty doesn’t make someone worthy of love,” he says. “Kindness does. Courage does. Being honest, even when it’s hard - that is what I admire.”

He places your hand over his chest. “You are exactly who I want beside me. Never let old titles or foolish voices tell you otherwise.”

Thorin-

Thorin’s love is fierce, protective — and hard-won.

So when you flinch at a council meeting, too aware of your place beside him, too small, too unsure, too unlike the rest of the proud, battle-scarred dwarves yet Thorin sees it.

Later, in the quiet of your chambers, he places his crown aside and sits next to you.

“I do not want a queen carved in stone,” he starts. “I do not need perfection.”

You try to explain the ways your mind doesn’t always process things easily, the moments when you shut down, the way his legacy feels like a mountain beside your self-doubt.

Thorin doesn’t interrupt.

And then, he says softly, “I know what it is to feel unworthy. I have stood in the halls of my ancestors and doubted my right to even breathe.”

He cups your face with rough hands. “But you give me peace. When the world is too loud, you are the quiet I reach for. When I forget myself, it is your voice I remember.”

He kisses your forehead with reverence. “You are not lesser. You are my balance. My heart. And you deserve love not in spite of who you are, but because of it.”

Boromir-

 He doesn’t take it well. Not because he’s angry at you, but because it hurts him to see you carrying that weight.

The moment the words come out “I’m not what people expect when they see you. You could do so much better than someone like me”-Boromir turns with a look like someone had knocked the wind out of him. He sits beside you without a word, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and pulls you firmly against him.

“Do you think I care what people expect?” he says eventually, voice rough. “My whole life, I’ve tried to live up to what others thought I should be. And none of that brought me peace. But you? You bring me peace.” He gently taps your temple with two fingers. “Whatever storms you carry in here, you don’t face them alone. Not anymore.”

He kisses your temple and holds you like he’s shielding you from the world.

Faramir-

 He notices before you say a word. The way your shoulders curl in slightly around others. How you hesitate to speak in front of the council. How you apologize for being “too much” and “not enough” in the same breath.

When you finally break and whisper, “I don’t know how someone like you could love someone like me,” Faramir doesn’t speak for a long moment. Instead, he cups your face with both hands and leans in, resting his forehead against yours.

“Do you know,” he whispers, “I used to believe I was unworthy of love too?” You blink, surprised, but he continues softly. “I grew up in the shadow of others- measured and doubted, Then I met you. And you never asked me to be anything but myself.” He pulls you into a gentle embrace, voice barely above a breath. “You see the world in your own way. And it's why I love you. Not in spite of who you are, but because of it.” he continues to hold you with a weeping gentleness as you work through this now, together.

Legolas-

 When you tell him- eyes cast downward and voice cracking, that you feel out of place beside him, he doesn’t laugh, doesn’t offer surface-level reassurances. He simply kneels in front of you, lowering himself until he has to look up at you.

“You speak as if love is earned through perfection,” he says quietly. “But I am not flawless. I have doubts. I have fears. And I am not untouched by time, though mime nostale seem so.” He reaches up, brushing your cheek with a feather-light touch. “I chose you not for how the world sees you, but for how you see the world. You remind me that there is softness even in pain. Beauty in difference.” He offers a rare, gentle smile. “And I quite enjoy looking down only because it means I can look at you.”

Then, leaning forward, he whispers, “You do not need to reach my height. You already reach my heart.”

Translations- mime nostale- my kind

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

SPECIAL GUEST

PAIRING: johnny storm x female reader

RATING: none

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

SUMMARY:

where getting caught after spending the night with johnny storm leads to breakfast with the fantastic four.

(or: H.E.R.B.I.E. is a snitch)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

consider this a sort of prologue to an eventual full fic about these two, but @birdie-birdie-birdie sparked this in my brain and i had to get it out. and also, thank you to @munsonstorm for giving this a read for me!

WARNINGS/TAGS:

johnny storm - fantastic four: first steps, female reader, no use of y/n, established relationship (or situationship?), getting caught trying to sneak out, awkward encounters, fluff.

Reed enters the kitchen with a yawn, tying the belt of his robe into a knot at his waist. H.E.R.B.I.E. has already started to prepare breakfast — eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove, slices of toast stacked neatly on a plate, the juice maker churning fresh orange juice and, most importantly, coffee steaming in the carafe. He grabs a mug and fills it to the brim to combat the exhaustion Franklin’s middle of the night cluster feeding has caused.

“Good morning, H.E.R.B.I.E.,” he says after a sip. The robot beeps back at him as he rolls by with a stack of plates and placemats to set the table. Reed finds the morning paper in its usual spot on the counter and flips through it, skimming the headlines between more sips of coffee. H.E.R.B.I.E. beeps to let him know the table is ready and he looks up, brows pinching together when he notices a fifth table setting.

“Does your programming need to be updated again?” He wonders aloud. H.E.R.B.I.E. responds with a series of beeps that Reed interprets as “no” and “guest”. “We don’t have any guests coming,” he adds.

H.E.R.B.I.E. beeps again, robotic arm pointing up. Reed frowns, unsure of what it means. 

You tip toe down the stairs, your shoes clutched in one hand and your bag in the other, dressed in the same clothes from the night before, now slightly wrinkled from being left in a pile on Johnny’s bedroom floor. 

Staying the night is not usually part of the routine when you visit Johnny at the Baxter Building. The risk of getting caught together was too high, given the fact that he shared the apartment with his family, but for the first time since starting whatever this thing between you was, he had asked you to stay. And you, being a sucker for his big blue eyes and warm hands and sinful mouth, agreed. He kept you wrapped up in his arms all night, his face pressed against your neck and his legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets. 

Pulling yourself away from him this morning had been torture, especially when Johnny let out a little whine when you escaped his hold, but with the sun already up and the chances of making a clean escape dwindling by the minute, you knew it had to be done.

You reach the bottom of the stairs and peek around the corner, cursing to yourself when you saw Reed Richards, Mister Fantastic himself, standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. You press yourself back against the wall, trying to think of an alternative. Maybe you could just go back upstairs and hide in Johnny’s room until the coast was clear?

You take a couple steps back in the direction you came from, heading for the stairs, but freeze when you hear Reed clear his throat. Turning slowly, you find that the man is now standing a few feet away, watching you curiously.

“Uh…hi,” you say, giving a little wave. Beside Reed, H.E.R.B.I.E. beeps, waving back at you. He looks down at the robot.

“This is the guest?” He asks. The robot nods. Reed’s attention returns to you. “Hello. I’m Reed Richards.”

The idea of Reed Richards introducing himself to you, like he’s not the most well known man in the world, is almost enough to make you laugh but you bite your tongue and introduce yourself.

“Reed, honey, who are you—“ 

Sue Storm appears behind her husband with her son on her hip, looking far too beautiful for how early it is. She’s dressed for the day in a smart pair of pants and a soft looking sweater, hair already styled and makeup applied, though the dark circles beneath her eyes are becoming harder to cover as Franklin’s sleep regression wears on. Her sentence trails off when she sees you. 

“Hello,” she says, lips curling in a knowing smirk. “Who’s this?”

“She’s a guest,” Reed says, sharing a look with his wife. Some unspoken communication passes between them and you wonder if maybe the universe could help you out and produce some sort of emergency that would call the Fantastic Four away from this painfully awkward encounter. 

“What’s cookin’, H.E.R.B.I.E.?” A booming voice asks, heavy steps coming down the stairs. 

You look over your shoulder just as Ben Grimm appears, stopping short when he spots you. He looks toward Reed and Sue, who must also be able to communicate telepathically with Ben, because his confusion morphs into understanding, rocky mouth now tilted in a sly grin. 

“Come sit,” Sue says, setting Franklin into a high chair at the head of the table. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose—“

“H.E.R.B.I.E. makes a mean breakfast,” Ben chimes in, pulling out one of the chairs and gesturing for you to take a seat. You blink at him.

“Okay,” you acquiesce, sinking onto the chair and setting your stuff on the ground by your feet. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Reed says, taking a seat beside Franklin’s high chair. “Would you care for some coffee? Or fresh squeezed orange juice? We also have milk and tea.”

“Coffee would be great,” you reply. 

H.E.R.B.I.E. rolls up beside your chair a moment later, balancing a tray with a mug of coffee, a pot of sugar, and a tiny silver container of creamer that he sets on the table. You take the mug and add a couple scoops of sugar and a splash of cream. 

“So,” Sue says, sitting down on the other side of Franklin, across from Reed. She gives you a friendly smile. “Tell us about yourself.”

The family listens attentively as you tell them about working as a librarian at the public library. Between bites of eggs and toast, Reed follows up with questions about your educational background when you mention that you have a degree in chemistry in addition to your Master’s in Library Science. Sue, while spooning oatmeal into Franklin’s mouth, asks to hear more about the outreach programs you’ve helped implement.

It’s Ben who asks the question on everyone’s mind.

“So, how’d you meet the hotshot?” 

Your cheeks feel warm as they wait for you to respond. “He comes into the library a lot,” you reply honestly. 

“Really?” Sue asks. Her surprise is mirrored on the other family member’s faces. “Huh. Imagine that.”

Footsteps on the stairs announce Johnny’s arrival. He turns the corner into the dining area, arms stretched above his head and eyes squeezed shut as he yawns. You pretend that your gaze isn’t immediately drawn to the strip of skin revealed when his shirt rides up. 

“Morning,” he says, blinking the residual sleep from his eyes. H.E.R.B.I.E. rolls up with a mug filled with creamer and a hint of coffee, just the way he likes it. He scratches the robot on the head. “Thanks, HERB.”

It takes him a moment to realize that everyone is staring at him and that, more importantly, you’re seated at the table. 

With his family.

Eating breakfast.

His lips stretch into a wide grin as he rounds the table and bends over to plant a kiss on your cheek. You stare at him, wide eyed with surprise, while he settles into his seat. 

Sue hides her smile behind her mug. Reed busies himself with wiping oatmeal off of Franklin’s chin. 

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Ben says, voice smug. “We were just gettin’ to know your friend here.”

“You mean my girlfriend,” he corrects, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “She’s great, right?”

“Sure is,” Ben replies. “What’s she doin’ with you?”

Johnny glares at his friend, flicking his next bite of eggs in his direction. Ben laughs and Reed asks him a question that drags his attention away, allowing you to lean closer to Johnny.

“Girlfriend?” You whisper. He looks over at you, gaze soft and sweet. Your heart pounds in your chest.

“That okay?” He asks, blue eyes suddenly filled with uncertainty. You smile at him, closing the distance between you and kissing him softly, aware of the others at the table attempting to sneak glances at the two of you.

“More than okay.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or drop by my inbox.

LINKS

main blog | masterlists | ao3

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Be My Mirror

I got inspired and man- this came out well gay lmao

Kinda suggestive, is it gay to describe how pretty your homie is?, marko/paul, smoke-sesh letting out all the feels

______________

"How tf am I meant to describe you" confusion scrunched on Marko's face as he looks at Paul. Both boys laying on the cave floor, heads turned to look at eachother, the haze of weed blanketing them both in comfort and a lack of inhibition.

"Well- i dont know! Use your eyes!" Paul exclaims, rings clinking together as he throws his hands in the air before letting out a huff and letting them fall limp back to the floor beside his head. Another moment passes of quiet, the cogs grinding against eachother in Marko's head, trying to stand on some feet of it's own to be able to string a proper thought together. He was only stopped as Paul spoke again, both boys looking back at eachother.

"Like- like how you look like a sculpture man. Something carved like those famous ones, years spent on details. Cherub like- but then you look devilish, like man I don't even know. You get this look in your eye, sharp, all mischief and cunning, and your hair! Golden and! And it curls sometimes in a way and it looks like little horns or a halo and you look fucking like inhuman man- i know we kind are but I mean- idk, something different man! And that tic habit thing when you chew on your thumb or ur glove? And like the tip of ur fangs peak out and i'm sorry but it's kinda hot man- and back to ur eyes! Sometimes your stare is like more solid than David's- like all unwavering and shit and how you square up to people- sorry- your face it's, heavenly? No like, impish sounds bad, like smooth skin, big eyes and pretty features" Paul gestured the whole time he rambled, glancing from the other across from him to the open cave ceiling, studying some of the graffiti they'd left up there years ago.

Marko was almost taken back, brain buffering to process the words spoken about him, if he wasn't as intoxicated as he is now he might have mocked Paul about the sentiment. Now? He held his tongue, brow furrowing as he mulled some of Paul's words over, being pulled back to reality a little at the blunt that was passed to him from Paul. Giving a thankful hum he lifted it to his lips and inhaled, sighing as he let out the smoke, muscles relaxing a little more.

Taking in Paul's form he decided to push what embarrassment and slight cringe to the side as he spoke. "Mm. I guess, you're jaw is really defined, like the smallest bit ruggish looking, your hair is really wild, like in a good way, suits you, kinda want to put my hands through it.. guess girls would say u got like- boyish charm? You know what I mean? You look like one of the rockstars from the record shop, like- well wild too a lot, not just ur hair but like how u said i get a look. You have long fingers, like not bad, suite your rings and braceletts, can see your bones move under your skin when you do something with ur hands. Probably would make a good model if you weren't dead." His gaze had drifted slightly, focusing less on his words and more of the feeling in his chest and the light-weight of his body. Brought back to their little smoke-sesh as Paul takes the end of the blunt left between his cool fingers, watching as the man took the last drag. The exhale never came, what did was Paul's cool fingers reaching to Marko, tilting his face and lightly gripping his chin as he motions for him to open his mouth.

Curiosity and the pleased buzz through his limbs and head had Marko easily parting his lips, watching as Paul's gaze fluttered to his mouth and the soft brush of the other's thumb against his bottom lip. Cool lips rather gingerly met his own, not entirely sure and almost cautious before the feeling of smoke shotgunned from Paul's lungs to his own. It was hard to resist the groan that left both, words now long forgotten.

_____

Silly drabble :)

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

early hours // boromir x fem!reader 🔞

As the only woman in the Fellowship, you often struggled to find privacy, and had taken to bathing in a nearby stream during the early hours of the morning. One particular morning, however, it seemed that one of your comrades had a similar idea.

Smut (18+ ONLY), Fellowship!Reader, Comrades to Lovers, Fluff, Mutual Pining. 3037 Words. Author has only seen the movies, so please forgive any mistakes/inaccuracies! Also, it’s my first time writing for Boromir 🙈

***

You weren’t sure how long ago it had been since you and the other members of the Fellowship of the Ring had set off from Rivendell. When you were in constant danger from Orcs, Nazgûl, and the elements, it was not exactly a priority to keep track of the days. It was rare that you even got a moment to relax outside of rough camping in the woods - which wasn’t exactly relaxing in the first place.

And being the only woman in the Fellowship, it could be difficult to find privacy. Your comrades meant well, but sometimes they could be overbearing. You appreciated their concern, but you could take care of yourself - if you hadn't been able to handle yourself, Elrond wouldn't have allowed you to be part of the mission, would he?

So, to find your privacy, you had taken to rising earlier than everyone else and bathing in a nearby stream - if one was available. Those were your only moments of solace, and you had to admit, that it was nice to clean yourself of the grime and sweat from trekking through the woods. Mainly for reasons of comfort and ease of movement, of course, though there were other reasons that you liked to be clean - reasons that were really quite embarrassing. Reasons that pertained to not wanting to feel unattractive in front of a certain Gondorian captain.

Really, with the fate of all Middle Earth at stake, you were worried about not looking presentable enough for a man? Was that truly what was important right now? But the irrationality of your reasoning didn’t make it any less true, no matter how irritated it made you feel towards yourself.

If you were honest with yourself, you hadn’t been that impressed by Boromir when the two of you had first met in Rivendell. He was handsome, yes, but there was no shortage of good-looking men in the world. At first, he he seemed like nothing but another warrior concerned with nothing but honour and glory. It wasn’t until later that your feelings for him began to grow.

You soon found that Boromir - while indeed a brave and talented warrior - was also gentle and caring, and that was what had drawn you to him. He protected you and the other members of the Fellowship like he would lay down his life for you, and the way he laughed and played with the Hobbits was awfully sweet. You went from thinking nothing much of him to beginning to fall for him at a speed that was incredibly surprising to you, as it had never happened before.

You were thinking of Boromir as you stripped off your clothes and armour, leaving them in a pile on the bank of the stream close enough for you to reach when you needed them, but not so close that they would easily get wet. First, you dipped your toes into the cool water, then quickly submerged yourself. You sighed contentedly, moving deeper into the water and beginning to wash the dirt from your skin. It was a simple pleasure, but a pleasure nonetheless.

So relaxed were you - which was dangerous, as you were out in the wild and needed to be constantly vigilant - that you didn’t even notice that you were not alone in the stream, and remained completely ignorant until you heard a shocked voice uttering your name. Your eyes flew open to see Boromir standing before you in the water, completely bare like you.

"C-Captain Boromir!" you almost shrieked, your face flushing deeply and your arms raising to cover your chest. Your eyes wanted to trail downwards, to finally catch a glimpse of the muscular physique you knew was there - that which you had fantasised about as you watched him teaching Merry and Pippin how to defend themselves, or as he sparred with Aragorn - beneath the clear water. It took an intense amount of willpower, you successfully fought the urge.

Boromir was embarrassed too, though he wasn't being quite as obvious about it. "Apologies, my lady," he responded, his voice strained. "If I had known that you were bathing too, I would have kept my distance. I promise that it was not my intention to intrude on you." He looked at you as if he were begging you to accept his apology.

A few moments passed, and after the shock had worn off at least a little, you nodded empathetically. "I understand, Captain. You are not that kind of man. I was just shocked, that is all."

Boromir gave you a small smile, clearly relieved by your answer. "I am glad. I would not wish for you to think less of me."

There is no chance of that, you thought to yourself, settling down with your back against a large boulder near the bank of the stream. I think very highly of you indeed... more than you know. Luckily, you still had enough sense to not say such a thing out loud. Boromir’s proximity combined with your mutual nakedness was making you feel weak in the knees, and you didn’t wish to embarrass yourself in front of him anymore than you already had.

Boromir moved in the water, and once again your willpower was tested, finding yourself tempted to peek at his naked body. This time, you indulged yourself a little, looking at him out of the corner of your eye and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Even through your quick, embarrassed glances, you now knew that his physique was just as striking as you had imagined. Your mind began to wander, presenting some tantalising images of feeling his strong muscles beneath your palms, and then of brushing your lips against his chest, hearing his moans above you as you slowly moved lower—

You snapped back into reality rather unceremoniously when you heard Boromir say your name. That was when you realised that your attempts at subtly admiring him had quickly turned into staring, and you had been caught in the act. Your cheeks began to burn with embarrassment, and it took what felt like an eternity for you to be able to meet his gaze once more.

And to your surprise (and delight), when you looked up to Boromir’s face, he didn’t seem disturbed or uncomfortable. Rather he was… smiling? And even better, there was a pale flush on his cheeks that indicated perhaps your admiration was not entirely one-sided.

When he saw your shocked expression, Boromir laughed quietly. "I have been trying to stop myself from staring at you ever since we first met, but now that I know you wish to stare back… perhaps I was worrying over nothing."

"Pardon…?" you stammered out, not trusting your own mind to determine whether this was real or another one of the dreams you’d had about Boromir since meeting him. Though this did feel far more real than any dream or fantasy you’d ever experienced in your life… you could feel the water on your skin, the cool morning breeze, and the heat rushing through your body as Boromir looked at you with darkened eyes.

"I have been admiring you since Rivendell, my lady. I knew right away that you were the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, and when I got the chance to know you better… I found that you were not only beautiful, but a woman of both gentleness and strength." Boromir looked down, seeming almost bashful, something that you were not expecting of a strong warrior like himself. "You have stolen my heart, in a way no other woman ever has."

"Captain Boromir…" Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, still trying to discern whether this was real or not.

"Please, just call me 'Boromir'. There is no need for such formality between us, especially now." Boromir moved closer, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek. His skin felt warm, and you could feel the callouses on his palm, something you would expect from a lifelong warrior such as himself. But at the same time his touch was so gentle, like you were something precious to him.

Suddenly, you didn’t care whether or not this was a dream - if it was, there was no harm in indulging, and if it wasn’t… well, Boromir wanted you quite obviously. There was no downside to finally allowing yourself to be with this man that you had been pining over.

And so, you closed the gap between the two of you and crashed your lips against his, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. Boromir let out a quiet noise of surprise, but a few seconds later he was reciprocating enthusiastically, kissing you back with a fervour that more than matched your own. One of his strong arms wrapped around your waist to pull you closer, and you couldn’t help but moan softly as you felt your bare skin touch his for the very first time.

"I have been thinking about this since Rivendell," Boromir admitted huskily, pulling away from your lips to press fervent kisses to your jawline. Once he reached just below your ear, he took a moment to gently nip at your earlobe before his lips trailed down the side of your neck. His large hands were now eagerly grabbing at your backside, pulling you even closer to him.

"As have I," you whispered in response. It felt good to finally admit your desires out loud - though it certainly didn't feel better than giving in to them. You could feel Boromir's facial hair scratching against the sensitive skin of your neck as he sucked a mark into it. At this moment, you weren't even considering the idea that someone back at camp might notice it later. You were too focused on the present to even think about the future.

Boromir grinned against your neck, nipping gently as his hands moved - up from your backside to your mid back, before slipping around to the front of your body, and moving higher until he grasped your breasts. "These have been quite the distraction…" You felt his thumbs grazing over your nipples, making them harden beneath his touch, and you let out a gasp. "You’re even more beautiful than I imagined…"

One of his hands left your breast to slide down your stomach until he cupped your mound, brushing his fingers against your clit, while other hand continued to toy with your nipple. Your legs spread a little further on instinct, and you braced yourself against the smooth boulder you were leaning against.

"That’s it, my darling, don’t be shy. Open yourself up to me," Boromir whispered lowly in your ear, as he slipped one finger inside of you rather easily, the pad of his thumb beginning to slowly rub circles over your clit. You let out a quiet curse, which seemed to amuse him judging by his smile.

Boromir kept his eyes on you as he continued to touch you, wanting to see exactly how you reacted. You mesmerised him when you were fully clothed walking through the woods, so seeing you completely bare, writhing beneath his touch? You were a temptation that he could not ignore. Once he could tell you were beginning to teeter on the edge, he pulled his hand from you, and your eyes snapped open, disappointed by the lack of stimulation.

"I would like to taste you," Boromir told you, making your heart flutter even more. You had imagined more than once having his head buried between your legs as he lapped at you until you could hardly speak. "But as there is no way for me to do that right now without risking us being seen, I suppose it will have to wait for another time."

Another time, he said. He already wanted to do this again. That fact excited you beyond belief, that this could happen more than once. You hadn’t even finished doing it the first time, but you were already excited for the next.

Boromir could see the excitement behind your eyes, and he grinned at your enthusiasm. "For now…" He didn’t need to finish that thought for you to know what he meant. He kissed you again, more sweetly this time, and you felt his hands on your thighs, manoeuvring them so they were wrapped around his waist. You could feel his hardness against you, rubbing against your core, and you practically collapsed into his arms.

"Are you ready?" Boromir asked gently, looking into your eyes, his own gaze filled with both adoration and desire.

"Yes," you told him softly, sounding almost desperate. "Please."

That was all he needed to hear. Using his hold on your waist, Boromir pulled you down onto him, slowly burying himself inside of you. Both of you let out groans, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he stayed still, allowing both of you to adjust to the new sensation.

"You feel incredible," he murmured brokenly, his eyes squeezed shut. The tone in his voice made it sound as if he were struggling to keep himself together, like you felt so good that if he didn’t focus properly, he would fall apart in an instant. It made you feel strangely powerful that you were able to affect a man like him in such a way. "You’ll be the death of me…"

The two of you stayed frozen for a few more moments, until you started to become impatient and whispered "go on" against his lips. And as soon as you gave the signal, Boromir began to move, drawing out of you before pushing himself deep inside again, almost painfully slow.

He was big, certainly thicker than anything you’d experienced before, and there was a stretch that stung a little at the beginning. It faded quickly however, and it wasn’t long before you had your face buried in his neck as you panted and moaned. Boromir’s fingertips dug into your hips, definitely hard enough to leave bruises but not enough for you to care. How could you care right now, anyway? Your mind was so addled by the pleasure you were feeling that you barely even remembered where you were.

As his hips moved against yours, Boromir’s hands were everywhere, almost like he was trying to memorise every inch of your body using only his sense of touch. Your own hands grasped onto his shoulders, occasionally moving downwards so you could run your hands over his toned torso, and making him gasp softly against your skin. He began to move faster, and as a result your moans grew louder and more frequent.

Boromir knew that it wasn’t safe for you to be so loud - though your pretty moans were driving him crazy - as anyone could hear and come to investigate, whether that was one of their comrades or someone more unsavoury. Rather than tell you to quiet down, however, he kissed you again, swallowing each and every noise that wanted to escape you. This also had the added benefit of keeping him quiet as well, because he could feel his own willpower slipping.

Again, his pace increased, and you were barely even able to think anymore. Boromir could tell that you were close, and oh, how he wanted to see you fall over the edge. Wanting to make sure he saw it before meeting his own end, his hand slipped between your bodies to rub at your clit again, while the other toyed with your nipple. You tightened around him and he doubled his efforts, bringing his lips close to your ear. "I can feel that you’re close, my darling… let go, I want to feel you come undone for me…"

Almost as if you were waiting for his permission, you immediately fell apart once he said the word, trembling violently in his embrace as you called out his name. By some miracle, Boromir was quick enough to crash his lips against yours once more to muffle the sound, as he continued to fuck you through your climax.

Boromir tried to hold out as long as he could, but soon enough he faltered. With a groan against your lips he let go too, spilling himself inside of you before pressing his forehead against yours once more. Both of you were panting, your bodies shaking slightly as you recovered from your shared experience, holding onto each other for dear life.

"You know…" you began breathlessly, once you had recovered enough to be able to speak again. "I think that was the best bath I’ve ever had…"

Boromir grinned widely, peppering kisses on your cheek before planting one on the tip of your nose. "Glad to be of service, my lady," he said in a teasing tone, but you could tell that he was being genuine. You placed your hand on his cheek, brushing your nose against his and then gently kissing his lips, much more chastely than the previous kisses you had shared.

The two of you stayed like that for a few more minutes, revelling in being so close to each other now that you knew that you were not alone in your feelings. After a while you pulled away from each other, making sure to wash the sweat that had formed on your bodies from your earlier activities.

"We should return to camp soon. The others might wake and notice that we’re missing," Boromir said solemnly, knowing that duty called for you both, even if he would love to stay here with you forever. You nodded, and the two of you waded out of the water, drying yourselves and getting dressed.

Once the two of you were looking presentable again, Boromir took your hand in his, looking into your eyes with a rather vulnerable expression. "I hope… this will not be our last encounter?" he asked, a subtly pleading tone to his voice, which made your heart melt. This was real, he truly did care for you.

"It will not be," you replied, a small smile playing on your lips, and the two of you returned to camp - having to invent a story to tell the other members of the Fellowship when they asked what you and Boromir were doing alone together so early in the morning.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Curiosity Is Killing Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: smut

Tags: 18+ (MINORS DON'T EVEN THINK), p in v, oral (m + f receiving), degradation, mixed praise too

Summary: When sleepovers with your best friend become a ruse for her sneaking her own boyfriends in, it's not your fault that the only other distraction is her brother...

Word count: 3583

At first, you think it must just be a trick your ears are playing on you. A passing sound that happened to sound like a moan, that happened to be coming from your best friend's brother’s bedroom, that happened to sound exactly like Steve's cadence. You carry on to the bathroom as if it was nothing, but on your way back, you take your time walking past Steve's door again, to hear that moan again.

You assume it must be a Harrington kid thing, to sneak in people by way of far more innocent means - in your best friend's case, making sure that her family knowing you're here means they won't dare enter her room or the guest suite, which the lie is that that's where the two of you plan to hang out to not disturb the sleeping family. In reality, you stay in the guest bedroom all night while she and her boyfriend have a secret night in.

You don't mind, too much. She always says she'd do the same for you, if only you'd be interested enough in someone, and you don't doubt that, she's a good friend. Except there's only one person you're interested in, and you can't tell her it's her brother.

Safe in the knowledge that everyone else is in their bedroom for the night, you go to her door and give the "all-clear" knock. She cracks open her door and grins, "You know I love you forever, right?"

"Yeah, yeah," you roll your eyes. "Isn't it, like… Extra risky, you and Steve sneaking around on the same night?"

Her brow furrows, "Steve doesn't sneak girls in, he just waits until Mom and Dad are out."

You nod slowly. "Got it. 'Kay. Goodnight. Night, Ryan!" You shout-whisper over her shoulder, and see a thumbs-up raise in response.

"I'll come get you when the coast is clear!" your best friend hisses as she closes the door. 

You know you should just go back to the guest suite and sleep it all off. But that sound. If it wasn't Steve with somebody…

Images flood your brain of him: head thrown back against the headboard, his dark and luscious hair spilling down the back of his neck; his beautiful, pink, plump lips just parted enough to let those delicious moans roll right out of him; freckled chest shaking with bated breaths as the rest of his body seeks its friction against his wide, strong hand wrapped tightly around his member. Of course, you've never seen it for yourself, but the pants he wears leave little to the imagination, and the one time you'd been in the front row at a swim meet is permanently etched into your brain.

~~~

Steve really tried to hold off for as long as possible. Thankfully so, since his sister's latest piece had miscalculated which window to attempt to climb into. Now, that would have been awkward. But eventually, something had to give. He needed some kind of release, even if it wasn't a whole one. His cock was still screaming against his boxers, and Steve had felt it dangerous enough to discard his jeans after he feared the potential friction burn.

He knows what he has to do. Picking out his favourite tape, the one with that actress in, he puts it into the VHS player his dad had bought him to get him to shut up about something he’d overheard on the phone once. Keeping the remote control at hand, and making sure the volume wasn’t loud, he reaches into his nightstand for his trusted bottle of lotion, slides the offending garment off and slips beneath his covers. Lubing up his hand, he knows the rhythm of this video well enough by now. He can start off by giving himself a gentle release, barely any pressure, just the feeling of his fingertips sliding up and down his member. Of course, yours would feel far more dainty than his, but there’s no way he’d just waltz into the other room and proposition you.

As the video progresses, Steve starts jerking himself off with more virility. If he squints while the actress is on screen, he can pretend that it’s you. That thought only gets him more excited, and he moves faster, harder, feeling himself start to build up, until- Shit, is that your voice? Fuck. He’s already so far gone, he can’t just stop now. And besides, you’re probably just saying goodnight. You wouldn’t have any need to come past Steve’s room. Still, he wraps his finger and thumb tightly around the base of his cock as he continues to relieve himself, just until he knows the coast is clear.

It isn’t. There’s a knock at his door, and he just about has enough time to grab a pillow, shove it under the pillow and hit the power button on the TV control before you’re already inviting yourself in.

“Uh, hi?” Steve clears his throat. You weren’t expecting him to be shirtless, but then it’s perfectly normal for a guy to not wear a shirt to bed. “What’s up?”

The dishevelled look of his bed doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Your curiosity piques as you step further into his room. “Nothing. Just wanted to hang out a little before I go to bed.” Steve tries to smile as softly as he can, not wanting you to think he’s rude but also silently willing you to please god, get out of here so he can relieve himself. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, I was just - just watching something on the TV,” he shrugs, “but I’m about to hit the hay.”

“What’re you watching?” you ask, reaching for the control, but he snatches it away from you quickly. You quickly realise why, and gasp. “Steve Harrington, were you watching… adult movies?!”

Trying his absolute best to act casual, he scoffs, “Okay, yes, I was, because remarkably, I am an adult, as are you. I’m sure you’ve watched something by now.” It takes all his mental willpower not to imagine you getting off in this exact moment.

“Not all of us have parents rich enough to give us TVs in our own room.” You shake your head, quickly grabbing the control away from him and switching it on, to Steve’s horror, as you ask, “So is the one you’re watching any good o- Oh.” You stare at the paused sight in front of you. A very naked woman posed over a very naked man. The man you’re not so interested in. It’s the fact that the woman has the exact same body shape, complexion, hair texture, colour and length, everything is almost identical to you.

Steve snatches the control back from you and switches it off. “’S just coincidence,” he mutters as an explanation, but you’re not buying it. 

A confident pride takes over your entire body. “Did you pick this one out for its content? Or for the… Actress?” He doesn’t answer, so you continue, “You know, I was walking past earlier…”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Aren’t you in the guest suite tonight?”

You look just as confused back at him. “How do you know that?!” He explains his encounter with Ryan. “Oh. Right. Well, yeah, but I didn’t know you knew, so I thought it would look weird if I didn’t have my toothbrush and stuff in you guys’ bathroom. So I was walking past and I… Heard…”

"Oh," his cheeks tint a weaker shade of the lips that he licks nervously. "So, you heard… The sounds I was making… From out there, huh?" You nod, and he curses, "Oh, shit," under his breath. As you shuffle up to sit yourself right next to him in the bed, he asks you in a whisper, brow furrowing, "Why are you getting closer?" He doesn't give you much time before realisation dawns in his eyes. In the same hushed volume, but with a smug excitement in his undertone, he asks you, "Is it because you liked what you heard?" You nod, not being able to tear your eyes away from his, pools of melted caramel hidden amongst his eyelashes as he studies your whole face. "Is it because you like thinking about my hand, wrapped around my cock, underneath the sheets here? Is that why you didn't leave any time between knocking and opening the door? Were you trying to see it?"

"C-can I… See it now?" You ask sheepishly, having nowhere else to turn at this point.

He pulls the sheets off him, pillow and all, to reveal his entirely nude form, down to what you could only describe as a raging erection. Thicker than you've ever seen, longer than you've ever seen, a singular vein protruding along the side, an entirely brand new experience. "Yeah, there you go," he encourages, still whispering as he watches your face light up at the sight. "Wanna reach down for yourself, and grab it?"

Still not taking his eyes off of yours, he finds your wrist and guides it to the base of his shaft, which your fingers wrap themselves around. He already felt well-lubed up, and so sliding your hand up and down it was next to nothing, though you could easily work his entire length if your position allowed you to slide your other hand down there, too. He reaches a finger up to push your jaw into a position where he could immediately start kissing you openly. His tongue craves access to yours, and he expresses his gratitude when you grant him it by gently sliding his own hand beneath your pyjama top, down your stomach and into your shorts, cupping the hot and wet mess that you were rapidly becoming.

"Do you like that?" he whispers, his breath tickling your lips, "When I grab you down there? In these short fucking shorts, with no panties on?"

You nod, whimpering shakily, "Please, Steve, touch me there."

He smirks. "Did you have this planned, doll? Is this what you wanted to happen tonight?" Steve asks, his fingertips still barely grazing your core. "You wanted to fuck your best friend's brother?" He again doesn't wait for you to answer before grazing his fingers through your wetness. You whimper, and he presses the gap between you closed again to grin, his teeth pressing against your lips. “You’re mighty overdressed between the two of us, baby. Why don’t you take that shirt off?”

You nod, leaning away just enough to pull the tank top off of your body. Steve hums with pure delight as he watches your tits get pulled up with the fabric, to bounce back down again. Once you’ve discarded it behind you, he leans in again for more open kisses, still not quite touching you how you’d like. You mewl at him, and he eventually pulls away to whisper, “Lay on your back.”

You comply, and he kisses all over your torso, paying extra close attention to kissing and suckling on your nipples. You cry out a high-pitched whine in delight as your back arches beneath him. He continues his journey, kissing down your stomach, to the waistband of your shorts. With a quick two-tone whistle, he gestures with his fingers for you to lift your ass up so he can pull them down. Once they’re off, he stares between your legs, taking a deep breath in to moan underneath his exhalation, “Oh, fuck yes.”

He clambers onto his stomach, propped up by his elbows, to settle between your legs and start to gently lap at the wetness already soaking your lower lips with his tongue. You squirm at the touch, and he grins, “You like it when I use my tongue, baby?” His voice is low and thick with arousal. You let out an uh-huh and he moves to flick his tongue rapidly back and forth against your clit. Watching his tongue move is enough of a turn-on, but seeing those big brown eyes look longingly back up at you completely ruins you. Your hand reaches for his hair, raking it with your fingers and gripping every time he wraps his lips around it to suck on it.

“Oh fuck, you taste so fucking good,” he groans before laying his tongue flat against your slit, again looking up at you and maintaining eye contact as he licks all the way up. “Goddamn, getting so wet, just for me, could feast on you for hours, fuck.” He slips two fingers easily inside of you, watching you fall apart at his touch as he spreads them out inside you.

“Fuck, Steve,” you groan, “need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he asks with a smirk, getting up onto his knees. He moves to straddle your chest commanding, “Sit up on your elbows.” You do so, and your lips just graze where he’s holding the head of his cock out to you. He raises his eyebrows at you, almost challenging you, and you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to lay flat and wide beneath it. “Oh, good girl,” he moans as he slides himself into your mouth. Your lips are stretched taut around him as he pushes slowly in and out of you, “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, yes, suck my cock, just like that. Oh, fuck, you’re so good.” When he can tell you can’t take him much further, he instead pulls all the way out of you to tell you, “Want you to suck on these balls, please.” Something about him being so commanding and yet still pleading with you has you throbbing, especially when he coos, “Ah, fuck, you just love sucking on them, don’t you?” You nod excitedly in reply, and he reaches down to push your hair back. “My good little slut likes having my cock in her mouth, don’t you?” he asks as he guides himself back into your mouth.

The praise mixed with the degradation turns you into an absolute mess. You moan and whine around his cock, looking up at him desperately. He looks just as ready as you do, shuffling himself away from you to grab something out of the nightstand. You watch him sliding his condom on, enamoured, and he smirks at the sight of you studying him.

He returns to lean over you, placing the head of his cock right between your folds and gently sliding it up and down. You whine again, though this time out of impatience. Steve pouts at you, “Aww, do you not like getting teased? Hmm? Like how you tease me by coming over to sleep over all the damn time wearing shorts just like those? That barely even cover your ass cheeks?” He presses himself just against your clit, and you mewl even louder. “Or like how you always wear that swimsuit when you’re out back, modest enough that nobody else knows what you’re doing, but fuck, the way it fits you, you definitely show yourself off for me, don’t you, baby? You sexy little fucker.”

“Steve, please,” you beg. “Need - inside me, please.”

“As you wish,” he smirks, pushing himself slowly into you. His fingers certainly helped prepare you for the size of him, but you still hiss as he moves gently further and further into you, constantly watching your face for any sign of discontent. He sits inside you for a while, leaning in to whisper, “Tell me when it feels good, yeah?” before starting to kiss you. This kiss feels more than just a spur of the moment flurry of passion, this is something he’s wanted for a while.And so you give him back just as much fervour, eventually starting to slide your own hips back and forth against his member. It’s still not totally comfortable at first, but you grab his shoulder before he can try and pull out and reassure him that it just takes time.

Soon, the discomfort dissipates and now all you want is for this man to fuck you, no matter how or where. “Steve,” you coo into his ear while he’s kissing your neck.

“Yes, baby?” he asks. “Are you ready?”

You let out an mm-hm so he knows even without looking at you, and he looks back up to start rocking, gently, in and out of you. You bite your lip as your eyes roll in ecstasy, and that smug little smirk of his returns. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about, when you come over? When you see me, do you think about taking this cock all the fucking time? Is that really why you come over, so you can come and fucking gawk at me, you little slut? Curious about how good it would feel if I fucked you? Does it all seem worth it now?”

You writhe against him, willing him deeper, moaning, “God, fuck, yes.”

“Such a dirty little whore, pretending to be here for anything other than wondering whether I can make you scream,” he drawls. “Here’s the thing, baby, I know I can. And so do you. But not tonight, okay?” You nod desperately. “Attagirl. Fuck, you feel so much better than I imagined.”

He starts to move quicker inside of you, pressing his forehead to yours as you both moan into each others’ mouths. “D-d’you think - about me, too?” you ask, and he grins back at you.

“Do I? Of course I fucking do,” he drawls. “I think about you all the fucking time. Every time you come over, I - fuck - I jerk myself off to the thought of you. Especially being in that big ol’ guest bed by yourself, I just wanna get in there with you, and - fuck, slip my cock in you from behind and absolutely destroy you.” He lets out a truly feral moan, almost a growl. “God, fuck, and you don’t even know. Until now, you didn’t even know that I get myself off to you just a few doors away, thinking about - fucking your face, and taking you from behind, fucking you on my desk as I pull your hair and wrap my hand around your throat, just fucking the shit out of you.”

You feel every word of his hit your core as your climax starts to build. “Oh god, Steve, I -”

Mid-flow, Steve doesn’t seem to hear you. “Think about - shit, about cumming all over you, cumming inside you, oh my god, filling you up with my cum, doesn’t that sound so fucking good?” In any other situation, you may have thought not, but having Steve fuck his own cum deep inside of you? Now it’s all you want. You bite your lip and moan at the thought, and he strokes your hair. “Yeah? Sounds good, doesn’t it, baby? Being my personal little cumslut, god, I’d make sure you never had to work a day in your life so I could use you.”

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re totally dick-drunk at this point, but in this moment, the thought of being Steve Harrington’s cocksleeve sounds like the ultimate life goal. “Fuck, Steve,” you cry. “Wanna - be your… Your personal fucktoy, please?”

“Oh, you sexy fucking bitch,” he groans as he starts to move faster inside of you. “Fuck, can’t wait to make - so many thoughts a reality… You bouncing on my cock, sucking me off until I cum all over that pretty little face… Gonna fuck you in front of a mirror so you can watch how pathetic you are when my cock is inside of you.”

“P-please, Steve, I’m - I’m so fucking close now, please,” you beg. 

Steve, now covered in a thin layer of sweat, pushes his hair aside to watch you as he rubs your now oversensitive clit. “Do it, baby, cum for me. Fuck, cum for me like you’re going to every single day for the rest of your fucking life.”

You fall apart at his words, clenching over his cock as your orgasm finally washes over you The sensation brings Steve over the edge too as he buries his head into your neck to bite your shoulder.

Steve makes quick work of getting off of you, throwing the condom away, and fetching a towel from his dresser to clean you up with. In a very quick contrast, he slips next to you to pull you in to wrap his arm around you. “Are you good?” he asks softly.

You nod, still feeling rather light-headed. “Little sore, down there, but it’ll pass. Um, did - did you mean, all that stuff you said?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, almost matter-of-factly. “Now it’s out there, can’t exactly take it back.”

“Even when - you said you’d want me… Every day?” you ask quietly.

Steve pulls your face over to kiss it sweetly. “Especially that part. C’mon,” he hunts for the pillow he’d used to protect his modesty earlier, and his comforter, and sets up his bed accordingly again as he wraps you both up.

You giggle, “What will your sister say when I’m not in the other bed?”

“Well, what’s she going to do, admit you’re missing? When you’re meant to be in the same room? Doubt it,” Steve mutters sleepily against your skin.

“Yeah, but, like. When she finds out where I’ve been,” you explain.

“Then I’ll simply tell her she shouldn’t have made it my role to be a good host,” he replies, “now I really gotta sleep. Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Goodnight yourself, handsome,” you smirk, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before the pair of you drift off to sleep in each others’ embrace.