#she's driving him ragged
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Title: Creature Feature.
Yandere: Yandere!Miguel x Reader.
Word Count: 1.3k.
TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Mentions of Non-Human Anatomy, Obsessive Behavior, and Rough Sex.
You weren’t sure when you decided the man living in your house and fathering your daughter was not your husband.
It might’ve been last week, when you caught him sitting in his unlit study hours after he’d promised he would come to bed, his eyes glowing vaguely red as he fiddled with a device you didn’t recognize with tools you’d never seen him use, before. It might’ve been two months ago, when Gabi’s teacher called you into a conference to discuss your daughter’s worrying new obsession with spiders and superheroes and the holographic women that, if what she’s been telling her classmates is to be believed, read her bedtime stories when her father wasn’t home. It might’ve been that first night – when he came home from work hours late and doting a black eye, missing the glasses you would never see him wear again and too shell-shocked to do anything more than stand in Gabi’s doorway and let you fuss over him. You’d done everything you should’ve, kissed his cheek and begged him to tell you what happened and pretended to believe him when he said there’d been an accident at the research facility, but it hadn’t felt right, hadn’t felt like it would’ve if you’d been taking care of the man you’d loved for most of your life.
And, when he snapped out of his daze long enough to drag you into his arms and pull you into a kiss more forceful than anything your Miguel would’ve been capable of, you couldn’t help but shudder, but draw back when his hands started to drift lower and he proved to share your husband’s instability, if only that. That was what made the final decision, really. He wasn’t your husband, but it wasn’t as if you couldn’t see a glimmer of something you recognized when you looked at him.
Or, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t normally see a glimmer of something you recognized.
Right now, you knew the man on top of you was a total stranger.
He wasn’t Miguel. He couldn’t have been. Miguel would never hold you so tightly, never dig his fingertips so deeply into your waist, never be so determined to keep you so suffocatingly close to him. His nails would never be so sharp – pointed claws piercing your skin, drawing blood that dripped down your sides and pooled on the sheets beneath you – and he’d never been so massive, either, bulging muscle lining his arms, his defined chest heaving with every ragged breath and strangled moan, both a far cry from the borderline malnourished lab-rat that was the love of your life. His face was malformed, misshapen; curved fangs poking past his parted lips, distorting the shape of his mouth and leaking drops of luminescent venom that fell onto your chest and coated everything they touched with the same numbing, buzzing static. Even his eyes – the eyes you’d always loved, the eyes you would’ve known if nothing else of your husband remained – were gone, drowned out by the shadows cast over his face, the darkness you couldn’t seem to shake when he was around. What little remained was tinted red and bloodshot, pushed miles past the point of remote familiarity. You’d let this stranger, this thing into your home. You’d let him drive your daughter to school, look after her when she was sick.
You hadn’t let him fuck you, but he was fucking you, and you hadn’t been able to stop him.
The sounds he was making were awful, too. Your husband had been adorably shy, prone to biting his tongue and repeating your name over and over and over again, as if the feeling of your cunt milking his cock made it impossible to remember anything else. This Miguel was, in comparison, couldn’t seem to stop making those terrible noises; throaty grunts and airy moans spilling past his lips, only partially muffled by your skin as he buried his face in the curve of your throat. One of his hands fell to your thighs, curling around it and forcing your knee against your chest, making it so he could force himself that much deeper into you, so he could thrust into you with that much more raw strength. You were glad Gabi was staying at a friend’s, tonight. Her room was next to yours, and you would’ve been surprised if there was an apartment in your building that couldn’t hear your headboard beating against the wall, couldn’t make out every pitchy rise and fall of the drawn-out whine choked out of some deep, vulnerable pocket in your chest as he buried those pointed fangs in the crook of your neck.
You felt him force something into you, your vision blurring as the blood seemed to smolder in your veins. Suddenly, the feeling of his pelvic bone catching on your clit was unbearable, your own slick now burning as it dripped down your thighs. It wasn’t a whine you let out, this time, but a sob – ragged and broken, hitched as it emerged from uncooperative lungs and further fractured by the way his chest pressed into yours as he straightened his back, as he drew back just far enough to smile down at you, to let those cruel eyes go soft and half-lidded. “Oh, mi amor…” You didn’t notice you were crying until his hand cupped your face, until his thumb swiped over your cheek and came away wet. “I could fall in love with you all over again.”
Your husband would never say that. Your husband would never imply that there ever could’ve been a world where he wasn’t in love with you, that there ever could’ve been a life he would’ve led that wouldn’t feature you at its center. Your husband would never grow fangs and claws and force himself on you with all the care and tenderness of a rampaging monster. Your husband—
Your husband wasn’t here.
Your husband wasn’t here, and it didn’t seem like he’d ever be coming back.
You curled into yourself, sobbing unabashedly. Miguel (or, whatever the creature on top of you called himself) welcomed your devastation with open arms, leaning back and pulling you onto his lap, bouncing you on his cock as a low, reverberating purr sparked in the base of his throat and filled what little empty space was left in your bedroom. He watched on as you scrambled to wrap your arms around his neck, letting out a breathy laugh as he nuzzled into the dip of your shoulder and went on. “Fucking beautiful,” he groaned, his cock practically throbbing against the walls of your cunt. “I don’t know how I got by without you. I’m never—” A fractured moan, the tips of pointed teeth ghosting over your jugular. “I’m never letting you leave my side again.”
It was a promise, a threat, spoken with enough dedication to send a cold shudder up the length of your spine. You only realized your mouth had fallen open when you heard your own voice, distant and distraught. “Who... who are you?”
Some part of you expected him to devolve, for what was left of his disguise to fall away and reveal rows upon rows of jagged teeth that would tear into your skin, countless eyes that would stare you down like some trapped insect, half a dozen more arms and hands he could use to grab and grope and pull and maim. You expected blood to spill by the bucketful, flesh to melt away like candlewax, rough edges and broken anatomy and all the terrible monstrosities that had to be lingering inside of a creature like him. You expected all the worst things you could possibly imagine, but in the end, what you got was so, so much worse.
His manic grin melted into a softened smile. He pressed another open-mouthed kiss into your throat before pulling away, staring down at you with more love than anything human could’ve spared. “I’m your husband.” And then, again, as he settled so deeply inside of you, you could only pray you’d be able to forget the feeling of him, one day.
“I’m yours.”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere imagines#yandere oneshot#yandere miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel x reader#yandere miguel#spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderverse imagines#yandere spiderverse#yanderexore#yancore
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Older! Boyfriend Toji Headcanons
MDNI! (Slightly) EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD!
Soft headcanons:
Older! Toji, who adores the huge size difference between the two of you. He loves how you tilt your head back to look at him or stand on your tippy toes, pushing on his shoulders, just to kiss his cheek.
Older! Toji, who has a ton of money (shout out to broke ass Toji, though 😔). You have no idea what he does for a living. You're pretty sure it isn't something totally legal, like accounting, but whatever. He doesn't mention it and you don't ask. His favorite thing to do is turn you spoiled rotten. He constantly takes you on shopping trips, although his attitude is astronomical, only letting himself smirk when you thank him for buying you a cute little sundress.
"That one's real cute, baby."
"Yeah, bub, that color is really nice."
"Just buy 'em both, I'll take you somewhere nice to show them off."
He can barley constrain himself from pinning you against the dressing room wall and pushing the faint yellow fabric of the dress away from your skin, tasting you through your little lace panties.
Older! Toji whose love language is quality time and physical touch. No matter what he's doing, he needs to have you next to him. He never thought he'd fall so hard for someone, yet here we are...
"Toji, baby please, I'm trying to cook dinner." Toji only tightens his grip around your waist.
"I know, pretty. Just want to feel you." He responded, hooking his chin over your shoulder, peering at the vegetable you were currently mutilating.
"That's definitely not how you cut garlic." You feel him turn his head, smirking into your neck.
"Shut up."
Older! Toji, who would never, EVER let you drive him anywhere. You're forever stuck as a passenger princess. Hell would have to freeze over before Toji would let you be responsible for transporting him somewhere. This includes the time he accidentally shot himself in the upper thigh (long story 🙄) and REFUSED to let you drive to the hospital. You belong in the passenger seat, and his big hand belongs rested on your thigh, gently squeezing the squishy flesh from time to time.
Older! Toji, who pays for your bi-weekly manicures.
"What about these?" You tilt your phone screen towards him, showing him the set of acrylics you saved to your pinterest board earlier that week.
"Hmm, very nice." He flashed you a small smile of approval before grabbing your hand, kissing each knuckle.
They'd look so small and delicate wrapped around his dick.
Older! Toji whose most embarrassing secret is his love-hate relationship with the Kardashians. At first it was baffling... he doesn't even look like he'd know who they are. However, this man is INVESTED. You heard it here first. He lives for the pettiness of it all.
"What the fuck is Khloé's problem now?"
Toji strolls into the living room where you're perched on the couch, eyes glued to the new episode of 'The Kardashians'. He huffs, plopping down next to you.
"She always acts like she's some mediator for Kim and Kourtney, but she's an instigator. Always whining and complaining about something." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. You laugh, humming in agreement.
His favorite thing to rag on them about is their baby names.
"North West? That's a fucking direction."
Older! Toji, who holds you at night. Feeling your chest rise and fall rhythmically with his is the most comforting feeling in the world. He never falls asleep before you, finding peace only when you've found yours. He only becomes sappy after midnight, the loneliness of a quiet bedroom forcing him to face his emotions. Once he's positive you're passed out for the night, he moves his hand from your upper back to your head, gently stroking back stray strands of hair that were previously covering your precious face.
"You looked so beautiful today. I need to tell you that more." He whispered.
"I'm so lucky to have such a sweet girl all to myself."
"I love you so much. More than anything."
Older! Toji, who sees you as his entire world. Scratch that, his entire universe.
Hope you enjoyed! xoxo
#fem reader#toji fushiguro#toji x reader#jjk toji#toji smut#jjk x reader#jjk#Spotify#size difference#age difference
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DJANGO
Choi San x fem reader x Jung Wooyoung (heavy hints at ot8)
a/n: nobody talk to me nobody touch me nobody look at me i'm loosing my mind over this comeback you don't even understand
"Ain't nobody mess with Django, call me Django." -ATEEZ
✫彡wordcount: 5.5k (sorry?!?)
(>ᴗ•) genre: smut w/plot
ಠ_ಠwarnings/content: violence and injuries, dystopian/lore universe, lots of cussing, angst, poly relationship, brief mention of drinking as coping, extreme pda LMAO, woo is a bit of a little shit in the first half, dry humping, making out(lots of it), also lots of pet names, multiple rounds, threesome, light choking°rading, snowballing, oral, boobjob, dp, overstim, teasing, orgasm control, praise kink teehee, dom san/sub woo/switch-sub reader, m x m, unprotected( don't do that🗣️), NOT EDITED
taglist: @calicanbeevil @pansies-garden @kissezfornamjoon @wisejudgedragonhairdo
MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI
The van shook as another vehicle passed, making San groan as you fell down onto him.
"I'm sorry, Baby," you cooed softly, kissing the bruise on his collarbone that you had unintentionally fallen onto. The soaked rag that you cleaned him with was handed back to you from its fallen place on the shag carpet by Wooyoung with a soft laugh.
"You baby him too much, he's a big boy," he claps his hand onto his shoulder, making him groan again- glaring at the younger man, "right, Champ?"
"I'll beat your ass, Woo."
"Oh, I bet you will, you beat up that scrawny little guy too!" He cackles, clapping and leaning away as San swipes at him tiredly.
"He was faster than I expected!"
"You two knock it off," you sigh exasperatedly as you wipe the grime from his swollen pec, rolling your eyes at your boyfriends bickering. Being stuck in such a small space had taken a toll on the three of yours relationship- especially the two men. They were at each other throats more often than not-even it was playfully. "I'll blow our cover just to tell Hongjoong."
"You wouldn't..." Wooyoung eyes you suspiciously as you smirk. "You wouldn't!"
"I will if you two don't give me a second of peace." You cock your brow at him, tossing the rag into the pile that is your dirty laundry, silently cursing yourself for choosing to hide out with them instead of with Yunho and Jongho in their shop. They even had a cool talking bird.
You place a gentle kiss to Sans eye, a healing bruise almost faded under your lips. "Stop getting hit in the face, yeah?"
"Yeah, I'll politely tell my opponents that my girlfriend likes her boys pretty~" he rolls his eyes and whines as your body heat leaves his sore body.
"So what if I do, pretty boys happen to be my type!" You shrug and crawl off of the spent man, over to the other side and into Wooyoungs lap.
He smirks at his boyfriend cockily as you rest your head on his shoulder, "that's why she's cuddling me right n-ow!" His smirk turns to a pout as you flick his chest.
"Can you two manage a peace treaty while I get some shut eye? It's four hours drive to the next town and it's my turn to drive in the morning."
"Of course, Darling." They chime together, silently scowling at one another but keeping quiet as you close your eyes.
--
"Wakey, wakey," you shake the buff man softly, safely parked in the back alley of the abandoned building. Wooyoung stood just outside of the open van doors, abs on display as he changed into a better looking shirt.
"Yah, wake up!"
You glare at him as he startles San awake, who holds you close protectively in his delirium, still scared of the run in you had experienced with HalaTeez months ago. No matter how much he swears to the lot of you that he doesn't feel guilty, the way his eyes sadden when he focuses on the scar over your left brow for too long gives it away. Hala-San, as you call him to real-Sans dismay, had tricked you all too well and after that... you couldn't look at the real, loving, caring San for weeks. You had to split off with Mingi and frequented a bar, drinking away any memory of Hala-Sans torment until Hongjoong found you and picked up the pieces when the bottle ran empty.
"You dick," San rasps as he rubs your sides, his gentle touch a contrast to the way he gives his cackling boyfriend the stink eye.
"Rise and shine, Sannie~" he teases, buttoning up his shirt and soothing his long hair down, "time to get your ass whopped again."
"Oh, like you'd do any better! You'd be demolished!"
You let out a sigh and slide out of the van, soothing your dress- which in reality is Jongho's shirt with a belt around your waist. "I'll be signing in." You speak shortly before wondering off, leaving them fighting more than ever over how they upset you.
San insists it's all Wooyoungs fault for being such a whiny shit.
Wooyoung is adamant that San is at fault for hogging all of your attention.
They go back and forth for a while until a Strickland patrol vechile speeds by, spooking the both of them into the building.
Wooyoung immediately wraps his arms around your waist as they find you bent over signing Sans pseudonym, DJANGO, into the fighting brackets. San is busy eyeing everyone around you, both in suspicion of Halateez and Strickland and simply to scope out his potential competition.
"Entry fee is three k," the woman on the other side of the pop-up table looks as if she's ready to kick your trio out in a single breath when you don't provide the money, eyeing up Sans messy tank top and your days old makeup with distain.
"That's it?" You pout, tutting your tongue as you turn away from the rude woman, sighing dramatically as you dig into Wooyoungs pockets, grabbing hold of multiple tightly rolled wads of money.
Both of them smirk at your antics, so clearly eager to prove this stranger wrong about her preconceived notions about you and your lovers as you count the wads, dropping a few down before skipping past her with a wave.
The crowded arena does nothing for Sans anxiety, his eyes scanning at a million miles an hour as he keeps a possessive hand on the small of your back. Wooyoung has similar feelings as he drapes his arm over your shoulders in a way that clearly shouts, 'don't touch' to anyone who looks your way. You feel much safer on the other hand, both of your boyfriends touching you at once for the first time in what feels like ages, both ready to toss themselves infront of danger if it presents itself.
You all squeeze your way to the front, right up to the edge of the ring, where a fight is already taking place, one of the men nearly teasing the other with the way he bounces around on his tip-toes, not letting the other get a single touch in.
"She said not many fighters showed up," you practically have to yell for the men to hear you, "Strickland cracking down again!" You explain loudly, rubbing Sans lower back in an attempt to comfort his nerves as he stretches his wrists. Wooyoung has split off to make bets with other players, making sure to stick out like a sore thumb with his flashy shirt. "Might have to find a new income soon if they don't back off!"
He sighs, rolling his head back and stretching his neck out, letting you admire the freckles on his skin that he knows you love.
As the quick moving fighter finally wears out his opponent, he gets sloppy, and he starts getting hits in. You slide behind San and hide your face in his back, wrapping your arms around his waist and stroking his stomach softly. "I hate that you have to do this!"
He holds his hands over your own and rubs his thumbs over your skin, watching the man who will clearly be his opponent wailing on the other man.
"Got nine grand riding on you tonight, Babe," Wooyoung slides back into the conversation, cupping the back of Sans neck.
Although they had their on and off moments, he would always be in tune to his emotions and try to calm him. And trying to keep the peace was even more worth it when you were around. Usually, they had Yeosang as a voice of reason but he was off with Seonghwa doing God-knows what in preparation for your next mission.
Being apart was straining and stressful for every last one of you. But groups larger than three were banned by Hongjoong after four of you had caught Halateez's attention a few months back. He didn't want to risk it again and he certainly didn't want to risk a group of nine most wanted outlaws being together. The combined reward for your captures was the largest amount of money you had ever read. You weren't sure how to even pronounce it.
It was almost an entire year of being in hiding.
You didn't know how much more you could take.
"- DJANGO!!" The name catches your attention over the blaring speaker. How was he up so early? You peek around San and see the fast man catching his breath in the opposite corner. Blood being wiped up and a limp body being carried out.
"We can always find a new way to get money," you scream to San as he rolls out his stiff shoulders, whining as Wooyoung pulls you away gently. "Seriously, Sannie!"
"He'll be okay, Darling," Wooyoungs chaste kiss to your head does nothing to calm your raging nerves as San bends down and slides into the ring. You pull away in a hurry and hop up on the ledge, grabbing his top over the ropes.
"Forgot something?" You lean your torso over and immediately take San into a heated kiss, his calloused hands cupping your face firmly and pulling you close. People all around whistle and call loudly, a blush creeping up Wooyoung neck as he watches your lips meld together.
It been almost a year on the run. Almost five months since any of the three of you have touched one another in an intimate, primal way.
He doesn't know how much longer he can take it. When you crawled into his lap earlier he nearly took you right there.
You always do something after a needy kiss that makes every single one of them feral.
You lick up Sans lips to his cheekbone and moan.
People start nearly howling, and his opponent looks antsy.
"Fuck him up, Baby," you cup his chin in your hand as you block out the world around you for a moment and take one last good look at him before you know you'll go away during his fights. You can't bring yourself to watch no matter how long he's been fighting. But that doesn't mean you won't hype him up while you can.
You slap his shoulder softly, making sure to make it look harder than it was in reality before giving his fist a gentle kiss.
"Fuck him up," you repeated before hopping down.
--
The van door opening makes your head snap, setting away the headphones that play Yeosangs violin melody.
"Hey, how'd ev-"
San jumps on you before you can finish greeting them properly, kissing you deeply and feeling you up like it's the first time he's ever touched you. The clotted blood on his lip doesn't discourage either of you, the pain only stirs him on as Wooyoung climbs in and slams the doors shut behind him.
The dull thud of the duffel bag he drops makes you look over, San letting you breath and nipping at your neck and jaw instead. "Holy shit, Baby, you won?!"
"Fuck yeah, I did, Beautiful," he moans breathlessly, holding himself up above you to speak with a sultry purr, "let me spoil you." He looks over to Wooyoung lustfully. "Both. Let me spoil you both."
Wooyoung smiles at him. Genuinely. For the first time in weeks.
If there's one thing that makes him weak it's being spoiled by his lovers. So when San lifts you up and settles you in his lap and climbs into the drivers seat, he doesn't complain: he simply dives into your lips like a man starved.
And he is, lips suctioned onto yours so deeply and passionately that neither of you notice as the van lurches to life and begins speeding away. You fall to the floor ontop of him and hold him tightly. Like he's an illusion that will disappear like smoke if you let go.
He body feels so right on yours. Clinged together on the shag floor. Melting together. The outside world and all of its problems fading away as his hands wander your body.
How you've managed to keep your hands off one another for this long is a world's greatest mystery.
"Fuck," he moans as you lap at his lips, his hands sliding up the edge of your dress and cupping the round of your ass. "Fuck, Princess, please," he whines.
You can hear the smirk in the way San chuckles from the front seat, but it doesn't stop him from speeding up. He loves how whiney Wooyoung gets just as much as you do.
You clumsily undo his bottoms and pull them down just enough to press your heat to his growing bulge. The thin layers of cloth separating you doesn't stop the feral groan that he lets out, holding your hips with a bruising force as he grinds up into you. If anything, the soft fabric pressing into your clit with each of his uncoordinated thrusts makes it feel more euphoric.
"Oh, God~"
The soft moans you let out have Wooyoung rock hard and San palming himself. "Ffffuck, Baby," you groan, hugging his neck tightly as his hips buck below you.
Everyone got the 'Babyyy' treatment when they were good or needed a pick me up. The way it rolled off of your tongue was like a drug to them. Even more so when it's so deep and passionate. Even more so when their cock is pressing against you.
Sans eager left turn has the both of you rolling on the floor, laughing as he apologizes loudly from the driver seat. "Sorry, continue!"
"You heard the man," you laugh from below Wooyoung, "continue."
And he does, burying his face in your neck and biting and licking and sucking as he rubs his bulge against you like it's the last human touch he'll ever experience. "M'cum," your moan has him rolling into you with a new purpose in life, nearly growling as he holds himself back from painting his underwear white, "shit, Youngie!" You wrap your legs around his waist tightly as you release, shivering and shaking with your jaw slack.
He isn't far behind by even a second, his gut clenching as he turns his bottoms sticky with his own pleasure, panting into your ear as he continues to roll into you, drawing out your euphoria and making you mewl out, clawing at his scalp.
In your bliss, you fail to notice that Sans parked outside of a double story motel and ran out with a wad of cash, clearly in a hurry.
Yours hands are wrapped in each others hair, breathing deeply with your foreheads pressed together, almost as it trying to meld your souls together with passion.
The doors behind the both of you open and flood you in the neon light of the motel signs, and you peek around Wooyoungs frame as he falls over you protectively from what he thinks is prying eyes. "Sannie~" you call, making Wooyoung relax ontop of you.
"You alive, Foxy?" San teases as he climbs in and crawls to you both.
"Mhm," he moans into your jaw, "very alive." He gasps as San pulls him away from you by his neck, taking him in a feverish kiss as you watch on in awe. You can tell San his slipping his tongue into Wooyoungs mouth by the way he holds his jaw open, the way Wooyoung grinds his bulge back into you.
"Youngie, Baby," you whine as he rolls his self into your swollen clit, but it only makes him go faster, his hands finding purchase on Sans waist. "Ah s-" You writhe below him, stopped when one of Sans hands comes and holds you in place by pressing on your stomach: all the while he never opens his eyes or pulls away from your boyfriend. "Fuck, please don't tease!"
He chuckles into his lips, gently stroking his neck. "C'mon, I got us a room for a few days."
Wooyoung begrudgingly slides out of the van, gathering your few bags and bouncing in anticipation as he fixes his pants to the best of his ability. San scoops you up to his chest and you cling to him like a koala bear, kissing all over his face as he carries you up the stairs and down the balcony hall.
Wooyoung drops the bags at the entrance of the room and immediately goes to investigate the single bedded room and bathroom before urging San in, latching the door shut behind him.
You're dropped to the bed and bounce with a soft laugh, opening your legs wide to fit Sans large frame as he slots himself between them. Wooyoung slides next to you and is immediately latched onto your neck as he unbuttons your dress.
"Ah fuck," you mewl out, cradling his head close as your head spins, San slipping off your panties and shimmying down. He holds your thighs apart as he licks a slow, deep stripe up your soaking heat, reveling in the way you moan for him. He wastes no time diving in and eating you out like it's his last meal. His tongue flicking and swiping against every inch it can reach. His nose pressed against your clit as his head bobs.
You're lost in the pleasure between your legs so much so that you don't notice that you and Wooyoung are both naked until he climbs onto your stomach, his hot member gliding between your breasts. Despite how long it's been, your body has its muscle memory from how often you two would do this.
You cup your breasts and push them together, encasing his length in the soft flesh as he grips the headboard roughly, the tip of his cock leaking on the base of your collar bones.
It's hard to appreciate just how beautiful he is while San is ravaging your cunt with his tongue, but you manage. Looking up with blown irises, he's so pretty. His long hair softly framing his face, bouncing with each of his rough, slow thrusts against your supple skin. His swollen lips parted with moans. Toned abs expanding and constricting as he heaves.
"Foxy," you whisper out, catching his eyes with a deep blush on both of your cheeks, "so pretty, Baby."
He curses loudly and reaches one hand down, cradling your face so gently in comparison to how he fucks your tits. "My woman."
The words make your eyes roll back, a wave of your arousal coating Sans tongue as you cum, gripping your breasts tightly and whimpering out as the sensations continue well past your peak.
Wooyoung wills himself to hold back from cumming until he's told, and San holds himself back as he laps up your juices-grinding his hardness onto the bed slowly. Both of your moans are a magic melody to him, and he can't help but crave more. He pulls away and joins Wooyoung over top of you, wrapping his arms around the younger man and spooking him. He slides his hands up his naked torso teasingly slow, grinding on his backside.
"Shit, Babe," he groans, tossing his head back on his shoulder and simultaneously trying to bury his cock in your warm skin and grind back on San's bulge. "Fuck, I ne-"
"Cum, Youngie." The command from the both of you at the same time has him painting your collarbones and neck in a millisecond flat, jaw slack as San continues to stroke him even as his hips stop.
"Fuck, fuck, please, oh my God," he stirs back to life from his void of pleasure as you bend your neck and lick his sensitive tip. He tries to back away only to bump right into Sans girth on his bare backside. "Oh God~"
"Need a breather, Sexy?" San coos as he slowly moves Wooyoung off of you, already knowing that he can't cum back to back. He needs at least five minutes at that's all San needs to get you ready for what's about to come.
Wooyoung comes crawling back into you, lapping up his own seed with a quiet moan as San slides down your body and hooks your legs over his hips. "Ready, Darling?"
"Yes, holy fuck am I ready, please give it to me," you babble on, only silenced as he inches into your sopping core. He's by far the girthiest man you've even been with. And the stretch always feels so delicious.
Wooyoung takes advantage as your jaw falls open, leaning over you to drip all of his release into your mouth. The moans and whimpers of pleasure are unstoppable as you swallow all of it down eagerly, hands wrapped up in his hair and pulling him impossibly close. His body follows his head, almost snuggling you as he presses his body flush to your side, one leg hooked over your hips as he grinds his hardening member into your hip.
It's all so warm and welcoming, a familiar and comfortable feeling washing over you along with the overstimulation of your third orgasm building up as San thrusts into you with a steady slow pace. "Fuck," you moan into Wooyoung, "so big," you whimper as your cunt uncontrollably clenches around him. He swallows up all of your noises as he moves his lips against yours zealously, and sneaky hand rubbing the column of your breasts and up to your neck, simply resting: bouncing with each of Sans increasingly rough thrusts that bounce your body.
"Take me so well," Sans praise has you leaking onto the blanket, panting like crazy and slapping at Wooyoungs shoulders as he bites at your lips hungrily, "pretty Angel, made just for us, hm?"
"Mmhmph-" Your affirmative moan turns into a yelp as Wooyoung tightens his hand over your neck.
Damn them. When they decided to be on the same team they were almost scary at how well the schemed without even speaking a single word. San held your hips in place and drilled into you. Wooyoung assaulting your ear with kisses and bites, squeezing your neck in time with Sans hips.
"Pretty Angel looks like she wants your cum," Wooyoung teases as you swirl your hips in Sans hold, holding you down securely with his hand pressing your neck into the mattress as he looks down at where you're connected.
"Mmh, she does," San groans loudly, hips snapping into you needily, "looks like a bitch in heat." His words make both of you moan out, your eyes rolling into your skull for a moment before he buries himself to the hilt and stops.
"No, no, no, please! I wasn't going to cum, pleaseee, Sannie Baby~!" If there's one thing that gets San off, it's when his lover begs him for permission. When their with someone else- cum as much as you like. But with him? Grovel at his feet and beg him for a release only he can give you. "Fuuuck, shit, please, I need you, fuck me!"
Wooyoung watches you with gazed over eyes, holding you still as you attempt to writhe and get more stimulation. "She wants it's so bad, Babe~" He smirks as San, a look that makes his cock twitch inside of you, You muster up your best begging pout and let go of him, reaching for San's hands that are gripping your hips with a bruising force as he holds himself back until he's satisfied with your begging.
"I want you to make me cum, please, Django?"
All of the breath is fucked out of your lungs as he pounds into you. Fast and hard and nearly animalistic in the way he buries himself in your sopping heat with a string of curses, his fingers interlacing with yours in a soft intimacy that makes your head fuzzy. You can barely moan, how good it is. But he knows. Wooyoung knows.
As you finally come to your senses and scream out with your release, the whole district must know how well Django is fucking you.
He stops himself with a deep groan as your walls flutter and clench around him, squeezing your hands to ground your soul to your body as Wooyoung dips his head and laps at your hardened nipples. You squeeze his hands tightly, arched off of the bed in pure ecstasy as he fills you with his warm cum.
San slips his arms under your arched back and holds you close to his chest as he flips the two of you, a squeal of pleasure leaving you as he hits an all new angle. He holds you securely as he looks at Wooyoung, almost silently communicating.
He slips behind you, the feeling of his leaking tip prodding at your stretched hole has you gripping Sans shoulders tightly, rolling your hips back into him. "Oh, fuck, yes yes yes yes y-" Sans lips catch yours and silence you as he ravenously slips his tongue into your mouth and licks at your tongue, feeding on all of your moans as Wooyoung slides in with him.
"So good, my woman," his mind is gone, unaware of how your walls grow slicker with his praise as he slowly sheaths himself into you fully.
He nowhere near as thick as San, but dear lord that man has length to make up for it. The both of them together is making your stomach feel hot, the hair on the back of your neck standing up.
San pulls away panting, his lips swollen and wet with your saliva. "Beautiful Angel," you official feel lightheaded as he cradles your face oh so gently as he moves his hips. Wooyoung follows suit, holding your back and fucking into you ruthlessly, rubbing against Sans girth inside of you like it's his favorite thing to do in the universe and it's about to be ripped away.
All you can do is moan and gasp with them, a melody that your neighbors must be cursing as the headboard bangs into the thin walls.
Your chest is pressed into Sans roughly, faces barely an inch away as you all move together. His hands cupping your cheeks and keeping you upright as your body threatens to give out. "Sannie, please, n'cum," he can just make out your slurs over the panting and slapping of skin in the humid room, the smell of sex already soaking into the air.
His brain is nearly gone as he feels Wooyoungs length twitch against him along with your cunt squeezing mercilessly, only nodding at the both of you for permission as he himself lets his soul float away in a wave of pleasure, squeezing you to himself possessively as he cums inside of you. Wooyoung isn't a moment behind, the second he feels Sans warmth flood you, his is joining. And the feeling of both of them soaking your womb makes you lose yourself, dunked in pleasure.
Wooyoung falls ontop of you, sandwiching you between their body warmth. San reaches around and hugs his arms around both of you, heavy breaths lulling you to sleep.
"Holy shit." Is all that can be said.
--
The next morning you decide to take advantage of the running water that San must have paid extra for, washing away the grime that stuck to you despite how many bird baths Wooyoung have you on the side of the road.
San, despite you and Wooyoungs best begging, went off on his own to meet with Hongjoong after he got a call on the prepaid flip phone in the middle of the night.
Wooyoung noticed you eyeing the bag of dirty laundry when you woke up and immediately offered to go wash them and grab some food for the both of you.
You're so wrapped up in the welcoming feeling of the warm water pelting your body that you fail to notice the door opening, letting the steam rise to the ceiling of the motel room. You sung one of Jongho's songs sung softly, the sound echoing on the fiberglass and acrylic shower wall.
"Darling?"
You grab the knife you left on the edge and swipe the shower curtain back. "Jesus!" Both of you yell. Wooyoungs hands fly up in a defense position as you aim the knife at him for a moment.
You flip it in your hand and hand it over to him by the handle, visibly relaxing as you see it's only your sneaky boyfriend. "Perv~" You tease before sliding the curtain shut dramatically. You can hear him shuffling around, and the sound of his zipper confirms your suspicions.
He steps over the tub edge and joins you, hugging you close from behind and kissing your neck gently. "Did you-"
"Mhm, foods on the bed, Princess." You laugh softly before turning in his arms and hugging his neck loosely.
"You're the best, you know?"
"I sure do~"
He reaches over you and grabs the travel size bottle of shampoo, cursing them silently because he will most definitely have to go get some more from the main desk before your stay is over. He lathers it up in his hands a bit before massaging your hair tenderly. "You miss them, don't you?"
His question catches you off guard for a moment, wondering just what he means until you realize that he must have heard you singing the song Jongho wrote all those years ago on The Illusion.
Those times were so much simpler. A group of pirates and the open sea. Beautiful blue water and all the time together that you could ever ask for.
"Don't you?" The way your eyes glaze over is enough to tell him. You miss them just as much as he does. You wish this would end just as much as he does.
"It hurts like hell."
"I know, Baby."
"I want to kill them."
Hala-Teez, the Strickland officials? All of them. "Me too, Baby."
He leans your head back carefully and rinses away the coconut scented soap from your hair gently. "I love you." You speak. Just above a whisper. But he catches it even over the raining water.
"I love you, Darling. This will all be over soon." He doesn't promise because he knows he can't. He doesn't know how long this situation will last. You could be on the run from Strickland and looking over your shoulders for Hala-Teez until your last breath.
"Joong will figure something out." You don't promise. Because Hongjoong hasn't. He can't. He won't promise something that he doesn't know he cant follow through with. He could be trying to come up with a plan for decades.
You stand in silence for a moment as you wash his hair gently before he speaks again, "don't cry, Love."
"What?"
When you look up, he's blurry. When did you start crying? How did this happen?
He closes his eyes and hugs you close with his head under the stream of steaming water.
After a small cry-session in the shower together, you and Wooyoung curled up in the bed and ate your takeout, watching one of the decade old dvd's on the laptop that Yeosang managed to get to you guys a few weeks ago.
The ban from being together for safety didn't stop small run ins with a familiar looking delivery man. Be it disguised as a food delivery man, a mailman, an exterminator- Yeosang always found a way to travel around the city and deliver small gifts from one member to another along with messages from Hongjoong when the phones were down.
A wave of laughter is cut off by a knock on the door. His hand immediately grabs a small hand gun on the nightstand as he stands, your own going to your knife that's sandwiched between the mattress and bed box as you slam the laptop closed.
"Delivery!" The voice makes you relax.
"Fucker," you huff as you jump over the bed and beat Wooyoung to the door and smile at the helmeted man. You can't see him, but you know who it is. "Goody~" You peek out into the halls and spot a few suspicious looking people, so you pretend to slip him some money before taking the box and take one last look as he walks away.
"Open it," he urges impatiently, nearly knocking you over to get to the pizza box as you set it on the small table.
Ontop of your favorite pizza. A small piece of paper. Sans handwriting.
let's bounce
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#ateez#ateez smut#ateez wooyoung#ateez san#jung wooyoung#choi san#wooyoung smut#choi san smut#wooyoung x reader#choi san x reader#smut fic#woosan#woosan x reader#smau#ateez smau
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Joel/Reader
Free Use - Joel fucking the reader while she’s doing some other task like cooking. They have an agreement that he can fuck her whenever he likes so he just slides into her without preamble 😭
Making dinner (free use)
700 words, Joel x f!Reader.
A/N: The way I said hell yeah out loud . . . You had me at “without preamble.” Click the "#free use!Joel☠️" tag for more. Wanna use Joel? Free Use HCs (post-outbreak/TLOU).
WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ Unsafe PIV, consent for free use has been pre-established, pre or non-outbreak. Master List
You’re making dinner for Joel’s birthday and expect him home any minute. Tommy will be staying for dinner, too. You’re wearing Joel’s favorite sundress, the form-fitting one that drives him wild, with no bra. He’s been working with his hands this week, really building something himself, as opposed to overseeing other workers. You love seeing Joel when he gets home from a hands-on job. Sleeves rolled up, shirt blotched with perspiration, forearms smudged with dirt. You get wet just thinking about it and even wetter when the truck pulls into the driveway.
When the guys walk in, they’re as dirty as you expect. Joel gives you a little kiss hello and Tommy greets you politely. The only shower is upstairs, and Joel says Tommy can use it first. Meanwhile, Joel goes to put his tools away in the garage. The door closes again, then Joel’s boots are slow and heavy on the linoleum as he crosses the kitchen. You glance up from the potatoes you’re slicing, and he’s unfastening his belt as he walks. His lips part as he looks you up and down like a piece of meat.
You keep chopping the potatoes while Joel washes his hands right next to you, his jeans grazing your dress. He dries his hands on a lemon-print dish towel, then throws it down on the counter and gets in your space. The shower turns on upstairs. Joel grabs your ass with a quiet “Mmmm.” He steps behind you, crowding you against the counter, and you feel him hard against your ass. He inhales your hair. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day” he whispers to himself in a near-growl. You keep chopping, but slow the knife as his hands hook around your thighs. His large fingers skim up your legs and take your dress with them. He leaves your dress resting on top of your ass, now clad only in a thong. He rocks onto his tiptoes as he frees his stiff cock from his pants. His boot gently kicks the inside of your sandal, prompting you to spread your legs a little more. Then, he pushes your thong out of the way with his pinky, nestles his tip at your dripping entrance, and begins to push inside.
He wraps an arm around your waist, giving you a whiff of sawdust mixed with sweat. His masculine scent never fails to make you weak in the knees. His arm tightens around you, then his stiff manhood plunges into you. You gasp softly as his girth parts your core. You pause your task for only a moment, taking a deep breath as your bodies are joined. His cock retreats, then sinks even deeper into you, bottoming out with a grunt. He gropes your breast, and your nipple hardens. You start chopping the vegetables again.
Joel buries his cock inside you, jerking himself off with your tight, wet cunt while you cook. He growls and grunts and gropes where he wants. His thrusts intensify and the momentum propels you onto your tiptoes. His fingers dig into your hips and his strong hands hold you down while his thick cock fills you up again and again.
The shower water turns off upstairs. Joel quickens his pace, and both his big arms tighten around you as he pistons into you. This isn’t for your pleasure, not at all, but the intensity of the situation, the strength of his arms around you, the waft of his scent, it all comes together and something rapidly builds within you. Your core tightens, his breath becomes ragged, and he twitches inside you. He pulls out all but his massive tip, then slams into you again, filling you to the brim. His cock pulses powerfully, tipping you over the edge into your own climax, and you let the knife clatter into the sink. Joel holds you down on his cock as he comes and you clench around him.
The bathroom door opens upstairs. Joel slides out of you and puts his cock away as Tommy’s footsteps start down the stairs. Joel’s cum trickles out of you and he hands you the lemon-print dish towel. Your face burns as you quickly wipe your inner thighs. When Tommy walks into the kitchen, you’re all disheveled and your dress is filthy from Joel’s arms.
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If you like this one, I recommend Speakeasy, Speakeasy Bartender, and Picnic Table.
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all Joel - @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea i feel like I'm leaving someone off who asked lmk if you still need on
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#joel miller x reader#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller#the last of us smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal smut#toxicanonymity ☠️#free use!joel#free use!joel miller#free use!Joel☠️
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For a few weeks, Claudia thinks that she’s collecting her son from the hospital after he’s visited Max Mayfield.
Then she finds out that’s only partly the truth.
Usually Dustin’s already waiting in the parking lot for her, Steve by his side. They chat, Steve insisting that he could drive Dustin home, it’s no trouble, and Claudia thanks him for the offer, kindly refuses; the poor boy looks run ragged these days.
One day neither of them are there, so she heads inside. There’s still a long line at reception, the aftermath of the earthquake, so she finds a nurse in a corridor, describes Dustin—my boy, about this high, curly hair (smiles like the sun, she wants to add)—and the nurse smiles, says, “Follow me, ma’am.”
She has a passing thought that this isn’t the direction to Max’s room, but reasons that she must’ve been moved. The nurse leaves her at the door before being called away.
Claudia opens the door quietly.
It’s not Max who’s in the bed.
She recognises him from the posters—his eyes first, then his long hair. He’s holding a battered copy of The Hobbit, the spine broken, and he’s reading so softly that she can’t quite make out the words.
And there, lying so peacefully against Eddie Munson’s shoulder, is Dustin. He’s fast asleep.
Eddie’s got an arm around him, and he’s slowly running his fingers through Dustin’s hair the way she used to when he was little, to help him drift off.
He looks up from his book at the sound of her entering the room, and his face goes as white as the bedsheets.
She takes one step forward.
Eddie inhales, breath stuttering, and it’s a fragile, heartbreaking sound.
Dustin stirs. “Hmm? Wha’s wrong?” He lifts his head up from Eddie’s shoulder, and his eyes meet Claudia’s, and he’s suddenly wide awake, scrabbling upright. “Mom.”
Eddie’s mouth keeps moving, like he’s desperately searching for words. “I-I’m not—” His breathing catches again, eyes wide; Claudia realises, with a heavy heart, that he’s deeply afraid of her. “It’s just a stupid board game, I swear.”
“Mom,” Dustin says again. Pleading.
And of course, Claudia never once believed the frenzied cries about Satanic rituals. Still, throughout that awful Spring Break, knowing that her son was lying to her, all she could think was that she was once a teenager, too—remembered how easy it could be to get caught up in something scary, something beyond your control.
She looks into Eddie Munson’s eyes, and knows deep in her bones that she has nothing to fear from him.
She beckons Dustin over, hands him the car keys.
“There’s a pillow on your seat, hon,” she says softly, because there’s a sleepy haze returning to his eyes despite his obvious concern for Eddie.
Dustin blinks, so unsure.
She smiles reassuringly. It’s okay. I promise.
“Okay,” Dustin says slowly, and he looks back at Eddie, raising his eyebrows like he wants to convince him of something. “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”
Eddie nods, but doesn’t speak.
He lifts his hand in a weak wave as Dustin leaves. It’s shaking.
Claudia sits down by the bed. Puts her hand in his.
Eddie stares at her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you.”
Eddie shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t—” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t you.”
Claudia shakes her head, too, slowly—prays that he can really hear this. “No, no, please. Listen to me. I’m so sorry.”
It would be an easy thing to say, that the town of Hawkins wronged Eddie Munson. But that would make it sound so impersonal: like it was inevitable, just one of these tragic things that happened, nothing to be done about it. Like earthquakes.
But that wasn’t true. People were behind this, and Claudia knows that they are all the town, every single one of them. And what did it say about them, that the fear and mistrust and cruelty spread like wildfire? That not one adult in the town hall stood up, begged people to stop, to think again?
“Th-thank you,” Eddie says. It sounds so uncertain, almost like a question.
Claudia squeezes his hand. “You were with Dustin, weren’t you?” she asks. “When the earthquake…”
His hand is shaking again.
“Yes,” he whispers. “I-I’m sorry, I—” He swallows. “I didn’t want a-anything to happen to him.”
“Oh, honey.” She reaches out cautiously, and when he doesn’t freeze up, she cups his cheek; her heart breaks at the rough indent of a scar beneath her palm. “You’re not God.”
Eddie reaches up, pressing her hand further against his cheek. He’s crying.
Claudia wipes his tears away as much as she can. She keeps up a steady murmur: “Shh, shh. I know you kept him as safe as you could. I know, I know. Shh.”
When he starts to calm, she thanks him again, but for something lighter.
“Dusty… he was so nervous, starting high school. But his first day, when I picked him up, all he could talk about was getting invited to have lunch with… well, a club.” Claudia smiles. “Oh, he was talking a mile a minute, I could hardly keep up. But I… oh, Eddie, I understand now. That was you.”
Eddie grins back. His cheeks are still wet.
“I didn’t do much,” he says. “You’ve…” For a moment, his eyes fill up again, but they look like happy tears. “You’ve got some kid, Mrs Henderson. He’s—he’s a real gem.”
She laughs. “Oh, I know.”
It’s one of the many things she loves about Dustin: that he’s always been so unashamedly, so joyously himself.
And Eddie had clearly seen that in him, had taken him in and nurtured everything that made him so.
The door abruptly slams open.
Steve’s in the doorway; he must’ve been running, is still gasping for breath as he says, panicked, “Claudia, I can—”
“Steve,” Eddie says softly, and that’s all.
But it’s clearly enough, because Steve’s shoulders drop in relief, and then he’s shutting the door, coming to Eddie’s bedside like he belongs there, and Eddie’s smiling at him, so tenderly…
And oh, she was young, once. She knows what she’s looking at.
Of course, she doesn’t mention it, can still sense some residual anxiety radiating from them.
Instead she looks around the room, spots a pile of laundry in the corner. It’s been stuffed into a bag; she recognises that as belonging to Steve, but there’s some shirts in there that are definitely Eddie’s, entwined with Steve’s things.
She stands, but before she can even pick up the bag, it seems like Steve’s read her mind, because he’s stepping forward, stopping her with a touch to her forearm.
“Oh, you don’t have to—I’m taking care of it, Claudia.”
She pats his cheek, lingers there until he smiles. “I know, sweetheart. But… would you let me? It’s the least I can do.”
Eddie reaches up from the bed, squeezes Steve’s elbow. Steve sighs, briefly leaning into him.
“Okay,” he says. “That’s… thank you.”
“As long as you do one thing for me.”
“Of course,” Steve says immediately. “Anything.”
Claudia brings out a notepad and pen from her bag. “Write me a list? Anything you’d like, I’ll be shopping anyway.” She looks Steve in the eyes, adds firmly but with a smile, “It’s no trouble.”
Steve takes the notepad, twirls the pen hesitantly.
“Anything you’d like,” Claudia repeats. She glances at Eddie, says, “You know, if you want a different shampoo than what they have here, things like that, or—”
“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Eddie says quickly. “Whatever’s on sale is—”
“I know, honey,” Claudia says patiently, “but what would you actually like?”
The last extended hospital stay she’d had was fifteen years ago; Dustin had been a preemie, and one of the few things that kept her calm was the familiar: scents, food, people…
Steve chuckles. “I’ve got it.” He writes on the notepad, and Eddie must be able to read it, because he suddenly turns a little pink.
“How did you know that?”
Steve shrugs, smiles. “I notice things.” He writes down just a couple more things, then hands the list back. “Thank you so much, Claudia.”
“Any time, sweetie, I mean it.” She hugs Steve goodbye, then reaches one last time for Eddie’s hand on the bedspread. “It was lovely to meet you, Eddie. Hope you can go home soon.”
“Yeah, me—me too. Thank you, Mrs Hend—” Steve squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie stops. Smiles. “Thank you, Claudia.”
She looks back once to shut the door behind her. Steve’s pulling up a chair, as close as he can get, and as the door closes, she hears him tut softly, gently swiping at the remaining trail of tears on Eddie’s face: “Hey, what—?”
They look like they belong together. Dustin’s boys.
Dustin’s asleep in the car, pillow pressed against the window. Claudia puts the bag of laundry in the trunk before quietly slipping into her seat.
Dustin wakes anyway as they drive out of the parking lot. “Eddie… okay?”
“He is, honey. Steve’s with him.”
“Mm… good.” There’s a pause, and Claudia thinks he’s fallen asleep again, but then he says, tentative, “Mom?”
“Yes, Dusty?”
“If I tell you something… d’you promise to keep it private?”
“As long as it’s not hurting anyone.”
“It’s not,” Dustin says firmly. “Um. Steve and Eddie, I think… I think they’re…”
Claudia smiles, nods encouragingly. “Oh, that’s lovely.”
Dustin hums in agreement. “They’ve not told me. Did I… do something wrong?”
“No, baby. You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Claudia feels a lump in her throat. “You’re a good friend.”
Dustin makes an uncertain noise.
“You are, baby. They love you very much, you know that, right?”
“Yeah.” Dustin sighs. “I know.” His eyes are closing.
“Sorry, baby, just before you sleep—are there any candies Steve and Eddie like?”
Dustin nods. “Eddie likes anything sweet. An’ Steve…” He yawns. “Anything w’peanut butter.”
“Great. Thank you, honey.”
Dustin’s already asleep.
Claudia knows that even with what she’s learned today, she still only has half a story, if that. That there’s something more to Dustin’s exhaustion, to just how Eddie ended up in a hospital bed.
Today, she’ll do all she can. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Laundry and shopping, reading the brand of shampoo Steve wrote with a careful eye. She’ll fill her cart up with treats, things that won’t solve anything; they might make staying in that hospital room just a little easier, though. Make it feel a little warmer, a little more like home.
But first, she’ll take her boy home; she’ll park the car as close to the front door as she can get, and when he doesn’t stir, she’ll run a hand through his hair, gently put him to bed.
#one line from my current Dustin fic wouldn’t leave me alone & then this happened ❤️#claudia henderson fic#eddie and dustin#dustin and claudia henderson#henderfam#steve and dustin#steddie ficlet#steddie fic#steddie#eddie and claudia#steve and claudia#claudia henderson#dustin henderson#eddie munson#steve harrington#steve x eddie
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okay soooo i’m expanding on this post about cuck!price and his mrs, as well as my tags that basically say they’re both obsessed with you
@bleuu-moon is truly the orchestrator behind this and actually went into my dms to manipulate me into writing (i’m joking ofc lol blu i luv you and your brain)
uhh yeah this is really short and basic and unedited
18+, fem!reader — price and his wife fuck while dirty talking about you, etc (i don’t have a description or name for price’s wife just yet so bear with me 😭)
You, John and his wife had been involved with one another for months now.
It started as a mutual friendship— both Mr. and Mrs. Price being so warm and kind to you, always so inviting and generous. But throughout the friendship, you couldn’t help but notice John’s lingering stares and the way his wife would let her lips linger against your cheek after a friendly kiss goodbye.
Then, you began a tryst, of sorts, with them. A drunken night out led to you and Mrs. Price tangled together, John sitting nearby with his cock in his hand and his eyes glazed over. Then, he’d fucked you hard while his wife cradled your face, petting you gently while guiding your mouth to her slick pussy.
That was months ago.
And the Price’s hardly ever fucked without you, now. It seemed too empty, the bed too cold and the room too quiet without you. It was like you were a missing piece of their puzzle, hidden just out of reach when they needed you the most.
So, when both John and his wife found themselves worked up behind belief, whiskey warming their blood, they found they missed you.
You had been with them, in all your beauty, just three days prior— an entire night of being fucked into the mattress with a real cock down your throat and a fake one splitting you open from behind. You gave yourself to them, every bare, gorgeous inch of you. And they loved it.
They craved it.
Now, with his wife’s knees pushed up near her ears, John held her steady as he pumped his achingly hard cock in and out of her. The tight warmth of her cunt sucked him in, drawing ragged breaths from his lungs, forehead beading with sweat.
She moaned, hands scraping down his hairy back, gripping and groping at the soft muscle there. He grunted in return, snapping his hips harder, driving himself deeper. So much deeper.
Before you, their dirty talk was exceptional and always focused on praising (or degrading) one another. But you… you changed their dynamic completely— flipped it on its head entirely.
“Fuckin’ hell, she’d love this, wouldn’t she?” John moaned, cock driving up against the base of his wife’s cervix, her walls slick and tight around him. He was talking about you, of course.
His wife moaned, tossing her head back and scraping her manicured nails down her husband’s back. “Yeah— yes, fuck—! Yeah, she would. She’d— she’d love it, John.”
John grumbled something low in his chest, a growl of approval as he continued rutting his fat cock into his wife, who was mewling and keening below him.
“Mhm, she’d take it like such a good girl,” his wife moaned, one hand gripping the back of John’s neck. “She’s such a good girl for us, isn’t she, darling?”
John nodded, grunting in agreement. He was envisioning that it was your pussy that he was rutting into with deep thrusts and obscene wet squelches.
“Our good girl,” John whispered. “Fuck, miss her so much. I fuckin’ need her, love. Need her tight little pussy an’ that pretty mouth of hers.”
His wife moaned in agreement, the head of John’s cock driving her towards release. It was coming a lot quicker— her body tingling, heat blooming in her lower belly— thanks to the thought of you in her head.
She moaned again. “Oh fuck— fuck she’s such a pretty girl, John. She— oh my god— she makes me feel so good.”
“Yeah?” John implored, almost teasingly. But not too teasingly, considering you made him feel the exact same way too. John was many things, but he wasn’t a hypocrite.
“Yeah…” His wife whined. “Mmm…”
Then, Mrs. Price came with another loud moan, her orgasm ripping through her body. It made her keen and arch against her husband, still fucking her, her legs shaking as she gushed around John’s cock.
She came moaning your name.
“That’s it, that’s it,” Price cooed, eyes glazed over. “Moan her name, darling. Let me hear her name falling from those pretty lips.”
His wife nearly cried your name that time, and John bent down to kiss her. They kissed, licking their tongues together and swapping too much spit— but they didn’t care. They were too busy thinking about you.
“M’comin’—” Price moaned, and then whined out your name. “Baby, fuck, m’gonna come inside you.”
He called you baby.
Playing pretend. It’ll have to do.
His wife gasped out in pleasure when he buried himself to the hilt inside her and came hard. He filled her with a shudder of his bulky body, your name dribbling from his lips, tasting of whiskey and need.
God, they wanted you so bad.
#captainfern#cuck!price lmao#but uh yeah the original post has be going insane so thanks for that blu <3#captain john price smut#john price call of duty#captain john price x female reader#captain john price x you#captain price smut#john price smut#price smut#call of duty
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captain's girl
☆ characters: akagami no shanks
☆ up next: tbd
☆ summary: shanks has always had a soft spot for you but as he spends more time around you that feeling intensifies- he's fallen, and hard.. how will he confess?
☆ a/n: i lost the ask that originally submitted this but i loved this prompt! so so cute and always lovely to write for my favorite captain.. shanks nation rise!
Shanks hadn’t slept in days.
Shanks- an emperor, had been a pirate for decades and he knew well what it meant to be selfish. To be faced with all the treasure and beauty in the World and it not be enough until one had it all to himself. But he’d only ever seen it. In allies and enemies alike he had seen that corrupting burning want- no, need for something that drives one nearly mad. He’d seen fellow seamen be consumed by this bubbling and boiling desire that had always sickened him to think about.
And then there was you. Beautiful, strong-willed, and unafraid of pirates and men and danger and swords and, all of the sudden, he began feeling the symptoms of that dangerous selfishness. He’d watch you laugh with Benn, or cook with Lucky, or play cards with Yasopp and his chest would tighten. His nerves would begin to ebb and flow in uncertainty and the terrifyingly unfamiliar feeling of jealousy began to sprout within the captain of the Red Haired Pirates. He’d spend hours poring over a potential solution– something to make it go away. But everything he tried was useless. Any slight progress immediately crumbled the moment you walked by him. He’d found a nice girl on an island and flirted with her, buying her drinks, treating her special as the rest of the crew began to pour into the bar. It was working! She liked the same music as him and thought he was funny. But then you’d walked in with Beckman, your perfume immediately recognizable to him and he folded. You were entirely captivating to him, and bless him, he tried to listen to the girl in front of him and feign interest in what she was saying but all he could focus on was the sound of you laughing and thanking the men who were sending drinks your way. On a separate occasion, he’d taken a different approach. You were in a particularly cheeky mood and not the most prone to taking orders, so he got frustrated. He leant into that frustration, barking at you for not listening. But you just rolled your eyes and begrudgingly got up to do what he was asking. As you walked past him, you raked a fingernail across his chest and offered assistance if he needed “any help de-stressing.” And with a wink you were off. After that little incident, he could hardly sleep and was quite literally plagued by (very inappropriate) thoughts of you and decided it would be best if he didn’t do anything for a while. This had been going on for months now. A one sided game of cat and mouse that Shanks did not want to be playing, after all, he wasn't used to playing the role of mouse. Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.
But he was realizing there was no escape. Constantly you teased him, tempted him, lured him, all to act like nothing the next moment. His head was spinning. Just this morning, you ran into him at breakfast and asked if he wanted to go into town with you. He came up with some half assed excuse and tried his hardest to keep his composure when you pouted at his and said, “Pretty please?” He went up and moped in his office, going over all those moments when he felt that now familiar ache in his chest– that throbbing pain that felt like his swollen heart was being mushed up against his ribcage and had been making his daily life on the ship, oh, so inconvenient.
Like a few months ago when, in your typical fashion, you’d put together a small band out of the rag-tag musicians on the crew. An upright bass player out of your intel gatherer, a drummer out of one of Hongo’s assistants, some brass players that you put through a very selective audition, and, of course, you as the singer. He remembers walking out after having a few drinks with those of his men that he was closest with and hearing the sound of your voice singing a soft jazz tune. ‘I wish you bluebirds, in the spring…..’ his heart picking up a bit, and him leaning over to look at the band playing, ‘To give your heart a song to sing, and then a kiss…’ Him rushing down the stairs and urging the crew to dance, asking Lucky to get behind the bar and start making cocktails and drinks, ‘But more than this, I wish you love’ anything so that he could sit and listen to you. He remembers the boyish surge of energy that coursed through him when you shot him a playful wink. A thank you for entertaining your antics and encouraging your little band of criminal musicians.
Or last week, when you stopped by his office (he’d begun spending more and more time locked in there attempting to find reprieve from your presence which was quickly becoming all too much for him to be around) and knocked on his door in the way you always knocked on any door. Three rhythmic little taps, always quiet and polite. “Come in!” he’d said, forcing his voice to steady itself like his heart wasn’t crawling up into his throat. “Hey Shanks– I have something for you.” You made your way to his desk, dropping a little parcel on it before going to lay down on the couch in his office, a seat he always kept open for you. It was just an old leather chair, but he knew how much you liked it. He opened up the parcel, watching you pull out a cigarette and bring it to your lips, holding it droopily between them as you dug around in your jacket for a lighter. He finished unwrapping the gift, a compass falling out. Gold and the initials R.H.S. engraved in the back. The glass had been carved out so that it was angular and there was a detailed inking of the ocean in the back, and the north arrow was dark red. He turned it over in his palm, “R.H.S.?” he asked. “It’s funny, huh! Red-Hair-Shanks,” you laughed, “It made Benny crack up so I snatched it. They wanted $15,000 for it! Like hell was I gonna pay that…. Hey, do you have a lighter?” You walked back over to him, leaning on his desk, looking down at his face, batting your eyes at him all doe-like. He felt like he might faint. 'Benny' he felt a pang of jealousy but smiled to himself at the nickname. Beckman hated nicknames but you'd started calling him Benny and for the first time ever there was no protest from the man's lips. You'd wiggled your way into all their hearts like that- helping Lucky with groceries and keeping Yasopp company when he drank more than he could stand.
“Sure do, sweetheart,” he maintained his typical flirty cadence but failed to sound as confident as he usually does. You shot him a look. He sheepishly handed you the lighter but instead of taking it you leant over further, beckoning for him to light the cigarette for you. He swallowed and brought the lighter up to the cigarette, the two of you making eye contact as he lit it. You blew a playful puff of smoke at him before making your way back over to the sofa. You laid across it, kicking your shoes off and pulling a magazine from his shelf. “Playboy? Really?” He gave you an embarrassed grin and shrugged. You made a mental note that this magazine had been left open on a photo of a bikini-clad girl that looked an awful like you. Pervert, you thought. You put the magazine away and sunk further into the chair, taking long drags of the cigarette, filling up the room with smoke. Shanks was trying not to stare a hole through you and limited himself from looking over in your general direction. You were so at peace, your legs draped over the arm of the chair and your hands above your head. An hour passed like this, the two of you sharing a silence that was only peaceful on your end. Shanks sat at his desk pretending to be deeply interested in a blank piece of paper and mulled over possible topics of conversation. He was trying not to beat himself up over his newfound shyness- he was like a teenage boy talking to a girl for the first time. When he finally got the courage to ask you about your most recent errand he was cut off before he could even start.
“Y/n!!! Help me with dinner, eh?!”
Lucky. You groaned sitting up, remembering that you’d promised to help him out with tonight’s dinner last week. “Sorry, Captain,” you said, putting your shoes back on, “I’d love to stay and fog up your office a bit more but duty calls.”
He nodded and got up, nearly running into you. “Ah, sorry princess,” he said, guiding you gently out of the room with a hand on your back.
“Try not to miss me,” you’d said, taking the cigarette out of your mouth and placing it in his. He furrowed his brows in equal amounts of confusion and sexual frustration. “Lucky won’t let me smoke in the kitchen,” you explained. You shot him a wink and were off.
He took a short puff of the cigarette before taking it out and staring at it between his fingers. Your red lipstick stained the end of it. He took a very self indulgent inhale before setting it down on an ashtray in his office. It was the first time he’d smoked in a while.
He hadn’t remembered it feeling so good.
He was late to dinner that night and even Benn had indicated some degree of worry about his captain, asking if he was alright.
Shanks knew this couldn’t last forever– that he would have to do something before he lost his ability to lead his ship entirely. But then, of course, there was what happened yesterday.
Some rookie pirates had convinced themselves it would be a good idea to try and loot your ship. You’d been out on the deck helping Beckman with some chores when the first group of them climbed overboard. Neither of you had particularly expressive reactions– after all, you could tell within a few seconds that they were neither strong nor experienced. Still, it was the general attitude of the Red Hair Pirates to avoid conflict as much as possible. So when they wrapped rope around your wrists and held knives to your throats you and Benn didn’t flinch. Some newer recruits had sounded the alarm which eventually led to the rest of the crew making their way lazily out onto the deck. Shanks emerged from his office, reading glasses still on and laughed at the sight.
“Yasopp– take a pic, will ya!?” he laughed, slapping him on the back, “Benny we’re gonna hang this up in the dining hall!”
Benn rolled his eyes and you smiled. It took another several moments before you realized that your body was feeling more and more weakened by the moment, but when you finally felt a dullness creeping up your legs you noticed that the man holding you was a devil fruit user. The Neru Neru no Mi you believed it was called, Sleep Sleep Fruit. Fatigue started to wash over you and you stumbled forward slightly. The laughter on the ship immediately ceased and Benn called your name. You tried responding but instead fell back, landing against your assailant's chest. Yasopp and Lucky both brought their hands to their pistols, and Benn had taken a more offensive stance though it was clear the effect was starting to weigh on him as well.
“We’ll kill them both,” one of the looters had yelled. Yasopp shot Shanks a look, waiting for some kind of command. “Yasopp–” Shanks started, but he hesitated a moment. If his sniper made any kind of mistake it would be your life taken instead. Before he could react, your captor had drawn the knife down your arm, smirking at the cry of pain you let out as your arm was coated in red. “Shoot him,” he said, gaze turning black. You passed out, though whether it was from the pain or the effect of Shanks’ emperor’s haki on your weakened body was unclear. But the last thing you saw before blacking out was the haunting anger on Shanks’ face.
You woke up a bit later, your head throbbing and your arm bandaged. “Holy shit,” you muttered, “What happened?” Hongo and Beckman were sitting by your bed talking to each other and Lucky, Yasopp, and a few others were playing cards.
"You passed out from the effects of the devil fruit," Benn explained, "And you got a nasty cut on your arm. But Hongo says you'll be healed up by the weekend."
You blushed, somewhat embarrassed that you were the only one to have been injured. "What happened to the other crew?"
Benn shot you a half-smile. An expressive mixture of pride and shame. "The Captain took care of it. Honestly all we could do was watch, we all know better than to get in his way when he gets like that. Never seen this ship so bloody, that's for sure."
You grimaced, "Suppose they won't be messing with us again?"
Benn laughed, "Definitely not."
“Hey, Y/n!” Lucky called out, “Want anything to eat?”
You sat up, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed and grabbing the glass of water Benn offered you, “Yeah, Luck. I’ll take anything, honestly. Where is Shanks?” Benn sighed and looked over at Yasopp who was giggling like a twelve-year old. You got the message.
“Maybe we should tell him it’s obvious? And it’ll fix things?”
Benn shook his head and leant back in his chair, “Nah, it would crush the guy. Maybe if you say something to him, though?” You thought about it for a minute. You'd talked with each other before about the captain's feelings. How he acted every time he was around you. Benn added that he'd never seen him like that before, "Buggy's given us stories about how he used to be around girls. He'd run the other way when a pretty lady talked to him. He's obviously gotten over it since then but it's sort of nice to see him like this."
"Can't blame him," Yasopp added, winking at you, "You're about the prettiest thing on the sea."
Yasopp was still laughing about it, over a game of cards with Lucky and Hongo. You appreciated their company while you rested.
“I don’t know guys. You know I love him just as much but will it be weird? I mean– no offense, but this ship isn’t really the ideal romantic setting. And what if he plays favorites?”
They all laughed at this, “He already is, sweetheart!”
“Just tell him!”
“We’ll have a big ol’ wedding!”
You rolled your eyes and asked to be dealt into the card game they were playing. Lucky came back with a bowl of soup for you. Laughter was filling up the small medical room and it echoed down the hall...
Shanks’ crush on you was astoundingly obvious and what was more surprising was how he had been moping about it for the past four months. He was now in his room, shrouded in embarrassment. Half of it stemmed from the generally well known fact that Shanks and his crew were untouchable- or at least, should be. And the other, perhaps greater, half from the fact that you'd ended up hurt because he’d hesitated. It also didn't help that he had doubted Yasopp at all- he knew he never missed. He’d spent the evening drinking a bottle of whiskey to himself and replaying other embarrassing faux pas he’d committed in front of you. The bottle of empty whiskey sat in front of him on the desk and the sun had long set. He got up, feeling miserable, and decided to head to bed. He grabbed the empty bottle, pausing before he grabbed it. Your cigarette from a week ago sat in the mauve ceramic ashtray on his desk (also a gift from you– you’d said it reminded you of his “ugly pants”). He stared at the lipstick still staining the white paper on the end of the cigarette. His chest tightened and he looked out the window of his office. You were out on deck, your arm bandaged up, hauling some rope into a metal bin. He smiled to himself- an injury like that was no excuse for chores. You looked gorgeous. A white glow surrounded you from the beaming moonlight up above. Your hair was messy and flowed freely around your face shifting the shadows that fell on it. He knew, suddenly, that he had to talk to you. That in all his embarrassment and emotion and confusion about his feelings, he’d neglected to check up on you. He set the bottle down and grabbed the half-smoked cigarette, slipping it into his pocket. He paused at the door, momentarily enjoying the nerves that were coursing through his body. How long had it been since he last felt excitement like this? There were moments at sea where he realized that, thanks to his age and experience, he no longer felt those pangs and throes of youthful worry and excitement. But this? This was new and he was reeling like never before. He was submerged in uncharted waters and all of a sudden that spark of adventure that follows every pirate flared up inside him. Shanks closed the door to his office behind him, taking a deep breath.
You wrapped up the rest of the rope and threw it into the container, before taking a seat on it. Closing your eyes and taking a moment to yourself. It was rare to have a night so quiet. You could hear the faint sound of laughter and talking coming from below the deck. The ship was slowly rocking back and forth.
“Mind if I sit next to you?”
You blinked your eyes open to see Shanks standing in front of you. It still surprised you how a man of his size and power could sneak up on you so easily. It was a nice reminder of how in control he actually was of everything around him. It put you at ease to know you were in such responsible hands and guidance.
“You feel ok? It’s my fault I should’ve–”
You smiled at him, “What? This? I’m fine, Captain– I’ve dealt with much worse, that I can promise you.” He frowned at that, “That’s not a good thing, Y/n. I don’t like thinking about you getting hurt.” You shrugged and ruffled his hair, “I’m a pirate. A Red-Hair Pirate. It’s bound to happen. And you’re not perfect either. Believe it or not. What’s going on with you lately? So sappy.” You knew very well what was going on with him.
Shanks smiled and looked down at the floor. This was it. Now or never.
“Y/n… You know that, well, women love me and- and that I love women,” he started. Your smile dropped.
“M-hm.”
“Uh,” he rubbed his neck sheepishly, like a child getting scolded, “Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not like other women.”
You looked at him, “Are you sure about that?” You looked unamused. He steeled himself– he was an emperor of the sea, goddamnit, you were just a woman! Just a girl on his crew.
He knew that was a lie.
You were his girl on his crew. And he was being eaten alive by your existence, completely consumed by the thought of you. He couldn’t live another day without relieving himself of his constant torture and the emotional suffering you put him through. He couldn’t wake up another morning without you next to him, begging him to sleep in a bit longer and asking him to hold you tighter. He couldn’t spend another night watching you laugh and smile and be the most beautiful, enchanting thing in the world and not call you his. You were his, not through ownership but through love.
“Alright! Damn it, woman, you’re so intimidating.” Your smile returned.
“I love you,” he sighed. It wasn’t as dramatic as either of you had pictured. He said it like he was simply reminding you.
“I love you, Y/n. And I have for months. Since I first saw you– since you first started giving me random antique shop gifts and coming into my office at the most inconvenient times and filling it up with smoke. I can’t look at the color red and not think of you. That’s my color, damn it! And yet– I see red and think of the brand of cigarettes you like and the lipstick you wear and the way your laughter sounds and the color of your nail polish. I can’t listen to music and not think of you. I mean- you’ve come on board and turned everything upside down. My men, my violent men, are playing jazz on Thursday nights! Lucky’s new favorite thing to drink is Cosmopolitans and Yasopp is taking daily showers and, christ, Benn’s new nickname is Benny and he likes it! Everything I have reminds me of you. This is basically your ship now. And I love it. I love how you're everywhere. And I- I need you. I want you but it's more than that- I need you.”
He took a deep breath and looked at you for the first time in weeks. You laughed- at him, and grabbed his hand. His cheeks turned bright red and he felt like a teenager again. You squeezed his hand, “F-i-n-a-l-l-y.” He took a moment to sound out your spelling, and smiled somewhat defeatedly. He laid his head down on your shoulder and mumbled into you, “Was it obvious?”
You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head against his. It was refreshing to touch him without it being strange or feeling unnatural. To just hold one another and understand that that was all it was– a touch. That before either of you said anything and broke this mundane, normal silence everything was perfect. There was no room for mistake or anxiety or insecurity. There was just the mass of red hair on your shoulder ticking your neck and your arms wrapped around his. But you figured he’d suffered long enough.
“Very,” you said, answering his question, “There’re a bunch of betting pools regarding when, and if, you’ll confess. Though you don’t make a great effort to hide it. Looks like Benny’s gonna make some cash tonight.”
He shot up, somewhat offended, “I do hide it! I’ve kept my distance from you and treated you like everyone else.”
You laughed and sat him down on the bin next to you, “No, you haven’t. I’m your favorite. And though you have been avoiding me, when you’re around me your face is pink and you lose all that playboy gusto you think the ladies like. Plus you have those magazines lying around. It flatters me how much I resemble some of those models.”
His mouth fell open at this, realizing he had left it wide out in the open. You smiled at this, but said nothing. It was quiet out again– everyone had gone to bed early, tired from the day’s commotion, an unexpected change of pace from the typical mundane life of a pirate at sea that normally consisted of chores upon chores upon chores. The sea was calm tonight, almost eerily so. You rested your head against Shank’s shoulder and closed your eyes, it was quiet again. You could tell he was itching for a response. You smiled, enjoying the effect you had on him.
“I love you, too.”
You felt Shanks tense and opened your eyes, turning to look at him. He had a stupidly large smile plastered on his face. He was so damn handsome. His hand slid up your back and came to rest on your neck. He gently pushed your face toward his, a smile creeping up your lips, and tested the waters. You closed the gap, closing your eyes as you kissed your captain, shifting forward and finding your way onto his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck and you could feel him smiling against your lips. Shanks broke the kiss, pulling away after giving you a few more pecks.
His arm sank down to wrap around your waist and pull you in even tighter. He rested his forehead against yours and looked down at your lips, plump from the kissing.
“You’re mine,” he said.
“Yours.”
He sighed, relief flooding his body. You rubbed his neck, "Guess I wasn't as obvious as you, hm?" He laughed and squeezed your hand, "No. God, I was terrified. What an awful feeling."
You smiled. You were getting tired, and your arm was throbbing. "Wanna come with me to see Hongo? I think my arm should get re-wrapped." He nodded, standing up. You walked toward the infirmary, while Shanks stood back for a moment. Waiting awkwardly.
"Shanks?"
His name had never sounded so lovely. He was worried, "Should we tell people yet? The crew- I mean."
You laughed, and kept walking, "I think they'll figure out on their own. After all, I suspect that I'll be greeting them tomorrow morning with your shirt on."
He watched you walk on ahead a bit more before following after you, scooping you up in his arm and pressing kisses to your face. Shanks dropped you off outside of Hongo's door, letting you go in on your own. 'I want tonight to be just us,' you'd explained. Word does travel quickly on a ship. He waited outside the door, listening to you and Hongo talk while he rebandaged your arm. His chest felt warm and full, not with the previous tightness he'd experienced but full with satisfaction.
A familiar ebbing flow of egoism spread through his body. It was nice to be reminded of who he was. An emperor of the sea with one of the highest bounties of all time. A man feared and respected across the world. Wanted by the world government and untouchable to anyone. Almost anyone. Your voice bubbled up over the sound of his thoughts for a moment. His confidence had quickly reinstated itself.
After all, Shanks was a man who always got what he wanted.
#shanks#red hair shanks#akagami no shanks#shanks x reader#shanks x y/n#shanks x you#red hair shanks x reader#red hair shanks x y/n#red hair shanks x you#akagami no shanks x reader#akagami no shanks x you#akagami no shanks x y/n#shanks op#shanks smut#shanks one piece#shanks fluff#red haired shanks#red haired pirates#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece x you#one piece x y/n#zoro x reader#zoro x y/n
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Baby-Trapped
This is an Evan buckley imagine requested by anon, I really enjoyed writing this and couldn't wait to post it! So you all have two imagines in one day. Let me know what you think.
Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17
Evan Buckley Masterlist
Summary: (Y/n) distances herself from Evan when the people at her college believe he shouldn't be with someone younger and inexperienced like her. But things change when she falls pregnant.
Enjoy.
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"There's my girl, you okay?"
(Y/n) tilted her head back on the sofa at the sound of Evan's voice drifting softly through the apartment. She smiled softly when she watched him approach from the hallway.
Her eyes fell closed and she stayed still when Evan leaned over the back of the sofa and moved his hands to her shoulders. He gave a loving squeeze and pressed his lips against her temple. (Y/n) could feel each ragged breath he took and how his chest was heaving behind the sofa, against the back of her neck and head.
His lips curved into a smile against her temple and she felt his nose tickle her skin. He was sweating. Nothing new, he had just been out jogging like he usually did after a night shift.
"Hm, good shift?" She squeaked when Evan leaned over her and stole her lips for a searing, panting kiss. While Evan had been on the night shift, he said (Y/n) could stay here at his place, save her having to get the bus home and then come back up this way today for college.
"An easy shift, for a change. I got some sleep too, which is a shocker. Do you want a ride to class?" Evan wasn't used to getting an hours sleep in the bunker room at the station, but it had been such a lovely change to actually recouperate and sleep. He felt more alive for the small callouts they went on and it wasn't all hustle and bustle.
He felt lively enough when he parked up to head straight out on his run and get it over and done with. Now he would have the afternoon to either do some exercises or just relax and wait until (Y/n)'s class was over.
Their schedules hadn't aligned recently, Evan had picked up extra shifts at the station because they were down three people. And his shifts didn't match up with (Y/n)'s college classes. But they were making things work.
"You've just come home, I can walk, it's fine." (Y/n) uncurled her legs and slumped her feet back down to the floor, but she froze when Evan's arms suddenly caged around her. Both arms looped around her upper chest and his chest pressed into the back of the sofa so he could tuck his face into her neck.
When she felt his teeth graze her skin, her shoulders pulled up and she fought off a smile.
"No, I'll drop you off baby." What was the point in (Y/n) walking all that way if Evan could just drive her there himself?
(Y/n) nodded, but she could feel her smile trying to disappear. She didn't want the girls in her class to see Evan drop her off.
Two girls had already twigged that Evan was a firefighter, more specifically, one they had seen being interviewed multiple times on the TV. If he dropped her off, the rumours would get worse.
(Y/n) loved Evan. She loved him to the end of the Earth, he was funny, loving, caring and sweet and he made her feel like the only person worth loving in the world. But he was older than her. Evan had everything sorted, he had a steady job, a home, a car, friends his own age and all of his friends were already settled down and married and happy in their lives.
It never bothered (Y/n), until the girls in her class started talking about her. They seemed to think there was no point in Evan dating (Y/n). They acted as if he was with her out of pity or because he didn't know what he really wanted, and they thought (Y/n) was using him. If he took her to class, the girls would see and then everyone would just agree that (Y/n) was using Evan to her advantage.
"I'll grab a shower and get changed before we go. Care to join me?"
His lips trailed down (Y/n)'s neck until he was pressing wet, hollow kisses over her shoulder. And his hands slithered down her waist and scrunched up her shirt so his cold fingers could travel across her bare skin. His touch made her shiver and she tried to smile. It was tempting. It was more than tempting.
Getting a shower with Evan was always an exciting experience. (Y/n) could still feel the ache in her shoulders from last time where he picked her up and pinned her to the shower wall.
But if she turned up to class with wet, damp hair and smelling of Evan and sex it wouldn't go down well. Taking a shower with him would make her late, too. Time got lost when they were together and (Y/n) didn't want to be late. She only had a few months left of college and then she would have her degree. She could get a job and be done with the people in her class and feel more grown up and more suitable to be Evan's partner.
"No, I don't wanna be late."
"Baby…" He groaned into her shoulder while his fingertips slid into her jeans and wiggled past her underwear. He grinned like a catfish into her skin when she gasped and pushed back against him.
"Later. Go get ready."
She trailed her hand up to card her fingers through his damp curls, scratching her nails down his neck which made him bite down on her neck.
"Okay." Evan pulled away from her neck and moved his hands to her hips, but he could feel his smile fading when she didn't look at him.
She didn't usually turn his offers down. When she saw him after being separated by shifts and classes, (Y/n) usually attached herself to him. He didn't have to try to get her attention or fight for a kiss like this. Evan didn't like how (Y/n) was starting to distance from him. It was just the little things he was noticing and he was sure it was only because she was preoccupied with something.
He pressed his finger beneath her chin and turned her head so he could capture her in a quick kiss before he finally parted and headed upstairs to grab a change of clothes.
(Y/n) packed her notebooks and revision cards into her bag while she heard Evan hop in the shower.
She looped her bag on her shoulder and headed towards the kitchen. Her eyes cast towards the bathroom and she waited a second to make sure Evan wasn't about to walk out before she looked through her bag. Once she found the small square pill box, she popped one of the tiny orange pills into her hand and chugged it down.
She didn't want Evan seeing the box. He was a firefighter, he had medical knowledge and if he knew what she was taking, he would know what it was for. (Y/n) didn't want to tell him yet.
"Alright baby, are we ready?" Evan dragged his fingers through his hair, shaking loose the last few droplets of water before he looked down.
He fiddled with his belt, popping it through the tightest loop he could before he got his trainers on and looked towards the kitchen.
With his keys looped on his thumb, Evan held his other hand out towards (Y/n) and smiled when she entwined their hands and pulled his arm against her chest. She leaned her head on his shoulder and followed him out the apartment.
Evan spared a few glances at (Y/n) every now and then as he drove. He didn't like the distant, somewhat panicked look on her face. She had one hand tangled in her hair and her forehead resting against the window with her other arm around her waist and her knees pushed up.
He ran his hand along his jaw before he dared to reach out and place his hand on her thigh. When she didn't react nor push him away, Evan gave her thigh a squeeze and started gliding his fingertips up and down her inner thigh. He could tell his touch relaxed her somewhat, she stopped tensing her leg so tight and she shrunk down in the seat.
"What time do you finish, I'll come pick you up if you want."
"You don't have to, it's your day off babe-"
"Yeah, and I wanna spend some time with you. I wanna come get you, no one said I have to."
He wasn't asking because he felt obliged, he was asking because he wanted to pick her up. She was his girl and he would rather come get her than her having to walk or get the bus and if she ever wanted a lift, all she had to do was ask. Evan was never going to say no or be angry if she asked him.
"I finish at two." She murmured softly as she turned to face him. "Thank you."
(Y/n) sat forward in her seat and clicked her spine into place when Evan pulled up on the curb. She undid her belt and looped her bag over her shoulder before she turned to lean across towards him.
Her stomach jolted with adrenaline when Evan's hand cupped her jaw and his thumb pulled at her lower lip. His nose brushed hers and he stole a kiss, nipping at her lip so she couldn't pull away without a fight.
"I'll see you later, love you."
"Hm, good." He spoke quietly against her lips, stealing another two kisses until (Y/n) finally gave him a nudge in the chest so she could get out. "Love you too, see you later sexy."
Her lips curved into a grin that morphed with a gasp when she opened the door and felt his hand on her bum.
She gave the door a nudge, tightening her bag strap on her shoulder as she watched Evan drive away. As soon as Evan turned the corner, (Y/n)'s stomach gave an awful twist and she suddenly wanted to call out for him and make him turn around. She wanted to climb back into the jeep and go back home with him when a flock of familiar faces caught her eye.
Oh no.
It was the four girls from her class that (Y/n) tried her best not to hang around. The ones who were like little teenagers, always vying for attention from anyone, any boy, any teacher, any passing person. The girls who acted like gossip was the currency in this place and being nosey was their passtime.
"Hi (Y/n)."
"Hi," Her voice was quiet and meek as she pulled her bag closer and tried to power walk ahead. She wanted to get to class and get sat down before everyone else filtered in.
"Was that your fella?" When (Y/n) nodded, Carla smiled and moved to walk beside her. "He's a looker, how old is he? Looks like he's in his thirties."
(Y/n) cringed and tried to walk ahead, but it was no use. They were all going in the same direction, to the same class. She couldn't run ahead without them without causing a fuss or making them realise they unnerved her and she didn't want to be around them.
"He is, isn't he?" Sandra added in with glee when (Y/n) rolled her lips together and didn't respond.
"He's thirty-one." She kept her voice quiet and her eyes focused on the pavement as they headed towards the college building.
This was why (Y/n) hated being around people like them. They made such a fuss when it wasn't really anything to fuss about. Yes, Evan was older than (Y/n), but he was only nine years older than her. That wasn't such a big gap, (Y/n) knew people with twelve or even fifteen years between them. There was less than a decade separating her and Evan, and it wasn't like it was a bad thing.
(Y/n) wasn't a teenager still in school, she was almost finished with her college degree now and then she would be on the same path as Evan, finding a steady job like he had. And Evan didn't really act his age, nor did he actually look his age like Carla insinuated, she was only probing for information.
"Isn't he a firefighter?" Carla looked over her shoulder as if Evan was still sat there in his jeep. He would be halfway back home by now. He wasn't there for them to ogle at or play twenty questions with him like they were doing now with (Y/n).
They had seen him on the tv.
Evan had done a lot of interviews over the years, mainly just little ones to say the team had gotten a victim out alive or that everyone was okay and they had no casualties. But with all the stunts he had done on the job, he had been in the paper more than once.
"Well that's a way to further yourself."
Sandra's voice made (Y/n) stop in her tracks. She turned to the left and looked over at the blonde as if she had grown a second head. She was the one who kept talking whenever Evan dropped (Y/n) off. She was the one who said she couldn't fathom why someone like Evan was with a 'little girl like (Y/n)'.
"What?" What did she mean by that? What was she talking about?
"You can get to know a lot of people, being with him. I bet he's got a lot of connections. And that's good for your image, upcoming nurse latched onto a hot, older fireman."
"It's not-"
"I bet he's got his own place, right? That's why you always get a lift, you stay at his place?"
Her blood ran cold and Her knees started to shake as if they had turned to jelly. Why was she being like this? Why were the other girls agreeing with her? Why couldn't they just walk away knowing that (Y/n) was happy with Evan? This was nothing to do with them but they seemed to be poking their noses in because they wanted to stir up trouble.
"Because he's my partner." Her voice was low as her words seethed through gritted teeth. Evan was her partner, she had every right to stay over at his place when she wanted to see him and be with him. She practically lived there. Evan was always inviting her round and when he picked her up from class he automatically took her back to his place.
She only seemed to go home if Evan was on a long stint of shifts or if she wanted to get some more clothes and do some washing.
"I get it… you've latched onto a goldmine there."
A wave of sickness washed over (Y/n) and she pushed her feet to move faster before she collapsed down on her knees. She sped away from them and bolted down the corridor, not caring if anyone looked her way and wondered what on Earth she was doing.
It was none of their business about her and Evan. She was with him because she loved him. (Y/n) wasn't using Evan, she wasn't trying to be with him because she thought he would advance her career or introduce her to smart people. Or because he was older with his own money and his own place and a good job.
None of that was true, but it didn't matter because none of those girls were going to believe (Y/n). Not when they had it in their minds that Evan was a successful, handsome fireman who had no reason to be with (Y/n).
***
Sinking back on her heels, (Y/n) slumped her head back against the toilet wall and coiled both her arms around her waist. The back of her throat was aching and torn apart from how much she had just thrown up and the acidic taste in her mouth made her grimace.
She was going to make herself late for class if she stayed in here much longer. But on the other hand, (Y/n) couldn't go into class if she still felt like she had more to throw up. Being sick in class was the last thing she needed right now.
Her hands moved to the wall and she used it as leverage to stand up on shaking legs. She grabbed her bag from the hook on the wall and unlocked the door, stumbling out the cubicle over towards the sinks.
Leaning over, she took a few sips of water from the sink before she moved her bag and rummaged around for the familiar box of tablets.
(Y/n) barely took the tiny orange tablet before the toilet door opened and someone walked in.
"You look rough."
(Y/n) refrained from rolling her eyes and took another sip of water to wash the tablet down. Her eyes widened and a gasp rolled past her lips when Sandra suddenly grabbed the box from her hands.
What was she doing? Why was she taking (Y/n)'s tablets? How rude could she get to lean across and snatch them from her like she thought they were illicit drugs instead of prescribed medication.
"Oh, well done."
"Leave me alone." (Y/n) snatched the box back so tightly she began to crumple the cardboard in her grip. She tossed it back in her bag and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm and not shed any tears here in front of someone she was growing to despise.
She didn't want anyone finding out. She hadn't even talked to Evan yet. That was why she kept the folic acid hidden in her bag so Evan wouldn't see. If he saw them, he would form the same conclusion Sandra had right now.
(Y/n) was pregnant.
"I didn't believe the others, about your big fireman until we watched him pick you up the other day. Now I know why."
"You don't know anything-"
"I know he's not going to be able to leave you now. A little girl, having his baby. He'll have to stick by you. What a way to make sure that eligible fireman doesn't find someone better, more mature than you. Baby-trap him so he can't leave you."
She wouldn't answer. She wouldn't give Sandra the satisfaction. but she could feel tears welling up in her eyes when she realised the toilet door had opened again. Tina was stood there. At least it was someone (Y/n) knew and trusted. Tina was the only person (Y/n) would trust with this news, they were close friends but (Y/n) hadn't told anyone about this yet.
She hadn't worked out what she was going to do or found a way to tell Evan without him coming to the same conclusion as Sandra had.
Now she was going to go and tell everyone in their class and soon enough it would be all round the college that (Y/n) was pregnant. Everyone would be saying the same thing as Sandra because no one really knew (Y/n) or anything about her relationship with Evan and this was gossip, not fact.
"Sandra, back off with those jealous accusations." Tina folded her arms over her chest but she didn't get two steps into the toilets before (Y/n) ran past her.
She didn't care about class anymore. She didn't care about missing their next class.
There was no way (Y/n) was going to sit there while Sandra spread this news around everyone. She couldn't have them looking and staring at her and whispering behind her back. (Y/n) would rather go home and wallow in self-pity and think what she was going to do.
But she didn't know what she was going to do, or how Evan was going to react to something like this.
***
Evan lifted his gaze from his phone to look ahead of him. He slouched his hips back against the jeep and took a look around. When he messaged (Y/n) last night during his shift all he got was short replies. But he managed to get her to agree for him to pick her up after her class today.
She wasn't out yet. She was usually out on time, she didn't hang around for anyone, she liked to be straight out and back home as quickly as possible.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket when his eyes landed on Tina. Evan didn't know her very well, but he knew her to say hello to, and he knew she was (Y/n)'s closest friend.
"Hi."
"Hey Buck, you're not here for (Y/n), are you?" Her words made his shoulders slump and knots formed in his stomach.
"Why?"
"She missed class today, yesterday too."
That wasn't normal. (Y/n) was never one to miss class. A few months back she caught a chest infection, she could barely breathe or stay awake and she ran a fever. And Evan had to stop her from leaving the apartment to try and get to class on time. Even when she was ill she still tried her best to attend classes so it wasn't like her to not turn up.
And she told Evan she would be at class today. She told him she had gone yesterday and said he could pick her up. So either something had happened or she really wasn't feeling like herself and had decided to skip. Either way, Evan didn't like the thought or the outcome he was going to get.
"She's not been herself lately… has she said anything to you, I'm worried about her."
He didn't like the look he got in return. Tina bit down on her lip and looked down at her shoes before she sighed. Her foot began to tap against the pavement and she slumped her shoulders and dropped her weight onto one leg as her nails scratched along her arm.
She didn't want to have to tell Evan, but she knew if she didn't, (Y/n) wasn't likely to either. And he needed to know what was going on so he could help (Y/n) and try to sort this out with her.
"Some of the people on campus started asking her about you, they um… they started saying stuff, when they found out you're older, and what you do for a living." That was the nicest way Tina could think of wording it without upsetting or angering Evan. And she knew it was never her place to tell him that (Y/n) might be pregnant.
She had tried messaging and calling (Y/n) after class yesterday but she never answered. Considering what Tina had heard in the toilets, she wanted to know if (Y/n) was okay and if it was true, but she'd heard nothing from her.
"What kind of stuff?"
"That she's with you for status and money- stupid stuff that's not true, but it really upset her. I think you need to talk to her."
"Fuck." Evan dragged his hand through his hair and down over his jaw that clicked from side to side. "I know where she'll be."
When he worked double shifts, he told (Y/n) she could stay at his place even if he wasn't there. It was closer to the college and it was somewhere she could study in peace and be alone and then she would be there when he came home. He loved coming home to her.
He had a gut feeling that if (Y/n) was in a state and was this upset, she would go to his place. He prayed that she would be at his place because then he wouldn't have to ring her and go searching for her. He needed to talk to her and make sure she was alright because this didn't sound good, it sounded frightening.
"Ask her to call me, so I know she's alright, please?"
"Course I will."
It didn't take him long to drive down to the apartment and part of Evan wished he had gone home before going to the college. But grabbing a shower after shift and then having a coffee with Eddie and Hen had taken longer than he expected and he thought he was going to be late to pick (Y/n) up. He knew if he was late she would presume he was still at work and try to walk or get the bus home.
Once he got to the apartment, trepidation flooded his veins and he almost didn't want to open the door.
He cautiously headed inside and took a look around. Her shoes and bag were by the door, so were her keys which meant she was here. Thank God. That was one less thing for him to worry about; he knew where she was and that she was safe.
"Baby?"
He headed towards the stairs, about to walk into the living room but he stopped when he heard the tv on upstairs. (Y/n) didn't usually watch tv up in bed in the middle of the afternoon like this. He grabbed the bannister and used it to propell himself up the stairs two at a time.
It didn't take long for Evan to lock his eyes on (Y/n). She was curled up in the middle of the bed, her knees coiled up and her arms wrapped around a pillow that she was cradling to her chest like it was a teddy.
When he walked over, Evan could feel his heart trying to break free from his chest.
She was crying.
Staying silent, he quietly walked over to the bed and sank down on the side. He waited for (Y/n) to acknowledge that he was there before he leaned over her and slipped his hands beneath her arms so he could try and move her. (Y/n) stayed limp and let Evan lift her up so he could lay her over his lap instead and he gently moved the pillow so she could hug him instead.
He was relieved when (Y/n) shuffled round to properly hug him. She imbedded her face into his abdomen and coiled her arms around his waist, digging her fingers into his back.
Evan leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, curving both his arms around her with his hand soothingly rubbing up and down her back.
"Baby, talk to me. What's going on, hm?" He stayed doubled over with his lips meshed into her temple until his back started to ache. When he pulled back, he started to card his fingers through her hair, brushing tendrils away from her face that was still mostly smothered in his shirt.
"Just… just a low mood, I'm okay."
Why was she trying to hide this from him? They didn't have the kind of relationship where they felt they couldn't confide in each other. Evan told (Y/n) anything and everything that was on his mind, whether it was good or bad. He thought she felt the same.
"I talked to Tina today. She told me what those girls in your class were saying." He tried to keep his tone light to make sure (Y/n) knew he wasn't trying to start an argument or come across as rude. He was just trying to understand.
He opened his arms when (Y/n) started to move and waited for her to sit up so they could talk properly. But her shoulders were quaking and tears were now freely streaming down her face. Evan's breath caught in his throat when (Y/n) turned away from him and when she tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, Evan reached out for her.
He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her back so she couldn't try and leave. They needed to talk, avoiding this conversation wouldn't make it go away, it would only prolong the inevitable.
"No, no baby we need to talk about this. Is this why you've been nervous around me?"
He perched his chin on her shoulder and kept her back pressed into his chest while both arms secured around her waist so she was sitting on his lap. He felt her hands grip his wrists tightly and she tilted her head down so she was looking at her hands. At least with Evan behind her, (Y/n) didn't have to see his face fall when she tried to explain.
"They don't get why you're with me, but- but Sandra thinks I'm with you to use you… boost my image, or something like that." It felt silly to be getting upset over something so stupid, but (Y/n) couldn't help how she reacted or the way she felt.
Sandra's words had cut deep and if she thought like that and so did other people on campus, what were Evan's friends and colleagues going to say? What would his family think of her? Would they all think the same? Would they think she was using Evan? Was he going to end up thinking the same thing?
"They don't get it because this isn't their relationship. I love you, I love how I feel when I'm with you and how amazing and smart you are. Come on, baby, it doesn't matter what they say-"
"Evan I- I care what your friends will think, your team… if the girls think like that then-"
"Hey, they're not like that, I promise. Baby they won't think bad of you, they'll love you like I do. Does it bother you that I'm older? There's not even ten years between us… what's that face for?"
Evan kept his arms around (Y/n)'s middle but he let her shuffle round on his lap so she was facing him this time. He moved his hands to her legs and pulled on them until they were hooked around his torso and she was sat high on his hips with her abdomen pushing into his.
His hands wormed beneath her shirt and spread out on her back while (Y/n) hooked her arms around his neck.
They had never talked about the age difference being a problem for either of them. It didn't bother Evan, it was a number that barely made an impact on either of their lives. It wasn't as if Evan was middle-aged and (Y/n) was a teenager, they weren't at different points in their lives. And no one at the station was going to care.
They loved each other, they were happy together and more to the point, they were both good for each other. That's all the team at the station were going to see and care about and Evan knew they would be fine with (Y/n) and would welcome her with open arms.
"You know it doesn't, but I know what everyone's gonna say when they get to know me, Evan everyone will think I'm tying you down to me… that I- that I'm baby-trapping you. It's what Sandra said earlier."
She could barely breathe.
She'd done it. She'd taken the plunge and told him what was really bothering her and how their lives were now going to change.
(Y/n) could see it now. She could just see all of Evan's friends at the station telling him he was moving too fast with her. That she was a lovely girl, but she might be with him for the wrong reasons. They would think (Y/n) had planned this, that she was trying to leech off of Evan and keep him tied to her by having a baby with him. It was bad enough that everyone on campus was going to think like this, (Y/n) wouldn't have to see them for long before she graduated.
But she would have to see the people Evan worked with and see them stare at her and look her up and down with distaste. She would see them whisper about her.
Tears began to stream down (Y/n)'s face when Evan didn't say anything, he just stared at her with parted lips like he hadn't heard her or she had spoken in a foreign language. (Y/n) tightened her arms around his neck and leaned forward to hide her face in his neck. She breathed in his scent, trying to take deep breaths as Evan's chest rumbled.
"Baby I… I don't know what that means."
He felt the shiver that tore down her spine. Evan worked around older people, barring Ravi, Evan was one of the younger ones at the station. He didn't know a lot of the new terms floating around, it was normally Chris who told him what things meant.
Evan hadn't heard that one before and it made his stomach churn at how upset (Y/n) was getting about all of this.
"It's… it means I'm trapping you in a relationship with me, stopping you from leaving, by having a baby with you." (Y/n) hiccupped through her words, but she managed to say them all without too much hassle.
She leaned her head back enough to see Evan's reaction. She had to know if he was going to be angry or upset or if he might even believe she was baby-trapping him on purpose. (Y/n) couldn't think about anything or what they were going to do until she knew how Evan was going to feel about all of this.
"You're pregnant?"
"I'm so-"
Before (Y/n) could even fumble her way through an apology, a gasp tumbled past her lips when Evan pushed forward and pinned her down on her back on the bed.
He had one arm wormed beneath her waist and the other hand cupped the back of her neck as (Y/n) tried to catch her breath back. But she didn't have chance for a proper breath when Evan stole her lips in a kiss. He laid between her legs that hooked around his hips on instinct.
She could feel his abdomen pressing into hers, his chest meshed down against her own and his elbows jammed down into the bed so he didn't press all of his weight onto her and smother her. But the feeling of him laying on top of her like this was heaven; especially with the force and weight of his lips on hers.
(Y/n) tangled her fingers up in his hair and gave a sharp pull when she felt Evan's tongue slide past her lips with ease. His boney hips pushed into hers, pinning her so far down into the bed that she felt like there would be a mould of her body in the mattress when they eventually got up.
His teeth meshed against hers, his fingers tightened around the back of her neck and his hand pressed into her back, pulling her chest tighter into hers. (Y/n) could feel herself going lightheaded from lack of air and the weight of Evan pushing down on her. She dragged her tongue across his lower lip and finally pulled back for air, seeing black spots dance all around Evan when she tried to look up at him.
His baby blue eyes were a deeper, darker shade now that tears were glossing over his eyes. But it was the way his lips were twitched up into a dazed smile that made (Y/n)'s heart skip a beat.
"We're having a baby?"
"You're n-not mad at me?"
Evan laughed breathlessly and stole another kiss from her lips that felt like glue attaching to him and keeping him close. He moved his hand round from her neck to glide the pad of his finger beneath her eyes, swiping away a few stray tears. And he moved a few loose pieces of pair behind her ear so he could see her properly, fully.
"Sweetheart, this may surprise you but I had something to do with this too, it's not like you did this on your own or decided this was gonna happen. And why would I be mad? You know I love the bones of you… is this what you want?"
A sudden bolt of fear shot through to his heart at the thought that this wasn't what (Y/n) wanted.
But when he watched her lips curve into a smile and saw the tears begin to fall again, he sighed. She was nodding. This is what she wanted. He didn't quite know why she thought he would be angry with her. He loved her more than anything and she was his world. And Evan wanted kids, he wanted loads of them and he knew from the moment they got together that (Y/n) was the one for him.
"You, uh, do you wanna move in with me then, baby?" His grin made (Y/n)'s stomach jump.
This might not be the correct order to do things in, but they were doing this their way. And she practically lived here with Evan anyway, most of her things were here and she barely visited home. Moving in would just make things more official.
"Yes please- what are you doing?" (Y/n) tightened her arms around his neck and leaned up with him when he tilted back. She attached her lips to his jaw, watching him grin madly as he fumbled in his back pocket for his phone.
"Calling Maddie, I wanna introduce you so then I can start telling everyone I'm gonna be a dad."
Evan knew if he told Maddie about the news before he introduced her to (Y/n), she would scold him. He wanted to ask her round for tea, introduce them and try and see if he could hold back a few days, maybe a week. Once (Y/n) had had a scan, then he could go round shouting it from the rooftops and telling all his friends and family that it was finally happening.
He was going to have a baby with the girl of his dreams.
#evan buckley#imagine#911 imagine#evan buckley x reader#evan buckley imagine#buck x reader#buck imagine#pregnant! reader
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You wake up in an unfamiliar room
angst, kidnapping, thoughts of miscarriage, mention of torture, blood
Simon bumps into you, a troubled woman whose boyfriend kicked her out after he found out she's pregnant
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9
You wake up to the buzzing of a semi-broken light and a thick damp oily smell filling the rusty old room.
You wince as you slowly move your neck, gradually gaining consciousness, feeling your ears ringing and a sharp stabbing pain in your head.
You struggle to open your eyes, even in the dim light of the small room, your vision slightly blurry from what seems to be sweat, tears and blood from a hard blow to your head.
You groan in pain and slightly jolt in your seat as you notice you’re tied up in an unfamiliar room.
Vague disturbing images prance around your mind as your eyes land on the various tools on a small table beside you and you shake your head to get rid of them but to no avail.
Then they slowly come together like the pieces of a puzzle and you remember. You remember all of it. The agonizing torture. And several blows to your belly. Oh god!
You dip your head to check your swollen belly, only to see the pool of blood beneath you.
You feel a surge of panic rising from deep within you and start to feel light-headed, from the loss of blood, or the thought of losing your child, you honestly don't know.
And you don't know how many days have passed. Are they even looking for you? Will he save you?
There are whispers outside the room, some foreign language, Russian probably by the sound of it and you can barely make out any words, but there's one word you fully understand... 'Ghost'.
At the base, there's a thick tension in the atmosphere. After Simon found the blood and no sign of you in the house, they started working on finding the possible kidnappers.
Simon is pacing the halls as they try to track down your captors and he's absolutely livid at whoever dared lift a finger on you, anxiety bubbling up inside him, gnawing at him to the point of being utterly unbearable.
You lower your head and shut your eyes again, acting as if you’re still unconscious after you hear footsteps approaching and the clicking of keys.
They put a sack over your head and carry you to the car and drive to an unknown secluded area so a doctor can see you as you struggle to keep yourself from sobbing and thrashing around to free yourself.
Simon makes his way to Price's office with heavy footsteps and slams his fist on his desk, snarling furiously "We both know who it is. If you don't order the raid now, I swear-" "We must act fast. Laswell called with the location of the warehouse they're headed to." Price cuts him off.
They place you on a bed while your eyes are covered and you don’t notice much else as a wet rag covers your nose and mouth.
There's only the faint sound of gunshots in the distance and muffled shouts and punches. And you can sense the ground quaking by what seems like the pounding of footsteps and you feel the rag being removed followed by a loud thud and a pair of strong arms lifting you as you drift unconscious.
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley x you#cod x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost riley#ghost simon riley#cod fanfic#ghost cod#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#call of duty#cod mw2#cod#mw2#cod modern warfare
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Valentine's Day at the bar is always a bit chaotic. There are the couples who'd prefer something simplistic. There are the singles and groups who'd rather get fucked up than think about how no matter how emotionally evolved they feel the other 11 months of the year, February always tears down the walls and leaves them feeling raw.
Eddie gets it. He pours a little heavy for those ones even though he knows he'll probably have to clean up something unholy in one of the bathrooms later.
It takes him a while to notice the guy tucked away in one of the back booths. He'd seen him earlier when he came in, a white rose in his hand when he ordered a beer.
Eddie had registered him as cute, all pouty lips and perfect hair, with brown eyes that sometimes caught the light and bled green. But Eddie hadn't thought much about him after that. He'd written him off after seeing the flower, and there had been so so many drinks to pour.
"It's your turn." Chrissy tosses a damp rag at him, washes her hands, and goes back to mixing long islands at a breakneck pace.
Eddie bangs his hip on the corner of the bar, swearing on his way to clear and wipe down sticky tables. He finds rose guy nursing the same beer he'd sold him hours ago, the flower sitting in the middle of the table.
"Oh, sorry," Eddie says. "Thought this one was empty."
"It's fine. I should probably..." The guy drains the last dregs of room temperature beer. "You know what they say. Stand me up once, shame on you. Stand me up twice... Or whatever." He gives Eddie a smile that's more of a cringe, like he wishes he could take the words back the second he says them.
"Her loss." Eddie means it. If he had a guy like that, he'd be insufferable about him.
"His. I'm bi."
"Oh." Eddie glances back at Chrissy, her eyes already searching for him. "I have to get back before they go full Helm's Deep on the bar, but I tell you what. Next one's on me. Alliance of the lonely queers and all that." Eddie gives the guy a pat on his shoulder.
He doesn't really expect the guy to stick around, but he does. He takes Eddie's generous offer in the form of the cheapest beer on the menu, and he moves from the back booth to a seat at the bar.
When Eddie fucks up making a drink because he couldn't hear the order, he slides it next to the guy's Natty Light. "Please stop forcing yourself to drink that. It's painful to watch."
"It's fine. Brings back memories."
"Of what? Vomiting outside of someone's shitty house party?"
Eddie can hear him laugh even over the noise. It's the best tip he's gotten all night. (Though he does notice the $5 the guy slips into the tip jar when he thinks Eddie's too busy theatrically mixing a mojito.)
"Alright bitches!" Chrissy hops up onto the bar with all the grace of someone who has a box full of old cheerleading medals in her closet. Eddie cuts the music, and her voice carries like she's leading a pep rally. "Last call!" She points at the crowd of drunks, most of them familiar enough with the bar to play along.
"For alcohol!" they finish for her, some of them rushing up to the ordering stations even while they holler.
The call and response goes on for a solid 30 seconds or so. Mid-pour, Eddie catches the stranger's eyes and gets a smile for it that almost knocks him on his ass. Eddie shakes spilled whiskey off his fingers.
"One more time," Chrissy yells. "Last call!"
"For alcohol!"
"As always drive safe and fuck safe." Chrissy pretends to curtsy in her jeans. "Cab numbers and condoms next to the payphones. Tip your bartenders or we'll find you." She hops down off the bar and starts taking final orders as the bar starts to empty.
Even after they shut down the register, the guy doesn't leave.
"Who's the dreamboat making eyes at you?" Chrissy asks, scrubbing glasses so fast Eddie's surprised she doesn't sprain her wrist.
"He is kind of a dreamboat, huh?"
She sighs. "I'll give you five minutes to secure a date, and then I need you to help me close so I can go home and take a hot bath. God, I want to cut off my feet."
"I want to replace my lower back with Terminator parts, so I get it. Thanks Chris." Eddie grabs a bar rag and makes his way down to the end. The stranger sits up straighter on his bar stool.
"Hey." An awkward scrub of the back of his neck. "Sorry if I misread anything. I can go if you aren't..." He fiddles with the now-limp rose, thumbing gently over one of the thorns. "Like I know you're working so you might have just been being-"
"Relax," Eddie says. "You didn't misread anything, dude." Eddie smiles at him and wipes drink rings off the countertop.
"Oh." A breath of relief. "Thank God for that because you...you're..." He shakes his head.
"Because I'm what? I will fish for a compliment for hours, man. Don't test me."
"And I will ruin shit by talking too much."
"Try me."
The guy sighs. "Because you're nice. Don't get me wrong, you're hot too. With the hair and the ripped jeans. Plus I've been making bets with myself all night about how many tattoos you have. But I don't need hot. I need nice. And you're nice."
"Oh." A beat. Eddie chews on his lip. "I don't know actually. How many tattoos I have, I mean." Ugh. "Like, I do try to be nice obviously, to everyone and especially to pretty guys. But if I got five different tattoos and then I connected them all into one piece, is that still five tattoos or is it one tattoo?" Seriously, Eddie has thought about this topic so much. Too much. "So depending on how you do tattoo math, I have anywhere from seventeen to twenty-nine tattoos. What's your name?"
"Steve. I'm Steve. Harrington."
"Oh, we're doing full names?" Eddie realizes he's been wiping the same part of the bar over and over again and stops. "I'm Eddie. Munson. So..." God, it's incredible that Eddie's still nervous given the situation, and yet. "So there's a 24-hour diner two blocks from here, Steve Harrington. Meet you when we're done closing up?"
"I question you referring to a Waffle House as a '24-hour diner,' but that sounds..." Steve laughs softly and ducks his head. "Nice. It sounds nice."
Eddie returns his soft smile and watches him leave, dropping the battered rose into the trash on the way out.
He and Chrissy close the bar in record time, and he sees her onto her bus with a kiss on the cheek.
"Have fun," she says.
"Enjoy your bath."
"God, I so will."
Eddie's halfway to the Waffle House when he runs into a street vendor closing up a little booth of bouquets meant for Valentine's Day stragglers. He finds himself thinking about that sad white rose, wondering if anyone's bought Steve flowers lately. Or ever.
"I'll take those yellow daisies," Eddie says, forking over a bit of cash. He second-guesses himself three or four times before he slides into the booth across from Steve and watches his face light up.
"My favorite color," Steve tells him. "And daisies are my favorite. My great-grandma always had them in her window when I was a kid. When my parents left town, we'd play card games in her living room and eat homemade fudge."
Silently, Eddie vows to get Steve Harrington yellow daisies as long as Steve will have him around.
"Mine would always drag me to bingo," Eddie says. "I loved it."
By the time they've both finished a stack of pancakes, Eddie has Steve's number scrawled in the blank space between 2-5 tattoos. Steve has Eddie's written on a napkin along with plans for their next date.
They talk on the phone every day until Eddie meets Steve for dinner, handing him a bouquet of happy yellow daisies, accepting a handful of deep purple calla lilies in return.
It's nice.
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That feel good?
pairing: Nanami x fem reader
nsfw
word count: under 1k
author's note: This came to me and I just had to write it down and could not stop until it was done
It’s dangerous how thoughtful Nanami is when he touches you. He exploits any insight your body offers into what drives you wild with ruthless precision.
You’re in his lap, head dizzy from the endless kisses and nips placed intentionally on your weak spots. You’ve only been making out for fifteen minutes and already Nanami has intoxicated you with his touch, evident by the way you're melting into his firm chest.
He's able to put you under some kind of spell, reverting your body to its primal instincts and making it only want one thing: him. It’s why, with his hands and mouth all over you, you can’t help but mindlessly grind into his lap, searching for more contact on your aching cunt. Though, when the big hands on your hips pull you down so you’re pressed against the erection pushing through his slacks, you jolt up and away.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” Nanami reacts to your sudden movement, bringing a soothing hand to your face. You stare back, eyes wide and heart pounding. Feeling him there, his length flat against everything your wet underwear cups, was pleasurable and intense in a way you aren’t used to.
“I didn’t expect…um–that–that felt really good,” you say, still bewildered by the sensation.
“Did it?” he responds. He loves discovering new things about your body, especially if it's by accident. “Then let’s keep doing that.”
He moves to bring you down to his lap again, but you don't let him. “Kento, it’s…it’s a lot,” you mumble, even though you’re leaning into him, eyes lidded as you place your hands on his large shoulders.
He lets out an uneven breath before pressing a slow, hot kiss to the side of your neck, making your eyes flutter. “I know, darling,” he whispers against your skin, “I know it’s a lot, but I think my pretty girl can do it for me. I think she wants to.”
Eyes shut in bliss, you nod along to the gruff yet calming words he's murmuring into the crook of your neck. They're reminding you of how your body is throbbing with want.
“Okay,” you hum, your voice small.
“Here, let’s go slowly,” he coaxes, “You’re going to do so good.”
Your grip tightens on his broad shoulders as he sits you back down on his lap, your soaked underwear flush against the bulge in his pants. It’s manageable, the feeling of your folds up against his erection, until he starts using your hips to move you.
His name leaves your mouth as a whimper. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder, the pleasure folding you in two. He still has his work clothes on, but they do little to buffer the warmth radiating off of his body or the intensity of feeling him against you.
“Fuck,” you gasp, “Kento, it’s–ah–”
“I know, pretty girl,” he responds, his voice strained and breath ragged. “Doing so good for me.”
“I am?” you choke out. It doesn't feel like it, you're having a hard time keeping up with the increasing pace he’s setting; there’s not a second of relief from the stimulation.
“Yes, darling,” he responds, a big hand coming up to stroke your back in comforting circles, knowing what you need from him to endure the spikes of pleasure sinking into your lower stomach.
“Does it–ah–feel good–for you too?” you ask. The question seems unnecessary with the way he’s bucking his hips against your warm cunt.
“Feels incredible, love,” he grunts, and pride swells through your chest. You pick your head up and press your lips to his in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He groans into your mouth while his other hand comes up from your side—though you keep grinding against him—to hold your face still so he can deepen the kiss.
However, when your hips begin to stutter, the pleasure overwhelming your poor body, his hands go back down and lock around them, mercilessly bringing you to your breaking point. "Kento, m'so close," you gasp.
Of course you are, Nanami has learned exactly what your body needs from him. He knows to talk you through the pleasure that's hitting you like punches as you abuse your sensitive clit, to whisper how good you did as you come down from your orgasm, to wrap his arms around you and bring you into his large, warm chest now that you're all fucked-out.
It is dangerous, how he has the ability to have you humping his lap like a desperate animal. Yet, you’re not too worried about it, because when you get up off of him, you realize that you aren’t the only one who came in their pants.
#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami#nanami kento x reader#nanami smut#nanami kento#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk nanami x reader#jjk x reader#nanami kento x y/n#kento nanami imagine#nanami kento x you#nanami x y/n#nanami x reader#nanami x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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This is me Trying - LS2
A/N: I feel so bad for Logan after what has happened. Please don't send any type of hate to Alex.
Summary: James tells Logan that he won't be racing on Sunday and everything goes down hill.
Logan Sergeant x female!reader
Warnings: panic attacks and some swearing
I just wanted you to know that this is me trying, at least I'm trying.
“-so you won’t be able to drive this weekend”
“What?”
“Alex is going to be driving your car this weekend since his car is severely damaged.”
“Oh, okay,” Logan felt numb. He couldn’t feel his hands shaking, but he could see them physically shaking.
“I know it’s a lot but the team really needs this Logan. Thank you for doing this,” James said before walking off.
Logan began to feel himself lose touch with reality. It was a feeling he was beginning to feel comfortable with. I mean at this point it was happening every race weekend now, so he just HAD to get comfortable with it. At first, he didn’t know what it was, maybe he was just getting sick; but after a few times and some Google searches, he figured out what it was.
Panic attacks.
No one knew that he experienced them. Not James, not his trainer, not Oscar; hell, his own girlfriend did not know that he got them. He had to get out of there fast so no one found out. God, he couldn't even imagine what the media would do if it became public knowledge.
Tears and ragged breaths while hidden in the corners of his driver’s room became his go-to when he didn’t know what else to do. This time it felt different though. The sobs were louder and his vision was blurrier, he felt weak. He felt stupid. How could someone fuck up so badly and he still would get punished. He knew life wasn’t fair and he knew that Formula 1 wasn’t fair either.
But fuck, it wasn’t fair. At all.
The knock on the door did not register the first time, nor the second or third. He only realized someone entered the room when he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder.
You, the love of his life, was seeing him at the lowest he had ever been. Gasps in between sobs were loud and short, and Logan felt embarrassed. He felt shameful and afraid. He couldn’t breathe and he was scared for his future.
“It’s not fair, it's not fair, it’s just not fucking fair. I'm trying. I’m trying so fucking hard. Can’t you see that? Can’t anyone see that,” he babbled out.
“Logan I- I know that this is hard, you worked so hard. You deserve to be driving, you shouldn’t be placed on the back burner because someone made a mistake. You’ve worked so hard for so long and it kills me to see you like this. Have you thought about how Alex may-,” Logan cut you off before you could say anything else.
“No, no. Do not even start with Alex. I know he’s better, I know I am a liability, but I know I can try to be better,” he got up suddenly. He felt lightheaded, he felt dizzy. Stumbling around his room trying to get away from you. “I finally out-performed him and it just gets ripped out from underneath me. Literally,” Logan laughs bitterly. He didn’t care what he looked like now, he probably looked like a madman, but who the hell cares anymore?
“Logan- please just listen to me. Alex probably feels like shit. Yes he crashed his car but it's not his fault the team gave him your car. It's the team,” she pauses “It’s- it’s James’ fault.”
“I don’t care whose fault it is. I just care about the fact that this is probably going to be one of the last times I'm going to be in F1. My time is going to get cut short, no one has any faith in me anymore. I don’t blame them though, I’m failing and I'm terrified,” Logan says. He could finally breathe normally but he could still feel his heart pounding in his ears.
He didn’t understand any of it. How could he be failing so badly at something he used to be so good at? He glanced back at you, ready to face the disappointment he knew you secretly hid.
“Just tell me you can’t stand me anymore. Tell me that I embarrass you. Tell me that you hate me. Tell me that you are disappointed in me. Please just tell me, please.”
“Logan-,” you were in shock. You never knew that he felt like this, about himself. He hid it so well, almost to the point where it was impressive. “You know I could never say any of those things to you. I love you so, so much and I'm so proud of you,”
Both of you heard a knock on the door and one of William’s PR managers called out, “Media in 10, Logan!”
How they expected him to go out into the media pen and act like everything was fine was beyond you. Reaching up to cup his face in your hands, you quickly wipe away a stray tear that fell at your confession. Logan gently squeezed your wrist and smiled sadly. A silent, but meaningful conversation.
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 fic#formula 1#williams formula 1#williams racing#williams f1#williams#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant#logan sargeant imagine#logan sargeant fluff
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The Finer Details
Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter f! Reader
MDNI 18+
(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)
Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..
Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔
Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare
Author Note: You know how each president of the U.S. gets a painting at the end of their term? I'm thinking like that. Plus, my favorite hobby is recreating renaissance art, so I figured this was a good fit (hopefully).
Cross posted onto AO3
Session 1: The Sketches
It was late at night when Leon made his decision to retire fully.
He had gotten home over an hour ago from reviewing mountains of paperwork, most of which pertained to missions that other agents have gone on or will be going on.
Younger agents. More energized agents.
The fact that he hadn't gone on a full mission since San Francisco was driving him up the wall. But that's what he wanted. He requested to hang back the last two years.
Both Chris and Claire had fully retired themselves right after San Fran, Claire being the first to retire to focus on her growing family with Chris following suit only a few months later. Jill was still around, but she was doing similar work that Leon was, only she was in a completely different department which was states away.
Of course Leon still talked with them all as regularly as possible, he'd go insane if he didn't, especially with Claire having a couple kids now. He wasn't the greatest with children, but it was refreshing seeing his friends achieve such normalcy. He wanted them to have the best life they could away from everything.
Having turned 40 a few some months ago, Leon was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. The mission to San Francisco a couple years ago had made him realize just how much toll the job itself had taken on his body. After being assessed and allowed home a few nights after returning from the mission, his body ached; joints creaking, back nearly thrown, just... tired.
Don't get him wrong, he was always tired after missions, but this was different. This wasn't just the regular aches and pains he dealt with after being tossed around like a rag doll, this was age.
Deep in his mind, Leon was still that 21 year old boy in Raccoon City. He never got the chance to properly grieve and move on, his mind forever changed by that event. Mentally, he was stuck there and had been this entire time.
It had taken the man this long to truly recognize the fact that he's older now. He's not that boy from Raccoon City anymore. He hadn't been in a long time.
What was he do to now? Leon had wanted so badly to serve and protect the people, but not like this. Not like he has for the past 29 years.
He spent his most formative years fighting unimaginable horrors, watching people suffer, watching people die. You don't just come back from something like that.
And unlike the friends he's managed to keep close, Leon didn't have someone he trusted. Hell, he barely trusted himself most days.
So now here he was, sitting drunk in his shower with his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms resting atop his knees while the water pelted down on him, silently mulling over everything he's ever seen and done during his time as an agent.
The water had grown cold at this point, Leon having quickly lost track of how long he was sitting spaced out like that for. Thankfully, he'd already cleaned himself before he ended up sitting down, so the hardest part now was just standing back up to get himself back out.
It took him a couple more minutes before he finally hoisted himself up with a tired groan, both his knees popping from being stuck in position for such a lengthy amount of time.
Once out of the shower, towel loosely wrapped around his waist, Leon stared at himself in the mirror; busy studying the crow's feet on both outer corners of his eyes as well as the prominent bags sitting under them, the smile line around his mouth, his now brown hair, the stubble on his face and neck that's he's neglected to shave, and just how exhausted he looked.
How has he never noticed any of this before? Why's he look so different now?
Settling into bed after this brutal realization was a tough task. The man followed his nightly routine of taking four Tylenol and two of his prescription sleep meds before setting his a/c 65 degrees Fahrenheit. He learned quickly many years ago that tossing and turning at night would make him overheat and sweat.
But tonight, nothing Leon did could ease that sinking feeling in his chest, that feeling of unfulfillmemt and shame weighing on him more than ever before.
The poor man barely slept at all last night, hangover evident by the way he was still slightly uneven on his feet as he leaned over the center island in his kitchen, head between his forearms while his hands sat clasped together.
Leon knew what he had to do. He's been feeling it ever since Chris and Claire made their departure, but it was so easy to deny. How was he suppose to give up the one thing that made him important? Sure the stress of his work was heavily tasking on the mind and body, but it's what gave him purpose. He felt useful doing what he did.
The man showed up for work late that day, barely having managed to dress himself. He didn't know exactly who to go to in this scenario, but everyone seemed surprised that the Leon Kennedy would show up for work in some ratty t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The stares were making him incredibly uncomfortable and he was quickly regretting showing up at all.
After sitting in his own office for awhile to avoid the looks and whispers, Leon eventually sauntered over to his superior's office, an almost solemn look on his face as he let himself in after knocking.
Needless to say, Leon was relieved his superior knew this was coming. Slightly offended, but relieved nonetheless.
It had been a long time coming, and it was only a matter of time before Leon threw in the towel, especially since he was now just working behind the scenes instead of on the frontline.
He was allowed to return home for the rest of the day if he wanted to, which Leon quickly took. He really didn't want to be in that building for much longer.
As soon as he returned home he went right back to drinking. And as ashamed as he is to admit, he even cried a little, half empty whiskey bottle in one hand while the other was clenched tightly into a fist as he gripped the pant leg of his sweats.
There wasn't anyone Leon could talk to about this. Chris and Claire had their own respective partners to come home to after retirement, but Leon? Leon had nothing besides a dingy and cold two bedroom house with only the basics inside, including his alcohol cabinet.
The man didn't even give himself time to date, only the occasional one night stand with randoms from the bar. He was too afraid that he would endanger anyone he allowed into his life like that, not to mention he'd been betrayed one too many times to trust in someone that way again. It was his way of keeping himself and everyone else safe.
The therapists he was assigned throughout the years all had the same concern regarding his love life, and deep down Leon was just as concerned, but he rationalized it with that hero complex he developed.
But he just couldn't rationalize it anymore. Leon was alone. He was alone, sad, and afraid.
About a month after Leon's retirement was processed and announced, word spread quickly throughout numerous government branches. There was a celebration set up at the White House to honor his service as a field agent.
The President had separated him and Leon from the party to slowly walk through the many hallways in the building. The old man could tell just how bothered the now ex-agent was by his retirement, so he figured now would be the best time to talk to him about his final task.
"You know," The President spoke up after a couple minutes of the two walking in silence, prompting Leon to slowly turn his head to listen. "I'm sure you've heard it so many times tonight, but you truly were one of the best agents I've ever seen."
Leon chuckled quietly, shaking his head a bit at the compliment. He had heard it a lot tonight, but obviously it was different coming from him.
"I'm serious. This county, probably the entire world, would've been in shambles if not for your hours spent." The President continued, slowing his walking to a stop.
"It means more than you know." Leon responded simply, voice a bit gravelly from the few drinks he's had. He took a couple steps more before stopping as well, turning around to face the prominent old man.
The President sighed, giving him a sympathetic smile while nodding. They stood in silence for a brief moment before the old man spoke up again, pointing lazily down the hall. "Follow me, I've got something I want to show you."
From there, the two wandered further down the halls until eventually reaching one hall that had lights more centered towards the walls, highlighting the picture frames that sat evenly spaced out amongst them.
Leon seemed a tad confused until he was able to focus on the first painting they walked by. He knew each president got a portrait painted after their full term was served, but the man in this painting wasn't a past president.
He stopped walking to stand in front of the painting, admiring the details it had before glancing down at the bottom of the elegant frame, a placard reading a name he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, though, was the word Agent that sat in front of the man's name.
While zoned into the placard, Leon didn't register the gentle hand that had been clasped on his shoulder, the President's voice breaking through his trance. "For as long as there's been bioweapons, we've had agents fighting to stop them. But only a few agents have truly outdone themselves. Agents like you."
Leon blinked a couple times before turning his head to look at the hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He wasn't quite understanding what he was saying.
The President took his silence as a cue to continue, his sympathetic smile turning into a happier one as he gently tugged Leon's shoulder to get him to start walking again. "The D.S.O. has produced some of the greatest agents since Benford created it back in 2011. You were amazing before, but you've outdone yourself time and time again."
Leon still wasn't quite understanding, really only half listening as he kept his eyes trained to the numerous portraits of agents as he slowly passed them.
The two stopped in front of the last painting in the hallway, only a few spots away from leading into another hallway. It was Chris and Claire in this painting. Chris was sitting down in a chair while Claire stood next to him, hand resting on back of it, both of them smiling.
He studied the painting for a minute longer before whipping his head around to face the President, who was still smiling, as the realization slowly settling in.
"I-" Leon struggling to speak, glancing back at the painting before quickly looking back at the old man standing next to him.
The President simply nodded his head, smile widening with a gentle laugh. "Right. The painting process takes a bit of time, but I think you've more than earned this."
The ex-agent had so many questions. Firstly, why hadn't Chris or Claire mentioned this? But more importantly, he gets to have his own portrait painted?
"The painter knows all about you. She's excited to meet you." The President started down the hall again, Leon not far behind, still stuttering out nonsense as he attempted to form even a sentence. "I'll give you the information you need to get started with her. I have it written down back in my office."
A painting?
A painting. A painting for him. A painting to honor him. What?
Leon was once again sat on his couch, blankly staring at the small business card with a date and time written on it in pen. He'd read the info on the card so many times already, wanting to make sure he got absolutely nothing wrong.
Apparently he didn't have to call and confirm, all he had to do was show up to this random address at a specific date and time, which was soon. In a couple days kind of soon. Also, he thought he was reading the time wrong, but no, it was four in the morning, not four in the afternoon. What an odd and rather inconvenient time.
Even after memorizing the business card front to back, Leon would be lying if he said he didn't forget about meeting up with this mystery painter. He'd been rather aloof the past couple months, it was hard to pull himself out of that funk. He'd been staying up late and sleeping in even later, so hitting snooze on his alarm a good few times was just muscle memory at this point.
It was almost 5am when he realized where he was suppose to be, eyes shooting open as he yanked himself out of bed, desperately trying to clean himself up enough to be at least presentable.
The man was mentally chastising himself the entire drive. It was a short drive, which he was surprised by, and the building seemed quaint; red brick with large windows that sat on what looked like either a second or third floor.
He parked his bike right near what he assumed was the main door, pulling off his motorcycle helmet before knocking and waiting.
The last thing Leon was expecting was you to unlock and open that door; young and pretty, so pretty...
"Mr. Kennedy?" You asked, eyebrows raised slightly with a small smile. He nodded, just barely noticeable, reaching a gloved hand up to wipe at his eyes as he caught himself staring.
Your smile only widened at his nod, stepping aside to allow him into walk in. It took him a minute to realize you were still talking, shaking his head out to refocus himself.
"-again, really, no need to worry about being late. I was trying to work with your schedule but I should've known it's changed up a bit by now, right?" You lead him up a set of narrow stairs, though he was mostly following the smell of your perfume. It was such a light smell but he definitely picked up on it.
You opened a door immediately to the left of the stairs, letting Leon follow you inside. The sun was just starting to rise, shining through the large windows in the open room.
The place was cluttered, yet organized. Crowded, but that just made it all the cozier to Leon. His house was bare and lacked any sort of personality, but this... this place was covered in you.
"I'm glad you like it in here." You said in a quiet voice, looking up at him as he took in your workspace. He was smiling ever so slightly, which you mimicked with a smile of your own. "I try to make it welcoming in here, my apartment is the same way.."
Your voice trailed off as you walked over to a mostly put together set up near the back of the room where the only wall without windows sat. There was a chair sitting close to the wall, the same chair Chris was sitting in for his portrait with Claire, along with your easel sitting empty a few feet away.
Leon stood frozen, only moving his head around as he took everything in. He followed you with his eyes as you fumbled around with something, eventually producing a blank 24" x 36" canvas that was still wrapped in thin plastic.
His mouth made an 'o' shape as he pulled himself from his small trance once again, beginning to slowly make his way over to the set up you've made. He placed his helmet down on the floor beside the chair.
After placing the canvas on the easel, you walked back over to where you'd gotten the canvas from before grabbing a heavily used sketchbook. It was a large one, the paper a light brown instead of white.
Leon had only just realized that there was a faint sound of some form of classical music playing from somewhere in the room, glancing around for speakers before looking back over at you.
"I'm not getting started today, we're a couple steps away from that, so don't worry about appearance just yet." You said softly with a breathy laugh, quickly making your way back over to where he stood next to the plush chair in your setup, his hand feeling over the worn maroon fabric.
Leon nodded silently, moving to sit down once you requested he did, furrowing his eyebrows as he watched you drag over a small table. You worked fast, that's for sure.
Eventually, you'd set up a little tabletop easel to sit on the table you'd dragged in front of him, grabbing your swivel chair to sit in as you placed your sketchbook on the easel, open to a blank page.
"I just need to get some basic ideas of your facial structure since that's most important when it comes to these kinds of paintings. You're gonna be wearing a nice tuxedo when I do the second- no, third sketch for the final painting, but this is just for me to get a feel for you and vise versa." You rambled quickly, pulling out a pencil from one of your pockets before fully sitting down on the chair, bringing your legs up to sit criss cross.
"Uh.. Alright..." Leon responded, clearing his throat a bit. He didn't really understand what you'd said, you spoke a little too fast for his tired brain to keep up, but it seemed like whatever you were doing was necessary so he just rolled with it.
He was left a little speechless again at how you just began sketching, glancing up to his face and down to the page you were working on over and over. "...do you need me to, I don't know, pose or something?"
The way you kept looking at him was making feel a little uneasy. Granted he's never been in this sort of situation before, this whole process was very unfamiliar to him.
"No, no. You can move your head around and stuff. Get comfortable." You waved off, eyes wrinkling as you smiled at him. Leon nodded again, deciding to take the opportunity to look around your workspace again.
It really was a cozy space. Full of color and life, even the curtains you had lining the windows offered so much pattern and detail to the room. The back of the room where the two of you sat was more cluttered with less decor, but the front of the room was a whole different story with those massive floor pillows, blankets of all sorts strewn about, that big fluffy looking area rug, it was all so... homey. It was even inspiring him to decorate his own house a bit.
The sound of your pencil scribbling on paper and the faint sound of the classical music playing was all Leon could hear for awhile, eventually letting out an anxious sigh before beginning to talk. "So... a painter, huh..?"
"Oh yeah, I've been doing this since I was little. Obviously I wasn't that good back then, but I really improved after high school." You immediately responded, voice a little louder than his. Clearly the topic excites you. "If you want, I can hand you one of my other sketchbooks to look at while I do my thing over here?"
Leon patted his hands against the arms of the chair before nodding to the side, pursing his lips slightly. "Mm, sure. Let's see what ya got.."
As soon as he agreed, you stood up and shuffled over to the corner of the room where some desks sat arranged in a makeshift cubicle. You opened a drawer and pulled out a couple sketchbooks, still as raggedy as the one you were using now.
Walking back over, you carefully handed them to him, which he slowly took after meeting your eyes for a brief moment.
Once you made your way back to your chair, he placed both sketchbooks into his lap, opening up the one on top first. The man flipped through them silently as you began to sketch him out again.
You'd zoned into your work, adding just a bit of shading to your sketches to help emphasis some features when Leon cleared his throat again. You leaned to the side to look at him, your smile quickly returning when you saw his baffled expression.
"These are... wow, okay, how old are you?" Leon asked, head jerking upwards to meet your gaze once more. You just giggled in response, using the pencil as a fidget before returning to sketching.
"Sorry-uh, I don't mean to come off as rude or anything, but to be honest, I was expecting you to be some old lady when I saw the portraits you've done." Leon was quick to try and explain, probably misinterpreting your lack of response for unease.
Your giggle turned to a small laugh, leaning to the side once more to look at the man. "Well, I'm glad I could surprise you a bit. Hopefully I don't look old."
Leon groaned and wiped his hand down his face. "Again, sorry. Didn't mean to imply." He shook his head and looked back down at the two sketchbooks sitting in his lap, continuing to flip through them.
It was only a couple hours until you decided you got a good enough feel for drawing his face. Grabbing the sketchbook, you stood up, pencil still in hand, looking down at the sketches you made as you slowly walked over to him.
The man noticed you standing up, quickly moving to close the sketchbooks you'd given him in favor of seeing your new sketches.
"I... I think this'll be enough today. I don't want to keep you too long." You said, handing him the sketchbook. Leon took it from you, careful not to smudge anything as he finally got to see what you've been doing for the past two hours.
He furrowed his eyebrows as he studied the sketches you'd made of his face, seeing all the different angles, even the smile, how'd you get his smile?
You seemed to grow nervous the longer he stared at your sketchbook in silence, his intense look making it seem as if he didn't really like them. "Are they... Are they okay?"
Leon jostled the sketchbook a bit in his hands before standing up, now towering over you as he kept his eyes on the paper. "Just okay? These are beyond amazing."
You let out a small breath you didn't notice you were holding, heat rushing to your cheeks as you smiled at his compliment. "Oh, thank you.. I'm sorry, normally sketches don't take this long but it was stressed to me that your portrait was very important so I wanted to get everything as perfect as I could.."
"Seriously, you're a mad woman if you think these wouldn't be good." Leon chuckled, handing the sketchbook back to you. He kept his eyes trained on you, even after you turned to look down and close the sketchbook. Only a fool would miss that blush on your cheeks, it looked good on you.
"Anyways, when should I come back for the next.. uh..." Leon paused, crossing his arms loosely as he struggled to think of the word.
Luckily, you finished the sentence for him. "Session. Again, this painting's importance was stressed to me a lot, so probably the next time you're available?" You talked while you shifted the small table back to where it had originally sat under one of the numerous windows, tossing the sketchbook down on the chair cushion.
"Alright, since it's importance has now been stressed to me as well, I can probably clear up some stuff in my schedule. How's tomorrow sound?" Obviously, Leon had a completely free schedule, but you didn't need to know that.
"Tomorrow works great! The sooner the better!" You laughed, placing a gentle hand on his bicep as you walked past him to grab a sticky note. "I'll give you my personal number, just let me know when you're thinking of coming over and I'll meet you here, okay?"
Leon looked at your number before pocketing the note, nodding his head with a smile of his own. "Sounds good. Same way out?" He pointed to the door that you brought him in through, bending down to pick up his motorcycle helmet right after.
You confirmed with a thumbs up, now drinking water from your water bottle as you'd forgotten too while focused on drawing. You felt bad for not offering him any water while he was here, but you won't forget next time.
The man gave you a curt wave before leaving the room, quietly shutting the door behind himself.
You had to admit, you've worked with a very small handful of agents since it takes a lot for them to earn their own portrait, but Leon Kennedy had to be the one of the most handsome men you've ever worked with. Maybe even one of the most handsome men you've ever seen.
Lucky you pay attention to detail, cause you definitely didn't see a ring on his finger.
#daily dose of dilf#hes not a dad in this#but that doesn't mean hes not a dilf#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy x reader#resident evil#leon s kennedy x you#leon scott kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy fanfic#resident evil death island#resident evil leon#leon s kennedy smut#leon kennedy fic#leon x reader#leon kennedy x fem reader#leon kennedy x f!reader
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That did Nott go to plan
"Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?"
This post is going to be part of the Hogmarch Fandom challenge by @thatdammchickennugget check it out if you want to know more! I may have gotten a bit carried away...I didn't proofread so sorry for the spelling errors or if it doesn't make any sense, love ya <3
Theodore Nott x FEM! Reader 18+ Basically just smut, Unprotected P in V (Wrap it before you tap it) Subby-Theo, Simi public sex, degradation, overstimulation I think, Handys Theo, fluff at the end
There were five times where Tutoring Theodor Nott did not go to plan.
Session number 1.
Theo's dorm room was a mess of beer bottles, discarded clothing, and the faint scent of marijuana. Y/n didn't belong here, but somehow she found herself on Theo's bed, his head buried between her legs, his tongue lapping at her wetness with a fervor that was both surprising and exhilarating. Her fingers tangled in his unkempt hair as she arched her back, letting out a moan that was quickly swallowed by the chaos of the room. It was a reckless, animalistic act, one that she never would have thought herself capable of doing. But then again, she'd never been this close to Theo before.
His hands gripped her hips, urging her closer, as his tongue danced against her clit, driving her wild. She felt a shudder run through her body, and with a cry that was more primal than anything else, she came, her inner walls clenching tightly around Theo's tongue.
He looked up at her, his green eyes blazing with a mix of lust and satisfaction. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice rough from exertion. "You taste so good." His hands slid up her body, cupping her breasts through her shirt, and he rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. She arched into the touch, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Y/n was still trying to catch her breath when Theo sat up, pulling her with him. He leaned in and kissed her, his lips soft and demanding at the same time. She could taste herself on him, and the thought only served to ignite a new wave of desire within her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding her hips against his hardness, wanting him inside her.
He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her ear. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, his hands fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She helped him, shaking with anticipation as he pushed the fabric off her shoulders and revealed her bra. His fingers brushed against her bare skin, tracing a line down her sternum and toward her nipple.
When he finally freed her breast from its confines, he took it into his mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive bud. Y/n cried out, arching her back as pleasure coursed through her. She threaded her fingers through his hair, urging him on, needing more. More of this unexpected, intoxicating connection with Theo. She knew it was wrong, that they should be doing this, but she couldn't help herself. The feeling of being wanted, of being desired, was too overwhelming to resist.
As if sensing her need, he slipped a hand down between them, parting her folds with his fingers and searching for her entrance. She was already so wet, so ready for him. And when he finally found her, he thrust his fingers inside her, filling her up in a way that both hurt and felt so, so good. She cried out, her body tensing as a wave of pleasure washed over her.
Theo groaned, his hips bucking against her. "God, you feel so good," he muttered, his voice strained with desire. He withdrew his fingers, only to position his erection at her entrance, pushing slowly but steadily inside her. She bit her lip, feeling the stretch of him filling her up. He was so much bigger than she'd expected, and it hurt a little, but it was a good hurt. A hurt that made her feel wanted, desired.
As he continued to thrust into her, she wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, meeting his movements with her own. Theo's eyes were locked on hers, his expression a mixture of lust and hunger that took her breath away. His skin was flushed, his muscles tense as he powered into her, driving them both closer and closer to the edge.
She arched her back, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt herself beginning to lose control. Theo's thrusts grew faster, deeper, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. She could feel the tension building inside her, feel the familiar tightening in her stomach as her orgasm drew near.
With a groan that was more animal than human, Theo let go, his body tensing as he came inside her. His thrusts grew erratic, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to regain control. Y/n felt the familiar wave of pleasure wash over her, starting deep in her core and radiating outward in a series of shudders and tremors that left her spent and satiated.
Her legs still wrapped around him, she held onto him as they both rode out the aftershocks of their orgasms. When the last tremor finally subsided, Theo collapsed onto her, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together. His breath came more easily now, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to look down at her, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Well," he said, his voice still hoarse from exertion, "that was unexpected." He ran a hand through his messy hair, and gave a wicked grin.
-
A few weeks have passed and Theo had found himself less interested in all the other girls at hogwarsts and more into you. He couldn't stop thinking about the way you looked when he touched you, the way you tasted on his tongue. He knew it was wrong but he couldn't help himself. He had to have you again.
One day, as he was walking to class, he caught a glimpse of you across the great hall. Your hair was pulled back into a messy bun, your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, and a soft blush tinting your cheeks. Something about the way you moved, the way you held yourself, made his heart race. He'd sorta made a hobbie of watching you, not being able to man up and talk to you himself. You were the only thing he could think about, and it was driving him crazy.
He'd tried to talk to you a few times, but every time he got close, his nerves would get the better of him and he'd freeze up. He wanted to be able to tell you how he felt, how much he cared about you, but he just couldn't find the words. It felt like the world was pressing down on him, making it impossible to breathe, let alone string a coherent sentence together.
So instead, he resigned himself to watching you from afar, enjoying the small moments when you'd glance in his direction or smile at something one of your friends said. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going. And when you walked past him in the hallway, so close that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, he knew he had to do something. He had to make a move.
He'd been thinking about it for days, trying to come up with the perfect plan, and finally, he decided on something bold. He'd invited you to the Yule Ball, hoping that maybe this would be the opportunity he needed to finally tell you how he felt. As the evening wore on and the music played, he found himself growing more and more nervous. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and his palms were sweaty as he waited for the perfect moment to approach you.
When he finally worked up the courage, he made his way over to where you were standing near the edge of the dance floor, sipping punch from a plastic cup. Your dress was stunning, a deep red that brought out the warmth in your skin, and your hair was pulled up in a elegant updo that showed off your neck. He couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked, and for a moment, all his nerves melted away.
Taking a deep breath, he walked up beside you and offered you a smile. "Hey, Theo," you said, looking up at him with those big, green eyes. He could feel his heart skip a beat. "I thought you might like to dance," he managed to say, his voice coming out a little rougher than he'd intended. You smiled back at him, and before he could second-guess himself, you took his hand and let him lead you out onto the dance floor.
As they moved together to the music, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. He was finally doing it, finally telling you how he felt. And even though he knew it was wrong, that it could cause a lot of trouble for both of them, he couldn't help but feel like it was worth it. Because being with you, even for just this one dance, felt more right than anything else in the world.
You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face, and he could tell that you felt it too. The connection between them was palpable, electric. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be with you, truly be with you, outside of this moment. He wished he could freeze time, just so they could stay like this forever.
The music came to an end, and they stood there on the dance floor, still holding each other close. He couldn't bring himself to let go, didn't want to lose the feeling of your body pressed against his. You looked up at him, your lips parted, as if you were about to say something, but in the end, you didn't need to. He could see it in your eyes, hear it in your silence, that you felt it too.
Finally, reluctantly, he released you, stepping back and taking a deep breath. You both smiled shyly at each other before turning away, pretending to look for your friends or sip your punch. But neither of you moved, and neither of you looked away for long. The air between you was still charged, still thick with the unspoken words and the feelings that neither of you quite knew how to express.
As the night wore on, they found themselves stealing glances at each other whenever they could, trying to gauge the other's reaction, to see if what they thought they saw was real. And with each passing moment, the desire to be together, to explore this strange and wonderful connection, grew stronger. It was like a current, pulling them together despite all the forces that tried to keep them apart.
Finally, as the last notes of the final dance echoed through the great hall, you turned to him, your eyes meeting his once more. There was a question in your gaze, a hope that he couldn't ignore. And without another word, he took your hand, knowing that whatever happened next, he couldn't bring himself to care. Because being with you, even for just this one night, had already changed everything.
And then the clock fucking strikes midnight.
-
Session number 2.
Y/n has once again found her self in an empty classroom with a pussy drunk Theo between her legs eating her out like there's no tomorrow. She can't help but moan and grip his head in pleasure as he expertly works his tongue on her clit, driving her wild. His hands are all over her thighs and ass, urging her to open wider, to give him more access to her sweetness. The sound of his slurred pleas and her moans echo through the room, filling the air with desire and need.
As he continues to feast on her, she feels a surge of wetness between her legs, a sure sign that she's close. She tightens her grip on his head, urging him on, needing him to make her cum. And then, with a sharp cry, she feels the wave of pleasure wash over her, her body tensing and shuddering in ecstasy.
For a moment, they are both still, lost in the afterglow of her orgasm. Theo looks up at her, his eyes glazed over with lust, and she can see the desire burning in his eyes. He slowly pulls away from her, taking his wet mouth off of her as he stands up. Y/n watches him, panting heavily, as he unzips his pants, revealing his hard, throbbing erection.
With a steady hand, he guides himself to her entrance, positioning his cock at her entrance. She watches as he pushes forward, feeling the head of his dick slowly sink into her. It's been so long since she's felt this full, this connected, this wanted. She wraps her legs around his waist, arching her back as he thrusts deeper inside of her.
Theo's movements are slow and deliberate at first, savoring the feel of her body surrounding him. But as he grows bolder, as the heat between them intensifies, he begins to move faster, harder. His thrusts are deep and powerful, driving into her with a force that she can feel all the way up to her core.
She gasps as he hits her sweet spot, he grins and slowly teases around it. His hand slides down her lower back, over her ass, and back up to her hip. His thrusts become erratic, his breathing growing harsher as he feels the end drawing near. Y/n meets his movements, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arches her back, her body begging for release.
Theo looks down at her, his eyes burning with desire. He's never felt this way before, this need to be inside her, to feel her around him. He's lost count of the times he's come since they've been together, it's becoming a real problem.
She looks up at him, her chest heaving, her lips parted in a breathless moan. He watches as her eyes close, her head falls back against the wall, and she arches her back further. He can feel her tightening around him, the telltale sign that she's close too. With a groan, he thrusts deeper, harder, determined to send them both over the edge together.
His movements become frantic, his body tense with need as he feels his own release barreling down on him. He's never been this close before, this connected to someone. He can feel every inch of her body moving in perfect synchrony with his own, her breath hot against his skin.
With a final, powerful thrust, he cries out her name as he comes, his seed spilling deep inside her. Y/n's body tenses and convulses around him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she's engulfed by a wave of pleasure so intense it leaves her breathless.
For a moment, they are both still, their bodies pressed tightly together, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing. He pulls out slowly, his softening cock slipping from her wet folds, and collapses beside her on the floor, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.
-
This time it's one of the rare sessions where Y/n actually gets to tutor Theo in Herbology and not end up bent over his desk with his cum leaking out of her. Or so she thought.
They spend the afternoon in the greenhouse, surrounded by the lush, verdant life that Theo so desperately craves. He listens intently as she explains the care and cultivation of the various plants, asking questions and making notes in his notebook. Throught the lesson thogh he couldn't seem to keep his hands off of her, weather it was playing with the hem of her sleeve to fiddiling with a peace of her hair.
The air is thick with the scent of soil and flowers, and the sunlight streaming through the glass panes casts a warm, golden glow over their work. The lesson was drawing to a close, they take a break to stretch their legs and enjoy the fresh air. They wander along the path that leads to the small pond at the edge of the garden, their hands brushing against each other as they walk. Theo leans in closer, inhaling deeply of her scent, and presses his lips to hers in a kiss.
Session number 3.
Her heart racing, Y/n melts into his embrace, returning his kiss with equal fervor. Their hands roam over each other's bodies, seeking out the familiar curves and planes. He pushes her up against the rough bark of a tree, trapping her there as he continues to kiss her, his tongue dancing with hers.
She feels the hard length of his cock pressing against her through their clothes, and she moans into his mouth, wanting him inside her now. He pulls back for a moment, his breath ragged as he looks down at her, and then reaches down to undo his pants. Y/n helps him, eagerly pulling his cock free and wrapping her hand around the base.
Theo groans, closing his eyes as she strokes him, the sensation so much better than anything he could have imagined. He presses their bodies together, grinding his hips against her hand, wanting to feel the heat and wetness of her around him.
She feels his growing arousal, the tip of his cock leaking pre-cum onto her palm. She kneels down, pulling his pants and boxers down to his thighs, revealing his erection in all its glory. Theo looks down at her, his eyes dark with desire as she takes him in her mouth, her warm, wet lips enveloping him.
She sucks gently at first, exploring the texture and taste of him, feeling the pulse of his veins beneath her tongue. He lets out a shuddering breath, his hands tangling in her hair, urging her on. She deepens the suction, taking more of him into her mouth, feeling his length stretch her jaw. His hips begin to move, thrusting against her face as he loses control, his moans muffled by the sounds of their surroundings.
Her own need building, she stands up, straddling him and guiding his cock to her wet folds. He helps her, pushing upwards, burying himself inside her. They both groan at the feeling of being connected once more. Theo's hands roam over her body, cupping her breasts, tweaking her nipples as they begin to move together in rhythm.
Their movements become increasingly frantic, their bodies slamming together as they seek release. Theo's breath comes in ragged gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he feels the familiar tension building inside him. He can feel himself getting closer, closer to the edge, and with one final thrust, he comes, his seed spilling deep inside her.
Y/n feels the wave of pleasure wash over her, her body shuddering as she cries out his name. Their bodies become limp, their breathing slow and ragged, as they cling to each other, lost in the afterglow of their passion.
-
Session number 4.
This time though this is the one, there is no way they can get side tracked on this one. Their in a library just studying potions.
Theo and Y/n sit across from each other at a large wooden table, surrounded by rows upon rows of leather-bound books. The scent of old paper and ink fills the air, and the flickering light from the candles casts a warm, inviting glow over their faces. They are intent on their studies, pouring over the pages of the books, taking notes and discussing the intricacies of potions. Theo can't help but steal glances at Y/n as she works, admiring the way her hair falls over her shoulders and the way her lips move as she reads.
Their shared interest in potions makes it easy for them to engage in conversation, and soon they are lost in a lively debate about the merits of various ingredients and brewing techniques. Theo leans in closer, listening intently to her every word, and finds himself agreeing with her more often than not.
But the bastard just can't keep his hands to himself and you found out soon enough when his hand is up your skirt and down your panties.
Theo's hand is warm and rough as it glides up your thigh, his thumb teasing the edge of your panties. You gasp, surprised by the audacity of his move. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You feel so good, Y/n."
You're caught between embarrassment and desire. You know you shouldn't be doing this, in a library no less, but you can't help but want more. You feel a stirring between your legs, a longing for him that you haven't felt in a long time. Maybe it's the forbidden nature of it all, the danger of getting caught. Or maybe it's just Theo.
He pushes your chair back, making you straddle his lap. His other hand cups your breast through your shirt, his thumb rubbing circles around your nipple, the other one playing with your cilt. You arch your back, moaning softly as pleasure spreads through you. His other hand slides down, pushing your panties aside, and finding you wet and ready.
Theo groans, pressing his hips forward, feeling you stretch and accommodate him. His other hand moves up, cupping your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "God, Y/n," he whispers, "you're so fucking beautiful." His hips begin to move, in and out, in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. He leans in, capturing your lips with his, his tongue pushing past your teeth and tangling with yours.
As they kiss, you can feel him deep inside you, his movements growing more urgent. Your nails dig into his shoulders, and you gasp against his mouth, your release building. Theo picks up the pace, thrusting harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he feels his own climax approaching. He pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of lust and a hint of something else. "I'm going to come for you," he rasps, and then he does, his hips bucking wildly as he empties himself inside you.
-
Session number 5.
Y/n had promised herself that this session would go according to plan, that they would study the full hour. That's what she was thinking untill she found herself doing the exact opposite.
Y/n, looking incredibly sexy in a lacy black bra and matching panties, straddles Theo, who is lying on his back. His cock, already hard as a rock, is trapped in his boxer briefs, straining against the fabric. Y/n's wetness is already dripping down Theo's abdomen, and he can feel how aroused she is. He groans, arching his back in anticipation.
Y/n grins wickedly, leaning down to capture Theo's lips in a kiss. Her hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, and down his arms before gripping his wrists, pinning them above his head. Theo gasps into her mouth as she continues to kiss him, their tongues tangling together. His cock throbs in his underwear, begging for release.
Finally, she pulls away, breathing heavily, and looks down at Theo. "You're so fucking hot," she whispers, tracing a finger along his jaw. Her touch sends shivers down his spine. She reaches between them, unfastens his boxer briefs, and pulls them down his legs, releasing his hard cock into the open air. Theo's eyes roll back in his head as he feels her warm, wet lips wrap around the head of his cock. He groans, thrusting his hips upward.
"Fuck, Theo," she moans, taking more of him into her mouth. Her hand grips his base, stroking him expertly as she sucks. Theo's hips buck wildly, his moans muffled by the mattress. He's so close, he can feel it. He's never felt this desperate for release before.
Y/n pulls away, panting, and looks down at him. "You're doing so well, baby," she whispers, her voice low and sultry. She leans forward, taking his cock in her hand and stroking him slowly, carefully, until he's almost at the brink. "Just a little longer," she teases, before sucking him deep into her mouth again. Her tongue swirls around the head, driving him wild.
Theo's vision blurs, his mind goes blank. He's lost all sense of time and place. He can feel himself getting closer, but just when he thinks he can't take anymore, she pulls away again. "You're so beautiful when you're like this," she breathes, trailing a finger down his chest. "So needy and so desperate." She lowers herself onto him, guiding his cock into her wetness. Theo gasps, arching his back as she begins to ride him, slowly at first, but picking up speed as they both lose control.
Theo's hands find their way to her hips, gripping tightly as he thrusts upwards, meeting her movements. Her breasts bounce against his chest, her nipples hard and aching. He can feel the tension building inside him, the need for release growing more and more intense with each passing second.
"Oh fuck, Theo," she moans, throwing her head back. Her nails dig into his shoulders as she comes, her inner walls clenching around him in an unbearably tight grip. He can feel her orgasm pulsing through her, fueling his own need for release. Before he can cum tho, she pulls way making him whine at the loss of contact.
"You're so turned on that you're reduced to whimpering and begging and pleading for me to fuck you senseless. Tell me how much you want it, baby." She teases, slowly grinding her hips against his cock. Theo's breath comes out in ragged gasps as he arches into her touch.
"I want it," he moans, gripping her hips tightly. "I need it." He groans as she begins to ride him harder, faster. His cock throbs inside her, desperate for release.
Theo's vision blurs, his mind goes blank. He's lost all sense of time and place. He can feel himself getting closer, but just when he thinks he can't take anymore, she pulls away again. "You're so fucking sexy when you're like this," she whispers, tracing a finger along his jaw. Her touch sends shivers down his spine.
She leans forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. Her hips begin to move again, faster and harder, driving him wild. He can feel his control slipping away as he thrusts up into her, desperate to feel the release coursing through him.
With a hoarse cry, Theo finally gives in to the overwhelming pleasure, his body tensing as he comes, his cock pulsing inside her, filling her up with his seed. Y/n moans, arching her back as she feels him empty himself into her.
"You look so pretty when you're like this, too dumb to even think" she muses, her hands running down his chest.
She leans back, watching him, her eyes dark with satisfaction. As he catches his breath, she slowly eases herself off of him, taking him out of her wetness with a soft pop. His cock twitches, wanting more, but she ignores it, instead straddling him again, this time with her legs on either side of his hips. She leans forward, taking one of his hands in hers and guiding it between their bodies. "Touch yourself," she whispers, her breath tickling his ear. "I want to see how much you want this."
Theo's fingers are hesitant at first, but as she watches him, a heat begins to build inside him. He can feel his cock twitch and throb as he starts to stroke himself, watching as Y/n watches him. She moans softly, her hips moving in time with his touch, her breasts swaying before him.
"That's it," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. "You're so sexy when you touch yourself like that. I bet you'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?" Her fingers trail down his chest, teasing the tip of his nipple, sending shivers through him.
Theo nods, his eyes locked on hers, his hand moving faster now. Y/n leans in closer, their bodies pressed together, her breath hot against his skin. She can feel his desire, his need for her, and it only fuels her own desire to have him. She lets out a soft moan as she watches him stroke himself until he cums again, the sight sending a wave of pleasure through her.
She reaches down, guiding his hand away from his aching cock, and replaces it with her own. Her fingers are gentle as she strokes him, her thumb brushing over the head of his cock. Theo's hips buck up into her touch, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. "You're mine," she whispers, her voice low and possessive. "And I'm yours. There's no one else for either of us."
Their bodies move together in perfect harmony, their skin slick with sweat. Y/n's fingers move faster, her touch more urgent now. She can feel the tension building inside Theo, can feel the way he's trembling with need. She leans in, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss, her tongue dancing with his.
As they kiss, she tightens her grip on him, her thumb circling the head of his cock. "I love how much you want me," she murmurs against his lips. "I love how I can make you feel like this."
With a groan, Theo comes, his body tensing as he releases himself deep inside her. She feels his hot seed spilling onto her hand, and she can't help but moan at the feel of it. She continues to stroke him even as he empties himself, her touch gentle and soothing.
As they catch their breath, Y/n leans back, gazing down at him. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. She trails her fingers down his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw before wrapping her hand around his neck. "You are so beautiful when you're like this," she whispers, her thumb brushing over his lips. "I could look at you for hours."
Theo cracks an eye open, looking up at her. "Is it that, or is it because you're in love with me?" he grins, the playful challenge evident in his eyes. Y/n leans down, her lips brushing against his. "Maybe it's a little bit of both," she whispers, her breath warm against his skin. "But I think…" She trails off, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "I think you love me because I make you feel things you've never felt before. I make you want things you never thought you wanted. I make you feel alive."
Her words send a shiver down his spine. He watches as she leans back, her eyes never leaving his. There's something so intense about her gaze, so possessive. It makes him feel like she's seen right through him, to the depths of his soul. He reaches up, cupping her face in his hands, wanting to feel her skin against his, wanting to lose himself in her eyes.
"Maybe," he breathes, his voice barely a whisper. "maybe it's a bit of both…" He trails off, Before pulling her in for a kiss.
Session number five might have been her favorite...
#fypシ#writing prompt#y/n#send help#help#theo nott x reader#theodore nott x reader#got carried away#theodore nott smut#theodore nott fluff#theo#hogmarch challenge#thatdamedchickennugget#Hogmarch challenge#Hogmarch
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HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D
CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.
WC: 6.6K
slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency
Clay is innately erotic.
Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second.
Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night.
It’s a cute shop.
Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort.
Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery.
He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.
Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.
“Hello.”
His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.
“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him.
Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue.
“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.
The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote.
“Oh, I’m just looking.”
The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge.
“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”
Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples.
“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.”
She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.
It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.
“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.”
He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there.
“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.”
He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?”
The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”
One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?”
Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.”
Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment.
Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.”
“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.”
Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence.
“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.”
Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.
She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels.
“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“
“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.”
Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink.
“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.”
It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space.
He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy.
“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.”
The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate.
“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.”
Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin.
“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.”
The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.
She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s.
Yeah.
Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay.
“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.”
“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.
Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work.
“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue.
Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs.
“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length.
She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt.
“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”
Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.
“Take your bracelet off for me.”
The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”
But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me.
It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows.
“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off.
She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up.
“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“
Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again.
“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders.
Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more.
“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”
Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones.
“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”
The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior.
“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”
Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child.
“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.”
He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs.
“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together.
As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider.
Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it.
“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert.
Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top.
“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.”
Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together.
“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.”
The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.”
She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic.
“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.”
She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes.
“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things.
“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.”
“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?”
He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.”
“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece.
“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.”
As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?”
Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.”
“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“
If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin.
“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”
Y/N swallows.
“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?”
“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.”
“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.”
“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.”
A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.”
This is The Turning Point.
And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—
But then it clicked.
“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.”
Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both.
For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash.
“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from.
The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.”
Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?”
“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”
His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?”
Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.”
Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling.
“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting.
Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.”
Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed.
“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.”
Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.”
“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.”
“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her.
Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it.
“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?”
“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”
Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.”
Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights.
“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”
Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.”
All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time.
Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres.
She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay.
“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with.
Christ.
“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands.
Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face.
“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.”
The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again.
“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.”
Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features.
She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.”
“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.”
Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation.
“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.”
“Thank you. What now?”
“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.”
Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse.
She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?”
Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.”
The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?”
Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“
Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet.
“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging.
The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?”
Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.”
“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.
The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.
Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”
#harry styles#harry styles smut#(ish)? there’s a lot of innuendos in this one#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles writing#harry styles one shots#harry styles fluff#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles valentine’s day fic#valentine’s day fic
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i would never pretend to not know you, pt. 1
eddie shifts his van into park and approaches the big red double doors of the harrington house. before he can knock, the door on the right swings open, revealing a smiling steve harrington.
“heard you coming,” he says by way of explanation. “your uncle’s in the kitchen. come on.”
eddie follows steve down the hallway to the expansive white kitchen. the room could fit the entire munson trailer in it two times over. wayne turns from the sink when he hears them coming.
“hey, son,” wayne greets him, wiping his hands on a rag he has tucked into his work belt. “i’ll be done in a few minutes, just gotta get underneath here and sort some things out.”
eddie stands there awkwardly for a minute before steve waves his hand.
“c’mon, we can wait in the den. you want something to drink?”
eddie shakes his head and then follows steve into the next room, which is filled with a big, squishy looking couch. steve practically throws himself down onto the middle cushion. eddie sits as close to the arm of the couch as possible.
“how’d you do on o’donnell’s test today?” steve asks, a crooked grin on his face. “i feel like she might be writing them to torture me specifically.”
“eh, i don’t think it was too bad.” eddie tries to say it in a way that puts an end to the conversation, not really interested in making small talk.
“yeah, well. you’re, like, really good at english.”
“what?” eddie looks over, surprised.
“i mean, i can tell. when you talk in class?” steve looks a bit confused, like he doesn’t know why eddie’s so surprised. “you notice things i wouldn’t have ever even thought about.”
“oh. i don’t know about that. i just say stuff that seems obvious.”
steve snorts. “yeah, obvious to you. it’s cool, you know. how smart you are. i wish i could think like you.”
“you’re smart.”
steve just smiles then, shaking his head a little. just then, wayne comes into the doorway that leads from the kitchen into the den they’re sitting in.
“all right, fellas? i’m all done in here, steve.”
“okay, thanks, mr. munson.”
eddie stands, wiping his hands down the front of his jeans.
“well, see ya,” he says to steve, turning to follow wayne out toward the front door.
steve follows. “hey, maybe you could come a little earlier next week and we could talk about the next quiz?”
eddie looks back at steve. if eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say steve looked almost hopeful.
“uh, yeah, maybe.”
steve smiles. “okay, cool.”
~*~
“you know, steve’s a pretty good kid,” wayne says out of the blue halfway through their drive home.
eddie gives a vaguely positive-sounding grunt in return.
“he could use some friends, i think. he has a tough time.”
“steve?” eddie turns from where he’s focused on the road in front of him to look at wayne in surprise.
“his parents… well, it’s not my thing to tell, but. he’s alone a lot. lonely. you could be nice to him.”
“i’m always nice to him,” eddie grumbles.
“i know, son, but you know what i mean. you remember how you were when you first came to me. isolated. remember how good it felt when you met gareth and finally had a friend to talk to at school?”
“steve has friends,” eddie insists.
wayne sighs. “just think about it, okay?”
“sure.” eddie will do no such thing.
~*~
eddie’s right. steve does have friends. he has people he talks to at school, he has his basketball teammates and his lunchmates, he has the swim team.
but wayne’s also right, because if eddie looks a bit closer, he notices how steve walks home from school alone. how every week when eddie comes to pick wayne up from his maintenance work at the harrington house, steve always answers the door and he’s never seen a trace of his parents there. how steve sits at the diner alone on weekends, struggling through his homework.
~*~
the next week, eddie shows up an hour early to the harringtons’ to pick up wayne. when he rings the doorbell, it takes about two minutes for steve to let him in.
“oh,” steve says surprised. “hi? i think wayne’s still working out back.” he glances down at his watch.
“no, yeah.” eddie rubs at the back of his neck. “you mentioned talking about the next quiz last time?” he holds up the worn paperback he’s been holding at his side.
steve smiles, wide and bright. “cool.”
he leads eddie into the same room they’d sat in last time, flopping down on to the cushions again. eddie takes the same position up against the couch’s arm. he can see steve’s school things spread across the coffee table, papers covered in barely legible chicken scratch.
“you weren’t in lunch today,” steve says, matter-of-factly.
“uh, no. we do hellfire on wednesdays.”
“thats that game, right?” steve sounds genuinely curious.
“yeah, dnd.”
“what’s it about?”
“what do you mean?”
“how do you play?”
“steve harrington wants to know how to play dungeons and dragons?” eddie sounds a little incredulous, even to his own ears.
steve smiles, a bit smaller than he had at his front door. “yeah, man. you’re into it, right? that’s kind of cool.”
eddie snorts. “i don’t know that anyone has ever been called cool for playing dnd before.”
“you care about it. a lot. that’s cool.”
eddie clears his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. he shifts where he sits.
“or we could talk about the book,” steve says softly.
“yeah, let’s… do that.”
~*~
they’re finishing up work on steve’s review sheet when wayne comes in through the kitchen.
“it’s all cleared up out there, steve,” he calls as he moves to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.
“okay, thanks, mr. munson. i’ll let my parents know.” steve stands from where he’s been sitting and stretches before walking into the kitchen. eddie follows him.
wayne smiles when he sees them. “didn’t know you were here already.”
“yeah,” eddie replies. “just working on some homework.”
“he was helping me understand the book we’re reading in class,” steve adds. “i don’t get it at all, but eddie’s really good at it.”
“that so,” wayne says, drying his hands.
“yeah, you should hear him in class. it’s pretty impressive.”
eddie can feel himself blushing.
~*~
“that was a nice thing you did, kid,” wayne tells him once they’re in eddie’s van. “real nice.”
“just doing homework. easier to do it together than alone, i guess.” eddie shrugs.
“sure.”
~*~
it becomes a regular thing. eddie shows up about an hour early every wednesday and helps steve with his english homework.
“this is really cool of you, man,” steve says after a few weeks.
“everything’s so cool to you, harrington,” eddie smiles, laughing a little. steve pushes at his shoulder, laughing along.
“no, i mean,” steve runs his hand through his hair. “i know people at school think i’m annoying or whatever—”
“i don’t think anyone thinks that.”
steve gives him a look. “i’m not very smart and i ask dumb questions in class. i can hear people sighing when i raise my hand.”
he has a point about the questions. “it’s not a crime to ask a question, steve. how else would you learn,” eddie says anyway.
“well, whatever. i’ve had tutors before but they’ve all kind of—quit or whatever. i can be… frustrating.”
“you’re not frustrating. you just learn differently. that’s not a bad thing. you are smart.” eddie sees the skeptical look still on steve’s face. “and anyway, i’m not your tutor.”
“you’re not?”
“no. i like you, steve. we’re friends.”
steve smiles.
~*~
it’s not that steve harrington himself is a bully. he’s not. he’s nice, actually. eddie has never even seen him so much as surreptitiously trip some poor nerd in the hawkins high hallways.
but he holds a space in the collective hellfire imagination onto which they can project their own high school feelings of inferiority.
steve is good looking. he comes from a good family. he has a lot of money and his clothes are always clean and new. he’s well-fed and girls love him. he somehow skates through all his classes. he is everything that nerdy outcasts hate.
so eddie doesn’t tell his friends about the budding friendship between him and steve. he doesn’t tell them that every week when they ask him to go get milkshakes or to come play video games or to catch a movie that what he’s really doing when he lies to them and tells them he has plans with wayne is spending time with steve.
his friends can’t know. he’s gone on enough tirades against the capitalist jock class that he’d look like a total hypocrite to be hanging out with their de facto king. he’s not sure he’d survive them finding out.
~*~
“did you mean it?” steve asks the following week.
“hm?” eddie doesn’t look up from the page he’s reading.
“when you said you liked me. did you mean that?”
eddie looks up in surprise. “of course i did.”
steve smiles. “good. because i like you too.”
“yeah?” eddie returns his smile.
steve nods, moving a bit closer on the big squishy couch. “but, um. i’m not sure if we mean it the same way.”
eddie swallows. “what do you mean?”
“i mean, i might like you as more than a friend.”
eddie laughs. “why?” he doesn’t mean to say it. it just comes out.
steve doesn’t laugh though. “you’re smart. you think about things in ways that other people don’t. you care about the things that are important to you, even when other people might think they’re stupid. you’re nice to me when you don’t have to be.” steve’s closer now. “have you ever kissed anyone before?” eddie nods. “i haven’t. only in those stupid games. not for real.”
eddie looks into steve’s eyes. he looks hopeful. eddie swallows again.
“okay…” eddie’s still not sure where this is going. he could take a wild guess, but things don’t usually go the way he hopes.
“would you…” steve bites his bottom lip. “i know i’m—would you want to? kiss me, i mean.”
eddie takes a deep breath and then nods before closing the distance between them, so much smaller now than when they’d first sat down.
steve’s lips are warm against his. the kiss is more chaste than anything, short and sweet before they break apart.
“oh,” steve whispers with his eyes still closed. he licks his lips. “that was—” he opens his eyes, smiling at eddie. “that was really nice.”
“yeah.” eddie doesn’t take his eyes from steve’s lips.
“do you want to—”
eddie’s lips are back on steve’s before he can even finish his question.
~*~
they break apart when they hear wayne coming in through the back door of the kitchen.
steve’s breathing slightly heavier than usual, smiling up at eddie.
eddie tries to smile back, but the reminder of the world around them brought on by wayne’s presence in the house with them has his gut roiling. he’s not sure what shows on his face, but he can see the worry as it creeps onto steve’s face.
“is this—was this okay? are you okay?” steve asks.
“yeah,” eddie replies, trying again for a smile. he thinks he’s a bit more successful this time. “just, uh. this was really fun but. can we…”
“can we?” steve prompts when eddie trails off.
“let’s just keep it to ourselves, yeah? like, don’t tell anyone at school.”
eddie regrets it the minute he says it. steve’s eyes shutter as he watches.
“oh, right. obviously. like anyone would believe me anyway,” steve laughs, but it doesn’t sound quite right.
they’re sitting upright on the couch again when wayne comes into the doorway.
“all set, ed?”
eddie gathers his school bag.
“see you next week, steve,” he says, and follows wayne out of the house.
to be continued perhaps… (no taglists, sorry)
#steddie normal people au#i guess!!!!!#steddie#steddie au#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie fanfic#steddie fanfiction#steddie blurb#edited to add a title so it’s easier for following parts
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